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Subject: story: "MY SISTER JEAN. Chapter 13-15" 694854
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http://www.incesttabooo.com/taboo.html
MY SISTER JEAN. Chapter 13-15
By Billy G
Chapter 13 -- Safety of the Telephone (Chap 14xxxChap 15/Part2
I never imagined that she would do something so blatantly provocative
and sexual as placing her soiled panties under my pillow. Oh, I knew
what an emotional charge her panties were and I supposed I thought she
didn't. Yet, it had all started with her panties. Our first steps of
this erotic journey were taken when I'd teased her about her soiled
underpants. We'd treated it in a lighthearted, teasing way since,
even when I thought to myself, "She has no notion what a sexually
provocative symbol her panties are for me." And, not wanting to
reveal too much, to become too vulnerable, I never told her. I never
confessed what a gut-wrenching response her intimate apparel produced
in me. Or at least I didn't think I had. In fact, I was acutely
aware that the carelessness with which she had previously shown with
her soiled undergarments had changed. She no longer carelessly left
them in the bathroom as before. I had been unable to get my daily
pheromones fix in months. I assumed she had a hamper in her room, but
I'd made a promise to myself that I wouldn't violate her privacy
again. So far, I'd been able to keep that promise.
Now, suddenly finding this silken thing under my pillow, delicious
memories and feelings came flooding back. That she had called a few
minutes before to tell me to look under my pillow carried so many
messages. Chief among those was, 'Let's play, Billy.'
We'd recently given ourselves permission to be more honest and open
about our sexual feelings for each other and, at the same time,
admitting our fears, had agreed not to have sex. 'God, what does that
mean?' I wondered. 'Not having sex.' Just what is 'not having sex'
anyway? By my lights, we'd 'had sex' several times. Oh, we hadn't
done the dirty deed, but if what we'd experienced wasn't having sex,
then what is? We'd been thrown together several times, picked up and
tossed about by forces whose strength awed us. Each time that
happened, we had withdrawn, shaken and dazed, wondering, 'Where is
this going?'
Touching the black silk of Jean's "unmentionables" I was thrilled.
She'd worn these. Recently. They'd been on her body. On her butt.
Between her legs! My resolves were fading away. It's true, I
thought, My dick has no conscience.'
Flattening the crotch of her panties, I studied it. They were
slightly damp to the touch. On the periphery of the damp spot was a
faint whitish dry area. I'd seen that before. Her essence, right
there.
Looking closely, I found a few curly hairs. Yes! Pubic hair! A
thrill shot through me and another ratchet of my madness slipped. I
was teasing myself. Delighting myself. This slow, measured -- even
controlled unfolding of a treasure -- heightened my arousal.
I kept for last the real prize, the scent. I was already dizzy with
desire and hard with my lust. Bringing the panties to my face, I
slowly inhaled, allowing her intimate fragrance to titillate my
olfactory senses. The seductive power of her scent ripped through me,
much like a whiff of ammonia. I felt it climb up into my nose,
seeming to pass through some impossible route, directly into my
frontal cortex. I fell back, clutching her panties to my nose,
unthinking, a mass of jangling, unstable sexual neurons, randomly
discharging like some mad fireworks display. I was gone. I never had
a chance.
Then I opened the note. There was only one line. It said: "I want to
do it with you...on the phone."
I shoved my arms between my legs, humping against myself as I curled
up in a fetal ball. No question. I was just gonna die!
A little while later -- seemed like days -- the phone rang again.
Almost in a stupor I answered, "Jean?"
She laughed and then in that breathy voice characteristic of her
excitement, she said, "You found them. What do you think?"
"That I've died and gone to heaven. Besides that, I can't think at
all. What're you *doing* to me?"
"Remember we said we'd explore things with each other?"
"Sure. But we didn't."
"Well, I don't know about you, big boy, but I've been afraid."
"Of me?" I asked.
"Partly that, I guess." She paused, and then added, "But more of me."
Not attempting to *act* dumb, I said, "I don't understand."
"I didn't suppose you would. We think differently, you and me. I
suppose it may be a 'girl thing' but anyway...to be honest, you have
some power over me..."
I interrupted, "I have power over YOU? Come ON Jean. You're the one
with the power. You should see me right now. I'm almost twitching!"
"Good," she laughed. "But it's true. Feel however you want, when you
turn on the current, I'm a goner, so this is the only way I feel safe
relating to you. Sexually, I mean."
"Phone sex? Jean, you mean we live in the same house, right next to
each other and we're...we're reduced to phone sex?"
"Pretty kinky, huh? I thought you'd like it. It *is* all right,
isn't it, Billy?"
"Jean, if it were the only way I could talk with you, I'd get off on
your smoke signals! Actually, it *is* kinky and you're right, it
appeals to me. Safe, isn't it?"
"That's it! That's the point of it, brother mine. Because I've been
afraid of you and more, afraid of myself, I've been inhibited, even
withdrawn around you. I've been afraid to tell you what I'm feeling
and particularly afraid of allowing myself to get turned on around
you. This way, I figure we can open up with each other, do anything
we want and no matter how crazy we feel, how crazy we get, we're
safe."
"Jean, you're so cerebral. You're so well thought out. What're you
gonna be, a college professor or somethin'?"
"I didn't leave my panties under your pillow and then call you to talk
about college, stud muffin. I want to know this: Is it true that boys
get really hot when they smell a girl's...uh, underwear?"
I'd stripped for action -- whatever I thought that might have been --
and was wearing only an old sleeveless sweat shirt. I had wrapped her
panties around my erect cock; just the dusky head of my dick was
poking out. "If you could see me now, Jean, it'd answer that
question."
"Tell me. Tell me, Billy!"
"Jean, you must know. When I first saw them there, I became excited.
Right away. Touching them, feeling them, got me more turned on. But
what nudged me over was the smell of you. I don't know what that is,
but it just jolts me. Anyway, I'm lying here, horny and hard and I've
wrapped your panties around my hard-on. It's all I can do to resist
stroking myself and coming right now!"
