This story takes place four months after “Irene’s Missionary Adventure.”

Things were slowly getting back to normal, but the summer had been crazy. I had hardly seen Oscar, he had needed to stay in town all summer and his job had needed him six or even seven days a week. Meanwhile I had been at the coast with the girls; I felt a bit bad about relaxing at the beach, but I guess that’s why we had the house there. The disappointing thing was leaving Oscar in town; he had managed only two flying visits and one of those wasn’t even over night.

But the girls were old enough to amuse themselves, and met up with friends, hanging out at the beach and all that. I suppose that’s kind of what I did too; Yolanda came to visit for one week, and I knew lots of other people who also had their summer houses nearby. So I wasn’t really lonely. The shame was that my sister was caught in town as well. She didn’t work with Oscar, it was just coincidence that both of them had jobs which kept them super-busy through the long hot summer.

I suggested to Mari that she visit with Oscar and it sounded like they had met a couple of times in July, but after that, even meeting up for an evening with his sister-in-law couldn’t fit into Oscar’s schedule.

Anyway, it was a Wednesday, and we were due to leave the beach house on the Saturday, to head back to town. The girls had already gone out to the beach and weren’t likely to be back until dinner time. I had been lounging around in my dressing gown all morning, reading a book and drinking coffee. I have to admit I was also feeling hot. And I don’t mean temperature hot, I mean horny. Since my escapade with the Mormon boys, Oscar and my sex life had been pretty active--but now, in this long hot summer there was a bit of a drought. Even when Oscar had come out to visit, we hadn’t had sex; he had been so exhausted I didn’t even suggest it.

Back to that Wednesday at the end of the summer, and me sitting out in the sun reading my book. Every so often my fingertips would stray to my breast or my panties as I read. My nipples had stiffened and I needed some relief. I was in a daze, really--trying to re-read the same page three or four times and distracting myself with my roving fingers. When the doorbell rang I literally jumped. Feeling flustered, I got up and went to the door, tying my dressing gown as I went.

I opened the door and there was the postman.

“Hello,” he said. He was a young man, in his early to mid-twenties--and black. Very black. You know that deep almost purple black, not just racially black. When he smiled, it lit up his face. He seemed genuinely pleased to see me, even though I’d never met him before.

“Hi,” I replied.

“A letter and a parcel.”

“Okay.”

“I need you to sign for the parcel.”

“Sure,” I said, and held out my hand for the pen. He handed it to me, but I was so caught up in his gaze, in his smile, that I fumbled the pen and dropped it. I am sure I have seen it in films, or maybe it’s just a cliche, but we both went for the pen, and cracked our heads in the process. I fell back, and landed on my bum, and my dressing gown fell open. He just stood there, mouth open, looking at my breasts and rubbing his head.

I was feeling really dizzy and it took me a few seconds to gather myself. Eventually, I managed to pull my dressing gown around me, and the postman offered me his hand to get up. He pulled me to my feet, “So sorry,” he said. “Are you okay?”

I put my hand to my forehead--there was a definite lump. “Ouch.”

“I’m really sorry,” he repeated.

“That’s okay. I’ll be okay in a minute. Just need to sit down.”

He took me by the arm, “Let me help you.”

He walked me through to the kitchen and sat me down at the table. There were a couple of glasses on the draining board and he filled them both from the cold tap. He passed me a glass of water and drank from the other himself. I took a sip and looked up at him. He smiled back.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Better?”

“A little,” I replied and rubbed my head again. “I think we both got more than we bargained for.”

He nodded.

“I’m Irene,” I said.

“Thomas,” he replied, with a smile. God, that smile had me melting.

“Nice to meet you, Thomas,” I smiled back, but it wasn’t a patch on his. “Sorry about my…” I wrapped my dressing gown tighter; I didn’t know how to apologise for flashing him. “You know…”

“Oh. Please don’t apologise. It was nothing.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“I don’t mean nothing. It was… they were… very nice. But… Um… Don’t be sorry.”

I chuckled. “Don’t be embarrassed. I suppose you don’t get flashed by housewives every day.”

“Well… not every day. But you might be surprised.”

“Really?”

He smiled. “Lonely women answering the door, wanting a little excitement in their lives and a young black man knocks on the door. Sure--every so often, someone gives me a ‘come on’ or gives me a flash.”

“Wow.”

“But… This is the first time it has been accidental.”

I nodded, and rubbed my head again. “Well,” I said, “I’ll live. Anyway--take a seat. You hit your head too. Are you okay?”

Thomas sat down opposite me and sipped his water. “Yea. I’ll be fine thanks. Thick skull.” He rapped on his head to show me.

