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Subject: [inc] story: "MY SISTER JEAN. Chapter 8-10" 9765
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Date: Mon, 20 Dec 2004 09:34:36 +0000
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MY SISTER JEAN. Chapter 8-10
By Billy G
Chapter 8 -- Victoria's Secret (continues Here)
"Look at the ass on that one, will you?"
That got my attention. I'd been reading the Sunday paper over coffee
and fruit with Jean at a street-side cafe‚. We'd ridden our bikes
down from our home in the hills behind the University in the cool of
early morning and had stopped for coffee.
Glancing up at Jean, I followed her gaze over my shoulder and turned
to look at "the ass" she was pointing out. In our increasing comfort
with each other, we'd come to accept our growing sexuality and that,
at root, we were both voyeurs of a sort. Jean knew of my fascination
with girls' butts and delighted in pointing out to me those she
thought were of merit.
She, in turn, was an inveterate crotch watcher. The day before at the
mall she'd nodded toward a guy sprawled out near a fountain. He was
wearing jogging shorts that were pulled up into his crotch, outlining
an impressive bulge. "Is that all cock," she asked, "or do you think
he's got huge balls?"
The girl Jean had pointed out to me was bending over a nearby table,
cleaning the glass top. I was peripherally aware that she was wearing
a loose tank top, but what captured my interest was the shorts. They
were white, very short and very tight with the crotch pulled into the
crack of her ass and made still more taut by her exaggerated bending.
Checking immediately for panty lines, I noted she was wearing high-cut
panties.
I grinned at Jean, giving her a subtle thumbs-up sign and whispered,
"Boy, I'd love to sidle up behind her and grab her hips."
She smiled and rolled her eyes as if to say, "Yeah, yeah, yeah . . .
we know."
Sensing she wanted to chat, I sat back in my chair and sipped my
coffee, looking at her over the rim of the cup. Her hair was wind
blown and her shirt was a little damp from our last sprint. Looking
at her breasts, I admired her nipples. Despite wearing a sports bra -
she'd flashed me that morning before leaving home - her nipples, when
erect, were very evident. Pointedly staring at her prominent nips for
a moment, I looked in her eyes and said, "It's not cold."
"Then I must be horny?" She finished.
"Jean, you're always horny!"
"Billy, I am not!" she retorted but with a smile that gave the lie to
her denial.
Glancing over my shoulder - the girl was gone - I said, "Well *I* am."
And, as if indignant, added, "Thanks to you!"
Placing her spread hand flat on her chest she replied in a surprised
voice, "Moi?"
"You are a piece of work, woman...yes, you!"
Abruptly changing the subject, she dropped her hands to her lap and
asked, "Are you sweaty?"
"As a horse," I replied.
"You're so graphic, Billy. And you know what I think of when you
mentioned a sweating horse."
"A sweating mare?"
"A horse's cock!"
"Jean, I know we're both fairly kinky at times...but a horse?"
Flipping her hand in an impatient gesture, she answered, "Not *really*
but there are times when my imagery takes over. Like, the sexual
power of a horse's cock comes to mind, you know?"
"You mean like me slipping it into the ass of that waitress? The one
with the beautiful butt?"
Perhaps because Jean knew that I'd never "slipped" it into anything,
save my hand, she gave me a puzzled frown. She replied, "I guess
so...something like that...not real, but sexy and powerful. Like, I
don't really want a horse's dick, but I like the thought of it...it
gets me wet. Does the thought of you doin' it to that girl's behind
get you wet...uh, hard?"
Answering with an exaggerated gesture, I "adjusted" my cock in my
riding shorts and smiled. Jean and I had come out of the closet with
each other...admitted our fascination with sexual things, our
masturbation, peeing fantasies and anal eroticism. But we'd never
actually "done it." We'd not done the deed. More, I thought, because
we enjoyed the prolonged seduction, the tease, than we had any thought
of abhorrent incest. Jean, as it turned out, had reservations.
I was crazy about Jean. Because she was a little older, I deferred to
her in many ways, most of them unthinking. She was later to tell me
that because I was assertive and appeared so self-confident, she'd
started to re-think the unquestioned assumed roles. We'd let down all
sorts of protective fences on our camping trip to Fourth of July Lake.
We'd always accepted our love for each other. It was only in the last
months that we'd come to accept our sexual feelings for each other.
Still, it remained mostly verbal. And teasing.
Constrained by the outward conventional morality around our house, we
took some delight in an unconventional exhibitionistic teasing. Jean,
who was most enamored with her own breasts, took delight in flashing
me. Bending over wearing a loose top, running from her room to the
bathroom wearing a skirt and bra, idly running her fingers inside the
edge her blouse into her cleavage...all these things were done to
entice and tease. And I loved it. Still, she knew that my major
interest was her beautiful full butt. She professed ignorance. "Oh,
come ON. Who's interested in BUTTS?" she'd ask.
