Here’s the second one. It contains some sexual things in it, but is still well developed. *Warning!* This contains incest and people below legal age. Please do not report it as containing young people in it.
I consider this as more of a love story than erotic fiction, and I have trouble telling you how much I enjoy reading it, especially the earlier parts. For me, it kind of makes other erotic fiction pointless. Also, I OWN NOTHING. All rights belong to Michael K. Smith. I am simply uploading his story for him, though since he hasn’t uploaded his email since 2004, I don’t have his written permission, save the fact that his website gives permission. This is not hardcore stuff, and the sex is not instant or in great amount, be warned of that as well. Now, without further ado, I, the messenger, send you forward. Enjoy!
Opening Moves
by Michael K. Smith
[From Chapter 4; set in 1970; he’s 15, she’s 14. NOTE: If you’re curious, this chapter was actually the first one I wrote in this project. . . .]
Alex made the freshman swimming team when she was fourteen. So had I, the previous year, and now I was on the 10th Grade boy’s team; I was proud of my little sister and pleased that we would both be on the “jock bus” to out-of-town interscholastic meets.
I had discovered already that I simply wasn’t designed physically or mentally to be a participant in what nonswimmers regarded as “real” sports, like football or basketball. You had to force yourself to become a cog in a machine and that wasn’t for me.
Swimming and track, though, where you did most of your practicing alone, were a different kind of athletics. Competing against other individuals, head-to-head, or against your own previous best effort, was much more enjoyable. At least, it suited me and it seemed to suit Alex, and we both became steady performers in both sports.
To our coaches, people like us were the “backbones of the team”: not many First Place ribbons, but always well up in the standings. Neither Alex nor I would ever qualify for a college athletic scholarship — I think we simply lacked the bloodlust that level of competitiveness demands — but neither would we embarrass ourselves or our teams.
Rather than the bulging calves and linebacker’s shoulders that many young swimmers develop, my sister acquired instead long, sleek leg muscles and flat, rippling surfaces across her upper back. I found the result very appealing . . . but I was hardly an unbiased observer. Many of the other girls, when they made the team, cut their hair very short as a sort of ritual of achievement, but Alex refused to give up her coppery mane. Her body was developing in all the best places, too. Her hips widened enough to hold up her jeans and her waist narrowed; the baby fat disappeared quickly. Daily training at the pool kept her stomach flat and taut, and her bottom quivered nicely rather than bouncing.
Some girls at school possessed breasts that practically exploded into ‘boobs’ — double-A to C- or D-cup in a semester or less. They became very popular dates with the more mammary-minded boys. I had several opportunities myself to squeeze, suck, and wallow between pairs of hyperdeveloped tits, and it was definitely a stimulating experience — but I suspected even then that such accessories would require mechanical support before many more years passed. I also learned the truth of the old wisecrack: “Any more than you can get in your mouth at one time is wasted.”
Like all the rest of her, I regarded my sister’s breasts to be near-perfect — the standard beside which all others should be judged. She had barely enough silhouette to be considered sexy by the unimaginative, but even though her bust line was relatively small, it remained firm as the result of regular exercise. Her breasts rode high and proud on her torso and they never, ever sagged. Whether she lay on her back or stood up straight with her shoulders braced, her tits hardly changed their shallow conical shape. And each was crowned by a frequently erect nipple, as prominent as a watchtower on a hilltop.
By today’s social standards, my opinion of what constitutes physical attractiveness in a woman may be considered sexist, but I claim a neo-Platonic view of the aesthetic ideal — and Alex at fourteen fit that ideal as perfectly as I could wish.
Our physical relationship also began to change shortly after we turned fifteen and fourteen. About the same time I was learning the techniques of successful masturbation, I became aware that Alex had embarked on her own journey of discovery. This came as a surprise, though I realized immediately that it shouldn’t have. It simply hadn’t occurred to me that a girl was perfectly capable of enjoying sex all by herself.
I’m amazed I was so blind. On several occasions I found my sister sitting barefoot on the old kitchen chair in her room, one foot tucked comfortably beneath her, the other swinging slowly to and fro. The nail polish or emery board in her hand was forgotten and her slightly glazed eyes had a faraway look. If I interrupted her, she blinked and that was that, but on one occasion I stopped in the hall and watched in fascination. The foot-rocking continued for several minutes and her gaze became more and more unfocused until finally the foot stopped and she let out a deep sigh. Then she blinked several times and licked her lips, and seemed to return from wherever she had been. She looked up and saw me in the hall, and ducked her head. Her ears turned pink but I somehow knew not to ask, and she volunteered nothing.
Bladder pressure forced me out of bed early one Sunday morning, and as I headed sleepily back from the bathroom I paused in the hallway at the sound of my sister’s bed creaking rhythmically. My own bed made the same sound when I jerked off, so it certainly caught my attention. I edged down the hall, keeping to the shadows of the far wall, until I could see Alex’s bed through the half-open door. And I stood silently and watched her bring herself off, mesmerized by the sight, pounded by guilt for peeking, and totally unable to move.
