5 comments/ 71056 views/ 15 favorites Hannah's Need By: WithAuthority Thanks to Jeleane for last minute editing help. * Chapter 1: Beth's Awakening Hannah had been feverish and pale for two days. Her uncharacteristically pallid skin contrasted so completely with her long raven hair and her light blue eyes seemed so impossibly lucent from her high temperatures that she could easily have played a seductive Hollywood vampire or a gothic temptress in a racy music video. She was the very image of frail, aching beauty. Mom was reluctant to take Hannah to the clinic for fear of discovering, as so many others had, that her loved one had become afflicted by Redding's disease. Even today there are many unresolved questions about the illness and so few answers. In our hearts, we knew--even before receiving the shattering diagnosis--my older sister was in a long-term battle for her life. At times, the doctor informed us, Hannah would appear healthy but warned us against allowing this to engender false hope; over the lengthy course of the illness, she would need to take full advantage of these respites to recuperate her strength if she was to ultimately weather the intense, potentially fatal fevers. Being unable to afford so much as a part-time private nurse, let alone a bed in an extended care facility, Mom and I agreed that she would look after Hannah during the day when I was at school, and me in the evenings and late into the night while she worked at her casino job. It was hard to picture Hannah as anything other than lively, vivacious and carefree. Perhaps it was the three-year difference in our ages, or maybe our dissimilar personalities, but she and I had never experienced the intense dislike that can result from sisters living in close quarters. At the same time, we hadn't been particularly close. For as long as I can remember she had been the popular one, with tons of friends, no shortage of social engagements and guys coming out of the woodwork to try to catch her eye. Not me. I was shy, socially awkward, with only a handful of close friends. I don't think she knew how much I idolized her growing up. Hannah was tall and lithe, with long, shapely legs that I would have killed for. Her skin would not have been out of place in a cosmetics ad but there would have been no need for airbrushing. She looked amazing in everything she wore. She could rock casual wear and killed in skimpy beachwear. To me, however, she looked best in attire that accentuated her femininity, especially A-line skirts and summer dresses that emphasized her delicate shoulders and long, slender neck. As for me, if I was being extremely generous, I would have characterized myself as "not-quite Hannah:" a little shorter, with a slightly fuller figure that didn't look so good in absolutely everything; a hint of baby fat in my face and body; a smattering of infuriating freckles on my cheeks, nose and chest; and shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair that was not nearly as striking or dramatic as my sister's. People would comment that we had the same full, generous lips. I would sometimes stand in front of the mirror trying to make them look pouty and kissable. Mostly I just made myself look silly. * * * For the first few weeks, Hannah was weak and listless, staying in bed most of the time. We watched some movies in her bedroom, although more often than not she would doze off part way through. Mostly, we talked and laughed. Who knew that she could so quickly pinpoint the location of my funny bone and be so merciless in exploiting it? Mom had said to put on a brave face when I was with my sister but sadness was always far from my mind when we were together. Sometimes, in response to our conversations, she would put on a serious face and say, "Beth, you're so hard on yourself." Other times, she would get a far away look in her eyes and would apologize to me, saying that being there to care for her and keeping her company was ruining my social life. "What social life?" I quipped in response. When she became more insistent in expressing her regrets, I would turn the tables saying, "Don't be so hard on yourself. Hannah. Your company isn't that appalling." * * * At school, I gained a fair deal of attention to which I was completely unaccustomed. Everyone was curious about Hannah and those who knew her gave me cards, books and music to take to her. It was as if cliques and social barriers had never existed: Pretty, fragrant Cheerleaders took me in their soft arms and clung to me, although sometimes it seemed as if only when there was a large crowd was present to witness their grown-up compassion and dramatic reassurances. Even those girls with the reputation for being rude, stuck-up bitches would take my hand and gave it a squeeze. The first day back, Ms. Petrie, the matronly school counsellor, called me out of class. She is a plump lady with a prodigious pair of breasts that she was famous for employing to cushion the heads of her "wounded doves," as she called students with problems of any sort. In the counsellor's office reception area, where I briefly waited, I nodded my head to Sam, the school hard-ass, whose close-shaved blonde hair and even shorter temper were near legendary in the all girls' school. I'm sure she was there for some sort of disciplinary action, which was probably well deserved. "I'll give you twenty bucks if you tweak one of her nipples when she has you in the grip." "You're on," I grinned, hoping that I had achieved just the right tone to avoid her legendary ire if we should happen to run into each other again later in the day. I felt that not saying too much would minimize my chances of saying the wrong thing. * * * I had never experienced the "Petrie Pair," as they were known, but no sooner had I closed the door and sat down than she put her fleshy arms around me and pushed my face into her generous cleavage. "Just let it all out, sweetie," she said and I was surprised to find that the emotions of the last week overflowed, and I cried, large shuddering sobs, into her plus-sized rack. My hot tears and runny nose were making quite a wet mess of her boobs and I couldn't say how long I stayed pressed against her soft tits. After the much-needed emotional release, I began to feel a bit foolish pressed there against her wet mammaries. It was at this point that the image of me reaching up to quickly twist one of her nipples flashed in my mind and I couldn't help it as I let out a sharp laugh, which must have come out as a blubbery choking noise because she released me suddenly, thinking I was overcome. I looked down at the top of shirt, which I really had given quite a soaking. "Sorry about your shirt, Ms. Petrie," I sniffled I blew my nose while she looked at me appraisingly, using her own tissue to dab at the wet patch on her cleavage. "It's fine, dove. I keep a change of clothes here in my bureau. Many of the girls who have cried on my bosom over the years have left me positively dripping wet." Then, I almost did choke when she lifted her blouse over her head. To my surprise, she was wearing a sexy demi cup burgundy bra that