10 comments/ 68580 views/ 57 favorites Starla's Thighs By: beeshaver Collegiate siblings enjoy naughty friction in the dorms. It must have been past three a.m. when we stumbled back from the party at McGeorge's. I told Starla to wait behind the big ash tree while I checked to see who was on guard duty. If it was José, we'd be golden, because he was a reasonable man. Unfortunately, it turned out to be Jesus. I knew Jesus wouldn't let Starla into the building. Not even if we let him check our IDs, so he could see we had the same last name and the same home address in the same town on the opposite coast, 3,000 miles away. Nor even if we let him examine our faces, so he could see we had the same eyes, same nose, same jawline, and teeth. Sister or not, Starla was a girl, and girls were not allowed in Gilhooly House past ten p.m. This was a Jesuit university, and Jesus was a stickler for the rules. I'd have to sneak her in. I entered the lobby alone, scrawled my name on the register, chatted with Jesus in broken Spanish for a minute (he's a nice enough guy, despite being kind of a Nazi), and then headed upstairs like I was going to my dorm room. Instead, though, I detoured across the second floor and down the back stairs to the basement. Outside, there was a ramp leading down to a loading dock. I'd told Starla to meet me there after three minutes if the front door turned out to be a bust. When I rolled up the gate, my sister's clunky boots were waiting for me. And just like that, we'd defeated the Jesuits. Starla pulled up her hood and lowered her head, and we scurried up to the fifth floor, where I lived. We had to hide out in the stairwell for a bit, while big Benny Longstreth waddled down the hall to the bathroom. (Benny's a good guy, and would never snitch on purpose, but he's also somewhat of an oaf, and would maybe say something to the wrong person out of tactlessness.) After Benny was safely out of sight, Starla and I were able to slip into my room undetected. As I bolted and chained the door behind us, Starla giggled like we'd just burgled the Louvre. I warned her to keep her voice down. "We've got some holy rollers on this floor. If they hear a female voice after hours, they'll definitely inform the authorities." That year, I had a roommate called Jeff. The thing I liked best about Jeff was that he was gone every weekend. Every Friday after classes he drove back to his parents' house, about eight hours upstate. I'm not sure why he did this. He and I didn't really have conversations. Probably it was so he could have his mom cook and do laundry for him, as he was pretty helpless on the domestic front. It's also possible he had a hometown sweetheart or something—but somehow I doubted that. I'd like to say I took full advantage of Jeff's regular absences, but as of late into the fall semester, I'd only had to sneak two girls past security. The first was Bernadette Riley, and all she'd wanted to do was pop Adderall and study Aquinas into the wee hours. And now the second was my sister. Starla and I hung out pretty often—most every weekend. Although we were 3,000 miles from home, we attended universities within a thirty-minute train ride of each other. Usually, we partied in Starla's neighborhood, because it was cooler than mine. Her school was in the heart of the city, right near downtown, whereas mine was out in a sleepy suburb. Plus, Starla had her own apartment. So if I ever missed the last train out of the city, or if I was too drunk to manage, I could always crash on her couch. There were no security guards to contend with there, only a slutty roommate and a slightly demented cat. This weekend, though, there was a rather epic party out my way. There were many kegs, and our friends' band was playing. So Starla came, we drank, and now here we were in my dorm room at 3:30 in the morning. I told her she could sleep in Jeff's bed. But she'd met Jeff, and her response was, "Ewww." I also didn't want to sleep in Jeff's bed. So she said, "We can both sleep in your bed." I must have given her a funny look, because she quickly added, "Don't worry. I won't give you cooties." "You better not," I said. "They'd probably fight with my pubic lice." She didn't respond to that. Instead, she asked if she could borrow a t-shirt. I rummaged through my dresser and found my Tim Tebow Broncos jersey. Our Uncle Owen had given it to me for my birthday a few years earlier, as a gag. I never wore it, but for some reason I still kept it with my other shirts. I tossed it to Starla. While my sister undressed, I turned my back to give her some privacy. However, this was a pointless gesture, as there was a large mirror hanging on the wall in front of me. Actually, I didn't notice at first. I was too busy staring blankly into the middle distance. Then I became aware of Starla's penetrating gaze in the mirror. She was looking at me, I think, to see if I was looking at her. At which point, I did start looking at her, and I saw that she was nude. She was holding the Tebow jersey in