Her sleeping shirt was up around her midriff and her white cotton panties were pushed down just far enough to allow a downy red curl to escape. Her eyes were closed, her mouth was open, and her breathing was becoming louder. One arm was thrust behind her pillow. Her other hand was out of sight under the cotton and her fingers were moving in a complicated pattern. Her long legs were stretched out, ankles crossed, and her calf and thigh muscles flexed and fluttered. I imagined her finger moving up and down her pussy, and I began to sweat.
Then her lovely legs bent at the knee and her feet rose slowly until her curled toes were pointed at the ceiling. I could see the outline of her finger moving jerkily beneath the now-exposed crotch of her panties. I found the vision of her heated body being stoked even further incredibly arousing.
After a few minutes, she lowered her legs again and this time spread her bent knees. The cotton crotch was a vertical white band separating her smooth thighs. Her hand continued to move, but now she pushed the cloth aside and attacked her pussy with a cupped hand. Her breasts were rising and falling rapidly as she sucked air in and hissed it out. Her lips curled back slightly and her hand flashed ever faster, until she sighed deeply and seemed to sink into her mattress. Her legs relaxed and a satisfied smile crept over her face. She gradually extricated her hand and flexed her fingers as if to remove a cramp. She hesitated and then brought her fingers to her face and inhaled. The aroma was perceptible even out in the hall. My cock had been pushing hard against the front of my briefs for several minutes, and when Alex slipped her fingers into her mouth and silently sucked them dry, I nearly came myself.
As she turned over on her side and pulled the covers back up, I moved slowly and carefully back to my own bed. I lay there for an hour, replaying the vision over and over. And when my sister finally wandered into my room and ruffled my hair to awaken me, I felt a nearly overwhelming desire to grab her hand and suck on her fingers myself.
Dad was gone on one of his trips just before Christmas and the winter cold had exacerbated Mother’s arthritis. She was holed up in the downstairs bedroom and Alex and I had the Upstairs all to ourselves, as usual. The heat wasn’t working properly in Alex’s room for some reason, and she came into my room with a quilt gathered around her. I was sitting up, half under the covers, reading.
“Can I stay in here with you tonight?” She was shivering. I was comfortable, even a little too warm. My internal thermostat always was set a little higher than hers.
“Why don’t you wear your flannel thing?” She grimaced and shifted from one bare foot to the other.
Under the quilt, I knew she was probably wearing only a T-shirt; even though she chilled easily at that age, she hated sleeping in anything that twisted around her like a mummy’s wrappings. There we agreed: I usually slept in my briefs, not pajamas with a top.
“Sure, why not?” I scooted over a bit and hauled back the comforter.
She crossed the room in two quick, deer-like leaps, shedding the quilt on the way, and slid quickly under the covers. I was right: One of my old tee shirts clipped off at navel-length, and the standard cotton panties. She immediately drew up her knees in a cannonball and hiked the comforter up under her chin.
“Thanks! I was getting frost between my toes!”
I radiate a lot of body heat at night and she inched over a little at a time until she was snugged up against my left side, her nose tickling my ribs. She sighed contentedly. And a quarter of an hour passed.
We had cozied up in bed together dozens of times in the past, sometimes when it was cold, or to swap giggling gossip from school, or sometimes just for company. We enjoyed being together more than being alone most of the time, even when we were each silently engrossed in our separate thoughts. But now, for the first time that I can remember, I forgot the book I was reading and my imagination suddenly snapped into focus on Alex.
I was still holding the book but on the movie screen in my head all I saw was a still shot of her in mid-leap on her way to the bed, long legs outstretched, tee shirt flipped up by the movement, already nicely-shaped breasts in momentary free flight beneath the cotton. Jesus. My cock twitched as I studied the picture.
I knew my sister had an attractive body — not that I thought of it that way consciously, not yet. What experience of my own did I have to compare her body to? Almost absolutely none. And here my penis was getting the better of me. I had been masturbating for two years, usually to the throb of my imagination, sometimes with the help of a smuggled PLAYBOY. I had even been known, when desperate, to beat off to the lingerie section in the Sears catalog. Recently, I had been replaying in my mind the vision of her masturbating in the early morning . . . but somehow, I thought of her in that scene as “girl,” not specifically as “Alex.”
Part of my brain, the intelligent part, tried to get my attention. What was I thinking about here? Was I going to try to put the make on my own sister? I loved her, I really did. And I knew without a doubt that she loved me, too. We had understood that, without actually saying it, since the street fight when she was eleven. If I became a sister-rapist, I thought wildly, I would have to commit suicide.
