13 comments/ 56899 views/ 24 favorites Sarahndipity By: Blannister Sarah felt her husband's hand snake under her pajama tops and caress the curve of her waist. She had her back to him, and her eyes opened in the darkness of the night. She had not been close to going to sleep, so there was no reason for irritation. She sighed quietly, and waited for John to move his hand up to his breasts, as he always did. He would rub one, then the other for a minute or two, then do a few lazy circles of her nipples. Then he would slide his hand down under the waistband of her bottoms, in the futile hope that she might be wet. She wouldn't be, so he would rub her for a while, and eventually scoot down and lubricate her with his tongue, and that did generally get things going enough to make intercourse comfortable. Still spooning her from the back, he would slide whatever erection he had into her -- sometimes he was hard and ready, but more often, it felt like being fucked by a distracted chimpanzee. He would rub himself up and down eight or ten times, and then, with a muted grunt -- a noise control habit left over from when they still had kids at home - he would come in a couple of noticeable shudders. He would lay inside her for a minute or two, until she said, "Ummmm...that felt so good." Then he would roll over and sleep soundly while she continued staring into the darkness. She wondered how often, in twenty eight years of marriage they had done this -- 2000 times? 4000 times? She remembered the old adage that if you put a penny in a jar every time you made love the first year of your marriage, and took a penny out of the jar every time you made love after the first year, you would die with pennies still left in the jar. John's hand moved predictably to Sarah's breast. She wondered when, exactly, they had stopped kissing as a prelude to making love, and when talking had become nonessential. Probably around the time she stopped getting wet when he touched her. She felt bad about that; knew it was an undeniable sign of disinterest, but she had convinced John that her change of life was happening early, and her hormones were out of balance. John seemed much more comfortable with that explanation than he had the time she'd actually tried to talk to him about their sex life. It had taken her weeks to screw up the courage, and then when she brought it up, he shut down totally and said he did not want to discuss it. His hand moved down under her pajama bottoms and massaged her pubic bone, and outer lips. She smiled in the darkness, because that still felt good; the tingly feeling of massed neurons springing into action. If he was just a little patient, between his rubbing and her imagination she could probably work up enough lubricant to get the job done, but if she wasn't dripping wet in twenty seconds, he just eased on down and sped things up with his tongue. She didn't enjoy that as much as she might have. Sure enough, John was already edging down through the covers, pulling her pajama bottoms down as went. He nibbled on her thighs a little before turning his full attention to her unenthused pussy. It felt nice enough, to be sure, but there was just something too...businesslike about it for her to let loose and concentrate on how it felt. In her heart, she felt that someone putting his tongue up her twat should be an act of greater intimacy than just normal fucking, so when she felt the tongue but not the intimacy, it was like a gin and tonic without the gin -- a little bitter, and not at all what she'd hoped for. She rubbed her hand absently through his hair as he licked her. In fairness, John was very generous if not overly skilled. She didn't understand why even though everything up to this point had been about her, it felt somehow like it was about him. Even now, he had no clue that he stroked her clit too directly to be exciting, he couldn't get in to any kind of rhythm that would build, and after a few minutes, when she could sense there was nothing happening for her, she tugged on John's hair to come back up and take care of business. "Did you come?" John asked, as he scooted up behind her. "No," she said truthfully, but then went on to lie, "but I'm so close, I just need you inside me." With that amount of encouragement, he spooned up against her, pushed his penis a little ways into her, and took gradually longer and longer strokes. He wasn't particularly big tonight, which tended to make him last a little bit longer, but it was a mixed blessing, because it didn't feel as good either. After a dozen strokes, she felt him stiffen up, and then give his muffled sob for a couple more thrusts. That was her cue to moan in ecstasy. Afterward, just before John fell asleep, she murmured "Ummm.....that felt so good." She continued to stare off into the darkness. Sarah felt guilty for even wondering if she was unhappy. John was responsible, a great father, successful, had always provided for the family, was slow to anger, and had always given her encouragement to pursue her interests. He never hit her, he helped out with housework, and didn't have any particularly irritating vices. In fact, John seemed to have it all so together, Sarah suspected he didn't really need her at all. At times when her heart felt the emptiest, she recalled the words her mother had once shared, which seemed cryptic at the time: "The opposite of love is not hate, Sarah. The opposite of love is indifference." At forty eight, Sarah had been married to