0 comments/ 16380 views/ 1 favorites Tasting the Forbidden Fruit By: Ted55 AUTHOR'S NOTE: I haven't been writing for long, and haven't written much as I submit this for posting. This story is a continuation of the first story I posted here called 'Forbidden Fruit'. You will [IMO] enjoy this composition more if you read the earlier one first (but it's not essential). I could have made this chapter two of the original story, but I see the two as being in different genres. 'Forbidden Fruit' is purely erotic, with virtually no sex (other than masturbation). This sequel takes the next step and in the end becomes pornographic. As a reader myself I often find that the erotic build up is more stimulating than the culmination in sexual activity. Conversely, leaving the description of the ultimate results of the erotic scene out makes the story seem incomplete sometimes. I hope you enjoy it and will share your thoughts and impressions with me via the comment facility or, better still, e-mail allowing me to respond directly to your comments. * Christmas Eve was the worst because it went on for the longest time with no opportunity to settle myself. I'd avoided Greta over the days following the incident in my daughter's bedroom. It wasn't hard at all. We were all busy with our own pre-Christmas stuff so, other than meals, we weren't in each other's company very much. Time is the great healer and after couple of days I had relegated the incident to a fond memory. My daughter's college girlfriend from Germany didn't know that I had masturbated to orgasm while peeping at her through the bathroom door (or at least she gave no sign that she did); so there was no reason to feel uncomfortable in her company. I went back to just enjoying the pleasure of having the stunning creature to look at over the holidays. Tradition in our family is to go over to my sister's place on Christmas Eve. Everyone gathers there and we usually open one present each after dinner. The trouble—strictly for me—started when we went out to get into the van. It was quite warm for December the twenty-fourth so there was no need for parkas and all the other heavy winter insulating gear. I'd seen Greta dressed and ready for the party in the moments leading up to departure. The outfit she was wearing reminded me of something I'd seen in the costume section of the local sex shop. She was wearing a white blouse with a little red vest over it. The vest synched so tight on her midriff that it was like a corset, or maybe a bustier. It made her perfectly proportioned figure look quite top heavy. Appropriate to her nationality, it reminded me a little of the top of dirndls that I had seen. The short pleated skirt in a Black Watch tartan did cover the tops of her smokey black stockings, unlike the costume in the adult entertainment store—but not by much. When it was time to go I politely opened the rear sliding door on the driver's side of the van for our guest. Mary, my wife, and Lisa, my daughter, climbed in the opposite side. When Greta stepped up into the van I got the most cock wrenching view of her creamy thighs under her skirt and above the lace stocking tops. Up to that point she might have been wearing pantyhose for all I knew. The strips of black ribbon fastened to her hose that went up out of sight made her skin look even whiter. I could only hope that no one heard my gasp. I drove to my sister's Christmas Eve party with a semi-boner wiggling around in my suit pants. For the next five hours I could hardly keep my eyes off our German guest. As we stood around sipping cocktails and chatting I was constantly maneuvering to keep her in sight praying for another glimpse. Through dinner I had to content myself with appreciating the thrilling way that the Aryan college girl's bust was displayed. After dinner we sat around the tree in the living room and I was disappointed that instead of sitting on the couches the girls knelt on the floor spoiling any opportunities for more up skirt views. It didn't stop me from watching her obsessively. It was a long five hours. I will be peeved at my sister for extending our good-byes and Merry Christmases for quite a while. I was stuck hugging her in the doorway of her home when Greta was getting herself back into the van; thwarting my chance for a replay of the garter show. Christmas morning could have been worse but for two things; it didn't last nearly as long, and with just the four of us I had to be careful not to get caught staring at the luscious fraulein. Greta and Lisa came down to the tree wearing their nightshirts—at least Lisa's was a nightshirt. The one Greta wore was longer than the faded orange top she'd been wearing that fateful day when I went to fix the tap;, but it was still no more than a long T shirt just barely covering her ass. It might have been okay, that is not resulted in indecent exposure, if she'd been careful but Greta was carefree. Throughout the gift exchange I was constantly catching glimpses of her blue silky looking panties. I even saw Mary shoot a disapproving glance or two at our guest. Thankfully she didn't seem to notice my fixation. Thinking back on it now, I can't help wondering if it would have been as arousing if it hadn't been for what had gone before. If that wasn't bad enough the occasional flashes of panties was accompanied by my old nemesis—jiggling tits. As Greta unwrapped her presents and moved to appreciate other peoples' gifts her pert grapefruit sized breasts moved quite obviously unfettered under the too short nightgown. By the time the girls retired to Lisa's room with