"I *thought* you liked me...that you liked the smell of me, but I
wasn't sure. You know what it's like, don't you? I mean, we get all
sorts of messages...like it's dirty down there...things like that.
And I *know* it's not dirty, but still..."
I didn't want to talk about "messages." I wanted to get sexy with
this woman, so I told her what I was thinking. "Jean," I began -- I
often addressed her by name when I wanted to make a point -- "right
now, in my mind, I have a fantasy about you."
She whispered, "Oh, yes! Tell me."
"You're standing on my bed. I'm looking up at you. We don't talk. I
ask you with my eyes. You slowly pull up your full skirt. First I
can see your thighs. Then your panties. Your legs are apart. You
step over me and I'm looking right up into you."
"God! I love the thought of you looking at me...looking under my
dress...at my panties. I'm *such* an exhibitionist! Geez, I'm
getting wet."
Slowly stroking myself, I close my eyes and let the imagery flow,
giving voice to the cine' in my head. "You squat a little, right over
my head, closer and closer. Then you pull the crotch of your panties
up into your pussy, into your slit. I can see your pussy lips, Jean"
"Yes...yes...I can see it too. I've dreamed of doing something like
this...so slutty...I can't believe myself. God, I'm getting hot!"
"I can see your pussy hair, Jean...the curls, the wet curls . . .
you're wet, Jean!"
"No, I'm SOAKING! It's running out of me."
"Pulling your panties back and forth through your pussy slit, you
slowly squat lower and lower. I can see the stitching of your
panties, you're so close. Now I can hear you...smell you."
"Listen to this, Billy."
And then I could hear a wet, squishy sound. Jean was masturbating and
I guess, holding the phone by her crotch. Farther away, I could hear
her moaning. Then closer, she added, "Can you hear that?" Do you
know what that is? That's me. That's how wet I am."
We were two trains running. Me with a monologue of my imagery, she
commenting on my words. Neither could be derailed at this moment.
"You yank your panties aside and I can see into you...right into your
pink, swollen, wet cunt! You're drooling. I can see pussy juice
running back into the crack of your ass...down your thigh."
"Ungh...I love it...I love it. I'm so loose, so open... keep talking
to me, Billy. Please, please...don't stop."
"You spread your pussy lips apart and lower yourself closer to me.
All I can see is your pussy hair, your open cunt...wet and swollen and
open for me."
"Ungh...ungh...I'm gonna come, Billy. Gonna come..."
"Your legs are weakening. You're sinking lower. Your pussy is right
above my mouth. Your juice is dripping onto my lips."
She had stopped talking. All I could hear was a rhythmic grunting.
"Ungh...ungh..." that I recognized at the involuntary sounds Jean
made approaching her orgasm. She wasn't alone.
"I reach up with the tip of my tongue and run it up through your slit.
It's coated with your juices. I touch your clit. You sink onto my
mouth. I fuck my tongue into your cunt...I smell your musty smell!"
Jeans' grunting ran into an explosive sound...then a long breath
followed by a protracted moan that tailed off to a thin wail,
"Come...coming, Billy...coming."
Then all I could hear was her breathing. I hadn't come.
I was surprised. I was so excited and so hot. I couldn't believe
that I was still hanging there. Actually, it wasn't the feeling of
hanging at all. It was more like drifting along on some sexual
plateau of heightened sensitivity, heightened awareness. I didn't
feel frustrated or unfulfilled. I just felt good.
I'd heard from Jean once that girls complained that guys got their's
and then just rolled off, leaving them frustrated and not knowing how
to ask for more. Well, I'm so self-absorbed that I didn't want to be
known as a jackrabbit. I wanted to be viewed as the consummate lover.
(Never having even done it yet!) I'd started trying to hold off my
orgasm when I masturbated, to stretch it out. It went from impossible
to difficult at first. But I was willing to practice. Every day! I
was dedicated that way. After awhile, I came to enjoy those sexual
plateaus. At times, I could extend them so long, I'd just slide back
down the other side without having come.
I just did it again.
"You there, Billy?"
"Boy, am I!"
"Whew. That was something! That was *more* than I imagined it might
be. It was wonderful. I LOVED it!"
A bit late, I asked, "What're you wearing, Jean?"
She laughed and said, "I thought that's what you asked me at the
*beginning*."
"I'm just wearing a sweat shirt."
"Me too! One of your old ones. But right now it's up in my armpits.
I'm holding my...myself. My fingers are all wet. God, the smell in
here. *You'd* love it!"
"You have panties there?" I asked.
"Uh, sure...oh, there they are. They're on the floor where I threw
them."
"Do me a favor?"
"God, anything." Then laughing, "Well, almost anything."
"Use your panties. Wipe yourself. Wipe up your juices with 'em . .
. stuff em into your pussy. Then give them to me tomorrow, okay?"
"God, you are *such* a horn dog, Billy!"
"Will you, Jean?"
"Of course I will. You must know it thrills me that you want to smell
me."
"That's not all that I want to do."
"Yeah, yeah. We both know about that. And so do I. You know that
too. But you also know how I feel about it. As much as I want to do
it with you, I'm not gonna. That's why I'm here and you're there! I
almost expect you to crawl through the phone wire and come out through
the receiver. 'Night, Billy. I love you."
"Good night, babes. Remember the panties!"
Chapter 14 Billy's Rationalization
The frogs in the pond behind our house were giving up their last
cacophony in the early morning light. Dictated by my biologic clock I
suppose, I was awake early even though Jean and I had spent an intense
little while on the phone with each other late the night before. As
was my custom, I sleep in the nude and often awoke with an unconscious
"tent pole" under the sheets. With my eyes closed and hands clasped
behind my head, I was reviewing the latent imagery of the night
before, of the phone sex I'd had with Jean, luxuriating in the
deliciousness of it all.
God, I loved that woman! The feeling washed over me with an intensity
that left me short of breath. I loved her wit and her spontaneity,
her seriousness and gravity, her daffiness and heaven knows, her
sensuousness. Yet I was uncertain. We'd agreed not to "do it," but I
wasn't at all clear just what that meant. Jean spoke repeatedly of
"the incest thing." Just what *was* the incest thing anyway? Was it
talking about sex? I thought not. Then was it touching? Well, we'd
certainly touched on a couple of occasions and neither of us appeared
to be troubled, much less traumatized by the experience, so I thought
that wasn't it.