John for twenty seven years, and she knew they stayed together because it was easy. They lived together out of habit, they shopped out of habit, they fucked out of habit. Sarah had dedicated a goodly amount of those twenty seven years to raising kids, but now the kids were gone, the nest was empty. Maybe it would be better when grandchildren arrived, but for now, there was only routine. Sarah had been thinking about this long enough to know that within her was still a spark that wanted to burn, and that she still had a soul. Unfortunately, she'd also realized that she didn't have a soul mate. "Are you sure you don't want to join us?" Sarah asked. "You haven't seen Michael in what, four years?" John shook his head and smiled. "No, you and Michael need some time to catch up. You guys have so many inside jokes and shorthand memories, it's not even fun being with you the first night. Maybe tomorrow, if he's still in town." Sarah's fraternal twin, Michael, had emailed her two days ago that a business problem required an emergency trip to Minneapolis, and could they get together for dinner? She had accepted without hesitation, knowing she would break any commitment she might have. The thought of being able to talk to Michael was warm, like the thought of wrapping in a comfy blanket, or laying in front of a fireplace in January. They had been inseparable as children, closer than friends as teenagers, and were confidants as adults. Time went by, but they continued their conversations wherever the last one ended. "Okay," she said, as she gave her husband a peck on the cheek. "I don't know how late we'll end up being. Don't wait up." "Call me if you're not in condition to drive," John said, in a simultaneously understanding and judgmental tone. "I will gladly come and get you." Sarah didn't drink much, but when she was with her brother, she tended to over imbibe, often deep into the night. It wasn't so much that she enjoyed drinking, it was that she didn't notice how much time was passing. "Thank you," Sarah responded. "I doubt that it will get real late. Michael has client meetings in the morning." She called his cell on the way to the hotel. "What room are you in?" she asked. "I'll come by and pick you up and leave my purse in your room if that's okay. " When Michael opened the door to room 931, Sarah's smile could not have been more radiant or sincere. They exchanged mutual cheek kisses, and then hugged. Hugging was what Sarah always looked forward to, because Michael had a way of hugging her close that made Sarah feel he was literally going to pull her into his flesh, yet without any mutual pressure on any awkward areas. She just held on tightly, and sometimes wished he could pull her into his flesh. "How are you, Sarah?" Michael asked finally, pushing her back to arm's length. "I guess you can't wait until tomorrow, eh?" "Tomorrow?" Sarah asked uncertainly. "Why?" "'Cuz you get better looking every day." He grinned at her. She shook her head. "I can't believe I fell for that line again. I am such a dolt. " "You're not a dolt. You're a genetic oddity. Women are supposed to lose their looks with age; you get prettier." Michael was, in general, a smooth talker, but in this, he spoke the truth. Sarah's eyes were bluer, her smile whiter, her hair blonder, and her face fuller than when she was twenty five, and the combination was exactly what Michael had stated -- she was much more attractive at forty eight than she had been at twenty five. Sarah was wearing a simple patterned sundress, with sandals, and had her blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her tanned legs were firmer than most forty eight year olds, but not as taut as they were when she swam competitively. Michael was wearing khaki Dockers, a blue polo shirt, and topsiders without socks. As they walked hand in hand to the restaurant next to the hotel, they looked more like an attractive happy married couple than a brother and sister. "So, how are you and Dudley Do Right getting along?" Michael asked when they were seated. The Italian restaurant was nice, a little darker than normal, with upholstered furniture, and long linen tablecloths. "Stop that," Sarah said, smiling nonetheless. She knew Michael had always found John somewhat pretentious. "We're fine. As always. Do you have any developments on the romance horizon?" Michael's wife, Olivia, had died after a long battle with breast cancer when she was just twenty eight. Michael had never remarried, and -- from all appearances -- had never even engaged in a serious relationship since. "No point in trying. You're already taken, and anybody else would be second best." Michael said. He smiled as he said this, but Sarah still felt a flush of pleasure, anyway. "Yeah, right. Everyone idolizes a small breasted ex -swimmer with a wide ass." "You don't have small breasts," Michael lectured. "You're a 35C which is more than respectable. And you'd be a 33C if you hadn't built so much chest muscle chasing the state championship." Sarah smiled at the truth of this. As a thirteen and fourteen year old, she had a real shot at the state title in freestyle. At fifteen, as her breasts developed, and her hips widened out, her lap times grew slower. At seventeen, she was no longer competitive. "How do you know what bra size I am?" she demanded. "John couldn't tell you what my bra size is." Michael answered, "I am interested in all things Sarah. We're twins, remember? And-" he paused, making sure he had her