front of her like a matador. It covered her nakedness below the waist. Above it, however, her nipples beamed at me, pink and obscene. I felt my jaw drop. I probably drooled. Out of my peripheral vision, I could see Starla looking at me as I ogled her nakedness. But somehow I couldn't drag my eyes away. My face was flushed as pink as her nipples. She stood there not moving for a spellbinding moment. Finally she lifted the shirt and dropped it down over her head and her body. Briefly, I glimpsed the dark triangle between her thighs. "OK, you can un-avert your eyes now," she said, while making full eye-contact with me in the mirror. Despite the sudden tension between us, I couldn't help but chuckle when I saw her strike a Heisman pose in my Tebow shirt. She looked ridiculous. The jersey was an extra large. My sister's b'dy was extra extra small. She looked like a cute little rodent poking its head up out of a potato sack. I wanted to pinch her chubby cheek. "Awww," I said. "It's not fair," she said, flapping her oversized sleeves. "How did you get all the tall genes in our family?" "Milkman?" I shrugged. "Mom bought our milk at Safeway." "Dunno then. It's a mystery." "Are you gonna get ready for bed?" she asked, abruptly. "I'm sleepy." "Yeah, I can do that." I grabbed a clean t-shirt and some gym shorts. But Starla was sitting on the bed watching me, and I felt bashful about undressing in front of her. Normally, I would have said something like, "Do you mind?" But I couldn't very well say that now that I'd just gotten done perving over her naked boobies in the mirror. So I stood there hesitating in my pants. "What's the matter, Jack?" "Nothing," I said. "Just thinking about something." "Do you have a boner?" Her tone was so casual, the words floated right past me. A moment later, my brain caught up. "Wh-what did you say?!" "A boner. Is that why you don't want to take off your pants?" "Jesus! No, Starla, I do not have a boner!" I sputtered. This was untrue, though. Because I actually did have a boner. A big one. Throbbing. Red-faced, I turned my back and hastily stripped to my boxers. With even more haste, I yanked up my gym shorts, making sure to strap my cock down under the elastic waistband so it wouldn't stick out like a ship's boom. Then I slipped past Starla into the bed and tugged up the covers. She looked down at me, shaking her head with disapproval. "Hmm, no, this isn't going to work, Jack." "What's not going to work?" "I need to sleep by the wall." "Why?" "Because I always sleep by the wall." "Fine. You can sleep by the wall." Though she's usually nimble as a squirrel, Starla made like it was a major effort to climb over me. First she threw her knee around my waist like a grappling hook. Then, using only the muscles in her right leg, she hauled her otherwise inert body atop me, grunting all the way, as if she were a 400-pound sumo and not a 100-pound pixie. She was obviously pretending, but why? "Oof," she said, when she'd managed, at last, to straddle me. "Now I'm stuck," she claimed. She threw up her hands in defeat and collapsed down on top of me. We lay there crotch to crotch. My cock jutted between us like a big piece of lumber. "Liar!" she exclaimed. "You do have a boner!" I could smell the hot tequila on her breath. But her blue eyes were sparkling with mischief, not dull and drunk. She knew what she was doing. Ever so slightly, her hips began to swivel. "Jesus, Starla!" I rolled out from under her and let her plop to the bed. "There. Now you're by the wall," I said. She pressed her hand to the wall, dragging her fingers across the rough plaster. "I like the wall," she said. "It makes me feel secure." I reached to the nightstand to turn off the lamp. But the darkness in my room was never complete, as the cheap Venetian blinds let in the yellow glow of the city. As Starla and I lay in the half-light, I watched the silhouette of her shoulder move up and down with her breathing. I studied the delicate line of her neck and the smooth curve of her cheek, dusted with the faintest of peach fuzz. A mass of dark curls spilled onto the pillow beside me. Even if it was just my sister, I had to admit it felt good to be in bed with a woman. Women are nice people to lie down with. They're soft and warm and they smell like flowers—or at least my sister did. I think it was her shampoo. Her hand was still pressed to the wall. Two fingers circled slowly around a prominent lump in the plaster. I was about to ask her what she was doing when she spoke. "You know, Jack, you could put your arm around me." At the moment, my arm was clasped stiffly to my side. But I had to agree it would be more comfortable, more natural, to relax and embrace my sister. Still, I was somewhat tentative as I placed my hand on her shoulder. She surprised me when she took my hand in hers and tugged it down to her chest, where she held it tight. Beneath my Tebow jersey, I could feel a stiff nipple jutting into my palm. "There," she said. "Now I feel safe and secure, with your