If she sucked my dick once, was *that* incest? How about when I
fingered her pussy? To climax? Now, was that incest? Shit! I
didn't know and it bothered me, a niggling, unresolved burr of an
issue.
I don't know about you, but I've got several voices in my head that
think they know everything. And they're all loud, even strident.
Usually they sit on the head of my bed and start up first thing in the
morning. "Oh good, you're awake. Let me tell you a few things."
They're rarely kind and understanding; mostly they're full of fear and
negativity, except those that are lazy and just want to go to the
beach. Sometimes I feel like I'm in a car pool when I'm all alone. I
can argue both sides of any given issue and worse, I lose nine times
out of ten!
Is it solely the emotional fallout of putting my dick in Jean's pussy?
Is that what she's fearful of? Cripes, I've been *there* a hundred
times in my mind. I've screwed that girl so many times in my head,
the emotional fallout is mostly that it's *only* been there... in my
head! Or is it that she's afraid she'll get pregnant? Yeah, that'd
be tough. I mean, how many girls get knocked up by their brother?
I'll have to ask her about this, I thought.
In the middle of this intellectual discussion I was having with
myself, I was startled when something soft touched my face! My eyes
snapped open and saw for a second only a hazy light until I scrabbled
away a pair of panties that'd been dropped across my eyes and nose.
Jean laughed, "Wake up, sleepy head. I promised you these panties."
Then looking away in mock embarrassment, she added, "Geez, they're
ripe! Hope you *really* wanted em."
I inhaled deeply, pulling the aromatic essence of her into my head and
simply said, "YES!" She'd kept her promise.
Nodding toward the tent pole, she asked, "Did I cause that?"
Nodding, "Mostly. I wake up with a woody every morning," and then
looking down at myself in wonder, I added, "but this one is
particularly urgent. And yes, I *was* thinking of you...of last
night...of what we did. God, I loved it! I just can't believe the
power of phone sex for cryin' out loud!"
Jean smiled and nodded, just looking at me. The least I could do was
return the scrutiny. The morning light was soft, filtering through
the giant redwood behind the house, to the east of us and it cast a
warm, luminous glow. She was wearing a short wrap-around skirt and a
T-shirt that didn't even begin to disguise her prominent nipples.
Once again, out of character, Jean wasn't wearing a bra.
Her eyes dropped to the tented sheet and she gestured with an open
palm as if to ask, "What, pray tell, is that?"
Then, remembering a little ditty that Jean had read to me years
before, I recited,
"The tent pole's up, the canvas is spread. To hell with breakfast,
come on back to bed."
She giggled and continued,
"Take the tent pole down, put the canvas away. Monkey had a
hemorrhage; there'll be no circus today."
Still chuckling, she said, "Just kidding, just kidding," and sat on
the edge of the bed facing me, with one leg bent on the bed and the
other on the floor, partly opening her thighs. Of course, my eyes
darted right to the darkened space under her short skirt, hoping to
see . . . well, anything.
"You never give up, do you? What are expecting to see?"
"Not expecting...just hoping."
"Billy, you've seen my legs hundreds and hundreds of times. What's
the attraction?"
"Don't really understand it, girl, but it's strong. You thrill me.
More and more, you thrill me. I'm just taken with you. You know
that!"
Jean placed her hand on the sheet on top of my thigh and said softly,
"Yes, Billy, I *do* know that and I want to tell you again, I feel the
same way. And I'll tell you this again...usually, it's very scary!"
"I've been thinking about that. About why it's scary for you, I
mean," letting my hand fall to her left knee. Her skirt had pulled up
and open a little and I could see the fine, blond hairs on her thigh.
She glanced at my hand, smiled and asked, "Tell me, buster. What do
you know that I don't? Most of my feelings are just that...
feelings. Not based on my intellect, just on my gut."
Trailing my fingertips over the inside of her knee, I looked up at her
and continued, "Well, I've been trying to define "incest" in the last
little while -- an operational definition if you will -- and I've
decided that for us, it's not "talking" and it's not "touching" and
it's not "sucking." Know what I mean?"
Jean, looking puzzled, slid onto the side of the bed another few
inches, opening up her thighs a little more. I looked again. Still
too dark, but now more inner thigh visible..
"If you mean that we've done those things and we're still okay, then I
*do* know what you mean. But I'm still afraid."
Still trailing my fingertips on the inside of her thigh, I continued,
"Yeah. But I think it's not so much what we've done. I don't think
it -- incest that is -- has a lot to do with putting my dick in your
pussy."
Jean's eyes widened and her pupils dilated with that phrase. She
sucked in her breath but didn't speak. For all her candidness, she
remained unaccustomed to such specific and graphic talk.
Again, nudging her thigh to keep her attention, I went on, "No. For
us...for you...incest isn't about fucking." Again, the little gasp.
In a softer voice I added, "I think your fear of incest is about
getting pregnant," and then fell silent.
She exploded, "Cripes, Billy! Pregnant! By you? Where in heck did
*that* notion come from? That's silly. That's goofy, you know that?"
She barked a nervous laugh and moved her leg again. This time I
caught a fleeting glimpse of the crotch of her dark panties. The
scent of her used panties was fresh in my mind and I again experienced
a strong urge to bury my head between her legs.
"Okay, I know it's goofy, but stay with me a minute. Tell me, IF we
actually did it...if we actually, you know, fucked...how would you
feel? Inside, I mean. How'd you feel?"
"Scared. I told you that," she answered, nervously plucking at her
skirt, picking it up and then dropping it. I kept my eyes on hers.
"Okay, sure," I agreed, "scared but not turned off. Stay with me a
little longer. How'd you feel if you got pregnant? By me?" I added
pointlessly.
"Devastated. Just devastated...I'd simply just die." Then she added
with a wry smile, "Aside from that, fine. Where is this going,
anyway?"
