At the age of 26, Sergeant John Smith of the New York City police department was fairly well off. He had a good job and a good wife, Ciara Smith. To him, Ciara was the most precious thing and at the age of 28, also one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. John was 5’11 and she was 5’7. John was smack dab with abs and power, whereas she had a nice slim figure and fairly average breasts. John’s father was from Ireland and his mother from Bulgaria and even though he was a full fledged American, he was surprised to hear Ciara’s family history. They had arrived in Florida in the 1850s and emigrated up to NYC after their arrival, mostly staying within the Hispanic community. As such, Ciara’s parents actually had their first two children before they were even married. Ciara herself may have been born in Brooklyn, but about six months after birth was sent by her parents to live at a relative’s house in Mexico where she stayed for the first 18 years of her life before finally moving back. She had an accent, it was cute and John always found it sexy. As John lay in bed, remembering this family history, he looked over to the woman next to him was not his wife Ciara. How could he have cheated? He thought long hand hard that moment and realized, it was not for the sex, but it was the idea of who he was having sex with: Ciara’s elder sister, Marianne del Rey.

Marianne was the second child in the del Rey family. At the age of 42, she was 14 years older than Ciara but to John, much more beautiful. Before everything with her happened, he had only met her once, at his wedding. Marianne was a single mother, having had gotten pregnant from a former boyfriend at the age of 39 and given birth to a son, Max. Standing at only 5’2, Marianne looked tiny and precious, as if one could snatch her up and just hide her in a broom closet. In fact, it was the opposite. She lived in Lyon, France and was trilingual, speaking English, French and Spanish, for she was a field agent for Interpol. Marianne too had been sent to Mexico as a child, but was sent at the age of 7 instead of as an infant and somehow found her way back to New York City. That was what attracted John to her, that she had attained such a high status against all odds. In addition, she was extremely beautiful, had 32D breasts, a fit body and a literal Kardashian ass.

Marianne kissed him softly, and strafed her hands on his chest. John was dazedd, having just been lost in thought.

“I assume you’re going to want to rest… would you mind terribly if I went down and spent some time in the sun by the pool? I’m still a little too wound up to sleep,” she said quietly.

“Of course not. How will I find you?”

“I think you’ll figure it out. I won’t be hiding,” came her response from the bathroom. She breezed back into the room.

“Give me about an hour, then come rescue me,” she laughed.

“Rescue you? Interpol?” John asked, an incredulous look on his face.

“Yes.” She had changed into her bathing suit in the bathroom, so he hadn’t seen what she was wearing and when she came out, a cover up hid her attire from view. To say John was curious would be an understatement. She picked up her sunhat, pursed her lips at John, and slipped out the door. Hey there for a few more minutes, but her slightly cryptic behaviour had him wondering, and that feeling was stronger than his fatigue. I got up, stood under the shower for a few minutes, then dressed and followed in her wake. He wondered, though, how it had all started. There were in Lyon right now, all staying in hotels while the del Rey elders stayed at Marianne’s house. Dazed, John remembered what they were there for, the wedding of Brianna, the youngest child in the del Rey family.

If only his room faced over the pool area, he would have been able to locate Marianne easily, but since he had been denied aerial surveillance, he was forced to do ground recon. As soon as he stepped out onto the deck, he knew it would take a while. It was okay, because he had plenty of time to ponder his actions. He had just cheated on his wife, with her sister to say the least. He’d been to Vegas before, but hadn’t spent much, or any, time around the pool at any of the hotels he’d stayed at. Now they were staying at a big hotel in France. The pool area was gigantic, and it was full… of incredibly beautiful women, and guys trying to get next to one of them. He had an argument with Ciara about, having kids and frustrated, she’d left him alone in the hotel and went to Marianne’s house to stay with her parents. Marianne, however, was also staying in the hotel and came to John to inquire.