While I was thinking these sudden new thoughts, my left hand detached itself from the book of its own accord and slipped under the covers, heading straight for Alex’s left breast, the only one accessible. She had dozed off now, her breathing light and regular, almost hypnotic. My thumb began to brush her nipple through the thin cloth of her shirt. After a moment she shifted her arm slightly and sighed. I found I now had better access to my target. She was asleep but her nipple sure wasn’t. It slowly rose an eighth of an inch to reach for my slowly moving thumb.
I saw a tree branch move in the cold wind outside the window and glanced up. When I looked back a second later at what my thumb was doing, Alex’s eyes were half-open and a sleepy smile moved around the edges of her lips. I froze. After an hour-long moment she moved a tiny bit, rubbing her breast against my thumb this time.
“Don’ stop . . . ‘t feels good,” she murmured.
Wow. She moved her breast again. She seemed to mean it, at least here and now, but did she really know what she was doing? Maybe she just thought she was dreaming. I remembered her embarrassment when I had walked in on her masturbating a couple months before. She had joked about it later. But did I really want to take a chance with this? Would she scream at me for taking advantage of her after she awoke and remembered? Was I analyzing too much and losing this opportunity?
Objectively and rationally, I knew I ought to stop (and if she ever mentioned this evening I would lie, let her think she *had* dreamed it), but my more basic drives beat that thought down and killed it. All teenage boys have experiences with girls in which their gonads overrule their better judgment, and they end up embarrassed, or ashamed, or even in real trouble. I understood that even then, sitting there in bed trying desperately to make out with my sister.
Subjectively? I had no choice but to continue, and I knew that, too. I brought my first and second fingers into play and began tracing slow, easy patterns around the base of the nipple, which was now hard and firm. I plucked gently at it, trying to make it grow even more, and Alex drew a deeper, more ragged breath. Her obvious arousal was also arousing me.
I adjusted my pillow with my unoccupied hand and scooted down under the covers, face to face with Alex. She uncoiled and stretched out her legs, which were as long as mine. (Girls grow faster, they said. Boy, did they ever.) The bed was toasty warm by now from the body heat we were both beginning to produce.
I looked into her lovely, heavy-lidded eyes and smiled what I hoped was a seductive smile. I felt one leg move again and her kneecap touched mine. My hand had begun to tremble a little so I moved it carefully down between our torsos and then slowly up under her shirt, gliding my fingertips up the rungs of her rib cage. Her breast was just the size of my hand and I began to caress it, taking care to be gentle and slow. I might be beyond control, but I wasn’t going to just grab and squeeze, the way I had seen guys do with girls under the stands at school. I don’t want to hurt her, I thought. I also don’t want to scare her, because she might make me stop.
And as I thought that, she brought her hands up flat on my chest and firmly pushed herself back from me. Hell, I thought, I messed it up. Or she’s suddenly come awake and realized what’s happening. But that wasn’t it at all.
Instead, she propped herself up on her elbow, her long hair falling across her face, and tugged one arm out of the sleeve of her tee shirt. Then it went over her head and she lay back, slipped out her other arm, and tossed it toward the foot of the bed. She looked over at me and smiled lazily again. She had to be fully awake she wanted to pretend she wasn’t. That way, she didn’t have to take responsibility for what was happening.
I didn’t understand all this at the time, of course. I was up on my elbow, gazing at her breasts and face and hair, and thinking in wonderment how really beautiful and desirable my sister was. Neither of us ever tanned much and there was an obvious flush spreading down her pale, freckled collarbone. These aren’t “tits” or “boobs,” I remember thinking; these are the genuine thing. Things.
I hesitated another moment. It was like a jerk-off fantasy. She took my hand and carried it to her left breast. When she lay on her back, it had flattened out some but her nipple stood up like a tiny missile. Her breastbone moved slowly up and down. I covered her breast with my hand, which began moving in circular motions, apparently knowing what it wanted more clearly than the rest of me did. Except for my cock, which was searching for the opening in the front of my briefs.
My propped-up arm was quivering with tension so I lay back down on my side and continued rhythmically kneading and massaging one breast. But there was another one that wanted attention, too, so I leaned over and put out the flat of my tongue and dragged it across her other nipple. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her eyelids flutter and her lips part. That removed the last bit of guilt I felt; we were sharing this experience now.
I sucked at her nipple and tasted the texture of its resilience and Alex made a sucking sound in reply. Her left hand was jammed behind her pillow and her right hand had wrapped itself half around my neck and over the top of my head. Her fingers tugged lightly at my hair in syncopation to what my mouth was doing.
I loved Alex so much at that moment, in so many different ways, I knew I had to kiss her immediately. That was what you did with someone you loved. Or someone you were making out with. My motives were confused but my feelings were real enough.
I gripped her arms and shoulders and pulled her off the pillow so we could stare into each other’s eyes. I had never seen passion or sexual hunger in a girl’s eyes before — I had never seen it anywhere — but I recognized it instinctively. Her arms circled my neck and pulled me back down, and she made that little noise in her throat again. When our lips touched, there was an actual, physical shock, a spark. The emotional pressure almost made our teeth click together. I put out my tongue a little and hers attacked it. In ten seconds we were slobbering all over each other’s faces, both of us moaning together. I wasn’t sixteen yet but I was in love. That was all that mattered.
