My Wife Educates Our Shy Nephew

By mid-summer, our porch had transformed from a casual spot for a cold drink into a classroom. My forty-year-old wife's routine--the denim shorts, the blistering heat, and our twenty-two-year-old nephew stopping by after his trades classes--had evolved from an awkward coincidence into a near-daily ritual we all anticipated.

Our nephew would walk over after class and share a few cold drinks with us on the porch. We'd shoot the breeze a while, sweating and laughing.

At some point, my wife would stand up and announce that she was headed inside for a cold bath to cool down. My nephew's eyes would be locked on her bikini-clad breasts or the softness of her exposed midriff, and, once she turned to head inside, on the bouncing globes of her ass. Before she'd go, she'd ask whether anyone would like to join her.

She didn't really mean anyone.

She knew I hated cold baths, even in the sweltering summer heat. She wasn't inviting me. My wife was inviting our nephew to bathe with her.

Our nephew who had recently taken up exploring her body. Whom she was teaching how to interact with, attract, and engage with a woman physically.

Their ritual had evolved. Once they arrived in the bathroom, she would bend over to start the water. His eyes would bore holes in her denim short-shorts while he thought of something to ask her. "Did I overhear you saying you like to read romance novels?" -- stuff like that. He tried his best. My wife would compliment his approach, so long as it wasn't too far off base.

He would undress her, pulling her bikini top over her head while she faced away from him, cupping a breast in one hand while he fiddled with the button on her shorts with the other. She would turn around, peel his sweaty t-shirt off his muscled chest, sneaking an inhale of his musky scent as she did.

I'd watch, leaning against the vanity a few feet away, as she nimbly undid his belt and pants and pulled them down. His thick cock would bulge in his boxer briefs, head straining against the material. She usually squatted and sneaked another deep whiff of his scent while she pulled the briefs down, his cock springing out next to her face. My mind and body buzzed with arousal at the sight of her proximity to his erect manhood.

While they stepped into the cold water, I'd throw her clothes in the hamper -- she'd put on a bathrobe after she got out. His clothes I folded neatly and placed on the toilet, as he'd be putting them back on later.

Once in the large copper bathtub, they'd begin by sitting across from each other, talking, flirting. At some point, he'd ask to come closer, and she'd say yes. He'd cuddle up to her from the side, his head on her left breast, his left hand cupping her right breast, and his body clinging to hers. He would close his eyes. The talking stopped, they would just breathe, their warm bodies pressed together in the cold water.

While it was now hidden from view, I knew, he knew, and my wife sure knew that his rock-hard member was nestled up against her left leg somewhere under the water. That image frequently bubbled to the surface in my mind as I watched their serene embrace.

At some point, his left hand would work its way down to her womanhood. If he took too long, she'd put it there for him, gently guiding his wrist down to her pussy. He'd gently rub her nether lips -- barely perceptible strokes with his index and middle fingers on either side of her clitoris. She would softly moan, especially when she felt his warm mouth on her nipple.

Our nephew had done this with my wife five, maybe six times. After about a quarter of an hour, their bodies sufficiently cooled, she would stand up, step out of the bath, towel off, and put on her bathrobe. Our nephew would do likewise, except he'd get dressed, we'd exchange pleasantries (and invite him back), and he'd leave.

But today, he had something else in mind. He'd been steadily building confidence through these experiences with my wife. He'd also clearly taken my advice about her to heart: don't sugar coat it or beat around the bush. Tell her what you want or feel, and she'll respond, one way or another. While she was towelling herself off, he stood up in the tub, his thick erection cantilevered out in front of him like a ship's prow.

Our nephew cleared his throat. "Do you think I could touch it when it's warm? I mean, out of the bath? I really appreciate everything you've been teaching me about women's bodies, but I'd like to experience something closer to what it's really like."

My wife looked at him, but didn't answer. For a moment, I thought he might have overplayed his hand, taken it too far with her. But then she looked at me, quizzically, but eyes glinting. As usual, I shrugged. "Up to you."

My wife looked back at our nephew. "I don't see a problem with that." She slipped her bathrobe on while he dried off with a towel; she left it hanging open, untied, her tits and trimmed pussy hair on display. Our nephew stepped into his boxer briefs and pulled them up. When he reached for his shirt my wife grabbed him by the wrist and tugged him out of the bathroom. "You won't need that," she explained. She led him down the hall, bare feet padding towards the porch. I followed, not entirely sure what my wife had in mind.

When we got back outside, she sat down on our outdoor couch and lay back, her head resting against one of its padded arms, her knees bent and somewhat apart from each other, her feet flat on the seat cushion. Her stance suggested to me that she was going to invite him to mount her--a shocking escalation--but when our nephew came through the door, cock head and shaft trying to punch a hole through his boxer briefs, she gently patted the couch next to her ass.

"Come and sit down," she directed. He sat down next to her foot, his body angled towards hers. He looked unsure of what to do next.

He stared down at her her trimmed bush and shaved labia, her clitoral hood teasing out to one side. Using both hands, she grabbed his right wrist, and slowly guided his calloused fingers towards her wet, slick lips. They both inhaled sharply at once as a rough finger made contact with her moist, soft, and impossibly warm slit. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, her back slightly arched. The robe opened further as her body stiffened upwards, her tits spilling out revealing her hardened, aroused nipples.

Our nephew, sensing he was on the right track, began to speed up his ministrations. Still holding his wrist, she tightened her grip and pushed his hand away.

"Gentle," she commanded. "Slowly at first. Try again."

My wife let go of our nephew's wrist. One of her hands ended up on her abdomen, just below her breasts. She always put it there when she pleasured herself, or when I go down on her. Her other hand went to his upper thigh, the tips of her fingers brushing at his boxer briefs but not quite reaching his manhood.

Our nephew began to find his rhythm and hers, gently working his fingers up and down her pussy. Her breathing quickened, and I could hear her quiet, almost imperceptible moans as she exhaled. He was also breathing deeply, his brow wrinkled in concentration.

I knew she was close when she began to hold her breath, her one hand rubbing her chest between her tits, the other probing for the head of our nephew's dick, seemingly just out of reach.

"Keep doing exactly what you're doing," she directed. "Do not change a thing."

A few gasped exhales later, her body stiffened and arched. Toes curling, eyes closed, she convulsed into orgasm. Almost involuntarily, her hand shot from our nephew's crotch to the hand exploring her pussy, gently pushing it away.

"No more," she explained breathlessly.

She opened her eyes and gave our nephew a contented grin. He looked confused, maybe even hurt. We all waited in silence for a few long moments.

"When some women cum, especially with their clitoris, it can get quite sensitive down there. That's why I pushed your hand away. You didn't do anything wrong. You gave me a lovely orgasm." A goofy smile spread across his face. My wife closed up her robe and basked in the afterglow.

"I'd really like to taste it next time." he asked. "If you don't mind, I mean."

"Taste what?" she teased, cocking her head at an angle with a coy grin. "And who said anything about a next time?"

For a moment, our nephew looked like a scolded puppy. Not wanting to dampen his newfound confidence, she quickly ended his torment. "I'm only kidding. You're welcome to come back tomorrow. As for going down on me, well, I'll think about it."

We shot the shit on the porch for a few minutes before our nephew got dressed (with a bit of a struggle trying to stuff his still-hard dick back into his pants) and took his leave.