Nathan's Story - Boning Bonnie (I fucked my wife's hot younger sister)
As I pulled into the driveway, I noticed the red Escort was parked in my usual spot. I parked my truck next to it, half on the driveway and half on the grass. The car meant that Bonnie was here. I sighed and raked a hand through my hair. God, I was too tired for this shit.
I had been working like a dog all week and now all I wanted on a damn Friday night was to sit in front of the TV with a beer and watch a fucking game. I certainly didn’t need any of the goddamn drama that followed my whacked-out sister-in-law wherever she went.
I slammed the door of my truck and grabbed the six-pack sized cooler out of the back. The movement made my shoulder twinge. Damn, I was sore. I’d been hauling roofing materials up and down ladders all day long. My back felt like it was tied in knots. I needed a hot tub.
I grinned ruefully and changed my mind. What I needed was a massage, which was ironic because my cute little sister-in-law was a Certified Massage Therapist. She always said it like that—with Capital Letters. I snorted, knowing my wife would squirt out a puppy if I even suggested the idea.
I entered the kitchen and set the cooler on the counter. Two steps later and I had the fridge open and cracked a cold brewski. Those first two swallows were always the best, when the bubbles were still jumping and burned the back of your throat going down…
“Hi, Nathan,” a voice said behind me. I shut the fridge door and turned around.
Fuck. Bonnie leaned against the kitchen door and I knew it was going to be a bad, bad night. She was wearing a pair of shorts that not only looked painted on, but also looked like she had taken a pair of scissors to them in order to make them resemble bikini bottoms. If she turned around, I knew the lower curves of her ass would be peeping from the edges of the material. The tight, firm, delicious curves, I added to myself with a mental curse.
Yes, my sister-in-law was hot. She knew it, also. She wore a fucking yellow tank top thing with string-sized straps that slipped down over her shoulders. No bra. She grinned wickedly when my eyes went straight to her visibly erect nipples.
“Bonnie,” I said dryly, trying to think of anything that would quell the erection already beginning to stir in my pants. Not surprisingly, the thought of my wife did it.
Bonnie had a purplish bruise on one cheek and a couple of fingerprint-shaped marks on her neck. The bruises did not mar her cute face one iota. Her brown hair was cut short and stuck out at all angles in a just-got-fucked look. Jesus, I really didn’t need this tonight.
“I see Pied has been using you as a punching bag, again. You staying the night?” I asked. I always found it mildly amusing that her boyfriend had an old-money, aristocratic-type name. Piedmont Worthington. With a name like that, you would expect him to sip Chianti while reading the Wall Street Journal at night, instead of guzzling cheap tequila out of the bottle and beating the shit out of his girlfriend.
Pied did have the money to go with the name, which was one reason little Bonnie kept going back to the fucker, I guessed.
“Where’s Sylvia?” I asked, assuming my wife was in her usual spot—parked in front of the television with the remote in one hand and a can of Slim-Fast in the other. I wondered how long it would take her to realize you couldn’t counter a package of Oreos by drinking a couple of diet shakes.
“In bed. She was asleep when I got here. Looks like she took something,” Bonnie said. She pushed away from the doorframe and lifted the beer out of my hand. She lifted the can to her lips and took a swig. As she handed it back, her tongue slid slowly over her bottom lip, collecting stray droplets.
I pushed past her with a mental curse and walked down the hall to the bedroom. Bonnie was right. Sylvia was sprawled on the bed, a shapeless lump under the floral comforter. Her snores sounded in an even rhythm.
I yanked off my filthy shirt and tossed it on the hamper, followed by my jeans. I opened the closet and grabbed a clean pair, which I dragged on. I opened my dresser drawer, but decided to skip the t-shirt. Bonnie seemed to be in a seductive mood, so the least I could do was give her a show. Roofing had given me a great chest, and I managed to take it easy on the beer consumption, so I had decent abs. Sylvia slept through my not-so-quiet activity and I picked up one of the pill vials next to the bed. I grinned. If she popped a couple of those, she would be out all night.
Bonnie was sprawled on the couch when I returned to the living room. She had one foot propped on the coffee table, giving me a clear view of her crotch through the nonexistent leg of her shorts. If she was wearing panties, I didn’t see them, though I did get a glimpse of brown curls.
I sat in the recliner across from her and let my eyes linger where she obviously intended them to. I felt uncomfortably warm. The little bitch was such a cock tease, it was no wonder Sylvia acted like a jealous freak whenever Bonnie came around.
“Hungry?” I asked.
Bonnie grinned in a predatory fashion. “Very.”
