Tasting the Forbidden Fruit

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I haven’t been writing for long, and haven’t written much as I submit this for posting. This story is a continuation of the first story I posted here called ‘Forbidden Fruit’. You will [IMO] enjoy this composition more if you read the earlier one first (but it’s not essential). I could have made this chapter two of the original story, but I see the two as being in different genres.

‘Forbidden Fruit’ is purely erotic, with virtually no sex (other than masturbation). This sequel takes the next step and in the end becomes pornographic. As a reader myself I often find that the erotic build up is more stimulating than the culmination in sexual activity. Conversely, leaving the description of the ultimate results of the erotic scene out makes the story seem incomplete sometimes.

I hope you enjoy it and will share your thoughts and impressions with me via the comment facility or, better still, e-mail allowing me to respond directly to your comments.


Christmas Eve was the worst because it went on for the longest time with no opportunity to settle myself.

I’d avoided Greta over the days following the incident in my daughter’s bedroom. It wasn’t hard at all. We were all busy with our own pre-Christmas stuff so, other than meals, we weren’t in each other’s company very much.

Time is the great healer and after couple of days I had relegated the incident to a fond memory. My daughter’s college girlfriend from Germany didn’t know that I had masturbated to orgasm while peeping at her through the bathroom door (or at least she gave no sign that she did); so there was no reason to feel uncomfortable in her company. I went back to just enjoying the pleasure of having the stunning creature to look at over the holidays.

Tradition in our family is to go over to my sister’s place on Christmas Eve. Everyone gathers there and we usually open one present each after dinner.

The trouble—strictly for me—started when we went out to get into the van. It was quite warm for December the twenty-fourth so there was no need for parkas and all the other heavy winter insulating gear.

I’d seen Greta dressed and ready for the party in the moments leading up to departure. The outfit she was wearing reminded me of something I’d seen in the costume section of the local sex shop.

She was wearing a white blouse with a little red vest over it. The vest synched so tight on her midriff that it was like a corset, or maybe a bustier. It made her perfectly proportioned figure look quite top heavy. Appropriate to her nationality, it reminded me a little of the top of dirndls that I had seen. The short pleated skirt in a Black Watch tartan did cover the tops of her smokey black stockings, unlike the costume in the adult entertainment store—but not by much.

When it was time to go I politely opened the rear sliding door on the driver’s side of the van for our guest. Mary, my wife, and Lisa, my daughter, climbed in the opposite side.

When Greta stepped up into the van I got the most cock wrenching view of her creamy thighs under her skirt and above the lace stocking tops. Up to that point she might have been wearing pantyhose for all I knew. The strips of black ribbon fastened to her hose that went up out of sight made her skin look even whiter. I could only hope that no one heard my gasp. I drove to my sister’s Christmas Eve party with a semi-boner wiggling around in my suit pants.

For the next five hours I could hardly keep my eyes off our German guest. As we stood around sipping cocktails and chatting I was constantly maneuvering to keep her in sight praying for another glimpse. Through dinner I had to content myself with appreciating the thrilling way that the Aryan college girl’s bust was displayed.

After dinner we sat around the tree in the living room and I was disappointed that instead of sitting on the couches the girls knelt on the floor spoiling any opportunities for more up skirt views. It didn’t stop me from watching her obsessively.

It was a long five hours.

I will be peeved at my sister for extending our good-byes and Merry Christmases for quite a while. I was stuck hugging her in the doorway of her home when Greta was getting herself back into the van; thwarting my chance for a replay of the garter show.

Christmas morning could have been worse but for two things; it didn’t last nearly as long, and with just the four of us I had to be careful not to get caught staring at the luscious fraulein.

Greta and Lisa came down to the tree wearing their nightshirts—at least Lisa’s was a nightshirt. The one Greta wore was longer than the faded orange top she’d been wearing that fateful day when I went to fix the tap;, but it was still no more than a long T shirt just barely covering her ass.

It might have been okay, that is not resulted in indecent exposure, if she’d been careful but Greta was carefree. Throughout the gift exchange I was constantly catching glimpses of her blue silky looking panties. I even saw Mary canlı bahis shoot a disapproving glance or two at our guest. Thankfully she didn’t seem to notice my fixation.

