Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Title: Sister in Heat Ch.  03
Summary: Brother and sister make a pact.
Keywords: inc,fic
   It was late, and the minutes passed slowly.  Midnight had been long ago,
it seemed, and yet the night remained in that timeless hollow that are the
wee morning hours.  The lamp beside me was burning low and I flipped the
page of my textbook, shifting ever so slightly.  Against my chest, Monica
stirred, and for a moment the words became gibberish and all I felt was her
soft breast rolling against my skin, all I smelled was the vague fragrance
of her shampoo.
   I watched her face as she blinked awake, her hand sliding over my waist
and gripping my ass.  She sniffled, and looked up at me.  "Don't be mad,"
she said.
   "I'm not mad," I said.  We were whispering to each other.
   Monica's eyes slid away from mine and her fingers traced circles up my
chest.  She kissed me just below my nipple.
   "Not now," I said.
   "You're mad."
   I put the book down in the sheets and reached for her, but she squirmed
away and swung a leg over me.  She drew the covers up over her head and
crawled over me, watching my eyes like some shy predator.  Then she bent
down, and sighed, and slid her lips against my mouth, softly tracing more
circles.  Her little tongue flickered out, and then it was gliding over
mine.  "I missed you," she whispered into my mouth.
   "I missed you too," I said.
   "I missed this," she said, reaching down between us and grasping my
turgid cock.
   I reached up and cupped her ass.  Gripped it.  Squeezed it.  She moaned
a little.  "I know."
   Her eyes opened, but something in my gaze made her stop.  Her fingers
reluctantly left my cock and she frowned.  "Stop thinking so much."
   "I can't help it," I said.  It would have been useless to argue with
her. Monica knew me well enough to know the truth.
   The truth was, summer was long gone, and we hadn't seen each other for
months.  I'd been so busy in December I hadn't come home for Christmas, and
by the time I was able to visit I was already seeing someone else.  It
wasn't serious, but I was guilty all the same.
   "Listen," said Monica, easing against my side and laying her hand on my
chest, "this is just us saying hello."
   I laughed.  I couldn't help it.  "This is not how siblings say hello."
   Monica grinned and took my jaw in her hands.  She kissed me.  "We do."
   I rolled my eyes and grabbed my book.  I used it to swat her butt as she
tried to stifle a giggle, grabbing her wrist to keep her from squirming
away.  We ended up tangled together and I dropped the book on the floor and
gathered her up in my arms.  "I just don't want you acting like this was
all my fault," she said as she buried her nose in my chest.
   "It mostly is," I said.
   She scoffed and tried to slap my arm, but she was bound up too tight to
get her hands free.  Instead she fought me the best way she knew how, by
rubbing her naked sex against me.  That always worked.
   "Mm," I grunted, letting her slide away - but only so far.  She turned a
little, I think to try to get on top, but I twisted her, fighting her
struggles and pinning her down on her stomach.  "Mmph!" she grunted back as
my pelvis dug into her ass.  My cock, now rock hard, wedged into the crack
of her ass, and I held onto her arms as she struggled harder to break free.
The struggling only pushed my cock deeper into her ass, and she let out
another grunt as I arched my back.
   "Get off of me, big brother!" she whispered shrilly.
   "No, you wanted to sleep in my bed.  You're going to have to pay the
price." I slid my cock up against her moist slit and pushed.
   "Nn!  N-no!" she moaned as loudly as she dared.  She struggled even
harder, and then I was in her, thrusting against each of her mock attempts
to break free.  "Ah!  Big brother!  You're inside me!" she gasped.
   "Shut up," I grunted into her ear.  She loved that.  I cupped my palm
over her mouth as she began to moan louder.  She bit the skin of my fingers
as I roughly grabbed her breast.
   The two of us were wedged into the farthest corner of the bed, her body
pinned under me, her legs open and her feet kicking against the mattress as
I entered her, again and again, in fierce, wet thrusts.  She shut her eyes
tight and arched her neck up as I fucked her, screaming into my hand.
   I'd never fucked anyone like I fucked Moni.  The thought made me hard,
even as it troubled me.  But all that troubling, all that guilt, just added
to the intensity.  Monica felt it; Monica knew; and that's why Monica
twisted her hips; that's why she screamed harder into my hand.  She loved
my cock and she loved that I loved her, and she loved playing this twisted
little game.
   I pulled out of her.  She whirled around, and I managed to trap her flat
on her back.  Our positions had reversed from just a few minutes earlier.
Now she lay under me and I was the predator on top.
   I stared down at Monica's body, glistening and pink in the dim
lamplight. Her eyes were fierce, her skin flushed red under her breasts and
chin.  Her nipples that I loved so much were sharp and tight, and I pinched
one, making her wince.  Her knees knocked helplessly against my ribs as my
cock swung over her shaved pussy, dripping with our mutual juices.  Her
hands had been splayed against her head, and now she raised them,
tentatively, to my shoulders.  I watched her pillowy breasts shudder with
her every breath.  "J-Johnny, please...don't do this..."
