Let’s get one thing arrow-straight: I love my wife.

Tall, with long, soft dark hair and big green eyes, I fell hard for Jane from the moment I saw her across a crowded bar. And the feelings only intensified as she admitted me into her bed, and her life.

I think she’s incredibly sexy, adventurous, gorgeous, occasionally freaky and almost always DTF. She’s got a deep and profound sensuality that doesn’t need to trade on promises, to me or anyone. Her taste in clothes runs toward flowing skirts and peasant tops in her down time, and knee-length pencil skirts with turtlenecks in professional settings.

In fact, she rarely shows any cleavage, but a turtleneck drives me insane, and she knows it. If Jane is feely horny, or if she just wants some validation, she knows she can put on a particular mock sweater – dark green, tight ribbing – along with a modest skirt over thigh-high stockings, and I’ll be nailing her against a wall the first chance I get.

But Jane’s body belongs only to her. She invites me into it – her mouth, her pussy, and on special occasions, her delectable ass – but it’s not for public adoration. Even some of our closest friends have no fucking clue the kind of rocket she’s hiding under her clothes. She doesn’t trade on her hotness, and to me, that takes it to eleven.

I’ve been with Jane for nearly 10 years, married for seven. For all of that time, my devotion to her has existed alongside a deep and burning lust for Olivia, a fiery and demonstrative siren who happened to be married to Jane’s piece-of-shit brother, David.

Olivia is stunning in every facet. She’s of Jewish and Italian descent, medium height, toned, painted, lacquered and flirtatiously presented to the whole world. Her large tits announce themselves with a barely-perceptible jiggle as she walks, almost always with heels. Her nails are always perfect, her lips always red, her wavy brown locks almost wild, and perfumed.

Olivia favors skirts and dresses that cinch at her slender waist, and when her bottom is on display, you’re always surprised to see its curve. I swear any spare fat cells – and there aren’t many – are distributed as if placed by a perverted teenage sculptor: tits, hips and ass.

She is also fucking brilliant. She was a star law student when she met my brother in law, shortly after Jane and I started dating. But while Jane and I built each other up, David struggled and needed to eclipse Olivia. We all clapped and cried when they got married, and we were genuinely thrilled to add her to the family, but Jane and I talked for hours about how bad an idea it really was for her.

Insecure as a boy, David turned into a possessive and controlling man and husband. These same insecurities fueled his work, and he ruthlessly, desperately conquered. As he rose in his own estimation – one based solely on net worth – Olivia faded from her own ambition. She finished law school but never took the bar. She ran the house, she worked on her body, and she appeared on David’s arm, valuable as the quarter-million-dollar Rolex he wore in telling his story of prosperity.

All the men wanted her, so none of the women trusted her. Olivia was fiercely beautiful, and truthfully, tragically all alone.

David and Olivia never had kids in what I always suspected was her silent scream of protest. David’s life was a jigsaw puzzle, and children were 2.5 pieces that Olivia had the power to flush down the toilet, secretly ensuring that her husband’s puzzle would never be complete.

She had vanity projects and creative part-time jobs, but nothing ever worthy of her. But even without the career that she could have had, she had only to toggle her dial to the charisma position, and she could incinerate the room.

Or at least, that’s how I saw her. And Jane was well aware. It was a frequent, maybe even favorite topic, in fact. Jane was bi when I met her, and she could just as easily have ended up with a wife as a husband. So sexy women were a shared interest, and if I’d tried to deny the way Olivia struck me, Jane would have seen right through me. So Jane and I decided to give the charade a miss, and share our sister in law like a favorite dessert.

Mind you, in Olivia’s presence, I couldn’t act like a drooling pervert. I never cared about David, and he never saw me as a threat – with less than a million in the market? As if. But I never wanted to embarrass Jane or Olivia by allowing my adoration to seem plain or obvious. To ignore her would not have seemed reasonable or kind, either.

So my solution was to dedicate our time to the inquisitive brilliance we’d all seen and knew to burn within her. We talked about books and music and films, politics and personal growth. And we laughed. God, did we laugh, often from a safe corner of a family party, and often at David’s expense. 

And every now and then, the conversation ranged toward sex as a concept or force of nature. At these times, I saw her eyes flare and the flirt emerge. I knew that Olivia the Goddess was there, not dying or fading, only waiting.

And then some things happened.

First, David went to jail. He stepped on the wrong foot on his climb to the top. Maybe he was breaking more rules than the other sharks, but I don’t really believe that. He just crossed the wrong, bigger shark, and found himself facing 30 months for tax evasion and insider trading. Almost overnight, the life that he and Olivia had built was gone, and with it, the promise of security for which she had traded so much.

