Private Dance
by Pan
Chapter 4
“Hey you,” my sister replied, moving past my confused husband and into the living room.
As my hubbie had answered the door, I’d gotten the chair ready. The same blue, studded chair that had changed my life less than a month ago.
“Sit here,” I said with a smile. He shot me a look. I couldn’t blame him for his confusion. The messages I’d been sending him all day had implied that I’d be rocking his world.
And sure enough, it wouldn’t be long before everything was changed forever.
Just not in the way he’d expected.
I can only imagine how my face looked in that moment. It must have been a mixture of anticipation, desperation…and lust.
I was about to see my sister dance. And I wasn’t even going to have to pay for it.
God, I couldn’t wait.
My sister bent over to put a song on the stereo—“Runnin’ with the Devil”, an old Van Halen track—and when she stood up, shot me a saucy glance.
I realized that my husband was staring at me, a strange look on his face. When Whitney had bent over, I hadn’t been able to look away from her perfect ass. She was wearing a black strapless tank top and a flowing black skirt, the same outfit she’d worn for each of our visits past the first one.
Her work outfit, I assumed.
The guitar started playing, and my husband’s gaze was torn away from me. Instead, he was staring at my sister, who had begun her magic.
I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that her ability to dance truly had a supernatural source; as soon as she began to move, it was impossible to turn away. I felt the familiar warmth appear between my legs; I’d been wet for days imagining this, but now that it was happening, now that my husband was bearing witness to the same hypnotic sway that had so radically transformed my life…
I couldn’t have been more excited.
My husband’s arms tensed as he watched Whitney’s blonde mane move.
“Touch her,” I hissed. “Do it…”
His eyes widened, but he obeyed, awkwardly moving his arms to her waist. I could have instructed him further. I knew he would have obeyed, eagerly accepted his wife’s permission to go further with her younger sister, but I held back. It was all I could do not to cross the room and press my lips against Whitney myself.
Besides, as my sister’s dance continued, I was certain that my husband wouldn’t be able to resist.
She really was very good at what she did.
The song moved into the chorus, and Whitney pressed her body against his, rubbing her chest against my spouse’s, grinding her crotch against my husband’s rock-hard cock.
I let out a long moan—without even noticing, my hand had moved between my legs. I was wearing a pair of yoga pants (my husband loves what they do for my ass), and they were soaked. I could feel my arousal; my panties and yoga pants had completely failed to contain my wetness, and as I watched my sister grinding on my husband, I began stroking myself through the layers of cloth, twitching in pleasure at the sensations coursing through my body.
Soon enough, my husband’s hands had started to explore my sister’s body, grabbing her firm ass to prevent her from pulling away from his cock. With anyone else, his action would have filled me with a variety of emotions. Jealousy, most of all, but also arousal. My husband showing off his assertive side, even if it had been with someone else, would had me biting my lip in the memory (and anticipation) of when he’d demonstrate that same dominance in the bedroom.
But when my sister was dancing, that was all I could see. It was all I could think about. The way her body moved, her hair’s fluid motion, the way she managed to make her skirt seem like it was part of her, like a black flame flickering around her body, entirely within her control...
I gasped as my sister’s lips moved forward and met my husband’s. Much like Laurence’s reaction when I’d first kissed him, there was a moment of hesitance, of disbelief. But his resistance lasted no longer than my client’s had, and my entire body thrummed with pleasure at the sight of their passionate embrace.
I sat in the corner, touching myself as I watched my sister and husband make out, I knew I should be conflicted, but I wasn’t. When my sister danced, everything in the world just felt right. Of course her body was wrapped around my spouse’s; of course his tongue was veraciously exploring her mouth.
Everything was exactly as it should be.
The song ended, and the world came hurtling back. My sister pulled away, and glanced at me in the corner.
“My rate for couples is eight thousand per hour,” she said simply. My husband’s jaw fell open—I’ve no idea if it was because of the price, or the shocking sensation of returning to reality. “But since you’re family…”
I nodded. I didn’t have the money—I’d spent my last penny on one-on-one sessions with my sister—but I knew my husband hadn’t burned through his savings.
Yet.
“Do you have four thousand?” I asked him, and he blinked twice, still adjusting to what was going on.
“Uh…yeah. I mean, in savings,” he said, looking back and forth between Whitney and I, confused.
My sister grinned. Her teeth were a blinding white, and appeared even sharper than the last time I’d noticed them.
“Then let’s go,” she said, grabbing my husband’s hand and pulling him towards the bedroom.
When my husband proposed to me, I’d felt…safe, I guess. Secure. I knew he was the love of my life, and I’d never want anyone else. We’d found each other, and that was all we’d ever need.
I’d known that for as long as we lived, we’d be each other’s everything. I never thought our marriage would be anything but exclusive…and I never, ever suspected that I’d be out-of-my-mind aroused by the idea of watching him fuck my sister.