   I bent over her and bit her on her neck.  She stifled her own cry as I
sucked at her, my fingers skating over her thigh and taking a handful of
flesh.  "Aah!" Moni cried as my cock bumped against her clitoris.  She
pushed me up and looked deep into my eyes.  "You can't do this," she
whispered.  "I'm your sister.
   I cupped one beautiful breast and squeezed.  Monica bit her lip and
shuddered.  "I'll...I'll jerk you off, if that's what you want," she said,
doing her best to sound pitiful.  Slowly her hand reached up.  I grabbed it
and put it on me.  "Oh!  It's so...it's so big, Johnny..." My hand still
over her own, I made her stroke me, and I watched the flush in her skin
crawl up her face.  "Oh...Oh, Johnny...  Don't.  I...I shouldn't..."
   "Put it in your mouth," I said.
   "No," said Monica, her eyes wide.  "No, Johnny.  I couldn't do that!"
   "Sure you can," I said, digging my fingers into her dirty blonde hair. I
drew her toward me as I crawled over her body.
   "Oh!  Oh, Johnny!  W-wait.  If...if I do that, will you promise not to
put it in me?"
   "I promise," I said to her.
   She eased herself down the mattress as I lowered my cock to her mouth.
"I can't believe you're making me do this," she said.  She made the cutest
face as I put my penis between her lips, as if it was medicine she hated to
swallow.
   "That's it, little sister," I said.  "Take the whole thing." I slid it
down, down along her tongue, as Monica reached up to dig her nails into my
back.  I softly pulled it back, our eyes never breaking contact.  "That's a
good girl," I murmured, sliding it back in.  "Don't wake mom and dad."
   "Mm," said Monica around my cock.  "Mm!" she groaned as I pushed it
deeper.
   "Deeper," I ordered her as I gripped the back of her head.
   "Mm!" she protested as I entered her throat.  "Mmm!"
   "Ah!" I grunted, pulling out and letting her breathe.  Long trails of
saliva left her tongue and hung from my cockhead.  It slithered back onto
her mouth.
   "Johnny, that's gross!" she said.  "I can't do this.  I won't!"
   "Well then you know what you have to do," I said, sliding down and
pushing myself against her wet pussy.
   "Oh no!" she stammered.  "Johnny, please!  I can't!"
   I shoved it in.  Monica bit my shoulder to keep from screaming. 
"D-don't do this, big brother," she moaned into my skin.  "Please!  You're
too big."
   Her vagina was pulsing against me as I thrust, deeper and faster, deeper
and faster, as she gripped me with her whole body.  "You can take it," I
grunted into her hair.  That smell.  Her smell.  Her shampoo and sweat. 
The natural smell of her.  My sister.  My lover.
   "I-I can take it," she whispered into my ear.
   "You can take the whole thing, Monica.  Good girl."
   "I am," she gasped against me.  "Is it good?  Do you love that pussy?"
   "I love this fucking pussy," I told her.
   "I love you," she whispered, so low I almost didn't hear.  "I love your
cock in me," she gasped.  "I love it so much.  I need it.  I need it.  I
need it!" She continued that mantra, faster and faster, the words rolling
into a wild, unending blur as I fucked her harder and harder until the bed
quaked and her whole body was shaking beyond her control.  "Cum in me, big
brother," she demanded.  "Cum in your good little whore!"
   I flowed inside of her.  We'd fucked furiously hours before and yet I
still came like a torrent.  I filled my dirty little sister with all my
cum, and Monica's breath was so deep it was as if I'd squirted life itself
into her body.  I suppose, in a way, I had.
   I thrust for a long time after I came, even as the nerves went crazy in
my cock and I'd shrunk to a flaccid shadow of my former glory.  Monica
moaned at me when I tried to pull out, so I stayed in her, the two of us
lying there together in the sweaty mess we'd made of the bed.
   "We should make a pact," she said.  Her lips were pressed against my
ear. My eyes were shut, my body's energy fading fast.  Even now, though,
the jiggle of her tits made by every heartbeat made me want her all over
again.
   "Pacts are for conspirators," I murmured into her hair.
   "You'll like this one," she said.
   "I don't think I will."
   "I know you will," she said, wiggling her hips.  My soft cock still
clung to her labia.  She pushed her mouth deeper into my ear canal, and
lowered her voice.  "How about this is just the way it is for us?  We can
see whoever we want...but you and me...this is just how we love each
other."
   "That can't-" I started.
   She shushed me.  "You don't have to fuck me if you don't want to. 
Just...if you need to..."
   "When does that end?" I said.  "When we're married?  When we're living
across the country from each other?"
   "Never," she whispered into my ear.  "It'll be our secret.  And it won't
be cheating.  Is it cheating when you hug me?"
   "No," I said.
   "When you kiss me?"
   "Where?"
   "This is just how we are," she said.
