by Michael K. Smith
When Doug and George and Sam picked me up in front of my folks� house that summer morning in Doug�s van, I was looking forward to several days and nights of camping in the California mountains with three good friends from high school whom I hadn�t been able to see much of since we all went off to different colleges two years before. We had a couple of tents and plenty of food and beer, and we were planning to get a little drunk and a little high and just catch up with each other, far away from the rest of the world. All of us would be starting summer jobs in a week or so, and this was our best and last chance to goof off.
And it all went fine until the second night, when I woke up to some odd sound. I thought at first it was Sam�s snoring, but he was actually being rather sedate about that for a change. Then I heard it again. I looked at my watch: 4:45 a.m. I tried to visualize what sort of animal might be out there. Well, it didn�t sound like a bear, so I pulled on my hiking shoes and stuck my head out the tent flap. Nothing. Then I heard it again, a few yards down the slope from the flat area where we had put up our tents.
Crawling out with my flashlight, I looked around carefully. There was enough moon that I didn�t really need more light, so I tip-toed toward the sound. It turned out to be Doug, bent over in the bushes just off the trail and hugging a tree as he puked his guts out. He glanced up with a bit of something disgusting dangling from his lower lip.
"Too much beer?" I asked softly.
"Nah, . . . just feelin� really sick all of a sudden. God. . . ." And he was vomiting down the side of the tree again. We�d all shared the same reconstituted stew for supper, so it probably wasn�t food poisoning.
I patted him on the shoulder. "Be right back, man." I went back to my pack frame and dug out my spare plastic water bottle. We were only about a half-mile from the van, and were simply bringing up replacement water and supplies as we needed them, but I always carried extra water.
Back at the tree, I twisted off the cap and handed the bottle to Doug. "Rinse out your mouth and then sip a little."
He did so and stood up, still a bit wobbly. "Christ," he gasped, "I don�t know what---" And then, suddenly, he was bent over and retching again. It sounded like he was about to lose his stomach lining. I didn�t like the sound of that at all. Two years in the dorm had made me very familiar with what guys sounded like who had overdone the beer, but this seemed more serious.
Doug kind of slumped to a cross-legged sitting position and wrapped his arms around his stomach. "Cramps," he muttered. I put my palm against his forehead, the way my mother used to do when I was little. He felt hot and clammy. No, definitely not good.
By now, George was standing in front of the other tent, looking around, and Sam could be heard moving around in our tent. "What�s going on?" George asked as I came back. I told him our friend seemed to have contracted the plague. George�s father was a doctor so we all tended to take his word about anything medical, though he probably didn�t know much more than we did. In any case, kneeling beside Doug a minute later, while Sam and I stood by, he gave his recommendation. "Guys, I think we�re going to have to pack it in and get the patient here back home. It may be just the flu, but, you know, I wouldn�t want to take any chances."
Doug waved one hand sort of listlessly. "No, c�mon, guys, I can . . ." But then he had to hop back up on his hands and knees and stick his head in the bushes again.
The rest of us all looked at each other and shrugged and shook our heads. "Hey, it happens," Sam said. "We�ll do it again a little later in the summer. No big deal."
So that was that. It was going to be daylight before long anyway, so the three of us began striking camp while Doug sat huddled on the beer cooler, wrapped in his sleeping bag. He looked pretty miserable, both ill and feeling guilty for spoiling our camping trip. He kept apologizing until George told him flatly to knock it off and that he could make it up to us by supplying all the beer for the July Fourth party.
It was pretty quiet on the nearly four-hour drive back home. Doug was in no shape to walk, much less drive, so George and I spelled each other and Sam went in and got us coffee while I pumped the gas at the halfway point. And that was how I happened to be returning home several days early.
Just as I had been the first to be picked up on the way out of town, I was the last to be dropped off on our return. It was late morning when I waved to the departing van and lugged my backpack and duffel up the driveway and around the corner of the house to the garage. I dug around in my pocket and clicked the opener on my key ring (we�re not a front-door kind of family), and was a little surprised when the door rose to display an empty parking bay. Mom must have gone to the store or something.
I let myself into the kitchen and called, "Mom? Dad?" Silence. "Anyone?" Nothing. Hmm. I stepped over to the World Wildlife calendar on the back of the pantry door. In today�s square was a note in my mother�s green ink: "Vandiver estate Noon — headboards?"
