0 comments/ 156098 views/ 22 favorites Hot Stuff By: Cal Y. Pygia I started noticing my kid sister when she started "busting out," which was just before she turned twelve years old. Before, she was a carpenter's dream--you know, "flat as a board and never been screwed." I didn't want to screw her, not when she was twelve and I, her senior by two years, was fourteen, but, "flat as a board" or not, once she'd begun to "develop," my eyes were all over her, all the time. I saw a tee shirt in a novelty shop. On the front, big, block letters demanded, "Watch This Space!" Thinking of sis, I almost ejaculated, right then and there. As it was, I had a rock-hard cock that I couldn't hide, and a couple of chicks giggled as I passed them, their boyfriends giving me hard, menacing looks. Although I'd thought of buying the shirt, I didn't, because Karen (that's my kid sister) would never have worn it and because, even if she would have done so, my parents would have made her change it. There was no way they'd allow her to parade around town in a tee shirt like that. People can be so narrow minded! Especially when it comes to anything sexual, whether it involves actual sex or not. Take my ogling my kid sister, for example. My parents would have gone ballistic if they'd caught me feasting my eyes on Karen's breasts (which, when she was twelve were beestings only a little bigger than her nipples, which sometimes poked out under her blouse when she wasn't wearing the training bra Mom had bought for her). That's why, when I ogled Karen's tits, I first made sure that Mom and Dad (a) weren't home or (b) weren't looking. My kid sister noticed, though. I mean, how could she not? I was stared at her boobs every chance I got. "Ben!" she'd chastise me. "What?" I'd ask, my tone of voice as innocent as my facial expression. "Stop looking at my boobs!" she'd demand. I'd act outraged. "I'm not looking at your boobs," I'd shoot back. "You don't have any boobs to look at!" I noticed that Karen never told either of our parents that I was ogling her breasts. I noticed, too, that, more and more, she went braless in my presence, now that Mother Nature had activated her breast buds. It was obvious to me that she wanted me to look, that she welcomed my attention, that she, in fact, solicited my observation. I was only too glad to help her out with that. * * * After Karen's breasts had developed to a size and shape more like softballs than beestings, she wore a bra--a real one, not a training bra--and she didn't shadow me as much. Then, at fourteen, a high school freshman at last, she didn't have much time for me or anyone else in the family. She was always coming or going, it seemed, on a date with a guy or out with her girlfriends. I still watched her tits, though, every chance I got. * * * At fifteen, she was sleeping over at her girlfriends' houses or having them over to spend the night with her, and, suddenly, our house was full of fresh, young pussy. The problem was that all the pussy was also jailbait. It's not against the law to look, though, and I looked, believe me! Karen and her friends pretended innocence, but there was nothing innocent about the way they'd sash shay back and forth in their skimpy bikinis and sexy negligees, parading their tits and asses in front of me whenever Mom and Dad were elsewhere in the house. Neither Karen nor I have a bathroom attached to our respective bedrooms. We have to share one at the end of the hallway, opposite the master bedroom. One night, while Karen was entertaining her girlfriends, I was in bed, in my birthday suit, which is what I wear to bed, instead of pajamas, jacking off to a fold-out of a naked chick not much older than my kid sister, when my door opened, and I saw one of Karen's girlfriends--Emily Scott, I think her name is--walk in, wearing a frilly bra-and- panty set and nothing else! She made me forget all about the chick in the magazine. She walked a few steps deeper into my room, into the circle of light cast by the lamp on my bed table. Her eyes widened at the sight of fist curled around my erection--I'd left it in place on purpose, so whoever it was who'd invaded the sanctuary of my bedroom would get a peek at a sight to remember--and she gasped, "Oh! I'm sorry!" She turned and fled, showing me her firm, round pair of buttocks. I smiled, shooting my load, sorry only that her visit had been as brief as it had been and wondering whether her entrance had been planned or accidental. Surely, she'd known that Karen's room was opposite mine, on the other side of the hallway. After all, she'd spent the night as one of Karen's guests several times before and, chances are, she'd have had to go to the bathroom during at least one of these previous occasions. * * * For her eighteenth birthday, last week, I'd splurged and bought my kid sister a digital camera. She'd been delighted. "Thanks, Ben!" she'd cried, kissing me on the cheek. It had been just a peck, but, in delivering it, she'd pressed her sleek, soft bosom against my upper arm, and a thrill, like electricity, had shot through me. "I thought you might want to use it during your next sleepover," I'd suggested. "I don't have sleepovers anymore, Brad. In case you haven't noticed, I'm eighteen now. I'll be graduating from high school in a couple of months. I'm a woman now." I'd noticed, all right. "I'm sure you'll find a use for it, sis," I'd said, with a wink. She'd smiled. "I will," she'd answered. * * * I knocked on the door to Karen's bedroom. "Come in," she called. I turned the knob, opened the door, and entered. "You want to see