attention, "you do not have a wide ass. You have a picturesque, superlative, eat your heart out ass. If your ass was wine, you'd be a Rothschild." "I take it that would be a good thing? So if my ass was a fine wine, would you hoard it, or drink it?" she asked coyly. "That's always the dilemma, isn't it?" Michael agreed. "I'm pretty sure in this case I'd have to drink it." Sarah and Michael stared at each other for a few seconds, each trying to gauge where teasing stopped and truth began. Sarah broke the silence. "Well, I appreciate the fraternal loyalty, but you're not the one trying to pack this big thing into a pair of underwear every morning." Michael shook his head. "Don't give me that, Sarah. Your ass is exactly the same size it was when you were seventeen." "And how is it that you are such an expert on my ass?" Sarah asked with mild impatience. "Because I spent a lot of my teenage years studying it and thinking about it," Michael said levelly. Sarah frowned. "Oh you didn't either," she said dismissively. Michael smiled. "You have three freckles on your right hip that form a perfect equilateral triangle. You have a small birthmark in the middle of your left butt cheek that looks like the Italian peninsula. And as a teen you had a lot of discharge into your panties." "Michael! How do you know those things?" "Well, the first two should be obvious -- I spied on you every chance I got. The last one is from occasionally using your underwear as an aid in pleasuring myself." "Oh that's gross! I don't believe that. Let's change the subject." Sarah insisted. The fact was, she knew most it was the truth, no,knew all of it was the truth. She sometimes left her door cracked open when she changed clothes, just because she knew Michael would be watching. As a teen, she had been a slob, and used to undress and leave her dirty clothes where they lay. Every so often, she would run out of floor space, and be forced to pick them up and take them to the laundry. Eventually she noticed that there were usually fewer pairs of dirty underwear than dirty pants, even though the right amount always came back after the laundry was done. "So how is the empty nest treating you?" Michael asked agreeably. "Are you enjoying your freedom?" Sarah shrugged. "It's sort of a mixed bag. Sometimes, I think my expectations of John are too high. We seem to irritate each other more, now that the kids are gone. " Michael leaned his head to one side. "So before, you said things were great, and now you say you irritate each other. What's the median?" Sarah shrugged again. "I don't know....like this morning, I got up, and made John breakfast before work. Nothing big, a couple of eggs and some potatoes, but something to say, 'I care'. And when he comes into the kitchen, he doesn't say 'thank you' or 'that looks great' or even 'why don't you eat this?'. He says, 'you shouldn't have bothered; I have a breakfast meeting '. Those little things hurt." Michael nodded. "I've never thought he treated you as well as you deserve, so it's probably not appropriate for me to comment. " Sarah crinkled her nose. "I'm sure I'm the one reacting abnormally. It's probably just PMS." Michael shook his head and said without thinking, "It's not PMS. Your period was last week." Sarah put her elbows on the table and leaned forward. "And how do you know that? Don't tell me you collect my garbage and look for used Tampax?" "Sarah, you've always been more locked in to a lunar calendar than most astronomers. Since you had your first period at thirteen, you have remained true to the new moon, even after two pregnancies. Last week was the new moon." Sarah looked down at the table. "I don't think John even notices when I have a period," she said, shaking her head. Michael reached across and squeezed her hand briefly. "Don't hold it against him. Remember, I'm interested in all things Sarah." The waitress arrived to take their order, and they had to hurry to read through the forgotten menu. When the waitress left, Michael threw Sarah an easy line to crawl back to safer conversational territory. "I'm sure you're both just adjusting to middle age and will come out of it stronger than ever." Sarah refused to exit the subject gracefully. "I don't think. I think our marriage has become the Death of a Thousand Cuts. Too many hurts, too many words that shouldn't have been spoken, too many unspoken words that should have been said. Too much scar tissue. " Sarah had surprised herself by uttering these words out loud, but after doing so, felt an enormous weight lift from her shoulders. She recognized the truth she had been working so hard to avoid. "It doesn't even feel good when he touches me anymore," she blurted. Michael nodded in agreement. "That isn't surprising. Whether sex feels good or not happens long before any physical touching." They were quiet, as Sarah turned this thought over in her mind. Their salads arrived, and Michael asked about his niece and nephew, and they talked about the kids through the rest of dinner. The waitress came to take their plates, and Michael ordered coffee for both of them. When the waitress left, Sarah glanced around. "Where's the bathroom?" she asked. Michael pointed directly over her shoulder. "Looks like straight back and to the right." She smiled. "Be right back." When she was with Michael, she simply felt better. Even the sensation of relieving her bladder felt good, and as she listened to her pee bouncing off the porcelain she replayed the conversation