Ah. Now I knew where everyone had gotten to. When my father started making serious money — the result of a few bright ideas in electronics and a lot of hard work to make them bloom — the first thing he and Mom had done was to move out of their small starter-home into this replica Prairie Gothic on the edge of town. It had a big lot, dozens of trees, and way too many rooms for them, their seven-year-old son (me), and their three-year-old daughter (my sister). This enabled them to indulge their shared passion, which was antique furniture.
Well, I say "antique," but they were interested in anything older than they were, really. They liked to haunt auctions and estate sales and snap up items that were essentially sound but needed work. Dining room tables, settees, Victorian hallstands, whatever. They could often get these remarkably cheap. And then, for however many weeks it took, they�d spend most of their evenings and weekends out in the other half of the garage in their workshop, stripping, sanding, repairing, re-gluing, upholstering, and staining, until their find had been reclaimed from the dead. They were really good at it, too. Often, by the time they had finished reanimating some aged piece that no one had even wanted before, they would have a waiting list of friends and relatives begging for the chance to buy it for serious money.
Not that all this was a business to them. No, it was just a hobby, which usually managed to pay for itself. They had gradually filled our three guest bedrooms and the parlor with high-quality period furniture that suited the style of the house, and had given away any number of other pieces to nieces and nephews moving into their own first homes. They prided themselves on their carefully acquired skills and were happy to receive compliments on their work. I had several pieces tucked around the house already that were earmarked for my own first place, but that would be a few years yet.
Anyway, it was apparent that the folks had gone off on a quest for headboards, probably carved oak or maple, for one of the bedrooms that still lacked the finishing touch. Presumably, my sister had been dragged along. I smiled. Tiffany had very recently turned sixteen and was becoming — in her own mind — far too mature for that sort of thing.
I hummed to myself as I poked around in the fridge and came out with the makings of a salami sandwich. As I stepped over to the cutting board on the island, I glanced out the window into the backyard. And paused and looked closer. There was a hint of sunlit bronze peeking over the back of one of the redwood loungers beside the pool. Hah. It appeared Tiffany hadn�t been dragged along on the headboard expedition after all.
I finished constructing my sandwich and stepped out onto the deck and down the three steps to the tile surrounding the pool. I wasn�t especially trying to be quiet about it but I was barefoot now and she didn�t hear me coming. But my sister wasn�t the only one startled when I stepped up beside the lounger.
I stood there for a second or two, jaw hanging open, and stared. During those same moments, my sister�s naked body twitched all over once and her hands, lying atop the arms of the lounger, jerked a tiny bit. She caught her breath as she stared up at me and swallowed. It was obvious she had — almost — attempted to cover herself, and then decided, almost instantly, not to.
That�s the kind of person my sister is. She�s determined to be absolutely independent in every way possible, to do exactly what she decides to do rather than what someone else might want her to do. In truth, those are often the same thing. Tiffany has the stubbornness of a tom cat but she�s not remotely stupid. She gets excellent grades, doesn�t do drugs, doesn�t sleep around, or any of that. But she insists on making up her own mind about every single waking breath she takes.
Fortunately for her, our folks are pretty easy-going. They learned long ago how pointless it was to try to force their daughter to do anything against her will. But if they explained to her why she should do something — and if she agreed with their argument — there was no problem. So they had simply given her her head in personal matters and crossed their fingers.
But that didn�t explain why my sister was lying here by the pool in the late morning sun stark naked. "Tiff," I began, "what the fuck---"
"Kevin, I�m not going to answer to that, so just don�t." She raised one hand and pushed her long, impossibly metallic-bronze hair behind her ear. Her breasts jiggled.
Because that was the other thing. Almost a year ago, and for reasons I had never been clear about, my sister had adopted a modified Goth Lolita look with punk-ish overtones. She was into black lipstick and nail polish. She dyed her hair in garish colors and dressed it in ringlets. Recently, when she went out with her friends, she had been wearing short black dresses with tightly-laced corsets, white petticoats and stockings, and black mary-janes. Of course, next week, it might be thigh-high boots and chains, if she could come up with the money.
I�m not saying she didn�t look good in that kind of get-up, because she did. It actually suited her smooth, creamy complexion and her small, cupid�s-bow mouth. She came across as both cute and demure, and as a dragon-lady in training at the same time, causing Dad to shake his head in bemusement.
