Denise Moves In

Big Tits

I’ve been retired for several years now, even though I’m barely 47. I was lucky, both in business and in the market. Like a lot of guys, one of the sacrifices I made (without realizing it at the time because I was so busy ‘making a good life for us’) was my marriage. From the start I’d told Mary that I didn’t want kids. She agreed at the time, wholeheartedly. When we wed I was twenty five and she was twenty one.

About three years later she started talking about kids. I held my ground. In fact, without her knowledge, I had a vasectomy. I felt justified because she had agreed not to have children. The subject had caused quite a few arguments over the years but she eventually stopped talking about it.

By my fortieth birthday we were living in a great area in a five bedroom home she had picked out. She seemed to appreciate and enjoy the rewards of my work. It made it possible for her to lead a life of leisure: shopping, spas, lunches with her equally well off friends. I thought we were happy. We had sex several times a week, even then. And it was good sex, judging by my feelings and Mary’s reactions.

Just before the Fourth of July the next year I came home from a three day business trip to Chicago to an empty house — I mean empty. I learned from neighbors that Mary had hired movers to clean the place out. The only things left were my things and the appliances. Of course, other than the refrigerator where I found her note, she had no use for lowly appliances. We had help that did the cleaning and laundry.

The note explained that she had felt “unfulfilled” for years, racketa, racketa… Our life had become a cliché. She advised me to have my attorney contact her attorney and not to attempt any direct communication. She didn’t say where she was going or if she was going alone. Then she told me the name of her lawyer. It wasn’t even signed. I’d come to mean that little to her. I was stunned, to say the least. I settled with her and avoided paying spousal support. It cost me a bundle, but I was left with more than enough.

Anyway, all that is prologue, or maybe a ‘pre-prologue’. The meat of this story starts two years later when I met Wendy. I’d been so badly burned by my marriage I’d shied away from serious relationships. I had female friends and ‘fuck buddies’, but I always broke things off when things started to drift toward exclusivity. I missed bareback sex, but I traded that pleasure for staying healthy.

Wendy was the cousin of the wife of a friend, Brad. I went to a barbecue at Brad’s and we were introduced. She, like me, was divorced. Unlike me, however, she had kids: a stepdaughter of twenty nine and a son just turned twenty one. They were both out on their own, and in other parts of the country, so it didn’t matter much. Wendy worked as an assistant to a local lobbyist on the state level.

For some reason, being around Wendy (she called me to go for a drink the next week after the barbecue and we started dating each other exclusively) hit my heart like a sledge hammer. When I was with her I felt light-headed and giddy. Yeah, yeah, I know. You don’t have to make fun.

By the time I realized I was falling in love, it was too late. The feeling was so much more profound than I’d ever had with Mary, it was amazing. Brad didn’t know what I was worth, since I never advertised it to anybody except my accountant. He knew I was well off because of my lifestyle, but had no clue to the reality. So I was pretty sure that Wendy wasn’t after my money. From the way she dressed and spoke — of overseas trips and other things, it seemed she had some bucks of her own anyway.

She was a tiger in bed and was eager to try new things. She was multi-orgasmic — and let the whole world know it when she came. Her husband, she’d said, had been a ‘once a week man’ who climbed on did his business and climbed off. “I went a bit wild after we divorced,” she confessed to me. “I had a stable of stupid studs who were only interested in my body. Of course, that was fine with me, since all I wanted was their dicks.” Oh, that was another thing, Wendy was outspoken. In bed or out, she called a spade a spade. Sailors could have taken lessons from her.

Anyway, after we’d been seeing each other regularly for half a year, she consented to marry me when I asked. At our wedding I met Denise and Tom, Wendy’s kids. They seemed accepting of me, a fact that was confirmed when Tom took me aside to say he was relieved his mother had finally settled down again. Tom was — and still is — an architect in San Francisco. He was unmarried at the time. Denise was married and a junior partner in an advertising firm in Chicago.

Denise, though not Wendy’s biological daughter, behaved as if she was. By that I mean her gestures, expressions, and bearing (and swearing) were the echo of Wendy’s. Nurture won out over nature in her case I guess, since Wendy had raised her from the age of seven. Physically Denise resembled Wendy not at all. Where Wendy had dark hair and complexion, Denise was fair and blonde. Where Wendy was a bit escort bursa heavy, Denise was only a little bit broad from hips to knee.