she and Michael had just had. Sometimes, she wished they were young again. Not to be stupid again, but to be that energetic, and that sure about life. She finished up and dribbled the last few drops. After patting herself with toilet paper, she began pulling up her panties. They were pink briefs, with a small red heart sewn on near the waistband. On impulse, she reversed directions and slid them down around her ankles and over her sandals. She balled them up in one fist and walked back to the table. Michael did a double take when Sarah sat down. "What's with you?" he asked, having to smile. "You have an incredibly guilty look on your face. You didn't flush a lit cherry bomb down the commode, or anything, did you?" Sarah smiled and stretched both of her arms across the small table. She didn't have to lean forward very far to put them in front of Michael. "I've got a surprise for you," she said. "Give me your hands." Michael looked skeptical but put his hands on hers. She turned her palms over and pressed the small ball of fabric into one of Michael's larger hands. Then she pushed his hands together and put her own back on her lap. Michael massaged the bundle briefly and remained perplexed. He opened his hands part way and looked in, as if he half expected a butterfly to escape. His eyes opened wide as recognition occurred, and he opened his hands wider. "Are these?- " he asked, looking at Sarah. She nodded, blushing. "Fresh off the press. Well, maybe not so fresh, depending on how literally you define things." Michael brought his hands up and covered his nose and mouth. He closed his eyes and began breathing deeply. "Michael! Stop that!" Sarah scolded. "Somebody's going to see you." "See me what?" Michael said after one more deep breath. "Breathing? Why did you give them to me if it embarrasses you?" "Well, because I thought you could use them...you know....later. Not here, in a public restaurant." "Have you and Dudley never done anything risqué in public before?" Michael asked. Sarah thought back. "No, not really, I guess. It's not his style." A thought occurred to Michael. As he put his gift in his trouser pocket he asked, "So are you going commando right now?" Sarah giggled a little and nodded. They were both quiet as the waitress brought them their coffee. Sarah had just started to take a sip when she felt something fairly large, fairly warm, and fairly hard pushing between her slightly spread legs under the table. Michael was leaned back slightly, watching her eyes. Coffee dribbled down her chin as she flinched. "What's that?" she hissed. "My foot," Michael answered with a smile. "Well it can't be there!" Sarah insisted. "Why not?" Michael asked, and at that moment his gentle persistence allowed his instep to hit pay dirt. Sarah flinched again as she felt Michael's foot come to rest against her naked crotch. "Because -- " Sarah started, and then hesitated. His foot actually felt quite pleasant against her. Her thighs were tingling pleasantly. She felt underneath the napkin on her lap with her right hand and pulled the hem of her dress up until she could feel the toes of his bare foot. She leaned back in her chair, titling her pelvis, and pushed back against his foot, holding it tightly against her with her hand. The tingling increased. She spread her legs a little more, and even better contact occurred. Michael began moving his foot slightly, up and down, and Sarah could feel herself getting wet. Very wet. His foot felt better on the upstroke, so she lifted it until his heel wedged neatly against her glory hole. The tingling escalated to something much closer to serious DC voltage. Sarahndipity "MMMmmmm- ", Sarah tried to strangle back the inadvertent grunt in her throat. She bit her bottom lip and pushed her pelvis harder against Michael's heel, then relaxed. She kept repeating this motion over and over. She could feel cum running down her legs and pooling in the crack of her ass. The voltage in her loins was now reaching out to her thighs and her belly. Every so often she would relax too much, and there would be a gentle slurping sound, like a small dog lapping water. Michael watched, bemused. "Hey Sarah. See that lady over there wearing the Armani? She wants to know why you keep biting your lip and closing you eyes." Sarah was trying desperately to continue breathing through her nose, but it was becoming ragged and irregular. "Tell Ms. Armani - mmmmmmmmmmMMMM - that she can --mmmjesusesusjesus -- kiss my fat ass -- uhuhuhuhhuhuhhuh". Sarah switched strategies and began biting her upper lip. Her left hand was clenching the edge of the table so hard Michael expected her to break a chunk off. He was a whole lot surprised, and more than a little bit aroused at his sister's unexpected enthusiasm. He'd really just intended to shock and tease her a little bit, but Sarah was really getting into this. He didn't know what the end point was going to be but he hoped it happened soon, because his leg was starting to cramp from its odd position. He looked at his sister's face and knew something had to happen for her, too. Her eyes were glassy, her ears were scarlet red, and her forehead was covered in sweat. As he was thinking these thoughts, Sarah's eyes flew wide open, she stopped trying to breathe at all, and her upper body shuddered. Below the table, Michael could feel her vagina contracting violently, one, two, three, - eight times -- and then it stopped. Sarah's shoulders sagged, she released her death grip