must have had one hell of a strong under wire to support her heavy knockers so well. The tops of her areolae were peeking out over the bra's material. My own nipples stiffened at the sight. "I'm a little damp myself, Ms. Petrie." I was conscious of my mouth, at least, being suddenly very, very dry. I quickly wet my lips with my tongue, not taking my eyes off her mesmerizing knockers. "I like to make myself available to you sweet girls. It may surprise you to learn that the wicked girls here have taken to teasing me. They've made a little game of it. They try to pinch at my nipples when I'm comforting them. It's become so common that I was a little surprised when you didn't do the same." My brain was working so fast that my tongue tripped over itself as I tried to get something out: "I...I..." "Oh, you poor thing. You're still overwrought." "Come here," she said, opening her arms, "and don't hold back." Once again, she held my head tightly to her breasts. She stroked my hair. Now that I wasn't bawling my eyes out, her half exposed boobs felt wonderful against my cheeks and I moved my head with slight oscillations to increase the contact. I inhaled her scent, an arousing fragrance, partly a faded perfume, partly the intoxicating sour tang of sweat. I could just picture how sweaty the undersides of her heavy tits must get, the very thought of which made me even hornier. I have a bit of a weak spot when it comes to the body's natural aromas. I was pressed so tightly to the guidance councillor's chest I couldn't see if her nipples were as rock hard as mine, but she had practically invited me to pinch them. I moved my hand very slowly along her side—giving her the opportunity to stop me if somehow I had completely misread her—but she shifted to give me better access to her tit. I now had an up close view of her fully erect left nipple, just inches away from my mouth. I pinched her nipple through the material of her bra, rolling it between my fingers as Ms. Petrie sighed audibly. She let out a low moan as I pinch harder. My forefinger traced the very spot that my eyes had been riveted to earlier, where the top of her areola stuck out over the edge of her bra cup. I ran my finger along the tiny bumps on it, then under the top of the cup, slowly dragging my finger across the rigid mass of flesh underneath. My stomach fluttered with excitement. She whispered, "I don't know if you're all cried out, poor lamb, but let's not take any chances. I don't have a change of bra." She reached behind her back to unclasp the bra. I leaned back while she released her massive tits, revealing two succulent brown nipples. Her heavy tits were now supported on her soft round tummy. I was so turned on; I wanted to feel the full heft of those amazing tits. My eager lips locked on a nipple. I sucked greedily, having completely surrendered to my arousal. My panties were sopping wet. I slurped at one tit then the other. I wanted so badly to taste the sweat under her giant tits. I roughly grabbed one tit in both hands—lifting it away from her chest—and licked, starting at the bottom where her tits swelled from her well-padded ribs, up the pussy-watering curve of her delicious knockers, and back to the large stiff nipples. I inhaled deeply. The wonderful stench of tit sweat filled my nostrils. I had been tightening and releasing my thigh muscles to put pressure on my aching pussy. Ms. Petrie also began to squirm. Her engorged nipples were red, except for where my increasingly strong bites had left white teeth marks. My sensitive nose started to pick up the rising smell her arousal. I inhaled rapidly and deeply as I pulled on her teats, using my teeth to yank on the sensitive flesh. She continued to whimper with pleasure. I shifted onto my knees. The aroma of her excited pussy was making me dizzy. I clenched and unclenched my muscles faster to put more friction on my hot, sopping snatch. As I sucked at the old woman's fat tits with abandon I was on the verge of coming without so much as touching myself. All I could think was that I wanted to lick her nasty, smelly pussy. I wanted to inhale the warm stench of her sweaty cunt, let it fill my nostrils. I pictured my tongue parting her dew moistened cunt lips, lapping up her wetness. I shook with a powerful, rocking orgasm. Petrie also began to tremor with orgasm. My lips parted from her nipple with an audible suction. Her hand, I discovered, had been in her pants towards the end, stroking her plump pussy. I placed her wet fingers against my lips, sucking them dry, savouring her strong taste, as if sampling the delicacy whose aroma had made my mouth water in anticipation. The last of my energy was spent; the desire to bury my face in her pussy dissipated. It was as if my blistering passion and cold reason were two battling entities, the latter now regaining control of my being. Ms. Petrie leisurely put on her bra and top. I was unable to look her in the eye, as my rampant desire gave way to embarrassment and confusion. I stood to leave. She clasped me to her one last time and whispered in my ear: "I'm here for you, dove." Back in the outer office Sam had a folded twenty extended to me. Red-faced, I told her that I had chickened out. I was certain the tough butch dyke could read the traces of illicit lesbian passion in my face. She just winked at me and stuffed the bill into her phone case. * * * When I returned home after school, I felt I needed time to reflect on what had happened with the school counsellor, wanting to come to terms with the runaway lust that had overtaken me. I didn't have a problem with lesbianism. At my school, the senior girls were almost all fooling around with each other it seemed. I had kissed a few girls. They were tender, stolen kisses in the school washrooms, so sweet that I would often pleasure myself at night thinking about them. I would stroke myself with my left hand until it was covered in the scent of my moist pussy. I would finish myself off with my other hand, putting my pussy-sodden fingers under my nose to sniff my heady cunt smell. Other times I would stroke myself through my panties until they were damp before removing them and pressing them to my nose as I finger-fucked my hole, replaying the images of the sweet soft lips and eager tongues of the girls at school. I had never taken things so far though as I had today, and had, it seems, come close to taking things much, much further. The fact that it was with middle-aged, round bodied Ms. Petrie had me more than a little confused. I soon put the whole encounter with Ms. Petrie out of my mind when I caught the intense look of worry knotted mom's features; Hannah's fever had spiked. She kissed me on the cheek and said that she was going to call in sick at work. I knew we couldn't afford the lost pay and I finally convinced Mom that I could care for my sister and, it was better that I become more comfortable doing so before the worst of her illness hit. I would make sure that she didn't want for a thing and would do my damnedest to keep her spirits high. Over the next week, when Hannah's fevers continued to rise, I felt a shiver