Lake House 2

My boyfriend Mark's family has a house on a lake upstate. We were invited up for a long weekend to enjoy the sun, the water, and the company. Mark's mom Ann is a great cook, his dad Bob is an avid fisherman, and his younger brother Steve is the gamer. I get along with them all; they're fun and kind.

On Saturday morning, however, Mark got a frantic phone call from his boss. A contract about to be signed was discovered to have whole sections missing, and Mark was needed to reconstruct the missing material. Since I drove us in my car, I dejectedly started packing up, sad to miss out on the rest of the weekend. Mark's dad Bob stopped me.

"I have to go home on Monday anyway. Why don't you let Mark take your car, and you can come with me then?" Mark agreed that the plan made sense, so who was I to argue? I turned over my keys and kissed him goodbye. I'd miss him for two nights, that's for sure, but relaxing lakeside was an appealing tradeoff.

After lunch, I dove into the water for some exercise. I love to swim. I don't go fast, but I can go for hours without tiring. Now, this might be because my F-cup tits are so buoyant. I suspect it is. I've long had trouble finding swimsuits that keep those puppies covered, since once in water, they tend to rise out of whatever bit of cloth dares to rein them in. I always have to be careful to adjust myself back into my suit whenever I get out of the water.

I'm swimming leisurely around our little cove when Steve launches himself off the dock in a mighty cannonball. "Boom!" he narrates, after coming back up for air. "You've been bombed, Kara!" I laugh at the lame humor. Steve is just out of college; he still likes frathouse games.

"Not yet," I counter. "Maybe I'll get bombed when we crack open the wine at supper." Steve is mock-aghast that I'd contradict him. He swims up to me and playfully begins to water-wrestle. I slip from his grip easily enough, but the top to my suit is dislodged, and his hand brushes against my naked breast. His eyes go wide in surprise. I'm able to fix my suit right away. But he quickly swims behind me and takes a handful of titflesh in each greedy paw. I wriggle away, scolding him, laughing, blushing. He makes a few more attempts to grab me, but I push him away, with more laughter. Time to dry off, anyway.

Out of the water, l stretch out on the dock to sunbathe. Face down, I undo the straps of my top to prevent tan lines. The sun feels delightful after the cool water, and I feel myself getting drowsy. All of a sudden, though, something cold and wet hits the back of my thigh. I react before I can think, jerking up to see what it is. Steve has thrown a wet water polo ball at me. His mischief has had the intended effect; my breasts are exposed for the moment it takes to gather my wits.

"For fuck's sake! Steve, you're an asshole!" I scold as I cover up.

"Oh, sorry, did I hit you?" he says, not able to mask his laughter. Only one of his hands is visible above the waterline. I don't even want to know where the other hand is.

The rest of the afternoon passes pleasantly. At suppertime, I change out of my swimsuit to help Ann with the cooking while Bob and Steve man the campfire. Everybody prefers fire-grilled food after a day on the water. The wine, a local vintage, goes perfectly with the food, convincing me to have more than my usual couple of glasses. I'm feeling no pain, that's for sure. Ann retires inside to read, but Bob and Steve stay outside next to the fire and the bottles. Our conversation is friendly and playful, but as the bottles empty, our playfulness takes a naughty turn. Steve begins narrating the story of Kara versus The Water Polo Ball, which focuses the attention of both men on my chest. Look: when you have the size breasts I do, you get accustomed to staring. I can ignore most of it. I good-naturedly call Steve an asshole again. Sometimes, though, the staring has another effect. Sometimes, it's as if the eyes of the ogler can see right into my sex. I am starting to feel a little self-conscious.

Bob seems to sense my discomfort, and takes it as his cue to be even more brazen. "Well, Steve, are they as amazing as Mark told us they are?"

"Dad, you have no idea. Mark didn't do them justice. Epic tits, lemme tell you."

I'm astonished. "Wait. Wait! Mark discusses me with you?!" I don't know whom to be madder at.

Bob laughs. "Oh, Kara, don't be like that. He's just proud of snagging a girl as hot as you. Couldn't keep it to himself. No harm done."

Well, I don't know if sharing details of our intimate life constitutes 'no harm', but whatever damage was done is just that: done. I take another swallow of wine and pout.

Steve gets out of his chair, comes up behind me, squeezes my arms and gives me a brotherly kiss on the shoulder. As I smile my forgiveness, I feel his hand caress my back. I might be wrong, but I could swear his fingers linger over the area my bra band would be, if I were wearing one. But I'm not. And now he knows it. The combination of wine and embarrassment has led to a new feeling: I'm a little bit turned on at Steve's touch. When he leaves me to collect a refill, I find I miss the warmth of his hand.

