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Sleepover Guest

by iconisclass 12/05/08

I've always been proud of our hospitality. When my wife and I scraped up the money to buy our own home, I insisted we have a spare bedroom for guests. We live in a relatively affordable corner of an expensive city that draws tourists and businessmen alike, and I knew that room would always be used. And so indeed, over the past four years we have been lucky to reunite with college and childhood friends who have come to the city for one reason or another.

So naturally, when Sharon asked me if we could host one of her Sorority Sisters for a month during August I agreed. True, most guests stayed for a week, ten days -- two weeks at the most. But Carol had some family and business obligations all around the same time and was going to be in the area for four weeks. Sharon seemed a bit nervous, asking me. Was it too much of an imposition? But I assured her the time would fly and that we would at least have the benefit of a free babysitter.

Carol arrived on a wet, wet afternoon. She had not anticipated the downpour and came into the house sloshing about in her shoes, peering out through matted wet hair, and dripping water all over the place. Tracy, our 6 year old daughter couldn't stop pointing and giggling, until Carol flicked water at her. They became instant friends.

Carol changed into some casual, dry, house clothes and warmed up. The whole house seemed to warm up. Tracy sat on her lap and Sharon and Carol caught up for hours, first over coffee, later over wine.

I work out of the house and had to excuse myself to complete a project. Later I put Tracy to bed, and then myself. I think the two "sisters" chatted away until three in the morning.

Sometime around ten the next day I heard Carol get up. She waddled into the kitchen and I made us coffee. She laughed at how talking about old times made her feel young again. Frankly, I don't know why she would feel old. She's trim and fit with a beautiful body. Her baby face and blue-green eyes would allow her to pass for a 22 year old. With her auburn hair pulled back and a stray strand framing her face, she looked even childish.

As I fussed about with dishes and cereal, I couldn't help but sneak a peak at her tanned legs. She wore a nightshirt with, it seemed, nothing underneath. I was beside myself with voyeuristic curiosity, but the shirt was flannel and opaque. Still her heavy breasts swayed in such a way as to belie the lack of a bra, and the hem rose up a few times to let me glimpse her upper thigh. I spent the entire conversation coaching myself not to look down her front.

This became somewhat of a routine for us. Sharon and I would wake up early as usual and share a quick breakfast before my wife ran to catch her bus. I'd get Tracy off to school and then answer my emails. Around 10:00 Carol would rise, share coffee with me and then prepare to go to her meetings which never began before 1:00pm.

"I'm not a morning person," she explained.

I rapidly became familiar with Carol's bedclothes. She had the flannel nightshirt she'd worn the first day, but also had a sheer nighty. Once she came to the kitchen wearing nothing but a towel. When I commented about her varied wardrobe she simply answered: "Well, I sleep naked, so it's whatever I grab on the way out."

My imagination was in overdrive. Carol would talk on an on about her meetings or what she and Sharon used to be like in college; but I was drawing the curve of her breast in my mind, painting her nipples in my imagination and fantasizing about tiny little goose bumps on the rise of her tan derrière. Several times Carol caught me staring, or fading out from conversation, not chiming in with an appropriate response. Once she came right out and asked: "should I put something on?"

"Sorry," I blushed, "maybe you should." She was wearing the thin nighty that morning and her breasts were silhouetted against the sun coming through the window. She looked at me for a long time after that, and then just smiled.

Following our coffee conversation, I would return to my office nook where the computer sat buried behind overflowing papers and Carol would take a shower. Needless to say, I couldn't get much work done as I heard the water running and imagined her hands caressing her body. Suddenly the thought hit me as I stared blankly at my computer screen: why had I never thought to put a camera in the guest shower? Of course, as soon as the thought arose, I bashed it down again with no small amount of self recrimination. The thoughts were there, but I had to keep myself in check.

The day after Carol caught me staring, she wore the flannel shirt. I relaxed somewhat and was attentive enough to help her develop a strategy for a meeting she had that afternoon. When she returned home jubilant, I realized our strategy was a success, and merited a big hug and kiss. She told me all about the meeting and would have run on and on excitedly, but I had work to do before Tracy came home and excused myself.

