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Pete Doesn't Just Tell Me Ch. 01

By: leBonhomme



This is not a story for guys with a short fuse or gals with whatever the equivalent is. That is evident, since she starts telling a few weeks before her seventeenth birthday. We here all know that nothing erotic is going to happen for a while. The story is set about 40, probably 50 years ago, to justify that the young people are a lot more innocent than they are now: no internet videos, cell phones. Some teenaged guys joked about sixty-nine, but some of them just smirked because others did. Take my word for it, I was one of them. Did the girls know more? My main character didn't, but finds out when she is eighteen. They had to use rubbers. For those who can't remember, rubbers back then were sold three in a little carton in dispensers that always had a sign advising that they were only for the prevention of disease. I know that we weren't really that innocent back then, but that is the way it has to be here. 

All that just to explain: there is no underage (under 18 years old) sexual relationship in the story. 

When she is eighteen, she has her first experience with her friend, and then does almost everything else with her brother. Finally, they also have their first time together, better than with her friend. She also has a good lesbian experience with a classmate. That was not originally intended, by me or her, but nice things happen in the course of writing a story. 

I had fun writing it, trying to imagine how it could really happen, everything she could be thinking, not just telling in a short paragraph the background build-up to getting in bed together. 

Another author here has described that as the difference between erotica and porn. Writing porn gets boring. It is more interesting to see where a story line leads, and a lot of readers enjoy that. If that is not your interest, don't bother to read further. If you do, please remember that I warned you and don't complain. I hope everyone does enjoy the story.

When my brother Pete went off to college, I was sixteen, starting my junior year in high school. He had a sports scholarship to a well-known college. Well, it wasn't really a sports scholarship, since colleges in that league don't give them, but his record as high school track star was something the college interviewer found very interesting. 

It had been nice having an older brother in high school, and other girls were a little envious of me, not because Pete was a BMOC, you know, like a star on the football or hockey team. Runners do their thing alone. Sure, he was proud when he won, but when he lost occasionally, he could be very despondent. As he explained to me once, even if the school's track team won the meet, he had lost, that the team's winning didn't change that. I don't know if he was good looking, just my brother. He certainly wasn't built like those 100 meter stars at international track events, more like the slender runners of longer distances, his specialty. 

School started for me, before his freshman week at college, and then he was gone. I didn't really miss him, but thought it would be nice for him to get a letter at his new address. It was the first letter I didn't have to write, the others being obligatory thank-you-letters to grandparents, uncles, aunts, godparents after my confirmation. What did I write? Banal stuff: what I was doing, some news about school, that I hoped he was settling in well and wondering how it was at college. I didn't ask him about that, just "wondered." 

A week later, I was very surprised to find a letter from him after school one day. Mom was also surprised, especially since she didn't know that I had written first. When I told her, she liked that and liked that her children kept in touch. Dad was also surprised and pleased. 

His letter was longer, his being able to tell a lot more, since it all was new to me. I wrote back, telling him about that and thanking him for everything he had written and adding the latest about myself, nothing of real interest. We continued to exchange letters, not so frequently, writing after something worth mentioning had occurred. 

For him, that was usually something about the freshman track team, whether he had won - sometimes - how it was to go to other colleges in the league. I tried to find something to mention in reply. When he mentioned that he had only been third in a race, but hadn't sounded upset, I asked about the competition. He replied that he knew he wouldn't win as many races as he had at school, but that the training was much better and that he was faster than he had been. 

We had never talked about dating, since we knew if and with whom we were going out with. He hadn't dated much in high school, and being younger, just a sophomore, my dates had been unremarkable, more just with someone to a party, a couple of movies. I had kissed a couple of guys in the dark, saying goodnight, but more because it was the done thing. 

Then it looked like I had a boyfriend, at least, we went out of our way to see each other at school and after school, and had a couple of movie dates. Was he as shyer than I was about kissing? We hadn't yet, but I was thinking that was maybe good, that when we eventually did it would mean more than just lips meeting to say goodnight. I hadn't kissed better than that, but had heard about French kissing and that it was supposed to be arousing.

So I wrote Pete about him, not about the kissing, and ventured to ask if he was dating. He wrote back immediately and wrote that he got on well with a couple of girls on the women's track team, but hadn't yet had a real date. I thought I would wait for something more to happen with my friend before replying, but then he remembered to write for my seventeenth birthday, congratulating me, and asking how it was going with my friend. 

Oh, I liked that, both ways, because I could tell him that we had kissed, that we were going steady. I didn't tell him that we had just kissed a little better than with the other guys, and not that I was hoping we would. I wanted to, but did he, would he? Pete wrote back with just a short note, saying that he liked that I had told him that, also that he had dated one of the girls from the team, "but not like that."

He also wrote to our parents, of course. After that one to me, I was apprehensive that they could ask me about his letters, but they didn't, thank goodness. I thanked him for it and wrote that I hoped it would be "like that" for him with the girl. Of course, I wrote some other stuff, and he did too, stuff I could mention to my parents, but after that our letters were more about out private lives. 

It was kind of funny; we were being more open in our letters than we had been when he was home. Really kind of funny; I would never have told him about my first real kiss, but I wrote him about it. He must have understood, however, writing me that he could imagine how good that was, "just speaking from his own experience as a male." Did he mean what I thought, like how I thought my friend was aroused? 

In his next letter, he told more about the girl, "slender like you." A couple of more letters followed before Christmas, his telling that he and the girl had kissed, "like you do." Then he was home for Christmas. We just smiled and returned to our old sibling relationship. For a couple of weeks, I forgot about what we had been writing each other. Well, I remembered when I was kissing my friend, and maybe Pete did too, when I returned that night, but we didn't mention it. 

When he returned to college, we resumed our correspondence where we had left off. I was surprised that he wanted to tell me so much about what he and the girl did, not in detail, of course, but I got an inkling that they didn't just kiss. I didn't have much to tell, worse, after a several weeks, I had to tell him that we had broken up. He consoled me, writing that it happens, that I would find someone else, that someone else would find me. He was right, eventually I started dating a senior. Did we kiss that good on our first date? We did, the first time we kissed. Pete liked that. 

I was surprised when before Easter he wrote me that he had slept with her, but I was a lot more surprised that he wrote: "I wasn't a virgin, but this was so much better." He had already slept with a girl in high school?! Well, I had heard that the first time probably wouldn't be so good, and that in college everyone slept with someone. If my brother did, it must be true. If he had wanted to tell me that, I thought I should show my interest. Of course, I was very curious. 

His next letter was different, a handwritten page about every else, and a trimmed down typed page folded in the other one. When I read it, I understood that he was worried that our parents might find what he had typed. Jeez! He and she really had, a couple of times more since his previous letter. Of course, he didn't go into details, just that it was so good, that she hadn't minded that he didn't have much experience. I understood that she must have had more than he did, immediately liking her for her liking my brother that way, and liking him even more for his wanting to tell his little sister. I had never thought about him that way, kissing a girl, sleeping with one. He explained that senior year in high school, after he turned eighteen, he had just done it because they could, like "everyone else" did.

I didn't have much to offer in reply. I was being a good girl. After Pete's letter about not having been a virgin, I was a little worried that my friend could be thinking that we had to do it, go all the way. Would I have, if he had wanted too? I liked him even more, when he made a disparaging remark about the kind of girls who do everything.

Pete liked that, when I wrote him, replying that he sounded like a very nice guy. We kept corresponding, but Pete slowed down on telling about his girlfriend. He spent Easter vacation at college, training for the spring season. He did mention that the coach had remarked: "no girls, at least, not before a meet." Alcohol was, of course, absolutely forbidden. "But after the meet?" I asked in my letter. "Usually, when she can, not at meets away, unless we return here the same day," he replied. 

He was really getting it, just not when she had a period. My brother having sex regularly! What did his ... look like? 

My friend invited me to the senior prom. Wow, I had a real evening gown, strapless. When I wrote Pete about it, he replied: "kept it up with scotch tape?" I sent him a photo, showing that I didn't need tape to hold up a strapless top, but wrote that I almost lost it when we were jitterbugging. Pete wrote back that he wished he had been there to see. I liked that, better than his having told me that his girlfriend was slender like me. Did he want to see my boobs? If I had liked his remark, did I want him to? 

He didn't when he was home in June for week, before he went to a training camp for most of the summer. He did see me in bra and panties, since we shared a bathroom, but my bras were not like some, so he didn't get to see more than he would have with my bikini, which had received Mom's approval. Did she know that we saw each other in just our underwear? I looked: boxer shorts. What were they concealing? 

Then he was gone. My bikini got a lot of use and some nice glances, but guys were also looking at all the other girls'. My friend had a summer job in another town, something to do with what he wanted to study. No one got in my bikini, only because I didn't let them, kind of difficult, when kissing a little out of sight behind bushes on the grounds around the public swimming pool in the late afternoon. I was wondering if I was saving myself for senior year, but with whom, and why? 

Pete returned home for a week before college started again. He was looking fitter than before, at least, I thought so. During the summer, I had bought a bra that Mom wouldn't have approved of. Whom was I expecting to see it, just see it? I didn't know. Pete liked it, just a little surprised, grinning. I knew why, and like that he had. 

I liked even more that in his first letter from college he wrote that the bra had convinced him that I had what it took to keep up a strapless dress and that it really would have been interesting to have been at the prom to see me almost lose it. When he had been home, I had reassured him that Mom didn't ask to see his letters, but I was still a little surprised that he had written that. Even with the bra, he had gotten to see about as much as he would have without it. He also wrote that he was still with his girlfriend from the spring, adding that maybe I wasn't as slender as she was. 

I liked that too, a subtle compliment about my figure, also an implication that they had been naked with each other again. What did they do? Well, that was obvious, but how? What very little I knew about it, the obvious way was the missionary position, but if it had a name, there must be other ones. Did they do that too? Well, I imagined, she could be on top. Questions, questions. 

We exchanged letters a couple of times without any references to his or my friends. I didn't have one, but was dating, saving that bra for the right occasion. What would be the right occasion, and with whom? More questions. If my quiet brother had slept with a girl his senior year in high school, why shouldn't I? I knew that other girls had and were. Of course, I wanted to! And from a couple of second dates with guys - two different ones - it seemed that finding a partner wouldn't be difficult, but which one, or another one, a real friend, going steady for a while first. That was the way it should be. 

Or was I thinking about it too much, too much to waiting for it to be like that? Either way, I didn't want it to be not good, like I had heard from a couple of girls, like Pete had also written. From what little I knew, guys always had an orgasm, but what was one like for a girl? Questions with a capital Q! Could I ask Pete? 

I started a couple of letters, then tearing them up - in small pieces, so that no one could piece them together and discover what I was wanting to ask him. On the weekend, when I should have been working on paper, I finally got it on paper. I wanted it to be better, but gave up on trying to improve it: 

"I'm going to be eighteen in a few weeks. You did it; you have a nice girlfriend. I want to. I don't have the right friend yet, but if and when I do, I want it to be good. Whom else can I ask for advice? Anything, everything you can tell me. Please."

That was a lot more subtle than what I had written before, but I still had butterflies in my stomach when I sealed the letter. He replied, writing about everything else, but then added "PS: Wait till your eighteenth birthday."

Was he just telling me to wait till I was old enough, or was he implying that he would answer my questions then? I waited, had a better date, and waited, longer than I usually had to for a letter from him. Did that suggest that he was going to answer my questions? If he wasn't going to, he could have written sooner. 

But then! The day before my birthday, I got a larger envelope with "Happy Birthday" in red marker on it, obviously the envelope that came with a birthday card. Was his birthday present going to be the answers to my questions? If it was, I couldn't just open the envelope in the presence of my parents at breakfast and have something other than the card slip out, and I couldn't open it before my birthday. Mom had already seen it, of course, and said how sweet it was of Pete to have remembered my birthday. 

As usual, my parents went to bed when I did, the master bedroom not next to mine and Pete's. I sat up, waiting for a few minutes and sneaked back and got the envelope. Under my desk lamp, I discovered that only the lower half the the flap was sticking. Had he anticipated that I should open the envelope? With my penknife it was easy to open it without trimming the edge of the flap. The card was nice, of course, with his brotherly greetings, but in it was a typed sheet of onionskin. I had been right! And he had written - all the answers to my questions? My birthday present, not to be read till I was eighteen, so I put it under my pillow. I replaced the card and glued the flap down and returned it to where it had been. 

In the morning, a school day, at breakfast my parents congratulated me with their presents and were both pleased with his card. At school, classmates congratulated me, my boyfriend - well not yet - also and with a present. My party was going to be on the weekend. Really, truly, I forgot about Pete's letter until I was in my room going to bed. 

"Dear Sister, 

"Congratulations again on your birthday! I think you're going to like this. We did. Yes, I asked her to help me answer your questions. She was very surprised that you asked me to answer them, but then liked that you had dared to, agreeing that it was good that a girl had someone she could ask. It's been good for us too! Thank you! We never really talked about it, but now we have, and she knew things to tell that I didn't. Of course, she knows how it is for a girl. 

"First, she says, you should know all about yourself. She thinks you probably already do, but if you don't, she says you should try to have an orgasm, telling that lots of girls play with themselves, just making it feel arousing, but don't. She says you'll know when you do. She showed me last weekend. You will know! She told me that she didn't mind that it hadn't been that good the couple of times I had just used my fingers, and also the first couple of times really doing. That was nice, since when I saw how good she did it to herself, I was a little chagrined. 

"And she said, you should pop your cherry before you let your friend do it, if you want it to be good, at least, not have to worry about that. What else? I just asked her. She congratulates you too for your birthday. Says you have a very nice brother. And if you don't know already, it's going to be handful. It will fit, but bigger than just one of your fingers. She had three in hers, just two of mine. 

"And about that, his, you'll probably hold it before you really do it. She says that most of them aren't like mine. When I typed that she frowned and said: 'just two others, yours is more fun, being able to slide the skin up and down.' If you don't know, I'm not circumcised. Guys that are, you can't slide the skin up and down like she can. She says to be careful, to ask him what feels good.

"Ask him and tell him. We should have done that before, but we are now. She's grinning, telling me to add that you're probably going to be surprised how much it is, not to stop after his first ejaculation - her word. If it's in his pants, he shouldn't be wearing chinos. If it isn't, it could be up all over the place. 'But he will know,' she added with another grin. I do too. He'll get his shirt out of the way if he's lying down.

"And now about you: she says that it's important that you know how your orgasm is, that it should make it easier to have one with him, and that you may have to tell him that it won't happen if he just sticks his finger in you. You'll know what else he should do, like I do now. She nodded with a grin.

"This is being fun. And, OF COURSE, don't let him even think about sticking anything other than his fingers in you without a rubber, not even a little. I can tell you, young guys their first time come before they know it. I was lucky, we were lucky. Stories about it not being able to happen the first time are fairy tales. She says, a very old myth, that there is an old German song about 'from just once, nothing can happen,' but it does in the song. She's majoring in German. 

"I'll give you some at Christmas, but not as an Xmas present! If it happens before then, either he or you have to have a couple. If he doesn't, you'd better, or stay in control and 'help him with your hand;' her expression, telling me that the H's are alliteration, rhyming the first letters of the words. 


Pete Doesn't Just Tell Me Ch. 01



"This is good; I wouldn't know what else to tell you without her help. He is going to want to get on top of you. She thinks that you should let him the first time, rather than show too much initiative; young guys don't want to think that the girl has more experience. You probably won't have an orgasm. You could encourage him to keep on, but then he'll still think you have more experience and probably not believe that he can again. He can, I can, but save that till another time, also suggesting that you be on top. 

"She is chuckling with a nod. She really likes it that way; I do too! She - you - can move a lot more different ways than a guy, his just going in and out. 

"Anything else you want to know? We think that is the essentials, hope so. Happy Birthday again, and don't do anything without a rubber."

I grinned with a nod and moaned softly. With one hand, I was already trying to follow his girlfriend's instructions. They had both signed the page, both with a couple of Xs. Sweet, their both sending kisses. Kisses from my brother? I wanted to kiss him for his having answered all my questions. Kiss her too? She deserved one just as much, maybe even more, for her helping answer questions that he couldn't, like what my fingers were trying to do. 

I didn't have an orgasm that night, nor the next couple. I could get my finger all the way in, so I must have popped my cherry as a kid, maybe doing splits, not knowing why it hurt a little the first time I really plopped down on the floor with my legs outstretched. All the better; I didn't have to worry about that. His girlfriend hadn't told me where I should tell "him" to rub, but I quickly found out. A couple of nights later, with both hands - Wow! - she had been right that I would know when I had an orgasm. I had! And I knew why he had recognized that she had, that time she showed him. Her body must have convulsed like mine did. 

Wow! If having sex with a boy was going to be that good, but she had warned me that it probably wouldn't be the first time. Maybe he wasn't really a boyfriend, but if he wanted to? He would, if I let him, didn't discourage him. It had seemed like his hand wanted to touch my breast. Why hadn't I let it? Waiting for answers to my questions? Now I had them, and I was eighteen. If he didn't get to see my new bra, he was going to be able to feel it, and feel me in it, and me, his fingers. My fingers already had - when I didn't have both hands on my pussy. That felt so good. The sheer bra wasn't going to keep him from feeling my hard nipple, maybe even the goose bumps around it. 

My fingers were, with both hands. I was going to have to try to do it again. It was like on a trip, the way back home, knowing where I was going seemed shorter. I did again, better than before? Maybe not, seemed unlikely, but now with the confidence that I could. Very pleased with myself, I rolled on my side to go to sleep, with one hand still between my thighs and the other one holding my breast. Before I fell asleep, I remembered her telling how big it would be, a handful. I had just had one finger in my pussy, and it had been tight around it. She had shown him with three fingers in hers. I fell asleep wondering. 

In the morning, when I recalled what I had done, and then remembered about the fingers, I hummed with a grin; just another reason to do it again, with two fingers, and then with three. How big was a handful? I held three of the fingers of my other hand. If she said it would fit ... 

In the meantime, I had, of course, written back with effusive thanks to them both for their birthday present. I knew he wouldn't reply immediately. I wrote again, sort of a progress report; I just had to tell them, probably in more detail than they wanted to read, but it was fun recalling and writing. That night, I got two fingers in. It was really tight, but when they were there, and thinking that it must be more like him being in me, it was real good. I reread my letter in the morning, blushing a little, but also chuckling at what I had written. They deserved to know that their advice was being good. With a grin, I added: "two fingers last night, first time."