from the table and Michael's foot, and her eyes came back if not in focus, at least into the foreground. She started to move her lips as if to speak, but no words came immediately. Michael looked around and caught the waitress's eye. "Check," he mouthed. When he got up Sarah remained sitting. He went to help her with her chair. "I'm pretty sure you're going to need to walk behind me," she both said and asked. "I think the back of my dress is wet." As Sarah stood up and stepped away from the table, Michael saw that she was right. Not only was the back of her dress wet, but there was a noticeable wet spot on the cream velvet upholstery of the chair, about six inches in diameter, and just a little bit darker in color than the surrounding fabric. He felt sorry for the next guest to be seated. They left the restaurant. "Back to my room to get your purse?" Michael asked. Sarah nodded absently, still preoccupied. The elevator was slow getting down, and by the time it had arrived, a fairly large crowd had gathered behind Michael and Sarah. They got on, pushed nine, and moved to the back corner. The rest of the people filed in, and by the time the elevator doors closed, the elevator was full. Fortunately, everyone was on their best elevator behavior, eyes front, no eye contact, and no one seemed to notice when Sarah reached back and rubbed the length of Michael's erect penis. Sarah's body shielded this activity had any of the passengers glanced their way. Nor could anyone see when Michael responded by slipping his hand under the hem of Sarah's sundress from behind and rubbing his fingers along the length her ass crack. Sarah's reaction was immediate and unequivocal. She spread her legs apart to shoulder length, and bent her knees, forcing Michael's fingers inside her slightly. Every time the elevator stopped at a floor, she would take the occasion to bounce a couple times. When the elevator finally reached the ninth floor, and the doors opened, the couple waiting to get on the elevator did a double take at the obvious mutual masturbation occurring. "Ummm...it's okay," Michael explained, as he walked past, "we're brother and sister..." He pulled Sarah along to room 931 as quickly as she would walk. Michael fumbled with the lock once, twice, and then got the door opened. He let Sarah in and followed. He closed the door, and when he turned to the room Sarah was pushing him back against the door, breasts rubbing his chest through the thin sundress. She put her arms around his neck and drew him close. Without preamble, her tongue was deep in his mouth, and thirty five years of imagination and foreplay came to a logical conclusion. Michael put his hands under Sarah's ass, picked her up, turned, and pinned her against the door. With one hand and his body, he kept Sarah balanced, and with the other, he was able to free his dick through the zipper of his pants. Sarah wrapped her swimmer's legs around Michael's hips and locked them in a death grip. The feeling of Michael entering her broke through Sarah's mental fog, and she had a series of thoughts in rapid succession and startling clarity. The first was, she had never been needed so urgently by a man that he could not wait to walk ten additional feet to a bed, and had to take her standing up against the front door. The second was, she had never wanted a man inside her so badly the she could not wait to walk an additional ten feet to a bed, and had to wedge herself against the front door and climb on his dick right now. The third stemmed from the fact that the summer sausage on which she had voluntarily impaled herself was bigger than John in general, and, being hard as steel pipe, made Michael seem about twice as large as John of late, which triggered two more clear thoughts: that bigger cock inside her body was a little bit uncomfortable and the more uncomfortable it was, the more urgently she wanted it deeper inside her. Lips locked, hands supporting each other for whatever balance was possible, Michael began thrusting while Sarah used the leverage of her arms around his neck to move her own pelvis. Sarah and Michael were fucking with the wild abandon and enthusiasm more normally associated with animals intent on procreation rather than human recreation. A couple in their mid thirties slowed down as they moved past the door to nine thirty one. The rhythmic pounding of Sarah's lower back against the door every time Michael rammed up and into her was generally punctuated by some guttural response by Sarah. "Do you think everything is okay?" wife asked, in wide eyed concern. Her husband smirked. "Oh, I think everything is much more than okay." Sarah upped the volume slightly. Bam. "Jesusgod" Bam "Sonofbitch" Bam. An older couple joined the younger one in the hallway and listened for a moment. "Do you think someone is having a heart attack?" the older lady asked in a slightly trembling voice? Bam! "ohgoddam" Bam! "Pleezedonstop!" The neighbors across the hall from 932 opened their door. "What is that racket?" they asked the foursome in the hallway. They all just nodded at room 931. Bam! If you looked closely, you could see the door spring outward on its hinges each time Michael forced her back against the door. Two teenage boys got off the elevator and paused with the group in the hallway. Bam! "ohdeeper" The taller boy with the pimples looked incredulously at the group. "Are they -?" Bam! "ohharderharderharder" The older man looked at him sagely. "I would say so..." More people