David was fine. Ensconced in a cushy white-collar prison for multi-millionaires who get caught speeding on Wall Street, he wasted no time rebuilding his position from the inside. With no regard for Olivia’s life on the outside, he delved into cryptocurrency, amassing a small fortune that would have been a pain to liquify, even if Olivia was aware of it. 

Which she was not.

While she downsized and streamlined, her fancy, status-conscious friends drifted quietly away. And with no family of her own to speak of, she collapsed into Jane and I, spending more time at our house and eating dinner with us up to three times a week. She also talked with Jane deep into the night. Of marriage. Of David. Of the heartbreak of losing the stuff she never thought she loved. 

“It would have been better if he had cheated on me,” I remember hearing her say, four glasses of wine into one evening, I was in bed and plausibly asleep down the hall from the kitchen. Jane asked if Olivia was sure he hadn’t. I didn’t hear Olivia’s response, but I heard Jane laugh. After a moment, Olivia said, “David was monogamous with his job by the time he got indicted.”

A bitterness had seeped into her voice, deeper than any of the petty grievances that had made us laugh over the previous years.

“He’d have been furious if I had ever cheated on him,” she went on. “But not because he loves me or even wants me. He just hates sharing so, so fucking much.”

I knew how the rest of that conversation was going to go, so I let myself drift off to sleep. 

***

I knew all too well that Jane was horrified by the reality of her older brother. His shameless self-focus was a big reason she had introduced Olivia to him. She had made a wager that Olivia would humble and awe David, giving him a partner with whom he might conquer the world along the way to conquering the bug up his ass. But the bug stayed and grew. His fears and resentments won out, and despite considerable effort on Olivia’s part, they ruled his behavior in good times and bad, in richer and now poorer.

So he manipulated his portfolio in secret, until a piece of related mail found its way to his lonely wife’s apartment. Staring at the black and white numbers, and the transaction history, Olivia realized that she was well and truly alone. So she called a divorce lawyer, and then she called Jane. My wife – as sweet as she is calm, as kind as she is majestic – sobbed all that night in guilt and relief.

There was barely any discussion between Jane and I about where our loyalties lay: David could pound sand, and Olivia was our sister. Jane went to the district attorney to give a detailed account of his known dealings from behind bars, in case it might earn him more jail time. And Olivia’s lawyer now had a crowbar by which she might be able to separate Olivia from David, and David from half his future earnings. It was partly a legitimate strategy but it was also a strong negotiating position in what promised to be a long and messy divorce.

Jane was laser-focused on Olivia’s concerns, and Olivia reciprocated. She began to tune her life and herself to us. She started caring about the things we cared about, and speaking about her life with David the way Jane and I used to speak to each other about it. Even her style shifted. Less frequent were the plunging necklines, form-hugging mini skirts, and heels, replaced with tight sweaters, form-hugging yoga pants, and heels.

So it wasn’t a seismic shift, but a subtle one. The yoga pants and leggings she wore often left even less to the imagination than the skirts. I caught myself staring, mouth agape, thinking, There can’t possibly be underwear in there.

The tension between myself and Olivia certainly grew because she was around more. We still made each other laugh, but her flirting grew bolder and more personal as she got to know me better. Also, Jane was no help. My wife put me forward as a model of a strong, secure and supportive partner, which – in her defense – I am. But it apparently put a target on my back for the one sniper who has always had my number.

One night, I was late at the office, staring at 100 nearly identical photos trying to pick the best seven for a client account. I’d been staring at the array to the point of hypnosis, and was slowly losing my damn mind when my phone rang. It was Olivia, who said she’d locked herself out of her shitty apartment, and did I have the spare key she’d given me? I remember thinking she should just give up that place and move into our spare bedroom, because she spent a couple nights a week at our house anyway. We could even charge her a little rent if she preferred, to keep it civil, I thought.

“Found ‘em,” is what I said to her, keys in hand. Before I could offer to complete my white knight act, she said she was five minutes away in the car, already on her way to me. Something fluttered inside me as I ended the call. My innocent brain hoped Olivia might be the set of fresh eyes this photo task needed. At that point, I’d have taken anybody’s advice, and my trust in hers was stronger than most.

I spent a few moments tidying up the space, dumping out coffee cups and turning lights on and off to create a particular mood. In all the years we had known each other, I don’t think we had been fully alone together for more than five minutes at a time. But honestly, I wasn’t thinking about seducing her. It hadn’t even occurred to me. I wanted the conference table spotlit, the puzzle of the 100 photos clearly laid out before us, so that Olivia wouldn’t be able to resist trying to solve it. Then I planted myself back beside the table.