Our movie date that weekend was really good. The other guy had also asked for a date, but the one I was beginning to think could be a boyfriend asked first. The movie wasn't good, but we both already knew that, it was just an excuse for our date, immediately holding hands in the back of the theater. After a while, he moved our hands off the armrest and down on my thigh - or did I draw his there? After a few moments, I let go of his hand and put mine on top of it, letting him hold my thigh. When he moved his fingers a little, sliding then down on the inside of my thigh, my thighs twitched, and I felt myself go all moist. What was his other hand doing in his lap? Was he also aroused, having to move it around - his "cock"? I had used the word! His fingers moved on the inside of my thigh, and it twitched again. 

We managed to watch the film for a few more minutes, but then whispered that we didn't need to see the end of it. I had lost track of the plot anyway, and we knew that I should be home a reasonable time after the film ended. We left the theater and walked home, holding hands, walking faster than usual. In a dark nook, we unbuttoned our overcoats and embraced, our hands inside each other's coat, and kissed. 

And how we kissed! And not just kissed, hugging our bodies together, our hips pressed together. When I felt his cock - used the word again - I hummed and shifted my hips sideways against it. He moaned, then drew his hips back for a moment, and then it was standing straight up, pressing against the bottom of my stomach. I was going to have to rinse my panties before Mom found them in the laundry bin. Did his or my hands first move down on the other's ass? They had, and it wasn't just pressed between us, it was throbbing, and his hips were rocking, rubbing it against me! 

Suddenly, he murmured: "Oh shit!" and his hips rocked harder a couple of times. Then he murmured: 

"That wasn't supposed to happen."

"Like that?" I whispered, holding his hips tighter against mine, remembering what Pete and his girlfriend had said about a boy's having an orgasm in his pants, so wet that it would show, if he were wearing chinos. He wasn't. He just nodded. I kissed him, just on his lips, and murmured - to my surprise: 

"Wish I had too."

He chuckled once, nodding, and then I really surprised myself, murmuring: 

"Maybe next time."

I had really said that, told him that I wanted to have an orgasm, have him help me have one! We walked the short way to my house, our coats buttoned again, holding hands. At the door, we kissed again, just a goodnight kiss. All we both said was: "Next time." 

Mom was still up and seemed a little surprised that I was home a few minutes earlier than expected. When she asked about the movie, I said that it wasn't as good as we had expected. She smiled and replied: 

"But I hope you still had a nice evening." 

How did she mean that?! She had met him and liked him, but - for sure - she couldn't be thinking that we had a "nice evening" the way we had. I knew I was blushing a little as I replied: 

"Yeah, of course."

She smiled again. Had she winked? With a more serious expression, she replied: 

"That's nice; just don't do anything you shouldn't." 

I nodded, really blushing, and said good night and went to my room. Did she think my giving myself an orgasm was something I shouldn't do? I did, too eager for one to think about trying to get three fingers in, despite recalling my impression of how big his cock had seemed, bigger than two of my fingers. The next morning, I did again, just thinking that two of his fingers would be bigger than two of mine and wondering if we would get that far on our next date. Not the following weekend, not like that, since I was going to have my period. I shouldn't have suggest "next time," now I was going to have to tell him about that. 

Monday afternoon, Mom said there was a letter from Pete, again remarking that it was nice that we liked to correspond. If she knew why and about what?! It was again a letter that she could read, but also another sheet of onionskin, written on both sides. A glance at the bottom of the sides showed that both he and his girlfriend had written, her name was Barbara, just signed "Barbs." I read her side first: 

"You didn't have to tell us all that, but it was fun to read, reminding me about how it was a couple of years ago. Congratulations! Wish I had had someone to ask. Very nice that you could ask Pete, and that he let me help. I couldn't ask my big brother, and don't think he had a girlfriend he could have asked, not when I need to know. Take care, and remember, not without a rubber; I was lucky a couple of times, just very lucky! Barbs"

No kisses? Pete wrote: 

"Kind of funny, a lot funny, encouraging my little sister on how to make her first time good. What it's like for girls?! Never thought about that before. Guys all figure it out by themselves, pretty simple; not much else we can do. If - probably more when - you get that far, remember Barbs' advice about that. Maybe his is like mine, then you can rub it up and down all you like, but then watch out! All over the place or in his pants. I guess I'm wanting it to be good for him too. Love, Pete X X"

Kisses from him, at least. I wrote back with another progress report, enjoying telling in detail, and ended: "Thanks to you both, signing with my name and two Xs. 

Monday at school, my friend immediately suggested a date Friday evening. I was going to have to disappoint him, if he was expecting to get his hand in my panties, like I wanted him too, but I could get my hand in his fly. Would that be something Mom thought I shouldn't do? Not as much as what I wanted him to do, what I wanted us to do. That, for sure! I had to admit to myself that I wasn't really in love with him, but rationalized that maybe that was better; we both wanted to do it, but we weren't going to be too upset when we went our ways. I hoped not. 

Our date was another movie date, to a good, first-run movie. We went to it, and our hands were immediately back on my thigh, both of us humming softly when his fingers made my thighs twitch. When his other hand was in his lap again, I drew a deep breath and reached over and held it, his fingers obviously holding his cock. It sounded like he purred, and he slipped his hand from under mine. He wanted to let me hold it! Barbs had been right: a handful, well, including his pants and underpants, but still bigger than three of my fingers. He clutched my thigh, when it twitched in my hand, and my thighs twitched, and his fingers crept a little up my thigh. 

Oh yes! They knew where I wanted to feeling them, but there was already something in my pussy. How much did he know about girls' periods? When his cock twitched again, I was afraid it couldn't wait till I could really hold it. What would it feel like, a stiff cock in my hand? But not in the movie, with people sitting next to us, hopefully too engrossed by the film to notice where our hands were. 

When I took my hand, his left my thigh, and we got up, stooping to let the people behind us watch the film, excusing ourselves as we disturbed the people nearer the isle. If they imagined why we were leaving the theater, at least, they didn't know who we were. Outside the theater, he murmured that he knew a better place to go, leading me to bench in the park, out of the range of street lights. 

We sat down. It was almost freezing, but I didn't feel the cold, when our hands were back where they had been. His cock wasn't as stiff as it had been, but then it was, and his fingers were further up my thigh, and then a little further. I had to tell him: 

"I want you to, but not tonight, you know, girl's thing." 

He nodded with a hum. I murmured: 

"But I want to, for you," and squeezed his cock. He nodded again, and let go of my thigh and put his arm around my shoulders, drawing me around. I changed hands on his cock, my fingers almost all the way around it in his pants, and we kissed. His cock surged on my hand. I had to let go of it to find the tab of his zipper, luckily sitting on his right side. He nodded, thrusting his tongue in my mouth. I found it and zipped down. If he wanted to kiss like that, he was going to have to do most of it; I was too aroused by what my fingers were doing. 

They slipped inside his fly, and then immediately discovered the opening of his boxer shorts, very easy, since his cock was holding it open. Just waiting, wanting my fingers to hold it, I thought, and they did: So stiff, and a handful, my fingers just reaching around it, and so hot! I was holding a stiff cock! I move my hand up and down. He winced, when it moved down. He was ... what was the word? I slid my hand up, my fingers discovering a little groove and then the ridge around the head of his cock. 

Barbs had told me to ask him what I should do. He didn't mind that my fingers were exploring around the head of his cock. It felt so good, was so arousing to be holding it, and it twitched, especially when my finger rubbed on a funny little ridge of skin below his knob, making his cock twitch strongly, as he moaned deeply. 

"There?" I murmured, rubbing again.

"Um-hmmm!" he responded, his cock twitching again. 

It occurred to me that a cock would want to be squeezed, when it was in a pussy. My four fingers grasped his, and my thumb rubbed there. It must have felt very arousing for him: his cock surging and twitching, his hips twitching up, moving his cock in my fist. When he winced again, I got a new grip, further down on his cock, pulling his skin up, so that when his cock moved, the skin didn't tighten against my fingers. He moaned his approval, and let his hips rock up harder. Then we were both moaning. What was it going to be like, all that stuff that Barbs had told me to expect, also that 

I shouldn't stop after the first time it spurted. 

It did! He grunted, his hips thrusting again and again. She had warned me: all wet in his shorts and on my hand. He sighed and put his hand on his pants over mine, holding mine still. I held his cock, feeling it soften, and was very pleased with myself: I had done it. Okay, Pete had written that it was pretty simple for boys, but I had done it! I had made him have an orgasm, all wet like that, his warm - what was it called? - in his shorts and on my hand. What was it like? My thumb explored: thick, slippery. Next week, he was going to have to it to me, even if it wasn't that good.

His hand relaxed on mine, and I took it out of his flies. Why did I lick my hand? I shouldn't have; it didn't taste good; it tasted very ungood, very peculiar. Just his, or did they all taste like that? He took my hand and kissed it, didn't lick it, and murmured: 

"That was so good! 'Next time'. I want to, too."

"Not more than I want to, want you to."

He kissed me, we kissed. He zipped up, and we walked home, and kissed again at the door, a lot better than we had the previous week, then again just promising: "Next time." 

I was relieved just to find a note from Mom: "Goodnight, sleep tight." Had she anticipated that I would be embarrassed again? I was, blushing, as I went to my room. He still hadn't held my breast in my new bra. But I held it, just my breast, frustrated that I couldn't give myself an orgasm.

My letter to Pete was very direct. Without addressing him, it started: 

"You could have told me not to lick my hand, at least, warned me that it tastes that peculiar. Does yours, does all men's?" 

I went on to update my progress report, telling them that it had still been real good, and that he had promised that he wanted to make it good for me. I even joked that I might not wait to tell him how to do it better. Of course, I filled in my letter with more stuff, at the end remembering to tell what Mom had said and about her note and my blushing. 

Barbara had been right, with increasing practice, I had no trouble having orgasms. If he didn't know what to do, I wasn't going to hesitate to tell him. Pete had written that boys all knew what to do for themselves; he couldn't be surprised that girls - that I - did too. And if he was? Someone had to tell him.

We had to skip the next weekend, his grandparents visiting. But the next one, his parents had to go to a company Christmas party. We both grinned and nodded, when he told me that. There was a school party that evening, but we didn't go, telling each other to try to find out as much about it as we could in advance. Dressed for the party - with my now not so new bra - we met and exchanged the information we had heard: the decoration, something about the program, that there would be dancing. 

In his family's house, I was ready to ask him to unzip my party dress but didn't - not the strapless one. He took off his jacket and loosened his tie. When he asked if we wanted anything to drink, I just shook my head, with a nod at the sofa. We sat down, our hands on each other's thigh. We smiled, maybe a little subdued; we knew what we wanted to do, what we were going to do, but hesitated a moment. Just for a moment, and then we were in each others' arms, kissing. When his fingers were on my back, touching the top of the zipper, I nodded, had to sigh, as he pulled it down, and moaned, as I felt his hand slid onto my bare back. Why didn't it find the hooks of my bra? 

He let me urge him to lie back on the sofa, my tongue in his mouth, being sucked. I wanted his leg up on the sofa, wanted to hold it between mine. That wasn't all I wanted to feel between my thighs, but not with my dress between us. His fingers then did find the hooks of my bra. He wasn't going to get to see my aroused nipples in its sheer cups. I nodded with a hum. It took him a couple of moments to unhook it, but I liked that as a sign that he didn't have any experience with bras. 

It felt like my breasts surged, when my bra snapped free, and I felt his hands roaming up and down my bare back. I was half naked, at least my back. I wanted him to see them. I raised my shoulders, drawing my shoulders together, hoping my dress would slip off them. It didn't, but his hands hesitated only moment before they pushed the sides of my open dress down on my arms. I felt that they were free of my dress and bra, and saw his eyes glance down. He could see my aroused nipples. Why hadn't I ever fantasized about his sucking them? I wanted him to, but not with my dress still on, nor with his clothes on. 

"Not here," I murmured. He nodded. 

"In your room," I suggested, a little surprised with myself. In his room, his bedroom, his bed?!

When he nodded, I rose back further, aroused and delighted that the top of my dress and my bra slid down my arms, really half naked now! If he didn't think to suck my aroused nipples, I was going to tell him to. 

When I got off the sofa, my dress was slipping down, the front flopped down, I caught my bra as it slipped off my arms, and gave him a promising smile. God, it felt good to know that he was able to see me that way! 

Somehow, we got to his room. He was stripping off his tie and shirt, and loosening the trousers of his dark suit. I was having to keep from tripping on the hem of my dress. In his room, I let it drop and stepped out of it, kicking off my pumps, standing proudly to let him see me almost naked. He moaned. Then I remembered that I was wearing pantyhose. As I started to remove them, I wondered if I dared to catch the elastic of my panties and take them off too, in one fell swoop. His trousers had dropped, his hands also at the elastic of his boxer shorts. And his cock looked like it wanted to spring out, pressing open the left side of its fly. We smiled. His smile looked a little forced questioning. We nodded and pushed them down. He had to pull the elastic forward to get it over his cock. 




Pete Doesn't Just Tell Me Ch. 01



It was beautiful! At least, I thought so, my first cock. What did he think about my pussy? He could only see my pubic hair. I didn't know what it looked like, but I sure knew how it felt, wet. 

I had to struggle to get my legs out of my panty hose, and he had to shuffle out of his trousers and then take off his shoes and socks. We both probably could have done it faster, but we were looking at each other: I watching his cock bobbing as he moved, and feeling his eyes watching my breasts. Could he imagine how arousing it was to feel my nipples tighten like that? And when he sucked them? I didn't know yet, but I wasn't going to leave his room without finding out. 

We stood there, looking at each other; his aroused cock, my arouse nipples. He couldn't see how wet my pussy was, but I wished he could, well, somehow see that I was as aroused as he was. We stared at each other, our eyes only meeting a couple of times between looking looking elsewhere. His were wide open. Oh, I liked it, having him see me. I was blushing a little, but more from feeling that what we doing was wicked. When he saw me stare at his cock, his hands moved, suggesting a reflex to hide it. I looked back up at his face. He had a somewhat uncomfortable expression, but smiled wryly. 

"I'm just as aroused," I murmured: "just doesn't show, just here." 

I touched my stiff nipples, rubbed a finger over them, and had to moan softly. He had to suck them! I step closer, and he did, and we embraced, his cock sliding up my belly, and kissed. Oooh, it felt good, two naked bodies clasped together, my breasts pressing against his chest, his cock twitching!

I didn't want it to be like that time when he came in his pants; I wanted to make him come, to see it. I don't know how the idea came to me; I urged him back towards the bed and murmured for him to sit down. He did, and I straddled his legs, drawing my knees up on the bed and sat on his lap, his cock sticking up between us. Had I anticipated that it would be easy for him to suck my aroused nipples in this position? I put my hand under one, raising it a little. He did, and held my other breast! Oh, it felt good, there too, making my thighs twitched together on his hips. 

I grasped his cock. "Uhn-hnn!" he responded, nodding and sucking. Oh, it was arousing, what he was doing, and what I was doing! I was worried that I might drip on the bedspread, then recognized that it would only be on his legs. I don't know if I did, but when he was sucking my other nipple, he came. Barbs had been right: all over the place, on him, on me, and the first couple of times so much and up as high as my breasts, as his hips twitched under me. I loved it! Also the way he had almost bitten my nipple. When he released it with final moan, and looked up at me with wondering expression, I let go of his cock and rubbed it all over our stomachs, and then embraced him. 

"Mmmm!" all sticky between us! But what now? This wasn't being like I had anticipated, however that had been. My wet pussy, now it was her turn, wanted to be rubbed. 

I really don't know what suggested it to me; I urged him to lie back and dropped down to kiss him, having to move up a little on him. We kissed. In a reflex, I rocked my hips down. "Uhnn!" My pussy was on his cock, right where she wanted to be rubbed, or rub herself! 

She did. Of course, I did, but it felt like she was doing it by herself. Wasn't the best thing to rub herself on a cock! He chuckled, as our tongues caressed, and my hips rocked. Oooh, they wanted to rub up and down the length of his cock, right up to its head! I moaned; it had twitched. Barbs had said that he could come again. Or had it been my brother that wrote that? Didn't matter! His cock was stiffer again, and she was rubbing herself on it where it felt arousing for her.

Yeah, his hands had slid down to my hips, helping them rock on his cock. Even if he didn't have any more experience than I had, he understood what she was doing, what she wanted. I raised my hips a little. She wanted me to. His cock pressed up, staying contact with her. I moaned with a nod, and he did the same. She didn't want just to feel him there, and rocked up over the head of his cock. There!! His cock twitched, and his hips rocked up. Yeah! There! She wants it in there! 

He suddenly froze, holding my hips up and murmuring: "I don't have a rubber."

I loved him for that! I would have, she would have, too aroused to be able to stop. I gave a long moan and nodded. Frustration! I had never been so aroused, at least, not when I couldn't help myself to an orgasm. I rolled off him, my feet dropping to the floor. My fingers were rubbing her before I realized what they were doing. That wasn't supposed to happen, but she had to be rubbed. Too late to worry about what he could be thinking. 

"Um-hmm," he agreed, however - good boy! - and rolled towards me, his stiff cock slapping down across my thigh. I grasped it with my other hand, thankful that I had happened to use the one further from him to rub my pussy. "Um-hmm," he agreed again, as I felt his hand on my thigh, closer down between them than his fingers had ever been before, and rubbing up closer to my pussy. 

This wasn't like I had thought it would be: his putting a finger in my pussy, and my somehow telling him to rub where my fingers were. Well, he knew about that now, the way she had been rubbing on his cock and now with my fingers' rubbing her. His fingers crept closer to my pussy. I nodded with a moan, and one touched my pussy lip. Uhn-hnnn! I encouraged it. It ventured further, between them. I groaned with another nod. It found her wet opening, and I nodded again with another groan. And then I gave a longer groan, as I felt it slip into her, bigger than one of mine, felt almost as big as two of mine. God, she had just been waiting for that, squeezing it! Did I tell him to suck my breast again, or had he done it without my suggesting it? I was too aroused to recall, but he did, luckily not the one he had almost bitten before. 

I hadn't imagined that an orgasm could be better than the ones I had given myself, but it was - so much better! Wetter than ever before, and we still hadn't really done it. Could that be even better?! And he had come again, it shooting across my thighs, some sliding down the outside of my far one and more, warm and wet on both of them. I had forgotten that I was holding his cock, but in my arousal I must have been doing the right thing. 

My fingers stilled, and I grasped his hand, holding his finger in her, and felt her squeeze it again. I squeezed his cock, and we both sighed with long moans. I looked over at him and smiled, and he smiled. Maybe I didn't really love him, but I sure loved what he had done and what he had let me do. 