strong arm around me." She was soft, warm, and she smelled so sweet. It felt good to hold her. But still, I tried to keep my crotch back an inch or so from her bottom. She already knew I was erect, of course, but there was no reason to rub it in. Starla made it difficult to keep my distance. She kept trying to snuggle into me. Thus began this strange backward dance. She scooched back to find me with her butt, and I scooched back to evade her. Soon, I ran out of mattress. Teetering on the edge of the bed, I had to concede defeat. She smothered my crotch with her pillowy cheeks. The heat was immense. Reflexively, my pelvis pressed forward into her. I maneuvered her back toward the center of the bed. She kept her hips locked onto me. And they began to undulate. She swiveled like an exotic dancer on my crotch. "S-Starla, what are you doing?" I croaked. "Jack, let's be naughty," she said, in a husky voice like I'd never heard before. "Jesus, Starla, I dunno. That might not be a good idea." "I think it's an excellent idea. And your penis agrees with me," she said, wiggling her butt against my erection. I nearly jumped out of the bed. "M-My penis is a troublemaker!" I gasped. "Listen," she said, pulling her ass away from me, which helped calm my nerves. "I'm not talking about the I-word." "What's the I-word?" "You know, the F-word." "Oh, you're not?" I was surprised to hear a note of disappointment in my voice. "No," she said. "I'm just talking about a little naughty friction. Have you ever heard of frottage?" "No, but it sounds disgusting." "It's not," she said. "It's like tribbing, except between a boy and a girl." I shook my head. "I don't know what that is." "Sumata." None of these words were in my vocabulary. "Also known as outercourse." That word conjured an image in my mind. "You mean thigh-fucking?" "Let's not call it that," she said. "That sounds too much like the I-word. Under no circumstances are we going to do the I-word. It's taboo." "So outercourse isn't incest?" "Of course it isn't. Intercourse is incest. Outercourse is just some naughty friction." "Alright." "So, do you want to?" "Um..." "You want to. You definitely do." "Yeah, I mean, I do, I guess. Maybe." "Well then. Off with your shorts. Let's have that cock." And she laughed. "Did you ever think you'd hear me say those words?" When I continued to hesitate, Starla reached behind her back and yanked at my shorts. Except she had the wrong angle and snagged the waistband on the head of my penis. She was tugging rather vigorously, so the situation soon became painful. To avoid injury, I hurriedly helped her help me out of my shorts. When my cock popped free, she snatched it up and guided it between her smooth thighs, clamping down tightly so I couldn't escape. "Now I've got you," she purred. The sheets rustled as she lifted up her shirt. I could feel her bare butt cheeks pressed against my belly, all soft and warm. Then she slithered down till my cock wedged all the way up in the crook of her vee, right against her bush. She was sopping wet, like a steamy wool sweater. "Um, Starla, that's right by your...uh, vagina." "Well, yeah. I mean, it wouldn't do much for me if you put your penis down by my knees, would it?" "No, I guess not. Unless you have some kind of erogenous zone down there." "Don't worry, Jack. Just keep your dick on the outside and not the inside, and we'll be fine." Timidly, and rather stiffly, I set my hips into motion, hyperaware of the angle of my dick. "Perpendicular, perpendicular," I kept telling myself. It would be all too easy to slip and find myself balls deep in my sister's vagina. And that would definitely be intercourse, no two ways about it. Full-on incest. My sister's clutching thighs and clenching buttocks felt good on my cock. So good! And soon enough I stopped thinking and fell into a groove, my shaft slotted neatly between her slippery lips, gliding like a violin bow over her asshole, pussy hole, and clit. Her soft pubes tickled like feathers. Starla flung down the bedcovers so we could see. I gasped at the beauty of her milk-white belly, the smooth contours of her thighs, and the tuft of dark fur in the center. Her body was so slender, my penis protruded all the way through her and out the other side. It sprouted from her bush like a strange plump mushroom. I watched with fascination as she reached down to pluck it. With a single slender finger and a thumb she encircled it, just below the head, her pinky extended like she was drinking from a teacup. And she began to tug. It looked funny. It looked like she had a penis and she was stroking herself. Yet it was me who was shuddering with pleasure. It was me whose toes were curling. With another finger, she began to tap, tap, tap on the head. My body convulsed. "Oh, Jesus, Starla!" I wheezed. "Stop! You're gonna make me cum!" She laughed. "And this is a problem?" But she did release my cock, for a moment, anyway—long enough to reach her hand to her lips, to moisten it with saliva. Then she wrapped her palm around