Thinking back on it now, I can’t help wondering if it would have been as arousing if it hadn’t been for what had gone before.

If that wasn’t bad enough the occasional flashes of panties was accompanied by my old nemesis—jiggling tits. As Greta unwrapped her presents and moved to appreciate other peoples’ gifts her pert grapefruit sized breasts moved quite obviously unfettered under the too short nightgown.

By the time the girls retired to Lisa’s room with their loot I was exhausted. The fatigue was more from hiding the woody that was constantly tenting my pajama bottoms than from the sexual frustration.

Mary made a snide remark about how convenient it was when I told her that I needed to use the washroom. She was left to clean up the mess from breakfast on her own while I relieved the tension created by our innocently erotic house guest.

After Christmas, as it was leading up to the big day, we didn’t see much of the college girls until supper time. Dressed in jeans and dressy T shirt like tops I was glad for the reprieve.

I was up early on Boxing Day anxious to get my chores done. I’d made arrangements to go sledding with some buddies and still had to check out the snow machine since it hadn’t been out yet this season. There was work to do before I could play.

The girls, and I include my wife in the category, were planning to go out looking for the after Christmas bargains. They were scurrying around determined to get to the mall before all the best stuff was gone.

My first order of business was a service job on the furnace—change the air filter and clean up the humidifier; a fifteen minute job at most.

I was crouched down removing the filter when I heard someone come down the stairs. I glanced down the short basement hall through the half open furnace room door to see who it was. My manhood responded instantly seeing Greta turn toward the opposite end of the narrow passage where the laundry room is located.

‘Somebody really ought to tell her that those T shirts weren’t long enough to be worn with just panties underneath,’ I thought as I watched that incredible honey dew melon ass wiggle quickly into the room housing the clothes washing facilities.

The hall is about fifteen feet long, so that’s how far away she was when she glanced over her shoulder before entering the humid little room. I was pretty sure that she wouldn’t notice me; and she didn’t. As if watching those magnificent honey-dew melons covered by, but not concealed by the yellow T shirt weren’t enough, the realization that I was once again observing her without her knowledge hit home.

The machines were running and for a moment the blonde eye candy was out of sight even though the door to the laundry room was open. I could see most of the washer from where I was sitting on the furnace room floor. I heard the washing machine start to drain but thought nothing of it at the time.

Greta re-entered my field of view and to my astonishment hoisted her butt up onto the clothes washer. I was trying to make sense of why she’d want to climb up and sit on the uncomfortably hard steel surface when the spin cycle started.

The front loading machine is perfectly leveled but spins at incredible speed for quite a long time. The inherent imbalance of the load of wet clothes creates a so much vibration and oscillation that it scared me right after I’d installed it. I eventually came to understand that it was normal for this type of washer.

My daughter’s college friend was apparently familiar with the phenomenon too. Sitting on the edge she opened her legs and I thought I could just make out the little blue triangle covering her peach. I saw her slip her hand between her legs just as the machine really started to rock. The full significance of what she was doing hit me like a hammer at the same time she hooked her foot on the door and kicked it shut.

I grabbed my throbbing dick as the wildfire broke out in my crotch only to be doused by a tidal wave of disappointment. My imagination took over but it was a poor substitute. The rumbling sound of the washer changed pitch as the spin cycle kicked into its high speed. I had stood and stressed over this part of the cycle when I installed the machine. I recalled wondering if that amount of vibration was normal, and whether the machine was going to take off, so I was well aware of the incredible frequency of the vibrations.

Sitting beside the furnace stoking my meat through my pants imagining what Greta was doing less than twenty feet away was just about killing me. I actually started to think that her closing the door was a blessing; because if I’d been able to see what I was imagining I would have cum in my pants in seconds.

I could hear the machine winding down and Greta emerged carrying a full basket of her clean clothes in front of her. She bahis siteleri paused at the bottom of the stairs looking directly at the furnace room door and my heart stopped. I don’t know why I was nervous—I hadn’t done anything wrong. I was pretty sure she couldn’t see me but she had this contented little grin on her face suggesting that she perhaps knew more than I thought. It could have just been the after glow from her climax I suppose.