My left arm was under her shoulders while I stabbed kisses up and down the front of her throat, but my other hand was feeling left out. I don’t think I knew where it was as it traveled confidently down Alex’s diaphragm and across her flat, trembling stomach. But the instant my fingers reached her navel, her hand shot southward like lightning and grabbed them.
“No, Michael. No further than that — please.”
I lifted my head and looked at her face, a little bewildered. No what? Then I realized my hand was pinned firmly by hers, my middle finger stroking her belly-button. Oh.
“Okay,” I said hoarsely. What else was I going to say? I moved my hand back up along her side, buried my face in her neck, and hugged her to me.
Looking back, I marvel at my restraint, my self-control. The animal was loose, I knew that, and partly I didn’t care — but my better side managed to keep it on a choke chain. If my hand had reached its objective unobstructed, I’m not sure what I could have done about it, that night anyway. Just as well it didn’t happen. I loved Alex, I knew she loved me, and I was happy.
A little while later we drifted off, our arms wrapped around each other. We moved back to our own pillows during the night, still asleep, but I believe we slept facing each other the entire night, and when we awoke in the morning we were still holding hands. Alex smiled at me briefly but intensely and gave me a lingering kiss on the lips before her practical side took over.
“We’ll be late for school!”
She scooted out of bed and bent quickly to pick up her tee shirt, which had fallen to the floor. Gravity did a marvelous thing to her small breasts as she bent. In profile, each formed a perfect shallow arc punctuated by a nipple. Another astounding image for my mental projection screen. Then she was out the door, headed for the bathroom, her bottom moving tightly beneath the cotton, always in control. I lay there another moment and replayed the marvel of the night just ended. This was the girl I wanted to spend all my time with and she was already right here with me . . . and now there were whole new dimensions to that thought. I grinned idiotically at the ceiling.
One night a month or so later, I was lying in bed late, reading a book I had to finish for a report. As I turned a page, beginning to drift off to sleep, I heard a low, smothered moan from across the hall. My sister’s door was half-open, as usual (as was mine), but her light was out. I heard the sound again and wondered vaguely what the matter was. Maybe Alex was ill. Even after my previous voyeuristic experience, the obvious conclusion escaped me completely (I could be incredibly thick at that age).
Yawning and still thinking about the story I was reading, I got out of bed and went across to check on her; I knew she had been experiencing painful menstrual periods lately and I felt especially helpless about such things. Leaving my door open to spill a little light, I opened her door all the way and paused while my eyes adjusted. She seemed to be asleep, or at least her eyes were closed. She made an odd whimpering sound and moved her head from side to side. Her covers were wadded up around her waist and her hands were out of sight. I stepped over to the bed where she was tossing, and touched her shoulder. Still dense as I stone, I was.
“Alex?” I asked quietly. “Are you all right?”
Her eyes and her mouth both popped open, startled, and she pulled up the covers a few inches. Then she lay very still.
“Uh, yeah, I’m okay. Why? What’s the matter?” Even in the dim light, I could see how flushed her face was.
“Well, I heard all these strange sounds . . .” It was beginning to dawn on me that this was a repeat of my recent experience. I knew I should be embarrassed, but instead I was very interested. Fascinated, in fact. I took a chance and sat on the edge of her bed. My sister began to squirm.
“Alex, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were . . . I mean, I thought you. . . .” Now *I* was becoming embarrassed.
There was a glow in her eyes that I was coming to recognize as sexual arousal. And my sister, once aroused, was not to be denied. She licked her lips several times and seemed to be making up her mind. Then she stared straight into my eyes.
“I was . . . I was feeling myself up. Masturbating,” she added slowly. “Does that . . . does that make you horny?”
My God, did it ever! Just hearing her talk like that raised my temperature. My mouth went dry and my tongue swelled up. I could only nod slowly. Alex hesitated and licked her lips again. Then, still keeping strong eye contact, she began moving her hand beneath the covers again.
This wasn’t like the casual exposure she had offered me the first time I watched her change her tampon. It wasn’t even like watching her from the hall without her knowledge. This was sex. Nonparticipatory, but still sex. I stared back with my jaw hanging loosely and watched her pupils dilate. Finally, I could take no more of the mounting tension. Very carefully, with both hands, I pulled Alex’s covers down to her knees. She knew it was going to happen and she didn’t flinch.
Her panties were halfway down her slightly parted thighs and her T-shirt was pushed up to her ribs. The blazing center of her body lay before me, her pubic mound crowning it like a bonfire. I couldn’t take my eyes off her crotch. Her middle finger was lodged in the crevice below her silky pubic hair, sliding deliberately up and down between the folds of inviting flesh. Her other hand was stroking the edge of her labia. On each upstroke her cunt opened just a bit and the dim light glistened on the hidden moistness. I glanced at her face, expecting her eyes to be closed; she was still staring at me, smokily, with a crooked smile.