their loot I was exhausted. The fatigue was more from hiding the woody that was constantly tenting my pajama bottoms than from the sexual frustration. Mary made a snide remark about how convenient it was when I told her that I needed to use the washroom. She was left to clean up the mess from breakfast on her own while I relieved the tension created by our innocently erotic house guest. After Christmas, as it was leading up to the big day, we didn't see much of the college girls until supper time. Dressed in jeans and dressy T shirt like tops I was glad for the reprieve. I was up early on Boxing Day anxious to get my chores done. I'd made arrangements to go sledding with some buddies and still had to check out the snow machine since it hadn't been out yet this season. There was work to do before I could play. The girls, and I include my wife in the category, were planning to go out looking for the after Christmas bargains. They were scurrying around determined to get to the mall before all the best stuff was gone. My first order of business was a service job on the furnace—change the air filter and clean up the humidifier; a fifteen minute job at most. I was crouched down removing the filter when I heard someone come down the stairs. I glanced down the short basement hall through the half open furnace room door to see who it was. My manhood responded instantly seeing Greta turn toward the opposite end of the narrow passage where the laundry room is located. 'Somebody really ought to tell her that those T shirts weren't long enough to be worn with just panties underneath,' I thought as I watched that incredible honey dew melon ass wiggle quickly into the room housing the clothes washing facilities. The hall is about fifteen feet long, so that's how far away she was when she glanced over her shoulder before entering the humid little room. I was pretty sure that she wouldn't notice me; and she didn't. As if watching those magnificent honey-dew melons covered by, but not concealed by the yellow T shirt weren't enough, the realization that I was once again observing her without her knowledge hit home. The machines were running and for a moment the blonde eye candy was out of sight even though the door to the laundry room was open. I could see most of the washer from where I was sitting on the furnace room floor. I heard the washing machine start to drain but thought nothing of it at the time. Greta re-entered my field of view and to my astonishment hoisted her butt up onto the clothes washer. I was trying to make sense of why she'd want to climb up and sit on the uncomfortably hard steel surface when the spin cycle started. The front loading machine is perfectly leveled but spins at incredible speed for quite a long time. The inherent imbalance of the load of wet clothes creates a so much vibration and oscillation that it scared me right after I'd installed it. I eventually came to understand that it was normal for this type of washer. My daughter's college friend was apparently familiar with the phenomenon too. Sitting on the edge she opened her legs and I thought I could just make out the little blue triangle covering her peach. I saw her slip her hand between her legs just as the machine really started to rock. The full significance of what she was doing hit me like a hammer at the same time she hooked her foot on the door and kicked it shut. I grabbed my throbbing dick as the wildfire broke out in my crotch only to be doused by a tidal wave of disappointment. My imagination took over but it was a poor substitute. The rumbling sound of the washer changed pitch as the spin cycle kicked into its high speed. I had stood and stressed over this part of the cycle when I installed the machine. I recalled wondering if that amount of vibration was normal, and whether the machine was going to take off, so I was well aware of the incredible frequency of the vibrations. Sitting beside the furnace stoking my meat through my pants imagining what Greta was doing less than twenty feet away was just about killing me. I actually started to think that her closing the door was a blessing; because if I'd been able to see what I was imagining I would have cum in my pants in seconds. I could hear the machine winding down and Greta emerged carrying a full basket of her clean clothes in front of her. She paused at the bottom of the stairs looking directly at the furnace room door and my heart stopped. I don't know why I was nervous—I hadn't done anything wrong. I was pretty sure she couldn't see me but she had this contented little grin on her face suggesting that she perhaps knew more than I thought. It could have just been the after glow from her climax I suppose. I got up on wobbly legs and went to the laundry room. I wasn't really even sure why. I think some insane perverted part of my brain expected to be able to detect the fragrance of her arousal. It was absurd of course given the powerful perfumes in the laundry soap and fabric softener that pervaded the small humid little room. A small shiver went down my spine when I touched the top of the washer where she'd been sitting... any residue? Afraid not. I spied the blue panties lying on top of the load of colored underwear that was presumably next to go into the washer. I was literally shaking when I picked them up and felt that they were not only slightly warm, but damp. It was like an iron filing caught in the field of a huge electromagnet. The crotch of the German girl's underpants snapped to my nose virtually of their own accord (liar!). The scent of her wasn't strong