Simone
- 1 year ago
- 13
- 0
Simone Visits free porn video
It was her pelvic bones that did it, looking back. It was summer, and my wife and I had taken a week off together, enjoying the backyard resort we had built for ourselves. We enjoyed it on the weekends, to be sure, and took pleasure that our girls enjoyed it, too. But for a week each summer we wallowed in it, pretending it was an island resort, but all ours, all private.
This time our younger daughter, recently graduated from college, invited her roommate from school. We had met Simone several times during the four years, and she liked us; perhaps slightly jealous of our family, comparing it to her relationship with her parents. It wasn't until the third day, having spent the first two visiting with school friends and going out, that she and our daughter, Ellie, sat poolside with us.
It's not that she was bony; oh, no, not at all. Her butt was decently rounded for a twenty-two year old girl, and her breasts filled the top of her bikini like proud half oranges. She was slightly thinner than my daughter, but not by a lot, and Ellie is no plumper, just a little more rounded in places, in girlie places. It's weird, you know, talking about your daughter’s body. It reminds me of the joke where the guy gets yelled at by his wife for watching porn because the girls are their daughters age. 'Is that what you do when you watch that? Think of your daughter?' She asks. 'No,' he says. 'I think of her friends'.
So my wife and I were already out on the loungers for a while, and I had already jumped in for a swim and was back on the lounger. I was reading, in sunglasses, and my wife was next to me, on her stomach when the girls came out. Already mid-day, it was hot and sunny. They were late risers, having been out the night before.
It was when she lay on the lounge, two down from me, on the chair next to my wife, that I saw the vision that would obsess me. Her pelvic bones were pronounced at the sides, noticeable when she stood, but jutting out from her body when she reclined on her back. The elastic of the waistband stretched taut between them in a straight line, and gravity pulled her small stomach in, and her skin fell away from the top of her bikini bottoms, leaving a gap between the fabric and her skin. At first I thought I imagined it, and then found myself verifying that I was really seeing what I was seeing. And then I couldn't pull my eyes away, and pretended to read and ignore the conversation while I stole guilty surreptitious glances at the gap.
Mind you, there was nothing to see. But my eye was drawn there anyway, wanting, almost needing to see, knowing what WAS there, just out of my sight. A narrow quarter-inch opening between the elastic and her skin, the sun illuminating a stripe inside, and darkness beyond. Nothing. And everything. Because inside that shadow was her naked pussy, and my eyes were drawn to the possibility like a moth to a flame, and I couldn't get it out of my mind.
Her skin was thin at the outcropping of her pelvic bones, and soft and smooth across her belly, just a little mushy where age and drink was starting to take hold. No fat. No hair visible, and I wondered if she trimmed, and if so, how far? Or did she shave it off? Girls didn't shave when I was young. But a lot of them did, now. Right? I wondered if Simone did as I tried to sneak a peek every time she moved her hips, or leaned over, or sat up. Hell, whatever she did, I looked. I was paralyzed by fear of being caught looking, and tried to be sly and slick in my glances, and the conversation ignored me. My wife, ever the entertainer, engaged them in banter while they laughed and conversed.
And I watched. I found myself, beyond reason or reality, hoping that she might turn just enough, just a certain way that the opening might open more, flash me her bare pussy, hair or not, I didn't care. It was like watching two groups of drunks argue in a bar, hoping a fight would break out, knowing full well that you were too close and were bound to get caught in the ensuing melee.
Of course, it didn't happen. The girls swam, and sat on floats. I napped a little. I looked more when my wife went inside to fix lunch, and less when she came back out. I read very little, but had my book open a lot. Simone seemed nonchalant about it, as if she either didn't know about the gap or didn't care. She and Ellie gabbed and laughed and gabbed more as they always do. Just in bikinis. And hers with that illicit gap that teased and taunted me to distraction. And so the afternoon went.
Later, as the sun ducked behind a tree and hid us from its warmth we decided on a last swim, and then to prepare for dinner. I was the last one in, hanging the towels on the rack and cleaning up. I passed my wife in the kitchen, showered and dressed already, and kissed her and went to our room to change out of my suit and grab a towel. I opened the door and froze.
Simone was there, wrapped in a towel, her side to me, silhouetted against the large window. I apologized over her explanation that Ellie had said she could use the room to dress. I was backing out but I stopped, our eyes locked, my mind scouring the images of the day, her tiny gap, the hint of forbidden flesh. There was a long silence, and I moved back awards to the door, and she spoke.