   "I don't think that's how it normally goes," I said, halfway to sleep.
   "Will your wife ever fuck you like I do?"
   She might have had a point.  A terrible, incestuous point...  Monica
eased me out of her, and took my face, and drew me up to look her in the
eye.  She licked her lips.  "You want this too," she said.  "I'm just
saying what you won't."
   It would have been the height of condescension to tell her this was just
a phase and she'd find someone else - someone not related to her by blood -
and someday this would all be a weird memory...
   I had come home that afternoon with my bag slung over my shoulder, with
stories and weariness to share with my father about grad school.  He, my
mother and my sister had gathered around the table and eaten dinner
together for the first time in ages, and there was no awkwardness anywhere.
I told them about Pam, the girl I was seeing, and Monica asked about her
like any disinterested sister would.  My mother was glad I was finally
dating someone again.
   That night my dad and I drank beers on the porch and talked about the
companies that were open.  He'd been in the business for years and I'd
already put in several years of my own.  I'd be fine.  I was on the right
track, and in a couple years I knew I'd be designing the buildings I'd
always dreamed of.
   I retired late that night, book in hand, in bed.  The hours crept by
and, near midnight, there was a knock at my door.  Monica, in nothing
provocative (a simple shirt, simple shorts, no makeup), softly smiled and
asked if she could sleep on my side of the bed.  I laughed, and without
thinking, scooted over to let her lie down.  I continued to read, and the
minutes crept by, and softly I heard her stir.
   "It's too hot in here," she said.  And without turning, her eyes closed,
she hooked her thumbs into her shorts and slid them down her shapely ass.
And then, her hair falling over her shoulder, she batted her eyes at me. 
"You want to put it in there?"
   I didn't think.  My cock was hard and ready before the book fell out of
my hand.  She was ready too, and we both hissed as I slid it in.
   We kissed like we'd been separated by ages, by uncountable miles, as I
fucked her from behind and reached into her shirt to clasp her heavy
breasts - the breasts that swayed so hypnotically whenever she didn't wear
a bra.  Like tonight.  Like at the dinner table.  Like when she came so
innocently into my room.  I pulled her hair.  She bit my lip.  She grinded
against me.  I touched her everywhere, and she moaned into my mouth as I
came in her.  Then she, with a strength I scarcely recognized, forced
herself down against me so she could cum with my full length inside of her.
   As if we'd saved the foreplay for reverse, I pulled her shirt off and
kissed her then, kissed her a hundred times as she wound her naked limbs
through mine and collapsed with me on the bed.  The two of us, our tongues
tangled, giggled softly at each other as we shared the reunion we'd both
been waiting for.
   But I was seeing someone.  Wasn't I?  Didn't that mean something?  Or
did it mean nothing next to the jungle lust I stoked for my sister.  I woke
later in the night to read, and to think about that.  And after an hour of
thinking and reading Monica turned her eyes up to me, told me not to be
mad, and we'd done it all over again.
   Now, gazing down at her as she told me her little plan, I didn't know
what to think.
   "My love for you is complicated," I said.
   "Yeah, no shit," she muttered.  "But I know a good thing when I fuck
it."
   "You do fuck it very well."
   She gave a chivalrous little nod.  Then she coughed, and said quietly,
"I slept in here a few times, after you left..."
   "I missed you, too."
   "Good."
   I looked at the clock.  It was no longer the wee morning hours.  It was
almost the normal morning hours.  Almost time to go back to the world where
we were just brother and sister.  No benefits.
   "I just don't want us to pretend this never happened," she said.  "Don't
do that thing where you take the moral high ground.  That's bullshit." She
gave me her best little sister glare, so I shut up.  "I just want us to
agree this is part of who we are."
   "For better or worse," I intoned.
   "I'm not asking for more than that," she said.
   "So, if I've got this straight, we'll try to live normal, productive
lives as normal, productive siblings...who occasionally sleep together."
   "Not so much sleeping," she amended.
   "Who occasionally rut like stoats."
   "Sure," she said.  "There's no way that can go wrong."
   Well, I probably don't have to tell you this, but it went wrong all over
the place.
   This is how it happened.
   It was my last year of grad school and I was working my ass off.  Sure,
I was tense, but I had a great sense of purpose.  My professors, on the
whole, liked me, and as hard as their courses were I always did pretty
well. Of course, blowing off steam was an integral part of that.  Without
that safety valve, I might have exploded - or imploded from the weight of
all the things on my mind.  But I was happy to discover that grad students,
most of us, are on the same page where dating is concerned: Either you're
looking for a hookup or you're looking to mate for life; someone to help
reduce stress or someone who wants to make that their permanent side gig.
It made things a lot simpler.
   Pam had originally been the former, but whether through her machinations
or the tricks of time she'd begun to slide into the latter.  When I
returned to school, I told her it was over.  She wasn't happy about it, but
she knew how we'd begun, and we hadn't been together long enough for it to
sting so bad.  At least that's what I thought.