Bob recommences the teasing. "Geez, Kara, it doesn't seem right that my two sons have seen your tits and I haven't. How's about a flash for Daddy, huh?"

My cheeks flush: my first impulse is to agree with him. Wouldn't it be nice to bare my breasts here in the firelight to such an eager audience? Wouldn't their hungry eyes feel like caresses? Might they want then to kiss my plump nipples, to lick them? Without thinking, I find my hand is now on my chest above my breasts.

Fortunately, my better judgment finally kicks in, and I laugh off the suggestion and announce, "That's it. I'm going to bed."

Back in my bedroom, the realization that Mark isn't here to spend my arousal on hits me hard. I climb into bed and toss for a bit. I want to masturbate really badly, but I feel awkward in Mark's parents' house without Mark's buffering presence. So I begin softly, dipping one finger between my velvet folds. I burrow further under the thin sheet, caressing my tit with my free hand. Slowly, I speed up my tempo. I visualize Mark's attentions, but before I know it, that image is replaced by Bob and Steve slowly sucking my breasts. I picture the caresses I'd longed for earlier. I increase the pressure on my clit and the speed with which I rub it. The sheet pulls away from my chest, baring my tits to the night air. Now I begin imagining fucking Mark while Bob watches hungrily. This pushes me over the edge. My spasms are accompanied by whimpers and sighs, even as hard as I'm trying to be quiet. As I relax into the afterglow, somewhere on the outside of my consciousness I hear a faint noise. Did my door just close? The night is still, so it can't have been the wind. Is it possible one of my housemates was at my door watching me play with myself? No, ludicrous. Must be my heated imagination. I roll over, tuck a hand between my breasts and drift off to sleep.

The following morning, Bob asks if I'd like to join him on his boat for fishing. I don't fish, so this is code for more sunbathing Why not? Steve and Ann have errands to run in town; they won't be joining us.

Bob takes me on a bit of a tour around the lake. The sunlight glistens off the water, making even the most humble of cabins look lovely and romantic. After an hour or so, we find a cove to anchor in. Bob sets up the fishing poles.

"Want a beer?" he offers as he opens one for himself.

"Sure!" I answer.

He hands me a bottle. "I hope I didn't embarrass you last night."

I briefly wonder if he means the campfire teasing or watching me masturbate, but I give him the benefit of my doubt, conclude the former and wave him away. "It's fine. No worries." Whichever, as much as I appreciate the apology, I'd really rather we talk about something else.

"Mark is crazy about you. I'd hate to think I screwed things up for him."

"No worries," I repeat firmly. "Hey, how 'bout them Mets?" Now, nobody in this house is a Mets fan. But Bob takes the obvious subject change tactic with a friendly laugh.

"No worse than ever!" We both smile and get on with the serious business of fishing and lolling.

I'm wearing my favorite new swimsuit, which is a two-piece tankini. The top is halter style, and the neckline plunges into a deep vee secured by elastic corset laces, and comes down to my navel. The construction and chevron design really showcase my cleavage. The bottom is bikini style, a smidge loose for me. I had to go up in size to get the top to fit, which means extra room on the bottom. Not uncomfortably so, which is good. I wouldn't want to lose them diving.

I notice Bob's shoulders getting pink. "You need some sunscreen," I warn. Bob picks up a bottle of lotion and asks if I'll do his back for him. I squirt some of the stuff into my hands. Once warmed up, I cover his back. I can see he's enjoying this low-rent massage. I knead his back thoroughly. That's not bad, I think.

"Return the favor?" he asks. I demur, not really needing it. But the idea of having Bob run his hands over my warming flesh is warming me up in other ways. I guess I'm just missing Mark.

Bob notices some activity on the fishing pole. While he's tending to his catch he hands me the net to scoop up the victim. Leaning over to reach the water, the upper edge of my top catches on the railing, pulling downward. A boob pops out. I need both hands to work the net; I can't put myself back in. I find myself both afraid Bob will see, and hoping he will. As he reels in the catch, I sense he's taking more time than necessary. I feel my nipple hardening. Once the fish is in, I quickly replace my top. Bob is grinning at me like an idiot.