Then her gaze moved down my body to my groin, and I looked down, too. My engorged cock was visibly pulsing and it felt four feet long. I had no idea what to do, but Alex did.
“I want to see it,” she whispered hoarsely.
This time, I didn’t hesitate. I reached under the elastic and carefully lifted out my genitals, balls and all. I had to stretch the front of my briefs to get the elastic down out of the way. I cradled my penis in my open hand, so that it seemed to be staring back at her. Her hands paused in their movement and, just for a second, I thought she was going to reach out and touch it. Instead, she looked back into my eyes.
“Do it,” she said quietly. “Do it with me.” I must have looked blank. “Lie down and jerk off with me,” she repeated more insistently. “I know you masturbate. I want to watch, and you can watch me. If we do it together, it’ll be almost . . . almost like. . . .” She didn’t have to finish.
She scooted over a few inches and rotated partway onto one hip, spreading her thighs farther apart and pushing her pelvis forward. As I quickly lay down next to her, she added urgently, “Don’t touch, though — not tonight. Okay?”
I nodded and squeezed the head of my cock. I wouldn’t have to hurry to catch up. In fact, I was afraid I’d shoot off the moment I touched the unguided missile that loomed less than a foot from where her busy fingertips were plucking lightly at her clit. Coming too quickly, I thought, would make me look like an idiot. It also might cut short my visit to Alex’s bed.
I started out leaning on my elbow, but that quickly became uncomfortable so I put my head on her pillow and slid my other arm under it. Alex raised her head to allow my arm passage, and lay down again, closer to me than she had been. I took that as an invitation, outside of the admonition not to touch, and I moved my head closer to hers.
I began to stroke my cock like a piston and my movements were quickly synchronized with hers. She gazed into my eyes for another moment, then moved her head the last couple of inches and kissed my lightly on the lips. I responded with a gentle pressure of my own, and her sweet-tasting little tongue raced across my front teeth. Our lips barely touching, her tongue sparred wetly with mine. When she exhaled, I inhaled, and vice versa, sharing the same breath several times, back and forth, until all the oxygen in it was gone. Our mouths were fulfilling the lust both of us felt but were afraid to give in to.
As my right hand moved up and down my cock, trying desperately to postpone my climax by a few more minutes, I was acutely aware of its nearness to my sister’s radiant cunt. I would have expected, in such a position, an uncontrollable urge to sweep her hands out of the way and push myself into her. But in the event, that wasn’t a problem. I didn’t yet know quite how all that stuff was supposed to be done, but I did know I would climax instantly if I tried such a thing. And, somehow, I knew it was best that our bodies and our minds progress through each lesson in turn, one at a time. There was no hurry and I didn’t want to spoil things. Besides, Alex had asked me not to, and we always played fair with each other. There was gentle passion in her kiss, willingly given, and that would be the limit for tonight. I only made this rational analysis in later weeks, of course. At the time, my responses and self-imposed limitations were instinctive.
We looked into each other’s eyes and I could see what she really wanted, deep inside, but was far too nervous to try yet. And she could see in my eyes that this was all the fulfillment I needed, for now. The fact that we could even *do* this was a result of the strong and implicit trust between us.
Her hand speeded up and her breath was gasping. I just tried to match her pace. A few moments later, she kissed me with greater force as her orgasm rolled over her, and those two events set me off. At the last instant, I realized I was going to make a mess of either her or her bed. I was a little afraid that the former would put her off completely; the latter would certainly be uncomfortable when she finally went to sleep. So, a half-second before I came, I was able to yank my briefs back up and drown my pubic hair in semen.
I don’t think Alex was even aware of my actions, she was so transported herself. When our kiss tapered off, she removed her fingers from her cunt and, with a mischievous grin, slid them under my nose. The aroma was enticing and I think I surprised her by fulfilling my earlier fantasy — capturing her fingers in my mouth and sucking all the wetness from them. The taste was exquisite. She put her legs down and readjusted her tee shirt and her panties. Then we kissed again, both of us longing for more, but held back by nervousness and perhaps a little common sense.
“Michael,” she finally said huskily, “I think you’d better go back to bed before I climb all over you!”
I regretfully climbed out of her bed and headed back to my room, but I paused at her door and looked back to where she lay watching me. Her fond smile stayed with me the rest of the night.
Five days after our mutual exhibition, I went to bed on Friday night by myself. I normally slept in an extra hour or so on Saturdays, but that night I had some strange and erotic dreams and woke at 5:30. I didn’t remember the details of the dreams, but I came to lying on my side with a throbbing hard-on. I also had company: my sister was snuggled up to me, a love spoon, and my engorged cock was prodding the back of her upper thigh through my briefs. I wondered foggily what kind of dreams *she* must be having.