I let go of his hand and rubbed his semen on my thighs. We both chuckled. Why did I lick my fingers again? I knew that it tasted peculiar. It did, of course, but like I had expected. He snorted in surprise. I gave him a wry smile. "If you wanted to," he murmured. I just shrugged, then thinking that "peculiar" was the right word: not like anything else, but also not necessarily bad. How else should it taste? 

When I rolled towards him, we moved further back on the bed and embraced, our legs interlocking. For how long did we doze off? When we stirred and then were awake, we remembered that the Christmas party where his parents were wouldn't go too late. Hardly speaking, we quickly got up and used the bathroom. We had to chuckle as we both used the toilet, and then chuckled more, as we washed our stomachs, and I, my thighs. I probably should have washed my pussy, but didn't. 

One of us suggested that we could still go the the school party, and we quickly got dressed. I had to brush my hair, and he suggested that I use his mother's hairbrush in the the other bathroom. That was a little ticklish, but I did, making sure there were none of my hairs left in it. Chuckling with smiles, we got our coats and walked to the school, just holding hands, not speaking, just exchanging clasps. 

A couple of classmates asked, of course, why they hadn't seen us before. The first time, we just tried to look noncommittal. The next time, he smiled and replied that we had had to start the evening at a party with my family. We danced with the others, closer than most, until the lights were dimmed. When we saw silhouettes of others' kissing, we did, as good as we could, just chuckling when we felt his cock. 

On the way home, we chuckled and murmured that the others could just be envious of us - if they only knew how my family's party had been. After a kiss at the door, both of us murmuring: "next time," I went in, turning off the last light, and went to my room. 

In bed, I didn't have to do anything; it had been just so good, but I still had to hold my pussy and breast, as I recalled our whole evening. I really hadn't thought before how it would be, just that we would do more than we had before, but it had been so much better! I had really rubbed my pussy on his cock, and we almost had ... "Next time?" Would he have rubbers? If he did, was his cock bigger than three of my fingers? I held them. Maybe, but I still hadn't gotten three of mine in my pussy. Barbs had, in hers. How big was Pete's cock? And his was different, letting her rub his skin up and down. I fell asleep wondering about that. 

Pete and Barbs got another progress report. Was I writing pornography? I just had to tell them everything, my thoughts too. At least, they didn't have to worry about someone else reading my letters. The reply was again a letter Mom could read and a sheet with their replies to what I had written. They were both delighted, each telling that it sounded a whole lot better than the first time they had been naked with someone and just "done it," They also praised my friend for not letting us do that without a rubber. 

I replied immediately, telling that it was all because they had been so good about answering all my questions. 

We couldn't do more before Christmas, since our parents were home. We had one more date and got our fingers wet in the dark. Of course, he couldn't really satisfy me that way, but when I tasted my fingers again, he tasted his and said that I tasted real good, chuckling and admitting that he had tasted himself, agreeing: "very peculiar." For me, it was becoming less peculiar; that was just the way it tasted, and I was pleased that I could give him his orgasm. I got mine in bed afterwards. I did taste good. 

He had told me that he had rubbers. One afternoon, behind a hedge, he showed me one, and we had fun blowing it up. Wow, it was like three feet long! Someone would have been surprised, if they had seen how it flew; we were, afraid that it would catch on a limb of a tree. I wrote them about that too. Just before Pete came home, he replied, telling that he would give me some rubbers: "in case his run out." That was on just a slip of paper in his other letter.

A couple of weeks after my birthday, I had started to sleep naked, taking whatever I would have worn in bed with me, in case Mom woke me, and to make it look slept in. The first morning when Pete was home, I almost went in the bathroom naked, like I had been doing for weeks. Luckily, I heard that he was already in it and quickly found my shortie nightgown and panties. He was shaving, just in his shorts. I had to go. 

I hadn't used the toilet with him in there before, and he hadn't with me in there, of course, but I really had to go. While my thighs were twitching, I quickly rationalized that I had written him about using the toilet with my friend, and that he couldn't see anything, and that after all our letters we were a lot more familiar, and so why not; Barbs probably did with him too. 

"Got to go," I murmured, already reaching under my shortie to pull down my panties, adding: 

"if you don't mind?" 

He glanced at me in the mirror and shrugged with slight grin, remarking: 

"Looks like it's too late for me to."

It was; a moment later my stream was hissing in the toilet bowl.

"Definitely too late," he murmured with a chuckle, glancing at me again. I nodded with an apologetic expression, then murmured: 

"You and Barbs probably do too."

"Um-hmm, like you did with your friend. That was good, your letter; we had fun reading it."

"It was good; thank you again." 

"Our pleasure." 

I wiped myself and kicked off my panties; he wasn't going to be able to see anything when I stood up. He had rinsed his face and turned to grab his towel, just seeing them landing in the corner. He snorted with a wry smile and said: 

"I guess so, can't see anything."

"What I was thinking. What do you wear in bed? I almost came in here naked."

I was a little surprised to hear what I had said, and he was too, first hiding his face in his towel. When he looked at me again, with a wry expression, he hesitated a moment and then said: 

"Less than before."

"Hm-hmm! Like me, nice, and not just since we did it."

He chuckled with a smile, nodding. I nodded back with a grin and said: 

"This is nice too, with you, with you and Barbs, all of it."

"We thought so too." 

I had stood up and flushed, and was reaching down to find the hem of my shortie. 

"I'd better leave," he remarked, moving to the door. I didn't raise it, replying:

"Yeah, I guess. Probably wouldn't see more than in my bra."

"Hmm! No, it didn't hide much. Hm-hmm! Hope he liked it."

"Like I wrote, he didn't get to see it in place until afterwards. Well, I didn't write that, but that he got to see them before that." 

"Lucky guy."

We chuckled, and he left the bathroom, leaving the door open. I whipped off my shortie. Yeah, if he wanted to look, I wanted to let him. Why not; he had seen me in bra and panties since I started wearing bras, and in that bra, that had let him see my nipples - and how they looked when they were aroused. My panties only concealed my pubic hair. I fluffed it up unconsciously and took my shower. I never knew if he did look. I put my shortie back on before I returned to my room

The next morning was the same, except that we didn't talk about it. The following morning, I just wore my shortie, finding it silly to put on panties just to take them off again. He noticed, just shrugging with a nod. I remarked: 

"Kind of funny, putting something on to go to the bathroom. No reason to wear them too."

"I guess not. I do." 

"Of course, the interesting parts are different places."

He chuckled with a nod. I was again a little surprised when I added: 

"And you've seen mine."

"Hmm! Almost," he replied with a smile. 

I think it was then that I realized that I was suggesting that we see each other naked. Of course, the first morning I had been wanting to let him see me, but now I recognized that I was wanting to talk him into our both being naked. And then I remembered that he written that his cock was different from my friends. Yeah, I wanted to see it, and his last remark didn't sound like he would be upset, if I let him see my boobs without a bra. I hadn't show him them that morning, but maybe he saw that my nipples had popped under the thin cloth of my top. 

The next day, or maybe that was Christmas Day; but this isn't about that. If so, then the next day. In bed the next morning, I was debating with myself if I dared to just walk in the bathroom with nothing on. By then, we had a routine, his being there shaving when I joined him. I didn't, just again in my shortie, but when he greeted me, glanced at me in the mirror as I sat on the toilet, they popped out, and I tightened the cloth over them. When he chuckled, I knew he had seen them and maybe recognized that I had wanted him to. I was going to let him see them the next day! 

Then I surprised myself again, asking: 

"Do you and Barbs do anything else? 

I really didn't know what else they could do, just asked for something to say. He didn't just glance at me in the mirror, he turned his half-shaven face and looked at me with a surprised expression. I hadn't expected that kind of reaction. Later, however, I understood that he had probably assumed that I knew what I was asking about, but I hadn't, I didn't. He just stared at me, then nodded slightly, and turned back to the mirror. They did do something else! 

"What?" I asked, just sitting there. He glanced at me in the mirror, continuing to shave. 

"What?" I asked again. He snorted. Now, later, I think he understood that I really didn't know what I was asking about. 

"Sometimes," he murmured. 

"What?" I asked a third time, now very curious, since he seemed reluctant to say, but had admitted that they did. 

"You've told me everything else," I murmured. 

He snorted softly with a little nod. Was I going to have to ask again? I just stared at him in the mirror. No, once I glanced down at his ass in his shorts. 

"Ouch!" he remarked suddenly. He had cut himself. Later, I assumed that it was because of my question. I didn't want to ask again and murmured: 

"You do." 

He nodded, and finished shaving, washed the soap off his face, and dried it before he looked at me again. After a moment, he murmured: 

"Guess you don't know. Sometimes I lick her there."

"There?" He nodded. I think I was blushing, for sure, my nipples had popped out again. 

"There!" I repeated, this time not a question. He nodded again.

"Really? You like it? Like to do it?" 

He nodded again. Suddenly I was almost giggling. I caught my breath and said: 

"Oooh! Really! If she tastes as good as I do ... Hm-hmm! A lot better that he does, or you must. Mmmm! I bet she likes it!"

He nodded again, a couple of times with smile. My thighs had twitched together on the toilet. I grinned and said: 

"Oh, I would like that!" Then I scowled and murmured: 

"Doubt if I can ask him to." 

Pete smiled wryly and suggested: 

"If he knows that you taste good ..."

I nodded, grinning again, and replied: 

"He does; licked his fingers." 

We both chuckled with grins. This was being good, a lot better than I had anticipated with my so innocent question. I had another one, but we'd talk long enough, if I was going to take my shower and get to breakfast on time. I stood up and flushed. He still hadn't left the bathroom. I started to pull up the hem up my shortie and asked: 

"Want to see them, not just 'almost?" 

I didn't wait for his response, just drawing the hem up slowly. Only when his eyes dropped down, did I realize that he could see my pussy, but it was too late to stop without making it seem that I was just teasing him. I pulled the hem up over my face, letting the cloth hide my boobs for a moment more. 

"I'd better not," I heard him murmur. He was gone, when I pulled it over my head. Had he seen them, waited a moment to see them, seen me all naked? I took my shower. Whose hands did I want to fondle my breasts like mine were? 

Despite our bathroom conversations and all else that our parents didn't know about our correspondence, at breakfasts with them, we unconsciously reverted to our old roles, also during the day. 

That evening when we were in the bathroom to brush our teeth, still in clothes, I was surprised when he said: 

"You didn't have to do that - this morning." It was the first time we mentioned at night what happened in the mornings. I was brushing my teeth and just grunted with a noncommittal wobble of my head; had a few seconds to wonder how to reply. I rinsed my mouth and then mumbled: 

"You didn't mind." 

"I should have." I smiled at him behind the towel on my mouth, but my eyes were smiling. 

"But you didn't," I replied, when I lowered my towel. He gave a wry smile and admitted: 

"Kind of hard to - even if you're my sister."

"You did look?" 

"Hmm? Wasn't I supposed to?"




Pete Doesn't Just Tell Me Ch. 01



He grabbed his toothbrush and the tube of toothpaste, as though he wanted to change the subject, but he had asked a question. It gave me time to think about how to reply. When he started to brush his teeth, I replied: 

"I guess so. Yeah, you were. Yeah, I wanted you to. Like I said, it seems kind of silly, both of us putting something on - if we sleep like that."

He snorted, continuing to brush. I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I could say it. Now or never: "I'm not going to; you've seen me already, can't make any difference if you see me again."

I almost held my breath, waiting for him to finish brushing. It seemed that he was taking longer than usual, maybe wondering what to say, like I had. He started to rinse his mouth, then spit and looked at me in the mirror. He rinsed his mouth again. After he had spit, he looked at me again in the mirror and finally replied: 

"And you want me to, too?"

He had read my thoughts correctly! He was still looking at me. I hope that I didn't grin before I nodded, then answering: 

"Just seemed silly, our both putting something on. Anyway, I'm not going to." 

"Told me that already," he mumbled and reached for a corner of his towel without looking at me. I hoped that my explanation hadn't suggest to him how curious I was to see his cock - the other kind. No, I admitted to myself: you just want to see it, see your brother naked, see what another cock looks like. He dropped the corner of his towel. He turned, avoiding my eyes, as he muttered: 

"I don't know about this. Go! I'm not going to watch."

We hadn't yet used the toilet. He left the bathroom, and I "went," hoping his last words were just about his not watching me then, not that he could have seen anything he hadn't already seen. I flushed and went to my room, undressing and hearing him "going" in the bathroom, then flushing. He turned off the light, and we said goodnight, as we always did. 

Doing what I usually did, when I went to bed, I wondered if he could hear me, not that I was moaning or anything, just having to breath harder, as I wondered if he was doing the same thing, thinking about Barbs or whomever - maybe me, recalling how he'd seen me in the morning?! What was a cock like, that one could slide the skin up and down on? 

The next morning, I was a little apprehensive about really just walking in on him with nothing on. I had, however, warned him that I would; I couldn't chicken out now. Would he have taken my suggestion not to wear his shorts? At the door, I murmured:  

"Don't look," and tried to appear nonchalance as I lowered the ring on the toilet and sat down, then adding softly: "Unless you want to."

Just a reminder: I warned that this story was not for readers wanting repetitive sex scenes. I hope it is enticing enough to read the next chapter, where they get naked and do more. It you didn't like it, others do, so please let them rate it. Thanks.



Pete Doesn't Just Tell Me Ch. 02



The introduction to the first chapter explains that this story may not interest readers who don't like to read all the thoughts of the girl who is the main character. Just a warning. I still hope you enjoy it. It has to get more interesting with her all naked. 

*

The next morning, I was a little apprehensive about really joining my brother Pete in the bathroom with nothing on. I had, however, warned him that I would; I couldn't chicken out now. Would he have taken my suggestion not to wear his shorts? At the bathroom door, I murmured: 

"Don't look," and tried to appear nonchalance as I lowered the ring on the toilet and sat down, then adding softly: "Unless you want to."

My nipples sure didn't look nonchalant. I looked straight ahead at the shower. Had I really imagined he would also be naked? He wasn't. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his head move, then he murmured: 

"I wasn't sure you really would."

"I wasn't either, but I had said so, so why not, and since you have already seen me?"

"Hmm? I guess so." 

I wiped a forearm over my erect nipples. It helped, until I started to wonder what to say. Could I ask if he would have left his shorts off, if he had thought that I would be naked? Oh, and my other question from the morning before: if she had done anything else with him? I didn't try to make my nipples relax again, knowing they would still be stiff, now that I was thinking about that, about what he had told me he did with her. My first question: 

"And if you had been sure I would?"

"Hmm!? ... If I would have too?"

"Yeah, I guess that's what I was thinking."

"You wanted me to?"

"Well, like I said, it seems kind of silly putting something on, if we both sleep n... - that way."

"Hmm? ... You do want me to."

It wasn't a question; I didn't have to answer. He must have recognized that I want to see his cock. Had he, was he remembering what they had told me about it? He was beginning to wash the soap off his face; I had to say something: 

"I wouldn't mind. Just seems kind of fair."

"'Kind of fair'," he murmured with his face still over the washbasin. 

"Um-hmm," I murmured, hoping it encouraged him to think that was all I was suggesting. 

He raised his head and looked at me in the mirror. Could he see my breasts in it, see that my nipples had popped out again? Had he ever seen them when they weren't? 

"I don't know," he murmured and grabbed his towel, drying his face before he turned to me. Wasn't his cock pressing a little on the left leg of his boxer shorts? Whatever he was thinking, it knew that I wanted to see it. Of course, he must know it was like that, maybe just not that I could see it. I had long since wiped. I flushed and stood up. I was blushing a little. This wasn't like with my friend, both of us naked. He lowered his towel, that had also been hiding his eyes. They opened wider. If my nipples could be even stiffer -- it felt like it -- they were. In a pure reflex, my arm wiped over them again. It looked like he tried to repress a grin, then murmured: 

"At least, you're blushing, and that didn't work."

It hadn't, they were still stiff, but then I could nod with wry smile, shrugging in response. Of course, I had wanted him to look, even though it had made me blush. He stared at me -- up and down -- and then murmured: "I'd better get out of here." 

He did. "Had to get out," because his cock had been pressing even more against his shorts? Why hadn't I looked? I took my shower, recalling our conversation. At least, he hadn't said "no," and hadn't said anything about my being his sister; and wasn't "being fair" part of his sports ethics? Well, that was really a contrived excuse. But he hadn't said "no." Didn't guys like to have girls see them naked, like I liked being seen naked? Not just by guys, well only one, I also liked being naked with girls in the school showers after sports. Everyone must like to be naked. 

While I was drying myself, the bathroom door open, he left his room and glanced back at me. I grinned, maybe after he had turned away, but he had looked, and seen that I had seen that he had. He couldn't be too bothered by admitting that he liked to see me naked. 

At breakfast, although we again reverted to our accustomed roles with our parents, I thought he gave me a veiled smirk. If it was -- were, better English -- he had still been thinking about it -- also thinking about letting me see him naked? If he did, what was I going to say?! 

That day we both had different things to do. Luckily, because my thoughts kept returning to our morning conversations and wondering whether he would have his shorts on the next morning. The panties I took in bed with me that night were still a little moist. We hadn't shared the bathroom in the evening. Was that good or bad, hopeful or discouraging, I wondered with my fingers in my pussy and rubbing my clitoris, then remembering that I could ask him if he did that too, thinking about Barbs. 

The next morning -- the next morning! Through the door, I saw that he was naked! Slender hips, nice ass, at least from my minimal experience. 

"Don't look," I warned him again, and went to the toilet. He had already turned down the ring for me. 

"Don't you, either," he replied, adding: "just to be fair," but chuckling softly. Then he remarked: "But you're going to, so better now, before I do." 

In the mirror, I saw him close his eyes tightly, his face covered with shaving cream, and he turned. 

Oooh! His cock! I understood his remark. I had only seen my friend's when it was aroused and then all small, when we were getting dressed. Pete's was somewhere in between: it was still hanging down, but bigger than my friend's had been, when we were getting dressed. And it looked different, a fold of skin covering its head. Not quite; the tip of it was peeking out, and while I looked, more of it was visible. He still had his eyes shut. What would happen if -- when -- he opened them and saw me with my aroused nipples? I wanted to know - of course! 

"This is being embarrassing," he murmured, his eyes still clenched shut.

"Better not look then; shave." 