but it was fabulous. I stood there inhaling the subtle aroma for several seconds before sticking my tongue out praying for just the slightest hint of her flavor. It was a good thing that the dryer was also stopped or I might not have heard the approaching foot steps. It was reflex that made me stuff the wispy blue panties into my pocket. "You're working on the laundry?" my wife said with thinly disguised sarcasm. "Just checking on a noise I heard hon'," I replied as I left the room. Mary was pulling the clothes out of the drier and called after me, "If I put another load in can you hang it up when it's finished?" "I don't think so hon' as soon as I'm finished with the furnace I'm going out to the garage," I called back. "Big help... as usual," she muttered loud enough for me to hear... and ignore—as usual. By the time I'd finished changing the filter and cleaning the humidifier my boner had pretty much subsided; replaced by an insistent ache in my nuts. The girls were gone, off on their bargain hunting adventure and I made a detour through our bedroom to stuff Greta's pants in the pocket of my robe. I hadn't thought about stealing a woman's underwear since I was a teenager, but I'd just done it, nonetheless. I resisted the urge to relieve the pressure that had built up in my sack in favor of getting the snow machine ready to go. The boys and I had a decent day on the trails despite the sparseness of the snow. We found ourselves in a tavern munching chicken wings as the last rays of sun disappeared. I called home and told Mary not to hold up dinner on my account. She was quite good about it knowing that I'd endured the co-ed cocktail parties like a trooper and was now spending quality time with my 'buds'. By the time I got home my wife was in bed reading the Stephen King novel that I bought her for Christmas and the girls were watching one of the movies Lisa had rented. I went into the rec-room to pour myself some Jack on the rocks. Lisa and Greta were cuddled together under a blanket on the couch. I didn't really think anything of it until they jumped apart and wound up at opposite ends of the sofa when they noticed me at the bar. Suddenly I had all manner of perverted thoughts about what was going on under that blanket. I took my tinkling glass of Tennessee sour mash to my bedroom trying unsuccessfully to push the erotic, if somewhat disturbing ideas out of my head. The pressure in my ball sack that I'd put on hold that morning reasserted. Not only is my wife beautiful but she's incredibly sexy. I closed the bedroom door behind me and just stood there for a long moment considering what to do next. She'd fallen asleep propped up on the pillows the massive novel that could double as workout equipment lay on her chest. The pain in my nuts was urging me to wake her but her peaceful soft snoring was evidence that she was well into slumber land. Soon enough I decided that I was too tired anyway and just put the huge hard cover book aside, covered my sleeping beauty and got ready for bed myself. By the next evening my balls felt like they weighed five pounds each, even without any help from our carefree house guest. Luckily one of Lisa's pre-college school chums was having a get-together down the street and the girls were going to get the opportunity to hang-out with their own age group. Lisa and Greta were excused from after dinner clean up to get ready for their party. Setting the towel I was drying with on the table I slipped my arms under Mary's as she stood at the sink washing pots. She immediately clamped down with her elbows limiting my mobility but I was still able to tease her phenomenal nipples out to their one inch erect length. "Oh Ted... wait until the girls have gone," she said and it came out in that hoarse whisper that made my five pound gonads ache. "Look what you've done to me," she added rubbing her wrists against her plump 'C' cup jugs trying to erase the evidence of wandering hands from the front of her blouse. After the dishes, I stayed in the rec-room away from the girls and their preparations. Recalling the ball busting outfit our house guest had worn to the family gathering I didn't think I could stand to see her outfit for a party with her peers. When I heard them leave I stripped down to my briefs and put on a favorite porn DVD in absolute confidence of how the evening was going to play out. I am proud to admit that my wife standing in the doorway to the rec-room in her blue baby doll with the fur like trim took my breath away. She just stood there for a moment seeming to soak in my appreciation. Then like a cold glass of water over the head she said, "Shit!" "What?" I groaned hoping the problem was minor, or at least postpone-able. "Greta left her coat here," she held up the German girl's parka which was lying on the little bench beside the door that led to the garage. "I know it's mild out now but by the time they come home she's going to need it." It was just like Mary to mother everybody including me. "She's a big girl honey... if she decided to go without a coat it's none of your concern. Like you said she may pay the price on the walk home," I soothed as I walked over to her and nuzzled her neck. "Okay," she sighed letting her head fall back and tossing the coat back on the hall seat. Our mouths and tongues engaged as I danced us across the room toward the couch. The heavy bass sound track of the porno flick was our music. Mary folded onto the seat of the sofa and I to my knees in front of her. I trailed kisses down her neck and along her collar bone, eventually reaching the