I was still half asleep. I put one arm over Alex’s warm body and she wriggled closer against me without waking. It gradually dawned on me that she wasn’t wearing a top. In fact, she had unconsciously taken my hand in hers and hugged it against her breast. That made me feel relaxed and secure, at first, and I kissed her bare shoulder, which was all that showed above the cover. But as she breathed, snoring very softly, the movement rubbed her nipple against the palm of my hand. I began rubbing gently in the opposite direction, and both nipples were soon erect. Mine, too.
She shifted the position of her legs several times and murmured under her
breath. Finally, she rolled onto her back, tucked her left arm under the
pillow, and half-opened her eyes.
“‘Lo . . .” was all she could manage, followed by a warm, drowsy smile. My hand had traveled onto her stomach. Her free hand moved a few inches and absently stroked my cheek and gave my arm a squeeze. Then it, too, disappeared under the pillow behind her head. She seemed to doze off again.
Stretched out at slender full length, arms above her head like that, hair sprawled across my pillow, sleeping so peacefully — she was a striking image of young, feminine vulnerability. I turned back the cover very carefully, trying not to disturb her further. My beautiful little sister, I thought with longing. Shallow, mounded breasts, rising and falling with her respiration. Her arms, curving smoothly and cleanly to her rib cage and then to her small waist. Her flat stomach, punctuated by her navel, hip bones flaring gracefully to either side of her brief white panties. One leg outstretched, the other bent at the knee, the sole of one foot braced neatly against the opposite calf. From above, she looked like a ballerina performing a pirouette.
I reached out and stroked her thigh, the way I would pet a kitten or any other small animal that looked like it wanted attention. When I came to the top of her thigh, without conscious decision (though it had been in my mind all week), my hand continued upward and hovered over the vee at the crotch of her panties. I could stand it no longer. I cupped my hand gently, lightly, over her resilient pubic mound, my first two fingers sliding down between her legs where I felt the springy depression of her vulva. I clutched her pussy a bit more firmly and began to move my fingers up and down the crease in the white cotton. Her head moved restlessly to one side and she made small smacking sounds with her lips. I continued moving my fingers, searching for the little button I knew was there. Alex’s hip shifted closer to me and her eyes fluttered open again for a few seconds as she stretch her legs out straight and gave a tiny shiver.
“Take ’em off . . . ,” she muttered, and her eyelids slid shut again.
I moved carefully off the side of the bed, making as little disturbance as possible, and hastily pushed off my briefs. My cock sprang up at a steep angle. Then I leaned over and, with both hands, began slowly pulling down my sister’s panties. Her legs were a few inches apart, but otherwise she made no move to help. I had to gradually work the rolled-up fabric under her ass by sliding it down on one side and then on the other.
The program seemed to be the same as the week before. I didn’t know whether she was completely asleep, half-awake and aware of what I was doing, or just faking. But it was clear that this next step on the ladder of our physical relationship was to be *my* responsibility — which I was very willing to accept. I was also convinced, after the previous week, that if I attempted to cross some invisible boundary, Alex would wake immediately, so I didn’t worry about it. I would peruse this marvel before me until one of us decided to stop.
I slipped her panties over her feet and tossed them on the floor. My sister lay naked before me, apparent willing for me to drink in her loveliness, and also ready to take the next step in our sexual awakening. I lay down again on my side next to her and caressed the curve of her hip and the flatness of her abdomen. I threaded my fingers through her soft red pubic thatch and gently cupped my hand again over the mound beneath it.
I didn’t know much about foreplay, but I knew there was no hurry and that I should be ever gentle as I explored every inch of her with my hands. I also knew instinctively that if I just yanked her legs wide apart, climbed on, and tried to cram my cock into her, it would break our unspoken agreement; it might even spoil it forever.
Her cunt was becoming more moist every second and I easily slid my fingers along the sides of her clitoral sheath. Slowly, slowly. She began to make humming, purring sounds and her legs twitched farther apart. I rubbed one finger over the dewy tip of her clit and this time her whole body twitched. So did my cock.
I slid my forefinger into her open vagina, trying to fathom the whole length of that warm, tight tunnel. I reached her cervix without much difficulty and added a second finger. It felt rubbery when I squeezed it between my fingertips, different from what I had expected. I wasn’t sure she could feel anything there herself, except the finger pressure, but I suppose it’s something every guy tries. I would have put my whole arm into her and climbed in after it, had it been possible.
I had groped blindly at a couple of other girls, but on those occasions I could never see what I was doing and I had always felt rushed by the circumstances. This time, I had a clear view and all the time I needed.
What was more, Alex understood that need. She was hesitant about our increasing physical involvement, as I was, but she trusted me to proceed slowly and to take care of her. And because she trusted me so completely, I knew I would follow the same plan, taking my time, backing off if she got nervous, and giving her anything and everything she needed in return. This understanding between us was one of the things that brought us to realize that we were in love.