I heard the outer door open and close, and heard her heels clicking deliciously along the concrete floor of the empty, open-concept workspace. I even saw her emerge around the corner, dressed in a thin burgundy cashmere sweater with thumb holes in the long sleeves, and black leggings. But I did not look up, since I was acting the part of the pre-occupied brother in law.

“Knock, knock,” she called to me from the doorway, edging into the room. When I looked up, feigned a startle, and smiled, she drifted across the room to hug me, and I folded her into an embrace. She buried her face in my chest, and I could smell her perfumed hair, and feel her thirst for connection.

“It’s good to see you,” she said without breaking the hug. I was conscious of the spare tire that had begun to form around my middle, and her smallness relative to me. I’m about 6-foot-3, and she felt barely half my size. After about 10 seconds, Olivia’s body grip loosened and broke, and she turned her head to look at the conference table.

“What do we have here?” she asked.

Bingo.

I explained the client and the project, and that despite the similarity of all these photos to one another, I had to pick seven to present to the client the next day.

“Are you looking for the best seven, or the seven that tell the best story?” Olivia said, as she scanned the photos. Mentally, I rejoiced, and counted my part of the task as complete. I had only to watch her be herself, pack up, go home, and take credit for her brilliance the following day.

“I think both goals exist,” I said. “I suppose I want to tell the best story I can with the best photos, if you know what I mean.”

She didn’t look up, but said, “I think I do… So these three are clearly the best in terms of tone and composition, but I don’t know if they really go together… I think if we take this one out the other two can work together, which is pretty good…”

Her manicured hands went to work, grouping and discarding according to an order that only existed in her mind. 

“Here, move,” she said, elbowing herself into my exact space amid the photos. “But, stay, I want to show you…”

Her hand was on my back, then on my belt, and she grabbed, fixing me in place. Olivia’s scent was dizzying, and as she worked, I could see her breasts jiggle beneath the tight cashmere. I also noticed that I could see a large freckle three inches above her left knee, a dark spot visible through the black stretch of her leggings.

I don’t think those are supposed to be worn as pants, I thought. But the sweater is long, and she’s not at work. Probably just a laundry day situation.

I must have been staring, because she eventually said, “Focus, Pete,” with a faint smirk. I turned my attention back to the table, to find she had arranged the photos into three groups.

“These over here, don’t bother,” she said, indicating the largest group. “These over here all could go together. This one is probably the best single photo, and all of these tell a similar story. You see the contrast and the colors? Same story.”

“And what’s this group?”

“Well, these two photos are really almost as good as that one that was the best, but the colors and contrast are too different,” she said. “The other photos in that group go with that style.

“So you’ve really only got one choice to make now. This group or that group. Can’t really go wrong either way.”

I pretended to be shocked that Olivia had solved my problem.

“What would I ever do without you?” I said.

She gave me a little hip check, surprisingly hard, and turned in my direction, still well inside my personal space, hand on my chest. 

“I was hoping we might talk about a different question,” she said, her chocolate brown eyes glancing up into mine. “Like, what can you do with me?”

I laughed nervously, and started to gather up the piles of photos. I planned to sleep on the decision, now that she’d made it so simple. The clarity and skill she had shown had given me an idea.

“I’ve been thinking about that too,” I said as I worked my way to the end of the conference table. “Oh, and here’s your apartment key.”

I held it out to her, and she looked at it quizzically. After a beat, she said, “Oh, right, sure, thanks,” took the key and threw it on the table. “What was the other thing you were saying?”

“Let’s have a seat and talk for a second.” I said, indicating two chairs facing each other across the narrow end of the table.

Olivia smiled, plopped down in one of the chairs, and crossed her legs. As she did, I thought I caught a glimpse of the dark strip of her pubic hair through the sheer leggings. My head swam, and I forced my gaze away, while she looked straight at me.

I might be in over my head, I thought, taking the other chair.

“So, I know you’re not working full-time right now, and that money makes everything easier, especially when times are hard,” I said, my anxiety growing with every uncomfortable word. “But you’re obviously so smart, and I could use some help…”

“Are you offering me a job?” Olivia said, bringing her hands together to point at me across the table.

“Only if you want one?” I said, and she smiled and laughed. I reached out and took one of her hands. “Jane and I care so deeply for you, and you’ve been really great to have around. You’re like the smartest person I know, and this place is small-time, but it can be really fun, and I think you’d fit right in, and…”

Olivia’s full, red lips widened into the kind of smile that a parent gives a child who just served them burnt toast and watery coffee in bed.

