0 comments/ 118646 views/ 19 favorites Good In Bed By: Cal Y. Pygia "My name is Janis, I'm nineteen, and I'm good in bed." That's how I started my personals ad. Maybe it wasn't the most creative copy ever written, but it would be an attention-getter, I thought. My ad would get even more attention if I included a couple of photos of myself. According to the personals service, there was only a 10 percent "hit rate" for ads without photos, but the rate increased to 90 percent when an ad was accompanied by a picture. The "hit rate" was the number of times a link to an ad was clicked. I had no problem with the idea of posting a risqué, or even a nude, picture of myself on the web site. My problem was that I didn't have a digital camera from which to upload photos and couldn't afford, even to rent, a decent one. I thought about borrowing a friend's Polaroid camera, but decided against doing so, because, although such cameras develop their own film, the quality of the resulting pictures is horrible. If I used a disposable camera, I could get arrested if some photo clerk notified the authorities that he'd come (maybe quite literally) across nude photos in the roll of negatives I'd dropped off for development. I couldn't very well ask my mom or dad to take the sort of pictures I needed. I suppose I could have asked one of my girlfriends, Becky or Molly, maybe, although not without having to answer a lot of personal questions. That left--no one. Well, I corrected myself, that wasn't true, not exactly. There was always Bud. My 18-year-old brother would be more than happy to take as many nude pictures of me as I wanted him to take--and he owned a digital camera. He might ask an initial question or two, but he wouldn't grill me like Becky or Molly would do. He also wouldn't be judgmental. After satisfying his curiosity as to why I wanted the pictures, he most likely would take them for me with no additional questions. He certainly wouldn't make much ado about nothing. Bud had seen me naked once, when he was sixteen. I'd just finished taking a shower and, thinking that I was home alone, I'd decided to make the 10-foot trek from the bathroom to my bedroom without bothering to wrap a towel around myself. I hadn't gone more than three feet when Bud's door opened, and he'd drawn himself up short as he'd been about to step into the hallway. His eyes had widened, but all he'd said was, "Whoa! Nice rack and booty, sis." I'd been surprised at the casual response he'd made. Later, I'd even wondered whether Bud was gay. At the time, though, I'd been too humiliated to question his response--or, rather, his lack thereof. I'd wanted only to get to my bedroom and close the door behind me. Bud probably wasn't queer, I'd decided later. Most likely, he was more interested in girls at his school than he was in his sister. I was familiar to him, and, as the saying goes, familiarity breeds contempt. Besides, maybe guys just aren't interested in their sisters, nude or otherwise. I mean, incest might be too gross even for a guy to consider. In any event, I thought maybe I could ask Bud to take the pictures for me. He hadn't seemed to mind seeing my "rack and booty," as he'd referred to my breasts and buttocks, and I knew he could keep a confidence. He'd never told my parents about my streaking incident, nor had he bragged to his idiot friends at school about seeing his sister naked. Still, it was going to take me some time to get up the nerve to ask my brother to photograph me with no clothes on. As it turned out, it didn't take me nearly as long as I'd thought it might. Bud found my ad. Like an idiot, I'd left it in the kitchen, where Mom or Dad could easily have found it, if they hadn't been out of town for the weekend, and then I'd have been in seriously deep trouble. As it was, I found the ad taped to the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door. Bud had circled the phrase "good in bed" and, in his own handwriting, had posed the question, "How good?" I was mortified to think that my younger brother had seen the ad. Still, I had to admit, he'd shown remarkable restraint. He could have teased me mercilessly about my writing a personals ad, especially of a sexually suggestive nature. Instead, he'd not only returned it to me, so Mom and Dad didn't find it, but he'd also refrained from being an ass about it, as he would have only a few years ago. Maybe my kid brother had grown up. Anyway, now that he knew about the ad, I might as well ask him about taking the pictures, I thought. I was almost certain he wouldn't tell Mom or Dad, and, if he acted like an ass about it, which seemed unlikely, I had nothing to lose but my dignity. "Are you sure, sis?" Bud asked. Amusement danced in his eyes. I nodded. "Do you think I'd even have asked you of I weren't sure?" "Good point," he said. He paused. "Do you mind if I ask you something?" Would it make any difference if I did? I wondered. "Go ahead," I told him. "Don't you mind if your brother sees you naked? I mean, won't