Pt.2 Sister let me watch her and her husband have sex

The phone rang at 2:17 AM on a Tuesday—three short bursts before cutting off, then ringing again. Her signature. I lunged for it before the second ring finished, my sheets tangled around my waist. "You're up," her voice purred through the receiver, half-laughing, like she'd known I'd be awake. Like she'd known I'd been staring at the stolen lace crumpled in my fist just seconds before.

"I kept something," I blurted. Silence. Then the soft click of a lighter, her exhale staticky through the phone. "Yeah?" she said, and I could picture her curled on their leather couch, one knee drawn up, the phone tucked between her shoulder and ear. "My panties," I muttered, the admission scalding. "The black ones. From... that weekend."

Another pause. Then a low, throaty chuckle. "Jesus. Knew I was missing a pair." Her husband's voice rumbled in the background—*who’s calling this late?*—and she shushed him absently. "You smell them?" she asked, casual as asking about the weather. My grip tightened. "Yeah."

"Good," she said, simple as that. No shame, no shock. Just *good*, like I'd passed some test she hadn't told me about. The line crackled with her shifting, fabric rustling. "You gonna keep them?"

My throat worked. "Can I?"

She laughed—bright, unguarded—and something in my chest loosened. "Obviously." A muffled sound, then her voice dropped, conspiratorial. "Bet you came thinking about me in them." It wasn’t a question. I swallowed hard. "Yeah."

"Tell me."

The demand punched the air from my lungs. Static filled the silence as I fumbled for words. "I—put them over my face," I admitted, the confession raw. "Could still smell you." Her breath hitched—just slightly—before she recovered. "Fuck," she murmured, approving. "That’s hot."

The line went quiet again, but I could hear her breathing—slow and steady, like she was waiting for me to unravel. "Did you touch yourself?" she finally asked, her voice dipping into something darker. My fingers clenched around the phone. "Yeah."

"Tell me how."

The command sent a jolt straight to my groin. I pressed the stolen lace to my nose again, inhaling the fading traces of her, and let my head fall back against the pillow. "Started slow," I admitted, my voice rough. "Just rubbing through my boxers. Thinking about—" I hesitated, but the memory was too vivid to ignore. "Thinking about the way you looked when he had you bent over the bed."

Her exhale was sharp. "Fuck. Keep going."

The phone line hummed with static, but I could hear her grinning. "You still there?" she teased, her voice a slow drip of honey. I swallowed, my fingers tightening around the lace still pressed to my nose. "Yeah," I croaked. Then, before I could lose my nerve: "Can I—" The words clogged in my throat.

Her hum vibrated through the receiver, impatient. "Spit it out."

"Can I get pictures?" I blurted. "Or—video. Sometimes." The silence stretched so long I thought the call had dropped. Then her laugh—low, delighted—crackled through. "Jesus. Bold." Fabric rustled, her voice muffled like she'd turned away. "You hear that?" she said, presumably to her husband. His answering chuckle was deep, indistinct.

Then she was back, breathless with amusement. "He says maybe."

"Maybe" hung in the air like a challenge, vibrating through the phone line. My pulse hammered in my throat—half-expecting her to laugh it off, half-terrified she wouldn’t. The rustling on her end grew louder, fabric shifting, then her voice dropped to a whisper. "Hold on." A muffled thud—the phone being set down—then the distant murmur of voices. I pressed the stolen lace harder against my nose, inhaling the ghost of her as I strained to hear.

When she came back, her exhale was shaky. "Okay," she said, like she’d just run up stairs. "Rules." The word sent a jolt through me. "No faces. No forwarding. No fucking saving them to your cloud like some creep." A pause. "And you send something back." My grip on the phone tightened. "What?"

Her laugh was all teeth. "Fair’s fair." The implication curled hot in my stomach. Behind her, her husband’s voice rumbled approval. "Deal?" she pressed. I swallowed. "Deal."

my telegram is the same as my username if anyone is up to chat. did manage to get a photo of her sucking his dick.Love to see and hear others experiences as well.