I walked into the laundry and there she was, bent over the drier taking some things out. She was wearing one of those micro-mini skirts she favours and a tiny pair of pink lacy panties, and the way she was bent over there was more panties on display than mini-skirt, and there wasn't much panties to show.
I looked at those long legs of hers, running smoothly up to where the panties held them together, and my mind was running wild. What would happen if I just walked up behind her and ran my hand up those sexy legs until it cupped that fine pussy straining against those panties?
The temptation to find out was high, but other temptations came crowding in. What would be the result of gently tugging on those sexy panties? Would they slide all the way down those smooth legs or would I have to help them?
If her panties did slide down, what would be the result of my placing my hand over that pussy and squeezing? What would be the easiest way to check if she was wearing a bra? Should I slide my hands up under the front of her t-shirt where it sagged forward? If she was wearing a bra, what would she do if I undid it?
The woman was a walking, breathing piece of temptation, but if I yielded to temptation, would she yield to me?
If my wife hadn't been in the next room, then my wife's little sister may have got a nasty shock right at this moment. Or a pleasant surprise. Who knows which? Instead, I beat a hasty retreat from that delectable sight. Maureen would probably have a few words to say to me if she caught me eyeing little sister, Christy.
Mind you, I can't complain about Maureen's looks or sexiness. She was only a couple of years older than Christy, and I still found her as exciting as ever and we had a healthy sex life. But healthy sex life or not, that doesn't mean I'm blind to temptation.
Maureen and I had been married for several years now and things were going smoothly. We both had good jobs and had managed to save up a good deposit on our house, which we now owned jointly with the bank.
Two months ago, Maureen's parents departed on a cruise and they were going to be gone for three months. However, they didn't want Christy to be alone in the house for that period of time and so Maureen came to their rescue. Christy would stay with us for the duration of the cruise.
I wasn't exactly consulted on this offer, but I had no real objection. I've know Christy for as long as I've known Maureen and I've always got on well with her. What I hadn't bargained on was just how grown up she was now and just how incredibly sexy she was.
Maureen and Christy were both natural blondes. They call themselves ash blonde, whatever that means. As far as I'm concerned, blonde is blonde. Actually the only real difference between the sisters was a couple of years. Describe one as blonde, sexy, vivacious, intelligent and enchanting and you've also described the other.
Come to think of it, there is one other difference between them and that's their taste in clothing. I had never really considered Maureen's clothes to be modest, and heads turn when she walks past. Christy's clothes, however, are a little more extreme, with the result that heads don't turn so much as swivel rapidly. I'm sure some men have come down with whiplash, heads have snapped around so fast to watch her.
And that piece of mobile temptation is wandering around my house every day, dressed in clothes that came in two styles. Scanty and scantier. This is not to say she is immodest. In the two months that she's been here I haven't met her wandering around the house in her underwear, whereas Maureen does that as a matter of course. Not that I'd object if Christy followed her example. Far be it for me to try to stifle her natural instincts.
Anyway, I only had another month to sweat out. And sweat it out I did, right up to the weekend before the old folk got back from their cruise.
It was a Saturday, and Maureen had some things she had to do and she was gone for a few hours. Anyway, the same scenario that I described at the start of this story, or damned similar to it.
I walked into the laundry and there she was, bent over the drier taking some things out. She was wearing one of those micro-mini skirts she favours, and a tiny pair of lacy panties (pale green this time, and I'll swear semi-transparent), and the way she was bent over there was more panties on display than mini-skirt, and there wasn't much panties to show.
I probably would have backed out again but something suddenly occurred to me. I'd been in the kitchen for about ten minutes, which meant that as Christy hadn't passed through the kitchen, and I hadn't heard the back door open, then Christy must have been bent over that drier for at least that ten minutes, as I would have heard the drier if it was on.
Ten minutes bent over the drier, flashing her panties to the world? Somehow I thought not. So what do you do when you're not certain? You take steps to find out of course.
