Worth Waiting ForWorth Waiting For


I was in my home workshop, when I heard her: “Hello Ben, what are you busy with today?”

The honest answer was ‘not much at all’ — the best thing about retirement is being able to put off until tomorrow, whatever you can’t be arsed to do today — but having turned to find my wife Sarah’s younger sister in the doorway, I actually replied: “Hi Julie, I’ve just finished servicing the lawn mower and was about to go and make a myself cup of tea; can I offer you one? Sarah’s not in I’m afraid.”

Julie’s a slim, leggy, redhead and still as fit as a butcher’s dog; she’ll be fifty-six next birthday but looks a ten years younger and might even pass for forty in sympathetic light. Julie’s wardrobe remains young too — mutton dressed as lamb as Sarah so often says — and today was no different. Actually, today perhaps was; even by Julie’s standards she was offering quite an eyeful: hair tied back in a pony tail, wearing white plimsolls, bare-legs, a skirt whose hem finished comfortably above her knees and a tight blouse tied in a bow beneath her boobs and exposing her belly; four kids and still washboard flat, how does she do it?

I spent a good few seconds appreciating the sight; Julie’s attire seemed more suited to a game of tennis or a picnic in the park, rather than calling around at ours, Jeez but those legs just went on forever. Julie still hadn’t replied and she looked nervous, almost uncomfortable, I thought for one moment that she was going to turn on her heel and run, At the last, Julie halted in the doorway, stepped back inside and closed the door. Curious.

When Julie turned back around she was looking a little more relaxed and sashayed — Julie never ambled, or even simply walked like we mere mortals — across the workshop, turning to lean back against the work-bench as she finally spoke. “No I’ve just had a coffee before coming over thanks. I knew Sarah was out for the day; it was you that I was hoping to catch up with.”

‘Curiouser and curiouser.’ Actually, that was my second thought; the first had been: ‘You’re going to get your skirt dirty off that bench’. Julie’s a fastidious lady, so her choice of seat was yet another thing to be curious about, but her coming around for chat with me; now that was definitely intriguing. My Sister-in-Law is living proof of that old adage about beauty being only skin-deep; on occasion she can be… difficult, but for the most part, Julie’s an absolute bitch.

Our animosity stretches way back, but we share a connection through Sarah, so I’ve learnt to tolerate her; however, chummy conversations, especially private ones were certainly not something we went in for. I was struggling to think of what to say, so with the silence between us growing, I played safe and asked after her husband: “How’s Charles doing… (He’d had prostate cancer surgery a while back)…his chemo treatment’s finished now isn’t it?”

“As well as we could have hoped I suppose; he went for a check-up just last week and his PSA levels are looking very good, but as for the rest…” Julie made a small hand gesture, hanging her index finger loosely downward and giving it a wiggle – “… he’s never going to get back to managing anything more with it than emptying his bladder.”

Too much information; I winced: “Sorry to hear that, but at least he’s going to survive it.”

“Charles mustn’t know that I’ve told you that; don’t mention it to him, ever!” When I nodded in response, Julie added: “He doesn’t know I’ve come here today either, so keep that quiet too.” I gave that instruction a silent nod also.

We returned to silence and Julie was again beginning to looking distinctly uncomfortable; perhaps to cover for that she began gazing around my workshop: “This place reminds me of Dad’s garage when I was a kid; all the tools and machinery.”

“I guess it ought to; that lathe, the milling machine and the press-drill were all your fathers, your mum gave them to me when he died and I moved them up here; even that workbench you’re leaning against was your dad’s.”

Julie ran a contemplative hand across the bench top, then looked directly toward me and smiled: “Of course it is, I should’ve recognised it straight away… do you still remember daddy’s work-bench too?”

Shit a brick! The cogs finally meshed, gears turned and the penny dropped; did Julie mean what I thought she did? Even her attire made sense now. That was over thirty years ago; hell, nearer to forty, Julie was barely eighteen and I would’ve been twenty-four; just after I got engaged to Sarah. I was fixing my motorbike in her dad’s garage when kaçak iddaa Julie strutted in, having returned from playing Frisbee or some-such with her friends; she’d glowed with perspiration.