you be a little embarrassed?" "Should I be?" "A question's not an answer." I considered my brother's questions. I shrugged. "You've seen me naked before," I reminded him. "That was a couple of years ago." "Neither one of us has changed much since then." He made a point of ogling my breasts. "You've gotten bigger." "A little." "Okay," Bud announced. "Mom and Dad are going to Grandma Blane's this weekend. I'll do it then." I was a little annoyed. He acted as if he were doing me a favor, although I knew, inwardly, he was drooling at the prospect of seeing his sister naked again. It wouldn't have hurt him to show a little appreciation. He might have paid me a compliment or two. He might have said he was looking forward to seeing me nude. Oh, well, I consoled myself, he'd agreed to take the pictures; that was the important thing. Besides, Bud might act cavalier at the moment, but his attitude would no doubt change once he saw me without my clothes on. Mom and Dad left early Saturday morning for the 350-mile drive to Grandma's residence, leaving the house to Bud and me for the whole weekend. As soon as they'd left, Bud said, "You ready to do it, Janis?" Inwardly, I smiled. Despite my brother's nonchalant attitude earlier in the week, when he'd agreed, as if he were doing me a great favor, to photograph me in the nude, his question, following hard upon our parents' departure as it had, indicated his true feelings about the photo session. He was eager to see me naked. "Yeah,: I agreed, sounding as casual and offhanded as he'd sounded when he'd agreed to take pictures of me. "Let's do it." After careful consideration, I'd decided to pose in my bedroom. Other rooms suggested some interesting possibilities. In the kitchen, I could pretend to cook while naked. In the dining room, I could act as if I were setting the table while naked. I could pretend to read a magazine or watch a pornographic video on the living room television set. In the conservatory, I could play the piano while naked. Using a feather duster, I could pretend to dust the books in the library, wearing an apron that would cover my front but leave my backside exposed. When it comes right down to it, though, as cute and sexy as these other possibilities might be--to me, at least--no place would stimulate a guy as much as a girl's bedroom, especially if she were posing naked in it. In addition to my walk-in closet, my bedroom is equipped, more for decorative than utilitarian purposes, with an old-fashioned, stand-alone mahogany wardrobe. The double doors open in opposite directions to expose a bar from which to hang blouses, skirts, and dresses, and three stacked drawers for sox, bras, panties, and other accessories and undergarments. On the left side of the wardrobe, there's a triangular, three-tiered computer desk in a corner of the room, upon which stand my computer, monitor, speaker, mouse, and printer as well as small framed photos and knickknacks. On the right side of the wardrobe, a more traditional desk stands, equipped with a plush, leather executive's chair. It's top is covered with a blotter, stationery, a pen and pencil set, more photos, and more curios. A bookshelf along one wall is filled with classics and, of course, volume after volume of hardbound romance novels. My bedside tables bear more sculptures and photos, and the walls are hung with paintings and more photos. My bed, the centerpiece of the room, is a four-posted canopy, the awning and the bedspread of which are pink. Lace borders my pillows. The pillowcases, like the sheets, are satin. "Do you want your face to show in the pictures?" Bud asked. "Duh." "Not every girl would," my brother told me. "What are you saying?" I challenged him. "I'm a slut?' "I don't make those kinds of judgments about people," Brad informed me. "It's just that not every girl would want strangers--strange men--to know what she looks like. It could be dangerous." "Thanks for your concern, little brother, but I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself." "That's probably what Ted Bundy's victims thought." "Just take the pictures, okay?" "Sure, just as soon as you get naked." I smiled. I would enjoy this part, I thought. I've always been an exhibitionist, and I know I have a fantastic body as well as a beautiful face. I'm modest--or, at least, I can be--but I've never believed in false modesty. I'm gorgeous, and I know it, but, usually, I don't flaunt it. Like other women, though, I do welcome men's attention. In the absence of any other males, even my brother's ogling gaze would suffice, especially since, in a manly way, as male version of myself, more or less, he's pretty damn gorgeous himself. Kicking off my high heels, I removed my stockings, peeling them from my legs as if they were a second skin, and tossed them onto my bed. My own legs, Bud observed, were as sleek and smooth as the sheer stockings. I unbuttoned my blouse, noting, with satisfaction, that Bud was watching me, all right. The fucker's eyes were riveted on me! I