She knew the answer. Me. Often it was evident that as some reward or
sign of affection, she'd honor my fetish. She'd suddenly sit in my
lap, squirm for a moment, and then run away, laughing. Once, when
running from the bathroom wearing only her bra and panties, she met me
(ever watchful) in the hall. Before disappearing into her room, she
suddenly pointed her back side at me and bent way over. Her already
brief panties almost disappeared in the cleft of her ass, and
outlining the pooching bulge of her mons. I retained the after image
of that for a long time. Several times, playing with myself on the
toilet, stroking off, that image came to mind and pushed me right over
the edge. I'd think to myself, "Jean, I'm coming for you."
So we'd progressed to that point in our honesty where we admitted our
masturbation and our kinks, but we appeared to remain hesitant and a
little fearful of actually "doin' the deed." Oh, I knew I really
wanted to be sexual with Jean...to touch her, to play with her, but I
was afraid shenwould think it was "really sick." We circled the edges
of our desires, admitting some, denying others.
Jean broke into my brief reverie, "Let's stop at the mall on our way
home. I'd like to check out Victoria's Secret."
"Oh, ugh. Where they have all that, uh...girl stuff?"
"Don't be a jerk. I've seen you checking out my lingerie. Actually,
maybe you're more interested in the soiled ones!"
"Busted!" I grinned at her.
We rode our ten-speeds back to the shopping center, me contriving to
ride behind Jean, admiring her trim, firm ass and thighs. Now, close
to noon, the shops would be open, but because it was Sunday, the
hard-core shoppers wouldn't be out in force yet.
Locking our bikes in the racks on the edge of the mall, we walked
slowly, staying in the cool shadow of Macys, checking out the other
morning people. I've always maintained that the healthy, alive folks
are out early. This was no exception. Falling into our comfortable
role of people watching, we admired the bodies of many of the other
strollers. Some were young, and some were older. Most were fit. I
find particularly appealing the looks of healthy and fit older women.
By older, I meant Mom's age...you know, older.
Mesmerized by the firm, long legs of a woman with streaks of gray in
her hair, I was nudged out of my sexy musings by Jean's voice: "Are
you listening?"
Again, I gave her my grin of being caught and said, "I guess I wasn't.
Sorry. I'm listening now, sweet sister."
"I'll 'sweet sister' you, buster! I *said*, 'How about these?'" She
gestured toward a collection of frilly panties in the window of
Victoria's Secret.
"Hmmmm, hard to say. I'd have to see them ON to know for sure."
Jean knew what I was implying and I knew I'd not get the chance to see
her model panties for me...at least not in *this* shop in *this*
shopping center. I'd heard of a small lingerie shop in San Francisco
where modeling of lingerie was permitted, even encouraged. I'd
suggested once to Jean recently that we "check this out" but she'd
just snorted and said, "Fat chance."
If nothing else, I'd come to appreciate the power of planting a seed
in Jean's mind. I'd make an observation or a suggestion, even when I
suspected that her first response would be "no way" and then I'd let
it go. Many times, she'dreturn to it in oblique ways. Was this
happening now, I wondered?
"Let's look together," she offered.
In mock resignation, I replied, "Oh, all right...if I *have* to."
Grabbing me by the hand, she pulled me inside. The thought came to me
that we probably looked like boyfriend-girlfriend. I was secretly
pleased.
There were perhaps a half-dozen other girls and women in the store and
I was acutely aware of them. They appeared to not even see me.
Picking up a pair of lacy panties, I held them up to her and asked,
"Jean, what're these?" Her fierce blush told me she'd remembered.
She remembered our first sexual awareness with each other, when I'd
teased her about her panties in the wash.
"Yes, I remember too, Billy," she replied. "I'm glad that you do."
(As if I could ever forget.)
Jean picked up an arm load of dainty things quickly and before
disappearing in the back, said to me, "Meet me by the entrance to the
changing rooms in a few minutes."
I gulped. The changing rooms? That's were all those girls will be
naked or near naked! As if they *all* could read my mind, I became
more and more apprehensive as I ever-so-nonchalantly strolled to the
back of the shop. Self-centered as I am, I imagined that everyone in
the shop was watching me out of the corner of their eyes. They'd
chastise me any moment. "Young man, what *are* you doing back here?"
No one even looked.