And along with the look was the selection of a new name. She had never liked "Tiffany," I knew that. Probably because there had been a dozen others in her class since First Grade. I think our folks regretted giving their daughter a name that had turned out to be so popular, but they were actually admirers of Louis Comfort Tiffany, the great designer and artist, so she had come by her name more or less legitimately. My sister had been christened in connection with her parents� passion for antiques. Anyway, she suffered under it.
She also had a middle name, though, and that was "Frances," after our maternal grandmother. Not that a Goth girl could live with that name, either, but the nickname "Frankie" had suggested itself and now that was all my sister would accept. Of course, I often called her "Tiff" anyway, just to rattle her cage a bit.
So I stood there, salami sandwich forgotten, unconsciously running my eyes up and down a very nice body indeed. Tiff--- Frankie had a narrow waist and long, trim legs, which I already was aware of, and not-large but very nicely shaped breasts, which I had sort of guessed at. And she had shaved her pussy, all except for a tiny shining copper triangle just above her clit, apparently dyed to match her hair. And that I had had no way of knowing about. I also noted that her nipples seemed stiff and erect and I wondered if that was their usual condition. I felt a stirring in the front of my jeans and that snapped my attention back to the matter at hand.
"What are you doing?" I asked again.
She raised her bright green eyes. "I�m working on my tan while the folks are gone."
That wouldn�t fly and we both knew it. My sister wasn�t pale, though her skin tone was still very light, but she just didn�t tan. She didn�t burn easily, either, but she wasn�t going to get any browner.
I raised one eyebrow. She sighed. "Okay. I just wanted to do this, okay? It�s not something I could ever do when anyone else is home. And I�m old enough not to have to go along with them all the time. And no one else was around. I just . . . seized the moment." She seemed suddenly at a loss. "I just wanted to be naked for awhile outdoors. Just because."
"Actually, I�m around." I don�t know why I said that. It sounded like I was challenging her.
"Yeah." She glanced up at me again. "So?"
"So, it doesn�t bother you, being . . . like this . . . in front of your brother?"
She seemed to be thinking about it. Then she gave me a quick smile. "No, I guess it doesn�t. You�re not going to attack me or anything. And I don�t suppose you�re going to tell anyone." By "anyone," of course, she meant our parents.
Now that I was over my first startled shock, I was beginning to enjoy this unexpected encounter. "Maybe I could blackmail you in return for keeping my mouth shut."
She sneered. "Don�t be fucking ridiculous." Well, she was right about that. She�d simply tell them herself what she�d been up to, and devil take the hindmost. My little sister wasn�t afraid of anything or anyone — and certainly not me.
I shrugged and sat down on the lounge beside her knee. She shifted over an inch or so to make room but that still left her leg pressed against my hip. Her ankles were still six inches apart. She could have moved farther and avoided any contact, but she hadn�t. Hmmm.
I put out the hand that wasn�t holding the sandwich and stroked the inside of her smooth calf. She twitched a tiny bit and then closed her eyes again and ignored me. "Does that bother you"? I asked quietly.
She shrugged. "�Course not."
I let my fingers trail up past her knee to the inside of her thigh. Because her legs were so slender, there was a gap between them all the way up to her bare crotch. I glanced at her pussy. From this angle, the shaft of her clit was perfectly visible, protruding moistly from its sheath. I looked back at my sister�s face and found her staring at me unblinkingly.
I let my fingers move a little higher. Was she going to tell me to stop? Squeeze her thighs together and trap my hand? Get up and stomp back inside? Nope. She just kept her eyes fixed on mine, hardly blinking.
Finally, my fingers were maybe a quarter of an inch from her pussy lips. Now it was my decision: Keep on? Or stop? Without saying a word, without even making a sound, she had, in fact, trapped me.
Did I have the nerve to keep going? Well, put that way, I didn�t really have a choice, since she had sort of turned this unintended encounter into a challenge of her own. Gently, I slid two fingers forward and let them disappear inside her to the depth of my fingernails. Tiffany bit her lower lip but I don�t think she was aware of it.
My sister�s pussy was warm and becoming increasingly damp. And it wasn�t just from the sun. I spread my fingers apart, stroking the soft flesh. Actually, I had no idea what I was doing. I was just making this up as I went along, being also aware that she was perfectly capable of making a fist and flattening my nose if she decided she�d had enough. But for now, she just continued to stare at me.