“So… When these women flash you, what do you do?”

He paused before he answered, not sure what to say. “Well… I kind of run a mile. I am never ready for it, and am really a little shy.”

“So you’ve never been seduced on the doorstep.”

“Nope,” he said, “Not yet.”

“Not yet?”

“Well, you know… Never say never.”

He smiled again. But there was something different this time. Just a hint. Maybe the way his eyes sparkled as he said it. As if there was a subtext. His hand had been lovely and strong when he lifted me to my feet. And he had been very kind to look after me. And I had always wondered what it would be like.

“Never say never,” I replied. “Too true.”

Our eyes met, and we held one another’s gaze just a little too long.

“I suppose...” I said, “I suppose we’re not on the doorstep any more.”

“Nope.”

“Have you ever been seduced in a kitchen?”

“Nope.”

I stood up and walked around the table, undoing my dressing gown and whispered, “Well, there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?” I leaned forward and my breasts swung inches from his face.

He raised his hands and cradled my breasts, caressing them gently. When he leaned forwards he could kiss them--and did kiss them one after the other before flicking at my nipples with his tongue.

“Oh Thomas," I whispered. I put my hands to the back of his head, and held him against my breasts, feeling the roughness of his close cropped hair. He opened his mouth and surrounded my nipple with his lips and I moaned. My knees went weak. I felt his teeth raking my nipple and I gasped.

“Thomas… Thomas is it true. Is it true what they say about black men?”

He pulled away and looked up at me, “I don’t know. What do they say?”

“You know," I rasped.

“I don’t know if it’s true about all black men…”

“But?”

“But you’re welcome to see if it’s true about me…” He grinned, and I sank to my knees. I undid his belt and slipped my fingers inside his trousers. When my fingertips found his cock I gasped. Okay, I know it is a stereotype, and I don’t know about all black men, but this one--Thomas--was huge. Rodrigo was big, but Thomas--he was enormous. His semi-erect cock was as big as Rodrigo’s, and poor little Oscar was tiny by comparison. I wrapped both my hands around his penis and slowly stroked it. It was alive in my hands and swelling and throbbing.

“Oh my God.”

I couldn’t help myself. I leaned forward and licked at the underside, then kissed the tip. My tongue tip exploring his pee-hole, my hands trying to hold onto this massive cock. I opened my mouth wide and tried to get Thomas’ cock into my mouth; it stretched my lips as far as they would go, and I could only just fit the glans inside my mouth. My tongue flicked across the head and caressed him, while I stroked him up and down with my hands.

When I looked up at Thomas, his head had flopped back, with his mouth open; enjoying me. I felt like such a whore, and it felt so good. Here was this stranger, sitting in my kitchen and here I was, kneeling in front of him trying to get his enormous cock into my mouth. My heart was pounding and there was a wet patch in the crotch of my knickers; my pussy was pulsing. I felt so hot. A whole summer thinking of Rodrigo, and Mormon boys and my little Oscar, and now, finally, a cock. A flesh and blood cock all for me.

I released his cock from my mouth and stood up. smiling down at Thomas, I slipped off my knickers and stepped forward, astride him, with my hands on his shoulders. I slowly lowered myself and could feel the head of this unbelievable cock pressing against my lips. I took a deep breath and tried to relax as I lowered myself still further. The pressure against my pussy was huge, almost my whole body weight trying to push Thomas’ cock inside me. He held my waist and pulled me downwards and I squealed! I squealed as his cock finally entered me, and--my God--he was big. Not just long, but thick. As thick as my arm. I lowered myself and felt full like I had never felt before--not even with Rodrigo. “Sweet Jesus,” I whispered.

When I was sitting on Thomas’ lap, I felt more full than I had ever felt. My cunt was tight around his cock, and feeling incredible. I held his face in my hands and pulled him onto my tits. He kissed them and sucked at them, his hands at my waist, he slowly raised me up a few inches before dropping me down again. The feeling was sensational. His mouth and rough face against the soft white flesh of my tits, and the biggest cock I had ever seen, deep inside me.

Slowly he accelerated, lifting me and dropping me onto his tool. I grunted each time I felt the full length of him inside me. As he got faster I fell into a trance, my hair in disarray, my tits bouncing, holding his head in my hands; my orgasm started in the tips of my toes--i swear it felt like it rose slowly up my body and exploded when it got to my waist; I tensed like I had been electrocuted then almost completely collapsed--only Thomas’ strong hands held me upright.

“Oh Irene,” he whispered, “Oh God, you feel so tight. So hot and tight. Your hot wet cunt so tight around my cock.” He carried on bouncing me on his cock. “You’re going to make me… You’re going to make me cum.”