   I was running across campus one day - not out of panic; I was doing
cardio - when I nearly passed by the most impressive set of legs I've ever
seen.  I was just about to turn the corner of the chemistry lab when they
caught the sun in my periphery.  I glanced to the side and saw them, the
way the light clung to their toned musculature, the way the tight buttocks
rose up into a pair of even tighter shorts.  The legs belonged to
Stephanie, and she was bent at the waist and standing in the grass.  She
was also running, or about to run, and was stretching for all the world to
see.  I decided to investigate.
   As I approached, she rose up and I caught a glimpse of her cleavage. 
Her breasts were small, not much more than a handful each, but they moved
with a fluid softness - even despite the sports bra.  Her nose was a little
sharper than I like, but it fit her face well: Brown, contoured eyebrows,
an oval face, and cold eyes: Blue and hazel when she was relaxed, kind of
green when she was mad or excited.  Her long brunette hair was up in a
ponytail, but it shined under the afternoon sun, which was currently
spearing the two of us from between the trees.  She was tall.  Those legs.
   "Hey," I said.
   She gave me a look of passionate disdain.  "What?"
   "You run around here often?"
   Her forehead crinkled as she tried to figure out if I was for real.  She
had the 'bitch face' down pat and it was going into tiger mode.  If I was a
smart man, I would have run rapidly in the other direction.  But I was a
horny man, and I couldn't stop thinking about what those legs would look
like in high heels.  (I have since seen those legs in high heels, and let
me tell you - this bullshit was totally worth it.)
   "What do you want, John?"
   I was taken aback.  "You- Have we met before?"
   Once again, the forehead crinkled, this time accompanied by her knuckles
on her hips.  "I'm Pam's roommate."
   Ah.  Right.  I am not an observant man.  In my defense, the few times we
went back to Pam's place Stephanie was either out or in her room (and we
didn't spend a lot of time socializing, if you take my meaning).
   "Of course," I said, trying to recover.  "How you doing?"
   "Are you seriously hitting on me right now?"
   Her stomach was toned, there was a sheen of sweat on her forehead and,
I'll be totally honest, the more her sharp nose and sharp eyebrows turned
down, the more turned on I got.  Maybe it's the masochist in me, or maybe I
just have a thing for angry women with great legs.  All I could think of
now was her insulting me while we did it on top of Pam's kitchen table. 
True, it's an odd kink, but once you make peace with the fact that you've
fucked your sister a few hundred times, you've made peace with most of your
kinks.
   So I said, "Yes, I'm definitely hitting on you.  But I'm sorry, I don't
remember your name."
   And here's where Stephanie's personality shines through, because at this
point she could have easily walked off - or, more appropriately, run off.
She didn't.  She planted her heels, swayed back on one hip, and frowned and
smiled at the same time.  "Stephanie," she said, as if even she couldn't
believe we were still having a conversation.
   "Right, Stephanie," I said.  "Stephanie, what's your major?"
   "International relations," she said.  "Marketing, really.  You're an
engineer.  Pam cried about you for a week."
   Ooh, tough to come back from that one.  I tried to look sincere (but not
so sincere that I wasted my shot, if I had one) when I said, "I'm sorry to
hear that.  I didn't think Pam was that into me."
   "You mean you thought you guys were just fuck buddies."
   Yes.  Probably shouldn't say yes, though.
   I shrugged and opened my hands in a gesture of conciliation.  "She's
great.  We went on a few great dates, but I just didn't feel that
connection."
   "Uh-huh," said Stephanie, not buying that bullshit at all.  "Sounded to
me like you felt that connection pretty regularly."
   Oh man, Game Over.  If this was Independence Day her little aliens would
be blowing the shit out of my air force right now.  And yet, she hadn't
turned away.  Her furrowed brows had relaxed and now she was wearing a look
of amused disgust.  I shrugged again and took a casual step forward.  "I
didn't realize you were listening."
   "Whatever," she said, and I thought she was about to make her exit, but
instead she let out a little laugh.  "I'll admit it doesn't take much to
get Pam to cry, but whatever you think is happening here," she gestured
between the two of us, "it is most certainly not."
   "No, I didn't think anything was happening here," I said.  "I was just
saying hello."
   "Uh-huh," she said again, her tongue working the inside of her cheek. 
She turned towards the chemistry lab (this is how bad I had it: even the
way her ponytail whipped her neck turned me on) and then turned back to me.
She narrowed her eyes.  "Were you staring at my ass?"
   "Hm?" I said, all innocence.
   "You were running, and then you stopped.  While I was stretching.  Did
you come over here because you saw my ass and...I'm sorry, what was your
plan coming over here?"
   Oh shit.  I really liked this girl now.  "Babble at you," I said
seriously.  "Babble at you until I got your number."
   I watched her gnaw at the inside of her cheek, her mouth closed, while
she weighed me with her eyes.  She'd folded her arms against her chest now
and I was fascinated just watching her mind work.  Tried with all my might
not to look down at the way those thighs slid down into those tight calves.
