A Forbidden Summer Passion with My Wife's Sister

Hey, I’m James, 32 years old and two years into a fiery marriage with my wife, Lily. Back when we were engaged, I’d make monthly weekend trips to her family’s home in San Diego, a sun-drenched paradise by the coast. Lily’s older sister, Emma, was also engaged at the time, but her fiancé, Mark, never stayed over. At night, I’d sleep alone in a guest room, while Lily and Emma shared another. Once the house fell silent, Lily would sneak into my room, and we’d lose ourselves in passionate, albeit restrained, encounters. “I’m saving myself for our wedding night,” Lily would whisper, her voice firm yet teasing, ensuring we never crossed that final line. But everything else? Oh, we explored every inch of desire, leaving us both breathless and satisfied.

The First Glimpse

One sultry San Diego summer night, the air thick with heat, Lily and I were tangled in my room, the window flung open to catch the faint ocean breeze. The house, a charming single-story bungalow nestled in a lush garden, felt like our private oasis. We’d been at it for about half an hour, Lily’s lips working magic on me, her soft moans blending with the distant hum of crickets. The moonlight spilled through the window, casting a silver glow over us, making my skin glisten as she drove me wild.

Then, a shadow caught my eye outside the window. I froze, squinting into the night. There, in the garden, stood Emma, her silhouette unmistakable. Her chestnut hair caught the moonlight, and her small, delicate frame was tense with curiosity. One hand was at her lips, fingers tracing her mouth, while the other roamed over her petite chest. At 6 or 7 years older than Lily, Emma had a subtle, understated beauty—her small breasts and tight curves a stark contrast to Lily’s fuller figure.

“Keep going, baby,” I murmured to Lily, my voice low, but my eyes locked on Emma. The thrill of being watched sent a jolt through me. I gripped Lily’s hair, guiding her rhythm, my movements deliberate, almost performative. Emma’s eyes widened, her hand slipping lower, disappearing from view. She thought she was hidden, but I saw everything.

I flipped Lily onto her back, positioning her so Emma’s view was obscured. “Let me taste you,” I growled, diving between her thighs, my tongue exploring her with a hunger fueled by our secret audience. Lily gasped, “James, oh God, you’re so good tonight.” I grinned against her skin, knowing Emma’s gaze was burning into us. After a long, indulgent session, I moved over Lily, rubbing myself against her, our usual way of finding release without crossing her boundary. Emma, still watching, seemed to think I’d gone further, her movements growing frantic as she touched herself.

I shifted Lily into different positions, each one a silent show for Emma. At one point, I angled myself toward the window, stroking myself briefly for Emma’s benefit before returning to Lily. Finally, I had Lily on her knees, her back to the window, and I let go, my release painting her skin as I locked eyes with Emma. With a subtle gesture, I signaled for her to leave. Her eyes widened in shock—she hadn’t realized I’d seen her. She vanished into the night, just as Lily, sated, kissed me softly and promised to return to her room soon.

The Morning After

The next morning, the house buzzed with normalcy. Emma was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast, her demeanor cool but her eyes lingering on me a fraction too long. “Morning, James,” she said, her voice neutral but her smile carrying a hidden edge. We sat for a family breakfast, the table laden with pancakes, fresh fruit, and coffee, the ocean breeze drifting through the open windows. Emma was unusually attentive, refilling my coffee, her fingers brushing mine. “You sleep okay, James?” she asked, a playful lilt in her tone. “Like a dream,” I replied, meeting her gaze, a silent acknowledgment passing between us.

Lily and her mom, Clara, insisted I stay another night. That evening, Mark joined us for dinner, and we set up a lively table in the garden, strings of fairy lights twinkling above. The wine flowed freely, and as the night deepened, Clara, who didn’t drink, excused herself when the conversation turned risqué. “You kids are getting too wild for me,” she laughed, heading to bed. Emma, emboldened by the wine, steered the talk toward sex. “So, Lily, what’s your take on couples getting intimate before marriage?” she asked, her eyes flicking to me.