We never “fell” in love, I think, even when we kissed that first time at the park. It always existed, and it grew steadily as we explored it and came to understand its nature.
I had been watching my fingers, but now I glanced at Alex’s face. Her long eyelashes were fluttering slowly like peacock fans and her moist lips were parted. Her arms were still behind the pillow but now she clutched at it with both hands. Either she was really waking up or she thought she was having one hell of a dream.
My right hand returned to her clit, now glistening in the early morning light. I began tracing slow circles around the little pink bullet head, breaking rhythm every few seconds and flicking a finger across its tip. As I increased the tempo, her thighs began making little jerky movements. She was on the up-side of the roller coaster, but I didn’t want her to climax yet. I didn’t want it to be over. So I slowed and then stopped, moving the flat of my hand back over her stomach and across her ribs to brush her stiffened nipple. She trembled at that and seemed about to tear the pillow in two. My hand moved to the smooth hollow under her arm and trailed over her bicep. She continued breathing heavily.
“God, don’t stop! Why did you stop? Oh, God, that felt so wonderful!” This was accompanied by a soft wailing moan of desperation. Her eyes finally opened.
“Michael, I want your finger back in me! It felt so good — I’ve never felt like that, even doing it myself! And I didn’t come yet!”
I leaned over her body on my elbows, trapping her arms in their extended position, and cut off her protests with a smothering kiss. “Alex, I’m selfish — I don’t *want* you to come yet. But I’m not ready to quit either. Can I try something else. . . ?
Her expression went instantly serious. “Michael, . . . please, I’m not ready
to do it yet. I *want* to — oh, God, I want to! — but not yet. Please don’t.” Her voice was soft and calm but her face kept shifting between adolescent lust and fear of the unknown. But she misunderstood my intentions.
“I’m not going to push you beyond where you want to go. Don’t you know that by now? I love you, Alex. I would never — COULD never — hurt you like that. You trust me, I know you do, and I will never do anything to made you regret that — I promise.” I kissed her again, softly this time. “No, I had something else in mind. And I think you’ll like it, too. . . .”
As I spoke, I was moving farther down the bed and farther down her perfect body, leaving a trail of lip prints on her throat, between her breasts, just below her rib cage, to her navel and past it. My hands kept pace, gliding down her sides and her hips and coming to rest clasping her flanks. Her stomach muscles fluttered and she inhaled deeply when I buried my face in her pubic hair.
Her legs parted and as her knees bent, I wrapped my hands around her thighs and pressed them open even farther. I had attempted muff-diving a couple of times with other girls, but always under uncomfortable and hurried circumstances. So I had a theoretical grasp of the subject, but I was mostly making up my technique as I went along. But I was sure it was Alex’s first time, too, so I didn’t think it would matter.
Her cunt was already humid with the aroma of sex. Her thigh muscles were tensed; she didn’t quite know what to expect. Experimentally, I nuzzled her clit and pushed my tongue along the opening below it, where my fingers had been shortly before.
I had been warned by the Boy’s Gym Information Exchange to expect a “fishy” taste, but I found nothing of the kind. The moisture I lapped up smelled and tasted of heated honey and licorice, a heady flavor I enjoyed enormously.
My tongue worked its way down to the bottom edge of her vagina, eased between the silky smooth lips, and made the long, slow journey back to the top. The juices I caught flooded my probing tongue and trickled down my throat.
I heard a distant, sighing moan as Alex thrust her pelvis up toward my mouth. I felt her fingers tentatively touch my head and then slide more confidently through my hair. When I stabbed lightly at the tip of her clitoris, it twitched and her fingers clutched at my scalp. I licked all around the little red bullet, pushing back the sheath with my tongue, then sucking hard at it, pressing its tip against my teeth.
Alex was trembling, from her hands on my head urging me on, to the clenching of her ass, to the spreading and curling of her toes. Her profound arousal, in fact, was having a similar effect on me. I was lying flat on my stomach, propped up on my elbows, and my cock felt like a length of iron pipe under me.
I paused, to shift my hands and wipe my lips, and Alex tugged nervously at my hair. “God, Michael, don’t stop! You’re making me crazy!”
I laughed silently, opened my mouth wide, and covered as much of her crotch as I could. Then I exhaled heavily, blanketing her cunt with warm air. She shivered and moaned loudly, and then began to push her right hand past my head so she could masturbate. I intercepted the hand and moved it away.
“No, Alex, let me do this. . . . I love it, I love making you hot and horny, and I love the taste of you! I’m going to do this all by myself.”
I spread her dripping labia with my fingers and licked their inner surfaces. My tongue stroked the creases at the top of her thighs and lunged as far as it could reach into the depths of her. It swiped like a brush up and down the smooth area between her cunt and her asshole. After a moment’s hesitation, I licked the corrugated surface around her anus and tapped my tongue against the hole. I couldn’t tell whether she actually flinched or merely jerked in a uncontrollable spasm, but I decided to return to known territory for now.