were pausing in the hall now, listening to the commotion. Bam! "MIchaelmichaelmichael" Bam! "Imgonnaexplode" Bam! "Harder" Bam! "Harder!" Bam! "Harder!" Bam! "Ohhhhhhhhhhhh" Bam! "Ohhhhhhhhhh" Bam! "Ohhhhhhhmotherof marymotherfuckermycuntisexplodingpleasegodletmedieAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" "AHHHHHHHHHHHHH" "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" Her final scream was harmonized by the unmistakable mindless guttural growl of a man ejaculating. Out in the hall, the crowd began fidgeting in nervous embarrassment. "Um, Honey, let's go back to the room for a few minutes," the young man suggested. This seemed to be a suggestion that the rest of the group concurred with because they all headed down the hall at a faster than normal pace. Soon, only the old man and old lady were left. The old lady looked sternly at the old man. "Don't even think about it," she warned. Inside 931, Sarah and Michael sprawled on the narrow floor of the doorway. After her breathing returned to normal, Sarah kissed Michael tenderly, on the forehead, then slowly on the lips. Michael commented, "Jesus Christ, you're tight." Sarah shrugged lazily. "One of the few benefits of having c-sections, I guess." She moved her legs. "I gotta go to the bathroom, again," she said. She pushed herself up on rubbery legs, and took two steps, turned left into the bathroom, and took two more steps and sat down on the commode. Michael watched her as she walked unsteadily. With each step she took, a big glob of cum and semen dropped out from between her legs. He could see up her rumpled sundress, and a liberal amount of sex was running down both thighs as well. "Oh Michael...." Michael scooted down the hall so that he could see her sitting on the toilet. She was holding her head in her hands. "What?" he asked, concerned. She looked up at him. The sound of her urine splashing was the only sound. When it stopped, she spoke. "In forty eight years, I have done every single thing right. Thirty minutes ago, I was destined for sainthood. Now, in the last half hour, I've cheated on my husband, I've fucked my brother, and I've had two orgasms that might have caused bodily injury." She looked up. "Where does God send you for punishment when Hell isn't bad enough?" Michael spoke without thinking. "Cleveland?" he suggested. "Michael, I'm serious. This is bad. Real bad." "Well, there's nothing sinful about the orgasms. Did you really injure yourself?" Sarah examined her fingers. "I don't think so. For a moment there, I was honest to God certain that there was fire coming out of my fingers and toes, but I think that was just part of the whole out-of-body experience I was having." She paused. "And the problem isn't with the orgasms I had." Michael looked at her without comprehension. Sarah stood up and peeled off her rumpled sundress, then unhooked her bra, and laid them both on the bathroom vanity. Michael assumed she was going to shower. Sarah looked at her brother. "The problem is with the next orgasm I want to have." Sarah walked over and stood above Michael. Her blond pubic hair glistened with an assortment of moisture. She lowered herself so that her knees on the floor were slightly above his head, and her feet pushed against his shoulders. She stopped there and hesitated. She thought about the part of her she was offering to her brother. She had not engaged in any feminine hygiene since early morning, she had been foot fucked, dick fucked, she had jism still dripping out of her vagina and down her legs, and she hadn't even patted herself dry after pissing just now. This was too much to ask of anyone, even her twin brother. She shifted her weight to get up when she felt his hands on the swell of her hips. Responding to his pressure, she let him pull her down until she could feel her cunt pushing firmly into his face. When she felt his tongue exploring the walls of her vagina, a hundred frantic honey bees began buzzing around her stomach. The next day, Sarah texted Michael. S: will I get to see you before you leave? M: no; already at the airport S: that's probably good. I'm not sure what to think about yesterday. M: think "phenomenal" S: is that what do you think about yesterday? M: I think happy, fulfilled, warm, satisfied, completed, ready to meet my maker, - are you sensing the general tone here? S: : ) Sarah put her phone down. She sometimes envied men in their ability to ignore complexity. Her phone beeped again. M: What did John say when you got home? S: He was asleep. No awkward conversations. Sarah's mind would not stop turning over questions. Would she and Michael behave that way again, given the chance? Would they take steps to create another chance? Would she be able to feign passion with John? Did she want to feign passion with John? Was what she and Michael did wrong, or only if someone found out? If someone did find out, what would she do? Could she ever face her children? Could she live without orgasming again the way she did last night? Even if she was with Michael again, would it be reasonable that she would ever orgasm that way again? The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that what they had done was wrong. The more certain she became that it was wrong, the more she wanted to feel Michael's cock inside her again, pushing aside her own tissue with each aggressive thrust. Her insides still felt a little squishy, and she had more than a little bit of concern that she might actually have