After furtively looking around - no one was looking at me - I looked
into the hall at the row of bat-wing doors. Beneath one I saw a pair
of legs...Jean's! I recognized her. She looked over the top of the
swinging doors and saw me. Suddenly, she opened both doors and struck
a pose. Wearing white panties and bra that contrasted so well with
her tan skin, she stood, one knee bent and pulled into the other. She
held the pose for perhaps five seconds, but the image was burned into
my mind.
I saw the swell of her breasts, pushed slightly up and in by the half
cups of her bra. The straps were positioned well to the side, framing
and enhancing the thrust of her C-cup breasts. Over the top of the
cup I could see much or her areolae...dark and prominent against the
whiteness.
The sides of the panties were cut high with the waist riding up on the
hips on the sides and dipping well down below her belly button in the
front. The darkness of her public hair was clearly evident through
the translucent front of the panties. With her legs near crossed, I
couldn't see the object of my desire...which made it even more
tantalizing.
Again, over the closed bat-wing doors, Jean called to me, "Why don't
you pick out a few things for me to try on?"
Terribly conscious of my hard on, cramped and bent in my shorts, I
tried not to act as guilty as I felt. I picked up a pair of thong
panties...hardly more than a triangular patch in the front. What I
*really* wanted was to see the cheeks of Jean's butt. Would this
work? To minimize the agony of choice, I picked nothing else and
walked back to the entrance door. Again, no one noticed or paid any
attention to me.
"Bring them back to me," Jean said.
With visions of jail in my head, I replied, "Not even close. Come get
'em."
"Scaredy cat," she chided as she dashed out in some sort of a
mid-thigh sleep shirt (which I never saw again. Didn't do much for me
either.)
When I handed her the slip-of-nothing panties she gasped and said, "Is
this *all*?"
"Quit whining, woman, and put 'em on, will you?"
Holding my eye for a moment, she made up her mind and spun back into
her booth. "Don't go 'way," she admonished me.
Go away? She kidding? By this time, I was ready to risk jail.
"Excuse me, please," said a woman as she brushed past me walking into
the changing area.
Oh shit! Jig's up, I thought. Game's over. And on the heels of that
thought, Jean's doors swung open and ther she was! Naked...or nearly
naked. Wearing only the thong panties! She stepped out into the
hall, took a few steps toward me, and when six or seven feet away,
swung around and posed with her back to me.
I could see the waistband of the thong and the vertical strap
disappearing into the cheeks of her ass. Standing with one foot
cocked, the asymmetry of her ass was so incredibly unexpected, and
sexy that I was struck numb. My throat was dry and my chest was
tight. Forgetting other people, forgetting getting arrested and going
to jail...I stood there, entranced.
There was my beautiful sister, showing me her ass in the most
provocative way. While I'd seen her butt several times, it was never
with this sexual charge. Never so blatant. I was transfixed.
Suddenly she bent over, pulled the thong strap out of the crack of her
ass, and showed her ass hole! I must be dreaming. This couldn't be
Jean! Jean's sexy certainly, but she wouldn't show me her bung hole
in a public store like this.
Then she was gone. The entire thing took maybe fifteen or twenty
seconds. I was rooted there in the doorway, mouth agape. The same
woman emerged from her cubicle a few moments later and saw me standing
there, looking astonished and dumb. She glanced over her shoulder to
see what I was looking at and then passed me, smiling. Did she know?
I had to go outside to breathe. I felt I was about to burst. Jean
continued to astonish me, to amaze me and delight me. I felt so full
of love for that girl, I couldn't see straight.
A few minutes later, Jean emerged with a small bag and said, "I
thought you'd be out here. Wanna know what I bought?"
Hoping it was the thong, I said, "The white bra?"
"Yes, that too, for me, but what I really bought was for you."
Brightening, I said, "The thong!"
Nodding, she said, "The thong...and I might have a chance to model it
for you again today...if Mom and Dad go the City as they thought they
might."
That set my mind spinning. It sounded as if we were making a date .
. . a date to get nearly naked. We'd had our little encounters and
they'd all been spontaneous. I'd wanted to "talk dirty" with Jean for
a long time, and when we did, it wasn't on my terms...it just
happened. We'd "fooled around" a little and again, it wasn't when *I*
wanted to. We'd never, ever talked about getting together.
The erotic possibilities were vivid.
"Well, do you *want* to or not?" Jean sounded a little annoyed.
I realized that again I'd been thinking so intently that I'd not
answered, except in my head. Slipping an arm around her shoulder, I
pulled her tight to me as we walked and said, "Jean, you must know
that I'd *die* to have you model that bit of nothing again. The
answer is YES! Yessss, I really do want to."
Mollified, she grinned at me and said, "Well, let's get going, It's a
long pull home."