With a grin on his soapy face, he nodded. My eyes dropped down and saw that more of the head of his cock was visible, before he turned back to shave. With open eyes, he looked at me in the mirror and murmured: 

"It wasn't supposed to be like that."

"Thanks. That's alright; I didn't mind. I can't keep them from popping out when you look, even when I think that you will."

"Hmm? Hm-hmm! Something like that." 

We both chuckled, and he shaved. I decided to save all my questions for later, and just sat there, not thinking about them, and my nipples relaxed. When he had finished shaving and washed his face, he turned, letting me see it again, now smaller. I liked that it was, that our being naked together didn't have to be arousing, and my nipples weren't either, until he looked at them before drying his face. Had he covered his eyes with his towel again to let me look at it some more? He could have used one end of his towel and let the other end hang down and hide it. He hadn't; he wanted to let me to see it. At least, it hadn't occurred to him that he could have dried his face that way.

Maybe he knew that he was letting me see it, wanting me too, since the head of his cock peeked out a little more. When he lowered his towel, but not covering it, he snorted with a wry smile and murmured: 

"Stop staring! You're not supposed to see it that way." 

I grinned with a nod, my eyes jumping back and forth from his face to his cock. Even though its head was wanting to peek out more, he only shrugged slightly, and murmured: 

"Well, I guess you do."

I nodded. The roll of skin was slipping further up. Oh, I wanted to watch it let me see the whole head of his cock, which was beginning to be bigger, but I managed to reply: 

"You had better go." 

He gave me a sweet smile and turned to hang up his towel. Before he left the bathroom, I saw that his cock was even larger, not just hanging. Pleased with my discretion, I took my shower. I had seen it, he had let me see it. We were going to be naked with each other again. I could save my questions until we were both more comfortable -- less aroused -- at seeing each other. But then, if I dared ask him if Barbs did anything else with him, or if he rubbed his cock? Now I had a much better impression of how he could do that, how Barbs could do it, but she probably didn't any more, now that they really did it. But that would be fun, doing that! 

The next morning we both were naked again and much more relaxed about it. My nipples only popped out when he stared at them, but then smiling and watching me look at his cock. He must have felt that it moved a little, but he didn't seem to mind, just smiling with a chuckle. He was enjoying it too! Even if I couldn't ask my questions, this was being delightful! 

The next morning was even more relaxed, my nipples and his cock. I didn't want to upset that and kept my questions to myself, my nipples not even popping out when I recalled what the questions were about. Funny, how the roll of skin completely covered the head of his cock, almost a little tassel closed around it. I hadn't seen it like that before, but when I was taking my shower, it occurred to me how much loose skin there must be to rub up and down on his cock. I wanted to do that. 

That night, did I hear him doing that? I was doing what I could and let a soft moan escape my lips. Yeah, I wanted him to think about that, not just about it's being harmless fun to be naked together. I certainly wasn't, not after hearing that he liked to lick Barbs' pussy and now with an impression of how it could be to rub his cock. Was it bigger than my friend's, when it was all stiff? Did he moan softly in response, or did I just want to believe that I heard him do so?

In the morning, it was just very familiar, both naked, taking it for granted. Even when I asked: 

"Do you do what I do at night, thinking about Barbs?" he just snorted and nodded, looking at me in the mirror, then replying jocularly: 

"Hope you're not thinking about her."

"Hm-hmm! Of course not!" I answered, but his reply suddenly suggested something entirely new. 

Could he mean that I could be thinking about licking her pussy, or her licking mine? That couldn't be any different from his licking it; and if he liked to lick hers, why shouldn't she like to lick mine, or me, hers? That must be what lesbians do. I had heard the word but never considered what they might do with each other. I remembered that he had nodded and remarked: 

"That must be messy, when you do."

He nodded and replied: 

"I have an extra washcloth."

"Hm-hmm! Takes care of that. I just have wet fingers; can wipe them on my thigh. Well, I usually lick them first, but they're still wet, of course."

He chuckled, giving me a smile in the mirror. I returned it and remarked: 

"Must be better when she does it. Well, I guess she doesn't any more, since you really do it." 

He nodded again. Before I realized it, I was saying what I was thinking: 

"That must be fun, being able to rub it up and down. I'd like to do that."

He was about to take another pass with his razor, but stopped suddenly, his body stiffening. I blushed at what I had said. He didn't look at me, just murmured: 

"With mine?" but then did look at me in the mirror. 

"I wasn't really thinking about yours, just one like yours."

Like hell, I wasn't thinking about his, for sure, not after he asked that! He resumed shaving, then murmured: 

"I hope so."

"Yours is just the only one I know like that."

"You're my sister." 

He was thinking that I wanted to do it with his. 

"It would still be fun," I murmured, mostly to myself. 

It was only then that I recognized that his last remark -- and my thoughts -- were about incest, but we weren't going to do that, really do it. He washed his face like he always did and got his towel. His cock wasn't like I had expected. Didn't he know? It was larger than the previous morning, its head again peeking out. Whatever he was thinking or not thinking, his cock knew what we were talking about. He finished drying his face and looked at me. My nipples had already popped out, but my thighs twitched slightly. 

"We shouldn't," he murmured. 

But he hadn't said we wouldn't, that it was absolutely out of the question, and his cock seemed to agree, more of its head peeking out. When he saw me glance down at it, he snorted softly with a wry expression and added: 

"Shouldn't have let you see him, but still: we shouldn't."

He still hadn't said that he wouldn't let me. We had talked long enough; I had to shower before breakfast time. I murmured again: "Still would be fun." 

He left, and I showered. At breakfast with our parents, assuming our old roles was at first a little forced, but then became easier. But when we were alone together during the day, I had the feeling that he occasionally glanced at me at times when I didn't think he usually would, like when we were both reading books we had received for Christmas. I guess that I also glanced at him that way. 

Getting ready for bed that evening, we took turns using the toilet as usual, still with all our clothes on, not sharing the bathroom. The previous evening, we had also brushed our teeth, still with all our clothes on, although in the past we had often been down to our underwear. He had gone first, so it was usual for him to brush his teeth first. As I was about to take off my sweater, it occurred to me that after all our talk in the morning, maybe he was assuming we should keep our clothes on. I had the hem of my sweater in my hands, already pulling it up, when I saw a flash of white cloth as he went back to the bathroom. He was just in his shorts! 

I quickly pulled my sweater off and let my skirt drop, shuffling out of my loafers. I had to stoop to take of my knee-high socks, but then I was down to bra and panties, and joined him. When he finished, we silently changed places. He could have gone back to his room, but he didn't. When I was almost finished, rinsing my mouth, he murmured: 

"I know what you're thinking; we shouldn't." 

He did know what I was thinking. He didn't have to say anything, but he had, and he didn't have to strip down to his shorts. In a sudden flash I understood: he had had three opportunities to say that we wouldn't, had even added the third one unnecessarily. We "shouldn't," but since he hadn't said anything stronger, his saying that again was almost an admission that he was thinking we could, that maybe we would, an invitation to. Was his cock thinking that too? What should I say? He wasn't going to say that he wanted to. He was asking me to. Why wasn't I wearing that bra that could let him see my aroused nipples? He still could go back to his room, but he was waiting for me to reply. 

I just wiped the water off my face with my hand and turned. While turning, my eyes glanced ahead and saw that his cock was pressing against his shorts. I looked up at his face. He could have said something, maybe just "good night" and gone to his room, but he didn't. I resisted another glance at his cock and murmured: "I want to. ... You don't have to do anything." 

He still could have told me that he wouldn't let me, but he didn't. The corners of his mouth moved slightly, not a smile, but if his lips could move, but he still didn't say anything. ...?! I reached back and unhooked my bra, suddenly wonder if this was how a woman seduced a man -- yes, a "woman," not just a teenaged girl, and a man, not her brother. Forget the word for that. When he looked at my arouse nipples, I glanced at his cock -- more aroused than before. More aroused than I had ever seen it? 

"I want to," I murmured again. He nodded very slightly. It could have been just a reflex, acknowledging what I had said, but not agreeing to it. I had unconsciously given him another chance to say something, but he didn't. With my bra in my hand, I began to shove down my panties. Stooping a little, I could glance at his cock again. No, I had never seen it that aroused, pressing against his shorts as though it wanted to spring up. I was drawing my feet out of my panties, when he finally spoke: 

"If you want to." 

"I do," I replied softly and stood up. 

He began to shove down his shorts. Like my friend, he had to pull the elastic forward to get it over his cock. It was sticking straight out at me. The roll of skin slipped back off its head. I hummed involuntarily. This was so much better than I had imagined, getting to see it, since I had imagined that if he let me, it would be in dark in his room. He murmured a final time: 

"We shouldn't," but it was now only the confirmation that we were going to. 

He turned off the light in the bathroom. I tossed my underwear in my room and followed him in his. In the dark, he found his bed and got under the covers, moving over to make space for me, lying on his back. My pussy was all wet! Naked again in bed with a man! And he even put his arm under my head, holding me! My hand found his cock! Was it bigger than my friend's? He moaned. Oh yes! Now he wanted me to do it, didn't mind letting me know that he wanted me to. 

Barbs had been so right; it was so much fun to be able to rub the skin up and down, up around its nice round, firm head. But I had to feel it with my bare fingers, so silky smooth. Did it have that funny little ridge of skin? It did! And his cock twitched strongly, when my fingertip rubbed over it, making him moan. Better not do that too much; I wanted to enjoy playing with it. Up and down, feeling his stiff cock through the loose skin, and feeling it twitch. It was just so good, feeling it and knowing I was making it twitch, and hearing him moan. 

Oh, his hand was sliding around under my arm. Yeah, hold my breast! Oooh! And rub my nipple. I moaned, nodding on his arm. He must do that with Barbs, maybe forgotten that it's his sister squeezing and rubbing his cock? I wanted to tell him how much fun I was having, but if he had forgotten that it was me making his cock twitch, maybe wanting to forget, I'd better not remind him. Was I doing like she did? How else could one do it? Just more, like I was, and then it was going to be all over the place. That was going to be good. How much, how many times? 

Yeah, squeeze my breast and moan. You want it. I want it. Um-hmm, your hips twitching, moving your cock in my hand. Moan. Oh, your other hand is raising the covers; you know it's about to happen. Got your extra washcloth handy? Not before I get to smear it all around. Does it taste like my friend's? We know it's about to happen; I have to moan with you. God, it's arousing, my thighs twitching together, squeezing my pussy. 

"Uhnn!" he groaned with a stronger rock of his hips. I felt it shoot through his cock. I had done it! But keep on, that was just the first time. Did he come more times than my friend? It seemed like it, clutching my breast and rocking his hips again and again. He groaned and murmured: 

"Stop, enough." 

Of course, he couldn't hold my hand still: one on my breast and the other one having to hold up the covers. His last drops were running down on my thumb. I had done it! I squeezed his cock, no longer rubbing it. He sighed with satisfied sounding moan, and I moaned softly, nodding on his arm. 

What was he going to think, when I smeared it around, found the globs and smeared them around all over him. I had never touched his body before, and he certainly hadn't touched mine, not naked and holding my breast. 

Oooh! It really was all over, some up on his chest and more down his stomach. Did Barbs do this too; had she done it, before it always came in her pussy? He chuckled, and I chuckled. My hand was all sticky from it. Then my fingers found a little puddle in his belly button. He tightened his stomach with another chuckle. I hummed, but he didn't know why, until I had my fingers in my mouth. It tasted about the same as my friend's. He gave a surprised "Uhn," then murmured: 




Pete Doesn't Just Tell Me Ch. 02



"You wanted to taste it?" 

"Um-hmm. About like his. Yeah, tastes funny, but about like I expected. Hmm? I guess, the way it should. Kind of want to, after doing it."

"Hmm? If you say so. She doesn't."

Obviously, he had now remembered that I had done it for him and hadn't been upset about it. 

"Good?" I asked.

"Too good. ... We shouldn't have."

"You've said that all day, maybe once too often this evening. Didn't seem like you really didn't want me to."

He squeezed my breast and murmured: 

"I guess not. ... Too late to worry about that now."

"Um-hmm."

He squeezed my breast again in agreement. We lay there for a few moments, my hand back on him, around him, hugging him. I had told him that he didn't have to do anything, not that I didn't want him to. I rubbed his side and murmured: 

"You don't know how arousing that is, for me, doing it, my thighs twitching. I'm all wet." 

I rubbed his side again, and he squeezed my breast, and I slid my thigh up over his. He rolled his to the side between mine, and I squeezed it. It was just a natural reflex to feeling something between them, and another one, to rock my hips up. He chuckled softly and murmured: "Like she does." 

I squeezed his thigh again and replied: 

"I guess all girls just like to feel something between their thighs." 

We both chuckled, and I rocked my hips up again, wanting to remind him what I said about my pussy. Good brother, he chuckled and squeezed my breast again, then murmuring: 

"I know -- it's being arousing -- when I do that to her, it is for me too, if you know what I mean."

"Hm-hmm! Like it was already in the bathroom. I liked that; got to see it."

"You sure did. Hadn't you been wanting to all along?"

"Not quite 'all along,' but yes, then I was more curious, when I remembered that yours wasn't like his." 

"Now you know." 

I rubbed his side and rocked my hips up again, drawing my thighs up a little to hold his better. When they relaxed, he drew his up a little between mine. I hummed with a nod on his arm. This was being so good; he was being so good about it all! Had he wanted to "all along," at least since I was naked, maybe just since his first "we shouldn't"? He squeezed my breast again, this time not in response to anything I had done -- to something he was thinking? I rubbed him again and rocked my hips and murmured: 

"You could do that to me."

"You said I didn't have to do anything."

"I didn't say that I didn't want you to. How do you do it?" 

He gave a questioning "hmm" and squeezed my breast again, and my thighs clenched together on his. I murmured again: 

"How? I would like that."

"How? Different ways, well, just however is most convenient."

"And like now?" I asked, rubbing my hand and rocking my hips.

"You really want me to?"

"Of course! Like I really wanted to do it to you."

"You sure did." 

"And you know how arousing it was for me, well, how it is for you."

"Hmm! Um-hmm," and he squeezed my breast again, then murmured: 

"Yours is a little bigger than hers."

"My nipples too?" 

Good brother, he took the hint to rub his fingers over mine. I moaned softly with a nod. When he caught it between his fingers, I moaned and nodded again, and then murmured: 

"That feels so good. I loved it when he sucked mine." 

"Hm-hmm, I bet he did to."

"Like you do, like you like to do that to her?"

He just squeezed my nipple; he wasn't going to give me a more encouraging reply. I grasped his side and pulled myself up over him, but when he helped me lie on him, I knew he was not just acquiescing to what I wanted, his hands then holding my ass. God, this was good, lying naked on him and his hands holding my ass! Did they help me move up on him? When my mouth found his in the dark, he gave a surprised little "uhn!" but then let my tongue find his. A moment later, his was as eager as mine. 

We weren't brother and sister, just two naked bodies pressed together, two eager mouths and tongues kissing the best way they could, and his hands clutching the cheeks of my ass. When my hips rocked down, they got a better grip and encouraged them. I felt his cock touch my thigh. His hands urged me to move up further on him. Yeah, we didn't want his cock too close to my pussy, I managed to remember to think, but he could suck my nipples. I pulled myself further up on him, our mouths separating, but he knew what I wanted; his hands helped me move further up, and his mouth found one of my nipples. 

I moaned, and he sucked and licked. He couldn't do it better than my friend had, but - hell! - every kid knew how to do that! Girls too! Lesbians must also do it; and they knew how good it was feeling for each other! I moaned, and he was humming, and he started to suck and nibble on my other breast without my suggesting it. He had more experience than my friend. Had Barbs had to tell him the first time? But now? As arousing as it was, he also knew this wasn't as good as what I had done for him. 

Oooh! His hands were urging me to move even further up on him. Oh! Like this, my hips over his face? Is that how they did it, the most convenient way from where we had started? Any way he wanted to, that he wanted to! Would my pussy taste like hers? He was going to find out; it was already so wet again. 

"Mmmmm!" I felt his tongue lap the length of my aroused pussy lips and heard him hum. He liked it: my pussy, the way it tasted. And it felt like his tongue knew what it was doing; there was nothing tentative about how it explored between them. God, he must really love to do it! And he knew how to make it arousing for me. Was his tongue trying to fuck in my wet hole? I knew that it must be very wet, from having had my fingers in it so often. 

"Oooh! Uhnnn!" and there, where the fingers of my other hand would have been, but so much better, his wet tongue doing everything my fingers liked to do, that my little button liked them to do, but it was being more arousing: a tongue wanting to do it, someone wanting have his mouth on my pussy and taste it and wanting to arouse it! 

I moaned, and my hips twitched, and I felt him hum deep in his throat. This could go on for ever! But my thighs were quivering, a sure sign that it wouldn't. Was it going to better than when I had my fingers in my pussy? 

Could it be?! It could! It was! Even without my fingers rubbing in there, I knew my pussy was wetter than it ever had been before, and the wet sounds his tongue was making confirmed that. 

"Uhnnn!" If he only knew how good it was, had been! I dropped down on my hands and turned my pussy away from his mouth, gasping and moaning. He also moaned, rubbing my ass with his hands, fondling the cheeks of my ass, his fingers all over them, even rubbing at the base of my spine. After I stopped gasping, just sighing with satisfied moans, I moved back down his body. I had to kiss him again. Before my mouth found his, I tasted that he had my pussy juice all around it. 

It was just a better thank-a-you-kiss. Then I murmured: 

"God, Pete, that was good! I hope she tried to tell you how good; I can't." 

He hugged me and nodded, murmuring: 

"She said it was better than some of the first times with guys, and with me, but then said that it was usually better the other way." 

"Just 'usually'?" 

"Don't think it is always going to be the ultimate every time."

"Then just do that." 

"You weren't thinking that we were going to do anything more?"

"No, of course not, especially now that I know you can do it this way so good."

"But you were?" 

"Weren't you, asking that?"

"Hmm? Impossible not to, a little. Hmm? Maybe good that you asked me to do that."

"I sure think so, and I didn't know it was going to be so good, better -- a lot better -- than what I can do or what he does." 

"Hm-hmm! Have to tell him what else to do."

"Hope I can, just don't know how I can avoid his wondering how I got the idea." 

"Hm-hmm! Read about it in a book you shouldn't have read."

"Name one."

"She didn't tell me. We'd better go to bed, you in yours."

"Aw, it so much nicer here with you."

"And with you too, I'll admit, but still ..."