Just like today she wore a short skirt and sneakers, her hair in a pony-tail and a tight blouse tied-off below her boobs; I clearly recall, that blouse had but a single button fastened and no bra beneath it! I don’t remember our conversation, but within three minutes we’d been in a clinch, Julie’s tongue halfway down my throat while I had one hand inside her blouse and the other beneath her skirt; five seconds later and it would’ve been inside her pants!

“Why am I not surprised? Go to your room Julie. Immediately!”

We separated in an instant, silently and with eyes downcast, Julie turned away, slipped past her mother standing in the doorway and scurried away; I was also looking to the ground and thinking ‘Oh Fuck!’

I kept my head bowed and as I recall, never once made eye-contact with Angela, my future mother-in-law, throughout our conversation; I say conversation, it was more of a monologue, I don’t think I ever spoke: “I don’t blame you Ben, Julie is rather difficult to resist; but you can’t have both of my daughters and you’ve already got the better one. Don’t go trading-in Sarah for Julie, take that route and you’ll end-up with neither. Ever since they were children, Julie’s invariably wanted whatever toy Sarah was playing with and you’re no different; once you dump Sarah, Julie will soon lose interest and drop you like a hot potato.” That was it; Angela just walked out leaving me to consider her words and has never mentioned the incident since.

Julie’s implied offer was as tempting now as it had been then, but what of the consequences? My mind was still spinning through those when Julie interrupted; “There’s no risk this time Ben; I have as much and probably more to lose than you should Sarah or Charles ever find out. I don’t want any sort of ‘relationship’, I’m just desperate for a discrete fuck and I think you’re the man for the job. I know you want me, you always have and from conversations with Sarah over the years, it sounds as if you’re well equipped for the task.”

I didn’t say anything in reply, my only response being another nod of the head, but that proved sufficient for us both and after a thirty-seven year hiatus we resumed our embrace. In the instant before my hand finally slipped inside her panties I glanced nervously over Julie’s shoulder toward the door and was relieved to find that Angela wasn’t standing there once again.

The moment was everything that I’d imagined and believe me, during those intervening years I’ve imagined it often! My fingers trawled through a thick quilt of coarse hair — I’d still to see it, but I just knew that it would be flame-red, a ‘burning-bush’ of biblical grandeur — and at it’s centre I found the caldera of molten pleasure, which I’d fantasised of quenching with equal regularity.

Julies response also met my expectations and more; a twisting thrust of her hips to grind my searching fingers in even deeper, accompanied by a powerful, feral groan. I penetrated Julie again, garnering a similar reaction, but as I delivered a third intrusion, she grabbed me firmly by the wrist and squealed “Nooooo…” I could’ve squealed myself – in frustration – if in that moment if Julie’s hands hadn’t begun scrabbling at the waistband of my jeans as her plea concluded: “…I can get that at home, it’s your cock that I need”

With Julie already well on her way to shifting the obstruction of my jeans and boxers I moved to reciprocate, moving my hands to the waistband of her panties; this garnered a second and perhaps even louder denial: “Noooooo! We wouldn’t have risked taking those off; just pull them aside, I want fucking like we would’ve done it then!”

I thought all my Christmases had arrived at once; it’s been exactly that interrupted scenario which has filled my fantasies over the years; I thought to suggest it would be crass, but if Julie wanted it that way too… had she carried similar regrets and frustrations? With jeans now below my knees I pushed Julie back against the workbench, then slid my hands south, leaving Julie’s pants where I’d found them and pressing her thighs wider apart. One hand found my own cock and guided it toward my goal, as the other jerked the Julie’s pants unnecessarily roughly to one side.

Julie’s low groan suggested that had been precisely how she’d wanted it and with the testosterone fuelled urgency of a youngster — it was no effort to recreate! kaçak bahis – I pressed my cock-head between the soft folds of Julie’s labia and jerked my hips forward to achieve that long overdue penetration. Julie’s cleft proved to be as warm and welcoming as I’d long anticipated; if anything, it was perhaps even tighter than in my dreams? How could that be, Julie’s now borne four kids for Christ sake!