He started on the perimeter. There were several little bars located around the outer edge, and he used them as vantage points, scanning the immediate area around them. He was shading my eyes, looking for Marianne, when he heard a sultry voice. “Looking for anything in particular?” It asked. John turned, coming face to face with a tall, stunning black haired beauty, clad scantily. His eyes went on autopilot, visually caressing her hourglass body, before getting stuck on her big tits, a pair that put Ciara’s to shame. By the time he dragged his gaze up to her eyes, hidden behind large sunglasses, she was smiling.

“Yes, sorry,” I gulped, taking in her beauty.

“Hmmm,” she said, tipping her glasses down, picking up a bottle of oil and going away, leaving John confused as to what just happened. There were a half dozen guys hanging around, ogling her and trying to chat her up. John could hardly blame them. Marianne’s bikini redefined ‘brief’. A spider web of black strings with swatches of fabric covering the vital areas. Perhaps six square inches of fabric separated her from nudity. The guys around her were all bulging, so she’d had an obvious effect on them as well. Marianne was well oiled. Obviously she applied it herself, but there was no shortage of volunteers to help and she passed over the bottle. She had turned onto her stomach, and four of her suitors were rubbing oil into her back and legs. At first, they avoided the firm, bare flesh of her ass, but gradually, they became bolder, taking liberties. Now their hands kneaded the oil-slicked globes of her rear, and occasionally dipped their fingers onto the velvety skin of her inner thighs. As John neared, though, with the wave of her hand, they all dispersed. She shook her head, sitting up and extending her hand to John. He helped her to her feet, and back into the high-heeled sandals she’d been wearing. She plucked up her hat and wrap, took his arm, and they walked back into the hotel.

They were in the elevator, and Marianne was adjusting her cover-up. “If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to.” She said this all without looking at him, casually. “I mean, if you’re scared Ciara will find out.” After smirking at John’s shocked face, they rode in silence the remaining eleven floors to ours. There was not a word from Marianne as we walked down the hall to our door. John was beginning to think she was mad at him. He opened the room door and followed her in. She spun quickly and pinned him to the door as it closed, crushing her beautiful tits against his chest and her lips against his. “I’ll take your silence as… acceptance.” Before he could pull his eyes away, the lace garment sprung from her soft, jutting breasts, falling to the floor.

“No,” John told her, trying to push her away. “You’re my wife’s older sister… I can’t do this… not again.” He said it dfiantly and would have fooled anybody else, but Marianne del Rey was not anybody else. She was an Interpol agent, she had killed 18 men in cold blood, tortured people and shut down terrorist cells. If she wanted to fuck. She would fuck.

“I don’t care what you want,” Marianne told him and aggressively pushed him back. “This is all about me. You don’t want to fuck me, fucking leave. You saw how many men wanted me. You’re so fucking ridiculous.” Her tone caught John off balance, as far back as he could remember, no body ever spoke to him like that, let alone a woman. He knew that she was Interpol, but he was a cop. He did not expect her to have that tenacity around him. He was not angry, but rather shocked. Nobody had ever spoken to him like that. She pushed him back against the door. “Now either we fuck, or you fuck off.” Not able to find the words, John found himself in a predicament and it was easily resolved. Marianne kissed him, and by the feel of the kiss, John just melted. He was strong, but against a woman like Marianne? He never stood a chance. Yet anger was building up inside of him? Who was this bitch? This woman? To come in and ruin his marriage? She pulled away then. “I fucking love it!” she laughed. “How fucking turned on and angry you are right now!” Yet when the expression became clear on John’s face, an equal figure of anger showed up on Marianne’s. In an instant, she slapped him. “Don’t fuck with me. Fuck me, but don’t fuck with me.” Grabbing his hands, she placed them on her breasts and he let his hands slide all over the enormous boobs, trying to feel every square inch of soft breast between his fingers. He let his hands slide along the artful curves of her round breasts till he was cupping her massive jugs, bouncing them lightly, feeling their heavy weight in his palms. John was transfixed by Marianne’s huge tits, in a way he had never been before. He slid his hands up till they were pressed into the fronts of her large tits, nipples centered in his palms. After feeling the softness for so long, his will finally broke, and his fingers reflexively squeezed, desperate to feel all of the fleshiness at once. He kept squeezing them, feeling the soft flesh against his fingertips as her hard nipples dug into his palms.