neatly tied little bow between her breasts. Pulling the ribbon with my teeth I nuzzled and licked my way across her boobie pushing the translucent blue lace away with my nose and cheek. Brushing my lips like a feather across her semi erect nipple drew a moan and she entwined her fingers in my hair as I repeated the process on the other side. I rolled her ever stiffening right nipple with my tongue before taking the plump rubbery tip fully in my mouth, sucking and lightly biting the way over twenty years of marriage had taught me that she liked. Her knees parted further and she began to squirm underneath me as I lavished the same attention on her other tit, bringing my hand up to caress and tweak the saliva coated nipple that I'd just left. Her steady moans encouraged me and I felt the tension building in her through her finger tips pressing ever more firmly into the back of my skull. I glanced up to see that her eyes were fixed on the plasma screen. I didn't know which lurid scene in particular was playing but I did know that Mary got quite a charge out of watching pornography though we did only very occasionally. Sliding down and lifting the furry hem of the baby doll top I licked and sucked my way across her womanly tummy taking my time around her navel to kiss and probe it with my tongue. Her vocal appreciation was getting louder and her hips had begun to rock when I heard an unexpected sound. My ears pricked up and I looked in the direction of the rec-room door but saw nothing. Not wanting an insane attack of paranoia to spoil the moment I pushed the strange noise from my mind and tugged at the ribbons holding the lace triangle over my wife's naturally sparse bush. One hand on each hip, I released the bows in the securing ribbons. I couldn't help that my ears were listening, through the canned sounding repetitive movie sound track, through Mary's groans of arousal, searching for the foreign noise that I'd heard before. There was something there I thought. I couldn't localize or characterize it but I was pretty sure that it was actually there—intermittent. As I pulled the crotch of the thong away with my teeth and feasted my eyes on her steaming wetness, I forced the annoying distraction out of my head. Slowly and gently, barely touching with the flat of my tongue I made a pass over her plump interfolded lips. In spite of my watering mouth I felt and tasted the tiny trickle of her thick juices that had made it all the way to the surface. Her groan was deep and encouraging. There is no secret to being good at cunnilingus. If you truly enjoy it, for it own sake, and not as a prelude or concession then you'll be good at it. If you do it only for the purpose of promoting reciprocation or some sense of duty then you'll probably do a poor job. Stiffening my tongue to part her incredibly soft folds I probed and explored her flooded interior moving up until I felt the nubbin of her clit on its tip. God forgive me but just for an instant my mind made a comparison with the tiny bit of nectar I'd extracted from Greta's used panties the previous morning; the ones that were still secreted away in the pocket of my robe. Tasting the Forbidden Fruit I shook my head partly as a technique and partly to clear the sinful thought from my mind. I let the wonderful feeling of her labia wrapped around my tongue displace the recollection of my evil deed. Up and down, around and around, with a firm tongue then soft I explored every millimeter of her vulva and then repeated. Varying the pace, very fast for a few seconds and then slow to the point of being almost stationary I felt Mary's sexual tension growing. The moans were nearly gasps and her hips began to twitch as I sucked most of her inner lips and clitoral hood into my mouth. The shivering told me that it was time and I focused everything on her prominent love button. She jerked and grabbed the back of my head emitting a long wail as the ecstasy of her climax overwhelmed her. I continued to lap up the delicious fluids that had been force out by the vaginal contractions, careful to stay away from her hyper sensitive post orgasmic clit, while she spasmed with the aftershocks. When I felt her tugging at me I knew that she'd returned to planet Earth. Compliantly I pushed my way up on to the couch beside her and we kissed tenderly. I had often wondered but never asked how she felt about tasting herself on my mouth. Prurient dreams of watching lesbian sex invaded my thoughts and suddenly I was envisioning Greta under the blanket on this very same couch. Curiously it was Mary and not Lisa sharing the cuddle with our German house guest, in defiance of the scene that I'd actually witnessed. We were still kissing but I felt my wife's hand extracting my erect cock from my shorts. Moving up and down very gently with a slight twisting motion made me realize how hard and needy I was. As I said if you truly enjoy performing oral sex it is all absorbing. I, as usual, had forgotten my own arousal focusing all my attention on pleasuring the woman I married; gauging her reaction to every maneuver, every speed change and adjusting accordingly. In a strange way, at some point it wasn't even really sexual for me. It was more like watching her reaction when she opened an expensive gift that I knew she was going to love as she climbed the ladder toward fulfillment. Now that she was satisfied—partially, for the moment—I permitted myself to wade into the warm glow of my own physical needs. She moved sideways to get a better angle of attack and lowered her head to my lap. I held her silky red hair