Femme1 and Femme2 are stories based on a really fun cyberchat I had. Special thanks to my partner in this who helped me along the way.

 

                WARNING!

This text file contains sexually explicit

material. If you do not wish to read this

type of literature, or you are under age,

 

Femme1 (inc, pett)

 

MontBlanc

 

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Though we are adults now, my sister and I, there still remains an erotic edge between us that until this past Christmas had never been satisfied. My sister lives near my mother, so at Christmas, my family and I usually pack up and head to my mom’s and we have a Christmas meal at my sister’s house. This time we were able to stay a few days after, so everyone had an opportunity to rest, watch tv, go to a movie and just generally enjoy each other’s company.

 

One afternoon, Michelle and I decided we’d head to the bookstore. My wife was already reading a book she had gotten for Christmas, the kids were firmly entranced in one of the many movies they had been given and no one else was interested in going. We arrived and got our requisite cappuccinos, picked out a few books we were interested in and lounged around by the fire place for a little while. This is one of those nice bookstores that encourages browsing.

 

After I skimmed through a few books and decided which ones to buy and which ones to leave, I noticed a stack of books someone had left at a table near us. They were a lot of self help books, but some of them were also of the Penthouse Forum variety. I threw one at Michelle and laughed.

 

“There you go, Santa forgot to put that in your stocking.”

 

She glanced down at the book and said “Santa knows I have better taste than that.”

 

“What do you mean?” I replied “you’re a snob. It might not be Shakespeare, but it works for me.”

 

She picked it up and in a low whisper started reading aloud, mocking the text flipping from incredible story to incredible story. She was joking, but it turned me on anyway, hearing her say words like cock and fuck. I didn’t care if she was mocking it. I was aroused.

 

She sat the book down in mild disgust and thumbed through some of the others. “Now this one’s more my speed,” she said, picking up Susie Bright’s Best of America Erotica 2002. This one she didn’t read aloud. She flipped through it and as she did, she got a flush in her neck, and her eyes sort of glazed over. Soon she found a chapter she liked and didn’t say another word as she read it. I tried not to watch her, flipping through a Dilbert book and occasionally glancing up at her. She added the book to her buy stack, picked up the books, and headed for the register. I followed.

 

After we made our purchases and got in the car, I teased her about her new book. “Making fun of Penthouse, but couldn’t help but by that one, could you?”

 

“Like you would have any idea what’s good. I remember all those internet stories you used to print out, Steve, and some of those were just stroke stories and nothing more.”

 

I knew that she used to flip through my stories back in the early days of the net. I printed them out at the time, pages and pages of them, for fear that the usenet groups or bulletin boards I got them from wouldn’t exist the next  time I logged on. I could tell when they were out of order, or just completely gone, locked up with Michelle in her room while she, I could only hope, played with herself like I did when I read them.

 

“They seemed to serve your purposes well enough, didn’t they Michelle.”

 

She replied that the stories had been arousing, but only because she was only 13 and didn’t have much else to go on.

 

“Did you…” I was embarrassed, but I had to know “did you play with yourself?”

 

She stared straight out the windshield “Of course I did.”

 

Talking with my sister in such a sexual manner, even though it was only a perfectly acceptable adult conversation, was still arousing to me. She is an attractive woman, nearing 30, but in good shape. She’s not tall, but her grace and the long lines of her body give the impression of height. Most people are surprised to find out that she is only 5’4”, and would probably tell you she’s at least three inches taller. I couldn’t help being aroused at her confession, and I was interested in taking this conversation further.

 

When I asked her why the Bright book was any better than Penthouse, she explained that the words were similar, all the good vulgar cocks and pussies and other dirty words, but that the feelings were there. It wasn’t just fucking, it was how good it felt to be fucked. I couldn’t have cared less at that moment. My cock just wanted to be fucked, I’ll admit it. I prodded her to give me an example, and to my surprise, she got the book out and began thumbing through it. She picks out a story. I don’t even remember which one now. It doesn’t matter. It did what it was supposed to.