"No, wait." Her voice was tinged with more than the carefree lilt it had carried all afternoon; that was still there, but another tone overplayed it, more serious. She turned to face me. "Close the door."
I don't know why, but I did as she said, pushing it slowly closed with my foot without turning away; I had that feeling, that if I turned my head I would miss something. And then, her eyes holding mine intently, she opened the towel and pulled it wide, dropping it behind her back, off her shoulders. And still she held my eyes; I couldn't tear them away from her face, expressionless and carefree.
"Look at me," she said then, and my eyes swept down her lovely young body, arms out to the side holding the towel at her back, behind her hips. Her skin slightly reddened over her tan in all the exposed places, the rest as white as pale ivory. Her youthful breasts stood proud and round on her, the nipple pink, beginning to crinkle. My eyes paused; watched them harden and beckon. Her narrow waist, small tummy. Those slightly protruding pelvic bones, not so pronounced as she stood, and between them, the promise of the gap that had beleaguered me all day, her shaved pussy, bare and pale, thin labia between her thighs, bulging just enough to be seen. I thought I saw a glistening there, wondering if I imagined it, or just wished it so.
Time froze. All day I had dreamed, imagined, wondered, my will subservient to my need, an addictive drug out of reach to my eyes. And now here she was, all of her unhidden. No longer an accidental glimpse, no longer a tease. A feast for my eyes, offered fully for my viewing. My obsession gripped me as my eyes accepted her gift, the drug of her exposure.
"I saw you looking," she said plainly. "I wanted you to see." Her breasts rose and fell as she breathed, standing there, otherwise motionless. "You liked peeking," she said, her voice soft, secretive. "Do you like seeing?"
"Very much," I whispered, and the fear of discovery emerged with my words, suddenly filling me with anxiety. What if my wife came in? Still I could not tear my eyes away, memorizing every inch of her, searing those hidden parts of her into my retina. She dropped the towel to the floor behind her and took a step towards me.
“You like to see,” she stated softly. “I like to show. To be seen.” Her voice dropped and she stepped closer. “I like it even more when it is wrong, and dangerous.” Her eyes were heated and wet and her lips were parted. I felt my breath catch as she took another step and paused. “I don’t want sex. It’s not what I like.” She turned her head and glanced at the bed. “I like to show. You like to see. We’ll have to be quick.” Her eyebrows lowered. “Your wife could come in at any minute, catch us like this.”
“Yes,” I hissed as she turned and sat on the edge of the bed. “She would be…”
“She’d be angry,” Simone finished for me. “Angry at me. Furious at you.” She lifted a foot to the edge of the bed, thighs together, knee hiding one breast. “She wouldn’t understand, would she?” Slowly, her raised knee slid to the side, parting her legs. “She doesn’t understand what you need. What I need, what we can share.” As her leg moved her opposite hand slid to the juncture where her other thigh remained motionless. Her raised leg continued its slow motion outward, exposing her pale flesh, the swollen, tender labia. Her full peach, beautiful and perfect, exposed for my eyes. I exhaled, unaware I had been holding it.
“She’s right down the hall,” I whispered, “so close. She could come in any minute.” I watched her fingers slip down between her legs. She slid the lower leg now, spreading herself, and her fingers stroked her slit, from the bottom up. I noticed my cock straining and wondered when it had begun, and didn’t care. I was fully hard and throbbing, but could pay no attention to it. All of my being stared at the vision before me as she exposed herself.
“I know,” she said evilly, “it could happen any second. But that’s part of the excitement, isn’t it?” Her fingers touched her labia on one side, pressed into the soft flesh. “Like peeking at me when she’s right there. The danger makes it exciting.” She pulled the fleshy lips to the side, showing a slick pink wetness beneath. “It makes me excited and wet,” she whispered. “She could catch me, showing you my private place,” she hissed, “showing you my wet pussy.” Her voice lowered and the next words came out as throaty gasp. “My cunt.”
The word made me panic, and fear swept through me. “We can’t… she might…”
“Yes,” she said, and slipped a finger inside herself. “We should stop, now,” she added softly, burrowing her finger into her wetness, adding a second, then extracting them, wet and slick, parting them to show me the webbing of her secretions. I heard a moan, and realized it was my own. “You should go now. Go shower. Stroke your cock and think of this,” she said, and slipped her fingers into her mouth, sucking her juices from the digits. She smiled as she extracted the fingers.