my dick and stroked it like a piston. I pleaded again with her to stop. I didn't want to cum so soon. "I want to savor the moment," I tried to explain. But she laughed again and wiggled her hips, gripping my cock even tighter in her fist. "Who says this is the only moment?" By this point, swarms of eager sperm were teeming at the gates of my balls. I struggled mightily to hold them back. But Starla thwarted me. Her little body slithered all over me like an eel. She pumped my cock in one direction with her slippery thighs and in the opposite direction with her clutching twisting fist. I needed a distraction, fast, so I shoved my hands up her shirt. There, I found her nipples, jutting like two puffy pushbuttons. I poked them, gently, and they grew hard. Starla moaned and told me to squeeze them, so I did. But she said, "Harder." So I squeezed harder, but still she wanted more. So I squeezed them until she whimpered, and then I jerked them like two tiny cocks. Her breathing grew ragged, tinged with squeals, tight and girlish. I wondered for a moment, was it possible to give her a boobie orgasm? But I wouldn't find out, for she was grinding my cock in hard circles against her clit. I gasped. Crisis time. She'd triggered the volcano. But could I hold back the eruption long enough to let her cum first? I knew she had to be close... "Oh, fuck!" I grunted. I buried my face in Starla's scalp and sucked in a big mouthful of her sweaty hair. I gave her nipples an extra hard pinch, as if that, by magic, might pinch off my own cum. But this failed. And with an earth-shaking spasm, I unleashed a hot geyser. Spurt after spurt, I soaked her quivering belly and left her gleaming pearly white. And then I collapsed. I lay back, spent and twitching, still chewing a wad of Starla's hair. She allowed me a moment of silence before remarking, "Wow, you're a big cummer." "I love you!" I blurted. "I mean, thank you! Wow!" And then I felt embarrassed. Starla laughed. She rolled over and pressed her forehead to mine. Her breath was warm and still spiked with a hint of tequila. After a moment, she began to twist with agitation. "Well?" she said. "Wow!" I repeated, and then "Oh. You didn't have an orgasm, did you?" "Not yet." "Do you want one? I could—" I was going to offer to go down on her, but then I realized that might cross some kind of line, so I didn't say it. The moment felt precarious. I no longer what the rules were. Thigh sex—outercourse—apparently didn't count as actual sex. But what about oral? Was that sex? Was it outercourse or intercourse? Was it incest or outcest? I didn't know. All I knew was I wanted to bury my face in my sister's pussy, and I hoped she would let me. Starla interrupted my thoughts. "How about a kiss? Can I get one of those?" "Yeah, you can definitely get a kiss!" I exclaimed, glad to have something to do with my mouth. It was a strange business, this incest. Because kissing my sister—kissing with tongues—ended up feeling, somehow, even naughtier than rubbing genitals had done. Kissing her felt more intimate. Our tongues swirled round and round. I penetrated her, and she penetrated me. We bumped teeth, and mingled our air and our juices. She tasted so sweet, I wanted more. I wanted to taste every inch of her. Above all, I wanted—no, I needed—to taste her pussy. It was imperative that I worship her cunt. But would she let me? I decided not to ask. I decided I'd just start kissing my way down her body and see how far I could make it, and hopefully, she wouldn't stop me. First, I had to separate my lips from hers, which was a downer. But the upside was that I got to kiss her cheek. It was all soft and smooth and salty. I took her pointy chin in my mouth and sucked it, and tongued her dimple. I nibbled at her neck. She was pliant as I tugged at the hem of her Tebow jersey. She lifted her arms and let me peel it off her. Now, she was fully nude, except for a crucifix on a gold chain. It lay on her breast like a compass rose, pointing east and west toward her nipples, and southward toward heaven. Lying on her back with her arms spread wide, Starla's little boobies flattened almost entirely into her chest. Only her swollen areolae bubbled up like volcanic cones. Even in the shadowy half-light, their pinkness was shocking. The one on the left was a touch larger than the one on the right, and the angle of its nipple slightly askew. I bent across her to take it into my mouth. As I suckled, Starla moaned. Her hand floated up off the mattress, hovering for a moment somewhere over my head, and then it swan-dived into her swampy bush, making a squicky thuck! sound as it splashed down. Starla's Thighs Her nimble fingers swam in quickening, ever-tightening circles around her clit. The motion sucked me toward it like a vortex. My lips slipped off her nipple and resumed licking and kissing their way downward along her milk-white belly. When I reached the tight button-slit of her navel, I devoured it as if it were a miniature cunt. I wanted to demonstrate my