Actually, that magnificent ass and her strong thighs were attractive to me. I guess she had what used to be called (in a complimentary sense) a ‘pear shaped’ figure. Where her hips met her thighs there was a slight angular break that I have always admired in a woman. At the reception my eyes kept scanning the crowd in the hope of catching her facing away from me so I could gaze at that ass. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I paid mucho attention to my bride and she wasn’t neglected. But even when Wendy and I danced, I would rotate us around to find my new stepdaughter, once removed.

Okay, so you get the idea by now. This has to be a story about something happening between Denise and me. You’re right. Just after our third anniversary, two things happened almost simultaneously. The first was that Denise caught her husband in bed with his friend and racquetball buddy, Joe. She told me later that she might not have minded if he had asked her to invite Joe into their bed, but as it was, it was as bad as catching him cheating with another woman. “Hell, it probably would have turned me on to watch them suck each other’s cock,” was how she put it.

The second thing that happened to change things was that her boss got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. The Feds brought him up on charges and she was suddenly out of a job. Wendy told her to come and stay with us until she found something else. Well, I’d like to think it was me that made the choice for her, but I think by then Wendy had leaked the info on our (my) financial state. She didn’t know exactly how much we had but she probably had an idea. So Denise knew she’d be no burden on us, no matter how long it took to get her feet back on the ground.

I went with Wendy to pick Denise up at the airport in Burbank. It was December and Denise was dressed for Chicago. The first thing she did was to drag Wendy into a restroom to change clothes for the 70 degree weather while I went to claim her bags. “I tied a purple ribbon to each handle, Frank,” she told me. Even though the thought crossed my mind that I’d rather watch her change, I went down to baggage claim.

I’d pulled two of the three bags off the carousel by the time they joined me. For us locals, it was winter. Most folks wore long pants, but Denise had changed to shorts and a tank top (sans bra, I noticed). We got the last bag and eventually reached home. Though we’d seen her a few times since the wedding, this was the first time Denise had visited our new house. We lived in Simi Valley on a rare three acre piece of expensive real estate. Wendy and I had hired an architect to build our home to order and it was perfect.

Of course we had a pool. When Denise arrived, however, she was disappointed to find it empty. We did maintain an eight person spa, however. Wendy and I never wore suits when we used it, but I told her I’d deign to put on the trunks I wore when we had company. “Bullshit!” she said. “You’re more comfortable naked, so she can either get used to it or stay in her room.”

“Well, do you realize how attractive she is?” I asked. “What if I pop a hard on when we’re in the tub?”

“I don’t care,” Wendy chuckled. “At least she’ll see what a real man looks like after being married to that wimp she divorced.”

“Hmm…” I said. I didn’t say so, but I was more worried about what it might lead to, other than being seen naked by Denise. I wasn’t sure I could control myself.

My worries were for nothing the first two weeks Denise was there. The weather turned cool — too cool to use the tub, at least for me. Denise spent a few evenings in it after spending her days pounding the pavement looking for work. She had a degree in business management — the hot ticket of the eighties and nineties of the last century. So she wasn’t keen about taking something not equal to her abilities and education.

After three weeks, the weather broke and warmed up. Denise also found a position (as compared to a ‘job’) as the manager of one of the employment agencies at which she’d originally thrown her resume into the ring to find her a job. By then I was considering retirement and had been taking more and more time off. I was lying and lightly dozing in our hot tub with Wendy at my side when Denise exploded from the French doors. “I got it!” she crowed excitedly, hurrying to the edge of the tub surround. “I got the perfect job!” She explained the situation while the jets bubbled the water around us. Since the water was agitated, she wasn’t aware we were both naked. Then she noticed the absence of straps on Wendy’s shoulders.

Wendy gave me a funny smile and reached for the button to turn off the bubbles. When the water calmed, Denise’s eyes went down to peer into the water. I wasn’t hard, but that didn’t matter. I was naked and it was the first time my stepdaughter had seen me in that state. Soft, my dick is between ‘really little’ (if I’m cold) and about four and bursa merkez eskort a half inches long. The diameter is probably just over an inch (I say probably because I’ve never measured…soft). Since the water was hot I was at the peak of the soft size. When her eyes lingered, the state began to change, so I reached across in front of Wendy’s tits to push the bubble button again. I was once again hidden from sight.