I take this chance for a dip in the water. Both nipples are now hard in the cool water. When I'm sure Bob isn't looking, I loosen the laces of my top so that the water has direct contract with my tits. Oh, that's lovely. I play with them under cover of water for as long as I think I can get away with it. Soon enough, I shift the fabric back in place without tightening the laces and climb back on board. Bob gawks at my protruding buds but doesn't say anything. His stare makes them stiffer, if that's possible. He manages to stammer that the fish caught isn't big enough to keep, so we'll have to go home empty handed. I suggest another beer as consolation.

While I'm leaning over the cooler, I give in to the temptation nagging at me since last night. I lean forward enough that the front of my top falls away from my breasts. They swing lewdly, completely exposed, areola and all. So there, I think. Now all the men in the family have seen my tits. I avoid eye contact, however. I can't let Bob see how turned I am by flashing my boyfriend's father. I hand over the beer and lie down on my stomach to sun my back.

I can feel the weight of Bob's stare for several minutes. Finally, he tells me that I'm now the one needing sunscreen. Before I can object (not that I would!), his hands are covered in lotion and roaming the exposed areas of my back and shoulders. He massages for a good long time; I sigh contentedly. I'm this close to turning over and letting him rub my lonely titties when I feel his hand slip into the space between the top edge of my swimsuit bottoms and my skin. Ever so lightly, he brushes the back of his hand over my ass, pausing briefly in its cleft. I have an involuntary reaction to the marvelous sensation, wriggling my ass into his hand. He turns it over and softly palms my cheeks one at a time. Dear God, I won't be able to take much more. I have to think of Mark. I sigh sadly, "Enough." Bob withdraws his hand with only the smallest of hesitation. We finish our beers exchanging guiltily smiles.

Once back to the house, I head for the shower to wash away the sunscreen and sweat. In the hot steam, I find myself thinking about how much my missing Mark has made me cross some boundaries I shouldn't. I'm really glad I'll see him tomorrow; we have a lot of time to make up. It then naturally occurs to me that I should shave my pussy if I want to be smooth for our reunion!

I find my razor, put a foot onto the edge of the tub, and begin the delicate work. Just as I begin, I notice the door is ajar. Too soapy to get out and close it, I check the mirror to see if the coast is clear. Oh, no, Steve is in his room, and he has a direct line of sight right through the gap between the shower curtain and the wall. I watch him in the mirror, hoping he's not paying attention. The only thing to do is to make this quick. Holding up my tits with one arm so I can see below, I work around my mound, hoping the steam will obscure the view. Of course, no good comes of rushing a shaving job around one's tender lips. I slow down, working carefully around the folds. My fingers, warmed by the hot water, feel amazing next to my opening. Here I go again; I can't help myself. I insert two fingers inside. My index finger and thumb continue to hold the labia apart for the razor so I can finish the job. I'm clean, finally. Now that I can put down the blade, I begin to work on my clit with purpose. It's useless to think otherwise: I know Steve can see me. I know he's watching. I can't stop myself. I bring myself off, leaning on the tiles of the wall for stability. I grab a tit and squeeze, biting back my moans of pleasure. The second I'm recovered, I grab a towel, get out of the tub - and out of Steve's sightline. I doubt if I'd feel so disconcerted if I'd just masturbated in front of a stranger, but my cheeks burn knowing that I've done so in front of Mark's brother. Another line I shouldn't have crossed.

At supper, Bob tells me he plans to leave by 4:30 am. Ugh. That's earlier than I am usually conscious, but I can't object. "Would you mind if I sleep on the way?" I ask.

"No, I'll have Stevie to make conversation." Steve is going with us, huh? Yikes. Well, I guess it doesn't matter. We play a few hands of cards after dessert, after which Bob and Ann go off to bed. Steve turns on the television to the baseball game. We watch in silence.

After a few minutes, the unmistakable sounds of a creaking bed reach us. After another minute, the groans and urgings of passion follow. I look over at Steve; he grins. "You get used to it," he says. This is new to me. I can't imagine being privy to my parents' sex life. I can't imagine ever getting used to it.

When their dirty talk grows from muffled sounds to full-throated shouting of "Harder! Fuck me! Oh, Fuck me!" I bury my face in my hands and giggle. I'd suspected Bob was a bit of a dog, but I had no idea Ann was such a tiger! When I look back up at Steve, he's staring at me with no expression of embarrassment. His hand is in his lap, lightly stroking. Holy cow, is he turned on by listening to his parents bang? Again, I can't even imagine it.