We kissed again and said goodnight, and I reluctantly got off him and found my way back to my room. When I stepped on my bra, I searched around on the floor and found my panties and put them on the chair. Lying in bed, I had to hold my pussy and breast, as I fell asleep trying to recall all the details of what we had done. 

In the morning, I didn't wait for him to take his shower. I surprised him, when he was still standing at the toilet. I hadn't intended that. 

"What are you doing here so early?" he asked, shaking his cock. 

"Sorry. Seen my friend. Just didn't want to wait to thank you for last night."

"Hmm? You too, but we shouldn't again."

"You said that too often yesterday. Maybe we shouldn't, but we know we will; it was too good."

"Why we shouldn't."

"Pretty poor excuse."

He frowned, but with a wry smile. I was feeling like I could say or do anything I wanted. I chuckled and said: 

"You can watch me -- in the shower -- to even up that."

I stepped in the shower and grinned at him as I relaxed and let my stream arch out. He did watch, with wry grin. As it was dying down, he snickered and said: 

"You'd better take your shower first to wash your feet." 

I grinned with a nod and did, not closing the shower curtain. This was being more fun than I had thought, when I got up. He watched me wash myself, and I enjoyed that he was, enjoyed making it entertaining for him, more than just washing my breasts and pussy. His cock also wanted to watch, its head peeking out. Oh, it was good. He could say "we shouldn't" as often as he wanted, we would. We didn't have to talk about it -- around it -- any more. 

When I started to dry myself, he started his shower, both watching each other, exchanging mild smirks -- when we weren't looking elsewhere. I thought he could have made washing his cock a little more interesting. When I dropped my towel on the wet floor, he nodded and closed the shower curtain, and I went to my room. 

We survived breakfast and the day with our parents. It wasn't really too difficult, since we had been sort of practicing for days. That day was just another one, even though we had a lot more that we could be embarrassed about. 

In the evening, as we turned to our rooms, I murmured: 

"You know we will; don't have to say anything." 

He didn't reply, didn't nod, but instead of taking turns using the toilet, we were both there, both already naked. He gave me one of his wry smiles, nodding slightly. I just smiled sweetly, then watching him use the toilet. His watching me was nothing new and nothing to see, but when I got my washcloth and washed my pussy, he nodded with slight smile. I should have done it the night before, but I hadn't known that he would be licking my pussy. How did pee taste? Oh, he probably didn't taste it; my pussy had been so wet when I was holding his cock and then again, when we were kissing. 

While he was brushing his teeth, leaning over the washbasin, I resisted my urge to put my arms around his waist and hold his ass to me. It occurred to me, that if I had done that, I could have also reached down and held his cock. When he had finished and turned around, it was bigger than it had been when he was using the toilet. I like that, of course, but I wanted to hold it when it was all small and feel how it was to play with its loose skin when it was like that. Another time, maybe after I had made it shoot all over the place again. 

I started to brush my teeth. Leaning over the washbasin, I was suddenly very surprised to feel his hand on my hip, then his other one. I hummed in my surprise, but nodded. His hands seemed to be appreciating the swelling of my hips from my waist. I was very delighted that he hadn't resisted the urge to touch me, but it was making it difficult for me to concentrate on brushing my teeth - very, feeling his hands holding my waist! Did he do that with Barbs? Was that view of me so attractive, maybe more attractive than the view of her ass, probably smaller and harder -- being a runner? Oooh! His hands were sliding further around me, on my stomach! 

"If were going to," he murmured, and his hands slid up to my breasts, and I felt his hips touch mine. 

"We are," I mumbled with my toothbrush in my cheek. I tried to keep brushing, to avoid disturbing whatever he wanted to do, Tried to brush my teeth, while his fingers were arousing my nipples?! And not just his hips were touching me, I felt his cock touch my thigh, slide and touch both of them! It wanted to get between them! My thighs twitched together, an aroused reflex; they should have twitched apart and let it. 

I had to rinse my mouth, and did, managed to, despite his arousing my nipples and my feeling his stiff cock twitching against my thighs. God, he had forgotten all about "we shouldn't"! All about it? Everything, letting me feel his cock there?! If I spread my thighs, it felt like it would spring right up against my pussy, and it felt like it wanted it, already wet, wanting something in it! 

I managed to turn around with my wet face and murmured: 

"We shouldn't, at least not that." 

I had turned in his arms. He looked relieved that I had defused what he apparently couldn't, and embraced me, his stiff cock caught between us. We looked at each other, both taking a long, deep breath, our stomachs pressing together. He nodded and murmured: 

"'At least not that'."

But everything else?" I asked softly. 

He nodded, and we separated enough to go to his room, turning off the light in the bathroom. In the dark, we found his bed. I thought it would be like the night before, but he rolled towards me and embraced me and kissed me. We kissed. 

It is hard to think about anything, the way we were kissing, but I was: "everything else," anything else? What could that be? Just not "that." Anything he wanted; he now was as eager as I was to do whatever we could -- just not "that." And if he wanted to do that? His cock would; my pussy would! 

Our legs were interlocked, drawn up, his thigh almost touching my pussy. I didn't have to tell him again that girls liked to have something between their thighs. His hand had slid back around my side and found my breast. Did he want to suck them again, and then lick my pussy, without waiting for me to make his cock shoot all over? But then he retrieved his tongue and murmured: 

"You asked if we did anything else."

"Um-hmm, you showed me."

"She does something else too."

"Oh! Yeah, I wanted to ask. What?"

"She licks and sucks it."

"Your cock?!" Had I used that word before, talking to him?!

"Um-hmm." 

"And she likes it, to do it?"

"Um-hmm."

"Uh, and does she, well, you know, swallow?"

"Doesn't let that happen, doesn't like it."

"Doesn't like the taste? That must be frustrating."

"Oh, then we really do it, so that's all right."

"But if ... since we aren't going to do that ...? You want me to?"

He just nodded, squeezing my breast. I had learned that that was his agreement to questions that he didn't want to answer with words. 

"But she likes to do it, sucking and licking?"

"Um-hmm. I do too."

Yes, he told me about it, because he wanted me to do it. But if ... since we weren't going to do what they then did, did he want me swallow, let it shoot in my mouth? What was it going to be like? "Was," not "would be"? Had I already decided I would do it? It seemed so. I had been thinking for too long; he murmured: 

"You don't have to." 

Have to what? Lick and suck, or was he also thinking about my swallowing, probably? I murmured: 

"Tastes peculiar, but, well, that's just the way it tastes; I guess the way it's supposed to taste -- of course. Funny! I mean, I didn't like some kind of French cheese the first time I tasted it, but all the grownups thought it was good, very special, so I tried it again, and, well, then it did. I like it now. Hm-hmm! And raw oysters, the same thing."

He chuckled, squeezing my breast again. Nice, that we had found this way for him to avoid using words to say something he shouldn't to his sister, like asking her to suck his cock. I rubbed his back and murmured: 

"You let me do what I wanted; I want to let you do what you want. I really want to; if she likes it, I will, even that too, I think, hope."

"Me too, but you don't have to. I'll understand, if you change your mind." 

"Hm-hmm! Like the cheese and oysters, I won't know if I don't let you." 

We both chuckled, almost laughing. I chuckled again and remarked: 

"Remember when we were kids, playing with water pistols. I guess it's going to be like that time I squirted in my mouth."

"Um-hmm! But the pistol didn't know how good it's going to be for me, for mine," and he chuckled again, but added: 

"But you don't have to." 

"I want to," I replied, now entirely sure that I was going to let his "pistol" squirt in my mouth. 

He began to turn around on the bed. 

Both of us, at the same time?" I asked. 

"Um-hmm." 

"Oooh! Nice!"

He grasped my hips with both hands and pulled me down the bed. When he drew his thigh up, suggesting I rest my head on it, I understood to do the same, and raised my other thigh. His hand urged me to draw it up past his shoulder and then slid back to my hip. He drew my hips closer, his head sliding up my thigh. 

Oh, this was going to be good; both of us doing it, almost like really doing it, and Barbs had said that what he did was sometimes better than that. Did he do it better than some other guys? He did it as good as I could imagine, and he was already! 

My hand found his cock, not really stiff any more, and all that loose skin. I licked it. He nodded with an emphatic "Uhn-hnn!" Fun, licking over its little slit and around the fold of skin around its head. Suck. I pressed my head forward, my lips sliding around it, pushing back the soft skin. He hummed and nodded again. Now my lips were in the groove around it, and it was stiffer, its head fuller, now all firm, just inviting to be licked and sucked. Was I doing it right? Right enough to make him nodded again. 

And he was doing it right, of course! I was going to have to try not to be distracted, if I wanted to enjoy finding out what it was like to suck a cock. It was really stiff now, just in the second or two while I was thinking about that. What to do? Suck and lick, and rub it, like my hand did, like it would in a pussy. In my pussy? We weren't going to do that, why I was going to make it squirt in my mouth, his cock-pistol. I suck it deeper in my mouth, nodding my head, and he nodded his on my thigh with another hum. Now all the loose skin was shoved back, letting my hand rub too. 

Did it feel for him like really doing it? Hold it tighter; it was bigger than my two fingers in my pussy; it would be very tight around it - tighter than hers? He had written that she had had three of her fingers in hers. 

"Uhnnn!" Don't distract me like that, as good as it feels, too arousingly good to let me concentrate on making it good for you. As much as I want it, I know how that's going to be, but not how it's going to be here. Distract him, try to. It's going to be the first time he get's to shoot his pistol in a mouth; he should be wanting to enjoy it without trying to make it so good for me. 

I sucked and rubbed, remembering that the most sensitive place on his cock was where I couldn't lick, but could I rub it on my pallet? I tried, turning my head back. Not quite, but deeper in my mouth? Almost too far: "aung!" a gagging reflex, but he moaned and stopped licking! If that was good, try again, more carefully. "Uhnn!" he responded. There again, but with less of that reflex, and he moaned again, clutching my ass with his hands. And there again, this time with no unpleasant reflex, but with another of his moans. 




Pete Doesn't Just Tell Me Ch. 02



Had Barbs stopped now? I wasn't going to! I wanted it! Wanted to feel it squirt in my mouth; wanted to hear him moan when his hips twitched. His cock was already. I couldn't lick much, but my hand was clutching his cock and moving with my mouth on it, fucking him with my mouth and hand! "Uhnn!" His hips twitching, fucking his cock in my mouth. Shoot! Squirt! I want it! 

He grunted, and his hips thrust harder. Good thing that I had my hand around it, since his cock thrust even deeper in my mouth - that gag reflex - and I felt it shoot deep in my throat. I nearly bit his cock, having to swallow. But I couldn't taste it, but I knew he would come again and again, enough for me to taste, if it all didn't land back in my throat. 

It didn't, as he grunted and moaned a few more times. Success! He had come, and I had my mouth full of it, plus his cock still, of course. Barbs didn't know what she was missing. It was like the cheese and oysters; I liked it now! 

He sighed with long moan and rubbed my ass, and then began to arouse me again. Oh, this was good, taking turns, and now I could enjoy what he was doing. I had to move my tongue to slosh it back in my throat to swallow, trying not to close my jaws on his cock. It was a little softer now. 

While I was enjoying what he was doing, I guess I gently sucked on his cock. It was there, like a child's pacifier, the head of his cock now back in the front of my mouth, where my tongue just unconsciously moved on it a little. 

That about the pacifier only occurred to me much later, letting me wonder if cock-sucking was just a natural extension of what suckling babies did. I could remember having a pacifier, but not the sensations of using it, but I was delighted with my idea that pacifiers were training for cock-sucking. Was there any training for pussy-licking? French kissing? 

I wasn't thinking about that right then, although now, recalling what he was doing, I could have thought that what his tongue was doing on my sensitive little button couldn't have been learned from kissing, but maybe there, when it thrust in my wet hole. My pussy couldn't suck on it, but it tried to hold it tighter. Did that remind me that his cock was still in my mouth? Nice. 

Its head was softer, when I licked it consciously. I consciously sucked. Did he chuckle? His hips rocked up. It was a little soft in my hand; I had to hold it straight to make it move in my mouth. He did chuckle. I sucked and licked, and he licked and nibbled, nibbled where it felt most arousing. I moaned. His cock seemed to like that, now stiffer again. 

Then I was completely distracted by what he was doing, moaning more and then gasping, but his cock wasn't distracted, all stiff again. I was hardly aware of it, however, gasping and moaning louder, wanting my orgasm. 

I got it; he gave it to me! With wet noises, he gave it to me. I moaned and sighed. Before I had really recovered, his cock moved in my mouth again. In a reflex, I sucked, and it moved again. Oh, yes, we had talked about its being arousing to give each other an orgasm; he was aroused again. For sure, his cock was, moving like that. Did he -- did it -- want me to make it come again? Could he again, already? If it wanted, why not? I loved to suck his cock, love at first suck! 

He had relaxed a little, his mouth no longer on my pussy, but when he understood that I was really starting to lick and suck again, he nodded on my thigh with emphatic "um-hmm," and kissed my pussy. 

Oh, this was good! Now I knew how to do it better, and we were both sure that I wanted to make him spurt in my mouth again. No more learning, experimenting, that was all we both wanted. With my new-found experience -- also his -- we did. He was encouraging me with his moans, and I was encouraging him with my own. Then his moans were just aroused ones, and then uncontrolled grunts, as he came again and gave me the spurts of his throbbing cock. 

It was better than the cheese or oysters. I had liked it before, but now I knew that I wanted to taste it this way as often as I could. As I was savoring it, it occurred to me that it might be even better for him, if I could lick that so sensitive spot. How? Kneeling down between his legs. It didn't matter that he couldn't lick my pussy that way; we had already discovered that it was better taking turns. 

He fondled my ass, then slid his hand up and fondled my breast. We had missed out on his sucking them -- another time. 

"You really wanted to," he murmured. 

I just nodded emphatically, since his wilting cock was still in my mouth. I swallowed and gave it a final lick and let it slip from between my lips, then replying: 

"More than I thought would; it was so good."

"Couldn't have been as good as it was for me -- twice."

"And good for me, twice, plus what you did."

"Um-hmm, and I like that almost as much, too."

He crawled back around, and we moved up on his pillow, embracing and kissing, and fell asleep. 

As I was waking up, I wondered if I had been dreaming, but then realized that I was actually lying in bed with a man, our arms still around each other. Then I was wide awake, it all coming back to me, lying in bed with my brother. Thank God our parents' room wasn't next to ours; they could have heard us moaning, could not have overheard our moaning! At least, it was still pitch dark, still in the middle of the night. I murmured: 

"Hey, wake up! I shouldn't be here." 

I was already getting out of his bed, when he mumbled: 

"Oh, yeah. No, you shouldn't be. But it was so good."

"It was, and how, and sleeping with you. Go back to sleep."

"Um-hmm, you too." 

I found my way back to my room in the dark. Lying in bed, I moved my tongue in my mouth, recalling the sensation of having his cock in it, and then did fall asleep again. 

In the morning, I waited until I heard him finish his shower before I joined him. He just greeted me softly, and I, him. Neither of us said anything else, which didn't surprise me. The less said the better; we didn't need to refresh our recollections of all we had done before going to breakfast. 

Of course, we did it again, every night, the last few before he went back to college. After that night, we closed the door. His cock seemed to fit even better in my mouth, doing it the other way, and I had been right about its being even better for him, when I could lick him there. If it was better for him, it was better for me. What he did couldn't be better. We avoided falling asleep like that again, both complaining that we wished we could. Stuffing my blankets between my thighs was a poor substitute. 

When we both had done it, we talked, wondering how he could suggest to Barbs that she do more. He couldn't tell her that I had with him. And I had told them everything about my friend, so I couldn't write them that we had and enthuse about how much I liked it, not until I had, but we didn't know how I could do it to my friend. Oh, we knew how I could, just not how I could make it happen, certainly not by telling him that I had, even with someone other than my brother. 

A couple of times, his cock was very close to my pussy, knocking at the door, so to speak, when he was sucking my nipples. He had given me rubbers, but we didn't use them, managed not to. When he once said: "we shouldn't," we both chuckled and agreed that we wouldn't -- reluctantly. We both, however, admitted that we were tempted to -- with the head of his cock trying to probed between my pussy lips. We kind of congratulated ourselves on our self-control. 

The last night before he left, we took turns, as usual, and then just had to do it again, both at the same time. Like the first time, he came first, and then I did, and then he did again. Three times for him! We were both impressed. Very early the next morning, I was surprised to be awakened by his slipping under the covers with me. He had never been in my room before. Of course, we did it again, both of us, this time coming pretty much together. 

Then he was gone; I only had my fingers, but with fantasies like never before, but not as good as what he had done. Three fingers were a little better, well, I wanted to think they were, waiting for the night when my friend's or my parents wouldn't be home. Most of our dates ended with our hands in each other underpants. 

Then it happened; my parents were invited out for dinner. I told them that I didn't have date, that my friend was having to do something. Mom and Dad had only driven off, when he knocked. We went straight to my room, my opened bed waiting, and took off our clothes. 

There was nothing spontaneous about; we had been had been waiting for the opportunity too long, not finally to consummate an emotional relationship, to have sex. Maybe he felt differently, not about its being emotional, but because it was really the first time for him. It was for me too, of course, but I knew so well how good it could be, too well, even if Pete and I hadn't done what we were getting naked to do. I was spoiled. 

Barbs had said that what Pete did was sometimes better. Oh, it wasn't bad. It was very arousing finally to have a cock filling my pussy like my fingers never could. Knowing what I was wanting also helped, but maybe more her advice, tempering my expectation that I could have an orgasm. I didn't, also because he had his so quickly. Of course, I said that it was good, and embraced and kissed him. It was good to be again lying naked with a man, more a boy. 

When I suggested that we do it again, he was surprised. I had been about to say "try again." But that was also a little frustrating for me, when we had our hands on each other. I wanted so much to suck his cock instead. Forgetting how I could have explained that to him, he would probably have come in my mouth even faster than he had in my pussy, but maybe I would have liked that better. 

So we did it again, a little better, because he didn't come so soon. With great willpower, fantasizing about what my brother could do, I even had a hint of an orgasm. He was pleased - and proud that he had come twice. Of course, I made appropriate comments. When we kissed, I missed the taste of my pussy that I was accustomed to find around my brother's mouth. We had done it; I wasn't a virgin, not that I considered myself to be one, after all I had done with my brother. 

He had to leave, since we didn't know when my parents would return. That was just as well, I thought, since I didn't have much to say to him. He probably didn't either. Terms of endearment, or whatever one was then supposed to say, weren't part of our vocabulary. 