me, sis?" She was seated on the edge of her bed, wearing a halter top, short shorts, and, as far as I could gather, nothing else. Holding her digital camera in one hand, she patted the mattress beside her with her other hand. "I want you to see something." Accepting her invitation, I crossed the room and sat next to her on her bed. Had Mom and Dad been home, instead of in New York for the weekend, I wouldn't have sat hip to hip and thigh to thigh with my kid sister, our upper arms touching. In fact, I wouldn't even have been in her bedroom, both because she wouldn't have asked me to join her here and because, even if she had, I wouldn't have had the nerve to do so. "What do you want me to see?" She handed me her camera. "These." I nearly dropped the camera when I saw a digital images of my kid sister, completely naked and provocatively posed. My eyes widened and my mouth gaped. "What the hell?" Karen chuckled. "Do you like what you see, brother Ben?" How the hell does a guy answer such a question, when it pertains to his sister's naked body? "Uh, I, ah, I mean, uh--" "Well?" she demanded. "Do you?" My hesitancy and my non-committal mumbling seemed to have angered her. Maybe she felt insulted by my diffidence. "It's hot," I managed to croak. "Which one is the hottest?" "Which one?" "There are several," she pointed out. I advanced the images, staring at each picture of my lovely young sister, naked and unashamed, her crescent eyes sparkling with mischief above a dazzling, inviting smile. "It's hard to say," I ventured. Then, I did drop her camera as I felt my kid sister's hand creep over the bulge of my stiff, swollen cock. Through my jeans, she stroked my erection, her fingernails scratching lightly, but insistently, at my balls, inside the tight, risen pouch of my scrotum. "It's 'hard,' all right," she agreed. I swallowed. "Karen, don't--" She chuckled. "'Don't': isn't that what I used to say to you, dear brother, when you'd stare at my boobs?" "That was a long time ago," I reminded her, "and, even then, I only stared; I never touched." With her hand still on my prick, through my jeans, she half-turned, leaning into me, and I felt her firm-soft breasts press and flatten against my arm. "I wanted you to," she whispered. Her breath was hot upon my neck, and I felt my cock stiffen further. No doubt, I thought, she must feel it, too, with her hand. "Sis, I--" She interrupted me with a confession: "Emily took those pictures of me," she declared. "Emily Scott. The same girl who wandered into your room by 'accident,' a couple of years back." She paused, before adding, "Emily was naked, too, when she took these pictures of me. In fact, we'd just finished eating each other's pussies, and we were both still dripping wet." I removed her hand, but it was back again, instantly, and it squeezed my cock and balls through the coarse denim fabric of my jeans. "Emily didn't confuse your room with mine," she told me. "I sent her there." I tried to pry my kid sister's hand from my genitals, but she held on for dear life. "Why?" I found myself asking. Karen laughed. "To see what she could see and report back to me." I looked at her, shocked. She laughed again. "Don't act so stunned, brother dear. You wanted to see my tits, even when I was twelve years old and they weren't much more than beestings, didn't you? Well, here's a bit of news for you, Ben: girls, even sisters, are curious about boys, too--even their brothers." I made another attempt, no more successful than the first, to remove her hand from the bulge at my crotch. "Karen, this isn't right." "Emily is gifted with a talent for description--she's published several short stories--erotic ones--and she didn't disappoint me when she told me--and my other overnight guests, of course--what you look like--" she gave my cock and balls a playful squeeze and shake--"down here. You're at least eight inches and circumcised, thank God--or thank Mom and Dad, I guess I should say--I hate uncut cocks--and you have a birthmark in the rough shape of a Valentine's Day heart on the upper side of the shaft. Your balls are of a medium size, neither too big nor too small--at least, to Emily's liking--and, the night she walked in on you, you were masturbating over a picture of some naked chick in a magazine. You came, too, right in front of Emily-- gobs and gobs, she said." It was hard for me to believe that any of this was happening, that I was sitting next to my sister who, dressed in nothing more than a bra-and-panty set, had her hand draped over my stiff prick and bunched balls, and was describing, in detail, and with complete accuracy, the appearance of my pecker, including the copious ejaculations that I typically produce. It was incredible, but I couldn't deny the squeezing, rubbing, jiggling of my penis in her palm. "I've wanted to see it for myself, ever since," Karen admitted, "just like you've always wanted to see my breasts." She smiled. "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours." * * * One thing led to another, as the cliché says, and, before we knew what was happening, as another cliché says, we were in bed with one another, and we were both naked; I was hard and thick, Karen soft and tender. I wanted our first time to be with my cock in her cunt, but she insisted upon being butt-fucked, so that's what we did. Karen positioned herself on her elbows and knees, her creamy thighs spread well apart so that I could see the tiny, puckered opening to her bowels between her sleek ass cheeks and the crescent curve of her shaved pussy between her legs. I knelt on the firm mattress