Chapter 9 -- Jean's Surrender
"Billy, would you like a tall glass of ice-cold lemonade?" Jean
gasped, leaning against the front door of our home. The bicycle ride
back up the hill from "the flat lands" in mid day was markedly harder
and hotter than the downhill ride that cool, early morning. Each,
unwilling to be second best in our sibling rivalry, had pushed and
pushed on the way home. We'd arrived totally winded and drenched.
"Jean, babes (that was a secret term of endearment we had for each
other), that sounds wonderful...it just might save my life...but let
me serve you. You look beat and after all, you're just a girl!"
(I'll blame heat-stroke on such a risky jibe.)
In a sugary-sweet tone she replied, "Oh, no-no...I'll get it sweet
brother. After all, you did win." And then in a slightly more
ominous voice, "I owe you!"
Oh shit, I thought...owe me what? But I was too winded to argue or
even attempt to be clever. Sinking into a deck chair I waved
imperiously to her and said in my most superior voice, "While your up,
won't you get me a Grants...uh...I mean a lemonade?"
Looking out over the valley in front of me, I again enjoyed that we
lived in such a stunningly beautiful place - a relatively isolated
country spot but just fifteen minutes' drive to the University. I was
feeling smug and very excited, for I was again reviewing the
mind-boggling experience of my sister Jean modeling some thong-style
panties for me just an hour ago. The image of her firm and curvy butt
was etched in my forebrain. I was still buzzing, for she'd intimated
that she would model them again for me.
Hearing Jean's step behind me, I held up my hand for the anticipated
glass of ice-cold lemonade. My erotic reverie was shattered by the
chilling shock of ice cubes and lemonade dumped down my shirt front.
"Just a girl, huh!"
With a shriek, I bolted out of the deck chair, ice cubes falling out
of my clothes and clattering on the deck. Momentarily frozen
immobile, I stood there, bent over, arms away from my sides, just
shivering from the icy shock. Peals of her laughter pulled my head
around to watch Jean, empty glass in hand, holding her side in mirth.
"Oh, Billy, you look like a drowned rat...what'sa matter... your
little thingie all cold?"
It *was* funny and yes, my "thingie" was cold. Recalling those
mornings of skinny dipping with Jean...the mad dash into the frigid
waters of Fourth of July Lake when my penis tried to crawl back into
my belly, I had a mental picture of how I looked. I just gave up any
hope of maintaining my dignity.
Fishing a last ice cube from my shirt, I gently tossed it to Jean and
said, "You look much too comfortable. Two can play this game you
know."
We'd been together so long we both knew what was going to happen.
Jean wouldn't have stayed around laughing at me had she not expected,
even welcomed, my anticipated retaliation. There was an almost
languorous pace to this game that had an edge of excitement, for I
didn't really know how deep it was...where we were going with it.
I thought of how close we'd grown in the last months. How we'd come
to share our truth about ourselves, about our sexuality and our mutual
horniness. There was no more games about *that*. But what was yet
uncertain was our physical involvement. Oh, I knew deep down that I
wanted to jump her bones...to ravish my beautiful sister. I was in
lust with her, but those years of cultural conditioning straddled any
erotic path we might explore, standing as a repressive centurion who
might have worn a Gothic signboard proclaiming, "Thou shalt not."
Jean had already told me that as much as she loved me and was
attracted to me...even sexually...she remained totally uncertain and
apprehensive about *us* fooling around. "Billy," she had reminded me
several times, "you're my brother and that's incest. I can't do that.
Know what I mean?"
I did know and I didn't think she really meant it. We'd skirted
around this topic enough times that I'd come to believe that she was
just saying what she was *supposed* to say...that deeper within her
dwelled the same fascination that gripped me.
I knew she wanted to play. We just had to work out the rules... but
without talking about it. Our play occurred by multiple
approximations...a type of relationship Braille. So I wasn't
surprised when she turned and ran inside, shouting over her shoulder
in her mocking, sing-song voice, "Naa-naa, na-naa-naa!"
I didn't hurry; I knew where she'd be. Walking upstairs and past my
room, I turned the knob of the closed door to Jean's room. She was
standing in front of her full-length mirror, arms crossed in front of
her and elbows up as she paused, pulling off her shirt. From the door
I could see the contrast of her white bra strap against her tanned
back and in the mirror's reflected image, the bottom of the bra's cups
pulled up, partially uncovering the under swell of her breasts. The
afternoon sun slanted through the gauzy drapes, casting a soft pattern
of muted colors in the room, accenting the shadows of her body.
Suddenly, it was very quiet. I could see her eyes looking between her
crossed arms as she stood frozen. There was no alarm, just a calm
expectancy that silently asked, "What now?"