I withdrew my fingers and brushed them upward over her exposed clit. She caught her breath involuntarily and her pupils seemed to be expanding. And still she made no attempt to stop me.
"I think you like that, don�t you?" I asked quietly.
"Kinda, yeah." She swallowed. "It feels nice when you do it slow like that." And with her gaze still locked on mine, she lifted her hands and cupped her small breasts, pinching her nipples between her fingers.
My mouth was suddenly dry and I had to clear my throat. "Frankie, would you mind very much if I joined you?"
Her eyes moved up and down my body, making note, I was sure, of the bulge in the front of my jeans. "Okay," she said. "Seems fair."
I was still holding the salami sandwich, which I quickly shoved under the lounge. I pulled my tee-shirt off over my head, trying not to look like I was hurrying, and then stood up long enough to unbutton my jeans and push them and my shorts down to my ankles. Five seconds later, I was as bare as my little sister. I stretched out beside her and she actually turned on her side to face me and scooted back to give me space.
Now what? I had no idea what was going to happen next. The head of my rigid penis was pressing against her thigh, and she glanced down at it with a smirk.
"So what�s that for?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.
"All the usual things," I replied. "But you don�t have to worry."
"I never worry," she said with a smile. No, I�ll bet she didn�t. Any universe that didn�t do exactly what she expected of it had just better look out.
If someone had suggested to me yesterday that I might find myself in this situation with my self-contained little sister, I would have laughed. I would never have put the make on her, certainly. It just wouldn�t have occurred to me. But finding her out here already naked. . . . Well, that was different. And the fact that she hadn�t jumped up and run away had made it seem almost like an invitation.
I reached out slowly and cupped her breast in my hand. Frankie sucked in her breath and then tried to pretend she hadn�t. I lifted it in my palm and lightly pinched her protruding nipple between my thumb and finger. She arched her back a little and blinked. Her eyes were nearly all pupil now and she seemed a little distracted.
I released her breast for a moment, took her hand in mine, and steered it to my straining cock. I really didn�t know whether my sister was still a virgin — I rather suspected she was — but I figured she must have had some previous experience with penises. She curled her fingers around the shaft and tugged it a little in her direction. I began experiencing electromagnetic induction.
"Frankie," I said, "have you ever thought about doing something like this? Daydreamed about making out with your brother?"
She blinked and squeezed my cock. "Nope. I wonder why I haven�t." She flashed me a smile. "It�s an interesting experience, isn�t it?" She regarded me thoughtfully for a long moment. "Have you thought about it? Being naked with your sister?"
"I don�t think so," I replied as honestly as I could. "I kind of had a few fantasies, I guess, when I was your age. I guess all guys with younger girls in the house go through something like that."
"I always knew all guys were natural perverts," she said mockingly. She looked down at her hand, which was now slowly stroking my cock top to bottom, over and over. "And what happens now, big brother? Do we quit and go make lunch, or what?"
"Do you want to quit?" I asked.
She smiled again. "Not really. Like I said. Interesting." She tilted her head. "Are you thinking about attempting to fuck me?"
"Um. I don�t know. Are you thinking about it?" I was beginning to sound a bit pathetic.
"Kinda," she said. "But I think . . . I�m probably deciding against it. For now. Too many complications."
"Yeah. Probably." Actually, I was secretly relieved. For one thing, I didn�t have any condoms. It�s not the sort of thing I keep a supply of at home. For another, I suspected that, under the circumstances, I would probably come within three seconds of getting my cock inside her. I didn�t need that kind of embarrassment, not with Frankie.
"You know what, though?" She gave me another smile. "I�ve never put one of these things in my mouth. Hard to believe, I know, but I�ve never actually done it." Her tongue made a quick trip around her lips. "Maybe this would be a good time to try it."
God. "Frankie," I said, trying to sound reassuring, "if you would like to suck my cock, I promise I won�t come in your mouth."
"Why not? Isn�t that the whole point?" As I may already have mentioned, I never really quite know where I stand with Tiffany-Frankie.
Before I could reply, though, she had slipped off the lounge onto her knees on the tile and was urging me to turn around sideways. I sat on the side of the cushion and scooted my ass forward, spreading my knees far apart. Frankie brought her face closer and lifted up my organ so she could peek underneath at my balls for a moment. Then she carefully positioned herself and began licking the head of my cock like an ice cream cone, taking her time with long wet strokes. She dragged her tongue up and down the underside, then bent the shaft forward and washed the head with circular swirls. I knew my toes were curling.