But I was.
I’d like to say that part of it was because I loved him. I loved him, and wanted to see him experience the same joy I had. The incomparable experience of sex with my sister, the brain-bending orgasms, the feeling of having your spirit lit on fire. I was always taught that sharing is caring, and I’d love to say that’s why I was so excited by the prospect of watching his cock slide into Whitney for the first time.
Honestly, though, I don’t think that was it. More likely, it was the knowledge that…I’d be next.
That after my husband came inside Whitney, she’d turn her attention to me.
I’d just watched her dance for my husband. She’d gyrated for a three minute song that simultaneously felt like a lifetime and a single moment, and none of it—none of it—had been about me.
I wanted my sister. I wanted her attention. I wanted her to touch me, to dance for me. I wanted my sister more than I’d ever wanted anything, or anyone.
I wanted my sister more than anyone had ever wanted anything or anyone.
And after my husband fucked her, she’d be mine. At least for the refractory period, she’d be all mine.
I couldn’t wait.
I trotted behind my husband, who was following Whitney. When she got to the bedroom, she once more pressed his lips against his. I wondered if she’d known, at our wedding, that he’d eventually be hers.
That we both would.
Of course, I was the one who’d started this. I’d asked my sister to dance for me, I’d asked her to dance for my husband.
Had I known? At the wedding, on some level, had I known that the man I was marrying would eventually fuck my sister? Was that why I’d been drawn to him in the first place; to give him to Whitney?
She deserved him. She deserved anything. Everything. She deserved the eight thousand dollars per hour she charged, and more.
Because she was my sister, we got the family rate. An hour with my sister at half price; it was the greatest gift I could possibly have given my husband. It was the best gift I could give any man.
Some of my clients had money; people don’t really hire an interior decorator if they’re broke. Perhaps I could introduce them to my sister, in exchange for a finder’s fee. Another way to make money…money that would be poured straight back into my sister’s bank account.
Not that she exactly needed referrals—from what I understood, she could work twenty-four hours a day and still have a queue out the door.
Having seen her dance, I understood why.
To my delight, my sister pulled away from my husband’s face, and turned to mine. As she kissed me, I could taste my husband’s breath on her lips. It didn’t detract from the perfection of my sister’s kiss; if anything, it added to it.
For the next few minutes, Whitney alternated between which of us she kissed. Just like her dance, each kiss was simultaneously infinite…and far too short. Finally, when I felt like I was going to burst, Whitney pulled off her tank top, and I did the same.
I’d never kissed another woman for my husband’s pleasure before. I knew he would have liked it, but before my sister’s dance, I was a firm 0 on the Kinsey Scale. Besides, it wasn’t like I needed to work to turn him on. I could have shown up in bed wearing a burlap sack and still gotten him hard.
But at the sight of my tongue dancing with my sister’s, our naked tits pressed against each other, I heard my husband groan. He’s always been a tit man, and despite neither of us having much more than a handful, I could tell this was fulfilling a number of his unspoken fantasies.
“Now you two,” my sister instructed, and we obeyed immediately. Even after knowing my husband for almost half a decade, his kisses never fail to thrill me…but given the situation, it felt a bit like taking nothing but salad on steak night.
Still, Whitney had been very direct, and just following her orders was enough to add spice to the marital kiss. When we pulled away, we were delighted to learn that during our embrace, she’d taken off the remainder of my clothes, and my sister’s perfect body was completely on display.
“Fuck her,” I groaned, unable to tear my eyes away from Whitney’s glistening pussy-lips. “Please…fuck her.”
My husband’s eyes looked like they were going to burst out of his head. The sight of my naked sister, the look of desperation I knew my face held…it was far more than he’d been expecting from his birthday surprise.
The man I married is many things, but ‘stupid’ is not one of them. With a soft groan, he unbuckled his pants, lowered his boxers, and frantically positioned his hard cock at my sister’s entrance.
As he thrust forward, I was surprised by my body’s reaction. Although I was two feet away, wantonly rubbing myself at the live sex-show in front of me, it was almost as though I could feel him entering me. I don’t know if there’s a word for it, but seeing my husband—the man I loved more than anyone else in the world—receiving what I was certain was the greatest pleasure of his life…god, it was almost enough to make me cum.
Almost.
Barely lasting longer than Laurence had, my husband groaned loudly. It was a sound I’d heard more times than I could count; he was cumming, filling my sister up with his hot, thick seed. She had a devilish grin on her face as her brother-in-law ejaculated inside her. It wasn’t one of lust, or mischievousness. It wasn’t the professional look she had on her face whenever she came over to dance for me.
It was a look of power. As he came inside her, she knew that my husband was hers now.
She owned him. Just as she owned me.
* * *