 

I was wearing jeans, and my cock, which had been hard on and off through the afternoon, was leaking. I could feel the wetness of it on my thigh. I kept raising my hips slightly, pushing against my jeans, wanting to grab myself.

 

My sister was reading as if she was ignoring my presence. I wish I had a tape of it. Her voice dropped into a low sultry chant. Her neck was flushed again. She seemed to be shifting a bit in her seat as well, her legs barely moving. I was having trouble staying on the road, looking at her. My pulse was already increased, but seemed to spike as I pulled over at a practically unused roadside park on the way to my mother’s house.

 

She glanced up for a minute, but didn’t say anything. She just kept reading, and I quit trying to hide what I was doing while driving down the road. I started rubbing my cock through my pants, even moaned a little at the first touch of my hand. She kept reading, but she was also looking at my hand, watching me rub myself.

 

I couldn’t help myself. I opened the zipper on my jeans, lifted up a little and pulled out my cock. She stopped for a minute, looked me in the eyes like she wasn’t sure what to do next. I didn’t know what I was doing either, but I did know what I wanted.

 

“Keep reading.” I insisted. She could tell by my tone that I was too far gone to be stopped now. I wouldn’t take no for an answer.

 

She was having trouble reading, and watching me, and then her hand was between her legs, reaching under her skirt, but she did it, continued reading about someone else’s erotic encounter as she began her own. One hand was holding the book, the other rubbed her panties, her thighs, but then moved and began unbuttoning her shirt. It was cold outside, at least cold for this part of the country, but the car was far from cold. Her shirt was open, her breasts held nicely in a simple white bra, my eyes roamed all over her body.

 

And then my hands followed. I said her name, “Michelle,” giving her an opportunity, or so I thought, to tell me to stop. But of course neither one of us had any intention of stopping. My hand went under her skirt, moved up her legs. She was so warm, her thighs were slightly damp. Her panties were already wet. She whispered my name in return.

 

“Steve.” We both tried to say things like “We shouldn’t…” or “This isn’t right” but no words came. We never meant to stop. We had already waited too long to start.

 

Her left hand was on my cock. We were kissing each other’s necks, our hands explored each others bodies. We didn’t kiss on the mouth, we came close, but something about that seemed so intimate, we didn’t do it.

 

I knew I wouldn’t last long. I’m not eighteen anymore, certainly, but the moment was so incredibly arousing, I felt like I would come just from the smell of her hair, the sound of her breathing in my ear, the feel of her wetness under my fingers.

 

Her hand was rubbing my cock, smearing the precum around the head. Words came to me now. I didn’t speak, more like groaned them, whispered them, my throat straining, but able to make some noise.

 

“Do it. Michelle. Oh, make your brother come.”

 

She whispered back in my ear. “Steve, come for me. Come for your little sister.”

 

For a moment, we looked each other in the eyes, and for the brief second, we were both on the edge of coming, and then in what seemed like a year, and a split second, and a day and a minute all at once, we joined our mouths, and we were kissing and coming and screaming and crying.

 

My cum shot out of my cock, covering Michelle’s hand, shooting upward onto her breasts and I could feel her pussy clenching around my fingers. My sisters pussy, cumming around me. My sisters hand on my cock. Her brothers cock. Her brothers fingers. Tongues swirling in each others mouths, moaning, holding, grabbing. Our pulses raced. Our hearts were bursting from our chests. And we came and came and came.

 

If you had been standing ten feet away from the car, with your eyes closed, you might not have had any idea what was going on. But inside, it was as if an atomic bomb had gone off. It was the most intense orgasm I had had in years. After we kissed again and again, we sat back in our seats, breathing heavily. I looked over at her, cum glazing her hand, stomach, and fingers. We both had hair in serious need of a comb. My cock was still sticking out of my pants. Her skirt was twisted up around her waist, her panties pulled aside. We did all we could do. We laughed, hysterically, cleaned ourselves up and went home.