   "You don't care how Pam feels at all, do you?"
   "Sure I do," I said.
   "What would I say to Pam, 'Hey, your ex was checking out my ass so I
think we're going on a date tonight?' That's pretty shitty."
   "No, I wouldn't say that," I said.  "I probably wouldn't mention it. 
But you'd definitely get a good meal out of it.  I mean, there's no fooling
you, so I'd probably overspend on the date like crazy to get in your good
graces.  And you know how it is at grad school - you take those fancy meals
where you can get 'em."
   "Oh my God," said Stephanie, her mouth wide, her eyes flashing.  "You're
a creep."
   "Is that a no?"
   She laughed all the way through her jog, and it seemed like she was
still laughing when she rounded the chemistry building.  I had half a mind
to chase her, but I don't think that would be the feminist thing to do. 
Instead, I brushed up on my international relations.
   * * *
   I ran a lot that semester.  Sometimes I would pass her by the lake,
throwing my arms wide in a 'why not?' gesture that she would shake her head
at and then ignore.  One of her professors was part of a poker club I
belonged to, so from time to time I'd stop by the class to chat and, if she
didn't immediately disappear, strike up a conversation with her as she
walked to her next class.  It infuriated her to a degree, but there was
also something in her - that deep, dark, demented part - that was drawn to
my stupidity and my tenacity.  I know this because she told me.
   She told me one day while we were walking across campus.  We'd just left
the economics wing and I was trying to make conversation about a party I
didn't want to go to alone.
   "I don't even have to see you anymore," she said.  "I can just smell the
desperation coming."
   I'd only been at this for a week or two.  She wasn't wrong, though.
   Suddenly, she slapped her forehead.  "Oh shit, I forgot to ask Tim if
that paper is due this Friday or next." She swung on her heel, and so did
I.
   "So about this party," I said.
   "Not a chance," she said.  "When do you and Tim play poker?  He's
stupidly bad at answering emails."
   "Later tonight," I said.
   "Well if he's not here..." She brushed open the door to the lecture hall
- the empty lecture hall - and cursed.  She swiveled on her heel again and
then made for his office.  I followed, feeling, as I always did, that I was
straddling a fine line between being a pest (or at worst, a stalker) and
being on the verge of a breakthrough.  I was to find out that, either way,
she'd give me an answer soon enough.  She'd never once told me to get lost,
which I found encouraging.
   "This paper is kicking my ass," she said, "and another week would be
good.  Plus there's the fucking firm and their stupid party-" Stephanie
worked, as near as I could tell, three different jobs, or two jobs and an
internship, in addition to her course work and teacher assistant duties. 
She was Type A all the way.
   "You need a date?"
   "I have too much work," she said.  We entered the faculty offices and
made a beeline for Tim's door.  "That's all I do is work.  I come home and
Pam is sitting on the fucking couch whining about the last date that went
awry.  Like, I'm here to get a fucking job and as near as I can figure
she's here to find a husband or die.  It's gross." She did that magical
business thing where her face went from utter contempt to bright and bubbly
as she saw a professor she was trying to secure another internship with. 
"Mr.  Gaffley!  So good to see you!  Oh my gosh, how did your daughter's
recital go?"
   I watched her chat with him like a machine, plugging in all the
courtesies that were due and precisely working her way up from the personal
to the academic to the brass tacks of her mission.  It was cold, it was
clinical, it was all bullshit, but it was bullshit that Stephanie used like
a precision instrument.  I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd given her
the internship on the spot.  Instead, they made a lunch date with another
professor and would take it from there.
   And then, before my eyes, someone else she knew - a professor or near
enough to it - appeared down the hall and I watched her create a whole
other program to get what she wanted from him.  It was mesmerizing watching
her work.  Once that was over, she tightened those perfect gams of hers and
continued on her journey to Tim's office.  She scanned her watch, and then
looked back at me to see if I was still there.
   "Well done," I said.
   "Yeah, and now I'm late for my least favorite class," she grunted.  "I
don't know why I'm killing myself for these assholes.  Oh right, because I
fucking hate myself."
   She knocked on Tim's door.  After no answer, another knock, and no
answer, she turned the knob and poked her head inside.  Her shoulders
slumped.  "Well that's just typical," she said.  "Your buddy's gone
fishing." Instead of leaving, though, she strode inside and whipped her bag
onto one of the chairs.  "Get in here," she said.
   I did.
   "Close the door," she said.  So I did.
   "Why don't you put that perpetual boner of yours to good use," she said,
as she grabbed my arms and forced me against the door.  I wasn't sure if it
was a bite or it was a kiss, but soon enough I was tasting her.  Her
fingers dug into the back of my neck as she hissed into my ear, "If you're
bad at this I'll slap you with a restraining order the next time I see
you." Her other hand was already undoing my belt.
   "What if Tim comes back?" I said.