out of the way as she engulfed my organ and began sucking. She tugged ineffectually at my briefs so I lifted my hips and stripped them off for her. I opened my legs as she slipped her hand between my hairy thighs and cradled the family jewels. That's when the tension that had built up in my scrotum reasserted and I realized how horny I was. I think Mary is good at oral sex for the same reason that I am. I lay back and let the wonderful sensations flow over me for a while. The building tension in my balls told me that it was decision time. Lifting her head away from my throbbing dick I croaked, "Sit on it." Mary smiled and twisted around. With her knees straddling me she reached between us and guided my manhood into her hot tight slippery channel. The expression on her face, closed eyes, biting her lip and deep sigh as she lowered herself slowly onto my rigid prod thrilled me. When she began pumping her hips up and down in slow steady rhythm I couldn't help thinking that this had to be the most fabulous sensation a human male can experience. I placed my right hand on her groin and pressed on the root of her clit firmly with my thumb. The pressure forced her clitoral glans out so that it brushed the bumpy texture of the back of my dick. The direct, if teasingly gentle stimulation of her pleasure center caused her to increase the pace. Watching her full round titties giggle and sway as she bounced up and down on my pole sent me higher and deeper into the sensuality. The heat in my loins began the inexorable exponential rise that forecast my immanent ejaculation. Mary seemed to have lost her rhythm and was now pausing at the top of her stroke and then slamming herself down my shaft with long quick thrusts. She reached up and grabbed her breasts pulling hard on her distended nipples. I'd never known if she did it spontaneously, or because she knew that it drove me over the edge. When her head went back and all the air came out of her lungs the ecstatic sound of her orgasm was unmistakable. I felt the hot wave that seemed to start in my feet gain strength and momentum as it rose up my legs and exploded in my crotch. It was like one of those huge Hawaiian surfing waves crashing into the rocky shore. My over filled balls spasmed almost painfully as the ejected their cargo deep inside my wife's pussy. I lay there semi reclined on the couch trying to hold on to the fleeting ecstasy as the aftershocks and pure bliss enveloped me like a warm blanket. The next moments are not entirely clear. When I was able to sense the world again I was stretched out on the rec-room sofa with my almost naked wife lying on her side on top of me; her head resting on my upper chest and her hand languidly stroking my hairy belly fondly. The menu for the porn DVD was displayed on the TV screen so I knew it was over. I'm not sure how long we stayed like that basking in the afterglow and dozing. What broke the spell was feeling Mary stir, plant a soft kiss on my upper chest and push herself to a sitting position. Noting her droopy eyelids through my own half closed eyes, I saw her wiggle her fingers at me in a parting gesture. Looking over the back of the couch I watched her mature rump exit the room, her thong panties dangling from her hand. God save me! A vision of Greta's tight round honey dew melon bum invaded my mind. I shuddered with shame. Hauling my sorry ass off the couch I stumbled on wobbly legs out into the hallway half asleep. I nearly tripped over the hall seat and stood looking at it as if it had maliciously attacked me. There was something wrong with what I saw but in my stuporous state I couldn't figure out what it was. The little bench was empty and looked just the way it normally looked. I put the weird 'something's missing' thought down to the same mental quirk as the auditory hallucination I'd had just as I was going down on my sexy wife. My mind was as agile as frozen molasses and it took all the focus I could muster just to get myself into bed. I heard Mary's soft snoring for an instant and then I was gone. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> "I'm going to visit my mother today," Mary shared as she sat down at the breakfast table and I reflexively cringed. When I realized the she'd said 'I' and not 'we' I felt a wonderful wave of relief. My wife's father had died two summers ago and within months her mother had begun an Olympic Skeleton paced decent down the icy slope into dementia. Before the year was out we knew we had to get her into an assisted living facility where she could live out the remainder of her days in safety and as much comfort as we could afford. The 'home' we finally chose was perfect except for one thing—it was almost a two hour drive away. Mary and I made that day consuming trek once a month for the next year. She often went by herself in between our Sunday excursions. Over the last six or eight months the trips had become less frequent. It had reached the stage where Gladys wasn't even sure who Mary was all the time. She rarely had any idea who I was. "I convinced Lisa to come with me," she informed me as she poured herself a cup of coffee. I glanced at my daughter across the kitchen table and saw the look of resignation on her face. "I'd like to get an early start, so... do you mind if I leave you with the clean up?" Hmmm let's see—twenty minutes of putting the breakfast dishes away or a six hour ordeal traveling to see a woman who barely had a fingernail hold on the planet—not a tough decision. "No honey that's fine," I agreed. She kissed me on the cheek and whispered low