"Wanna have kids someday, Jean?"
"You know I do, Billy. SOMEday."
I wiggled down in the bed a little, both to give me a better view
under her skirt and that I might be able to reach farther up on her
thigh. "Well, that's what I think is going on. It's not us screwing
that scares you. It's getting pregnant. One part of you wants to get
pregnant...someday, and another part of you is frightened, scared
witless that it would be ME that did it."
"Let me get this straight...let me tell you what I think you've said.
You think that it's not the actual, uh...doin' it, that I'm afraid
of?"
"Right," I assured her, touching the inside of her thigh, well up
under her skirt. I wondered if she, like me, had two thoughts running
at the same time, one on the topic and the other on touching her?
"That it's getting pregnant by you that I'm really afraid of?"
"Yeah, exactly, Sis. Hell, we've done almost everything and haven't
suffered any psychological consequences. Actually, we're closer than
ever. We really love and CARE for each other, more now than ever."
Jean smiled and said, "Well, you *may* have something there. It
"feels" all right. At least it doesn't feel *bad*. Not right now
anyhow."
"Just sit with it, Sis. You don't have to buy it right now... or
ever. Just let it percolate. We'll talk about it later, okay?"
"Whew! Yes, later," she answered, visibly relaxing. Then, as if
noticing for the first time, she stared at the lump of my hand beneath
her skirt, creeping toward her body. "Yes?" she asked, lifting one
eye brow.
Reaching down with my free hand, I covered hers, still on my thigh,
almost touching my cock, and reasoned, "Your fault," nodding to her
hand so close to my hard-on.
Surprised, she yanked her hand back and exclaimed, "Yikes!" And then,
almost as quickly, laughed and ran the palm of her hand up my thigh,
again brushing against my erect cock murmuring something like, "Geez,
you are *always* horny, aren't you?"
That rhetorical question didn't need an answer. The lawyers have an
expression for it, something like "res ipsa loquitur" or "the thing
speaks for itself." Instead, I turned my body slightly into her leg,
pushing my hard cock to her hand and, at the same time, running my
hand up to her crotch. What? No panties! I touched the fur of her
sex between the warm softness of her inner thighs, not the crotch of
her panties as I'd anticipated. A thrill shot through me.
Jean suddenly beamed, "That's right, big boy. No panties. I gave
them to you. Just *me* there," and she leaned forward, laying her
head on my chest, now blatantly holding my cock through the sheet.
"Lie beside me for a moment, won't you Jean?" I asked, making room
for her on the bed. I smiled to myself, thinking of the expression
that promised, "I'll only put it in a little way."
"Only a moment," she whispered, turning her body and sliding down
beside me, one leg thrown over my thigh, opening her crotch to my
hand.
I cupped her furry mons softly in one hand while cradling her head
with my other, whispering, "Jean, thanks for last night. It was
awesome. I can't believe how hot it was, being sexual with you...
even at long distance."
She ran her hand down my forearm, I thought perhaps to pull my hand
from her crotch, but she surprised me. She curved her hand around
mine and with her index finger, pushed my middle finger into the pulpy
wetness of her pussy slit, arching her pelvis into my hand. Her pussy
was sopping and swollen and once again, I experienced the
extraordinary thrill of feeling my finger slide into the heat of my
sister's cunt.
"Yes, Billy...yes. Touch me. Feel me. Feel my wetness." Wiggling
closer to me, she continued, "I'm melting inside. This is *so*
sweet."
As I slid my finger slowly in and out of her pussy, she rocked her
hips against me, still pushing my hand against her sex, now grunting a
little with each thrust.
"I wanted this so much last night, Billy. After we hung up, I
masturbated...it seemed like hours. I came and then came again. I
kept coming until...I guess I just passed out. God I was horny!"
"Was?"
"*Am*, you jerk! Am horny." And then she murmured something so soft
I couldn't make it out.
"What? What'd you say, girl? Can't hear you."
She murmured again, slightly louder but all I could hear was
"finger..." something or another.
Running my tongue into her ear, I again whispered, "What babe? What'd
you say? Tell me what you want. Say it out loud."
Then, as if we were in a crowded room and she wanted only me to hear,
she put her hand to her cheek and whispered in my ear, "Finger . . .
finger fuck me, Billy. Please, I need it."
"Yes-s-s," I hissed, cupping her sex in the palm of my hand, my middle
finger curling up under her pelvic bone, searching for her G-spot.
As she grunted her pleasure, she began writhing on the bed, hunching
against my hand, rubbing her body against mine. I could feel the
fullness of her breasts as her torso twisted against me. Pulling back
to free myself from her leg, I threw my right leg over her body as she
turned, first into me and then prone, continuing to hunch against the
sheets.
I ran my hand down over her buttocks, catching the hem of her skirt
and pulling it up to her waist as she lifted up, freeing the front of
it. I palmed her butt in my hand and whispered, "Christ Jean, I love
feeling your ass."
"Oh, Billy! Don't stop touching me. I'm so itchy in there. I *need*
you there."
Pulling myself up a bit, I ran my hand between her legs from the back,
feeling the swollen and open pussy lips. She moaned and pushed her
hips back to meet me as I slipped the thumb of my right hand into her
pussy, cupping her mons and clit with my fingers, slowly rocking.
"Yes! Right there. Right *there*!" she exclaimed with an explosive
deep, grunting voice, thick with passion.
Pulling her elbows under her, she pushed her chest off the bed as she
pulled her knees under her pelvis, assuming a stance of supplication.
Now her backside was completely bared, her skirt up over her back and
her ass arched high in the air. I kneeled beside her, still holding
her cunt in my hand, still fucking her with my thumb.
Her head was down on the sheet, turned toward me but mostly obscured
by her hair. She was groaning and murmuring incoherently. I enjoyed
the power of making her voice her desire out loud. "What Jean? What
do you want? Say the words."
Barely louder and still incoherent, she continued an entreaty in a
near sing-song voice, still rocking back against my hand.
"Say it Jean. I want to hear the words."