of fear in my spine and would have done anything to make her better. I piled on blankets when the chills hit, feeling helpless at her chattering teeth and violent shivers. I would stroke her hair and cuddle up to her to lend her my body heat. I became increasingly tired with worry and apprehension. When Hannah managed to catch some sleep, I would often nod off beside her. I would awake to her soft breathing on my neck, or feel her arm snaked around my middle and I only hoped that she felt the same intense serenity that I felt in these intimate moments. The flip side of the terrible chills was the blinding, burning fevers, accompanied by terrible sweats. Hannah would kick off her sheets and strip down to her underwear. Her skin was ghostly pale and, while it looked to be as cool as marble, was fiery to the touch. I found myself unable to resist admiring her gentle contours, sleek taut stomach and wonderful shapely thighs and calves. The sculpted curves of her breasts would draw my eye. I would turn away, embarrassed, only to find my eyes returning to them. Hannah could bear no contact when her fevers spiked, save for the gentle kisses I would plant on her forehead. I may not have wanted to admit it to myself, but I knew that the mix of sisterly appreciation and pride I felt when gazing upon Hannah's toned figure was tinged with ambiguity. I was certain that the sexual awakening that I was experiencing at school was fuelling my inappropriate thoughts about my sister. Every pretty girl was turning my head, and Hannah, sister or not, was the prettiest of them all. * * * One morning that week at school, I'd left class in the middle of English to pee, only to find Sam near the sinks, her posture aggressive, standing close to Jamie Harris, a cute blonde girl with frosty curls and a petite, elfin figure. Jamie tended to wear short skirts and I couldn't blame her. She had deliciously slender thighs, no thicker than most girls' arms, and small narrow hips that contributed to her innocent, fragile waif look. She was the reigning school princess of thigh highs and knee socks, and today was wearing the latter. Sam turned her head towards me. "Beth, thank fuck. This little piece of tail just turned eighteen today and, according to school tradition, I am entitled to a birthday gift. I want her sweet little panties." "I told her," Jamie appealed to me with exasperation, "I will give them to her at the end of the day, cause I'm not going around in this skirt without panties all day long." I had to smile that the terms of Jamie's surrender involved when to relinquish the panties, not whether it was going to happen or not. Wise girl. Sam was a terror. "While I appreciate that Ms. Harris's panties will smell even better by the end of the day, I am not, and have never been, a patient dyke." I knew that if they dragged me into this ludicrous argument over Jamie's undies, I was damn well going to pee my own. If necessity is the mother of invention, then not wanting to piss myself was the motherfucker of inspiration. "That's easy," I said, opening a stall door. "Sam, you take Jamie's panties. Jamie, I'm going to give you my panties, but first I have to pee." Sam held the stall door open, and both girls looked in as I lowered my jeans and squatted. Pissing, especially delaying pissing when you can barely hold it in to start with, can be extremely sensual. Pissing with a near bursting bladder, in front of an audience, proved to be even more so. I spread my knees wide as I pissed, wanting to feel naughty, to give these girls a raunchy peep show. What had happened to the reserved girl I had once been, seemingly an eternity ago? I closed my eyes and released my golden stream. My ass wriggled on the seat involuntarily. The release of hot urine sent a shudder of pleasure through me. The last satisfying dribbles of pee left me. I removed my cotton panties then wiggled back into my jeans, careful not to catch my reddish blonde pubes in the zipper. "OK, Harris, assume the position." Jamie put her hands on a sink and leaned forward so that her ass was pointing in the air. The short skirt rode up showing off the bottoms of her panty-clad ass cheeks. Sam flipped the rear of Jamie's skirt up onto her back. The way the younger girl was bent over provided an enticing display of her pubic mound, hugged in French-cut briefs that were pasted part way into her delicious cleft. Sam slowly lowered the panties, first revealing Jamie's tight puckered pink asshole, then her natural blonde bush and small tight pussy lips. She gave us a playful little wiggle. Jamie stepped out of the panties and Sam immediately put them to her nose, savouring the sweet smell of Sapphic victory. I bent down and had Jamie step into my underwear before raising them up past her knee socks and dainty thighs. They were far too big for her, looked baggy, but I was confident they would stay up. She sure wasn't going to be in the running for an after school job at Victoria's Secret though. "Now say thank you to Beth, Harris." It was as if Sam was Miss Manners and not the panty stealing terror of the girls' washrooms. Jamie turned to me with a tender look in her soft blue eyes. She pulled me into her and I had to bend down to meet her open mouth. As we kissed --sweetly, gently— she reached up to cup my tits, squeezing them softly. Everything about this girl was soft and sweet and delicate. Yet the thing that was burned into my mind was the image of her puckered little asshole and virgin-like tight box. Hannah's Need Ch. 02 Chapter 2: Samantha in Charge On Monday morning I was back at school but was disappointed not to see Jamie or Sam before the first bell. I owed Sam a debt of gratitude, not only for helping me arrange my meeting with Jamie at the end of the previous week, but also for being the one to bring us together in the first place. I checked out the washroom that had been the scene of our steamy encounter but it was deserted. Jamie wasn't in gym class. The teacher told me there'd been a death in Jamie's family—an aunt—and that she would be gone for the week to attend the funereal in Nova Scotia. The distance explained her lengthy absence but the romantic scenarios that I had been playing out in my imagination evaporated. I wondered if Jamie had been close to her aunt, if she was heart-broken. I wanted to be there for her, if she needed it, or simply to be with her if she didn't. In the locker room after volleyball, I felt my shyness reasserting itself, as if the wild, carefree me of the past few weeks was nothing more than an inexplicable deviation on a statistical chart. It was remembering what Jamie had said--how she and some other girls had rearranged class schedules so they could steal glimpses of my tits in the shower—that made me feel a bit uneasy. But I surprised myself by laughing off my self-consciousness, realizing how improbable Jamie's statement sounded; she must have simply been teasing. And if some of my lovely classmates wanted to see my goodies, I would put on a show that would leave them wet with desire. I stripped bare, placing my gym clothes in my locker. Girls were