behind her, and let my eight inches slide through her pussy lips and into the wet center of her sex. That's when I'd first learned of her intentions. "Ben," she'd declared, "I want it in my ass, not my cunt." I plunged my prick into the depths of her wet, tender pussy. "Ben! Did you hear what I said?" Karen demanded. "Relax," I replied. "I'm just getting lubricated." "Oh." I smiled. If my kid sister wanted our first time to be anal, rather than vaginal, I was certainly willing to accommodate her. Easing back, I let my penis slide free of my sister's pussy and inserted it between the spread cleavage of her satin-smooth ass. The shaft pressed past the inward-curving cheeks, meeting the stout resistance of her sphincter. "Fuck me, Ben," my kid sister urged. I intended to do just that, once I'd managed to penetrate her, and, clutching my hard-on in my fist, I rammed my hips forward, driving my stiff, swollen cock through the snug opening to her bowels. Several inches crammed her bottom, and her anus, alerted to the invading member's presence, began to flutter frantically. "Uh!" Karen moaned. "You're so big, Ben!" It was flattering to hear her complaint, I thought, shoving another inch of my rigid manhood into her bottom, but her perception of my apparently huge size might be more the result of her anal virginity than my organ's actual dimensions, not that eight bloated inches of prick are inconsiderable. Now that I'd parted the circle of her anus, the portal widened as I pressed forward, more and more of my cock vanishing inside her impaled orifice, until, at last, my erection was buried inside my kid sister to my very balls. For a few moments, the wild contractions of her asshole continued, but, as her sphincter relaxed, accepting the presence of my invading manhood, her anus expanded, widening, and I was able to fuck my kid sister in the ass as easily as I'd been able to thrust my prick into her pussy. Back and forth, I moved my hips, faster and with more force each time I drove forward, into the cushion of my sister's flattening buttocks, driving my cock all the way into her rectum until only my balls remained outside her bottom, pressed firmly against her perineum. Before me, as my pubes and thighs slapped her arched buttocks, she thrust backward, to take my penis as deeply as she could into her ass, and rocked forward again every time I momentarily withdrew my prick, preparatory to another lunge forward into her rectum. Her breasts swung beneath her, and her fingers stroked and worried the hard nub of her clitoris, within its wet, slick hood, at the top of her liquid cunt. She punctuated the sounds of my groin's slapping of her ass with her heartfelt moans and groans, shoving her skewered ass back, to meet the advance of my cock as I fucked her ever harder, ever faster, and ever more furiously. Her squeals and cries were as music to my ears, and I took delight in knowing that it was my slams into her ass, my rams through her anus, and my cock, cramming her bowels, that elicited these wild sounds from the depths of her soul. I looked down, past my belly, to watch my prick, stiff, swollen, and long, vanish between her stuffed buttocks and reappear, again and again, as I pounded her skewered bottom, and the sight of my prick, fucking my kid sister, was so incredibly erotic that I was unable to control myself. Feeling the onset of orgasm and knowing I was mere moments from ejaculating, I drew my cock out of her ass and free of her anus, wanting to spend my semen over her buttocks and thus leave the mark of my seed upon my sister, as though it were a brand with which I'd claimed ownership of her. My semen launched from my convulsing cock, and, gasping and groaning, I watched the thick, white seed splatter over my kid sister's ass. Thick ropy white tendrils decorated the smooth mounds of her perfect, pink buttocks, and lines of the sticky substance began to drip, as slow as syrup or molasses, down the firm globes of flesh and along her shapely thighs. Another, even more copious, blast of my semen splashed the upper portions of her buttocks, sprayed the cleavage between those lovely orbs, and shot along her spine. A third streamer likewise anointed her back, rather than her backside, but the fourth, fifth, and sixth salvos discharged upon her sperm-slick bottom. I gritted my teeth as an overwhelmingly intense, pleasurable surge of passion launched itself through me, and three more spurts of semen spattered against my kid sister's flesh, decorating her thighs and perineum and, again, her sperm-smeared buttocks. I fell forward, my cock sliding down, between her thighs, along her labia, and into space, its last blasts of semen spraying her mattress as much as her body, and lay atop her, gasping, my strength entirely depleted, along with the store of my seed, a film of sweat--hers and my own--between us and my heart beating wildly beneath the blades of her shoulders. * * * When I'd recovered enough, we made love again, this time with me spewing my seed into her pussy, across her tummy, over her breasts, and down the sleek surface of her inner thighs, and we made love again--and again--and again. After all, we had the whole house to ourselves for the entire weekend. Finally, after I couldn't get it up again and my balls were dry, we sat up, side to side, on the edge of her bed, both of us wet with her juices and my sperm, and looked at the digital images of my kid sister, naked, in various seductive poses, and Karen asked, again, as she had asked before: "Which one's the hottest?" "They're all hot," I told her, truthfully, "but