Julie’s tall so I’d barely needed to bend my knees to enter her and Julie’s stance against the bench, placed her perfectly to allow me to thrust forward and upward; with three aggressive penetrations I’d speared my whole length inside her. I think I did so in silence, but even if I had made any sound, it would’ve been drowned out by the cacophony which erupted from Julie’s mouth.

Julie went totally ape-shit! A gasped: ‘Oh yesss, that’s it’. In response to my initial penetration was followed by a much louder: “Again… and harder” while ahead of the next came an outright shout: “Bang it in to me… that’s how I want it!” My subsequent thrusts were accompanied by Julie’s ululating and incomprehensible howls and screams of release.

Julie’s fingernails were biting into my back even through the fabric of my shirt and her left leg flew up to wrap behind my arse, pressing me even further and harder inside herself. That’d been on only the seventh or eighth penetration, whereafter Julie’s whole body tremored against mine and I could feel her pussy pulsing and clenching around my cock; she’d come like the apocryphal train!

It was only after the event that I was able to revel in the glory of Julie’s orgasm; my initial thought had been ‘Thank Christ’ because that final penetration had taken me over the edge too and as Julie’s snatch pulsed around my cock, it had been milking me dry. My consolation was in knowing that I’d held on until Julie had climaxed, albeit only just; if we’d achieved our consummation all those years ago, I suspect I’d have shot my load when I first entered Julie.

I’d ample time for such contemplation, we rested against that bench and each other for long minutes, certainly longer than the act itself had taken; each locked in their own silent thoughts and ‘what if’ memories. It was Julie who eventually disturbed our tableau and in a way beyond even my wildest imaginings:

Standing upright and breaking our embrace, she pressed me back against the workbench, dropped to her knees on the garage floor — it’s covered with an old carpet, but that’s even filthier than the bench — wrapped a hand around my flaccid cock and looked me directly in the eyes: “Does Sarah suck it for you?”

I know that a Gentleman shouldn’t tell, but the sight of my ever immaculate and fastidious Sister-in-Law, kneeling on that squalid carpet, with my sticky post-coital prick in her hand was incontestable; I slowly nodded by way of reply.

“I thought so, Sarah has always been far more… earthy than I am. I’ve never had a cock in my mouth, not even Charles’; in fact especially not Charles’! I wouldn’t have been able to meet his gaze across the breakfast table afterwards; besides, that was never the sort of woman that Charles was looking to marry. As for the men before Charles, well, I simply couldn’t have tolerated the thought of them perhaps telling their friends and then have those people see me in the street and know I’d done that.” Julie ended her recital with a theatrical shudder.

Julie paused to throw me a saucy smile before continuing: “But we don’t share a breakfast table do we and you’ve already agreed to keep silent about this unto the grave.” My mouth was agape even before Julie rocked forward on her knees and fed the head of my flaccid cock between her lips. Fuuuuuck!

It was far from the best blow-job I’ve ever received and confirmed Julie’s claim that it was her first time; for a large part,especially in the beginning, it seemed as if Julie wasn’t interested in arousing me, just in ticking the oral-sex box. I didn’t dare to direct her, that’d have been seen as a criticism and one didn’t criticise Julie; ever! With regular ‘oh yesses’ and ‘that’s the ways’, a few moans and groans plus the occasional yelp things did improve by the end.

I certainly didn’t look at my watch, but perhaps five minutes? By the end though, I was once again as stiff as an iron bar; how long had it been since I’d managed two erections inside an hour? Hell, nowadays I counted it a success if I managed two stiffies in a day! But that was the crux, Julie didn’t need to be ‘good’; any blow-job from the irreproachable Julie’s pristine lips could illegal bahis not be ignored, this was the Ice-Queen’s mouth I was inside.