“Pete, tell me this,” she interrupted. “Do you really think you can come and work with me every day? No problems at all? And nothing will change? Nothing will happen?”

I was lost. Totally swept overboard. But Olivia was not. Suddenly, she was holding my hand, and not the other way around.

“I’ve been an adult woman for a long time now,” she said carefully. Every word was barely above a whisper. “You think I don’t know when a man wants to fuck me?”

I instantly flashed back to all the moments of sexual tension over the years, and to the unsolicited thoughts that had popped into my mind. For those times, I had trained myself: It’s ok, just don’t react. Just don’t do anything weird, and she’ll never know her knees were just cradling my ribcage in my mind. It’s ok to wonder what her neck tastes like if you just… Don’t. Do. Anything. Be cool, focus on making her think and making her laugh, and she never has to know.

She’d seen it all. Clearly, she had known it all along.

Somewhere in my brain, a shame queue populated endlessly, crashing the system. I thought of our hands holding one another, the contact suddenly moist with my panic. 

And yet…

Here she sat. Apparently un-repulsed. The faintest smirk crossed her lips and her half-lidded gaze persisted.

“I mean, I guess I don’t always know,” she said, glancing away. Instead of withdrawing her hand from mine, she doubled it, holding my right hand in both of hers, like it was nothing. “Not with everybody, I mean. But you and me are special.”

What could she possibly mean by that? Special? I’ve stayed safe in my marriage by acting religiously, militantly as if there is Nothing, Special. About Us. Nothing to see here. Move along.

What makes us so special?

“I can read you like you’re shouting,” she said, as if she’d heard my thoughts.

Still stunned mute, I let go a tiny laugh. I’d heard something like this before from my wife, who’d said that she loved that she could almost read my mind. She’d compared herself to a child prodigy finding that perfect instrument. “No need for lessons or teachers or even sheet music,” she’d said. “Just fucking play. It makes me feel powerful.”

Thoughts of my wife reminded me of the safety offered by a brother-sister relationship with Olivia, and I tried to remind her where we were supposed to be standing. 

“I’m sure you could read David too,” I said. “I mean we all can. He’s pretty black and white.”

She did look away then, and I was sorry to have mentioned his name. My desperate lunge for something comfortable had embarrassed her. Also, without me knowing it was happening, Olivia had moved out of David’s shadow. She no longer belonged to him.

And suddenly I wanted him nowhere near us.

“Yeah, well, I’ve come to realize that the best way to understand David is to imagine a perfectly self-centered being, and then look no further,” she said. Here was the familiar talk about David since he’d gone away. We were back on script, but also… not. It felt different, somehow heavier.

“The only way to misunderstand him is to imagine that you matter,’ Olivia went on, her bitterness driving her. “I have a little protection as his partner, because our interests usually line up. Like, it’s better for David if David’s wife seems happy.”

She withdrew the second hand to tuck a strand of her hair, and then replaced it, giving me a moment to come up with something to say.

“But aren’t we all really like that?” I said, thinking that her pussy smoldered barely 18 inches away, and her breasts heaved closer still. “I know I can be selfish a lot of the time.”

She tilted her head with mock condescension: 

“Aw, that’s sweet, trying to normalize him. I get it,” she said. “Did that for years and years. But that’s over. I can’t un-ring that bell, and un-think these thoughts I’ve had about him.”

A two-heartbeat pause, downcast eyes, she bit her lip.

“... and about you.”

Her gaze dragged itself to meet mine. My heart hammered against my ribcage. I debated my response, but it was a charade played out for my conscience, and propriety. I never had any intention other than to give her whatever she wanted.

Her eyes read as fiery and defiant, her sexy payload delivered on target. It was as if she was daring me to… something.

I dared.

“You know I’ve always thought you were beautiful,” I said, slowly, to avoid the ums and uhs that my anxiety was sending me. Deep breath. “But the better I get to know you, the sexier you get.

“So I’d love to know you even better.”

A subtle hair toss, and her defiant eyes flashed with triumph, and a smile barely crossed her full soft lips,

“I have fucked you so fucking hard in my mind a hundred times,” she said, as her leg slid up mine, and her thumb stroked my palm. “And I have very strong ideas about what your cock might look like, how it might taste, and how it might feel inside me.”

Her foot had shed its heel, and her toes explored my crotch. I could feel them curling around my shaft through my pants. I was diamond hard. 

