Pink Pearl

She had closed her eyes again, and I felt her squeeze the muscles of the inside of her thighs just then, felt her hips begin shaking. Her skirt was still up, her white panties which had been riveting my attention were in full view as I watched her squeeze again. I could see the wetness of her, the crotch of her panties were completely exposed, and her legs were open wider, with this light stain running up through the middle of her legs. Wet, so wet, making them more translucent. I could see wisps of hair beneath the fabric, and she squeezed her thighs, bringing legs together several times, pushing my hands together as I held them between her legs now, and I was matching my movements to hers.

These unspoken movements we shared, the rise of her hips with my thumps sliding along the inside of her thighs following the hem of her panties, scratching her labia with my thumb through the fabric. Each upward movement was just touching the fabric of her panties, and as she squeezed my thumb was touching the fabric. Its heat, the heat of her, I could feel the wetness of her each time she squeezed pushing my hands together up between her legs. Her trembling hips. I was still moving faster, as was she. I watched her lick her lips, I watched her stroke her stomach now, the pretense was gone.

She whispered out, "A little faster."

And I obliged. I did not say a word, I moved upon her. My cock was hard in my pants, but I was not even thinking about that. And then, she tensed, hard and curved her back, held her breath and let it out deeply, making no sound. A slight shudder, a whimper, and then a jerking of her hips, two jerks of her hips, and she lay her head to the side. Relaxing. Now unmoving, nothing.

I let go.

My senses were coming back to me, and I realized that she had just orgasmed. I had made her orgasm, she came here and got me to give her a massage and now I had masturbated her. I was only touching her thighs . . . but, I was realizing that she would be realizing the same thing as me. She would not open her eyes for me. She simply lay there.

What would we say?

I realized too that her top was up high, exposing the bottoms of her breasts. I could the soft swell of each breast, could not see her nipples. I kept looking up at her hand laying on her stomach and up to her breasts. Her skirt still raised high, could see her panties. Her breasts were not small like I had thought. All these thoughts running around between us.

Silence.

Then, the door downstairs.

"Mandy!"

Lisa jumped up out of the bed, pulling her top down, and then tugging her skirt to her knees and swiveling to the floor.

"You have to go out the back way."

" I need my shoes, it's cold outside." I looked at her as I was opening the door. Looked at her bare feet. She continued, "My shoes are downstairs."

"I'll get them. I'm so sorry Lisa. I . . ."

She eyed me. "No. . . Just go, downstairs. We can go. It's ok. I've been up here before. What would Mandy suspect?"

She was eyeing me. All guilt. It was my admission. She was right. This was ridiculous. Still just the word suspect, it was out. What had we done. Suspect, what would Mandy suspect.

"Ok. Ok. Lets go downstairs. You, ok?"

She just nodded. Not looking at me, holding her disheveled hair out of her eyes.

We walked downstairs and saw Mandy, I did not know what to say. We looked like we had been out in the sun all day.

Lisa went for her shoes and just said, "Thanks for the pictures."

I said with a vacant certainty, "Yeah, ok."

She looked at me with a that-was-interesting grin and left. I was crestfallen. This was not happening.

And she slipped out fast. I had no chance to talk this through, I had no idea if she was ok. This parting was supposed to be nonchalant, like every other. Without Mandy.

I looked at my wife. She was right, Mandy 'suspected' nothing.

********************

Later that evening I went outside for a walk.

I got on my cell phone and called Lisa, "Hello. Lisa? It's me . . ."

"I can't talk now."

She hung up.

I stared up at the sky.

Shit.

********************

To make matters worse, Lisa had a conference that I was going to go with her on. Lisa did not come over for the rest of the week and then, we were out of town. I decided not to call her, to put the whole thing out of my mind, to not think about it at all. Time would heal.

By the time I got back everything would be normal, back to normal. I vowed no more massages.

I kept all this turmoil from Mandy who was working out her schedules and what seminars she wanted to go to. At the same time I was like this dog in heat. I thought about, could not stop thinking about, what I had done with my own sister. I would look at my hands, and think of where they had been. I could literally remember each stroke on her body.

The first night in the hotel room, we had flown in and arriving late threw our stuff against the wall and were getting ready for bed. I was still in a heat, my thoughts on the long flight had been entirely composed of Lisa.