in various states of undress. Often, at bedtime, with my fingers buried to the knuckles in my dripping hole, it was images from the change room that filled my mind. It must have been growing up awkward and timid, I felt, that had factored in the development of my strong voyeuristic tendencies; I loved to take in the small details and distinctive traits of the locker room lovelies: a small gold cross nestled between tantalizingly firm, high tits; feminine backs, with their inexplicably sexy creases, tapering into narrow waists before flaring out again into sensuous curvy hips; the naughty promise of panty-clad mounds, sometimes smooth, sometimes sprouting mischievous, wispy little hairs, nestled against smooth creamy thighs; and taut coloured bra straps bisecting luscious, well-defined shoulder blades that moved with graceful fluidity. But now, here in the moment, my eyes lingered on Carla Harper, a tall brunette with a classic long-distance runner's body who didn't ever wear a bra her tits were so very small. Most girls teased her about them but I had always found them to be mouth-watering. They were sharp insubstantial bumps—high on her chest and far apart from each other—that tapered to delicate pointed nipples. Even with her undersized breasts, I found it hard to imagine her running long-distance braless without chafing her bare nipples. I wasn't able to avert my gaze in time when she looked up. I was busted, unable to so much as pretend that I hadn't been ogling her pert mouthfuls. Carla stripped off her green panties, the same shade as her eyes, and walked by me on her way to the showers. As she got closer, I willed her to pass by silently. Please don't say anything; please don't say... "Hey Beth, I should be the one checking out your tits." I flushed. "Hey, I'm just teasing. But I do have to admit that I am very envious of your perfect boobs. Don't get me wrong though; sometimes I feel like the only straight girl at this school." I followed Carla into the showers and stood under a jet of water, luxuriating in the warm water trailing down my front and back. I took a handful of body wash, closing my eyes while I lathered up my generous tits. I ran my fingers along their bottoms and over the nipples. I dragged my fingernails between my perfectly symmetrical full globes. If anyone had gone out of their way for a glimpse, who was I to disappoint? I swayed my hips to an invisible rhythm as the water cascaded off my exposed flesh. It occurred to me how much my body image had shifted over the past weeks; I no longer dwelled so much on my perceived faults and felt sexy, beautiful. I opened my eyes to discover at least one pair of eyes following my sinuous, sexy swaying; I smiled at Carla who didn't even attempt avert her gaze. She eventually turned away then looked back at me, over her shoulder, with her lovely emerald green eyes. "Beth, will you scrub my back." I grabbed a cloth from the shelves just outside the shower area and moved over to Carla. I slowly rubbed at her taut muscles, caressing her shoulder blades with the cloth, wiping along the curved contours of her sides and then balancing the cloth on my shoulder so I could use my bare hands to gently massage shower gel into her beautiful neck. I feel I'm a bit of an expert when it comes to neck massages: Mom always gets shivers when I end her massages with a neck rub; I tease her saying, "maybe I'd better stop; you're skin is so sensitive today." Mom would reply using my full name, which I knew meant business: "Bethany, don't you dare . . ." Carla, it seemed, had the same weakness for my caresses; I felt goose bumps rise on her wet, malleable flesh. I was so extraordinarily aroused by the way she responded to my touch. I ran my fingers through her dark, layered hair. It was reminiscent in style, colour and length to Mom's; only the novelty of its wetness seemed unfamiliar to my touch. Apparently it was my turn because Carla took the cloth and turned me with gentle pressure on my shoulders. I positioned myself so that the water pounded against my sensitive nipples. My skin craved her touch: shoulder blades, lower back, sides, shoulders, neck and arms; all responded to the wonderful caresses. I had noticed, in my peripheral vision, that a Chinese beauty named Jiaying had entered the shower area and had been soaping her crotch for an improbable length of time as Carla and I enjoyed our shared contact. In fact, on closer inspection, I saw that the lovely Asian had neither soap nor cloth in her hand. Carla reached around me to rinse the cloth in the stream of warm water and then, rather than returning to my back, cupped both my tits in her hands as her nude body pressed into me from behind. Soon the cloth had dropped to the shower floor, any pretence that she wasn't simply groping me had evaporated like the little soap bubbles in the drain. Her deft hands rubbed and stroked my tits, frequently brushing my sensitive nipples, which, it seemed, had spent more time erect than not in the past two weeks. I had lowered my hand to my slit and had started to stroke the doubly wet flesh when Carla abruptly stopped. She fled from the showers. I could just barely make out what seemed to be a stream of muttered apologies as she ran away. Jiaying wasn't sorry. Her steadily building orgasm finally tore through her compact body, her face beautiful as it contorted with pleasurable agony. For a second, the callous part of me counselled, to hell with Carla; I pictured Jiaying on her knees under the jet of hot water, her face pleasuring my sweet, needy honey pot. But instead I wrapped myself in a towel and went over to Carla who was in tears. "I was just curious," she avowed plaintively, more to herself than to me. Instinct told me that any physical contact, any attempt to touch or hold her was exactly the wrong thing to do. I just make comforting sounds and peppered her with hollow, meaningless reassurances. "Shhhh... it's okay. It didn't mean anything. We just got carried away. No one saw." Well, that part was a lie; just ask Jiaying's creamy cookie. "It was just a harmless little massage," I continued. "Nothing more." I truly hoped that Carla wouldn't beat herself up over it. I understood the crushing confusion and paralysing vulnerability of teenaged sexual identity. I knew all about doubts, about feeling inadequate. I had experienced depression and guilt and episodes of self-hatred. But I felt I was starting to come out the other side. Carla finally gave the tiniest hint of a smile. I gave her some privacy to get dressed. After a few days, I told myself, I would approach her to make sure she was okay. * * * At lunch I finally tracked Sam down and asked her if she would join me in the cafeteria. She preferred to go to a nearby restaurant, but I let her know that I couldn't afford that. "I'm glad you're not one of those rich little bitches, Juicy. I can't fucking stand 'em. Besides, when a butch asks a femme out on a date, who do you think is supposed to pay?" I laughed and we started to walk. Sam is a good four or five inches taller than me so I found myself having to look up at her. She