I moved my hand to cradle her face, grazing her breast on its way. She closed her eyes and smiled wide, and sighed quietly,

“Are you kidding?” I said with a laugh. “You know how many times you’ve made me come? Hell, just the other day I was jerking off, and I was thinking about your…”

She suddenly struck, grabbing my collar and smashing her lips into mine. She sucked on my lower lip, using that purchase to climb onto the table, over the table, and noisily, clatteringly, poured herself into my throbbing lap.

Our tongues found one another, and I felt her grind heavily against my root, and her thighs squeeze me at the waist. My hands, stunned at their windfall, found the lycra-covered globes of her bottom, and wandered up to grasp her hips under her sweater.

“God, Olivia, I’ve been dreaming of your body for so long,” I said, between kisses down her fragrant neck. I could smell her perfume mixed with the wafting salt of her need.

She lifted her arms so I could peel the sweater off of her, and she reached behind her, unhooking her bra to release her breasts. Olivia grabbed the back of my head and pulled my face to her tits, feeding one firm, pink nipple to my mouth.

“I know you’ve thought about this,” she whispered. “Yes, just like that. Now the other one, a little harder. It’s ok to bite a little.”

I switched breasts, nibbling at her as she writhed. I pulled away just long enough to let her tear my shirt up and off, then took both of her firm, soft tits in my hands. Next came my belt, which she unbuckled and removed with a flourish before going to work on my pants. I felt her reach into my boxer briefs.

She seemed mesmerized as she stroked my half-exposed cock, staring for a few seconds before looking into my eyes.

“Your dick is beautiful,” she said earnestly.

“Thanks,” I said, with a nervous laugh. “I made it myself.”

She didn’t laugh but smiled knowingly at my anxiety,

“A long time ago, I promised myself I’d suck you off someday,” she said. “I wanna taste your cum tonight.”

“Not so fast,” I said, grabbing a handful of her wavy hair. She sneered sexily, chin uplifted, and I felt her legs close around me like a vise. “I’ve got other business to see to.”

I stood up from the chair, lifting Olivia by the globes of her ass, and placing them on the table in front of me. My unzipped pants drooped as I dropped to my knees before her. She was still wearing the black leggings, but the moist heat coming from her center told me she wasn’t wearing underwear. 

Also, I could see right through them. She read my mind.

“Nice, right?” she said with a smile. “Fuckin’ Lululemons are totally see-through now.”

I could see the short patch of manicured landing strip, matted with dew, a dark shadow under the tight fabric. I nuzzled her cameltoe, inhaled her sweet and salty scent. Her fingers threaded into my hair, and she purred,

I had no intention of waiting any longer. I looked into Olivia’s eyes, her smoky makeup barely smudged, and ripped the material of her leggings at the crotch seam. The briny scent filled the air between us, and I lowered my mouth to her waiting lips.

“Shut up,” she hissed, nonsensically. “Shut up, shut up, shut the fucking fuck up and take me.”

Olivia’s pussy pulsed and oozed and opened to me, her engorged clit demanding my attention. I gave it a fleeting lick and she thrust forward, pulling my face back to her steaming flesh. I locked my lips around her bud and her lycra-clad legs closed around me like a Venus flytrap.

I licked my fingers and gently traced her slick labia as I sucked her clit, then parted her central fold, finding her gushing canal with two probing fingertips. Olivia pivoted her hips to admit them further.

“I’m going to come,” she said, matter-of-factly. “I’m definitely going to come, I’m so fucking, fucking, fucking close!”

One hand working her pussy, the other arm grasping her thigh, I opened my mouth and battered her clit with the flat of my tongue until I heard her breathing crescendo, and felt her thighs clamp around my head.

“Yes, yeesss, yeesss, yeeeesssss,” she whispered, and I could feel the tension – so explosive just a moment before – drain from her incredible body. “Oh damn, Pete. Oh damn, oh damn. What the fuck…”

She opened her eyes and looked directly into mine, my face in her hands. I could feel her manicured nails lightly scrape my jaw. So different from my wife Jane’s short-trimmed nails, Olivia’s touch electrified me.

“Get up here,” she said, pulling me to her lips and kissing me softly. She lapped up her pussy juices as I found my feet, my trousers dropping to the floor and my cock at rapt attention. It slapped against her leg, still in her ruined leggings.

“My fucking turn,” she said, grabbing my shaft in both of her hands. “Red meat and cinnamon.”

“What?” I laughed.

“It’s what I think your cock tastes like,” she said with a wicked smile. “That’s been my guess. Let’s find out.”

STAY TUNED FOR PART 2