I got up on wobbly legs and went to the laundry room. I wasn’t really even sure why. I think some insane perverted part of my brain expected to be able to detect the fragrance of her arousal. It was absurd of course given the powerful perfumes in the laundry soap and fabric softener that pervaded the small humid little room. A small shiver went down my spine when I touched the top of the washer where she’d been sitting… any residue? Afraid not.

I spied the blue panties lying on top of the load of colored underwear that was presumably next to go into the washer. I was literally shaking when I picked them up and felt that they were not only slightly warm, but damp.

It was like an iron filing caught in the field of a huge electromagnet. The crotch of the German girl’s underpants snapped to my nose virtually of their own accord (liar!). The scent of her wasn’t strong but it was fabulous. I stood there inhaling the subtle aroma for several seconds before sticking my tongue out praying for just the slightest hint of her flavor. It was a good thing that the dryer was also stopped or I might not have heard the approaching foot steps. It was reflex that made me stuff the wispy blue panties into my pocket.

“You’re working on the laundry?” my wife said with thinly disguised sarcasm.

“Just checking on a noise I heard hon’,” I replied as I left the room.

Mary was pulling the clothes out of the drier and called after me, “If I put another load in can you hang it up when it’s finished?”

“I don’t think so hon’ as soon as I’m finished with the furnace I’m going out to the garage,” I called back.

“Big help… as usual,” she muttered loud enough for me to hear… and ignore—as usual.

By the time I’d finished changing the filter and cleaning the humidifier my boner had pretty much subsided; replaced by an insistent ache in my nuts.

The girls were gone, off on their bargain hunting adventure and I made a detour through our bedroom to stuff Greta’s pants in the pocket of my robe. I hadn’t thought about stealing a woman’s underwear since I was a teenager, but I’d just done it, nonetheless. I resisted the urge to relieve the pressure that had built up in my sack in favor of getting the snow machine ready to go.

The boys and I had a decent day on the trails despite the sparseness of the snow. We found ourselves in a tavern munching chicken wings as the last rays of sun disappeared. I called home and told Mary not to hold up dinner on my account. She was quite good about it knowing that I’d endured the co-ed cocktail parties like a trooper and was now spending quality time with my ‘buds’.

By the time I got home my wife was in bed reading the Stephen King novel that I bought her for Christmas and the girls were watching one of the movies Lisa had rented. I went into the rec-room to pour myself some Jack on the rocks.

Lisa and Greta were cuddled together under a blanket on the couch. I didn’t really think anything of it until they jumped apart and wound up at opposite ends of the sofa when they noticed me at the bar. Suddenly I had all manner of perverted thoughts about what was going on under that blanket.

I took my tinkling glass of Tennessee sour mash to my bedroom trying unsuccessfully to push the erotic, if somewhat disturbing ideas out of my head. The pressure in my ball sack that I’d put on hold that morning reasserted.

Not only is my wife beautiful but she’s incredibly sexy. I closed the bedroom door behind me and just stood there for a long moment considering what to do next. She’d fallen asleep propped up on the pillows the massive novel that could double as workout equipment lay on her chest. The pain in my nuts was urging me to wake her but her peaceful soft snoring was evidence that she was well into slumber land.

Soon enough I decided that I was too tired anyway and just put the huge hard cover book aside, covered my sleeping beauty and got ready for bed myself.

By the next evening my balls felt like they weighed five pounds each, even without any help from our carefree house guest. Luckily one of Lisa’s pre-college school chums was having a get-together down the street and the girls were going to get the opportunity to hang-out with their own age group.

Lisa and Greta were excused from after dinner clean up to get ready for their party. Setting the towel I was drying with on the table I slipped my arms under Mary’s as she stood at the sink washing pots. She immediately clamped down with her elbows limiting my mobility but I was still able to tease her phenomenal nipples bahis şirketleri out to their one inch erect length.

“Oh Ted… wait until the girls have gone,” she said and it came out in that hoarse whisper that made my five pound gonads ache.