oral skills—to give her a taste of what was to come if she let me go all the way. A few inches away, Starla's fingers were buried in the thicket of her bush, mashing her swollen clit. I matched the motion of her fingers with my tongue, swirling round and round and round her belly button. She twiddled faster, and I licked faster. She rubbed up and down, and I licked up and down. She stroked side to side, and, abruptly, I stopped. When I started again, it was in the opposite direction, reversing her polarity. Starla's taut belly shivered, and she let out a gasp. Her skin prickled with goose bumps. Now, I set the pace. Starla followed. Gradually, I worked her up to a frenzied whirl. She was panting and sweating, whimpering. One of her thighs twitched at random intervals, her toenails clawing at the air. Then I slowed everything back down to an agonizing crawl. (I did this both to tease her, and to give my tongue a little rest, as it was starting to cramp.) Starla stopped twiddling her clit completely and slapped her crotch in frustration. I turned to her and smiled. Now was the moment to ask her, straight-up, if I could eat her pussy, lick her to a climax. Surely she wouldn't say no. She was gasping, desperate for a release. But still I hesitated, and my smile became strained. For some reason, I was still nervous about boundaries. Before I could speak, Starla blurted, "I want to sit on your face!" Well, that solved my problem. "Awesome," I replied. "Hop aboard." Starla grabbed me by the shoulders and shoved me down, hard, onto the mattress. (That little body of hers could generate a surprising amount of force.) She swung herself around, bustling into position, her knees digging into the mattress on either side of my head, her face facing away from my feet, so that she was looking toward the mirror on the wall. (I don't know if she wanted to watch herself or what.) She made a last wiggle of adjustment, and then she settled her naked bottom down, right on my face. She missed her target by a couple of inches, though. I ended up with a mouthful of ass. Or maybe she meant to do it. Either way, I didn't mind. Her asshole tasted sweet and clean. I gave it a little kiss, to let her know I loved every part of her. Slithering my tongue up into the lushness of her bush, I found the slick groove in the middle. Gently, I teased apart her delicate lips and dabbled my tongue inside her precious hole. Heaven! Lovingly, I lapped at her Venusian juices. I licked all around inside her until I sensed she was becoming restless. Her clit needed attention. But I wasn't in quite the right position to access her clit. I couldn't speak with my mouth full of pussy. But with a flick of my tongue, I signaled her to scooch down an inch or two. She understood what I wanted, and she immediately made the adjustment, positioning her hot love button directly onto my tongue, like a candy. "Ooh, Jack, suck my clit!" she cried. Those were the five greatest words I'd ever heard. She didn't give me much of a chance to suck it, though. Almost immediately, her hips started to grind. She was using my face like a washboard, scrubbing her dirty pussy clean. The full weight of her body was on me. All I could do was snake my tongue up and down in a flattened wave while she rode my face. Soon she was crying out, making the most lovely girlish sex sounds. The thought that it was my perfect sister using my face for her pleasure made my cock leap with joy. I thought it might spurt, a totally hands-free orgasm. But it was Starla who was cumming. Her whole body quivered. I grasped her hips with my hands and pulled her down harder onto me—until I couldn't breathe. But breathing wasn't important. Starla's orgasm was the only thing. The quiver turned into a prolonged quake. She was teetering on the edge, but for some reason could quite get over. Pretty quickly, we were both in desperate straits. Starla needed her orgasm, and I needed oxygen. In a stroke of genius, I slipped my finger into her crack, and gently pressed her asshole. That was the magic button. She exploded. When she came, she poured. A salty hot gush filled my mouth, spilling all over my cheeks and chin. "Oh fuck! Oh my God!" she sputtered, as she toppled off me, onto the mattress. "I'm so sorry!" That wasn't what I'd expected to hear. "Sorry? Why?" But she didn't get to answer. Just then, we were startled by a loud rapping at my dorm room door. A dreadful voice boomed, "Jack, open up! I know you're in there!" "Shit! It's Brother Steve, my RA!" I whispered to Starla. "You've got to hide!" I gestured frantically at the closet, as my whole future flashed before me: the Jesuits would kick me out of school for having sex in their dorm—sex with my sister, no less; my parents would find out their son and daughter were filthy incestuous perverts; maybe the story would make it onto the internet, the five o'clock news, CNN; and then we'd both be stigmatized forever, never able to find jobs, broke, homeless, hopeless. Fuck! It was the end of the world!