"Don't move!" I whispered with a quiet assurance that surprised me.
"Just stay that way."
The side of her shorts was undone and partially open. I could see a
flash of her panties as I walked up behind her. Then, looking into
her eyes, I said softly, "Let me."
She nodded. I'm not sure either of us knew just what it was that she
was going to allow me to do. I gently pulled the shirt from her hands
and finished tugging it over her head, briefly hung up in her pony
tail.
Still looking at me, she dropped her hands to her sides and stood
passively as I examined her...both the real and the reflected images
in the soft yellow light one sees just before a rain storm.
"You have beautiful breasts, Jean."
She smiled and made no comment, even as I unhooked her bra. Loosened,
the cups fell an inch, just exposing the pink areolae and nipples. As
I pulled the straps off her shoulders, I watched the crinkling of her
areolae as the nipples hardened. I slid a hand under her arm and
cupped a breast, catching her nipple between my thumb and index
finger, rolling it. Her breast was heavy in my hand.
She shuddered and whispered in a barely discernable voice, "I can feel
that down there."
Pulling off my damp shirt, I hugged her from behind, holding both of
her heavy tits in my palms and looking into her eyes. "Down there?"
I asked.
"Oh, God, yessss."
My vision narrowed to our reflection. In the blurred half-light,
half-shadow, I saw Jean, breasts bared and held by my hands. I was
watching someone else...part of me was a voyeur in a sepia vision. I
knew this was uncharted waters for us. We'd watched each other
masturbate on a very few occasions and we'd confessed our horniness to
each other, but I'd never held her in my arms. It had mostly been
near-arms'-length encounters.
I could feel her buttocks pushing back against me. My hard-on was
pushing into her butt as I slid my hands down over her stomach and
under the elastic of her panties. My entire awareness was centered in
the gentle curve of her belly. The tips of my fingers were brushing
the top edge of her public hair and on each downward caress, I cupped
more of her mons.
"Ohhhhh...that's so..." and she didn't finish. Her head rolled back
and rested on my shoulder. Her eyes fluttered closed. The room was
quiet except for our breathing. Nothing was said. She had
surrendered.
Searching with the fingers of my right hand, I found her slit, wet and
pulpy. I'd slipped my fingers into her pussy only once before, the
day on the trail out of Fourth of July Lake. Now I was there again
and half out of my mind with excitement and desire.
I slid down her body and kneeling behind her, I beheld her back and
hips and buttocks. Through the almost transparent panties, I looked
at the deep shadow between the cheeks of her ass. Slowly hooking my
fingers in the elastic of the waistband, I pulled her panties down
over her buttocks, and off her hips to her ankles. She lifted one,
then the other leg as she stepped out of her damp underpants. I
looked at them a moment and then held them to my nose, taking in her
odor...the sweat and the musk. The power of it shook me.
Then, holding her hips in my hands, I looked at her ass. I'd been
admiring her butt forever it seemed. I'd been brushing up against her
every chance I could, letting my hand fall from her waist to her
buttocks, trailing my fingers across her back side. Jean knew how I
adored her ass. I suspect it pleased her to be adored even though she
pretended it was "no big deal."
There was a gap between her thighs right below her pussy and I could
see the soft hair of her cunt between her legs. I traced a pattern up
from the inside of her knee to a velvet inner thigh, pausing for a
moment to say, "Open your legs for me, Jean."
For a long moment, perhaps thirty or forty seconds, she didn't move.
And then she moved one foot away from the other by no more than an
inch or two...but it was enough. One millimeter would have been
enough. At this point, her surrender need be no more than symbolic to
be real.
"I loved it when you flashed your ass at me today in the store."
Her only reply was a momentary tensing of the muscles of her buttocks.
"Do it again, won't you?"
"Flash you?" she asked.
"Yes, bend over for me...way over...show me yourself. Show me your
secret places...now."
She slid her hands up her thighs and lightly cupping the under curve
of her ass, she slowly bent over. In the half light, most of her
bottom was in shadow, but the posture of giving, of showing, was so
erotic I could only stare. Speechless.
"Let me look at you," she asked.
I was surprised. I had no idea she'd want to look at my body. "N-
naked?" I almost stuttered.
"Of course," she answered, still bent over.
Of course, I thought. What else? "All right. Sit in that chair. We
can watch each other."
Jean sat, bringing one heel up to the edge of the chair, opening her
crotch to my gaze and said again, "Let me look at you."
I looked down and smiled, for the front of my shorts were bulged out.
My cock hurt from the hardness and being trapped, bent in my pants.