   "What if Stephanie needs to cum right now?" she asked.  She looked up
into my eyes.  It was a challenge if I ever saw one.
   When she got my pants off, she bent down into a crouch and pulled my
cock out of my boxers.  She gripped it tightly, inspected it, top to
bottom, side to side.  "Good," was all she said.  "I hate tiny cocks." Then
she put her mouth on it, and I shivered all the way down to my toes.
   She wasn't at that long before she was up on her feet and tying her hair
back in a ponytail.  Then she pulled her shirt up over her head and threw
it on top of her bag.  "Help me pull these off," she said, backing up onto
Tim's desk.  She unbuttoned her shorts and put her ass up onto the desk as
I slid them down her taut legs.  Watching her extend those beautiful things
only made me harder, and she noticed.  I started on her shoes, but she
shook her head.  "I don't have time.  Just pull my panties to the side.  I
want you to eat my pussy, and don't say you don't do that.  Pam talks."
   "Yes, ma'am," was all I said, as I bent down to Stephanie's shaved
vagina and lovingly traced her clit with my tongue.  I heard the sharp
intake of breath that might have signaled I was on the right track.  She
buried her fingers in my hair and shoved me between her legs.
   "Fuck," she said.  "Deeper."
   My tongue probed into her, the sour, acid taste of her, and soon her
vulva was enveloped by my mouth.  "Mmm," Stephanie moaned above me, and I
moaned into her pussy.  She liked that, so I did it again, and again as her
thigh rubbed my cheek.
   "Poor little Pam," I heard her murmur.  "You're my little fucktoy now."
She pushed forward with her pelvis to signal me to get up.  I stood, my
cock swinging, and she gave an appreciative raise of her eyebrows.  "Now
you get to do what you've been jerking off to since we met." She turned her
back to me (Jesus, that ass) and pulled her panties down.  Not all the way,
though, not down to her ankles.  She pulled them just low enough to give me
access and then bent over Tim's desk.
   I caressed that perfect ass and spread her cheeks, opening her up to see
her asshole and her pussy.  "Mmh," Stephanie groaned.  "Have you been
jerking off to me?"
   "You know I have," I said.  I encircled her wet slit with my pulsing
cock.
   "That gets me wet," she said, as I pushed inside her.  "Aww!  Knowing
you want it so bad.  It's that s-stupid - ah - tenacious-n-ness - fuck!  -
that -" I shoved my full length inside her, not waiting for her to get used
to me, and she stopped talking for a few seconds to quiver over the desk.
"Ahhhnn," she groaned.  "Didn't even...give me a...ahhhh." I pulled out and
slid it back in.  "I got so wet when I realized you were just staring at my
ass," she said.  "Listening to you fuck Pam, I, ahh!  You creep.  You're
in-inside me now, I- ah!"
   "Stephanie?" I said, leaning down over her ear.  I was balls deep inside
her, one hand on her hip, the other on her shoulder.
   "Nn?" she said.
   "Shut up."
   I covered her mouth and began to fuck her hard.  Stephanie moaned.  She
screamed.  She cried bloody murder as I thrust and thrust, her thighs
trapped by her tight panties tightening with every plunge, squeezing me
deeper inside the constricting walls of her vagina.  Her pelvis banged
against the desk.  Her knuckles turned white where they gripped the lip of
the wood, and her ass turned red from my repeated poundings.  I spanked
her, I squeezed her, I used her with all the pent-up lust I had stored away
for this day, and somewhere in the bewildering tangle of minutes it must
have triggered the release that she craved.  When she came, I felt her do
it: A warm, thick flow dribbled over my balls and oozed down her thighs. 
"Ahhhhhh," she cried into my moist palm.  "I'm so late for class..."
I pushed and pushed, riding her sweet canal until she had me to the
hilt. Her legs went straight as I pinned her to the desk.  She was
balancing on the toes of her shoes.  Breathless, she felt me nearing my
end, and stammered into finger, "My ass.  C-cum on my ass..."
   It was painful to pull myself fully out of that tight, athletic body,
but I obeyed, grasping myself and exploding across her beet-red buttocks. I
heard another cry from her as my semen splattered against her skin, as if
this too triggered another release.  I came again and again, and she jerked
with every new ejaculation, reeling from micro-orgasms that sparkled their
way down her legs.
   When it was over, I had to hold myself against the desk, my cock
shrinking against her buttocks.  Stephanie recovered more quickly, though
she continued to pant for the ensuing minute.
   Eventually she regained enough composure to reach across the desk for
tissues.  She handed me one and told me to clean up my mess.  I grinned as
I polished the sticky cum off her muscular ass, and she didn't seem to mind
when I gave it an appreciative pinch.  She slid a few tissues between her
thighs, cleaning up her own cum, and then took a few more to dab at her
forehead and under her eyes.  I was treated to the mesmerizing sight of her
shimmying her panties up her luscious legs and then stepping into her
shorts.