“Why don’t you jump in the shower and join us, honey?” Wendy said.

“Um. Okay. Just let me get out of these sweaty clothes.” She hurried back into the house.

Wendy’s hand found my still-expanding dick as I watched Denise’s incredible ass retreat into the house. “Hmm,” Wendy said. “Methinks I’ve found a large — and growing — worm.”

“Well, crap honey! What do you expect? In a few minutes I’m going to be in hot water with two — probably — naked women. After letting her know we’re naked, do you think she’s gonna wear a suit?”

“I hope not. It’s high time she realizes what we’re really like.” What she meant was that, even when we weren’t in the spa, we mostly went around the house naked. Since Denise had been there we both — not just me — had been more discreet.

“As long as you’re sure,” I said, adding, “But you realize I’m likely to get hard sometimes. What if she…tries something?” Wendy looked into my eyes and didn’t say anything for a long time.

Finally, a smile spread over her face. “Frank, I know you love me. You’ve proved it hundreds of times in a hundred different ways.” She looked away and took a deep breath. “If Denise, at thirty two, wants what a forty-something guy like you has to offer, well, as long as I don’t get kicked to the curb — or miss getting what I need — I’d guess I wouldn’t mind.” She looked back at me and laughed. “I just wouldn’t hold my breath. You’re good honey, but I doubt you could keep up with a young chick like her anyway.”

I was floored. Living in Southern California, we had friends who were into the swinging lifestyle. We’d discussed it a few times when we had been invited to parties, but had — until then — declined. Our relationship was solid, but we knew just as well that a lot of our friends were only clinging to the remnants of their marriages — and a few had dropped off the edge — after going that way. We’d agreed that we didn’t really need to become sexual surrogates for emotionally rocky people. But Wendy seemed to be saying Denise was fair game if she wanted to get laid.

Whatever I was about to say dried up in my throat as Denise emerged from the house again. She was wrapped in a towel, but there was no sign of straps over her shoulders either. My cock began to rise again. When she reached the side of the tub, I could see that her cheeks were rosy — rosier than the day’s sun could have produced, even if she’d been laying out in it, which she hadn’t. She was nervous. I reached for my glass and poured it full of the Cabernet Wendy and I had been drinking. I handed it to Denise with what I hoped was a loving smile. She took it, downed it, handed it back to me, and whipped off the towel.

Even now I can remember how my breath caught in my throat in that second. Denise was magnificent — all over. Her small breasts sat high and proud on her chest. Her belly tapered smoothly to a narrow waist — narrower than I’d seen for years. Then her hips — those wide, ‘baby-making’ hips flared out to her leg joints where that break I mentioned at the joint took place. Then her thighs tapered again down to below the side of the spa. Wendy gripped my erection under the water, hidden by the bubbles. I was hard as a rock. She stroked me as she said, “Bravo, baby. Come on in. The water’s fine!” Her hand squeezed me painfully, but, I knew from our conversation, lovingly, before releasing me.

Denise stepped into the water. Her pubic hair was trimmed to a ‘landing strip’ just above her slit and her labia spread open as she straddled the edge of the tub. Wendy shaved bare — in fact she’d convinced me to do the same due to choking pubic hairs when she went down on me — so it was a novelty to see Denise’s sparse fur. Then she was in the water across from us. As I said, it was an eight person tub, so there was plenty of separation. Yet, within a few minutes I felt a foot against mine. I looked at Wendy, whose eyes were closed as she leaned back against the padded edge. I looked at Denise, whose eyes were looking straight at me. She was smiling. The foot moved over mine, stroking. She smiled. I smiled back and put my other foot on top of hers. She grinned and we played footsies for a while, my erection throbbing all alone — and invisible — under the hot water.

The next day I stayed home again. Wendy said over coffee that she had a date with her friend Monica to go to some art show opening. Wendy was hot for art — especially the work of new, local artists. Since Denise had found her job, and it didn’t start for a few days, she was still sleeping when Wendy drove off. Of course I bursa sınırsız escort couldn’t pry my thoughts away from the previous evening. It had ended respectably enough when we all got out of the tub, dried off and separated to our rooms. My stiff cock finally found its refuge in Wendy’s very wet pussy and we’d dropped into the well of sleep.