been stretched out a little in a way that John would notice. There was something obsessive about wanting to feel her brother inside of her that was different from John -- or anyone else. Always before, it had been just fucking, sort of like giving a hand job with a different part of the body. With Michael, it was like his oversized flesh belonged in her somehow, even though there was no room for it, and when it was in her she sort of wanted it out, but when it was out of her, she desperately wanted it back in. She shook her head. Men didn't understand complexity. She texted Michael: text me when you get off the plane. Sarah behaved normally for the balance of the afternoon, except for checking her phone too often. As time went by, her anxiety built, and she began imagining all kinds of catastrophic events that might be keeping Michael from texting her, so she breathed a huge sigh of relief when she heard the familiar tone M: just landed, what's up? S: I need your help M: sure, what can I do? S: help me masturbate M: LOL! You don't see my distance as being a bit of an obstacle with that one? S: Not do it, wiseass. Help me...be excited about it. M: just use your imagination S: I can't use my imagination; I'll just think about you, and I've decided that's wrong M: Watch porn, then. S: I can't watch porn. I don't know how. If I order it, John will see it on the television bill. M: So what do you want me to do? S: Talk to me? M: you mean, like phone sex? S: What's phone sex? M: What's the difference between me talking to you, and you thinking about me? S: If I think about you, then I'm the one who wants it to happen again, and I don't want it to happen again. If you talk to me, then it's just something that happened. M: Okay, tell you what. Let me get off this airplane and on the road back home. I'll call you. S: Thank you! M: However, during that time, you send me a picture or a video that inspires me to be creative. S: Like what? M: That's your problem. Talk to you soon. Sarah thought about his request. She wasn't sure what she was going to send him, but she was pretty sure he was going to help her, and that made her happy. She looked at the clock -- 3:45 -- and knew she had about two hours before John got home. Sarah took off all her clothes and climbed onto her bed. She gathered all the pillows she could find and made a huge back support against the headboard. Leaning back against it, she spread her legs apart and bent her knees as if preparing for an Ob-Gyn examination. Turning her phone video on front view, she smiled into a close up of her face, and then panned slowly down across her breasts, her navel, past her pubic hair, and she held the phone as far away from her pussy as her arm would stretch. She moved her other hand down, and began running her fingers lightly over her labia, rubbing against her pubic bone, exploring the folds that covered her vagina, and when she started feeling the first faint hint of bodily response, she turned the camera off. She reviewed the video and -- although she wished some of the shots were clearer, or the movement slower -- she decided there wasn't going to get a whole lot better. She sent the video to her brother. When her phone rang twenty minutes later, she answered it and walked toward her bedroom. "Well," Michael said with a laugh, "you definitely kept up your part of the bargain. That was highly motivational." "Really?" Sarah asked, pleased. It made her happy when Michael complimented her about anything. "Really," he confirmed. "Okay so, you really want to try this?" "Yes," she insisted, "I really want to try this." "And you understand your logic about listening to me instead of thinking about me makes zero sense, right?" "It does to me...." She defended. "Alright, well, you know, I've never tried this before. I need as much help as you can give about what's working and what's not. And this isn't going to have that physical immediacy of last night. This is going to be more...cerebral." "Okay," Sarah agreed. "Are you...uh...pretty much in the same condition as that video you sent me?" "Yep." Sarah replied, rubbing her fingers lightly across her vulva. "Good. Good. That will help my imagination....So you're in the shower, a hot shower, warm water spraying over those beautiful breasts. I come in, and I'm standing behind you. I wish I didn't have a hard on, I really don't want to have a hard on, but the sight of your long legs and naked ass are too much, so we just both try to ignore my woody, okay?" At the thought of Michael's erect penis, a pleasant thrumming went off in Sarah's upper thighs, just a gentle vibration, like a Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young song played on acoustic guitars. "I squirt body wash on my hands, and start lathering your back slowly. Around your neck, down those exquisite shoulder blades, down the inside curve of your lower back, and down where it curves back out to become the beginning of that beacon of physical perfection commonly known as your ass. I lather your back leisurely for a while, just rubbing both hands up and down that long back, and then I start on your arms. First your right shoulder -- God you feel soft -- and down, down your arms, soaping gently. Lather the palms, the fingers, the wrists, back up the inside of your arm, your bicep, and your armpit. I soap those tiny folds where your arms and chest and shoulders all come together, and then I move to your left arm. Shoulders, arms, hands, wrists, arm, armpit. I