enough that the girls wouldn't hear, "thanks for last night... we must do that more often." I might have responded but she was already on her way out of the kitchen. I sat drinking coffee thinking about what I was going to do with the unplanned day of solitude. My vacationing brain wandered and drifted finding no focus. I heard Mary sending Lisa out to start the van a moment before she appeared in the doorway, her coat on and pulling the suede gloves over her hands. "Remember the girls are leaving tonight on the late bus," she reminded. "Please stay out of the beer and booze so you can drive them... you know how I hate driving at night." "No problem hon' good luck with your mom." I watched them back out of the drive through the kitchen window. It was a good thing Mary mentioned the late bus departure because I had forgotten all about it. It was Lisa's idea. She found out that after a certain time the fare was cheaper. I wasn't overly comfortable with her arriving back on campus after dark, but she'd have Greta with her—safety in numbers. I found it hard to argue with her frugal decision especially since I was still footing a lot of the bills. Breakfast had consisted of fresh fruit, yogurt, toast and coffee of course; so clean up was a snap taking even less than the twenty minutes that I'd estimated. Walking out into the hall still having no idea what I was going to do; I contemplated whether I should get dressed or just stay in my lounging suit, one of the many Mary'd bought me. "Mister Wayne... I think the tap's leaking again," Greta's voice gave me a start, I'd all but forgotten that she was here. Standing at the bottom of the stairs she looked as adorable as ever in her skirt and top, but a little flushed I thought. Her eyes were a bit downcast in an expression that I was interpreting as guilt. 'Did she think I was going to hold her responsible for what could only have been caused by my shoddy distracted workmanship?' The faint rumble in my loins caused by my daughter's college friend and the re-emergence of the plumbing issue brought back the shameful memory. I just stood there looking at her and found myself reevaluating her facial expression. It wasn't guilt; there was a hint of a smirk under there—playfulness, deceit—I could figure it out. "I better have a look," I finally managed and caught a hint of her soapy fragrance as I passed by her to go up to the bedroom. I suppose I was aware that she was right behind me but I didn't pay it any mind. Facing the vanity I saw no evidence of drips or leaks. I turned the valves both on and off a couple of times in case the washer on the tap I hadn't fixed had failed (which wouldn't be unusual). Opening the cabinet I peeked underneath. No sign of moisture there either. Exiting the washroom to ask the carefree little fraulein what it was that she had seen my whole world changed in the blink of an eye. At first I thought I was having a heart attack—no my heart was fully stopped and so was my breathing. I could almost feel my eyes bugging out of my head. She was standing there wearing the black garter belt and stockings (I assumed the same one's she'd worn Christmas Eve) and NOTHING else. "I thought it would take you longer," she said with a smile that went straight to my groin. What I'd seen of her before in the double reflected image did not prepare me for her true magnificence. It was like I had seen a thumb nail of her beauty and now here she was giving me the live life size version. There was no thinking or reasoning possible. The response of my manhood was immediate and affirmative. It may sound absurd but there was shyness in her smile as she watched the bulge in my lounging suit pants grow and distend. A moment after I thought I was going to drop dead from shock, and that my heart and breathing had totally stopped, I realized that my heart was racing and I was gulping air like I was running a marathon. "I know you've been looking at me all week," my German house guest revealed (so much for my trying to be discrete). I hadn't really been looking at her all week. I'd been trying to recapture or conjure from memory the image from the day that I'd come up to repair the faucet the first time. There was no need for imagination now. May I be excused for the way my eyes were drinking in her perfect body. The high grapefruit sized breasts with the pebbly pale strawberries on top held my attention for several seconds but inevitably my eyes drifted down over her flat yet soft looking tummy to the narrow close cropped golden landing strip above the crease that defined her gender. To my bugged out eyes there appeared to be the same light pink flush on her mons that I had seen on her face. Down the center of the plump peach the deeper pink of her girlish treasures peeked enticingly. The flair of her hips was very subtle; just enough to accent the pinch of her waist. The whole delectable banquet of her pelvis was framed and erotically enhanced by the lacy black belt around her waist and the ribbons extending down to the tops of the smoke colored hose. My brain was trying to convert what I was seeing to permanent, high-def, 3D storage. Greta stood patiently allowing me to explore her visually. When I was finally able to get my eyes back up to her face the sweetness of the expression on her beautiful space went to my balls and squeezed. "I thought I owed you something extra for being so nice to me and giving me a Christmas that I otherwise wouldn't have had." 'That was it?' 