   "And that didn't even cost you dinner," she said, reaching up to pull
her hair out of its ponytail.  She combed her fingers through her brown
tresses.
   I buckled my belt and slung my bag over my shoulder.  She grabbed her
bag and gave the room a once-over, checking that everything was in place.
"I hope Tim doesn't mind that sex smell," I said.
   "You can ask him when you see him tonight," she said.  I opened the door
for her and she stepped out, checking both ends of the hall and walking
with only the slightest hint that she'd been fucked like a prize mare.
   As if she could read my thoughts, she gave a polite cough and rearranged
herself, making sure to check no one was watching.  She glanced at me over
my shoulder.  "Not bad, Johnny."
   I grinned and fell in step beside her as we exited the econ building. 
"You know, I still want to take you to dinner."
   "Oh, why spoil a good thing?" she said.  "You got what you wanted, after
all."
   "And what do you want?" I asked.
   "I want things to be simple," she said.  "Efficient." Tentatively, she
reached out and put her hand on my arm.  "I wouldn't mind more of that,
just like that."
   "I want to see you in heels," I said.
   That might have been one of the few times I saw her smile without
reservation.  "I know you do," she said.
   * * *
   That was the year my dad had his first heart attack.  Steph and I had
been seeing each other, on and off, for a few months; it wasn't exclusive
but it was a little more serious than non-exclusive.  Still, those months
seemed to vanish like smoke when my sister met me outside the hospital and
threw herself into my arms.  Our lips met in a hot, wet kiss and we stayed
like that much longer than was decent.
   I wiped her eyes and helped clean the mascara off her cheeks.  We kissed
again (and when she jumped up against me I cupped her round ass) and then
separated, lacing our hands together as we entered the hospital.
   My mother was inside with my dad, who, even in his hospital bed and
gown, thought we were all being way too serious about this.  We sat around
and talked as long as the nurses thought proper, and then they shooed us
out, telling us he needed meds and rest.  My mother was beside herself and
my sister spoke to her softly in the backseat as I drove us all home.
   After we put my mother to bed (she literally fell to sleep), Monica and
I went downstairs to watch TV.  The hour passed mindlessly, the two of us
just staring at it and occasionally murmuring to each other, she curled up
against my chest, me lying back against the pillows.
   "Do you want to fool around?" she asked.
   "Better not," I said.
   "I'm exhausted too.  Can you help me, though?  I'm so damn tight."
   I thought she was making a dirty joke, but she sat up and drew up her
long, golden hair so she could point at her neck.  "Here," she said.
   "Of course."
   I scooted forward on the cushions, my thighs hugging her hips, and
reached for her as she held her hair in place.  My fingers dug into her
supple skin.  I marveled at how soft and smooth she felt, how every touch
called forth memories and how the scent of her still stirred in me a
longing to explore her.  Time passed in thoughtless caresses until I
stopped trying to massage her from under her shirt and told her to just
take it off.
   Then my fingers were sliding under her bra, kneading into the knots, and
soon that too was on the floor.  I continued to massage her, but now
nothing stopped me from running my fingers around her ribs to scoop up her
generous breasts.  Morbidly, I thought to myself what a perfect woman you
could make if you Frankensteined Monica's top and Stephanie's bottom
together, but the thought passed as quickly as it came.  The two had wildly
different body types, both were painfully beautiful, and I realized (also
painfully) that I was inexorably being drawn into both of them.
   By this time Monica was leaning against my chest and sighing softly
against my cheek, my hands warming her as I gently played with her breasts.
"Want you," she whispered to me.
   We could have gone to my room; we should have.  But instead she quickly
rose and slid her pants down.  I pulled mine off while still sitting on the
couch, and then she was in my lap facing me, her buttocks coming to rest on
my thighs, our arms encircling each other as she lowered herself onto my
ready cock.  She was wet and smooth and we breathed into each other's
mouths as we joined again.  It was a slow, tender fuck, the two of us
gazing at each other in the half-light of the television, planting small
kisses on one another's lips as we comforted each other there in the den.
   I reached down and rolled her softness up and down my shaft.  She flexed
her thighs against my ribs.  She pushed her breasts into me and I kissed
the tops of them, running my fingers through her curly hair.  Her pink
nipples stiffened as my tongue skated across them and she cooed to me, not
to leave her, to stay, to stay.
   She rested her lips on my neck and her head on my shoulder, then held me
tight as I slowly built my way towards climax.  I don't know if she came
then.  I do know that wasn't what this was about.  This was about being
part of each other, of sharing each other's flesh, of feeling each other's
lives in the pulsations of our sex.  Every squirt of semen that entered her
body assured her that I was alive and I was here, and her embrace tightened
with each ejaculation.  In her arms, around my shaft.  We held each other
for a long time, just like that, joined together.
   When at last we parted I saw that she was crying silent tears.  I kissed
them away, helped her get her clothes on, then carried her upstairs.