Throwing her head to toss her hair out of her eyes, she looked at me
with eyes almost crazed in passion and said quite distinctly and
slowly, "Fuck - me - with - your - hand. Fuck - me - Billy." Then,
dropping her forehead to the bed again, she groaned, FUCK ME, FUCK ME,
FUCK ME."
Driven by my own lust and given approval by the force of her thrusts
back against my hand, I picked up the speed and depth of my thumb
fucking. With her knees pulled up beside her chest and her back
arched, her ass cheeks were full open, exposing her pink bung hole to
my stare.
God! Her ass hole, exposed, open and vulnerable to me! The place I'd
dreamed about and had glimpsed just a few times before. I placed the
tip of my left index finger right below her anus and then as I
continued to thrust my right thumb into her cunt, I ran my left
fingertip around the edge of her ass hole with a feather-light touch,
teasing.
Again she groaned, "Billy...Billy...what are you *doing*?"
Pushing the pulp of my finger tip against her puckered anus, I said,
"I'm fucking you, Jean. I'm fucking you and touching your ass hole.
Can you feel me?"
She gasped, "I can't believe this. I just can't believe what's
happening. I don't even know what I'm feeling, but it's incredible,
it's wonderful. Oh, I want it, I *want* it!"
Dropping a dollop of my saliva on her ass hole, I again pushed my
finger tip against her sphincter muscle. It resisted for just a
little while and then began to soften. My finger tip dilated her ass
hole a fraction. Again, she pushed back against my hand, against my
finger.
"Yes, yes, yes...whatever you're doing...yes!" she chanted into the
bed as I fucked her with my fingers, humping myself against her hip.
I lost sense of time. The sensations went on an on, building,
cresting, overflowing and then she shrieked. No words. Just an
explosive shriek. Then she suddenly became still save the shuddering
of her body and with another eruptive grunt, she screamed, "Coming...
coming...God, God, God...oh shit, shit, shit...I'm coming!"
Jean had once told me how hypersensitive her pussy feels after she's
had an orgasm, so I had presence of mind to slow down, then stop, but
leaving my thumb buried deep in her cunt with my fingertip just
nudging into her ass hole. We stayed frozen there, suddenly silent
save our gasping for long minutes.
I was aware. In *that* moment, right there, right then, I was aware.
I had a startling clarity of us and the moment. I could feel our
breathing and our sweaty bodies. I could smell the heady scent of
Jean filling the room and my head with her essence. I felt my cock,
still hard, pressing against her thigh and the coolness of the morning
breeze drying the wetness of our bodies. Me naked, Jean with her
skirt pulled up, nude from the waist down and my fingers in her.
Then, I slowly pulled my thumb from her and she gasped, "Oh, no."
Pulling her down with her back to me, I curled around her, holding her
tight against my chest, by hips against her ass and my legs curled
into the crook of her legs. I petted her and I crooned into her hair,
"Oh, baby...that was...that was indescribable. I have no words. I
simply can't tell you...I was just blown away. I love you, babes. I
love you more than I can say...more than you know."
Chapter 15 The Pussy Barber
The behavior that my sister and I exhibited after our last erotic
encounter was a Xerox copy of every other time we'd come together with
the energy of two freight trains in the night. We had pulled back a
little and our old approach-avoidance dance was played out one more
time. Oh, we didn't ignore each other and we certainly didn't engage
in the silent treatment, but there was a certain tender,
eggshells-tip-toeing around with us.
The morning after our last unplanned sexual tussle, I'd awakened with
a lightness and freshness of spirit, feeling at ease with my self and
the world and secure in the knowing that I was, at base, an okay guy.
I knew I was okay, but I didn't know if Jean felt the same way about
herself. I worried about her psyche and wanted to touch base with her
as soon as possible.
That on my mind, I came down to breakfast just a little later than
usual as Jean was telling our Mom that she had to drop off her car at
the mechanic's and would she pick her up after?
"I will," I offered, hoping to have the chance to have some "plain
talk" with Jean.
"You have an interview this afternoon you told me," Mom offered.
"How're you going to handle that *and* pick up Jean?"
"Rats! I forgot," I said, slapping my forehead in dramatic
overstatement. "Sorry, Sis. Guess I can't."
"That's cool, Billy." She smiled one of those exquisitely bright
smiles and turning to Mom said, "You're playing tennis at the club
today, aren't you? You could pick me up later, huh?"
"Sure, baby. Call me or leave a message at the club if your plans
change, okay?" Mom said as they both threw me a warm smile and left
at the same time.
And so it went for a couple of weeks. Little things like that - small
hitches kept occurring that seemed to prevent us from spending
anything more than a few minutes with each other. Yet, Jean's upbeat
attitude and positive outlook on life, now even more evident, assured
me that she wasn't stuck in some emotionally gray place and my need to
reassure her gradually became less pressing.
In fact I'd almost forgotten it when one afternoon one of my labs at
school was canceled and I found myself unexpectedly home early. As it
turned out, Jean's writing seminar had also been canceled. Her Prof.
had been called away and hadn't had time to get a sub.
I found her sitting, tilted back in a chair on the redwood deck, her
long tanned legs braced against the railing, just looking off into the
valley. She was wearing a pair of yellow shorts that I remembered
from last summer. They were tight then. Atop that, she had on a
sleeveless pull over and I was immediately aware she wasn't wearing a
bra. For a long moment, I admired her prominent nipples indenting her
thin cotton shirt. I seemed always to be aware of things like that.
Then I looked at her lips, half-open, a little pouty it seemed.
It had occurred to me that I'd seen my sister naked, or nearly naked,
in the past. That I'd touched her intimately...she'd even once sucked
my cock. We'd shared our secrets with each other and knew we loved
each other deeply. But I'd never kissed her. Oh, I'd given her a
chaste peck on the cheek and once or twice on her lips, mine all
puckered up. But I'd never really kissed her.
Coming up beside her chair, I leaned over and looked into her eyes and
asked, "Would you mind if I kissed you?"
"On the lips, I hope?" She smiled up at me as I bent over slowly,
trying to keep eye contact.