twist you a little bit in both directions to make sure the shower rinses off all of soap. I get some more soap on my hands, and step a little bit closer to reach around and begin soaping your chest. I pull you back away from the water some so it hits you lower, and I work my way down from your neck, across your upper chest, and then to those beautiful breasts. When I begin soaping your breasts, you lean back against me and push your ass against my stiff cock. As I lather the underside of your breasts, and run my fingers over your nipples, they get hard, and you reach behind, and start rubbing my cock up and down the crack of your ass very slowly, like someone jacking up a car in slow motion." Sarah gave an audible sigh at this, which Michael could hear. The thrumming in her thighs changed to George Harrison playing "Here Comes the Sun". Her fingers began exploring the walls of her vagina, in addition to the external rubbing. "I get some more wash, and continue to soap you down your stomach, and down the sides of your chest, where your waist bends in, then curves out to your hips. I wash your womb, and I place my hand against your uterus, and I hold you hard against me, and you push my dick down so it sticks between your legs and you rock along its length, but we're not done cleaning. I sit down in the shower stall, and I lift your right foot up onto my bent knee. I wash the sole, I wash the toes, I wash the top. I wash your ankles, your gorgeous calves, and work my way up your thighs. When I get to your upper thigh, I let my fingers brush against your wet vulva, and because of the way your leg is bent up, your pussy is partially exposed to me, and I lean forward and kiss it. I put your right foot down, and ask for your left foot. Again, I lather toes and feet, and ankles, and I want to hug those thighs they are so shapely, but this is a shower, and, after brushing my fingers lightly against your pussy again, I turn you around to rinse off. I put a little soap on my hands and start rubbing them across your ass in circular motions." Sarahndipity "Oh Michael!" Sarah uttered at the thought of his hands caressing her ass. The rhythm in her thighs quickened to the tempo of Eric Clapton waling out "Layla". "As I start to clean down the crack of your ass, you gradually lean forward, against the front of the shower stall. Your inverted pussy and your anus are both pointed at me, and I give your pussy a long lingering lick, but it's when I lick your asshole that you push back against my face." "Mmmmmm" Sarah said into the phone, her hand moving quicker. "You reach behind and spread you ass cheeks with both of your hands, and after a few more tongue strokes, you say, 'Please, put it in me there'. 'No', I say, 'It will hurt'. And you say 'I don't care', but instead, I get a good amount of pussy juice on my first finger, and I begin massaging your ass with it. And when you say 'yes yes yes' I start working my finger into your ass, slowly in and out." Sarah began touching her ass with her other hand, and the thrumming in her thighs advanced to Led Zeppelin tempo. She was physically squirming on the bed as she listened. "And after I have my finger about half way up your ass, and am finger fucking you comfortably, I stand up and slide my dick into your pussy from behind. You flinch at first, but then you push back onto me. I slide my dick back out of you, and I slide my finger farther up your ass. I pull my finger out, and push my dick in. In and out Sarah, in and out, some part of me is always going further into you, in and out." "Michael Michael Michael Michael Michael Michael " Jimi Hendrix was smashing his guitar, the electricity in Sarah's thighs was so intense. "Feel it Sarah?" Michael asked. "In and out. I'm everywhere" Sarah felt the climax building, from her tail bone it seemed, and it shot down her thighs and up into her belly like a mushroom cloud, tickling, burning, and pulsing all as one. There was a long silence on the phone. "You okay Sarah?" Michael finally asked. "Yeah," she replied, sounding exhausted. "How do you feel?" Michael could hear the wan smile over the phone. "Happy, fulfilled, warm, satisfied, completed, ready to meet my maker -- and very confused." Michael sighed. "We'll figure this out. The important point for you to remember is that you have caused no one harm. And, for whatever its worth, you've helped me." "And you've helped me," Sarah responded quietly. She hung up and put the phone on the bed. She should have taken off her bedspread, she realized. The come stain under her ass was already the size of a dinner plate. She thought about stripping the bedspread off and washing it immediately, but instead, she laid he head down beside the wetness and breathed in the smell of her sex. "Michael Michael Michael," she whispered to herself ************** Sarah felt her husband's hand snake under her pajama tops and caress the curve of her waist. She had her back to him, and her eyes opened in the darkness of the night. She wanted to get out of bed, but knew she couldn't so instead, she pretended it was Michael's hand, and Michael's cock that would soon be in her. When John had finished his mandatory breast rub, he moved his hand down to Sarah's crotch, and was pleasantly surprised to find that he had moved her to quite a state of arousal, and that she was already very wet. "Feeling frisky tonight, Sarah?" he asked, as he began pushing his semi erect penis her way. "This will feel good then."