'This is a late Christmas present for taking her in during the holidays?' It seemed to me that Mary had much more to do with making the young German girl feel at home and part of the family than I had. My wife would certainly not appreciate the thank you gift the way I was. "I... uh, saw you and uh... and Missus Wayne together last night," Greta confessed and the flush on her face became a full unmistakable blush. "I... I saw what you were doing to her." My mind swam through the fog, back to the previous night's love making. The noises I'd heard; and when I'd started up to bed, the strange feeling that something was missing from the hall seat—Greta's coat! The fact that the gorgeous voyeur had given clues seemed immaterial now. She had seen me go down on my wife. That would certainly have been disconcerting if I'd realized it at the time—not being an exhibitionist—but finding out about it now, the next day, was only mildly embarrassing. "Could you... I mean would you do that to me?" Just when I thought I was beginning to get a bit of a handle on this incredible situation she threw the high hard one. It felt like my heart rate, blood pressure, and respiration doubled instantly. They were far from normal before she made the request but they were now back to the 'call nine-one-one' levels I'd experienced when I came out of the ensuite bathroom. My jaw dropped and my dick nodded approval by bobbing its head repeatedly. "I could do something for you too... if you want," she offered obviously focused on the lurid show in the front of my pants. 'IF I WANT!' It would have been more comfortable if my balls had been in a vise. The pressure was intolerable. She was moving toward me and for a moment I thought she was going to grab my aching cock. I suppose that was wishful thinking. She sat on the bed and spread her legs, just a little, not lewdly—invitingly. 'No heterosexual man could resist this,' I consoled myself as I sank to my knees. Greta lifted her legs onto my shoulders. She crossed her ankles behind me and I felt her heel between my shoulder blades urging me forward. It was the baby fresh soapy smell giving way to her womanly musk that flipped the switch. Conscience and guilt disappeared like a puff of smoke in the breeze of the sensual offering. Up close her vulva looked even more like succulent fruit that it had from a distance. Pulling me forward with her feet had brought her knees up until they were almost in line with her hips. The spectacular pink groove down the center of her puffy womanhood had opened enough for me to see the details of the delicate folds, blossoming like an edible flower with dew drops coating its petals. The first contact of my tongue with the feverish damp labia was heavenly for both of us. I echoed the deep moaning sigh from my daughter's classmate while exploring the petals gently with the very tip of my tongue. The cavalcade of vulvas that I had been privileged to orally explore, swirling in my mind, came as a surprise. Mary's of course was first and by far the clearest. My wife's labia were much longer and thicker than the German girl's. It had been twenty-five years since I'd even thought about having my mouth on another woman in this way. I would later be amazed that the comparison didn't ignite feelings of guilt and remorse. It was simply an observation; like looking at a work of art for the first time and comparing it to other wondrously beautiful sights in memory. The images of other pussies from my past, before I fell in love with and married Mary, were fainter and less detailed but they were all there in some form. Slowly and patiently I began to explore Greta's womanhood taking close note of her responses. I concluded that her clitoris was extremely sensitive. Whenever I went near the glans itself she jerked and yelped. Her greatest sustainable pleasure came lower down, around her vaginal opening, and from the 'legs' of her clitoris that extended along the top edge of her inner lips. That's where I concentrated my efforts. Having identified where, I began experimenting with the other two main components—pressure and speed. She seemed to prefer a lighter touch with a soft tongue at least in these early stages. That of course is the art; the most effective method changes as the arousal grows. You are tracking a moving target so variations in the technique are constant, as is monitoring the reaction. The challenge that inspired me was to take her to the plateau; the height of arousal from which the precipice can be seen—felt. Once that is achieved the woman will strive toward it, toward the launch point that will send her spinning into the other dimension where the only thing that exists is physical ecstasy. My goal then becomes to hold her there on a plateau while encouraging and coaxing her to a higher elevation for her eventual trip over the edge. My mission is to take her to heights of arousal that she's never dreamed of. Greta reached the plateau very quickly. I located the spot and identified the motion that would catapult her into orgasm and then stayed away from it. Monitoring her sounds and movements I extended the incredible sensations that I knew were coursing through her as long as I dared. There is always danger of creating a stall. I always thought of it as a wall suddenly blocking the launch point, preventing ultimate release. Holding them too long on the plateau could cause that barricade to emerge. Her spot was just inside and at the top of her vagina. It wasn't the 'G' spot, but it was probably less than an inch in front of it. I thought it had as much to do with her urethra as it did with her clit. Her whole body went into spasm and the strangely