She tilted her head back and with her lips slightly open, offered her
mouth to me. Trying to keep my own lips soft, I touched hers, feeling
her mouth open a little more as we kissed softly. It was
indescribably sweet. I felt as though I were sinking into her.
Flicking the tip of my tongue between her lips, I felt hers brush mine
and then retreat.
Feeling a bit heady, I pulled up a chair next to her and said, "Hi,
kid. How's it goin'?" Last year she would have had a fit if I'd
called her "kid" but it didn't seem to bother her today. Maybe it had
something to do with the kiss.
"Billy! That was *nice*. You've never kissed me like that before!"
"Thanks. I liked it too. Before I settle, can I get you anything?"
"Yes, would you get us a couple of sodas? I'm feeling lazy and I'd
love it if you'd wait on me. I'd like to be pampered."
"Sure...and I won't dump the ice down your shirt either."
She turned her head to smile at me and said, "Yes. I remember."
Holding the glasses under the ice dispenser, I listened to it grind
away with its characteristic clunking noises and recalled that I'd not
had the chance to talk with her intimately since the morning after our
phone sex, the time when she'd dropped her scented panties on my face.
Handing her the tall, cold glass, I said, "Jean, I'd like to talk with
you about something..."
She interrupted and said, "Yes. Yes we will...but first I want to ask
you something and I'm too nervous to wait. Can I go first?"
With an exaggerated, longsuffering sigh, I said, "Oh...all right, I
guess."
There appears to be several Billys that live in my head. One is the
kid, spontaneous and genuine. Another is the adolescent who's very
concerned about looking hip, slick and cool. He's the one who thinks
constantly about getting laid and he's convinced that he's got to
*look* good to score. It was that impatient teenager in me that was
so ungracious and pouting.
"I'll try to be quick, Billy. This is right up your alley and I know
you'll be glad I consulted with *you*."
It was as if Jean knew about the several personalities that resided in
my head and knew just what to say. The adolescent brightened right
up, thinking his manly knowledge was being sought. "Sure, kid. Take
your time," I said, mentally slicking back my hair.
Even though no one else was home -- actually, no one was within a half
mile of us -- Jean leaned over, cupping her hand at the corner of her
mouth to whisper confidentially in my ear, "Billy, uh...remember the
uh...the thong panties? The ones I bought at Victoria's Secret this
summer?"
As if I could forget! The image of Jean, modeling those panties in
the store, bending over...me, certain I was going to be grabbed by the
scruff of my thick red neck and hauled off to jail -- hell, my
thoughts alone could get me 50 years! -- did I remember? I've never
forgotten. So, with my eyebrows a little knitted, I replied, "No,
what panties?"
For as long as perhaps one, or at the most, two seconds, Jean looked
at me with surprise and then seeing the twinkle in my eye, she laughed
in relief and said, "You shit, you! Come ON, I'm serious."
"Jean, I might forget my name or where I live, but I'd *never* forget
those panties. Besides, you never *did* model them for me," I added
in a fake petulant tone.
Her eyes unfocused for a moment, as if remembering herself, and then
she replied, "Yes, I owe you. But as I recall, something else came UP
that day."
Palms up, I replied, "Am I an ungrateful wretch or what?" And then
glancing at her yellow shorts -- they'd climbed even higher -- I
asked, "Is *that* all you wanted to ask?"
"No, silly. There's something else...kinda embarrassing really." She
was studying some invisible spot on her thigh.
The *only* topic Jean had ever mentioned being embarrassed over was
something about sex. I loved it when she was tentative that way, for
it always seemed to lead to sexy talk. I didn't try to bail her out.
I just looked at her expectantly, one eyebrow elevated. I'd once seen
Cary Grant do that in an old movie. Looked good on *him*.
She looked at me imploringly, as if I might read her mind and answer
her question. I remained silent. Very uncharacteristic of me.
"Okay, okay...here's the deal," Jean finally rushed on. "I remembered
that I'd promised to model them for you, so I got em out and tried
them on again this morning..." She hesitated.
"And?" I prompted, watching the color rise in her cheeks, looking at
her full lips, wanting to kiss her again.
"And they stick out," she gushed, almost as one word and then again in
a whisper, "I mean, my pubic hair sticks out on the sides. I'd
forgotten that part." And she stopped as if the problem was now self
evident.
"Yes?" I replied, making an impatient gesture with my hand as if to
say, And then what?
"Well, can't you see?"
"Actually I can't. But I'd love to," I added hopefully, looking
pointedly at her shorts pulled tightly into the prominent crease
between her parted thighs.
"The problem, dummy, the problem," she corrected me in a vain attempt
to guide my thinking.
At this point I was no longer thinking. My hind brain had taken over
and the sex addict who lives up there was chortling, "Oh boy, here we
go, Billy."
"Problem?" I asked. Now I wasn't pretending.
"Billy! For a bright guy, sometimes you are really *dense*. If I'm
going to wear those obscenely brief panties, I can't wear them with a
lot of pubic hair sticking out, can I?"
"Is *that* what you wanted to ask?"
"No! That isn't it. I wasn't asking your opinion about how good or
bad it would look. I *know* that." Then as if explaining to a dull
kid, she went on in a reasonable voice, "Sure, pubic hair is sexy, but
not hanging out of panties, or a bikini. It needs to be trimmed."
The sex-addict suddenly clapped his hands with understanding and glee
and said to me, "Oh boy, Billy! Oh boy, oh boy. You're gonna score!"
The cool teenager said to Jean, "So, how can I help you?"
Dropping her gaze, Jean murmured, "I've always done it myself, but .
. . but I thought maybe you might want to help."
"You mean trim your pubic hair? Me? I get to trim your *pubic*
hair?" I asked with unrestrained enthusiasm...a sudden and definite
loss of being "cool".
"Well, yes...if you want to that is...but if you've got . . ." and
her voice trailed off as she looked at me, a little apprehensive and
looking incredibly vulnerable.
"God, Jean! I'm honored...I mean I'd be delighted to...to help you."