God. I felt my prick jump. She was fucking hot. The sad thing was, Sylvia used to be even hotter. Three years ago, Sylvia had slipped on some ice and the resulting spill had fucked up her back. She was in constant pain, seeing every doctor and chiropractor in town, and missing so much work that our financial status was strained to the snapping point. The lack of mobility had caused her to gain about sixty pounds. Needless to say, it had largely quenched my desire for sex, especially when fucking made Sylvia’s back hurt even more.
“I’ll make you a sandwich,” I offered. I got up and escaped to the kitchen, but she followed me. She “helped” me by retrieving items from the fridge and cabinets, making sure to treat me to a nice view of her ass every time she bent over or stretched. I wondered if she was just enjoying her ability to get me hot or if she planned to back it up.
We ate turkey sandwiches and chips while standing at the kitchen island and I was getting turned on to the point of discomfort watching her pink tongue lick at her fingers, stained orange from nacho cheese flavoring. I kept imagining that tongue sliding up and down my cock.
“How’s the hairdressing business?” I asked to take my mind off of it. She was a Certified Massage Therapist, but her day job was a hair stylist, beautician, or whatever they called chicks that cut hair.
“Fine. Need a trim?” Bonnie asked. She cut my hair for free—and Sylvia’s, of course, although Sylvia always watched like a hawk to make sure Bonnie didn’t shove those nice breasts too close to my face, or touch anything other than my golden locks.
“No. I’m good.” The thought of her puttering around cutting my hair tonight in those tiny shorts with that top looking ready to slide off at any moment… Fuck, I needed to go to bed. Just as soon as I stopped off in the bathroom and jerked off to the image of fucking my sister-in-law.
“Okay, but at least let me give you a quick massage. You look tense.”
My throat went dry and I started to protest, since my cock now stood at rigid attention at the mere idea, but Bonnie held up a hand.
“I insist. Consider it payment for letting me crash here until Pied cools off.”
God. I shrugged as if it was no big deal.
“All right. Where do you want me?”
“Anywhere you like,” she said and for a minute I didn’t think she was talking about the massage. She laughed.
“How about on the floor in the living room? You can lie down and I’ll start on your back.”
My conscience was nagging me as I dragged a blanket from the couch and spread it on the floor. I lay on my stomach and Bonnie began to massage my tense shoulders and neck. Her hot little hands were strong and felt amazing. I was glad to be face-down because my cock was board-stiff. She massaged down to my waist and then said, “Take your pants off and I’ll do your legs.”
I didn’t even argue. I just wanted her to keep touching me. Her hands felt great on my thighs, pressing out the sore places caused by climbing a ladder all day. She squeezed my ass and slid her hands under my briefs to feel the bare skin. Her fingers slipped inside my crack and skimmed my testicles—not accidentally. I gasped and felt my toes clench.
“Like that?” she murmured.
I rolled over and she pressed her hand to my cock, gripping it tightly through the material. Before I could speak, she leaned down and kissed me, using that lovely tongue to its fullest. At the same time, she yanked my briefs down and snatched my dick again—the skin on skin contact was so intense I nearly came right then.
Her mouth left mine and I felt it cover my erection completely. I groaned at the exquisite feeling. God, Sylvia hated giving head—she complained every time and even then barely touched it.
Bonnie seemed to have no such reservations. She licked and sucked and fondled until I shot my load all over my stomach. I shuddered with relief, thinking she was finished, but she pulled off her shirt and shimmied out of those tiny shorts. She was definitely not wearing panties.
“I want you inside me, Nathan,” she said hoarsely.
I never would have thought an erection could return so fast after an orgasm, but it didn’t take long until I was ready. Just seeing her amazing body crouched over me was enough to get me hard again. If Sylvia came out and saw me on the floor with come all over my chest, she would flip the hell out, so I figured I might as well go the extra mile. Bonnie straddled me and impaled herself on my cock, bouncing up and down eagerly.
I rolled her onto the floor and hammered her like a pile driver. She tried to be quiet, but her little mouse-like squeaks in my ear only made me more excited. Bonnie writhed and thrashed and ground her hips into mine like a trained professional. I was stunned when she arched her back and gave a low, whining moan as she came. I couldn’t remember the last time Sylvia had orgasmed during intercourse. Probably before we were married.
I pounded Bonnie a couple more times and then came again, jerking so hard I felt my toes slam into the carpet. My fingers gripped her pelvis so tightly I might have left bruises—not that she was a stranger to those. I collapsed on her, sweating and spent.
“Fuck, that was good,” I said and wondered why I could not drum up any remorse. Probably because it just felt so incredible. I rolled away and wished for a cigarette, although I had given up smoking five years before.
“We should do that again, sometime,” Bonnie said lightly.
“Yeah,” I agreed, already knowing I would jump on the chance the minute she said the word.
Definition of Boning