And then she stood, suddenly, and returned to where she had left the towel. With her back to me as she bent I caught a quick glimpse of her young, tight buttocks parting, a hint of her pink crinkle, so tight and delicate and fresh. She wrapped the towel around her and turned to face me. Blood returned to my brain, and I blinked.
“Go, now, silly,” she said, “we’re done here. Go jerk your cock for me. Have a good one, and think of me.” She smiled.
“Thank you,” I managed, and back-stepped to the door. “You’re- you’re beautiful.”
“I know,” she said without arrogance. “And I like to show it.” Her eyes narrowed as I reached for the doorknob. “I’m staying another few days,” she said. “Maybe we will get another chance to share our little experience?”
I nodded, afraid to speak as I peered out the door, seeing the hallway clear, and dashed to the bathroom. I turned on the shower but didn’t get in. Naked, I stood in front of the sink, staring at myself in the mirror as I stroked my cock, ashamed of my weakness, thrilled at the danger as I urged my cum. For her. Her pink nipples, her parted legs, the luscious glistening peach between them. I groaned as I recalled her fingers, slipping from her pussy, slick and webbed with her excitement, and I shot my load, urgent and almost painful, across the sink, grunting.
Guilt wracked me immediately. I mentally scolded myself again as I panicked, wiping my cum from the sink, compelling myself to resist the memory, to restrain my thoughts, to ignore her teasing of future possibilities. I imagined her dressed, with the rest of my family at dinner, looking at me, knowing what I’d seen, what she had shown me. She would know, and I would know she knew. I would turn away, ashamed, determined not to fall under her spell. I steeled my nerves under the hot spray, and felt my cock, so recently sated, twitch at the danger, the knowing, the secret we shared. I had to stop. To not look. To not imagine or even think of looking.
But inside I knew; knew I would not resist, and that if she chose to show me, I would look. Oh, how I would look, and see, and let her see me looking. Just the thought of it returned me to full hardness, and I stroked myself again, in the shower, for her. For what we shared, her gift to me. I grunted silently, shooting myself up, coating my fingers, rinsing my shame down the shower drain as it spurted from me.
I was lost.
This time our younger daughter, recently graduated from college, invited her roommate from school. We had met Simone several times during the four years, and she liked us; perhaps slightly jealous of our family, comparing it to her relationship with her parents. It wasn't until the third day, having spent the first two visiting with school friends and going out, that she and our daughter, Ellie, sat poolside with us.
It's not that she was bony; oh, no, not at all. Her butt was decently rounded for a twenty-two year old girl, and her breasts filled the top of her bikini like proud half oranges. She was slightly thinner than my daughter, but not by a lot, and Ellie is no plumper, just a little more rounded in places, in girlie places. It's weird, you know, talking about your daughter’s body. It reminds me of the joke where the guy gets yelled at by his wife for watching porn because the girls are their daughters age. 'Is that what you do when you watch that? Think of your daughter?' She asks. 'No,' he says. 'I think of her friends'.
So my wife and I were already out on the loungers for a while, and I had already jumped in for a swim and was back on the lounger. I was reading, in sunglasses, and my wife was next to me, on her stomach when the girls came out. Already mid-day, it was hot and sunny. They were late risers, having been out the night before.
It was when she lay on the lounge, two down from me, on the chair next to my wife, that I saw the vision that would obsess me. Her pelvic bones were pronounced at the sides, noticeable when she stood, but jutting out from her body when she reclined on her back. The elastic of the waistband stretched taut between them in a straight line, and gravity pulled her small stomach in, and her skin fell away from the top of her bikini bottoms, leaving a gap between the fabric and her skin. At first I thought I imagined it, and then found myself verifying that I was really seeing what I was seeing. And then I couldn't pull my eyes away, and pretended to read and ignore the conversation while I stole guilty surreptitious glances at the gap.
Mind you, there was nothing to see. But my eye was drawn there anyway, wanting, almost needing to see, knowing what WAS there, just out of my sight. A narrow quarter-inch opening between the elastic and her skin, the sun illuminating a stripe inside, and darkness beyond. Nothing. And everything. Because inside that shadow was her naked pussy, and my eyes were drawn to the possibility like a moth to a flame, and I couldn't get it out of my mind.