was wearing tattered denim jeans, sick scuffed boots and a basic white tee that was so tight you could make out every detail of her taut braless boobs. She is lean but her arm and leg muscles are well defined. I wanted to touch her stomach to see if it was as tight as it appeared. Sam has an imposing black neck tattoo that starts below her earlobe and snakes down the side of her neck; it disappeared under her shirt at her collarbone. I hoped I would get the opportunity to see where else the sexy Amazon might be inked. As we walked, I pictured myself kissing the tattooed skin: starting at her ear, nibbling and licking its lobe, caressing the skin of her neck with my lips, licking my way down it, tasting her skin. My imagination lingered on the sensuous image of Sam lifting her t-shirt slowly over her head, the dark sinuous tattoo curling under her breast, rising up through the delicious separated cleavage of her apple-sized tits, swirling down again to her hard succulent nipple. Lost to my daydream, I was startled when Sam announced that we had arrived. When she looked at me with her penetrating, intelligent light grey eyes, with their playful hint of gentle amusement, I felt as if she could read deep into the core of my being, my thoughts laid bare. * * * The old Asian lady who came to seat us at the restaurant seemed extremely pleased to see Sam. She took her by the arm and led us to a secluded booth. I pored over the menu and Sam made suggestions as to what to I should order. It turns out she was an expert when it came to Vietnamese food, the foreign words rolled off her tongue with practiced ease. Although the prices seemed very reasonable, I didn't want Sam to spend much on me. She reassured me, telling me that they wouldn't take our money here; that she was like family. Her face suddenly took on a sober expression. "That was dumb of me, to let my secret slip. Now you won't feel obligated to repay my generosity with your nubile charms." I laughed. "Your date is very frustrated today, so you're going to have to beat her off with a stick." I explained how disappointed I was that Jamie was away and told her that a sweet thing had got me all wet in the shower and then left me high and dry. "Well I wouldn't beat you off with a stick, but I might get you off with my big black strap-on." "Promises, promises," I sighed. We had a wonderful meal. My companion was charming and funny. I'd done her a disservice all these years, playing timid bunny to her big bad wolf. Now I wanted to eat her up. She let me know that she lived close-by. Very close, it turned out. She led me up to the apartment above the restaurant. We sipped some red wine while Sam told me how she had run away at thirteen to escape an abusive stepfather and a drunken, worthless mother. She'd taken the bus as far as her money would allow. The cook downstairs had caught her dumpster diving out back for food. He'd gestured towards the kitchen door, indicating that she should go in. When he'd understood that she wasn't going to follow him, he'd motioned for her to wait. She had decided that as soon as he was out of sight, she'd disappear, fast and for good. But she'd still been there when the old man had returned, balancing a tray that held a bowl of steaming broth and a plate of what she'd later learned were steamed Vietnamese bun dumplings; she'd devoured the food. The old man had beamed at her, with his partly toothless grin, and had once again gestured for her to enter. Silent tears had started to roll down her cheeks as she'd followed him inside. The old man's wife had brought her hot tea and more delicious food. Sam had stayed on the street for another month, but the old man and his wife had fed her every day. One day, when the weather had turned bitterly cold, they wouldn't take no for an answer and had insisted that she stay with them, offering her their empty spare bedroom. She'd tried it overnight before taking off in the morning; she was not going to set herself up for heartbreak. She had tried to tough it out on the street but she was cold, lonely and scared. When she'd slinked back a week later, they'd welcomed her with hugs and smiles. She had lived there ever since. I cried at her story. It had been a difficult day for me and I was so worn down. Sam kneeled down and kissed away my tears. Her lips settled on mine. We didn't use our tongues, at first. I don't know where the expression take your breath away originated, but Sam inhaled slowly and deeply, taking the breath from my lungs into her own. It was magical. She took me by the hand to her bedroom. We made out on her bed for a while before I told her that I needed to come so very badly. I lay back as Sam—who was the first girl to ever lick my pussy—worked her tongue in and out of my cleft. She understood my urgency and quickly built me up to an intense rocking orgasm. I don't know if it was exhaustion or whether I had passed out. The next thing I knew, Sam was shaking me awake, telling me that I had slept for over two hours. She kissed me and said it was time to go take care of Hannah. Sam drove me home in the restaurant delivery car. She asked if there was anything she could do to help us out. I told her that Mom and I needed a night out, and wondered if she might be willing to look after Hannah for an evening. We agreed on the following night, as it was Mom's day off. * * * When I answered the door the next day, I was shocked to see Sam standing there in a nurses' hospital uniform. I was even more amazed to see she was wearing comfortable, sensible shoes, just like an authentic ward nurse. To complete her costume, she had a nametag pinned over her left breast that read Samantha -- RN. I'm sure my mouth must have been hanging open. The uniform looked great on her, especially the way its bland conventionality contrasted so nicely with her short-cropped blonde hair and stark black neck tattoo. "For some reason," she said, "all you girlies know that a vampire can't come in unless you invite her. Well let me tell you, princess, if you don't get the fuck outta my way--and I mean right fucking now—I'm gonna shoulder past you and I don't care how bruised your precious little titties get." That girl sure can make an entrance. I stepped aside and, once she was inside, gave her a warm, close hug. I stood back to take her in once again. "It's not an authentic uniform," she said, lifting the front to reveal her bare, bald pussy. "Most nurses wear panties." Mom, it turns out, had been behind us the whole time. That sure didn't seem to fluster Sam. "Sorry you had to witness me flashing your youngest my beaver, Mrs Corey." I choked. But that was nothing compared to what followed: "You have a very pretty, um... beaver, Samantha. Was the glimmer of light I saw down there a ring? Can I see?" Sam grinned and put one leg up on a nearby chair, spreading her pussy lips with her fingers. "Yeah I had my clit pierced." "Didn't that hurt?" Mom leaned in for a closer look. "Yeah it did, but for me that's more incentive than drawback" Oh my fucking god! Mom reached down and slowly lifted the ring hanging from Sam's clit hood and