muffled sound I heard made me look up across the heaving plain of her tummy and between the plump hills of her breasts. It looked as though she was trying to eat the pillow. There was no reason that she needed to stifle the vocal component of her orgasm—we were the only ones in the house—but I assumed it was habit formed because she usually came in much less private circumstances. It was part of the art, knowing when to stop the stimulation. You never really knew when you got it perfectly right. I always preferred to avoid being pushed away, which is the quintessential sign that you'd stayed too long. Tasting the Forbidden Fruit I sat back to enjoy the aftermath of what I had wrought. The soft mewing sounds and body shudders were rewarding—evidence of a satisfactory job. The duration of the delirium was like a performance meter. A full minute in the throes of the after shocks was something of a target, but one that was rarely achieved. I climbed up on the bed beside my post orgasmic house guest and wasn't particularly surprised to find that my erection was at half mast. Concentrating on her needs and focusing on her every reaction left little room to sustain my own arousal. Propping my head up on my elbow watching her perfect twenty something body twitch, blood began to pump back into my member. Recalling her offer 'I could do something for you too... if you want,' made my balls ache. I wasn't using a stop watch but when her eyes flickered open and she smiled I decided to give myself an eight out of ten. Seeming a little less coordinated than usual she twisted around on the bed and pulled my lounging suit pants, along with my briefs, down to my knees. Looking up at me with her big blue eyes it was a scene straight out of a porn movie and my balls reacted as expected. Her blonde curls were short enough that the toss of her head to get them out of the way as she descended on my uncut penis was really unnecessary, but adorable nonetheless. Retracting my foreskin and planting a kiss on the very tip before probing the slit with her tongue told me that she'd not only done this before, but that she'd had some expert coaching. It had been a quarter of a century since lips other than my wife's had been on my organ, and not surprisingly her technique was thrillingly different. I didn't focus on the details of what she was doing but just let the marvelous sensations flow together. If there was a moment when the sinfulness of this never dreamed of tryst tried to emerge I managed to push it aside and immerse myself in the pure sensuality. What was making the experience all the more pleasurable was perception that Greta was enjoying her task. If you truly enjoy giving head, and you're not doing for selfish reasons, then you'll be good at it. The German college girl was GOOD. I put my hands on Greta's head pushing her gently away when I felt my balls clench and the inevitable discharge was only seconds away. My wife, as with many women, did not like cum in her mouth. In fact in my not inconsiderable sexual experience I'd only encountered two women who were okay with it. Greta turned out to be the third. She not only ignored my warning, she sucked harder. The release was magnificent to say the least. It felt like she was pulling my nuts right out through the end of my dick and she didn't stop until after the fourth and final ejaculation. It was my turn to lie there in the other dimension unable to think or even comprehend the events of the real world. When my senses began to return I heard water running from the tap in the bathroom, the one that I'd come to repair—remember? The unbelievability of what had happened in the previous hour hit me. My sexually satiated body chemistry allowed my big head to take over and my guilty conscience to overwhelm me. 'What would I say to her when she returned... what would she say to me?' Cowardice won out and I pulled up my pants and left. She might have pursued me but she didn't. I went to my bedroom and got properly dressed. Walking around in pajamas, alone in the house with my daughter's gorgeous friend now seemed inappropriate—incriminating. Greta spent the rest of our time alone in the bedroom packing. When Mary and Lisa came in I struggled to hide my guilt feelings, but judging from my wife's quizzical looks I had the feeling that I hadn't done a very good job. My conscience colored my perception. As I sit here writing this on New Year's Eve, Mary is up in the kitchen preparing food for our traditional private celebration. I'd been barely able to look Greta in the face when I dropped them off at the bus last evening. She, on the other hand, behaved as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. It felt weird shaking her hand at the doorway to the bus loading platform after hugging my daughter. It was one of the few times I was able to make eye contact with her following our adulterous afternoon. There were many ways to interpret the sparkle in her eye and the adorable smile on her lips. As I watched them board the bus I realized it was most likely that I would never see her again. I'm thinking about buying the diamond necklace that Mary's had her eyes on for quite a while. I know that the gift would be for me and not her; a hopeless attempt to quell the guilt. Ironically it would probably raise suspicions that don't currently exist. I'm trying to exonerate myself—blame it all on the German temptress—so far without success. I'm going to have to find away to make it up to the love of my life in a way that soothes my conscience without creating an entirely new problem.