John was so transfixed by her breasts that he hardly noticed her take his shorts off, letting his hard dick hang loose. “This is nice, John, but I didn’t want a fucking massage, suck’em,” she told him, the hard Brooklyn accent sounding so appealing through her sultry tanned skin. He brought his mouth down to her chest, his open mouth soon surrounding one of her throbbing nipples. Her nipples grew even harder in his mouth. He licked at the hard nub as he sucked at it, attacking her nipple savagely, running his tongue across it, smothering it with saliva. “Suck my tits,” she moaned. “Worship me! Worship my tits!” She pressed her breasts against his face, smothering him with the soft, firm flesh. With a pop, she pulled her spit-soaked nipple from his mouth, scrubbing both breasts his my face for a few moments before he was able to capture her other nipple between his teeth. “AAHHHHH! YES!” she moaned out, loving the feeling of his teeth on her nipple. He bit down on her nipple, causing her to squeal with delight.

John looked down at his evil sister-in-law and her hot body. She smiled evilly. He thought of his wife, and all the great moments she had given to him. What meant more to him, his lovely, beautiful wife, or the way these massive, soft, suckable, fuckable tits felt? The choice was obvious.

“Oh fuck!” John said, finally pushing his thick cock into Marianne’s tight cunt.

“That’s it! That’s fucking it!” Marianne moaned out. She was on her back, her legs eagerly spread as Kevin was hunched over her, forcing his thick cock into his sister-in-law, finally. She palmed one of his ass-cheeks and forced him forward, forcing all seven inches of his cock into her sweet, welcoming cunt. “Holy fuck! Fuck yes!” Marianne moaned as John dove forward, his lips meeting hers, his hands traveling up her smooth skin to immerse himself in her voluminous rack. Marianne then pushed him down and bounced roughly on John, bruising his thighs as the agent viciously rode him. John squeezed her tits again. He couldn’t get enough. They were just so big and soft! He pinched her nipples, making the bitch moan on top of him. Bridget sighed as her body relaxed, coming down from her orgasm. “Mmmm, a powerful man,” she purred as they both collapsed into the bed. “A man built just for me.” John stroked her, worshiping her, trying to please her how he could. “You know, I’d like to keep you,” she told him after a while.

“What?” John asked, breathing heavily underneath her naked form.

“Max hasn’t met you, you could be my ‘bodyguard’,” she told him. “You could stay, leave Ciara.”

“What?” John asked incredulously. “How could I leave her? Wouldn’t anybody from your family notice your sister’s ex hanging around your house?”

“My family barely comes to my house,” she calmly told him. “You’d really just be a fucktoy.” That insulted John. “Except, by now, after two fucks I’ve no doubt I’ve done better than Ciara ever has.” That was true, though. “I mean you could spend your whole life happy just looking at me.” That was also true. “So I’m giving you an offer, stay with me until I turn 50 or whenever I’m not considered amazing.” John was tempted to take it.

“I want to,” he said quickly. “But… I can’t leave Ciara… till death do us part and I intend to keep that vow.”

“Not the one of infidelity, though,” Marianne scoffed. “Fine, it that is what it’ll take, I can kill Ciara.”

“What?” John snapped. “Kill her?”

“I shouldn’t have to repeat myself John,” Marianne sighed. “Yeah, kill her.”

“She’s my wife!” John raised his voice. “She’s your sister!”

“So? I have plenty of them,” Marianne responded with indifference in her voice. “Look, the choice is simple, either stay here with me or leave with her.” John hated this, being on the spot. He hated it so much. Yet he thought about it, and kept thinking about it. His breathing went from laboured to stable. Marianne fell asleep on him. Then he looked at her close up. Her naked form glistening in sweat. He had seenn how many men were after her. Perhaps it was a kink. Killing her sister and taking her husband. He wanted to be that kink. He wanted to tell Marianne that he wanted Ciara gone. That he wanted to be nothing more than a fucktoy to be used and abused by her. She was asleep, though and he dared not wake her up.

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