Wanting to draw this out...the sibling equivalent of a strip tease, I
slowly unbuttoned the cut-off 501's, exposing my pubic hair. I'd
neglected to wear underwear that day...a rare thing on those days when
I'm riding my bike.
With a soft chuckle she asked, "Can you get them off, Billy?"
My answer was to slowly push down the shorts, bending my cock until it
sprang free, snapping against my belly.
"Oh!" she gasped as her hand slipped between her thighs, driven by
some unconscious need.
Turning obliquely away from her, I grasped my cock in my fist, sliding
it up and down slowly, moving the soft skin over the hard shaft.
"Yessss...show me Billy. Show me how you masturbate. I know you do
it all the time, don't you? What do you think of when you do it? Do
you ever think of me?"
I recognized the change in her voice. She was running on...a stream
of conscience...as she traced a finger through the wet, soft lips of
her pussy. We'd been here before...that place where we gave ourselves
to the moment. Turned on by the moment, the voice, the images.
Stepping closer to her, stroking my impossibly hard cock, I stood
straddle-legged and said something like, "I think of nothing else.
All I can see is your legs, your breasts, your ass...all I can
remember is jacking off with you, seeing your naked body at the lake,
watching you pee...watching you touch yourself. I beat off every day,
often twice, thinking of you. I think I'm obsessed with you."
I fell silent for a moment, still slowly stroking my cock. The wet
noises of her fingers in her pussy suddenly sounded loud. The musky
odor of her pussy rose to fill my nose. It was heady. I was drunk
with lust and the desire to fall between her legs...to taste her.
"What do you want to do, Billy? I mean right now...what can we do. I
want you so much I hurt...but we *can't* do it...you know we can't.
What can we do?"
We'd lost our eye contact. When I glanced up from her open pussy, I
saw her leaning forward, eyes hooded, mouth a little open, staring at
my cock as I continued to fist it's full length. She wet her lips and
stared. Then, all I could see was her lips.
Another step forward and I was pushing my knees between hers. Slowly
I hunched my hips toward her and the head of my cock touched her wet
lips. She glanced at me. I nodded.
Her lips opened and her mouth sank slowly over my prick.
"Ouch...no teeth! Just your lips and your tongue...that's it. Now
let it slide in as far as you can...breathe through you nose...yesss,
just like that!"
Her hands slid up and cupped my balls for a moment and then pushed my
hand away. She slowly stroked the base of my cock as she ran her
tongue over the head and underside of my shaft. My knees grew weaker.
I felt faint. Watching her masturbate my cock with her delicate hand,
watching her lips form an "O" around the head of my cock, her cheeks
pulled in with the suction...I couldn't last. I didn't want to last.
I couldn't think of anything. My entire waking awareness was narrowed
down to my sister's mouth on my cock. It probably lasted thirty
seconds...perhaps less...yet it seemed to go on and on.
"Gonna' come, Jean...can't hold it...JEAN...here it comes!"
Now, in retrospect, I don't know if I were warning her so she could
get away or, more likely, that she might enjoy it the more. In any
case, she never slowed. She masturbated me through spurts of my hot
come, holding my cock right inside her lips, stroking my shaft with
her hand.
"The better to taste you," she explained to me later.
I wasn't aware that I'd slipped to my knees. I had a gray out and
came to kneeling between her legs, my face resting on her thigh. Jean
bent down and held my shoulders, hugging me, murmuring, "Oh Billy...
Billy...Billy...that was so nice...that was beautiful... thank you,
thank you."
Chapter 10 -- Tender Moments
In a soft, contralto voice Jean asked, "Billy, what are you thinking?
I mean, what do you think of us?"
"What?" I replied, almost stupidly. I'd heard the words but I didn't
understand them...they didn't make any sense. None would have. I was
still out there, dumb and floating in some post orgasmic stupor,
largely incapable of rational thought.
With a low laugh, she nudged me with her toe. "Earth to Billy . . .
Earth to Billy."
Some small part of my brain knew where I was, but my thinking sludged
somewhere between languid and torpid. Usually a linear, left-brain
type of guy, I'd simply lost it all and was hanging out in some
emotional wallow, playing and re-playing those vivid tapes of our
erotic connection, Jean and me. I was remembering the excitement of
our sexual discoveries in the past months, remembering the quickening
of fear when I'd dared acknowledge my desires to her. More strongly,
remembering the extraordinary energy we'd generated when we
surrendered to the moment.
"Back side of the moon...static...failing...failing communications..."
My voiced tailed off to a fake mumble.
"Billy, come out. I know you're in there!"
Momentarily lifting my head and squinting, I asked, "Why...why do I
have to come out...or down...or what ever?"
"Because this is important, that's why. We have to talk... now!"