Mandy went into the bathroom and exited in her typical flannel nightgown. I stripped down to my boxers and wore no pyjamas. She eyed me as I got into the bed.

"I am tired."

Her mantra.

But something had snapped in me. I don't really know what it was, but I rolled to the middle of the bed and began to pull her nightgown off. She held to it, scolding.

I said, "You don't need that thing. This room is plenty warm." She paused and as I pulled at her, she relented. The lights were out, and she lay down next to me. I reached over and also unsnapped her bra and more. I began to slide it off her arms.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking your bra off."

"We are not doing anything tonight." I was to have none of it.

I quoted, "Wives be obedient to your husbands." And as I said those words I was pulling her closer toward me, and laying my hands down between her legs, pressing between her legs.

"What are you talking about?" She said. "Stop it. Matthew, stop it." And she was trying to slide away from me. She quoted, "Husbands respect your wives." I had my hand between her legs then, ribbing her there, holding her to me, began to slide my hands over her panty covered pussy. I remember thinking that very word as I held her.

Pussy.

I was holding my hand over the crotch of her panties.

I said, "Take these off."

"I will not." She began struggling, moving herself away.

"Then I will take them off of you."

She froze. Silence.

She did not move. I held her to me and kissed her, pulling her onto me, she was stiff and while not kissing me back, returned the kiss. I rubbed the small of her back, felt her soft skin as she press against me, closed my eyes. Imagining. I slid the back of her panties down exposing her ass. She was not stopping me.

"What has gotten into you? Stop." She said, reaching back to pull her panties back up.

"I want to sleep with you tonight. I need you."

At those words she softened. "You NEED me?"

I held her to me. I was trembling.

"You've never said that before." I felt her slide close and her one leg rise up over my leg. Her panties were down in back, tipped over her ass.

I lay my hand over her bare ass and said again, "Take these off."

The confusion in my mind as I said those words. I was trying to get my wife's panties off, but my fantasies were about taking Lisa's panties off. These images in my mind.

I could have lifted my hand up and catching the hem of her panties under her skirt, slid them down off her legs. I was convinced at that moment she would have let me. I would have watched her bare pussy moving as I slid my fingers along her thighs, watched the juices that stained those panties bubbling out of her, the parting of her pussy lips, my thoughts were wild. All these images tumbling out of me. The dark hairs of her pussy translucent through the thin fabric of her panties, the same color as her long dark hair, the same color as the downy soft hairs of the small of her back.

Mandy rolled onto her back and I could feel her panties sliding down her legs. In the darkness I knew she was naked. We would have sex naked for the first time. I took my boxers off, and felt my wife's hand grasping my hard cock. She touched me, held me stroked me. I felt her move toward me and I scooped her up and pulled her to me like I never had before. I had never been so hungry for her body before, I drank her in.

We pressed together, utterly skin to skin. Naked. I kissed her soft, and felt her mouth open and melt into me. It was wild. We lay on our sides and I felt her open her legs, felt the hair of her pussy against me, moving on my cock and then pushing between her legs, we were fucking. We were fucking. That is the word I use. It was not 'it' not 'the act' She was hungry, I could feel how she wanted me the way she moved on my body. The feel of her breasts moving up and down on my chest, sitting on me as I fucked up against her, falling down on my chest as I rolled her onto her back, and her legs opening wide, knees up. Her arms wrapped around my shoulders and she drew her nails down my back - she had never done that before.

New, all brand new. She whispered to me, "You need me. Oh, Matthew."

I was kissing her again, could see the whites of her eyes and her teeth, she had this open mouthed smile, this panting breath as I began to fill her, pound her. Pressing into her so deeply and rising up. She pulling her knees up higher letting me in as deeply as I could go. I fucked her, deep growls coming from me, holding my mouth to her ear and whispering, "I love you so much."

She held me tight to herself, and her small voice coming back, "I'm going to cum." The cry of her, the pain in her voice, she was loud and her body began to writhe against me. It occurred to me that my wife of two years may never have had an orgasm with me. "My god. Oh my god," she was panting.

And in that moment, it flashed in my mind I had made two women cum this past week, and then I was moving fast on my wife with her legs open, pounding her, feeling her coming down from her orgasm and I kept fucking her, like some animal fucked into her, until my cock was filling with cum, cumming hard into her.