We got dressed. After he left, it was still earlier than my usual bed time. For lack of anything better to do, I immediately started a letter to Pete, another progress report. When I started the letter with that expression, I wondered if it was appropriate when one had reached the goal. It was pretty much my stream of conscious thoughts, since the "action" had been very simple. When my parents came home, I greeted them and said good night and returned to my letter. Reading it, I realized that he couldn't share it with Barbs, not with all my thoughts about how it had been with Pete. I wanted, however, to let her know that her advice had been helpful. Tomorrow. 

When I got undressed again and was about to go to bed, I discovered the two rubbers and then the foil they had been in. Shit! What did one do with them? The toilet? But not flushing tonight, and not having them swimming in the toilet bowl. Was that all there was in the rubbers? Surely he had come as much as Pete did. It just seemed like so much more in my mouth or rubbing it around on him? Hm-hmm! What did his taste like? Oh, I knew already, licking my hand; I didn't have to squeeze it out of one of the rubbers, also not to test if it seemed like more in my mouth. 

In the morning, I flushed it all down the toilet, hoping nothing floated. Nothing did. After breakfast, Saturday morning, I said I should do some homework. I should have, but I started another letter that Pete could share with Barbs, leaving out references about him and expanding on my thoughts about her. With a red felt-tip, I wrote on the top of the first letter: For your eyes only! 

A week later, he wrote back, just thanking me for my letter. There was slip of paper from Barbs, saying that she was pleased to have been able to help and wishing me better experiences in the future. 

My friend and I did do it again, and it was better, a lot better, but still not as good as my brother's licking my pussy. Maybe it was better that it wasn't emotional. Oh, I liked him, but if I had been madly in love with him, or just thought I was, it would have been difficult to tell him that it hadn't been so good the first time, and he sort of apologized that he had come so quickly. Of course, he wanted it took take longer, like I did. This was about trying to have better sex, not about physically expressing affection. On that note, we could try harder, and it was better. 

Pete and Barbs got a letter about that too. 

Before Easter, my friend and I got to do it a couple of times more, but it wasn't much better. I still wanted to suck his cock - of course! And I wanted him to lick my pussy, but I couldn't figure out a reason for my suggesting it. It was a little perfunctory; we were doing because we could. We didn't say anything about that, but after the last time, we thanked each other for everything, and it was pretty evident that we wouldn't again. After we parted, I thought: you don't know what "everything" is, but hoped that he would find out. 

I had been right at the beginning, that it was good that we hadn't been emotionally involved. I didn't miss him, and didn't really miss the sex with him; I knew it could be better. That let me think that it was especially good that it had been with my brother. I loved him as my brother, and it was very special that we had had such wonderful sex with each other, but he would always be only my brother; we couldn't break-up, like happened to some of the moping girls in my class. 

Pete had made the varsity track team and didn't come home over the Easter break, training for the spring season. He appreciated my letter about how it ended with my once friend, and also my thoughts about how it was with him, agreeing on a slip of paper.

Over Easter, my fingers were very busy. They had been before, of course. They could usually do it better than my erstwhile friend's cock. When they couldn't, it was because I was worrying about something, trying to distract myself, but not being able to. 

Spring term, I was "back on the market," dating several guys. To be honest, I was dating almost any guy who asked me for a date. If it was a second date, we were necking, and those guys had no problem with letting me feel that their cocks were aroused in their pants. A couple even drew attention to it by reaching down and help it stand up. They sure didn't mind that I rocked my hips against it. One was then embarrassed, however. He didn't say anything, but I knew that he had come in his pants. 

Even with the couple that I dated more times, it never got beyond that and their holding my breasts -- in my bra that let them feel my nipples. I didn't want to start anything with any of them. Oh, I wanted to, but I didn't; I was going off to college. I had been lucky that my once friend had understood that it wasn't emotional; I didn't want to let the others think it could be. 

Besides, I had my brother, who was coming home for a few days in June. After Easter, he had written me that he and Barbs had broken up. Over Easter she had found a new friend. His letter to our parents didn't mention that. I consoled him in my letter, only indirectly referring to what I had written about us before. I could have shown Mom his reply, but between the lines I understood that his words about looking forward to being home again and seeing me, suggested more -- like seeing all of me the way he had at Christmas. 

It was still many weeks till June, however, more dates. When I came home from school one afternoon, Mom was about to leave to play bridge. She asked if had a lot of homework, then explaining that Marsha's mother, who also played bridge, had said that Marsha was despondent about her boyfriend's breaking up with her and had said that it would be nice if she had a little company. 

Marsha and I had known each other since we were almost toddlers, since our mothers were good friends. She was an only child. After grade school, we seldom saw each other, although in the same high school. She was rather quiet, definitely not outgoing. I was a little surprised that she had a boyfriend -- had had one. She wasn't unattractive, just didn't do anything for her looks. We had been in the same sports class the year before, seeing each regularly, also afterwards in the showers. She had a nice figure, better boobs than mine, but she didn't wear anything to show it off, almost trying to hide it, it seemed. Of course, I agreed to visit her -- an old girlfriend -- and to please our mothers. Mom was going to pick her mother up, and we drove to their house. 

Marsha gave me a wan smile, saying that it was nice to see me. I didn't know if she knew why I was there, what our mothers had talked about. I replied as cheerfully as I could, and our mothers left. Marsha asked if I wanted a soda pop, and we went to her room. The furniture was the same as years before, but there were now a couple of posters on the wall, movie stars, but not James Dean or other men, like in the rooms of a couple of other girls I had visited. 

We kicked of our shoes and sat on her bed, like we had when we were in grade school, and drank from our cans of pop. She still had cheerless expression. I asked innocently: 

"So, what's up? What's new?"

She gave me a very cheerless little smile and murmured: 

"We broke up; he broke up."

"Oh! That's a pity. Sorry. It happens to others, to all of us."

She almost had tears in her eyes, nodding, replying: 

"But he was my first boyfriend."

"Uhmmm, yeah, that's worse."

"Very!"

She looked like she was about to cry. I wasn't used to embracing other girls, but she looked like she needed to be. I nodded and murmured: 

"Come here," and moved closer to her. She immediately did, nodding, when I put my arm around her shoulders. She gave me a little smile. 

"Want to tell me? What happened? I asked softly. 

She didn't reply, shaking her head slightly. Her upper arm was touching the side of my breast from the way we sitting. It moved against it, just a little, unintentionally when she crossed her arms under her breasts. I murmured: 

"Maybe it would help, if you could tell someone." 

"Hmm? I don't know. ... Thanks for holding me, nice." 

I gave her a little hug. Her arm moved on my breast again, when she uncrossed her arms. Then it moved again. I wondered why, since her hands didn't move again. I gave her another little hug, recalling that I had read that people unconsciously crossed their arms to show that they didn't want to talk. That fitted with her having shaken her head. Now she had uncrossed them, suggesting that she did?

What happened?" I murmured again. 

She turned her head to look at me, and then her arm moved again. Did she know that it was rubbing my breast? The thought that she might, made my nipple pop out. She looked back across the room and took a drink from her can. I took one from mine. Without looking at me again, she murmured: 

"You want to know?"

"Only if you want tell, not to satisfy my curiosity."

"Hmm! Not sure."

"That you want to tell?"

Her arm moved again. Was that part of our conversation? I gave her another little hug. She nodded slightly. After a long pause, she murmured: 

"Can't tell anyone else. We've known each other since forever."




Pete Doesn't Just Tell Me Ch. 02



"Um-hmm, just haven't seen much of each other in the last couple of years."

"Hmm! Hm-hmm! Well, after sports."

"I didn't mean it like that, but of course." 

We both chuckled. Was that why her arm moved again. My nipple had popped out again. I hugged again, unconsciously pressing my breast against her arm. Oooh! It moved again, almost sliding from the side of it around to where my nipple was and staying there. That had to be intentional! What was she doing? She gave me another smile with wide eyes. I smiled back, liking that she seemed more relaxed. She looked away again. After a moment, she murmured: 

"Okay. He saw me kissing a girl."

"Lots of girls kiss each other."

"Hmm! Yeah, but not like we were."

"Oh!" 

Her arm was moving over my nipple! She kissed a girl that way, and was now obviously rubbing her arm on my breast! Still waters run deep, I thought. I hugged her again. She turned and looked at me, again with wide eyes. I smiled. Maybe I had the wrong expression on my face -- or maybe it it was the right one. She thought it was the right one. She hummed softly and murmured: 

"Yeah, like this," and turned her shoulder out of my hand and reached around and held mine, drawing our faces together and finding my mouth with hers. 

Maybe I shouldn't have been surprised after what she had said and what her arm had been doing, and maybe I had been encouraging her with my hugs. I was surprised, however, to feel her tongue wanting to get in my mouth, and little, that my immediate reflex was to let it and to hold her closer. 

My surprise was quickly forgotten, however. Her kissing me and my kissing her felt good. Did she or I urge us to drop back on her bed? She was half on me, and I was embracing her. When we straighten our legs out, one of hers was between mine. Kissing and lying with her like that was as arousing as being with a boy that way. She thought so too, moaning as her tongue let me caress and suck on it. 

Why not?! If it felt so good; anything she wanted to do? Anything I wanted to do?! Oooh! Her hips rocked down on mine. Mine rocked up. When I drew my thigh up a little between hers, all four thighs clutched together. Damned skirts! We couldn't draw our thighs up where we wanted to feel them on each other. If we were going to do more, we were going to have to take them off, also my blouse -- to keep it from getting wrinkled -- and her sweater. 

My hand found the hem of her sweater, and she nodded, and we both hummed. Yes, we wanted to. Of course, I wanted to! I wanted to hold her breast and to suck her nipple, wanted to know what my brother liked to do, and that too; he loved to lick my pussy. I wanted to know why. 

My hand was roaming up inside her sweater. Should I already unhook her bra? When her hand slid over my breast, I moaned with a nod. It had to feel as good as a boy's holding it, of course. I unhooked it, and she nodded with a moan, squeezing my breast through my blouse and bra.. My hand slid around under her loose bra. She raised her shoulder; she wanted me to hold her. Oooh! I had forgotten that her nipples were so large, remembering that they had always seem to be aroused in the showers. She moaned deeply, and her fingers sought the buttons of my blouse. 

Don't wrinkle it," I murmured, and rolled us over so that I could take it off. I rose up a little and began to unbutton it. Did I look as aroused as she did, when I was with my brother? Now, with her? She was breathing deeply, sighing. I whipped off my blouse. Her hands were waiting to embrace me. Her sweater could wait. I just shoved it and her bra up. Her nipples looked like they wanted to be sucked, but I dropped down, and we kissed, her hands immediately loosening my bra. When her hands slid around, I rose up enough to let her push it up. Then our bare boobs were on each others! Could I feel her stiff nipples? Could she feel mine? We could, when I rose up again and let them brush on each other. We both moaned, smiling at each other, nodding. 

Oh yes! We were going to do everything we wanted, but we had to get our clothes off. My bra slipped down my arms and was flung aside. She moaned softly, staring at my breast, and then held them, squeezing them and then rubbing her thumbs over my nipples. I sat up; she smiled slightly, appreciating that I was letting her fondle them. She sighed again and murmured: 

"I always wanted to do that, in the showers, not yours especially."

"Um-hmm, why your nipples always seemed to be aroused."

"They were. You noticed?" 

"I guess I thought they were always like that. It only occurred to me now."

When I grasped her sweater under her arms, she raised her head and shoulders and let me take it and her bra off, only reluctantly releasing my breasts to let me toss them aside. I dropped back down over her again, and we both hummed, when I brushed our nipples on each others' again. 

"Skirts too," I murmured. She nodded and found the button and zipper of mine. I rolled us over and found hers, then pushing down her skirt. She raised her hips and let me push it down to her thighs. 

"Yours too," she murmured. Somehow we got them both off. Naked, except for our panties, we embraced again, kissing, lying on or sides, our thighs now free to draw up as far as they could between the other's thighs, and hers was pressing on my pussy as firmly as mine was on hers. 

If she had kissed a girl like that before -- more than one? - what else had she done? Did she know what I wanted to do? She couldn't know that I wanted to that. She must have been wondering that I was being just as eager to do anything she wants to. 

My hand slid down to her panties. She didn't respond, didn't slid her hand down to mine. My fingers ventured inside her panties. She stopped kissing and murmured: 

"What do you want to do? ... Uh, ... I didn't know you are like that."

"I'm not, ... not more than you are."

"Hmm? ... Not sure about that."

It took me a moment to think of an appropriate reply, then murmuring: 

"Me neither, not now, but we want to."

"Mmmm! More than I knew. ... This is more than my having just kissed her so good."

"And I have only kissed you, and liked it."

"Mmmm! I was so glad. Hm-hmm! If you had stopped me from rubbing your breast ...?"

"I didn't want to. You were doing that?"

"It just happened, at first, and then, well, you didn't stop me."

"Not after my nipple popped out." 

"Mine were already."

"And were, when I held your breast and then seeing them. That's when I suddenly remembered that they always seemed to be that way after sports."

"They were! Since we had to start wearing bras."

"Hm-hmm! Mine were too, until I got accustomed to being naked with other girls."

"Mine still were, every time. ... Hmm? I guess I like girls."

"Maybe just more than other girls admit."

"Their nipples didn't pop out. Hm-hmm! I was looking."

"Hm-hmm! If I had seen you staring at mine, maybe they would have." 

"I should have; want to hold them again."

"Please." 

She did, and I held hers, and we both chuckled, then humming as our fingers aroused each other's nipples. She hummed again with a grin and said: 

"Yeah, my fingers were itching to hold someone else's."

"Now you can hold mine. I like holding yours." 

"As much as I like holding yours."

We fondle each other, exchanging nice moans. I rocked my hips. She nodded and rocked hers. She had asked what I wanted to do. I wanted to lick her pussy, but my hands were fondling her breasts. I wanted to suck them too. Better to start there. I squeezed and pulled on her nipples. She moaned. I murmured: 

"I want to suck them, know why boys like to." 

"Oooh! I do too. That's good. ... That's as far as we got -- I, with him, more, he with me."

As I moved down to suck the breast my hand was pushing up, I wondered if that was why they had broken up, because they hadn't gotten beyond his sucking her nipples. Nice stiff nipple! Just guys shouldn't have the arousing pleasure of sucking and nibbling girls' nipples, or fondling them, like her fingers were, as she moaned. Her hips rocked, rubbing her pussy on my thigh, her thighs clenching, but my hips had slid back a little when I had curled down to suck her nipple. My hand slid back down to her panties. She moaned. My fingers slid further than before inside her panties. Her hips rocked again, with another moan. Nice round ass, my finger all over it." She moaned again, but then murmured again: 

"What do you want to do? 

I sucked her nipple again, searching for the right reply, Her nipple slipped out of my mouth, and I murmured: 

"What my" -- I almost said: 'my brother'! -- "friend likes to do, after he's sucked my nipples." 

"What's that?"

I had to tell her, if she didn't know. 

"Lick my pussy."

"Oooh! He does that?! You want to do that?! Lick my ..., lick me there?"

"He loves to, and I love that he does."

"He really does? And you want to?!"

"If he likes to, and I do; I want to."

"Really?!" Marsha asked and begin to giggle. 

I had to giggle with her; the situation was so taut with nervous tension. I fondled her ass, catching the elastic of her panties with my thumb, pulling it down, as my fingers crept down to the start of her thigh. She stopped giggling and muttered: 

"You really want to." 

Just a reminder: I warned that this story was not for readers wanting repetitive sex scenes. I hope it is enticing enough to read the next chapter. It is very obvious what is going to happen first. 

It you didn't like the story, others do, so please let them rate it. Thanks.



Pete Doesn't Just Tell Me Ch. 03



The introduction to the first chapter explains that this story may not interest readers who don't like to read all the thoughts of the girl who is the main character. Just a warning. I still hope you enjoy it. If you happened to start with this chapter, you missed why and how this started with the girls, kissing and fondling, but now the lesbian action starts. Then there is a lot more with her brother, as told by her, finally going all the way. 

*

I had to giggle with her; the situation was so taut with nervous tension. I fondled her ass, catching the elastic of her panties with my thumb, pulling it down, as my fingers crept down to the start of her thigh. She stopped giggling and muttered: 

"You really want to." 

It wasn't a question. I nodded with an "um-hmm." 

"If you really do," she murmured, raising her hips and letting me push her panties down. 

"I do," I confirmed, moving down the bed to use both hands to take her panties off her legs. 

Could I take my panties off to suggest that she do it too? That would be expecting too much, I rationalized, as I turned around on the bed, If she like it -- of course she would -- maybe she would think of that. And if she didn't think of it, I already knew what it would have been like. I couldn't expect too much; I had sucked her nipple and could now lick her pussy, discovering why my brother liked to do it. 

As I was urging her to draw her thigh up under my head, she again muttered questioningly: 

"You really want to?" 

I nodded on her thigh and drew her hips closer. She didn't need a better answer than my tongue's finding her pussy. She gave a surprised moan, as I delighted that her pussy already tasted like mine did -- when I was licking around my brother's mouth.

Was hers much different from mine? How different could pussies be? I couldn't lick my own to compare, but my tongue seemed to find that the flaps of her inner lips were bigger than I thought mine were. Her little button? It wasn't bigger than mine I thought, but it sure was sensitive! She moaned. 

This was being so good! What a delightful coincidence that Marsha had lost her boyfriend and so surprisingly was interested in girls. Was I, too? Wouldn't any -- every -- girl enjoy discovering why guys liked to lick her pussy? I didn't think I liked girls as much as she seemed to, but I sure was curious enough to find out. 

Oooh! She also wanted my thigh under her head. I moaned with a nod as I drew it up. Did she want to lick my pussy? She was going to have to deal with my panties, now very wet panties; it was so arousing to lick her pussy. I forgot about her, remembered everything my brother had done that felt so good. It would for her too.

But then she was grasping my hips, her head sliding up my thigh. Did she also want to?! She must smell that my pussy was aroused, wet. Oooh! Her hands drawing my hips closer to her face -- to her tongue?! Did she want to, too?! My tongue tried to encourage hers. Oooh! Her tongue was licking on my panties, there, where they must be wet. Did she like the taste, like I did? She must have tasted her own fingers, like I had. 

I moaned encouragingly, nodding, and she nodded on my thigh. Please! Her tongue again lapping on my wet panties. Could it feel my aroused pussy lips, feel my aroused little button? My tongue was licking hers. She moaned. No, she had no problem with a girl's licking her pussy, and I didn't either, just that my panties were in the way. Why should she: a boy's doing it couldn't feel better. And the boys in our class probably didn't have my brother's experience. Lucky me! 