That last word woke me up--brought me back to full consciousness. No protection! I stood up and slipped off him, then knelt between his legs. Both hands wrapped around his cock, I stroked it hard and fast. I raised his cock vertically so I could lick at his huge hairy balls. Licking and sucking on his balls as I pumped his massive cock. “Oh fuck,” he groaned, “Oh fuck.”

I released his balls and tightened my grip, pumping faster and faster. He lifted his bottom from the chair as he in turn tensed and--my God--it was like a volcanic eruption. I have never seen such a huge ejaculation. He spurted and spurted his load and it covered my face, my hair, my breasts; dripping down onto my belly, my legs. I was showered with his cum. The sheer volume of it made me gasp. When he was done, I leaned forward and licked at his sticky shaft, savouring the salty flavour, mesmerised by the whole experience.

Thomas sat back in his chair and the smile returned to his face. “Wow,” was all he could manage. “Wow.”

“Is that your first time with an older woman?” I asked.

“You’re not old," he replied. The perfect answer. “But my first time in a long time.”

“I wondered,” I replied wiping myself up as best I could.

“Wow.”

I giggled. A man of few words. “It’s such a shame this is the end of the summer.”

He nodded.

“I leave on Saturday.”

“Oh no.”

I nodded. “But we still have tomorrow and Friday.”

He grinned.

“I just hope I get some mail.”

“Which reminds me,” he said. “You still need to sign for that parcel.”

...ooOoo…

A little while later, after Thomas had gone to finish his round and I had had a shower, I finally got around to looking at the post. The parcel was for my daughter--something she had ordered online, I assumed. The letter was for me. It seemed to be from my sister Mari. And it seemed long. There were pages of it.

I was sitting in the kitchen wrapped in my towel as I started to read.

Dearest Sister,

I call you that, but maybe after you have read this letter you won’t want to call me your sister any more. This is somewhat of a confession. No, it is a confession. I have done something terrible, unforgivable, but still I hope, I pray you find it in your heart to forgive me. I haven’t been able to sleep for weeks, as this whole thing has been preying on my mind. Finally I felt that the only thing I could do--the only fair thing was to tell you.

To tell you exactly what happened and ask, no beg your forgiveness.


What was this? What on earth had happened? What was she saying?

Please, dear sister, let me tell you the whole story. If I were you I might try to jump ahead through this letter, but I hope that you are able to read what I have written as I have written it; perhaps that way you’ll understand that I never ever meant you any harm, nor to hurt you.


I have to admit the thought had crossed my mind but, Mari was my sister after all. The least I could do was read her letter as she intended it read.

It all started the evening that I went over to your house for dinner with Oscar. We had both been working really hard but had carved out one evening--one Saturday evening when neither of us needed to work the following day. We hadn’t seen each other in months and we hadn’t seen our families for weeks. I don’t begrudge you your time at the beach house, and I don’t want to say anything is your fault. But it was you who suggested that we get together.

Anyway, I arrived at your house at about six o’clock. I had come straight from work, and was feeling pretty hot and sweaty. Oscar had only been home about twenty minutes and was trying to get together some food. I can see why you do all the cooking at your house, as he was pretty useless. He was trying to make a spaghetti sauce and had burnt the garlic. The kitchen smelled terrible and the smoke alarm was going off when I got there.


I am rambling! Come on Mari, get to the point!

Anyway. I hadn’t seen Oscar in ages, and so I gave him a hug after he got the smoke alarm switched off and opened some windows.

“You look great," he said.

“Don’t lie," I replied. “I look a mess. I am hot and sweaty and need a shower.”

“Then take a shower, while I cook.”

“No offense Oscar, but you’re not cooking. I am cooking. We’ve just seen what happens when you cook.”

He blushed and I took the spoon he was holding. “Go get a shower yourself, and I’ll get the sauce going. Perhaps you can boil the pasta while I shower?”

He smiled, “Deal.”

So twenty minutes later, there he was, in fresh t-shirt and shorts. I handed him the spoon and went off to shower. I pointed out the two glasses of wine I had poured while he’d been away (actually, I must admit I had already had one glass by the time he’d showered, so I was one ahead).

There was plenty of hot water and I let it just cascade across my body for a few minutes before I started washing myself. Finally I would have a break from work for a day. Finally, I could relax. I tensed then relaxed my shoulders and soaped myself. I so wanted to be clean, to wash away the cares and stresses of work. As I washed myself--down there--I have to admit that I felt a little… well… sexy. Not thinking about anyone in particular, just thinking that I… hadn’t had sex in a while. maybe I was frustrated maybe… I don’t know. I don’t want to make excuses.