She was, whimpering, "Slow, slow down, ahhhhh, too sensitive." Clawing my back and pulling at me, her head moving one way and the other. "Too . . ." And I was filling her, pumping cum into her, never have I felt so powerful, so alive, naked with my wife for the first time, clinging to each other. The sweat on our bodies, our eyes and limbs holding to each other clinging. I softened and lifting myself lightly looked into her eyes and kissed her softly, still feeling myself inside of her. Feeling now for the first time, the softness of her belly, her breasts pressed against my chest, our naked bodies twining together.

"What happened?" She cooed at last. I rolled on my side and she lay her leg over mine and molded her body to mine. She did not rise.

"You need to go to the shower?"

"In a little bit. What happened?"

"I made love to you."

"Not like that."

"I don't know. I just NEEDED you then."

She nuzzled her mouth into my neck and gave me these delicious little kisses. She began to cry.

I lay there looking off in the distance, realizing.

Guilt.

This gift from God.

*******************

My whole world was in a whirlwind when I got home. The weekend was the best sex I had ever had in my life. That first night we slept naked in each others arms. Mandy wanted to have sex the next morning, and every night of the conference. When we went to the conference dinner, we looked like lascivious fools, we could scarcely keep our hands off one another. It was truly wonderful. She was happier than I had ever seen her.

And the unspoken piece was that somewhere, somehow I knew it was all because of my sister Lisa, whom I could not stop thinking about since the last week. It was awful. Obsessive. Wonderful. I could not make sense of this. I should be feeling so happy this day, and I was. And yet this knot in my stomach. I felt awful, filled with desires I should not be having.

I needed to find a way to meet up with Lisa, I was not convinced she would come back to the house and I didn't want mom or dad around when I talked to her. I knew it had to stop. I wanted it to. But when I would think about it, in the moment . . . so sad to lose what we had, and then saying to myself. It is innocent.

When we got back, I kept trying to call her, but she could not talk and I stopped trying because I did not want to weird her out more than she probably was.

I finally walked to my parents house in the afternoon on a day I knew mom and dad weren't home, and suspected she probably was. I knocked and she answered.

Her eyes met mine, and we just looked at the other. She backed away and said, "Come in."

I sat down near her, I felt awkward, like I was sitting in some odd position. I don't know if that is how I always sat, I was just so self conscious, and she sat at the other end of the sofa. Looking down, taking short glances my way.

I simply started, "We need to talk."

She said in a flat voice, "You going to talk about what happened?"

"Yes."

"I should not have come over that day. . . it was a bad day. I just wanted you to give me that massage, like you do. I thought maybe . . . I don't know."

"I did it. You did nothing wrong. I feel that what I did was wrong." I emphasized 'I'

We both paused, she looked over at me. She got a wry grin just then, or I thought that is what I saw, "Everything alright at home? With Mandy I mean?"

"Yes."

"I don't want my problems to mess up YOUR life." I didn't like how she said your.

"Look, Lisa, you are not messing up my life. I had an idea, a way to help. I tried to help, and it WAS working. I like helping you, listening to you. And . . ."

"But you can't know what it is I am thinking. How can you?"

"You have been telling me."

"No I haven't. . . Not everything."

I paused.

"I can't. It's too . . . embarrassing."

I moved a little closer.

"Why?"

"Lets just say that we have a problem, leave it at that. You obviously felt guilt about what we did, trying to get me to sneak out the back like that. I don't want to do . . . 'It'. . anymore. You are right. We need to cool it."

I didn't like the insinuation that we were having a sexual relationship, that I felt guilt about it. The idea overwhelmed me. Is that what this was?

"Can we just have a moment here, to figure out what it is that is happening. What it is we are talking about. No more pronouns. Lisa, last week I was giving you a massage, to relax you and I believe that you had an . . . orgasm from it. I did not mean to do that." She looked up at me sharply, and I continued, "That happened but nothing else. There is nothing else but that MISTAKE."

She kept staring at me then. Like I had really hurt her. I saw tears in her eyes, she turned away and would not let them go. She steeled herself, then looked back at me, with what I saw as a flash of anger, no tears, just nodding her head.