On the deck in my robe, I watched a doe step gracefully across our back lawn and sipped my coffee. She looked up at me when I brought the cup to my lips, but she didn’t bolt. Instead, she continued her graceful, grazing pace until she disappeared again into the pines.

Still I sat and recalled the shape and feeling of the night before. Wendy had given me permission to fuck Denise. I wondered about that. The ramifications were way too complicated. Was she fucking someone else (or did she want to?), and giving me the go-ahead salved her conscience? I didn’t think so, but it was possible. The thought chilled me. Screwing Denise wasn’t that important to me. Nothing in Wendy’s behavior was new. She went to lunch and other things with her friends often enough that there was no break in her behavior. Still, it was odd.

I took a fresh cup of coffee to the den and booted up the computer. I wasn’t about to take for granted the hot tub nudity and Denise’s little game of the previous evening as the way things would be from then on. I just didn’t want to assume something that would make things difficult for us all.

I booted up the computer and checked my email messages. Most of it was crap, despite my anti-spam settings. There were some jokes from friends and only one real message. It was from Wendy. According to the time stamp, she sent it just after arriving at work.

“Frank: I meant what I told you last night. I also know what Denise was doing under the bubbles. I had a little chat with her this morning, so she knows everything you guys do is okay with me. If you want to know, she gave me a big hug and giggled. If she’s awake, she’s waiting for you right now in her room. Have a “ball”!!!”

I closed the window. Picking up my cool coffee, I walked to the window. As the pictures from the night before rolled through my mind my dick began to tent out the front of my robe. I tugged the sash loose and freed it. I stroked my smoothness while I stood there. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Denise said behind me. Without thinking about my stiff cock in my hand, I spun around, startled. Her eyes took in the picture as I took in her nakedness.

“Wow…hey, I can come back later if you want,” she said, her cheeks reddening in embarrassment. I realized how it looked then. It looked pretty much the way it was, except I hadn’t really been jerking off. I’d been trying to decide whether Wendy’s suggestion was really a good thing. My hand had dropped away but my dick still waved in the air lewdly. Denise’s tongue slipped out between her lip and, maybe subconsciously, licked from left to right. I raised my arms and Denise came to me.

“I got tired of waiting,” she whispered in my ear. I kissed, and then licked, the side of her soft neck. She tasted salty, the sweet perspiration of slumber. I kissed her lips then. She pulled back but kept hold of my hand. Leading the way she took me to her room. She stepped to one side and tugged me forward, so that I flopped onto the bed. She pounced on me, straddling my chest. I caught a trace of her musk then, making my mouth water.

I put my hands under her haunches and urged her toward my face. “But I haven’t showered yet, Frank,” she protested, resisting. I smiled and pulled harder. She made a sort of growling noise and her eyes widened, but she stopped resisting. Indeed, she came eagerly to my lips then and caught hold of the headboard, squatting above me. Between grunts and moans as I lapped her fragrant juices, she gasped, “Mom…told me…” she spread her thighs completely open to me and pressed down hard. “…She said you were…good at this, but…” She let out a wail as she reached her climax. I sucked hard, my mouth covering her completely. The salty, viscous evidence of her orgasm slid from her and into my mouth.

She rolled to the left and I followed. Grasping her ankles, I jerked her down so I could fuck her. That’s what I did. There was no “lovemaking” between us that time. It was simple lust and its ache to be satisfied. Her cunt opened to my stiff cock and I thrust deeply, again and again, until I spurted deep inside her. She’d come twice more as I fucked her, the second time releasing a flow which I’d ever known before.

We kissed. She swept the hair from my eyes and looked into my eyes. “God, I wish I’d met you before Mom did…” She bit her lower lip and stopped there. I slid out of her heated depths and moved down her body, kissing and licking my way between her thighs. “Frank! But I’m all…I thought you…” She stopped when I tugged roughly at her short hairs.

“I did,” I said, but my voice was hampered by the pressure of her thighs against my cheeks. I delved deep again, sucking up our juices. The salty mix was one of my favorite things about sex. We rolled around, moaning and groaning until there was no more spunk inside her. Once again, she sat atop me when I was done. Reaching behind her sweaty ass, she found my newly stiffened prick. Her eyes lit up. “Wow,” she whispered.

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