“Look what you’ve done to me,” she added rubbing her wrists against her plump ‘C’ cup jugs trying to erase the evidence of wandering hands from the front of her blouse.

After the dishes, I stayed in the rec-room away from the girls and their preparations. Recalling the ball busting outfit our house guest had worn to the family gathering I didn’t think I could stand to see her outfit for a party with her peers.

When I heard them leave I stripped down to my briefs and put on a favorite porn DVD in absolute confidence of how the evening was going to play out.

I am proud to admit that my wife standing in the doorway to the rec-room in her blue baby doll with the fur like trim took my breath away. She just stood there for a moment seeming to soak in my appreciation. Then like a cold glass of water over the head she said, “Shit!”

“What?” I groaned hoping the problem was minor, or at least postpone-able.

“Greta left her coat here,” she held up the German girl’s parka which was lying on the little bench beside the door that led to the garage. “I know it’s mild out now but by the time they come home she’s going to need it.”

It was just like Mary to mother everybody including me.

“She’s a big girl honey… if she decided to go without a coat it’s none of your concern. Like you said she may pay the price on the walk home,” I soothed as I walked over to her and nuzzled her neck.

“Okay,” she sighed letting her head fall back and tossing the coat back on the hall seat.

Our mouths and tongues engaged as I danced us across the room toward the couch. The heavy bass sound track of the porno flick was our music.

Mary folded onto the seat of the sofa and I to my knees in front of her. I trailed kisses down her neck and along her collar bone, eventually reaching the neatly tied little bow between her breasts. Pulling the ribbon with my teeth I nuzzled and licked my way across her boobie pushing the translucent blue lace away with my nose and cheek. Brushing my lips like a feather across her semi erect nipple drew a moan and she entwined her fingers in my hair as I repeated the process on the other side.

I rolled her ever stiffening right nipple with my tongue before taking the plump rubbery tip fully in my mouth, sucking and lightly biting the way over twenty years of marriage had taught me that she liked.

Her knees parted further and she began to squirm underneath me as I lavished the same attention on her other tit, bringing my hand up to caress and tweak the saliva coated nipple that I’d just left. Her steady moans encouraged me and I felt the tension building in her through her finger tips pressing ever more firmly into the back of my skull.

I glanced up to see that her eyes were fixed on the plasma screen. I didn’t know which lurid scene in particular was playing but I did know that Mary got quite a charge out of watching pornography though we did only very occasionally.

Sliding down and lifting the furry hem of the baby doll top I licked and sucked my way across her womanly tummy taking my time around her navel to kiss and probe it with my tongue. Her vocal appreciation was getting louder and her hips had begun to rock when I heard an unexpected sound. My ears pricked up and I looked in the direction of the rec-room door but saw nothing. Not wanting an insane attack of paranoia to spoil the moment I pushed the strange noise from my mind and tugged at the ribbons holding the lace triangle over my wife’s naturally sparse bush.

One hand on each hip, I released the bows in the securing ribbons. I couldn’t help that my ears were listening, through the canned sounding repetitive movie sound track, through Mary’s groans of arousal, searching for the foreign noise that I’d heard before.

There was something there I thought. I couldn’t localize or characterize it but I was pretty sure that it was actually there—intermittent. As I pulled the crotch of the thong away with my teeth and feasted my eyes on her steaming wetness, I forced the annoying distraction out of my head.

Slowly and gently, barely touching with the flat of my tongue I made a pass over her plump interfolded lips. In spite of my watering mouth I felt and tasted the tiny trickle of her thick juices that had made it all the way to the surface. Her groan was deep and encouraging.

There is no secret to being good at cunnilingus. If you truly enjoy it, for it own sake, and not as a prelude or concession then you’ll be good at it. If you do it only for the purpose of promoting reciprocation or some sense of duty then you’ll probably do a poor job.

Stiffening my tongue to part her incredibly soft folds I probed and explored her flooded interior moving up until I felt the nubbin of her clit on its tip. God forgive me but just for an instant my mind made a comparison with the tiny bit of nectar I’d extracted from Greta’s used panties the previous morning; the ones that were still secreted away in the pocket of my robe.

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