Julie rocked back on her heels and a moment later a Cheshire-Cat grin spread across her face: “You’re hard again. The Bitch-Sister’s sucked you hard again… that’s how you refer me isn’t it… when you’re talking to Sarah… I’m her ‘bitch of a sister’.” My face coloured; she wasn’t wrong, in conversations with Sarah, I would often refer to Julie as your ‘Bitch of a Sister’.

I was relieved to see that Julie had been smiling as she spoke and that smile became playful as she continued: “So you’ve fucked the frustrated bitch, had your cock sucked by the filthy bitch, what do you want next?” I didn’t need or get the chance to reply. Julie spun around to face away from me, landing on her hands and knees on the workshop floor; she looked back over one shoulder and that playful smile had turned raunchy: “How about a horny bitch?” Julie wiggled her hips and laughed playfully “I’m a bitch in heat, woof, woof; so why don’t you fuck me like one?”

I didn’t need a second invitation, I was on my knees behind her in an instant, flicking up her skirt to find her panties still disarrayed and finally setting eyes on her bush; sullied by a spattering of my semen, but still the lush auburn forest which I’d so long envisaged. I would have so liked to slip off Julie’s panties for an unimpeded view and perhaps even take the time to taste that honey-pot, but as Julie hadn’t suggested either, I guessed that she wanted them leaving there; I wasn’t gainsaying her, that’s never a good idea with Julie.

Easing my prick past Julie’s panties the head gently parted her labia once again; this time I sank into her with a single, easy stroke, culminating in a shared gasp of satisfaction. The games were over and with one load already drained, I’d no concerns about my endurance; I promised myself that Julie was going to receive the fucking of her life! A harsh, bestial pounding drew an orgasm from Julie within a minute and having allowed that one to ebb I thereafter – for the most part at least — slowed things down and concentrated on varying pace, angle, depth to see just what hit Julie’s spot; spiralling out on withdrawals seemed a favourite!

Julie’s orgasms were consistent, perhaps three or four minutes apart and whilst not checking the time, I know she’d had four or five at least before her urgent plea of: “No, stop, I’m too sore to carry on!”

With a load in my balls just beginning to rise, I was for a moment crestfallen, then my spirits sky-rocketed when I learnt that this soreness was in Julie’s knees rather than her pussy. Julie rolled onto her back and we carried on; as a bonus I was for the first time granted a clear view of Julie’s breasts. Far from the largest, but beautifully shaped, still firm and topped with a pair of the largest nipples that I’d ever laid eyes on!

Knowing that I couldn’t last much longer – that moment of fear that I’d missed my chance perhaps inciting my balls to let go? – I stopped trying. One hand between Julie’s legs, working on her clitoris, my mouth feasting on those plump nipples, I again pounded into her like a man possessed; thankfully Julie’s final climax again arrived just prior to my own noisy and powerful release.

We lay in a sweat-soaked heap on that grimy carpet, struggling for breath and perhaps to regain our senses; in Julie’s case at least, also some semblance of decorum. Dishevelled didn’t begin to cover it and I struggled not to laugh as I watched Julie climb to her feet and attempt to repair the damage; it was a lost cause, but my ever prepared sister-in-law made a good try. There were hygienic wipes, spare panties and even panty-pads stowed inside her copious handbag; I offered Julie the bathroom, but that garnered a horrified look as she snapped “After doing that! Inside Sarah’s house; I couldn’t possibly!”

I didn’t repeat the suggestion, instead I found some cleanish rags and fresh, albeit cold, water within the workshop and after perhaps five minutes Julie was once again presentable; or at least by the standards of we mortals, if not her own. Julie remained silent whilst she returned herself to apple-pie order and along with her poise, it seemed that her sense of propriety and respectability were also reclaimed; c’est la vie, it’d been nice while it lasted.

Julie was moving toward the door before she spoke again: “Not a word to anyone; ever!” As usual, I nodded my head by way of assent. Then when already half way through the door and in a far more casual tone, Julie added: “Sarah’s going to that horticultural show in Harrogate next month; perhaps you could find a cleaner piece of carpet before then?”

Julie was gone before I was able to voice a reply.

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