After a bit, the sounds diminish and stop altogether. I leave Steve to the ballgame (both of them!) and go up to my own room to pack and turn in. For such an early departure time, I decide on a traveling outfit of flouncy knit shorts and a sweatshirt of Mark's. It's a bulky jersey, too small for him now, from which I've cut off the bottom few inches so that it comes to my waist, removed most of the sleeves, and widened the crew neck into a more feminine shape, one that exposes a shoulder. I love that the fabric is so thick, because it allows me to go braless without causing a public stir. And a long drive like we're facing is no time to be bound up in brastraps. I climb into bed and set the alarm.

It rings, way too early. Forgoing a shower and a shampoo, I do a quick wash-up. I put perfumed lotion on my arms and breasts, to avoid a heavy dose of cologne that might choke the occupants of the car. Ann isn't up yet; there's no breakfast. Bob is making coffee, but it's too early for me even for that. He says we'll stop for a bite after a couple hours of driving, which suits me fine. Steve stumbles in to the kitchen, buries his face in my shoulder and murmurs, "Mm, you smell good."

Breaking away, I offer to help loading the SUV. Once done, I leave a note thanking Ann for her hospitality and leave myself a memo on my phone to send her flowers.

"Kara, why don't you ride shotgun?" Steve suggests. "I want to stretch my legs in the back. You can recline if you want to sleep." We bundle into the vehicle and sally forth.

After a few minutes of idle conversation of routes and our plans once we get home, the rhythm of the road in the darkness makes me drowsy. I drop the seat back into a near-flat recline and, half listening to Bob and Steve chat, doze off.

I begin to dream of Mark and the naughtiness we'll get up to as soon as I'm back in his arms. I long to have him tongue my pussy and suck my clit in that amazing way he does. I can't wait to have his cock in me.

I have no idea how much time has passed, but a blast from an air horn wakes me up with a start. I open my eyes and, after adjusting for the now-bright sunlight, find myself looking straight up into the leering face of a semi driver. He's bouncing in his seat, grinning and flashing a thumbs-up. It's then that I realize my cropped top has shifted up over my breasts, which are naked and on full view of the trucker. My right hand is nestled between my pale tits, which is my usual sleep posture and undoubtedly the explanation for why my top is no longer covering me. I'm still in a sleepy daze, but I can tell that both Bob and Steve are enjoying the same show the trucker so admires. As I leave my sexy dream and come to full consciousness, the erotic charge of the situation in which I now find myself hits me, hard. I do nothing to cover up. Instead, I stretch like a cat in a sunbeam and smile back at the trucker.

Steve leans over me as if he's a dentist and I'm in for treatment. He slides my shirt off over my head, stroking my right tit. Bob reaches over to stroke my left. "Geez, Dad. I guess she does like an audience!" His hand moves down underneath the waistband of my shorts and begins feeling for the pussy I'd shaved for his brother.

"You're Mark's family!" I state the obvious, neither expecting them to stop, nor wanting them to.

"Mm, yeah. Funny, that. Mark never mentioned you're a show-off." Steve counters, probing my pussy as I squirm.

"Why wouldn't he tell us such a thing?" Bob wonders, still playing with my tit. "That's the kind of thing he'd tell us."

"He doesn't know!" The words were out before I could stop them. Both men gasp and hoot in delight.

"What do you mean, 'he doesn't know'?" asks Steve. His hand comes out of my pussy just long enough to push the front of my shorts down. Now my bald pussy, and Steve's hand in it, is completely visible to the trucker, who catches my eye and licks his lips. A spasm of arousal overtakes me and I arch my back at him. "How does he NOT know what kind of girl he's with?"

"I stopped when we started dating," I finally admit.

"Stopped?" asks Bob.

"Flashing. I stopped flashing." Before we'd met, I often got my jollies by displaying to strangers. My satisfaction with my sex life with Mark put that aspect of my desires aside. But now, I find myself panting, my pussy dripping under Steve's hand and the trucker's gaze. I spread my legs, putting the lie to what I'd just said. I haven't stopped flashing at all. I like it. I fucking love it.

I reach back to grab the back of Steve's head, pulling him into a tongue-wagging French kiss. Then I nod towards the trucker. "Show him."

Bob barks a laugh. "Ha! Ain't this something! Kara's keeping dirty little secrets from my boy!" He hits the horn in glee. Steve pinches a nipple and sticks his tongue in my ear. This is another thing Mark does that drives me nuts. I conclude he's told Steve about it. Apparently, he doesn't have any secrets from his family. Apparently, now I don't either.