Anyway, when I got out of the shower, I really didn’t want to put my grimy clothes back on, so I put on one of your dressing gowns and gathered my clothes. Oscar had left his on the floor too, so I took them all and put them in the washing machine. Back in the kitchen, Oscar had had a glass of wine as well, and the pasta was boiling away nicely.

I tasted the sauce, and added a little sugar--you know how the tomatoes can get too tart (sorry--rambling again). Anyway, we sat down at the kitchen table and I served us up some dinner. Oscar poured us some more wine.

“If I have any more I won’t be able to drive home.”

“Oh. I thought you were staying. I made up the spare room. Irene said you were staying.”

“Well… I didn’t want to impose on your day off," I said.

“No problem. No problem at all. Have some wine," He filled my glass. He was being very sweet.

“Thanks,” I replied and took a mouthful. I dont know whether it was the wine, or feeling hot from the shower, or... the frustrated feeling between my legs. Oh God, Irene, I don’t know.

When we finished our pasta he offered me some more.

“No, no," I said, “I have to watch my weight.”

“No," he replied, gallantly, “You’re the perfect weight.”

I opened my eyes wide, “I am heavier than Irene.”

He leaned forward conspiratorially, and said, “Between you and me, Irene’s always been a bit too skinny," I swear to you that’s what he said. It is no excuse, and I am not trying to blame Oscar, but that’s what he said. And it made me feel good--you know? Whether he meant it or not (and I don’t think you’re skinny) it made me feel better about myself: that and the shower and my second glass of wine.

“Really?” I replied. “I don’t think so.”

“Definitely.”

“You sound so sure.”

“Well,” he replied, “I’ve known you both a long time, and have had plenty of time to compare you.”

I took another big mouthful of wine. Maybe I was feeling bold--too bold. But I replied, “You’ve never compared us in the nude.”

He laughed. “More’s the pity!” It was his turn to take another drink. Neither of us were sober, dear sister. But the blame has to fall to me. It really does. I stood up and opened the dressing gown. Just like that! I let him see me, his sister-in-law in the nude. Well, I think you could have knocked him down with a feather. His eyes went wide and his mouth open as he saw me. My own actions made me blush and I really ought to have gone home--taken a taxi--something! But I didn’t. I am so sorry, dear sister, I didn’t.

I wrapped myself back up and sat back down. I was now definitely feeling warm. Not just from the shower or the dressing gown, but another kind of warm. “Well?” I said.

“Fantastic," said Oscar, “Perfect!” Oh it made me feel so good to hear that--coming from dear sweet Oscar. “Such lovely curves," he said. “But I have a question for you.”

I took another mouthful of wine, “Okay.”

“How do you think I compare?”

“To who?”

“To your husband! Who do you think?”

I smiled. “Well, in some respects, that’s harder to tell with a man. Unless you’re wearing very tight trousers.”

“Or?” suggested Oscar.”

“Or swimming trunks.”

“Or?”

I blushed, “Or nothing at all.”

Oh Irene. It’s so hard to write down--it would be impossible for me to tell you. I know it’s a coward’s way out, but I had to send this letter. Oscar stood up and dropped his shorts. He showed me his... You know... His tackle. His penis. His cock. And--it makes me blush just thinking about it now--he was hard.


Good grief. I am not naive, and there was definitely an undertone to the letter, and I suppose I was subconsciously aware that Mari was trying to lead up to something like this, but it was still a shock. It would have been a much bigger shock a year ago. Before any of my ‘sexual awakening’ had happened. before Rodrigo, before Yolanda and the missionaries… or an hour ago, before Thomas. But it was still shocking to read what Mari was saying. Before all that, it would just have been shocking--but now it was shocking and… thrilling! Thrilling enough that I reached between my legs and slipped two fingers into my still gaping cunt as I read on.

He wasn’t big--but then you know that, don’t you. He’s not as big as my husband--but I suppose you don’t know that. But right then and there, he was a man, flesh and blood and I hadn’t had sex in months. And here was Oscar, a real man, who was showing me that in his eyes I was all woman--even if I am a little on the plump side, he found me… alluring. Sexy. I know it was wrong. I even knew it at the time, but I felt compelled. Like I couldn’t stop myself from doing the wrong thing. Like that feeling you have when you’re on the edge of a cliff that you want to jump off? You know? Well, I jumped.

“Oh Oscar," I said, “Is that for me? Is that little erection for me?”

He nodded.