slipped out of the blouse and let it fall to the carpet. My brassiere, a frilly, lacy lavender affair, with tiny pink bows, became the focus of my brother's attention. Reaching behind my back with both hands, I found and unfastened my bra strap in the single, fluid, well-practiced motion that defies most guys, even without the added difficulty of performing the action without the benefit of sight. Shrugging my shoulders, I let the front of the bra gather, slipped my arms through the straps, and, having freed my breasts from the silk confines of the undergarment's cups, let the frilly bra drop to the carpet. Bud's eyes were wide, and, never taking his gaze from my boobs, he licked his lips. I scooped the outer sides of my breasts into my hands and pushed my boobs together. The cleavage between the smooth orbs vanished, as the inner curve of one tit pressed that of its counterpart and my nipples, which were erect, were but inches apart, staring, as it were, straight ahead, rather than in different directions. "What do you think, Bud?" I asked my brother, who, I noticed, had quite an erection, the bulge of his thick, swollen cock visible through the fabric of his slacks. "Should we take one like this?" I pursed my lips as I leaned forward, releasing my boobs to let them dangle freely. I knew guys loved to see a pair of tits hanging in the wind, full, firm, and sleek, without any sag or wrinkles, a pair of fleshly jugs that almost demanded to be held, weighed, and squeezed. "Or maybe we should take a few pictures like this?" Having heard the whirr of Bud's camera as he took the pictures even before my suggestions that he do so, I was fully aware that he'd already photographed me in these poses. Nevertheless, my suggestions that he do so sounded naughty, and I gave Bud an innocent smile that made him gulp. Standing erect again, I turned, tugged the elastic band of my skirt outward from my hips and lowered my skirt, over my silk lavender panties, down my sleek thighs, and over my tapering calves. Stepping out of the ruffled skirt, I dropped it onto the floor, beside my blouse and bra. Now, I was completely naked except for my panties. I hooked my thumbs into the back of the panties' waistband and tugged them part of the way down, exposing the round mounds of my upper ass cheeks. I knew how well the lavender panties with their pink trim would highlight the creamy smooth flesh of my fanny; I'd seen the sight enough times myself in my full-length mirror. Like the rest of my body, my buttocks were magnificent, and I certainly understood why the sight of them, even clothed in skin-tight jeans or a hip-hugging mini skirt, turned men's--and many women's--heads. They'd turned my kid brother's head enough times, too, I knew, although I suspected that Bud was unaware that I'd seen his double takes. Hearing the camera whirr, I said, mischievously, "Why don't you take a shot of my ass?" I lowered my underwear the rest of the way, revealing the beauty of my entire bottom. Bending forward as my panties slid over my calves, toward my ankles, I stepped out of them, discarding the barely there underwear, and stood fully naked before my brother's admiring gaze. The camera whirred again and again as Bud photographed me, naked as the day I was born, my back an expanse of sculpted flesh; my buttocks small, tight, round, and as tan as the rest of me; and my legs long and shapely, with sleek, toned muscles beneath their taut skin. I turned, noting the erection that, jutting from Bud's groin, made a tent of the denim covering his groin. His excitement was obvious and undeniable, however much his earlier cavalier tone had suggested an indifferent attitude on his part. I watched him ogle my breasts and their stiff nipples, surrounded by puffy areolas, before his gaze traveled slowly, like a caress, down the tight, flat plain of my tummy, and, as his stare swept lower, his eyes widened to see that my pubic area, like my sex, was shaved bald. Instead of a tangle of matted hair, or even a neat vertical strip on either side of my cunt-lips, my lower belly and my cunt were both bare. For the first time, Bud seemed surprised. I giggled. "Don't forget to take a picture," I reminded him. The camera, pointing toward my hairless genital cleft, whirred and whirred "One more should do it," I declared. Climbing onto my massive bed, I took up a position calculated to give every man who saw it the same thick, hard erection as the one Bud harbored in his jeans, kneeling, with my legs well apart, and resting the weight of my upper body upon my elbows. Behind me, my spread buttocks would reveal the tiny rosebud of my anus and the crescent curve of my cunt, perhaps including some of the tender, moist, pink flesh inside the parted labia. Whirr! Whirr! Whirr! Bud's camera hummed. "Thanks, Bud," I said, and, maintaining my pose, without turning to look at him, behind me, I added, "Why don't you get naked and join me?" Halfheartedly, he stammered, "Jen, y-you're my s-s-sister" "I'm also