Lily, tipsy but firm, said, “I’m against it. I want it to be special.” Emma raised an eyebrow, smirking. “If Mark pushed for it, I’d do whatever it took to keep him. You know, live a little.” Lily and I pounced, teasing, “Oh, come on, Emma, spill! Have you and Mark…?” She laughed, swearing, “No way, we haven’t! I’m just saying.” But then she turned the tables. “What about you two? Don’t tell me you’re saints.” My heart skipped, thinking she’d reveal last night, but she didn’t. Lily blushed, “You know me, Emma. I’m waiting.” Emma leaned back, her eyes glinting. “Sure, sure. You’re getting married soon anyway. What’s the harm?” With a dramatic yawn, she stood. “I’m tipsy and talking nonsense. Night, you two.” She swayed off, leaving a charged silence.

The Second Night

Lily, flushed from the wine, whispered, “I’m too drunk to stay up. Let’s head to bed.” I pulled her close, “Not yet, baby. Let’s have some fun first.” She giggled, relenting, and we slipped into my room. The heat was stifling, and Lily, fanning herself, said, “It’s too hot, James. Let’s open the door for a breeze, but you better be quiet.” I nodded, my pulse quickening as she left the door ajar. I knew Emma would be watching again, and sure enough, her shadow appeared in the hallway, her eyes gleaming in the dim light.

I maneuvered Lily into a 69 position, ensuring her face was away from the door. “God, you’re so good,” she moaned as I devoured her, my eyes flicking to Emma. She was touching herself again, her nightgown hiked up, her small breasts exposed. Emboldened, I explored Lily further, my tongue tracing new territory, eliciting gasps of, “James, that’s new… don’t stop.” Emma’s movements mirrored Lily’s pleasure, her eyes locked on us.

I whispered to Lily, “Baby, let me try something new. Trust me.” She hesitated, then nodded, “It felt so good when you licked me there. If it’s that good, I’m in.” I prepared her carefully, using my saliva, and gently eased into her from behind, her moans growing louder. “Harder, James, please,” she begged, lost in the moment. I obliged, my movements deliberate, knowing Emma was watching every second. After an intense session, I released inside her, Lily’s cries echoing softly. Emma vanished as Lily collapsed, sated.

Years Later

Soon after, Emma married Mark, and a year later, Lily and I tied the knot. Emma had a child, and our families grew closer, often visiting each other. Whenever they stayed over, our nights were filled with drinks and laughter, and I’d make love to Lily with an extra edge, her sister’s past voyeurism fueling my desire. Lily would tease, “You’re so intense when Emma’s here. What’s up with you?” I’d laugh it off, keeping my secret.

One night, with Emma and Mark at our place, we drank heavily. Emma, oddly, sipped sparingly but acted drunk, toasting us repeatedly. I slowed my drinking, sensing something was up. As the night ended, everyone stumbled to bed. I took Lily fiercely, her drunken state making her pliable but sleepy. She passed out after I finished, ignoring my nudges to shower. I headed to the bathroom, and the door creaked open. Emma’s eyes peered in, watching as I soaped myself, my movements deliberate for her benefit. She didn’t enter, just closed the door and left.

After my shower, I heard noises from our spare room, where we stored old furniture. Cautiously, I approached, expecting trouble, but found Emma on an old couch, half-undressed, touching herself. She looked up, unashamed. “I thought you’d never come,” she purred. I hesitated, “Let me check on Lily.” She smirked, “I already did. She’s out cold. Come here, James. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

I gave in, the years of tension exploding. Her small breasts, always a fixation, were perfect under my lips. “God, Emma, you drive me crazy,” I murmured, tasting her. I moved lower, her body responsive despite the changes from motherhood. Her scent was intoxicating, and I indulged, her moans filling the room. “I’ve dreamed of this,” she gasped as we shifted into a 69, her lips on me. “I’ve wanted to taste you forever,” she whispered.

I asked, “How many times has Mark taken you like this?” She laughed softly, “I used to be against it, but after seeing you with Lily, I begged Mark to try. Now he’s hooked, but I want you.” I took her, first one way, then another, her body accommodating me effortlessly. She moved between positions, her cries growing wilder. “James, don’t stop,” she pleaded, her fingers working herself as I claimed her. We climaxed together, a rush of forbidden ecstasy.

She slipped away to shower, and I returned to Lily, sleeping soundly. Emma’s now pregnant with her second child, and her visits are less frequent. But when she comes, she doesn’t leave without reigniting our secret flame, each encounter more daring than the last.