With a rather smug glance up at my face, she took the head into her mouth and closed her lips around it. I�d had blow jobs before, but never one that featured black lipstick. She was doing all sorts of things with her tongue in there and it felt amazing. She began taking more of the shaft into her mouth, still being careful not to gag, and she got about halfway down its length before she seemed to reach her limit.
This went on for several excruciating minutes while my brain turned to tapioca and my ears roared. "My little sister actually has my penis in her mouth," I kept thinking. And I could feel the pressure starting to build. Not yet, dammit.
I took her hand, urging her to back off a little, and she gave me a puzzled look. "What? I�m not doing it right?"
"Christ, babe, you�re doing it absolutely perfect! But I don�t want to come just yet. Not yet. I want to stretch this out a little, okay?"
She grinned at that. "Okay. What�s the next item on the menu, then?"
"I want to get my tongue in your pussy. Have you done that before?"
Her eyebrows went up. "No. I�m more innocent than you think, Kev. But it definitely sounds good. So, how. . . ?"
"Like this." I unwedged the wooden bar that kept the back of the lounger elevated and laid it flat. Then I lay on my back and, when she stood up, I put my hand on her thigh. She understood immediately and swung one leg over my chest, facing south, and adjusting her position so her pussy was directly above my mouth. A moment later, I was running my tongue up and down those soft lips and inhaling her fragrance. She shivered a bit, then lowered her head and went back to work on my cock, sucking a little harder now.
I dragged my tongue up and down her increasingly wet pussy, spreading her open with my thumbs and pushing my tongue into her as far as I could stretch. I reached my tongue far under and licked that brassy little pubic patch, too, just because I could. She was beginning to squirm, shifting her ass around, which I interpreted to mean I was getting to her.
After a couple minutes, I slid my middle finger up inside her, just to get it covered with her juices, then pressed the tip of it against her little pink-rimmed asshole, which was winking there just above my eyes. Frankie flinched slightly, just once, then pushed back against my finger. I wriggled it in until the first joint was entirely hidden, then I went back to sucking at her clit while twitching my finger.
In response, I heard a distinct gasp from the neighborhood of my crotch, and then she was sucking as hard as she could. It only took another minute or two before the volcanic forces in my balls erupted and my hips jerked as I shot what seemed like several pints of semen down my sister�s throat. She hung on, still sucking and swallowing as I came again and again, and then I felt a tremor in her sphincter. She spasmed a little and my mouth was suddenly filled with a stream of sweetness. There was so much, I thought for a moment she had lost control and peed in my mouth, but it wasn�t that. She just had a very wet style of orgasm. And that was fine with me.
We lay there for a couple of minutes, Frankie�s damp heat stretched atop my sweat-covered body, her cheek on my thigh. Finally, she rolled off, being careful not to fall on the tile, and lay back beside me. This time I scooted over to make room and she snuggled close, stroking my chest a couple of times and sighing deeply. All she said was, "So, sixty-nine, huh?"
My sister and I have always gotten along okay, but we�ve never been especially affectionate in a touchy-feely kind of way, so this cuddling felt a little strange. But I have to say, I enjoyed it.
After we had both gotten our breath back, I turned my head and she responded by opening her eyes.
"Not to spoil the mood," I said, "but did the folks give any indication---"
"Not till suppertime," she said, patting my chest again. "In fact, I believe there�s a Chinese takeout banquet planned. So we ought to have plenty of time."
So we lay there comfortably another ten minutes or so, but by then I had become aware that I was really, really in need of a shower. And if I could smell me, I was sure Frankie could, too. She was just being uncommonly polite about it.
I slid my arm out from behind my head and said, "I think we both need . . ."
". . . a shower. Yes. I wondered if you were going to mention it." She levered herself to a sitting position. "You wanna go first?"
I shrugged. "I don�t know why we can�t share. I think we�re past being embarrassed, right?"
That smile again. "'Save water, shower with a friend�, huh? Okey-dokey." I sat up and her breasts jiggled invitingly as she hopped up, too. I bent and began collecting my clothes. She didn�t have any of her own, I finally realized. She must have stripped inside and come out here already naked, I thought. Not spur of the moment, for sure.