I continued, "And that was wrong. Yes, we have a problem, the whole 'massage' idea was a bad one, I think. So, you need to talk to me, and that is probably where we need to start. I don't think this is necessarily 'stress' anymore. I still want to help. But Lisa . . . " I moved closer again and took her hands into mine, but she pulled them away. "You are a beautiful girl, with so much ahead, so many boyfriends and relationships and loves of your life."

She began to cry.

"We ok then?"

Silence.

"No more massages then?"

She shook her head.

"I can still listen."

She said nothing.

I left.

**********************

I walked out of the house satisfied, but deflated. I felt like I was walking with weights on.

The days that followed did not change the hollowness, though I knew time would help the memories fade, and that I was doing the right thing. And as day after day after day went by, I worried that in fact I had probably ruined my relationship with my sister. We could never be what we were before. I put the thought away, I had to control this, box it, contain it.

I wanted her, her closeness, our intimacies, but not through touch.

*****************

A few days later she burst into my house in the afternoon, furious. God she was mad at me.

She went into a rant, "You have no idea what I have been going through, you don't care . . . " I could not even follow it.

"Hold on hold on."

She proceeded to explain that this 'problem' of hers had been going on for a long time now, and that she needed someone to talk with, but had no idea who. And that she had turned to me, had trusted me.

"You didn't care, you didn't listen. You just, all pompous sitting there with your books and, you became . . . part of the problem."

"We talked. You told me what you wanted to tell me."

"No I didn't. You didn't listen. This is HARD. It takes time. Instead, YOU are the one who started touching me. Not me."

My eyes burned. "I said I made a mistake."

"And then. And then you come over to the house and basically say you don't want any contact with me. Make it so now I can't even TALK to you."

"I never said that. I said the opposite."

She paused. "Yeah right."

I was at a loss.

She was pacing me and eyeing me. She started with "I should just . . ." I was afraid what words she would use to finish that and I sat there petrified now. She could ruin my life.

Then she turned, "You really want to listen?"

I said I would listen, and she began:

She stood at the window as she spoke, "I had my first orgasm in the bath. I learned how to masturbate from a radio show. I was listening to love lines... and the operator for that show was talking to a girl who'd called in, saying she couldn't have an orgasm. So the operator told her that there was this one trick that would never fail. Use the running water in the tub. So I tried it, unsuccessfully at first, then one day something just... clicked. And it happened. And I lay there in the bath thinking... yes! Now I know what all the fuss is about. And for a long time, the only way I ever had an orgasm was in the water, in the bath. I used the stream of water, running real slow until I could feel myself, the wave, the pleasure over my body. I tried to stop myself from doing that, but it was so easy. I knew it was wrong, and I did it anyway. . ."

"Still, I practiced, learned different ways of manipulating the water on my . . . I learned that the longer I prolonged it, the better it would be."

Lisa paused, looking at me, seeing her effect on me. Satisfied she went and sat down at the table, poured herself a cup of coffee and sat with the cup in her hand, swirling it around as she continued.

"I learned later that I liked to dip my finger into my vagina, just a little. That the skin around the opening is . . . sensitive. So slick and silky and just incredible." She closed her eyes, set the cup down. "To rub it just the tiniest bit... mmm." She eyed me as she said that.

I fidgeted, said nothing. I could feel myself growing hard. My face flushed.

"A finger in my vagina, the water running on meI could cum any time I wanted. Oh, and my nipples are incredibly sensitive, one especially, my right one. I love the way the water would fill the bath while I played, reaching up over my ears, the warmth. I would lay in the water covering my ears, drowning out all sound, the whole world. That incredible rush, just before I'd cum, that's the best part. When you know you're running headlong into it. So many times I'd lay there, trying to make it last even longer, and run out of hot water."

"This year I finally gave myself an orgasm using just my hand. I just lay in my bed under the covers, exploring and felt this bump, this little pink pearl, my clitoris. Wow!! I don't remember all the details, but gradually it got better and better and better. It was such a high. When everyone got home I was sitting on the couch - After - all smiles, and I loved that no one knew. That I looked the same. But I also realized my feelings were getting out of my control. I realized too my fantasies as I masturbated, what I thought of, and it was then I realized it had to stop. But I couldn't."