Eyes closed, I rolled over and pushed myself to one elbow and paused,
half sitting up. I was suddenly aware of my dick. It felt cool.
Looking down I saw my cock, soft and lolling over my thigh. The air
was drying the moisture on my shaft, cooling it off. I stared at it a
moment, confused and with a start, embarrassed. My cock was wet
because Jean had sucked it...had taken me in her mouth and sucked me
off! I pulled my shorts over my loins in some futile attempt to cover
myself.
Looking up at Jean sitting in a chair, I stared at her for a few
moments. From my position on the floor where I'd slumped in my gray
out, I could see her nakedness in the soft, diffused afternoon light.
She sat, unashamed, one foot on the seat of the chair, leaning
forward. Mentally shaking my head to clear the fog, I said something
bright like, "Uh...yes...talk. Sure. What about?"
"You remember...like I've told you a hundred times...we weren't gonna
do it?"
Nodding that yes, I remembered, I just stared at her breasts. They
were full and, I thought, remarkably firm with a slight upturn to her
pebbly areolae. How, I wondered, could her nipples be so hard when my
cock was so soft? Going on as if it were the rhetorical question it
really was, she continued, "Like you're my brother and as much as I
love you...well, you know...it's the incest thing."
Still nodding, I licked my lips. God I was dry! With one foot on the
chair that way, I could look right up between her thighs and see how
her pussy was pulled slightly open.
"And this is the part that scares me," she continued, "Every time we
go a little bit farther...farther than I intended to go...and I LIKE
it. I like it more than I realized I would. I think *too* much . .
. I mean, it scares me, you know?"
My part of this conversation was easy. I nodded again. Hell yes. I
knew -- I loved it and it scared the shit outta me. This was all new
stuff, very deep and with a strong current that was pulling us God
knows where. Every time we'd drifted into the tug of our mutual
desires, we seemed to end up someway we never planned. When we
started something, we had no idea where it would take us.
"Yesterday...yes, even as late as this morning, I would never have
thought I'd take your cock in my mouth." She looked at me with a
slight tilt of her head as if to ask, so what do you think?
I smiled. My cock? Jean never called it my cock. It was usually "my
thing" or something like that.
"Don't you see? Taking your cock in my mouth is like really close to
really doin' it?"
I looked up to heaven, closed my eyes and just smiled.
"Oh you! Listen to me, you jerk. Be serious will you?"
"Jean, I *am* listening to you. I just can't help smiling. I love
you and I'm all whacked out. Can't you tell that?"
Jean looked startled for a moment. She stared at me as she idly
cupped her breast and rolled a nipple between her fingers. I could
barely hear her voice. "Yes, I *can* tell that, Billy."
"Maybe we just have different definitions. When I just touch you, I
don't think of it as incest. So when you touch me, I still don't
think of it that way. Oh sure, it's sexual, but *that's* not incest."
She smiled warmly at me as she retorted, "You are *such* a lawyer."
I didn't want to get into an intellectual word game with Jean. She
was too smart for me. No, it was always best for me to be honest with
her. I didn't have to defend my honesty. We accepted that while our
views on things might be different, neither of us need be wrong.
"I mean...uh, I think of incest as, you know...fucking. We're just
foolin' around and if I touch you, that's not incest. And if you
touch me, that's not incest. And if I come..."
"Yeah, yeah...I know about that. But it's the feelings that scare me.
It makes me *want* to do it."
"Jean, when I wake up in the morning with a boner because I've been
dreaming about you, I want to do it. When you flashed your butt at me
this morning, I wanted to do it. *Wanting* to do it and really doin'
it are two different things."
We'd been over this a dozen times. I was so hot and so confused I
didn't know anymore if I really meant it. Being honest was very
important to me, but I suspect that if I thought I'd get in Jean's
pants by telling a lie, I'd jump into duplicity without a second
thought. Jean knew this, for I'd once admitted as much, but we
continued to treat our impetuous lust as the elephant in the living
room.
As she had so many times before, perhaps wanting to be reassured, Jean
accepted my slip-shod thinking and faulty reasoning again. "Okay,"
she sighed, "But you've got to help me with this. Promise?"
"Promise." I intoned, crossing my heart, as I watched her stand up
and stretch, reaching toward the ceiling, hips thrust forward, and
then spin about and walk into the bathroom, mumbling, "Gotta pee."
She'd left the door open and I could hear the toilet seat come down as
she continued to speak to me in a louder voice. "Do you still want me
to model those panties? I mean, after all, you've seen me buck
naked."
Interpreting the open door as an invitation, I got up and wandered
into the bathroom. Jean was sitting on the toilet, knees together,
hands folded between her thighs. Leaning on the low partition right
in front of the toilet, I looked at her with a question in my eyes.