then ran her finger over her clit stud. "Thanks, Samantha. It's beautiful." At this point, I couldn't be sure whether she was referring to Sam's adornments or her cunt. Sam lowered her skirt and grinned from ear to ear. I guess I'm not the only one in our family with a talent for getting on Sam's good side. "Juicy, you never told me your Mom was a stone cold fox." Mom raised her eyebrow at my new nickname. I desperately wanted to change the subject. "What does the 'RN' stand for?" I pointed to Sam's nametag. "Replacement Nurse," Sam beamed. We briefed Sam on Hannah's care. My sister, thankfully, was having one of her good days. "Thanks so much, Samantha, for giving us the opportunity to have a night out." Mom stood on her tiptoes and put her arms around Sam's neck, planting a kiss on her cheek. I nearly passed out as Sam's hands cupped Mom's ass cheeks. * * * What a family of beauties, the two Corey girls and their Mom. I sensed that Hannah needed a break from the other two as much as they needed a night away from caring for her. I remembered Hannah from when she was a senior. She had always been crazy hot. But now she was unreal. Fuck me, that girl's skin is so amazingly...so very... Words failed me. Ethereal? Otherworldly? It was heart-breaking knowing that she was not likely to recover from her illness. I'd spent the day reading up, and so few did. I sat next to Hannah's bed, positioning my chair so that she would have a great view of my legs. And I'm not some demure stick-up-her-ass priss who sits with her knees locked together or daintily crossed. I sit like a guy—comfortably—slumped over with my knees wide apart. If my bare pussy was an open invitation, Hannah's eyes were a prompt and grateful acceptance. I don't like to dance around a subject: "With your Mom and sister constantly watching, when do you have a chance to get yourself off?" Her beautiful light blue eyes were firmly affixed to the hairless extravagance of my labial charms. "Hardly ever," she told my pussy. "I love them to death, but it's driving me fucking crazy stuck in this room. I'm so horny all the time. I used to get fucked every night. I miss sucking cock and eating pussy." I'm not one to make a girl beg. I take charge. I do what needs doing.... I wasted no time in straddling her face, positioned away from her so that I could dive in myself after a while. This girl was no stranger to licking snatch. I let her taste me, tongue my labia and asshole. She thumbed my clit as I ground my pussy against her mouth. I'd needed this since yesterday when Beth had passed out in my bed from the unholy dark power of my virgin-licking tongue. But her sister was making up for it today. I ran my finger along the crease of her slit through her black cotton panties. What kind of nurse would I be if I didn't tend to my patient? Moving her panties to one side, I exposed her delicious-looking vulva. I butterflied open her wet folds, running my fingers along the moist warmth of her depths. An appetizer before the main course, I brought my finger to my mouth, tasting the dew that coated the petals of her succulent lily. I slid my finger a bit deeper into her slick hole. When it was covered in her delicious damp, I brought it back to my lips. "Eat me," Hannah beseeched. "Lick my fucking cunt." She'd written the prescription and I bent down to fill it. My tongue stethoscoped into her delicious folds. She had a bolder, stronger taste than her sister, one that I ravenously sampled. Whereas Beth was fragrant and delicate, her sister's taint was powerful and heady, like my own private little Josephine. She and I came together, our faces buried in each other's pussies. Hannah's Need Ch. 02 She had said she missed being fucked—and I'd come prepared—so I strapped on and ploughed into her. My eyes couldn't get enough of her tits as I rocked into her. They were conical, the nipples puffy and thick, like fleshy extensions of the tapering, sloping tit flesh. The nipples were a vibrant red—the colour of strawberry jam—like a striking splash of vivid colour in an otherwise black and white film. I love a girl who looks into my eyes when I fuck her. I returned her passionate gaze, letting my hands take over the worship of her goddess tits. Each time I thrust up into her, she inhaled sharply. It had been a while for her and, not to brag, but I do have a very large cock. "Fuck me hard," she moaned. I complied, ramming deep into her. Each time I slammed up against her mound, it drove the back end of my strap-on against my clit. This made me fuck her even harder. Her mouth was gaping, her eyes wide and pleading as they looked into mine. She screamed out her orgasm. I was so close myself that I continued to pound her as she shuddered. She was bucking her head wildly from side to side, her long black hair flailing, a stray strand lying across her full, sensuous lips. My orgasm tore through me. Afterwards, during the TLC portion of my otherwise vigorous nursing, I held her in my arms. She began to cry. Hot girls in tears seemed to be cropping up all around me these days. "Are you scared? About being sick?" "Yeah, but that's not it." I waited. She would tell me or she wouldn't but that was her decision. "Mom and Beth have been great. I love them so much. And they never complain. Beth, she spends all of her time with me. She doesn't know how beautiful she is. And the way she looks at me sometimes..." She trailed off and was silent for a while. "I love the smell of hair. She's so soft and sweet. I've been so horny. The other day..." More silence. "The other day, she fell asleep in my arms. I held her so tight. We slept that way. When I woke up, I moved my hand so that it was cupping her tit." Tears were flowing down her cheeks. "And you feel guilty?" She nodded. I stroked her hair. "Yeah, but it's worse than that." "You took it further?" She shook her head sadly. "No. But I... I'm falling in love with her." * * * Mom loves horror movies. When she begged me to let her pick the movie I already knew she had her eye on a spooky ghost flick that had received pretty good reviews. I swear, it's like I'm the adult and she's the kid. I have to laugh cause she spends the whole time cowering and tense, screaming out loud, and that's only when she's brave enough to keep her eyes open. She grabbed my arm right away and clung to me, the anticipation of that first sudden scare had her pressed tight to me. I have to admit, I jumped too when the little dead girl popped onto the screen dragging her bloody teddy bear. I put my arm around Mom and she cuddled into me gratefully. Her hair smelled wonderful and I found myself a little distracted by how good it felt to have her in my arms. I tried to follow the film, but my mind kept returning to the image of Mom reaching up to touch the metal of Sam's clit ring and stud. Replaying it in my mind, I would now characterize the look in Mom's eye as longing, and was all but certain that Mom had been referring to Sam's pirate cache when she'd uttered that it was beautiful; the jewellery was just a glittering tease of the true treasure. Mom clung to me tightly. She peeked up