   * * *
   I didn't stay the night.  I wasn't tired, and I didn't want to see my
mother or my sister in the morning.  I would have liked to return to the
hospital and speak to my father, but that wasn't going to happen at three
in the morning.  So I drove my car back to my apartment.
   I was surprised when I got the text from Stephanie ("U up?") and parked
the car on the side of the road to answer back.  Less than an hour later we
were sitting up in an all-night cafe, she bundled in a posh but warm
looking jacket, me wearing the same thing I'd had on when I got the call
earlier that day.
   "I'm sorry," she said again.  Stephanie's parents were divorced and her
relations with both were strained.  Parents, and family in general, were
not her favorite topic of conversation, but she wasn't a monster.  She
reached out and touched my cheek, and kissed me quickly just below my ear.
   She sat back in her seat with a searching grin.  "You've been with
someone else tonight, haven't you?"
   I was way past lying to her, not that morning, not at that hour. 
"Yeah," I said.
   "Why did you pick me up?"
   "I wanted to see you," I said.  It was the truth.  "I didn't want to
sleep, or be alone." More truth.  "And I'm confused." The most truth.
   She licked her lips.  "Do you want to take me back to your place?"
   "Do you still want me to?"
   Her expression was inscrutable.  "I don't know," she said.  She put her
fingers to her lips, idly chewed on a nail.  "I was up working, and I don't
want to go back to working.  Nor do I want to sleep." She sighed, and
shrugged.  "And I don't think I want to call up someone else.  I think I
want to go home with you."
   For some reason I can't explain, the way she said it, just then, almost
brought me to tears.  It was so simple and so damn friendly.
   She saw that, and sighed again.  Stephanie could be very tender at very
strange times.  It was the hour, I think.  The hurt and the need and the
strangeness of it all.  "Johnny," she said, "I think I'm getting to a place
where I can't call you a fuck buddy anymore.  But I also don't think I'm
quite to a place where you being with someone else bothers me.  But..."
   "But before we go any further than that, maybe we should just go back to
my place," I finished.
   "You think you're up for it?"
   "I'm always up for you."
   It sounds like a line.  It was a line.  But it was also true.  She knew
that.  She could see that.  And, when she reached under the table, she felt
that.
   "Do I know her?" she said.
   "I don't think you'll ever meet her."
   "Let's stop talking about that," she decided.  "I'm here for a booty
call, after all.  So come on." She stood up and gave me her hand.  "This
frigid bitch wants you inside her."
   I took it and grinned.  "Steph, I think I love you."
   "That's so sad for you," she said, pulling me out of the cafe.
   She made me shower before I fucked her, but before the shower was
through she was in there with me, on her knees, sucking my cock.  We fucked
until the sun came up, and that morning was the first time we actually
slept together.
   I woke up, briefly, with her hand draped across my neck and her head on
the other side of my pillow.  I looked at her, at the bedside clock, at the
morning light on the far wall, and wondered where all of us would go from
here.  And then, with one soft, smooth sigh, I decided to stop worrying, to
let the world roll on, and to sleep.
   * * *
   Several days later I came to the house to talk to my father.  He was
alone - mom was at work, Moni was at college - and we had one of those
good, gruff, manly conversations that mostly consist of grunts and, "It'll
be alrights" and "Fuckin' hospital bills" and "Wish I could have a beer
right nows."
   At some point, I told him I was being torn between two women.  First
thing he asked was if it was fucking up my grades.  "No they're doing
pretty good," I assured him.
   "Good," he said.  "Which one's prettier?"
   We both laughed, and it was good to hear him laugh like that.  Then he
said, "I'm supposed to say, don't be selfish and be respectful and all
that, but hell, you think I ever got a chance like that?  Thank God your
mother ain't too bright, otherwise she wouldn't be with a dunce like me. 
But you, you find two dumb broads to take advantage of.  I dunno if my
heart could take that excitement." He grinned and scratched his stubble. 
"I dunno know what the hell you're supposed to do, kid.  One of 'em's bound
to get smart and dump your ass sooner or later.  Till then, work hard, play
hard."
   He scratched his chest, right over the place where his heart was
beating. "Maybe I'd've said something different last week.  Now...  It's a
short life, kid.  Sometimes it gets pretty weird.  Sometimes it gets pretty
nice.  I got a sneakin' suspicion you're mixing your weird in your nice,
but you know what?" He shrugged.
   Then he leaned over.  "Either one the kind of girl you'd bring home to
your ma?"
   I thought about that for a moment or two.  "Uh, well..."
   My father leaned back laughing.  "Didn't think so." He thumped me on the
shoulder.  "You stay classy, Johnny."
   In retrospect, it wasn't the most helpful conversation.  But it did make
me feel better, somehow.
   After my father died, I would sometimes comfort myself with the thought
that, while he wouldn't necessarily approve of the choices I made, he might
have at least understood them.
   Maybe.
   to be continued....
   pics---->> https://goo.gl/CQeqV9 
  
Sister in Heat Ch 03