Upstairs, we stood for a minute in the bathroom we ordinarily shared while the hot water worked its way up from the tank. Frankie — I wasn�t going to call her "Tiffany" again today — got out a couple of thick towels and stacked them on the toilet seat, then turned to me with a smile and set her hands on her hips. I smiled back. She was a very pretty girl, and very sexy, not even counting the nakedness thing. I spread my arms and she came into them without hesitation, putting her arms around my neck and pressing herself close. My sister was six or seven inches shorter than me and she had to stand on tiptoes to fit herself to me the way she wanted, but then her mouth fastened onto mine and I found myself being kissed with extreme thoroughness. It was a very pleasant experience.
I let my hands drift up and down her smooth back and gave her ass a friendly little squeeze. She tightened her hold on me and stuck her tongue down my throat. I buried my fingers in the thick hair at the back of her head. She shifted position back and forth a little, brushing her flat stomach across my penis, which was beginning to reawaken.
She sank back on her heels and stared into my eyes a long moment. "Yeah," she said with what sounded like satisfaction. "This isn�t at all what I had in mind when I woke up this morning and decided to go out and lie in the sun. But it�s working out okay, isn�t it?"
"I�d say so, yes." Neither of us had raised the question of whether any of this was "right" or "wrong." It didn�t seem relevant. I have limited but very definite personal ideas about what�s permitted when it comes to sex and morality, or ethics, or whatever. Anything you do has to be the conscious choice of both parties. No coercion, no taking advantage of diminished capacity, no drunken post-party fucks. None of that. And genetics doesn�t enter into it at all, especially when you take precautions; that�s just other people�s religious biases.
When small clouds of steam began to ooze around the tub's glass shower-door, we separated long enough to step in and slide the panel closed behind us. It�s a big tub but I had never shared it with anyone, so it took some careful maneuvering not to jam an elbow in my sister�s ribs. We each have our own washcloths conveniently hung up on suction-hooks on the tile, but this time, when Frankie finished lathering up her face and reaming out her ears, she smiled and passed me her own cloth, which was a purple so dark it was the next thing to black. A Goth washcloth, yet. I scrubbed my face while she rinsed the soap off her own face and picked up the bottle of mango-flavored bodywash. Kind of girly, I thought, but I guess even Gothicity has limits.
We both favor those scrubby-things made of plastic netting gathered with a cord, and she began spreading the aromatic bodywash across my chest and industriously working me over with the scrubby. It felt really good and all my muscles were loosening up. My cock had returned to its resting state. Just keeping its one eye open and biding its time.
Frankie turned me around and worked on my back, especially the bit in the middle that I can never reach properly. "I�m going to hire a full-time bath attendant," I murmured, and she laughed and poked me with her sharp little black fingernail. Her soapy hands spread out over my ass and she dragged one long nail slowly down between my cheeks, which produced a shiver. Then she hunkered down behind me and slid her hand forward between my thighs. I spread my feet farther apart as she took both my balls in her warm hands and manipulated them within their container. My cock was paying closer attention now — especially when she took the shaft in her hand and tried to pull it back toward her.
"Bend, man."
I bent at the waist, bracing myself on the faucets and hoping I didn�t pull the plumbing down. That allowed her to get my resurgent cock within pull-back sucking distance and I felt her mouth take it in as her forehead pressed against my ass and the hot water cascaded off my back. It was an amazing sensation — especially when Frankie worked one fingertip into my asshole and wiggled it around.
After a couple minutes of this, she released me and got back to her feet with an impish grin. My cock was at full attention now, even with the hot water. I pulled her close and up onto her toes again and let my rigid penis poke against her cunt.
She pressed her hands flat against my chest. "Kevin, . . ." she said warningly.
"I know, I know." It was frustrating. I could imagine very clearly what it would feel like to slide my cock right up into her warm, wet depths and it was making me a little crazy. But I wasn�t so far gone as to ignore the stupidity of such a move.
Frankie rescued me by turning around. "My turn. Do my back," she said softly. I scrubbed her down the way she had done me and her shoulder muscles writhed. I think she actually purred. I kissed one shoulder and it rose sensuously. My cock was now nosing around her small, firm ass, looking for a way in.
"You know, little sister, . . ." I was thinking this out as I went along. "I really, really want to fuck you. And there is, in fact, a way we could do that safely without a condom." I stopped and let her think about that.
