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Subject: Title story: "Closing Up the Cottage" Author: INCEST MAN 61691970
From: Family Man <familyincest@graffiti.net>
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Date: Sat, 10 Dec 2005 05:03:31 +0000
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http://www.incesttabooo.com/
Closing Up the Cottage Section A It started out as another case of me-and-my-big-
mouth. I was down at my parents' and had wandered into the livingroom in time to
catch the last snatch of a conversation. My sister Ria was saying stuff about
closing up her cottage for the winter. Figuring that to be a pretty tough sport
and feeling full of false magnanimity, I volunteered, "Well gosh, Ria, I'd
certainly come out and help, not that I could get time away from the kids or
afford the airfare." I really would have been just as satisfied with myself if
I'd just thought about offering. Unfortunately there was a roomful of family to
witness my words. I hadn't seen Ria in a couple of years and didn't expect to
see her again for a couple more. That was the standard schedule since we'd
become adults. Ria and I were not at all close. As children we had fought like
monsters all the time. Sometime in our early teens came a cease-fire, both of us
independently deciding it would be less hassle to simple ignore the other. Now
that we'd both crossed the threshold into our thirties, things between us were
civil enough. Though neither of us felt obliged to words if we wound up alone in
the same room. It was like some sort of conspiracy. Less than a month later my
wife announced that she and the kids were driving for a week's stay at her
parents a state and a half away. Instead of being torn between desire and duty--
can I stay or should I go?--I was directed towards a third choice. She and them
were off to her parents, while mine had mailed me the plane tickets out to
Ria's. Somehow I didn't feel much in charge of my own destiny. I boarded my
airplane, found my seat and sat down. I pulled the in-flight magazine out from
the pouch on the back of the seat ahead of me. It was not a far reach. I thought
to myself _This is insane!_ My sister was a virtual stranger. There was this
cottage, out in the country, up in the mountains, something like that out in one
of the western states. I had no clear idea what she did with her life. I had not
even seen a photograph of this _cottage_. I didn't know if she owned or rented
or just somehow _inhabited_ this cottage. There was something about a roommate
going abroad for some long stretch of time. My sole knowledge of this person was
her gender. Were they roommates or friends or lovers? As for my sister's
sexuality, I could state with some certainty that she was female. All the sorts
of details that make up a life, and so few did I know. It was all information I
didn't care about. I could see no reason in the world why I would be on my way
to help her out. Blood isn't _that_ thick. The pleasure of my flight was
mitigated by the circumstances of having been booked on the cheapest airline
still up in the air. The only refreshment they offered was water, and for that
you had to go back and suck it from the bathroom spigot. Carry-on luggage was
restricted to purses and briefcases because there were no overhead bins, so my
similarly sized duffel had to go into the belly of the beast. I didn't really
need the book I'd neglected to retrieve until I discovered that all the
magazines were actually thickish catalogues of cheap goods. My favorite was the
catalogue catalogue, a huge lavishly illustrated catalogue of all the catalogues
you could possibly want to order. I did a total tally. For only almost $1000 I
could have many hundreds of worthless catalogues I didn't want delivered to my
doorstep. The prospect was thrilling. The exercise got me past those first ten
minutes when the plane is suddenly rumbling into the air, going up steep fast.
My fear of flying is restricted to these minutes, and their companion ones at
the other end of the flight, when, statistically, most planes tend to crash and
burn. During the descent I silently waxed poetic about the grand old days of air
travel. When your plane landed, by god you were where you were going. And you
had to worry about dying only twice. My modern flight sort of hopped across the
landscape. Each subsequent airport was smaller than the one before. And at each
we as well traded down for the next smaller aircraft. It got to the point that
as we were once again nosing back down to earth, all I could really imagine
ahead was a sort of lawnmower with wings. Out the window all I could see us
approaching was what looked like a failed subdivision out in the middle of
nowhere. The sad lines of merrily named streets leading to nothing, making
tracings in the bulldozed mud sea surrounding. The roads anchored to a small
solitary building, the model home/sales office. We landed there, and it didn't
look much different from the ground. The building was the tiniest terminal that
was ever built. Luckily it was the end of the line. I was where I wanted to be,
or rather, where I was supposed to be. Amazingly, the flight arrived on time.