mouth, tits, ass, and cunt, and I need to be fucked," I answered. The coarse language did its trick, breaking down the last barrier in Bud's mind between society's prohibition of incest and his desire to make love to his sister, whose considerable charms were displayed to him as well as the goods in any candy shop had ever been exhibited. I felt the mattress dip, as my kid brother joined me in bed. I like sex. All kinds. Straight, gay, transgender, bisexual, group, you name it. I also like all kinds of sexual acts: anal, oral, masturbation, vaginal, whatever. Therefore, when Bud said, "Can I put it in your ass, sis?" I replied, "Any way you want to do it is fine with me, brother Bud." I kept a tube of lube in the bedside table, within easy reach. Stretching forward, I opened the drawer in the table, extracted the tube, and handed it to him. "Help yourself, honey," I told him. It felt strange calling my own brother "honey," I thought, but it also sounded sexy as hell. Breaking taboos always are sexy, and there's no greater taboo than having sex with a sibling unless, maybe, it's having sex with a parent. A moment later, I felt Bud's fingers rubbing the lube into my anus. His thumb slid through my asshole, several times, as he lubricated my sphincter. "Make sure you lather some of that onto your cock, too," I advised him. "I already have," he replied. His tone seemed to suggest that he'd regarded my advisory as both unnecessary and annoying. Men had such fragile egos. "Good," I told him, resisting the temptation of tacking "boy" onto the end of my compliment. My cunt was dripping with its own, natural lubricant. Sorry, Puss, I thought, but it's not about you today. I felt something smooth and thick slide between the cheeks of my ass. It felt like a slick pole. My brother's cock, I thought. He'd guided it into the furrow between my buttocks. A second later, I felt the press of his rubbery glans against my anus. His cock drove forward, slowly but surely, relentlessly, and the portal of my asshole opened, accepting him. Inch by slow inch, he fed his massive organ into my rectum, filling me with his stiff, swollen prick. I groaned as I felt his pubes rasp against the upper curve of my backside and his dangling balls press against the bottoms of my buttocks. He'd flattened my ass cheeks before his groin, and I felt his pubes firmly mashing my bottom. My brother, judging both from the outline of his genitals that I'd seen inside his tight-fitting jeans and the way that my ass felt crammed full of his cock, must be large--nine or ten inches, maybe. It felt wonderful to be stuffed full of Bud's magnificent dick. I'd have been happy just to feel the occupation of his cock within my bowels, had he decided simply to fill me, but, of course, he had no intention of remaining still for long, and, soon, I felt his thick, long organ sliding backward through my impaled anus. Retreating until only his glans remained within the portal to my bowels, propping open my skewered anus, Bud paused before lunging forward and driving his monster cock all the way up my ass again, through the snug asshole that surrounded its girth. His ramming pubes shoved hard against the globes of my firm-soft, sleek ass, flattening them for a moment before letting them spring back to fullness as he withdrew a distance of several inches, keeping my backside run through with his cock. With greater and greater force and increasing fury, he slammed his cock home, tugged several inches back through my anus, and thrust into me again--and again--and again--spanking me with his hips and groin, my buttocks bouncing under his repeated assaults. My lubricated asshole seemed both to slurp and to fart as my brother's cock slid back and forth inside its round embrace. Normally, I would have found such sounds mortifying, but, under the circumstances, in the present situation, I found them to be, instead, highly erotic. My pussy juices overflowed my cunt, washing my inner thighs, and my clit, hard and throbbing, pulsed and quivered within the soft rose petal-pink folds of its tender, fleshly hood. I moaned again, a series of grunts and groans joining the slurping, farting sounds. Bud's pubes slapped against my ass, his balls swinging against my perineum. Orgasm seized me, and I cried out, sobbing with the ecstasy that flooded me, groin and bowels alike. Great warm gushes of my cunt juices washed over my trembling thighs; my anus fluttered frantically about my brother's firm, pumping member; my clit and nipples, erect, ached; my heart pounded; and my lungs were like a pair of bellows working overtime. My belly heaved, and I cried out again, this time calling my brother's name. He slammed his cock as deeply as possible into my rectum, crushing my buttocks flat beneath us, and trembled, grunting, as he emptied his seed as far up my impaled ass as he could launch its lightning salvos. I felt the warm, thick semen trail from his softening prick as he pulled his shriveling cock, spent and exhausted, from my ass.