"Oooh!" this time out loud. Fingers were pulling the wet crotch of my panties aside. She really wanted to lick my pussy! I moaned, and my tongue tried to suggest what I wanted her to do. 

Of course, she knew where it felt best for me, didn't need my tongue to show her; we both knew what another girl would like! Could this be better than with my brother? Did I like sucking and licking his cock better that licking Marsha's pussy and nibbling and sucking on her little button? Now it wasn't so little. Forget about sucking his cock: no comparison; it was just equally good and arousing to lick a pussy, and to have mine licked -- by anyone! And we both knew how it was feeling for each other! 

Was that why she came so wet, because I had known how it was feeling for her and made it so good? And she had made it as good for me as it could be, for the same reason, despite never having done it before? She couldn't know my thought. While we were recovering, I had the wild idea of Pete's doing it with her, who could compare our orgasms. 

Marsha and I lay there. When I fondled her breast, she fondled mine, and we both were silent. I was very pleased to have had the unexpected and so satisfying experience, but what was she thinking? 

She fondled my breast and murmured: 

"If he does that to you, that good, you probably don't want to do it again."

"He doesn't do it better, couldn't. If you want to?"

She squeezed my breast, pulling on it as she turned around and dropped down half on me again, She didn't grin in response to my remark, just smiled mildly with sigh, then asking: 

"You would?" 

"I had been curious. Now I know; I would. Just don't tell anyone."

We chuckled, nodding and she dropped down and kissed me, and I kissed her. She retrieved her tongue, raising her head with a serious expression, asking: 

"Even if you know that I think I probably like it better with you, with girls"

"If you think so. I don't mind. I liked it too. Maybe you will with the right guy."

"Hmm? Tell me about it; maybe so. ... Next bridge afternoon?" 

"Without my panties." 

We smiled and kissed again. In the bathroom, I guess she was a little surprised, when I immediately used the toilet, but then she shrugged with chuckle, and did so herself. She was probably also a little surprised, when I immediately asked which was her washcloth. I had to, since she and her parents used the same bathroom. She told me and then only nodded, when I washed my face. 

Then I was surprised, when she embraced me from behind, as I was about to wash my pussy. I just nodded, however, and washed it, while she held my breast, holding our bodies together. When she washed herself, I also embraced her, to be nice, to be fair, although my doing it wasn't as spontaneous.

When our mothers returned, they were very pleased that Marsha and I were in such good humor, not knowing why, of course. They were pleased again, when my Mom brought me along to spend the next afternoon with Marsha. 

We did it all again, and more. Just grinning, we took off our clothes and kissed, chuckling when our hips rocked up, and then we were in her bed again, as good -- at least -- as before. Lying together, I told her that my "friend" liked for me to sit on his face. She moaned, and we did it that way, and then, of course, I sat on her face. 

It was better than not letting the boys I was dating do too much, and easier to keep me from, knowing that I would be together with Marsha every fortnight, when our mothers played bridge. I was beginning to wonder if I really liked it with her better than with boys. 

I had not written my brother about her, thinking that if we happened to talk about girls, maybe then I would. Our letters, however, were suggestive: his discreetly, mine maybe trying to compensate for my questions about what Marsha and I were doing. At the end of our senior year, at the graduation ceremony, we parted with words suggesting that it was all over. When we saw other girls kissing each other, we also did, managing to keep our tongues in our own mouths and to not press our pelvises together, as we had so often in her bed. 

Funny how girls usually embrace, holding their hips apart, sometimes with boys too. I wondered if they all were trying to avoid suggesting that they also didn't want anyone to know what they did, when no one was looking. 

I waited for Pete to come home.

The first night he was home, we didn't, didn't even imply anything, also not when we were going to bed. Maybe we were overdoing that, even in the bathroom together with all our clothes on, and then just saying good night through our open doors, even though we both knew that we slept naked. 

In the morning, it was funny. He took his shower as usual. Uncertain, I put on my panties and a bra -- not the revealing one -- before I joined him, finding him shaving in his shorts. I had to pull my panties down to use the toilet, of course. We smiled at each other in the mirror, then both chuckling softly. He plucked at the elastic of his shorts and said: 

"I wasn't sure." 

"I wasn't either, obviously," I replied with a grin and pushed my panties past my knees, and then flipped them at his feet with one of mine. He snickered with a nod and stopped shaving, using both hands to push his boxer shorts down. They dropped down on his feet. He stepped out of them, and kicked them and my panties back at me. We didn't quite laugh out loud. When I reached back and unhooked my bra, he leaned closer to the mirror to be able to see my breasts. My bras slid down my arms. I caught it with one hand and tossed it at his feet. 

We exchanged grins and nods. Yes, we were back where we had been! I jiggled my breasts with my hands, and he nodded with grin, humming. I heard myself say: 

"I love you." 

"I love you too, better than a brother should." 

"Hm-hmm! That's good; like I want you to."

"Wicked. We shouldn't."

"You know how much -- how little -- I believe that."

"Just had to say it." 

We exchanged grins again. Oh yes! We couldn't make up for our deprivation since Christmas, but we could do everything we could. "Everything?" That too? 

He finished shaving and turned to get his towel. His cock was bigger than it should be. Or was it as big as should be? He grinned and rocked his hips, making his cock wag. It was definitely as big as it should be, and he knew it and wanted me to see that it was. I hummed with a grin and jiggled my breasts again, rubbing my thumbs over my erect nipples, making them flip up. 

"Just like I remember them," he murmured. 

"And your cock too," I replied. 

Fuck! I wanted to embrace him, press them on his chest and feel his cock press against me! Somehow, I didn't, even when he moaned with a nod. I stood up and almost jumped in the shower to make sure that I didn't. I started my shower, and he left. Maybe a good thing, since the way I was washing my pussy with one hand, while trying to wash the rest of me with the other one, wasn't something he should see, not till I washed it again before we went to bed.

It was a very good thing that that evening our parents suggested that we could sleep in, that breakfast would be later. We could hardly wait to get in bed. I didn't wash my pussy, and we didn't brush our teeth. He wanted my pussy, and I wanted his cock. We wanted them so much, that we had to have them without taking turns. Of course, my pussy and his cock also wanted it that way, and it seemed like his cock had been saving up to let me enjoy it more, enjoy how much it was. 

Oh, we had both needed that! It was I who had to crawl around, since he had lain down first with his head at the head of the bed. We embraced and kissed. Could he taste what his cock had given me? Licking around his mouth, I could taste my pussy juice, the way it should be after our doing that. 

Was just once enough? It was, it must have been; we fell asleep in each other's arms. I vaguely remember turning over under his arm, and then was sleeping again. When I woke up again, his hand was on my breast and something was between my thighs. It could only be his cock. My hand slid down. It was, and when my fingers touched it where they had to, it moved, his hips pressed against my ass. It and his hips moved again, rubbing the little ridge of skin behind its head on my fingers. His hand hand held my breast, and his cock and hips moved again. Did my fingers too? Probably. It moved a couple of times more, and then he murmured "Oh?" and squeezed my breast.

"Um-hmm," I responded, and I know that my fingers then moved. It twitched. It was so close to my pussy. But then it wasn't, his hips rocking back, as he murmured: 

"Kind of a dream. You'd better go back to your bed."

"Uhnn, or I can do it to you again."

"Better go to bed, or we'll wake up here in the morning." 

I agreed reluctantly and slipped from under the covers and returned to my room. Lying in bed, I felt how close his cock had been to my pussy. Close enough that I could have pressed it up against the back of my pussy lips. Could I have pressed it up between them, if I had rocked my hips back? What was I thinking, that we could really do it? Had he had the same thought? Had he slept with Barbs that way and then done it? He had never written anything that suggested that they had spent a whole night in bed together. I fell asleep with my hand still between my thighs. 

I was awakened by the sound of my door being closed. I blinked my eyes open and saw that it was just dawning, much too early to get up. Surprised, I turned my head back and saw him looking down at me. I had to roll back to see the rest of his body, and saw that his cock was sticking out, below the horizontal. He also looked down at it, not smiling, and murmured: "Please." 

Even before I nodded, it flashed through my mind: Just once last night hadn't been enough, his waking me up with his stiff cock between my thighs, and now standing there in my room, asking me to suck his cock. He smiled just very slightly in response to my nod, then murmured: 

"I'll get on top; move down the bed." 

We hadn't ever done it like that, but I understood. He clambered over me, supporting himself with his hands above my head, then just on his elbows, his cock wagging a little over my mouth. He had to slide his knees back to lower his hips. Then it was in my mouth, the way I most liked to lick and suck it. He gave a sighing moan. 

There wasn't anything nicer that I liked to do for him -- and loved to do. And I was pleased that he had known that I would, that he could venture to come in my room and ask me to. And I could fondle his balls better this way than the couple of times that I had before. Had he thought of that, wanted to feel me jostling them in his still slack sack? Could I suck one in my mouth? That would be interesting too, but not now, another time; he wanted me to suck his cock, to make him come in my mouth. How could Barbs have deprived him of that pleasure? And her own, well, mine, if I had been her. 

When he became more aroused, it occurred to me that this way it was all going to land in my throat, where I couldn't taste it. That was just a small sacrifice for being able to fulfill his desire to let me make it as good for him as I could. If he didn't return the favor after I had, I knew that he would later. 

His sack had drawn up, and I grasped his cock. We knew that this way he wanted me to be able to continue to lick where it felt most arousing, but we also knew that when he came, he couldn't keep his hips from trying to thrust his cock deeper in my mouth. He tried to muffle his groan when they did, my hand around his cock avoiding its making me gag. I had been right about it all landing in my throat, having to swallow a couple of times. By then, I could swallow without biting his cock. 

He sighed with a moan and moved back down over me and kissed, his tongue in my mouth. When he retrieved it, I murmured: 

"Had to swallow it all that way, if you were trying to taste it."

He chuckled softly with a nod, and kissed me lightly again. Then he sat up, grinning down at me and said: 

"I want to see all of you," and pulled the covers down off my breasts, and then got them out from under his legs, moving back so that he was straddling my legs, his eyes perusing up and down my body. 

I chuckled and held my hand over my pussy and covered my breasts with my other arm. With a grin, I remarked: 

"Thought you had already. I had wanted you to, let you often enough." 

"Um-hmm, but not where you taste so good." 

I suddenly realized that he had only licked my pussy when we were in bed in the dark. I snickered and took my hand off my pussy, replying: 

"But you can't see it, when you're tasting it." 

"Why I have to look first. Hm-hmm! Maybe stop and look a couple of times, to see if looks different then." 

"Hm-hmm! I hope so, just to make it interesting." 

He nodded with a grin and got off the bed. He threw the covers back and grasped my legs, pulling them to the side of the bed. When he dropped to his knees on the floor, I understood. With another chuckle and grin, I moved around on the bed, grabbing my pillow to stuff under my head. When he held my knees, I clutched them together, teasing him, grinning, as I resisted his trying to spread them, covering my breast with my hands. 

I had been aroused, when he came, but after all our talk, I wasn't so much. I hoped he would see my pussy lips closed for his first look. He tested my resistance to letting him look again, staring at my pubic hair, then grinning up at me, seeing that my breasts were covered. He chuckled and murmured: 

"Oh, if you're embarrassed, still a virgin or something, maybe I shouldn't," and pressed my knees together. 

"Hm-hmm! More 'or something'," I replied and pressed my knees against his hands. 

They immediately helped them spread. I raised my head to see if my pussy lips were closed -- pretty much. He smiled and licked his lips, then murmured: 

"Pretty pussy."

"I like it." 

"I do too, ... like you like my cock." Had he ever used that word before.

"That much?!"

We grinned at each other again. We had never done it like this before in the dark of his room. He had been crouched between my legs, and I had drawn my thighs up to make it easier for him to lick my pussy, but not like I did now. If he wanted to see my pussy ...? I drew them up until I could grasp behind my knees, letting them flop to the side. 

"Oooh! Already different," he murmured. I was getting impatient with our bantering. 

"Don't just look." 

He didn't. He didn't have to see my pussy to know were to lick and nibble. I encouraged him with chuckling moans, until it was too arousing to chuckle, just aroused moans. Then he looked again, not glancing at me as he murmured to himself: 

"Oooh! More different, especially there." 

I knew where "there" was, when his mouth covered my little button, licking and sucking. I moaned. His tongue found my wet opening, plunging in it as best it could. Then he looked again, this time, his fingers pulling at the sides of my pussy. What did that look like? Could he see in it? He blew at it. Oooh! He must be able to; I felt cool air where I never had before! 

"Enough looking!" I demanded softly. 

He nodded, and his mouth was back on my pussy, and I was moaning, soon having to hold my twitching thighs to keep them spread. His hands slid up my sides and found my breasts, his thumbs flipping my stiff nipples. He got an extra moan for that. And then his hands were clutching my breasts, as though he had to hold on to something to keep his face on my twitching hips. 

Was it so arousing because of his having looked, because I could see his head between my thighs, or because he could do it better with my thighs drawn up, now quivering thighs, my body all tense in anticipation of the orgasm I knew I was going to have? 

He gave it to me! It seemed like it was wetter than ever before, but maybe that was just because I could hear better the sounds his tongue was making. "Oooh!" Maybe it was really wetter; his tongue was lapping up below my pussy. I felt my asshole tighten; his tongue had licked that close to it. He lapped a couple of more times, and I released the grip on my thighs, letting them drop down. 




Pete Doesn't Just Tell Me Ch. 03



"Fuck! That was good!" I murmured, suddenly shock by my exclamation. He was too, looking up at me with wide eyes, then murmuring: 

"Didn't know you knew that word."

"Sorry! It just slipped out. It was better than that, like I wrote."

"Hmm? Hope it won't always be, but what you did was also better than 'that' was sometimes." 

"Hmm? Why we shouldn't try 'that."

"You want to?!" 

"Can't help but think about it. ... Didn't you last night?"

"Don't ask."

"Like: 'we shouldn't'?"

He looked at me, then replied emphatically: 

"We won't." 

"I liked your 'we shouldn't' better."

"We won't," he repeated. 

I scowled. He added: 

"If we both think this is better?"

"You hoped that it wouldn't be for me, ... and, well, she said that this was only better 'sometimes'."

"And you think it would be ... with us?"

"If we can do this so good?"

"We won't." 

He stood up. I sat up and said: 

"I still want to kiss you." 

I stood up, and we did. He embraced me, and our kiss was the way it should be after what we each had done. He nodded at the door, and we separated. When he silently closed it, I realized that he had wanted me to hear it close, when he had come in my room. I glanced at my alarm clock. It was only a little past six o'clock. I suddenly felt that I had to go to the bathroom. I found him there. He didn't flush, and I didn't. We exchanged wry, maybe quizzical smiles, not speaking. When I stood up, he did smile, murmuring: 

"Thank you."

"You too, thank you," I replied, and we went to our rooms. 

When we got up again and were in the bathroom, we didn't say anything, not a word, just glancing at each other. My nipples didn't pop out, and his cock was as relaxed as I could remember having seen it. Despite our parents having said that breakfast would be later, we were dressed at the usual time. They weren't yet up, and we agreed to surprise them by preparing breakfast. 

When they joined us, they were pleased that we were already busy and surprised that Pete had decided to scramble eggs for us all. They didn't know that we had joked about his deciding to use seven eggs. Mom would find out, when she looked in the fridge. 

At some point, probably after an evening with my friend, it had occurred to me that the great thing about oral sex with my brother was that that it was so easy. Even if one or the other or both weren't aroused at the start, if one or the other or both wanted to do it, wanted to do it with their mouth, it soon was, and I loved to do it, and so did my brother. 

[I only learned the expression "oral sex" much later, when I also heard about "foreplay" and understood that that had been missing with my friend.]

That evening, naked again in the bathroom, we just smiled at each other, shrugging, then nodding. I had never started with his cock that small. I had it all in my mouth, my nose buried in his hair. It was a delightful challenge to make its head peek out of the roll of skin around it. I could have pushed it back, but I want to discover if I could just suck it out. I could, then able to lick it, still small and soft. Then it was larger, and the shaft of his cock was too. Then I couldn't lick it with the tip of my tongue, just rub my tongue on it as it extended deeper in my mouth. He chuckled, apparently understanding what I was doing. Then I had to raise my head a little.

When my tongue was back where he most enjoyed feeling it, and where I liked to tickle it, he moaned, and I hummed. It was so good. Even if he hadn't initially been aroused, he then was, and, of course, he came, spurting in my mouth, like I wanted him to. We both just chuckled; we knew that we were doing more than it had originally seemed we wanted to. 

Of course, I was aroused after that; he didn't have to start at "ground zero." Maybe it wasn't quite as good as it had been in my room in the morning, but a good orgasm is a good orgasm. Is there any other kind? 

That was really enough for that evening. I returned to my room and slept soundly. 

Another morning, breakfast and day: it had been good the evening before, but not so that I wasn't already thinking about that evening, also about our conversation the previous morning in my room. Why shouldn't we really do it? Yeah, of course, incest, but how much different was really doing it -- say it, fucking -- from what we were already doing? Hadn't he admitted that he had also thought of it, telling me not to ask if he had? Why not? And if it wasn't really better than what we did, it would have to be better than what I had done with my friend, but that had been better, because I had so much experience with my brother, also with Barbs' advice. It would have to be a lot better with Pete. Was he having similar thoughts? I hoped so.

In the evening, watching TV with the family, my thoughts wandered from the show. If I had been him, I would have had a problem with my cock, but I was not him and didn't have one, just nipples popping out, contained by my bra. If I sucked his cock or let him start by licking my pussy, we would do that. Fine, but I wanted us to do more, so I had to avoid that. How? Laugh with the others at the show, even if I hadn't understood why. 

What if he didn't want to do anything after our mild night yesterday. Oh, we would go in his room, anyway. Or we could go in mine. At least, I could be sure I had handy the rubbers he had given me. Of course, it would be real nice in his room to discover that he had some somewhere, but if he didn't, or just said that he didn't, he could use that as an excuse for our not doing it. Could I take one of mine in his room, two?! I had to laugh at something in the show again. 

Would he be suspicious, if I suggested we go in my room, where we had talked about it? Or would that be good? Would I be more in control in my room? But doing what to get us thinking, talking about it again? We couldn't just start talking about it; I had to get him aroused enough to make it difficult for him to deny that he wanted to. Was he almost that aroused when his cock was between my thighs? Laugh again.