"You want to do me in the ass, you mean?" Kind of crude but she was obviously considering it. "I�m assuming that would hurt." She looked over her shoulder at me. "Have you ever done that before?"
"No, actually. Um. Look, babe, I�ve had sex with a couple of girls, but it was pretty, . . . you know. Standard. No anal." I shrugged. "It was just a thought. I certainly wouldn�t insist."
She pressed back against me. "Did you hear me say �No�?" She smiled back at me, arched her back, and wiggled her bottom against me. "Do it. Fuck my ass."
I was feeling a bit lightheaded with the mounting excitement as I slathered bodywash on my cock and pushed more soap half an inch up into her rectum with my finger. Then I pressed the front of her against the wet tile and bent my knees as she went up on her toes as far as she could and spread her cheeks apart with her hands.
It took me a minute or two to manage it because I was being careful to cause her as little pain as possible. When the head of my cock finally popped through her sphincter, she gasped, then moaned a little and pushed her bottom back against me. Maybe it was that ass-fucking seemed to her a particularly Goth-y thing to do, but she appeared to be getting into it.
I certainly was. I loved the feel of her buttocks pressing against my upper thighs and the tightness of the grip her rectal muscles had on me. I took hold of her hips and slowly pushed deep into her rectum. She laid her head back against my shoulder and breathed rapidly through her open mouth, with little gasps for punctuation.
The fit was incredibly tight along the whole length of my cock and when I slowly began thrusting in and out I couldn�t move more than a couple of inches. It felt like dozens of little hands gripping and squeezing the shaft. Gradually, taking it slow and careful, I managed to get the whole length of my cock up inside her. Frankie was moaning continuously now and trembling, but each time I began to wonder if I had gone too far, she reached back to grope for my hips and pull me closer. I figured she must be in some pain by now but she seemed to want it, so I kept on. It was almost like we were occupying the same space as I wrapped my arms around her from behind, squeezing her breasts and running my hands up and down her ribs and her stomach.
Finally, Frankie turned her head and whispered, "You have to come in me, Kevin. Come in my ass. Finish it now." And she wiggled her little butt against me. That was the trigger. Within seconds, I was jerking and thrusting against her and sending geysers of semen up into her intestines.
We stayed like that for another minute, both of us gasping and trying not to fall down as we caught our breaths. Finally, I eased myself back and watched as my penis slowly left her and flopped down in exhaustion. My sister�s knees started to buckle and I grabbed her and held her up against the tile until she nodded and patted my arm.
"Got a little lightheaded there. I�m okay now." She looked up and gave me a sweet smile. "We�re going to have to scrub up all over again now."
She was right. I was sure we both smelled like concentrated sex. So we went through all of it again, soaping each other up and working each other over with the plastic scrubby. As we took turns rotating under the shower head, we became aware that the last of the hot water was quickly disappearing, so we had to hurry. This was entirely the wrong moment for a cold shower.
We toweled each other off and then I went next door to my room and got out some clean shorts while my sister tried to get her ringlets dry. When she stepped naked into her own room, I was waiting for her, having picked out what I wanted her to wear. Enough of the black for today.
Frankie eyed the bright red running shorts and the pink tank-top, both last year�s but they still fit her. I raised my eyebrows at her and she shook her head and laughed.
"Boys!" she said, as I knelt and held open a pair of plain white cotton panties for her to step into. Then I slipped a white bra over her breasts and she adjusted her tits as I hooked the back. The shorts and the top made her look almost like your average teenage sister — except for that blazing hair, of course, and the midnight lipstick and nails. Close enough, anyway.
As we meandered down the hall toward the stairs, listening to our stomachs growl in anticipation of the lunch we had botb skipped, my sister slipped her arm around my waist and gave me a little squeeze.
"So, is this going to happen again?"
"Well," I replied slowly, "that�s entirely up to you. What do you think?"
"I think it�s inevitable. I think I want to fuck you the old-fashioned way next time, big brother. I think you�d better go shopping at the drug store. Right?"
"But probably not today."
"No, I don�t think I�ve got the strength to do this again today." She grinned up at me. "But there�s lots of estate sales."
Copyright 2015 by Michael K. Smith. Copies may be made and posted elsewhere for personal enjoyment, but all commercial rights are reserved.