I didn't have to fake any sincerity or enthusiasm with this
affirmation.
She seemed almost to slump in her chair with relief. How frightening
it must have been to take such a chance with her kid bother, to have
stretched herself so much and how relieved she appeared to be when I
jumped with joy at the opportunity.
"Oh, good! I've got everything upstairs in my room. The scissors,
the comb, and the clippers..."
Interrupting, I asked, "The straight razor?"
Jamming her hands into her crotch, she doubled over and said, "Not a
chance, Billy. Not even close. I saw you shaving with that damn
thing and I saw the nicks..."
Throwing up my hands in surrender, I said, "Kidding, just kidding,
Jean, honest."
Jean jumped up and ran into the house laughing and squealing, "I can't
believe I'm doing this."
I came in behind her just in time to see her long legs disappearing up
the stairs and by the time I got to her room, she was standing in
front of an open dresser drawer, holding up a pair of panties...the
thong panties in which I'd once seen her...for what, seconds? She
glanced over her shoulder at me, still holding out the bit of fluff,
and smiled.
"Ready?" she asked.
For a moment, I couldn't speak. I just looked at her, her spine
arched, head thrown back, hips pushed forward and her old, faded
yellow shorts pulled tight across her butt and into the crease of her
butt. Her beauty and her sexiness just stunned me. How could I be so
lucky, I wondered?
"Billy, you ready to do this?" she asked again.
Snapping out of it, I grinned that silly who-me-grin and said, "Am I
ever!"
The next several seconds flew by so fast, I could barely see what was
happening. Without another word, Jean unbuttoned her shorts and
skinned out of them. Bare ass! No panties. I saw that much and then
she stepped into the thong panties before any of this registered in my
befuddled mind. Turning, she stood, one hand on her hip in some
effortless model pose right out of some damn lingerie catalog and
said, "Ta-Dah!"
Then, turning en face, she placed the flat of her hands on her lower
belly and looking down at her self critically, said, "See?"
Indeed I did! Her legs, already long, looked even longer in those
brief panties that climbed high on her hips. The front panel, silk
perhaps, was trimmed with a broad border of lace, swooping in a low
"U", ending just below the top edge of her pubic hair. Through the
lace and sticking out the sides, I could see her auburn curls. The
lacy crotch was pooched out with the thick cushion of her pussy hair.
Gesturing toward the single straight-backed chair in the room, I said,
"Sit there and let me check you out."
Now, no longer embarrassed, caught up in the adventure, Jean sat in
the chair with her butt at the front edge and sprawled back. She
extended her legs straight out and spread wide, displaying the
all-too-thin crotch of the panties that failed miserably in containing
her luxuriant bush.
"See?" she asked again. Had she glanced at me, at my bugging eyes,
it's likely she would not have asked.
"Yes..." I gasped, "I see."
Pulling together some last vestige of control, I leaned over and gave
her another brief kiss and then sank to my knees between her thighs
and looked at her for a moment, as if to appraise the magnitude of the
problem. The "problem" of course, was jammed down my pant leg.
"As I see it," I said, "there are a couple of options here. How much
we trim from the sides is dictated by the width of the front panel of
these panties..."
"So, what *are* the options?"
"Well, in no particular order, we can shape the top part...you know .
. make it a narrow band or stay with the natural look."
"I vote for natural," she interjected and I agreed.
"What other options?"
"You need to decide if you want the length of the remaining hair
shortened, you know, made less bulky, or left long."
"Okay, what else?"
It was getting very warm and I suspect I had beads of sweat on my
forehead. "Well..." I started to say and then stalled. This was
tough.
"Yes? Well what, Billy?"
"Uh...we need, uh...that is, *you* need to decide if you want the hair
on your pussy lips just trimmed short or..." Then I paused again,
took a breath and rushed on, "...*shaved*." The "shaved" part came
out in a rush and too loud. I hadn't intended to give it such
emphasis and I was suddenly hotter. I knew my face was burning.
Jean relieved the tension by laughing and asking,
"Well, professor, what's your recommendation?"
"About?"
"About everything, guy. But let's start with the shaving part."
With an audible exhale, I said something really cool... something
like, "Awesome, dude." Then, pulling my eyes away from her crotch,
just a foot away, I looked up at her. She was smiling! Christ, *she*
was relaxed and I was almost hyperventilation!
"Yes, Billy. Go on."
I couldn't do it. I couldn't maintain eye contact with her and keep
my few meager thoughts organized. So I acted out the best compromise
I could put together. I looked up at the ceiling as if contemplating
a weighty topic, then closed my eyes and said, "I'd trim the upper
part back, but maintaining its natural wedge shape but at the same
time, I'd shorten the length of the remaining hairs. De-bulk it a
little."
Then, taking another deep breath, I continued, still without looking
at her, "I'd first trim back all the public hair on your labia, say
below your clitoris, back to your...uh...your back bottom."
"Back bottom? You mean my ass hole, Billy?" She laughed that soft,
tinkling laugh that assured me everything was okay.
"Yeah, ass hole, that's what I mean. And then...I'd shave the lips."
I heaved a big breath and asked, "So there, what'ya think?
"If that's the way you want it, Billy, then that's the way I want it."
Once again, the complexities of life, largely perceived by my mind,
were reduced to a simple and uncomplicated statement. "If that's the
way you want it..." The need to rationalize was passed. My desire to
negotiate a scene the way I wanted it was just put aside by her simple
acceptance.
We didn't speak. She looked at me and I looked at her, or more
accurately, I stared at the junction of her long tan thighs and the
brief, lacy crotch of her panties, at her rich auburn curls sticking
out from the sides.
Finally, in a soft voice, I said, "Stand up, Jean."
Without replying or asking why, she stood up, hands at her sides,
looking down at me as I met her gaze over the twin prominence of her
breasts, nipples now sharply visible through her pull over. I reached
up and hooked my fingers into the elastic waist band over her hips,
paused, savoring the moment, looking into her eyes. Here was my
beautiful, incredibly sexy sister, standing for me as I was about to
pull down the thong panties she'd purchased at my suggestion. I'd
spent half my life it seemed, trying to catch a glimpse up her dress
or up the pant leg of her shorts...that I might see just for a moment,
which was now right here, mere inches away from my nose.