Nothing else did. I spent the hour Ria kept me waiting trying to locate my
duffel. She finally caught up with me at an out-of-the-way counter where a
gleaming young woman was filling out a missing tracer for me. Well, she was
noting the information on the backside of a napkin with a snapped pencil. "So
just come back in ten days to check," the woman was telling me with a winning
smile. "I'll be back in four," I snapped, "That's when I leave. Preferably with
the duffel." Ria came up and greeted me. She stopped ten feet away and barked,
"Where's your bag?" I turned back to Miss Perfect Career Choice and asked, "How
many cities does your fine airline serve anyway." "Thirty-eight," she gave a
cheery chirp. I turned back to Ria. "Take your pick. Now I sort of know why my
bag is late. What's your excuse?" "I'm here now," she shrugged. "You ready to
go?" The cottage, when we got there, wasn't really much of a cottage. It wasn't
a shack, but it wasn't a cottage. It was a house in the way a cave can be called
a home. It could be called a cabin, except cabins generally aren't clapboard
with little trims around the rims. It didn't look at all new. Thank god, I
thought, it wasn't some listing double-wide trailer dragged up the hills. It was
really rather nice inside. One big central room, the livingroom, with vaulted
ceiling and a wide stone hearth. A hallway led off to a pleasant little bedroom
opposite a full bath, ending in the kitchen at back. I retraced my steps and
headed for the great room. In the middle of the room, facing the fireplace,
there was one of those frame things that folds a futon up into a sofa. I was on
it in an instant. Ria was on me before I could get comfortable. "What do you
think you're doing? Come on! get up!! We got a ton of work ahead of us."
"Coffee," I groaned. "First comes coffee." "Coffee?" she gave me a queer look.
"I don't drink coffee." "Well I do. You could be nice, or just tell me where
everything is and I'll make my own." "I said I don't drink the stuff. The
closest coffee you'll find is down in town." "Then get your butt down to town
and get me some!" I cried. "I'm not moving 'til I've had my fix. Get me a pound,
ground, and something to brew it in." Ria took my look of exasperation and
multiplied it. She went off in a huff, but she did go off. Without another word
she was out the door and in her truck. I guessed it to be at least a twenty
minute trip each way, nestling my head languidly down into a pillow. In fact I
got to snooze for well over an hour. But then my nap ended with that terribly
disorienting sort of jerking way. It was like my body shivering awake at the
presence of a cat sitting on my chest staring at me while I slept. The cat was
Ria. "Wake up and smell the coffee," she gently cooed. I couldn't imagine how
she had gotten into that position without me waking straight off. She was
straddling me and half lying atop me. It was a familiar posture from childhood,
but any adult interpretation tended to involve complete lack of clothing. Of
particular embarrassment for me was that she'd caught me at some stage of sleep
where I had an absolutely throbbing erection, a condition complicated by being
twisted up in my underwear. The warm soft pressure of her crotch was hardly the
dash of cold water I needed. I tried to think of all the most horrifying things
I could to make my tide subside. What more wilt-worthy material was there than
the thought that your own sister might feel your accidental erection? But it was
my own sister on top of me and there was no way she could mistake what she was
sitting on, and Ria really was doing nothing to abate the situation. If we'd
been naked, the sweat alone would've sent me filling her to the hilt. Her
breasts hung unhampered in her shirt, sometimes swaying against my chest. The
view down her shirt was always excellent. I of course could not linger on the
scenery without appearing quite obvious. It really was much harder on my neck to
keep my gaze up at her eyes. Ria's smile seemed to be quietly laughing about my
quandary. She crushed them against me as she swung her leg back over me, pushing
off me to stand up. "Coffee's ready," she tossed off. "Drink up!" It was the
worst cup of coffee I'd ever had. It was like she had gone to the clandestine
and unscrupulous open coffee market and been suckered into buying a bag of dried
used grounds disguised as freeze-dried instant. The best course of action seemed
to me to be stoic and obey orders. The first order of the day was to put in all
the storm windows. There weren't all that many windows, but it didn't sound like
an interesting chore to me. But if I was going to do any griping, I should have
done it by keeping my yap shut weeks ago. It was a great time-saver that Ria
already had the logistical end figured out. One of us would climb up the ladder,
while the other would hand up the big panes of glass. We took turns which helped
vary the task. And either way, I had a great view. Divorcing the sights from the
fact that it was my sister. It gave my mind something to do while the rest of me
hefted away. I mean, I'd be a liar to deny that Ria's got a luscious ass, and
there it was, sort of pushed out, just a few feet from my face. Or else I was
looking down deep into some mighty fine cleavage. Looking down there because
that was where I had to look down to reach down and grab the glass. I mean,
Ria's my little sister but she's a big girl now she can dress herself. The
problem that arose was that due to warping in the frames, it was stupidly
difficult for the person on the ladder to hold the window fast while reaching up
to secure the fasteners. I was up top when Ria decided the best thing was for
her to follow up the ladder, reaching around me to hold the window steady while
I busied around with the latches. She couldn't help but mash her breasts against
me a few times while she got set. In all my wriggling around there were some
contortions that required I brush back against them. I was hoping Ria wouldn't
notice how much I was blushing as I tried to avoid the touch. I let my manner be
matter-of-fact, and thought it best to mention not a word of it. But it was
driving me crazy, every now and then, that brush of hot breath on the back of my
neck. And then back down the ladder. Next was the worse way. I followed her
dancing ass up the rungs and then had to become a true contortionist. Leaning in
enough to hold the glass flat while keeping my pelvis kept cocked way back.