I beckoned him towards me. He came around the table and stood in front of me. I reached out and cupped his little cock in my hand. It was alive! It jumped and writhed in my hand, he was so excited. I gripped his cock and he groaned. I leaned forward in my seat and planted a little kiss on the tip of his cock. Oh God, Irene, my heart was beating; it all felt so wrong, but it felt so good too! I couldn’t help myself, I really couldn’t. Don’t blame Oscar, my dear. It was all my fault.

I opened my mouth and took him in, my lips surrounding his shaft and he moaned. His fingers entwined with my hair as I took more and more of his little cock into my mouth. I cradled his balls in my hand and took his whole length in my mouth; my nose nuzzling his underbelly. The wine made me feel lightheaded as my tongue swirled across his length, teasing him, then sucking him; his fingers tightened in my hair and then he was thrusting, wanting to fuck my mouth. It must have been a reflex, like a dog fucking a mans leg. He couldn’t help himself, my dear--he just couldn’t help himself.

I squeezed his little hairless balls and sucked on his cock as he thrust it in and out of my mouth. My willing slutty mouth, my poor dear sister. Oh God. Oh God. I have felt so awful about this, but to write it down is such a relief. I just hope I have the courage to send you this letter, and let you know how I have betrayed you.

With my free hand I opened the dressing gown and then I released his cock from my mouth. He gasped in frustration until I guided his little cock between my tits. I let him fuck my tits, I loved the feeling of his little twitching cock deep between my tits. Is this something I always wanted? Or was it just the wine? I don’t know, I just don’t know.

But it wasn’t enough--it just wasn’t enough. After he had fucked my tits for a few minutes I stood up, and leaned against the edge of the table, my legs open, showing him my pussy. Your sister’s slut cunt. “Fuck me, Oscar,” I whispered, “Fuck me.”

I guided his little cock between my lips and put my feet against his bum and drew him into me. I made him do it, I made him fuck me. But, oh God. I hate to admit it, I felt so alive, as he hammered his cock into me, over and over again. Such energy he had! He grabbed my tits, twisting and teasing at my nipples as he rammed his cock as far as he could into my pussy. It was so hot, so wet--I wanted him so badly, and had no self control. But I wouldn’t let him stop, with my legs wrapped around him he kept on fucking me until I came--I bit his shoulder as I came--so that I didn’t squeal and scream and I felt his fingers dig into my bum.

Then Oscar pulled out and spattered my tummy with cum. He didn’t cum inside me, really, he didn’t. Neither of us knew what to say. There wasn’t anything to say, really. We both knew, and could see in each others eyes that we had betrayed you. I closed the dressing gown and cleared up the dinner plates. Oscar washed up in silence.

There it was. My own sister and my own husband. Together in my house, on my kitchen table. But what was happening to me? My fingers were sliding in and out of my own wet pussy just thinking about it--and thinking about Thomas and what might happen when he delivered the post the next day. My fingers just weren’t enough. I needed satisfaction. What could ever bring me satisfaction after Thomas?

...ooOoo...

I sat there pondering--what was the size and shape of Thomas' cock? What could give me the satisfaction I craved? Not the little carrot of Oscar; not the cucumber of Rodrigo; I needed an aubergine... I needed to feel full in the wonderful way that I had when Thomas had fucked me. In the refrigerator was a cucumber. It was as close as I was going to get. There was a banana in the fruit bowl too. I took them into the bedroom and laid down on the bed. I pressed the cucumber against my clit and rubbed it up and down. The coolness of the cucumber was refreshing, but when I closed my eyes, all I could see was Thomas' enormous tool. I slipped the cucumber inside myself--God it felt good as I lay there, sliding it in and out--but it didn't have the girth of Thomas...

I slipped it out and tried the banana--not that it was any bigger, but only so I could... moisten it. I slipped the banana back out of my dripping pussy and rubbed it against my arsehole. I pushed slowly against my own resistance and tried to relax, tried to push the banana inside me--tried to rediscover that sense of fullness. Tried to blot out the images of Oscar and Mari together. I inched the banana into my arse and when it was halfway in, I switched back to the cucumber; it slid easily back inside me. I moaned as I fucked myself with the cucumber, my thrusting getting faster and faster. My clit was throbbing, my pussy dripping wet as I pounded myself with the cucumber. My head was spinning and I lost myself in a magnificent orgasm, losing for a moment the images in my mind of my sister and my husband, together. Instead I was imagining Thomas fucking me, giving me every inch of that aubergine, that butternut squash of a prick he had.

It must have been midday when I finally got up showered and dressed. When I went into the kitchen I saw Mari's letter lying there. I wasn't ready to read more, so I stuffed it into my handbag and set off; I took a drive to a secluded little cove I knew--off the beaten track and (I hoped) deserted.