My fingers still hooked, I leaned forward and nuzzled the prominent,
cushy mound of Jean's pussy hair, inhaling her fragrance. My little
sniff was the loudest thing in the room at that moment and it jangled
my memory of all the times I'd attempted to snitch her panties from
the soiled-clothes hamper. It had come down to this...all my
fantasies and machinations had come down to this moment.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I pulled down her panties, down past the top
of her thick bush, now curling, uncovering her sex as it curved back
into her crotch, her labia barely seen. The thong, caught in her ass
cheeks, held up a moment, and then fell with a little elastic snap.
Down past her knees, down to her ankles and then, one foot at a time,
she stepped out of them
The air was thick with her scent. More for the erotic impact than the
smell of her, I held them to my nose as I looked at her. She smiled
and wrinkled *her* nose and still didn't say anything.
"Sit, " I said, again softly.
She sat, butt on the edge of the chair, back straight and knees
together. I looked at her with a quizzical frown and made an opening
gesture with my hands; she opened her legs and then rested her hands
on her parted thighs. I looked between her legs again and remembered
the first time I'd seen her pussy as she'd peed on the dusty trail out
of Fourth of July Lake. While I'd seen her pussy a couple of times
after that, it was the first time that was so strong in my mind, so
sweet and so indelible.
Kneeling between her knees, I reached out and touched the skin of her
abdomen, just below her belly button and then traced a soft line down
through her curly pubic hair, just missing her hooded clit, and then
down the center, barely touching the hairs that mostly obscured her
labia, now opened a bit by her spread legs.
She gasped but didn't speak and didn't move.
"Ready?" I asked the rhetorical question.
She just smiled so I asked again, "Ready, Jean?"
As always, I was trying to engage Jean in conversation about some sexy
topic. She wasn't buying. She just smiled broader and nodded her
assent.
I picked up a long comb that had both coarse and fine teeth and then
ran the coarse end through the hair on her lower belly, slowly combing
out the tight curls and tangles, each stroke getting closer to her
clit. She didn't speak but said something like, "Hmmmm..." as she
spread her legs a little wider, opening more the lips of her pussy,
now swollen and wet.
Holding the comb vertically, I combed her labia's hair away from
center, toward her thighs, pulling her lips open still more, making a
moist, sucking sound. This was entirely new territory for me. I'd
never seen Jean's pussy so close and so open before. I was excited
and hard, yet aware of our elevated plateau of awareness and didn't
want to rush anything. So, continuing my placing a "part" in the
middle of Jean's cunt, I combed and combed, watching the further
eversion of her lips, and the pooling of her secretions at the bottom
of her slit.
Her thick white secretions pooled, filled and spilled over, running
down into the crack of her ass and she moaned again. As I combed the
pussy hair near her clit, she shuddered, and then spoke for the first
time in minutes, "That's okay...I'm okay...keep going."
Jean's clit was poking out, a tiny girl hard-on, peeking out from her
clitoral hood. I was mesmerized and moved closer yet, initially to
inhale her fragrance, but when my hot breath washed over her clit, she
shuddered again and moaned, "Yes."
I opened my mouth and slowly exhaled my hot breath on her pussy again
and again. She began to sag, her back falling against the chair and
her hips sliding forward another inch as her hands slipped between her
thighs, pushing them farther apart, opening herself to me.
All conscious thought gone, unplanned and unthinking, I reached out
with the tip of my tongue and licked her pool of secretion at the
bottom of her cunt. She jerked, her legs hitting the sides of my head
for a moment as she expelled a whoosh of air, and then she snapped
them opened again, slouching still farther.
As if in a dream. I again reached out with my tongue and slowly
pulled it up one and then the other or her labia, closer and closer to
her clitty.
She hissed, "Yes-s-s-s!"
I leaned into her crotch and with partially an open mouth, kissed her
clit as softly as I could as she suddenly hunched her pelvis into me,
driving her cunt into my mouth. I softly sucked her clit with my lips
as she moaned and moaned, "Ungh...ungh...ungh..."
I nursed on her, sucking her lips, sucking her clitty, tonguing her
slit, tasting her, pulling her copious secretions up to her clit. I
wasn't aware of another thing. My world had narrowed down to this
feminine trough in front of me. I was drowning in her scent and her
moans of pleasure.
I thought she said something like, "In me," so I slipped a finger into
her vagina as I continued to suck and lick her pussy.
The correctness of my interpretation was given evidence by her crying
out, "Yes! Yes! Yes! More! In and out! Oh God, oh God, oh God!"
Jean's ass had slid off the chair and she was supporting her lower
body with her widely splayed legs while her upper torso was balanced
rigidly on the seat. Grunting, moaning, she repeatedly heaved her
crotch into my face. Holding her hips in my hands, as if holding a
large slice of watermelon, I mindlessly mouthed her pussy, licking her
slit and attempting to tongue fuck her pussy as she repeatedly thrust
against me.
Jean started a low moan that built in intensity, melding into a rising
scream as she exhorted me, "Billy, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me." She
grabbed my head in her hands and pulled my face tighter to her pussy,
hunching against me.
Air hunger began to build, forcing me to bob my head, breaking the
suction that I might gulp another lung full before diving again into
the center of her wet, swollen desire.
As if a trip wire had been triggered, suddenly she scissored her
thighs about my head, trapping and squeezing me, almost shutting off
all sound. Perhaps more by vibration, I heard her scream, "Billy, I'm
cumming."
Moments later we crashed to the floor. I was gasping for air, my face
totally wet with Jean's juices, my head still between her legs. For
long minutes no one said anything. I couldn't. I couldn't *think*
much less speak. I was stunned and overcome with the intensity of it
all.
A little while later Jean said, "Billy?"
"I think I'm dead," I mumbled.
"Billy, are you going to trim my pubic hair or not?"
"Will you kiss me again, Jean?"
Continue...
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