at the screen from the safety of my arms, ready to bury her face in my shoulder. My eyes kept returning to her lovely features; I could see Hannah clearly in her traits and mannerisms. She smiled up at me and I suddenly wanted to lean in to kiss her. I took one of Mom's hands—clammy from fear—in mine. I pretended that I was trying to get comfortable, shifting so that her hand was in my lap, under mine. With my other hand, I grazed the side of her breast with my fingers. She didn't react so I got bolder and half-cupped the side of her tit. She just wiggled in closer to me. For the second time in recent memory, reason took a back seat to desire. I couldn't believe I was perving on Mom, but that didn't stop me for a second. The audience had jolted again, screaming, but neither Mom nor I had reacted. I wasn't the only one whose mind was no longer on the movie. Mom adjusted her hand so that it came to rest on my bare thigh, at the edge of my skirt. The movie could have stopped for all I knew. I was only aware of my hand on Mom's tit and her hand on my thigh. I slowly spread my thighs and Mom's hand moved in further, so that her index finger was touching the edge of my panties. My thumb brushed Mom's nipple, which was standing to attention, saluting the touch of her wicked tit-grabbing daughter who was soldiering on towards a forced capitulation. We were past the point of being able to pretend that it was just innocent contact. Mom moved her hand so that it rested against my overheated pussy. I didn't dare so much as breathe; I was scared that a sudden movement might cause Mom to withdraw her hand. The backs of her fingers brushed along the curve of my mound. The sensation of Mom's finger gently stroking me through the fabric of my cotton bikini briefs was electric. I began to move my hips, encouraging Mom to find a nice slow rhythm. Mom looked up at me, opening her mouth to meet mine. It was a bit awkward, the way we were positioned, so she turned towards me, her right hand taking over from the left, sliding inside my underwear, her middle finger tracing my swollen lips. Although my body ached for her touch, my mind struggled to process what was happening. Mom's tongue explored my mouth; her middle finger frigged my sopping pussy while my hand squeezed her tit. I thumbed her swollen nipple. I didn't care that what we were doing was wrong. It felt amazing and I abandoned myself completely. No one seemed to be aware of us making out. Our kisses were deep and insistent. Soon we were both short of breath. Our lips parted so that we could suck in air. I put my mouth to Mom's ear. "I love you, Mommy. Please make me come." Just the idea of my Mom playing with my pussy in the half-filled theatre was too much. Mom kissed my sensitive neck while she dragged her fingernail across my clit. Trying to suppress the shudders of my orgasm just made them more intense. "I love you, Beth. My sweet, sweet baby." We straightened up, and then adjusted ourselves so that Mom's legs were spread apart and my hand was on her thigh, under her skirt. If the anticipation of a horror scene could keep Mom on edge of her seat, I could just imagine what a slow tease would do for her. I stroked her thighs, careful not to touch her pussy. She placed a hand under my blouse and slid the cup off of my left tit. I slowly traced my finger along the line between Mom's thigh and her mound. Her fingers lightly brushed my nipple, the ephemeral contact telling me that two could play at the teasing game. Each time I moved my fingers closer to Mom's cunt, her fingers brushed my tit with slightly firmer contact. When I touched her slit through her underwear, she ran her finger firmly along my nipple. Then my hand pushed aside her panties and my fingers parted her wet labia; she pinched my nipple. As I stroked, she tugged. When I stuck a finger up inside her, she lifted my blouse and took my tit in her mouth. I brushed her swollen clit and she sucked my hardened nub. A woman across the aisle from us nudged her boyfriend and got his attention. I didn't care who was aware of our naughtiness; I wanted Mom to explode with pleasure. The man soon had his cock out and the woman slid off her chair onto her knees, facing us, as she took him into her mouth. Her luminous eyes peered up at us in the dark as she bobbed up and down on the long prick. I was glad that I couldn't make out too many details because that meant that they couldn't either. The next time that Mom jumped it wasn't a reaction to the movie but to my slick finger getting her off. Her loud moan coincided with an eerie wailing on the screen or else everyone would have turned to see her coming. We left the theatre before the movie ended. We both looked a bit dishevelled in washroom mirrors. I didn't know what to say, but I could read Mom's love in her eyes, and she in mine. Her mouth on my tit as I'd fingered her had made me hot again. I pulled her into the handicapped stall, begging her to get me off again. Mom pressed against me from behind, her mouth attacking my sensitive neck as one hand reached around to stroke my pussy, the other grabbing my tits. My orgasm was gentler, almost dreamy. Just as satisfying. We sat in the car after and kissed, gently. Mom broke the silence. "I guess it turned out to be an action flick." "I'd call it a steamy romance. Or a thriller... I can't wait for the sequel." Hannah's Need We broke off the kiss and she sighed and whispered, "I wish I had your juicy tits." Sam barked out a laugh and said, "Beth, you little minx, I was racking my brain to come up with a nickname for you. From now on you're Juicy. We both can attest to that after that little show you put on for us in the toilet." We all shared a laugh. Jamie and I left the washroom together. She promised to meet me after class, to return my underwear and to thank me properly. I squeezed her hand as we parted. I wish I'd remembered to tell Jamie that I needed to care for Hannah after school. I knew that I would only have about five minutes at the end of the day before I had to sprint for the bus. As luck would have it, Sam actually showed up for our afternoon biology class and I begged her to get a message to Jamie for me. Sam was a resourceful girl, and I was definitely starting to get on her good side. She gave me a mock salute, and said, "Right on it, oh Juicy one." Sam waved to the teacher as she left the classroom. She returned ten minutes later, handing me an office slip, excusing me from last period fifteen minutes early to get home to Hannah. "Miss Harris," she informed me, "and her delightful little ass, will meet you fifteen minutes before the end of classes in the ladies'." The last class was interminable as I daydreamed about the feathery touch of Jamie's soft lips. I left much earlier than my slip allowed for but the anticipation that was eating at me must have lent my face the appearance of worry. The teacher gently touched my shoulder and told me to go take care of my sister. The look of gratitude on my face was genuine and I hurried off to the washroom. Jamie was already there, also unable to wait for our appointed meeting