none of them is as hot as you." Hot Stuff The first time that I remember giving my future husband a glimpse of my true exhibitionistic nature was our first summer dating. I was 18 and he was 19. I had purchased a flowered mini dress that had a pair of white short shorts that went with it. The dress was so short it was obvious when I tried it on at the store; whatever was worn underneath would be on show. I am sure that is why I was so drawn to it. The first time that I put it on at home, my mother said with a bit of shock in her voice, "E, Your dress is too short to wear outside. You can't wear that on a date." I responded by lifting up my dress and showing my mother the white short shorts saying, "Mom, What's the big deal? I have shorts on underneath." She still thought my dress was too short. I loved that it was. I found myself resenting being told what to wear or what was too short. I heard this all day at the all girl's high school that I attended and was tired of everyone else's opinion of what was proper. My husband arrived for our date and as I walked out to the car with him, he also remarked at how short my mini dress was, and wondered if I was comfortable wearing it. When we got into the car I pulled up my dress and showed him the white shorts underneath. This was easy to do, since the simple act of sitting down brought the mini dress to the top of my legs. He seemed more relaxed with how short my dress was, however again I felt the resentment build in me as to what may or may not be proper. I silently seethed and thought that I was now an adult woman and should have free rein over my choices. No one else should have control over what I wore. We were going to a movie and then getting a pizza for our date that night. As both my mother's and my husband's comments reverberated in my head, I felt my rebel self take over. Once we got about a block away from my parent's house, I pulled my mini dress up to my waist, grabbed the waistband of the white lycra shorts, lifted my bottom up off of the car seat, and pulled my shorts down my legs and off. I threw the shorts into the back seat and said, "I prefer my dress without the shorts on," with a look of disdain that dared my husband to challenge me. I was wearing a pair of little, bright red nylon bikini panties with the words, "Hot stuff" and little orange and yellow flames embroidered on the front of my left hip. My husband had the biggest smile on his face and at the same time was concerned about my exposure. I very confidently told him that I didn't care if someone else saw my panties as long as he was getting the best view. My mini dress was so short that just sitting still in the car showed a teeny peek of red. When we got to the parking lot of the theater, my husband came around to my side of the car to open the door for me. I moved my right leg out of the door to get out, with my left leg still inside the car. I could tell by the look on his face that he had a very good look up my mini dress as well as a full frontal view of my panties. I reveled in the feeling that came over me as he stared at my exhibition. I loved all of the looks that I was getting from both guys and girls as we walked into the theater, bought our tickets and refreshments and settled into our seats. As the lights went down and the movie started, I pulled my mini dress up over my panties and left it there for the entire movie. Every time the lights on the movie screen got bright, the embroidered words "Hot stuff" and my flames glowed. I felt so alive and sexy. I didn't think that anyone else could see, since we were in a row by ourselves, and at the same time didn't really care. When the movie was over I pulled my mini dress down and we left for the pizza place. When we arrived, I received the same looks that I had seen at the movie theater. They could all be pretty much summed up by "Wow, that dress is short," and "I think I just saw her panties". We sat down and ordered. I knew that unless I had my legs crossed and my hand on my lap that my panties would show. I did keep my legs crossed as much as possible as I was able to tighten my thighs and squeeze my inner leg muscles resulting in a delightful feeling in my lower region. I also found that if I rocked my top leg back and forth the feeling intensified. However I didn't do a very good job of keeping a hand on my lap, as I am not an expert at eating without using two hands with pizza. As I became quite excited by the constant motion of my legs, I knew that I needed to stop before my exhibitionism turned into a version of the restaurant scene in "When Harry Met Sally" although my orgasm would be authentic. As I uncrossed my legs, I could easily tell by the look in people's eyes, which ones could see up my dress and I enjoyed looking at them right in the face until they looked away. You guys can be so obvious. Getting up to leave offered even a better view of my legs and panties, and I purposely looked right into the eyes of those with the best view to let them know that I knew what they could see. I swear that I even saw one young man mouth the words "Hot stuff". I was having the best time, and smiled all of the way out of the door. When my husband dropped me off, he asked me why I was so daring that evening. I told him because it was something that I wasn't supposed to do, and I was tired of being told what I should or shouldn't do. I was starting to become my own person and being and feeling sexy was a major part of me. I believe all of my religious schooling with its long list of dos and don'ts came home to roost that night.