Her skin was thin at the outcropping of her pelvic bones, and soft and smooth across her belly, just a little mushy where age and drink was starting to take hold. No fat. No hair visible, and I wondered if she trimmed, and if so, how far? Or did she shave it off? Girls didn't shave when I was young. But a lot of them did, now. Right? I wondered if Simone did as I tried to sneak a peek every time she moved her hips, or leaned over, or sat up. Hell, whatever she did, I looked. I was paralyzed by fear of being caught looking, and tried to be sly and slick in my glances, and the conversation ignored me. My wife, ever the entertainer, engaged them in banter while they laughed and conversed.
And I watched. I found myself, beyond reason or reality, hoping that she might turn just enough, just a certain way that the opening might open more, flash me her bare pussy, hair or not, I didn't care. It was like watching two groups of drunks argue in a bar, hoping a fight would break out, knowing full well that you were too close and were bound to get caught in the ensuing melee.
Of course, it didn't happen. The girls swam, and sat on floats. I napped a little. I looked more when my wife went inside to fix lunch, and less when she came back out. I read very little, but had my book open a lot. Simone seemed nonchalant about it, as if she either didn't know about the gap or didn't care. She and Ellie gabbed and laughed and gabbed more as they always do. Just in bikinis. And hers with that illicit gap that teased and taunted me to distraction. And so the afternoon went.
Later, as the sun ducked behind a tree and hid us from its warmth we decided on a last swim, and then to prepare for dinner. I was the last one in, hanging the towels on the rack and cleaning up. I passed my wife in the kitchen, showered and dressed already, and kissed her and went to our room to change out of my suit and grab a towel. I opened the door and froze.
Simone was there, wrapped in a towel, her side to me, silhouetted against the large window. I apologized over her explanation that Ellie had said she could use the room to dress. I was backing out but I stopped, our eyes locked, my mind scouring the images of the day, her tiny gap, the hint of forbidden flesh. There was a long silence, and I moved back awards to the door, and she spoke.
"No, wait." Her voice was tinged with more than the carefree lilt it had carried all afternoon; that was still there, but another tone overplayed it, more serious. She turned to face me. "Close the door."
I don't know why, but I did as she said, pushing it slowly closed with my foot without turning away; I had that feeling, that if I turned my head I would miss something. And then, her eyes holding mine intently, she opened the towel and pulled it wide, dropping it behind her back, off her shoulders. And still she held my eyes; I couldn't tear them away from her face, expressionless and carefree.
"Look at me," she said then, and my eyes swept down her lovely young body, arms out to the side holding the towel at her back, behind her hips. Her skin slightly reddened over her tan in all the exposed places, the rest as white as pale ivory. Her youthful breasts stood proud and round on her, the nipple pink, beginning to crinkle. My eyes paused; watched them harden and beckon. Her narrow waist, small tummy. Those slightly protruding pelvic bones, not so pronounced as she stood, and between them, the promise of the gap that had beleaguered me all day, her shaved pussy, bare and pale, thin labia between her thighs, bulging just enough to be seen. I thought I saw a glistening there, wondering if I imagined it, or just wished it so.
Time froze. All day I had dreamed, imagined, wondered, my will subservient to my need, an addictive drug out of reach to my eyes. And now here she was, all of her unhidden. No longer an accidental glimpse, no longer a tease. A feast for my eyes, offered fully for my viewing. My obsession gripped me as my eyes accepted her gift, the drug of her exposure.
"I saw you looking," she said plainly. "I wanted you to see." Her breasts rose and fell as she breathed, standing there, otherwise motionless. "You liked peeking," she said, her voice soft, secretive. "Do you like seeing?"
"Very much," I whispered, and the fear of discovery emerged with my words, suddenly filling me with anxiety. What if my wife came in? Still I could not tear my eyes away, memorizing every inch of her, searing those hidden parts of her into my retina. She dropped the towel to the floor behind her and took a step towards me.
“You like to see,” she stated softly. “I like to show. To be seen.” Her voice dropped and she stepped closer. “I like it even more when it is wrong, and dangerous.” Her eyes were heated and wet and her lips were parted. I felt my breath catch as she took another step and paused. “I don’t want sex. It’s not what I like.” She turned her head and glanced at the bed. “I like to show. You like to see. We’ll have to be quick.” Her eyebrows lowered. “Your wife could come in at any minute, catch us like this.”