of the mouths. I placed a hand behind her elegant elfin neck as our lips met with gentle, caressing kisses. When we came up for air, she passed me a note, written in Sam's rough script. It read: Juicy's gotta fuck off at the bell to play Florence Nightingale to her smoking hot sister. Meet her at 3:00 where your knickers got jacked. P.S. You smell tasty. We laughed and backed into a stall, closing the door. "I have to be quick. Can we finger each other while we make out?" I lowered my jeans before reaching under her skirt. The panties I had lent her were soon around her ankles. Her saliva-moistened finger found my even moister slit. She gave a little jump when my own finger brushed her clit for the first time. Her mouth tasted sweet, like a rare, sun-ripened tropical fruit. Jamie was the best kisser I had even been with, which is just the best cause I'm a very oral girl. I had never fingered a girl before but am the veritable bed-and-bath-queen of touching myself. It didn't take long to know I was hitting her sweet spot, not rushing her pleasure, but not teasing either. Sometimes a girl wants to give pleasure and sometimes a girl wants to receive it but for those fifteen minutes we found the perfect balance of both. Those kisses would be the benchmark against which all subsequent ones in my life would be compared. Jamie came first, spasming against my slick finger. My own orgasm bucked my pussy until it was too sensitive to stand any more contact. We both sucked the juices from our wet digits before she leaned into me, giving my earlobe a playful lick, whispering in a devilish little voice, "so juicy." She helped me back into my panties. Before we parted, she squeezed my hands in hers and looked deep into my eyes. As we shared one final deep kiss, I savoured the teasing faint trace of pussy on her tongue. "Next time I positively need to suck your tits. I've never seen a more perfect pair. I'm not the only girl who changed her schedule to be in your gym class." "You can soap them up for me, Jamie." I liked the way her name sounded on my lips. "Only if you let me do the same to your beautiful ass." * * * Mom was waiting by the front door to go to work when I got back, wanting to have time to sit down to a free bite to eat in one of the casino restaurants before her shift started. Her waitress outfit was designed to elicit tips and she was justifiably proud of her smooth, toned legs and high firm breasts. Her makeup couldn't quite conceal her tired, puffy eyes though. I held her tight, vowing to myself that we would do something fun together soon. "Sit for a second, Mom." I took her by the hand and led her to a kitchen chair. I massaged her tight shoulders, working at the knotted muscles, kneading her shoulder blades with my thumbs. Her long dark hair cascaded over my hands as I rubbed her neck. "Thanks, sweetheart. I really needed that." She kissed me on the cheek and rushed off. I sat and watched Hannah sleep fitfully, glad that her exhaustion had finally given way to sleep even though it broke my heart to hear her pained moans as she tossed and turned. She awoke several times. Before long, the discomfort of her high temperatures and soaking sweats overcame her modesty and she unclasped her bra, sliding it off and dropping it over the side of the bed. My breath caught in my throat as I looked upon her flawless, succulent breasts. They were not at all like my own, which are large, round and soft, the weight of them flowing and shifting as I twist or bend. My sister's were conical and upturned, surprisingly large on her delicate frame and gently sloping to end in full, fleshy nipples, bold flourishes of strawberry color against her alabaster skin. As she lowered herself back onto her pillow, it was as if gravity had no dominion over her boobs, they seemed so impossibly firm. I imagine that some sisters see each other's bare tits from time to time. I, for one, couldn't remember the last time I had seen hers. Hannah thumbed her panties down her past her knee before hooking her toe in the material to remove them completely. I saw that she had a neatly trimmed dark bush. Although I'd spent numerous hours over the past week studying her sexy figure, the thought of peering lecherously into her most private place gave me pause. I gathered up Hannah's underwear and refilled her water glass. I would need to ensure that she hydrate when she was fully awake; her body needed to replace the fluids she was sweating out so copiously. I had a change of sheets ready. I busied myself with a hundred little tasks, not trusting myself to keep from gawking at my nude sister. Hannah's fever broke around midnight. I helped her to the bathroom and changed the bedding. After I had helped her into a loose fitting nightshirt, I watched her drink, ensuring that in her thirst she didn't gulp down the water too quickly. I put on an oversized t-shirt and crawled into bed beside her. As we spooned I could feel the smoothness of her arms as she wrapped them around me. I began to stroke her soft skin as we both began to drift off to sleep. I stirred, slumber slowly receding, and was content to find Hannah still asleep, her deep, even breathing tickling my neck. She was still spooned against me, her arm draped over my side, her hand cupping my right breast. The contact with my boob was near indescribable; the best I can do is to say that it was as if all of my nerve endings were located in that one electric tit. My nipples went instantly hard, aching. I sighed, wiggling closer into my sister. I closed my eyes and was deeply content, wanting the moment to last forever. "Good morning," she whispered, ten or twenty minutes later. Her hand still cupped my tit. "Morning," I whispered back, over my shoulder. She stretched against me, her hand gently squeezing my tit as she did so. She nuzzled into my neck, softly kissing it. I can't say how long we stayed that way; it seemed at the same time to be endless and far too short. Hannah's thumb absently brushed against my nipple. I inhaled sharply. "I have to pee," she said, releasing my breast. I helped her up, but she was stronger after a solid sleep and made her own way to the bathroom. "I must smell like a locker room." Nothing was further from the truth. She'd smelled partly of sun-baked beach flesh and partly of sweaty skin after a long run in hot, humid weather. I don't know why some scents are so powerfully arousing to me, but that was a secret my sister didn't need to know—not if I didn't want to supply her with fodder for endless ribbing. "Nah," I teased, "more like a Delhi marketplace." I drew Hannah a hot bath. Before long Mom had returned. I fixed her some eggs and then sent her off to sleep. I was glad that it was the weekend so she could catch up on her sleep while I tended to Hannah. While my sister bathed and my Mom slept, I lay on my bed with my nose buried deep in the panties that Jamie and I had shared. I quickly make myself cum, my mind filled with the recollection of Jamie's soft kisses, her hot ass with its puckered little pink button and, to my shame, my sister's firm, sloping, cone-shaped tits.