Maintaining that posture, and affecting it as natural, required true talent. If
I'd been in a calmer state I wouldn't have minded nestling on up when the job
required it. But really, my idlings had left me with a big hard thing in the
front of my pants which I really did not want to be rubbing up against my
sister's ass. On several occasions, exactly that did happen. I was flooded with
self-mortification, a weird sort of fluid in my veins and stuff which served to
push even more blood into the offensive member. I was so relieved when the job
was done and it was time to go in and make sandwiches. But then afterwards we
filled the back of her pickup with tools and drove down the drive to the road.
Down there a big gate could be swung closed and locked, blocking the drive.
Apparently some errant rural postal carrier had swerved bad and knocked the gate
posts to their current strange slants. Ria had the new lumber ready. We weren't
righting the posts. We were there to replace the old 4x4s with 8x8s, sinking
them about a yard down and setting them in concrete. I'd used a post-hole digger
before in my life, and wasn't exactly thrilled at the repeat. Again, the labor
was equitably divided. Down there, the ground revealed itself to be about three
inches of top soil covering an unending bed of large rocks glued together with
clay. It was hard, hot work, and soon enough Ria finished off the buttons on her
shirt and hung it on one of the tilted old posts. Ria's breasts were now covered
by only the pale lacy pink wings of a giant butterfly. I couldn't tell if it was
a sorry sort of halter, or bikini top, or more intimate upper apparel. Whatever
the function, the material made the contents sway as easy as a sweet summer
breeze. They jiggled quite smartly when Ria plunged the digger down in the hole,
repeatedly, seeking purchase. The whole scene seemed orchestrated, choreographed
really. She'd move halfway around the hole so that by the time it came to bend
low and take the big bite, well, I would want to bend low and take a big bite
myself. _Hey, that's your sister_, I had to keep reminding myself, _and she
doesn't particularly like you in the first place_. Like she'd be terribly
thrilled to turn around and catch me drooling over her ass. Keep your eyes on
the concrete and your hands stirring the shovel, I made that my motto. But not
soon enough, for as soon as I took over on the digger, Ria bitched at me for not
attending to the concrete. "You let it start getting _hard_," she snapped. No
doubt! "You should have stirred it more." No doubt!! Her remonstrations did act
nicely as a bucket of cold water, leaving me in much less of a state when we got
down to the tugging and grunting of getting the posts set in place. Difficult
though it was, I kept most of my mind on the job holding the posts steady while
Ria twisted and turned, shoveling the concrete from the wheelbarrow into the
holes. The posts stood up straight and tall and proud. "See," I said as we
cleaned up, "everything worked out fine. They're poking up like poplar trees."
Ria, I swear, blushed. And it was that that made me decide that her nipples
really were erect. Well, we'd been working pretty hard and gotten hot and
sweaty, and now as we loaded up the truck the afternoon was fairly done and the
air was taking on the chilly cast of evening. Something else was starting to
poke up again as well, but I was feeling pretty cocky having discovered that,
come untucked during our labors, my shirt was plenty long enough to keep all
that quite hidden. I couldn't figure out why I was so blasted horny. It probably
was some bizarre combination of a good honest day's work and the vast lungsful
of clean mountain air. At any rate, I figured once I got my turn at the shower
just the mild touch of soaping myself up would take care of the problem. I
wasn't quite sure what I was going to do about the matter of my sole set of
clothing being soiled. As to be expected, Ria seized first shot at the shower.
Only there wasn't a shower, just a bath. She was off in the tub splashing away
for hours like a child. When she emerged she was flushed from the heat, trotting
to the bedroom in just a towel. "_Woo!_ It's chilly in here," she squealed. "Why
don't you hop in the tub while I get some dinner going, and then we'll attend to
the fireplace."
End
Real INCEST : http://www.incesttabooo.com/