But that reminded me of the first evening with my friend, straddling him, rubbing my pussy on his cock. He had understood what I was suggesting, just didn't have any rubbers. Have to get Pete aroused enough first, so that my pussy could rub where it was most arousing for him -- and for me. His cock would be so close to where I wanted to feel it! For sure, he would understand; just have to have a rubber. Laugh again. What was so funny about this show? 

If I had thought I was seducing him that time at Christmas, I really was now. That had worked, this would, even if I had only sorted out some of the reasons why it wouldn't. I tried to follow the show on TV, laughing immediately with my parents and Pete. Had he noticed that I had only joined in when they laughed? Could he imagine what I was thinking about, not wondered about the same thing? How couldn't he, when that was all I could think about? I crossed my legs as the discreeter alternative to squeezing my thighs together -- again.

The show ended, and our parents said good night, suggesting that we maybe wanted to watch something else. We watched the late news. When it ended, we glanced at each other and at TV, then both shaking our heads. He turned off the TV. I waited till he joined me at door to our hallway and then turned off the lights. Silently, we went to our rooms, turning the lights on. 

Of course, we were going to meet again in the bathroom, both naked, and then ...? I found one of the little cartons of three rubbers he had given me. I was about to put it under my pillow, but then opened it and put the rubbers under both ends of the pillow. 

We met in the bathroom, nodding and smiling mildly, not speaking. That was good for a start, and he let me watch him use the toilet and flushed. Yeah, we should both flush, but with a enough time in between to avoid our parents' maybe hearing the water running in the system and wondering that we had only flushed once, or so soon after another to suggested that we were together in the bathroom. 

While I sat on the toilet, he washed, and certainly didn't take long brushing his teeth. I didn't either, although I was still trying to figure out how I could make it happen, our really fucking. When I dried my face, I saw that the head of his cock was peeping out again, and my nipples popped out, also good for a start. He flushed for me, and I turned off the light. We had both turned off the lights in our rooms. 

In the dark, I murmured: 

"In my room for a change, like yesterday morning?"

"Hm-umm," he replied and found my hand. 

That was the first time he had done that, at least, when we hadn't already touched each other in the bathroom; also good for a start, well, maybe in terms of his running, of starting the first straight after rounding the end of the track at the start. I squeezed his hand, liking my simile as he led me to his room, but wondering how I was going to get him to do it with me in his room, out of reach of my rubbers, the ones he had given me. Had it ever occurred to him that we should use them? 

He urged me to lie down first, then murmuring: 

"Like yesterday morning; that was so good."

"Um-hmm, it was," I agreed, thinking that the last thing I should do was to contradict him, not before I would have to respond to his saying again: "we won't." As he straddled me, I sighed, but it was a silent prayer that he would only say: "we shouldn't." I could deal with that. 

My tongue discovered that the head of his cock was still just only peeping out, and my fingers discovered that his sack was all slack, his balls hanging loose in it. He was chuckling softly, apparently enjoying that I was taking my time, my tongue just licking over his little slit, licking around it, feeling the roll of skin rolling back. My tongue was tempted to follow it and find the sensitive place behind the head of his cock, but I chuckled and didn't let it; wanting to try to suck one of his balls. 

When my tongue left his cock, he gave a disappointed little "uhn," but when he recognized that my fingers were urging one of his balls between my lips, he purred with a chuckle. It was bigger in my mouth than I had anticipated, but it was so nice that I could close my mouth around it and caress it with my tongue, like I did the head of his cock. Why hadn't I thought to do this before? I sucked and held it closer with my jaws. He chuckled with hum, and I chuckled in my throat: I had him by his balls! One of them! 

"Don't bite it off," he remarked, sounding like he was a little worried. I shook my head, pulling it back and forth, his cock rubbing on my nose. I really should have done this before; next time, and then other one too. But he wanted me to suck his cock, wanted to shoot all that slimy liquid in my throat, that I liked to taste so much, but wouldn't be able to this way. 

I let his ball pop out of my mouth; had to use my hand to draw his cock down to my mouth. Had his ball been larger than the head of his cock? It didn't have a few hairs on it, of course, just so nice and smooth and more interesting to lick. There! Why it was so good to be able to lick it this way. We both knew this was the best way. Maybe he had suggest this way again, not wanting to ask me so directly to get between his legs so that I could lick it where it felt most arousing. 

Oh, but that was what I had been planning, then wanting to slid up on him and rub my pussy on it there. I had almost forgotten about that. Oh, well, if that didn't happen, when he had come in my mouth as good as I could make him, he was going to make me come, as good as he had yesterday morning. He had better! 

I enjoyed doing my best to make him come. His sack had drawn up in tight, wrinkled ball. His hips twitched, and I thought it was time for me to grasp his cock to keep it from thrusting too deep in my throat. 

Then suddenly, he drew his cock out of my mouth. It sprang up passed my nose. What was wrong? Why had he done that? He moaned again. I scratched the back of his tight sack, I guess, unconsciously to remind him that I was there. Didn't he want to come in my mouth; it had been his suggestion? And my pussy was all aroused, like it always was in my anticipation of feeling his cock spurt in my mouth when he had his orgasm. Say something! 

He didn't, just moaned again, and then began to move back down my body. This is as frustrating for me as it is for you, I thought, then wondering if my frustration was in my pussy or in my mouth. He was getting his legs between mine. Did he want to lick my pussy without letting me finish sucking his cock? Worse, do it, start, and then also leave me even more frustrated!? 

Oh! He had stopped moving back, not back far enough to crouch down and lick my pussy, but his knees still moved back between mine, letting him lower his hips. He was almost lying on me. 

"Uhnn! His cock on my pubic hair, and rubbing! As aroused as he had been, if he kept doing that, he was going to shoot it up all over me. In a pure reflex, I drew my thighs up, my hips turning up. Like the previous morning, I grasp behind my knees. His cock was rubbing my pussy! Rubbing it where it felt most arousing, and rubbing where it felt most arousing for his cock! 

My hips twitched, trying to rub, to rub both of us there. But my pussy wanted his cock somewhere else! Without my pulling my legs back, my hips rocked up further. Yeah, there! Was my pussy too tight to let it just slid in? The head of his cock slid up from my opening. It did again; he was rocking his hips, his cock rubbing there, but now my pussy only wanted it to slide deep in it. 

We were both moaning. He had wanted this. If it slipped in, I knew that I couldn't do anything to stop him from fucking me until we both came. To hell with my having had rubbers in my room! 

Fuck! Fuck me! It almost happened; his cock catching on the rim of my so aroused vagina, then sliding up past it again. Next time, I hoped, drawing my knees back further. It had to slide in! It wanted to! He wanted it to, or he would never have stopped me from sucking his cock. What else could he want?! He knew that I wanted it. His cock tripped over the rim of my vagina again. Next time! 

The next time, however, he didn't draw his hips as far back; when they rocked forward, the head of his cock was still above my opening and slid up again. His hips stilled, heavy on mine, as he groaned. I felt his cock surge between up. 

"We shouldn't," he muttered, and his hand slid under the pillow. 

But we would, we will! He knew that I knew that expression was only a fig leaf for his conscience. And it wasn't going to be like that time with my friend, when my pussy wasn't as wet as it should have been; it had never been so ready to be fucked! He was sitting back on his heels and doing something with his hands in the dark. He could only be taking the foil off a rubber. He had also had one under his pillow, had from the beginning wanted us to be in his room, already wanting us to fuck! His "we shouldn't" was really just a fig leaf. Why had I worried so much about how to seduce him?! Yeah, put it in me! He was leaning back over me, supporting himself on one hand, the other one pushing his cock down and finding my so wet vagina. 

"God, yes!" I exclaimed softly. 

"Uhn-hnnn!" he responded.

"Uhn-uhn-uhnnn!" Was it so much bigger than my friend's? I hadn't thought so. Maybe it felt like it, because it had been so long since a cock had been in my pussy. Finally! All the way in! "Uhnnn!"

He also groaned, his hips pressing against my ass. I felt his cock throb and my pussy tighten. Yeah, just hold still and let it throb, and let my pussy squeeze it. Don't move and arouse it more; we want to let it recover for a moment. But then ...! Fuck me like I've never been fucked before! 

He did! God, it was so much better than the times with my friend had been. He was so much better! I had been wanting it to last forever, but when I came, and he collapsed on me, I was relieved that it didn't. I embraced his hot body. We were gasping for breath and sighing with long moans, our stomachs pressing together and relaxing. 

Fuck! We had done it! Finally! And he had been wanting to as much as I had been! I hugged him. 

Our breathing returned to normal, and I was aware of how heavy he was. I sighed with a new moan and rubbed his back. His head next to mine nodded. My friend had never been so exhausted, but he hadn't fucked me as long and hard as my brother had, and never so good! I squeezed his cock. It didn't respond. I squeezed it again, and it slipped out. 

"We shouldn't have," he muttered - his fig leaf. 

"We both wanted to. We both knew that we wanted to, why you wanted us in here."

"Hmm! You're right." 

He raised his head and shoulders. I reached up and drew his head down, and we kissed. He rolled off me and took the rubber off, chuckling and murmuring: 

"I was afraid I might have slipped out of it, almost did."

"And I wanted us to go in my room, 'cause I had also put a couple under my pillow." 

"We both really did want to."

"Nice, that we both had the same idea. Watching the show, I was trying to figure out how I could make it happen." 

"Hm-hmm! You didn't have to."

"All the better!" 

"I guess so. Wash?"

When I sat up, I felt how wet the bed under my pussy was. I had been that wet? Never before. He found the foil wrapping, and we went to the bathroom, blinking when the light was turned on. The rubber was dangling from his hand and looked fuller than I remembered my friend's having been. I grinned at him and murmured: 

"Must have been good for you too."

"Hm-hmm! Yeah, twice. I didn't want you know I came the first time so soon."

"Oooh! Thank you! Your bed's all wet; sorry."

"That good too?"

"And how; thank you again."

"And you. Guess we shouldn't flush or run water." 

We used the toilet and wiped ourselves with our wet washcloths. He hid the rubber and foil in his and left it on the washbasin, and we turned off the light. I embraced him, and he put his arms around me, and we kissed, a lot better than a good night kiss. As we separated, his hand slid around and held my breast. He chuckled and murmured: 

"Forgot to suck them." 

"Me too, that I wanted you to. Tomorrow."

"Um-hmm, tomorrow." 

With his confirmation that we would again, it was easier for me to go to my room and fall asleep, with my hand under the pillow holding one of my rubbers. 

In the morning, I joined him immediately in the bathroom, watching him pee and flush the rubber and foil down the toilet. His first remarks was: 

"You really were wet."

"Sorry. More than she?"

"Don't remind me, but yes."

I tried not to smile proudly. 

The last few nights he was home, I didn't get to suck his cock as often, but I learned to ride on it, which was even better, making it churn in my pussy, as I rocked my hips to and fro and sideways. And he didn't forget to suck my nipples, sucked them raw one time. One night, the only one that I fell asleep in his bed, I again woke up with his cock between my thighs. I almost had his cock in my pussy, before we remembered to find a rubber. But then, with both our hands rubbing the front of my pussy, we fucked again. The only bad thing was that we couldn't go back to sleep with his cock still in my pussy. One can't have everything, not when sleeping at home with one's brother. 

His last night at home, we both came when I was riding him and rubbing my pussy. It was going to be the last time; we just had to continue. I dropped down on him and we fucked. Oooh! I started to come again, another orgasm so soon! But he hadn't yet. It had never been like that before. I don't know if I had one long, continuous orgasm or a series of them, but we couldn't stop before he had his again. He was grunting from the exertion of slapping his hips up against mine, and I was gasping and moaning, desperate to help him and desperate for it to finish. 




Pete Doesn't Just Tell Me Ch. 03



When it finally did, we both collapsed, completely exhausted. We knew it had been too much. When I eventually rolled off him, we just exchanged soft hums. Without a kiss or words, I went to my room and fell asleep, wondering if the muscles in my pussy would ache in the morning. 

I had been sound asleep, when I was stirred by movement of the covers. When his hand slid around my ass, I woke up enough to realize that his head was down there too, and then that his legs were getting on the bed in front of my face. My still sleepy reflex was to do what I always did, when he wanted to lick my pussy and wanted me to suck his cock. When our thighs were under each other's head, I was fully awake, a little surprised by his silently joining me that way, but his cock was bobbing in front of my nose, wanting to be sucked. 

He nodded with a hum, when I did, and then his tongue was all over my pussy. I nodded, sucking and licking, understanding that we also had to do it this way one more time. He also hadn't been able to lick my pussy as often the past few nights. It seemed that he was desperate to. He had his other arm under my waist, both hands hugging the cheeks of my ass. That had happened before, when one of them wasn't holding my breast, but not like this time. His fingers were deep in my crevice, rubbing the base of my spine and a little below it. That felt good. Would it for him too? His nod suggested that it did. 

"Uhnn," his fingers were clasping deeper between the cheeks of my ass. Had he intended to touch me there, on my asshole?! That had never happened before. Felt kind of funny, but not bad. What did it feel like for his fingers? I had never touched mine without toilet paper or a washcloth. But his fingers didn't seem to mind touching it. Did he know they were? The way he was licking my pussy, he could be unaware of what his fingers were doing. Washing or wiping had never felt like that. Shit! It felt good, arousing! Had he done it before, and just been too diffident to do it with me? Did he want me to, too. He had liked that my fingers were nearer his than they ever had been. 

If he wanted me to; it had to feel good for him too. 

"Uhnnn!" he moaned. In surprise, or as encouragement, because he had been waiting for me to? If he hadn't recognized where his fingers were rubbing before, they did now, and he wasn't minding that mine also were, even when it twitched under my fingers. Had his cocked twitched at the same time in response? Oooh! It just had to have; when mine twitched, I felt my vagina contract. 

With our newly discovered way to arouse each other, we both came, came as good as ever before that way. He crawled around and held my breast, then murmured apologetically: 

"I just had to, one last time."

"I wanted to, too, had missed doing what we've done so often."

We kissed and just lay there for a minute or two. It was still much too early to have to worry about getting up. Finally, I asked: 

"And that, with your fingers?"

"Hmm? They were just there. I guess, just wanting to get as close to your pussy as they could, and then ...? I really didn't think about where they were - hm-hmm! - until yours were, and then I knew why you hadn't complained."

"Um-hmm," I agreed, and we both chuckled. 

We dozed off, waking up in time to get up and use the bathroom before breakfast. I offered to drive him to airport, so we got to kiss goodby, both of us chuckling after we had seen that no one we knew was around; kissing in public like siblings shouldn't, maybe like some older people thought no one should in public. 

Did we again? Of course, when I was in college and also at home. The good thing about incest, at least ours, was that when we could, we did; no more "we shouldn't," even when we both had other partners. A couple, no, a few - several? - times we both had to find an excuse for why we couldn't be with them so that we could enjoy a weekend together: hotel rooms, registered as a married couple with the same family name. If I went to one of his track meets, or he came to my college, we avoided introducing each other with our family name. At aftergame parties and the like, when others starting making out, we did too, of course, but with handicap of having to temper how far we went to what the others were doing. We spent a lot more time just kissing than we had before. 

And girls, for me? What are college roommates for? Not all of them, of course, but a couple. It just happens, happened. Didn't we all play with ourselves, secretly at first, but assuming that she did too, then at some point it stops being a secret? Maybe I helped its not remaining a secret with the couple. The one seemed almost to have been waiting for it to happen. She never mentioned that she already had with another girl, but, of course, she knew how to do it without experience, like Marsha had. 

The other one was more surprised, but after we had admitted that we played with ourselves and did it without trying to hide what we were doing, we talked about what we had done with guys. She was again surprised, when I told her everything Pete and I did, of course, not mentioning that he was my brother. It took a week or two after that before she let me show her how good that could be. 

With both of them -- different years -- we then enjoyed something to do weekend nights when we didn't have date, agreeing that it let us avoid the social pressure to have one every weekend. We also agreed that it made it easier not to do more than we wanted to on some dates, since we knew that we could satisfy our arousal back in our room. 

There was another girl in Marsha's situation, not a roommate, but I consoled her about his having broken up with her. She was a little like Marsha, from her looks and attitude and, as it turned out, her also liking girls more than other girls did. I didn't know that, but I consoled her, with my arm around her. She didn't rub my breast with her arm, but wanted to be held, and I reached across and put my other arm around her, and it brushed her breasts, entirely inadvertently. That must have reminded me of Marsha. Did I move my arm to touch her breasts, of did she take a deep breath and press them against my arm? 

I guess I also like girls more than some others do. No guess; I know I do. So I consoled her by telling about Marsha, but with reversed roles: Marsha consoling me. The girl was breathing deeply, while I told -- not mentioning Marsha's having rubbed my breast. Hers were pressing on my arm, and she wasn't objecting that my arm was pressing on them. 

My version of what happened with Marsha let me -- knowing where I wanted the story go -- tell that Marsha consoled me with the suggestion that maybe she could help me forget him, and I let her. Before I told her what we did, the girl almost moaned, looking at me and asking: 

"You did, you did that, ... with her?"

I nodded, liking that I didn't have tell more. She rocked her shoulders, moving her breasts on my arm. Like with Marsha, it was now clear that she knew she was rubbing them on my arm. She almost moaned again and murmured: 

Did you like it? What she did? ... Did you too?"

I nodded again, looking in her eyes, having to press my thighs together. I think she did too. 

"Did it help?" she murmured, sighing and taking a deeper breath. 

"Um-hmm, until we both had new boyfriends." 

"Hmm? Mmmmm" she responded, licking her lips. 

It helped her too, but after that I never saw her on dates with boys.

Pete and the girls didn't impinge on mine or his relationships with our partners, when we had one. They never knew that sex with them was so good, because Pete and I were so compatible and had already done everything we did with them. 

I have thought about trying to tell my husband. Maybe he would understand if he had a sister, but he doesn't. Don't all sibling at some time think about doing more than others should know? Oh, and our kids? Have they already played "doctor"? Can I really be upset if I discover them playing that way? What if she looks up and says: "Hi Mommy. This is fun. What else can we do?" 

I guess I wouldn't tell her: "Ask your Uncle Pete, he told me." 

Pete and I had missed out on that. Could that be why we had to make up for it so much better years later? 

*

Just a reminder: I warned that this story was not for readers wanting repetitive sex scenes, but if you've read to here, you know that. I hope you enjoyed the story, that you didn't just plow on to know how it ended, innerly wishing you hadn't started to read it. I hope not. It you didn't like the story, others do, so please let them rate it. Thank you.