“Yes,” I hissed as she turned and sat on the edge of the bed. “She would be…”
“She’d be angry,” Simone finished for me. “Angry at me. Furious at you.” She lifted a foot to the edge of the bed, thighs together, knee hiding one breast. “She wouldn’t understand, would she?” Slowly, her raised knee slid to the side, parting her legs. “She doesn’t understand what you need. What I need, what we can share.” As her leg moved her opposite hand slid to the juncture where her other thigh remained motionless. Her raised leg continued its slow motion outward, exposing her pale flesh, the swollen, tender labia. Her full peach, beautiful and perfect, exposed for my eyes. I exhaled, unaware I had been holding it.
“She’s right down the hall,” I whispered, “so close. She could come in any minute.” I watched her fingers slip down between her legs. She slid the lower leg now, spreading herself, and her fingers stroked her slit, from the bottom up. I noticed my cock straining and wondered when it had begun, and didn’t care. I was fully hard and throbbing, but could pay no attention to it. All of my being stared at the vision before me as she exposed herself.
“I know,” she said evilly, “it could happen any second. But that’s part of the excitement, isn’t it?” Her fingers touched her labia on one side, pressed into the soft flesh. “Like peeking at me when she’s right there. The danger makes it exciting.” She pulled the fleshy lips to the side, showing a slick pink wetness beneath. “It makes me excited and wet,” she whispered. “She could catch me, showing you my private place,” she hissed, “showing you my wet pussy.” Her voice lowered and the next words came out as throaty gasp. “My cunt.”
The word made me panic, and fear swept through me. “We can’t… she might…”
“Yes,” she said, and slipped a finger inside herself. “We should stop, now,” she added softly, burrowing her finger into her wetness, adding a second, then extracting them, wet and slick, parting them to show me the webbing of her secretions. I heard a moan, and realized it was my own. “You should go now. Go shower. Stroke your cock and think of this,” she said, and slipped her fingers into her mouth, sucking her juices from the digits. She smiled as she extracted the fingers.
And then she stood, suddenly, and returned to where she had left the towel. With her back to me as she bent I caught a quick glimpse of her young, tight buttocks parting, a hint of her pink crinkle, so tight and delicate and fresh. She wrapped the towel around her and turned to face me. Blood returned to my brain, and I blinked.
“Go, now, silly,” she said, “we’re done here. Go jerk your cock for me. Have a good one, and think of me.” She smiled.
“Thank you,” I managed, and back-stepped to the door. “You’re- you’re beautiful.”
“I know,” she said without arrogance. “And I like to show it.” Her eyes narrowed as I reached for the doorknob. “I’m staying another few days,” she said. “Maybe we will get another chance to share our little experience?”
I nodded, afraid to speak as I peered out the door, seeing the hallway clear, and dashed to the bathroom. I turned on the shower but didn’t get in. Naked, I stood in front of the sink, staring at myself in the mirror as I stroked my cock, ashamed of my weakness, thrilled at the danger as I urged my cum. For her. Her pink nipples, her parted legs, the luscious glistening peach between them. I groaned as I recalled her fingers, slipping from her pussy, slick and webbed with her excitement, and I shot my load, urgent and almost painful, across the sink, grunting.
Guilt wracked me immediately. I mentally scolded myself again as I panicked, wiping my cum from the sink, compelling myself to resist the memory, to restrain my thoughts, to ignore her teasing of future possibilities. I imagined her dressed, with the rest of my family at dinner, looking at me, knowing what I’d seen, what she had shown me. She would know, and I would know she knew. I would turn away, ashamed, determined not to fall under her spell. I steeled my nerves under the hot spray, and felt my cock, so recently sated, twitch at the danger, the knowing, the secret we shared. I had to stop. To not look. To not imagine or even think of looking.
But inside I knew; knew I would not resist, and that if she chose to show me, I would look. Oh, how I would look, and see, and let her see me looking. Just the thought of it returned me to full hardness, and I stroked myself again, in the shower, for her. For what we shared, her gift to me. I grunted silently, shooting myself up, coating my fingers, rinsing my shame down the shower drain as it spurted from me.
I was lost.
Brandy
- 09.03.2021
- 9
- 0
- Category:
- Voyeur