"What?" she asked.
"Let me watch," I answered.
"You *are* watching," she replied, knowing exactly what I meant. We
stared at each other for a long moment and then she parted her legs,
at first only inches. I made a rolling gesture with my hand. Again
she paused and then parted her knees fully, opening herself to my
stare.
"I don't know if I can go," she began, but that was immediately
interrupted by her peeing.
The bathroom has a bright, southern exposure and the low afternoon sun
streamed in, lighting the orange tile floor and casting a red-orange
tint on her skin. Her brown pubic hair was tightly curled, pressed by
her shorts. Glancing down, she looked at herself for a moment and
then ran her fingers through her muff, ruffling her hair as she peed.
I could see her labia, pulled slightly open by her spread thighs, and
the strong stream of urine splashing against the porcelain bowl, high
up
"I have to be careful, " she noted, and bent slightly at the waist to
direct her stream into the toilet bowl. The loud hissing of her
peeing was joined by the clatter of her stream in the water.
"Let me..." I started to say, as I stepped in front of her and sank
to one knee, right between hers.
She looked at me with a questioning expression but didn't stop peeing.
As if to make the stream more strong, I saw her stomach muscles bunch
in a forced Valsalva. It worked. Her stream again shot to a point
near the edge and at the same time, she gave off a little fart.
"Ohmygod," she whispered and put her finger tips against her closed
lips as if to signal her embarrassment.
Without thinking, I reached between her thighs and cupped her stream
with my palm. It splashed, some drops hitting her and some hitting
me. All at once, I was aware of her wide-eyed stare of incredulity,
the satin softness of her thigh against my forearm and the heat of her
urine in my hand. I curled my fingers and cupped her sex as she
continued to pee.
"Billy! What are you *doing* for cryin' out loud?"
"Don't talk...just pee...keep peeing for me, Jean."
Sitting up straight again, she murmured, "Crazy...this is crazy," and
continued to pee out the last dribbles.
"Why, Billy? Why did you do that?"
Leaning back, letting my pee-wet hand drip into the bowl, I looked at
her and grinned. "I don't know. Just wanted to, I guess. It has
something to do with intimacy. I just love the intimacy of being with
you when you pee . . . of feeling your hot pee in my hand."
With a half smile, she shook her head slowly and pulled off a length
of toilet tissue.
Taking it from her hand, I said, "Let me." Dabbing her pussy, I
asked, "Remember the last time you let me do this?"
"How could I forget...but I didn't think it would get to be a habit,"
she chided me as she leaned back, legs opened farther. And, as with
the last time, I slipped a finger into the wet and open slit of her
pussy, pulling up to the top and tracing small circles about her clit.
"Oh, God...that feels good."
"Let me touch you, Jean. Let me play with you. Come. Let's lay on
your bed."
Without further words, we got up and walked in slow motion to her
room, to her bed. Without prodding, she piled two pillows and lay
against them, half-reclining with her legs splayed open. I kneeled in
the "V" of her legs and just looked. Her pussy had flowered. The
inner lips were swollen, partially everted and very wet. The musky
smell of her juices wafted up to my nose and, as if on cue, she said,
"Jeez... do I smell raunchy."
The musky essence of her sex was driving my libido while some other
voice was telling me to slow down, to savor the moment. Somehow I
knew I wanted to get out of my own head and the best way for me to
escape the gadfly of self was to think of someone else.
Once in a rare while I'm given some nugget of advice that hits me.
It's a two-pronged blessing...first, that I'm offered it and second,
that I *hear* it. The exhortation of a good friend and advisor came
to my mind. He said: "Bill, where ever you are, *be* there!"
I sat back on my heels and closed my eyes. My inner awareness grew
and filled the room, taking in the sounds of our breathing and the
soft breeze, the scent of both of us and mostly, the sweet, delicious
tenderness of the moment. I thought to myself that I must work at
being an authentic participant in my life, for Jean it comes
naturally. Her spiritual state rests easily with her, much as a
comfortable, loose garment. Opening my eyes, I looked into hers.
They were deep and lustrous and filled with affection.
She smiled and asked, "What are you thinking, Billy?"
"How much I care for you...how much I love you, Jean. I'm just filled
with you."
She held out her hand to me and said, "Come, lie beside me. I want to
be close to you. I want to feel your skin on mine. Hold me, please?"
Nestling her head against my neck, I asked, "But what about...?"
"The sex?" she finished for me.
"Well, there is that."
"We'll do that...whatever it is we're going to do...but first I want
to savor this minute with you. The sex will always be there. Moments
like this are rare. Stay with me, won't you?"
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