Seated in front of my computer, I did not at first recognize the sounds coming from the guest room. Soon though, the moans and groans of a woman in ecstasy came wafting down the hallway and I could not think. As sure as I was that I was hearing a woman near orgasm, I couldn't believe Carol would expose herself so openly, and half wondered if everything was okay. I tiptoed down the hall and saw that the door to her room was ajar. The latch there never caught unless you really pushed the door closed, and the door was open just a crack. The crack was enough for me to catch motion in the mirror over the dresser. I could see her knees swinging back and forth and it was clear she was on her back and masturbating. Just before turning away, I caught sight of her hand coming up between her legs, pulling with it a large purple dildo of slick translucent silicone. I turned and ran.

Our evenings were pleasant together. Carol and Sharon did all the chores while chatting and I was free to do as I pleased. With Tracy in bed, we would watch a movie or drink wine and chitchat. Whatever we did, it was in the living room, on the sofas, in our pajamas. When Carol showed up on the couch in her sheer nighty, I couldn't help but remember her moans of ecstasy. Sharon didn't think any thing of Carol's choice of bedclothes. If anything, she'd prod me, saying "doesn't Carol look lovely?" Apparently much of their conversation had been on the subject of Carol's still being single. Sharon was certain Carol suffered from low self esteem. I wasn't so sure.

One of my favorite action movies came on the tube and I was fairly engrossed. Sharon and Carol were pouring over some photo albums and I barely noticed them. At one point, however, I looked up long enough to realize I was staring straight at Carol's crotch. She had been sitting cross-legged on the sofa most of the evening, and her nighty must have gotten pushed up a bit. When she leaned forward and put her feet on the floor, her knees were apart and I got a clear view of her pussy. The image burned itself into my consciousness. She was shaved, and had a ring in her clit.

The same situation occurred the next night. Only this time Carol caught me looking and smiled at me. She smiled and then shifted her legs, giving me a much clearer view for a split second before covering up. Sharon gave no sign of having noticed and probably wondered why I fucked her with such vigor that night. Ironically, she protested our coitus a bit for fear that Carol might hear something. If only she could hear the masturbation sessions I was privy to almost every afternoon now.

Carol was clearly raising the ante. She came to coffee the next morning in a towel and made no effort to cross her legs or hide her sex. I wanted to say something, but was tongue-tied. Later that morning when she showered she called me in to help her fix the drain that had stopped up. She barely covered her private parts with her hands while I examined the stoppage and removed the face towel. Carol laughed and just said, "I can't see anything without my contacts."

"Well, I can see everything... almost." I retorted, making my first open comment about her frisky flirtations.

Carol just laughed, moved her hands away from her body and gave a shrug, almost insinuating "come-and-get-me." I turned and went back to my computer. I'd be lying if I told you I got any work done. I closed the door, turned to a porn site, and jerked all my sexual frustration out onto the keyboard.

Sharon came home, the evening went forward as usual, and we found ourselves on the sofa again drinking wine and chatting away. Carol was finding new and inventive ways to show me a tit or flash me her pussy without Sharon catching on. There were also some physical moves: Cheek-kisses that lasted half a beat too long, fingers stroking hands when glasses or plates were exchanged, too-friendly hands on my back when water was being poured or plates cleared.

That night I accosted Sharon. She came into our room wrapped in a towel after showering and I just grabbed her from behind. I kissed her neck and rubbed her shoulders until the wrap fell to the floor and I could grab some tit. Sharon's sensitive nipples perked up between my thumb and forefinger as my right hand rubbed circles on her belly. Slowly her head fell back on my shoulder and my hand reached down between her legs.

My first swipe across her clit brought a moan to her lips and she bit down hard to muffle herself.

"Don't hold back," I ordered, pressing hard into her erogenous zones.

"But... Carol...next room..."

"I want her to hear it. I want her to hear it loud."

I had just managed to curl a finger into Sharon's cunt when she pulled away.

"No!" she whisper-screamed, facing me and putting her hand on her knees. She was bending over in a funny position and raising her eyebrows in such an exaggerated manner that I had to laugh. Sharon caught onto my laughter and giggled herself, and we both sat down naked on the edge of the bed.

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