My sister was panting in a shallow, jerky rhythm and her hands were holding her knees up and apart. Her knuckles were white from tension. I settled in to work on her swollen clitoris, to push her over the top to her climax. My tongue swirled around her sexual centerpoint and she began uttering shrill little sounds at the end of each breath.
I sucked her clit into my mouth again and flicked my tongue against it, faster and faster. Now her body was jerking continually. Finally, without forethought, I very lightly nipped the end of her clit between my teeth — and that did it.
Alex went rigid for a few seconds, except for a hissing intake of breath, and I felt her pelvis and thigh muscles tighten. The deep breath paused a long moment and became an even deeper sigh. Her cunt quivered and fresh vaginal juices, thick and sweet, dribbled down my chin. I slowed my pace to a lazy swirl and Alex jerked a little each time I touched her clit, which was now retreating into its sheath. Then I ceased my exertions and closed her legs and lowered her knees.
I gripped her hips and planted a lingering kiss at the bottom of that silky red triangle, and then laid my cheek on her thigh. I was worn out and my neck and shoulders were stiff, but I felt wonderful about the orgasm my sister had just experienced because of me.
Alex’s hand stroked my temple and I swiveled my head to look up at her face. Her lovely green eyes were glowing with soft starlight and her face held both wonder and love.
“Michael. . . ?” she whispered huskily. “C’mere. . . .”
I got shakily to my knees and crawled the few feet to the pillow and let my head fall back on its coolness. Alex turned on her side, levered herself over to plant her elbows on either side of me, and slid her forearms under my shoulders. Her face was suspended above mine — my sun and my moon, I thought — and her trembling smile was so warm I felt like melting butter. She came slowly closer and kissed me thoroughly, running her tongue over my lips and eyelids, and finally fixing me with a steady gaze from two inches away. I stroked her back lightly.
“That’s the first time,” she breathed.
Not it’s not, I thought. She’s had orgasms before, I know she has. But she read my expression.
“It’s the first time anyone but *me* has done that to me. And it was wonderful! I want you to make love to me, Michael, I want to go all the way with you. I thought I did before, and now I’m absolutely sure of it — and it will happen, I promise.
“You could have done it tonight, you know; I couldn’t have stopped you. I wouldn’t have wanted you to stop, I was off on another world somewhere. But you didn’t, and I love you so much for that! I DO love you, Michael — do you understand? I know we’re young and everything, but I also know I’ll never feel about anyone else the way I do about you. I don’t even have the words for it, except to just keep saying it over and over: I love you, Michael, I love you with all my heart.” She blinked back tears.
I was near tears myself. Her beautiful face was so filled with fourteen-year-old conviction, I could only believe she meant what she said. And I was only a year older and I felt the same absolute love for her, so I *wanted* to believe it, desperately. I wrapped my arms about her as she clutched my shoulders.
“Nothing and no one will ever separate us,” I said softly. “We’ll be together forever, or as long as we both want to be. Alex, you know I love you so much I can hardly stand it.”
And each of us, I knew, was wondering what the future held, thinking how we would have to struggle against a world that wouldn’t understand. We hugged each other more tightly.
It was Fourth of July weekend. We felt older, I think — and we certainly were maturing more rapidly than most teenagers, because we had each other to practice with.
Some things had changed in the few months since our first sexual contact. For one thing, I was sleeping naked these days and Alex wore only bikini panties. Neither of us had any sense of modesty at all in each other’s presence. I could walk into the bathroom while she was taking a bath and she wouldn’t bat an eye; in fact, she watched with interest while I took a leak. Then she would come into my room naked and sit on the bed and talk while she dried her hair. At first, it was constantly exciting and distracting. Now, the excitement hadn’t gone, but it remained at a comfortable level, even while we observed each other’s continuing physical development.
We were becoming physically used to each other, though never bored. And while I often caressed her breasts and her upper body, and stroked her thighs and her buttocks when she rolled over on her stomach, I never attempted to get closer than a few inches from her pussy. Nor did she ever reach for my cock.
My sister had cuddled up close to me and fallen asleep while I read late again. I was beginning to doze off, too, and I turned my head sleepily to look at her before I doused the reading lamp.
She lay on her side in the crook of my arm, her head on my shoulder and her thick hair spread across the pillow. One arm and one leg were pressed up close against my side while the others were flung across me, half pinning my body to the bed. Her limbs were still as long as mine, though more slender, and every time she twitched in her sleep or shifted position slightly I felt the movement reverberate all through me.
I was acquainted with plenty of girls at school now, and had survived crushes on several of them — to Alex’s amusement. All of them were generally considered “cute” or “pretty,” but none of them even came close to my beautiful little sister, who was no longer so little.
I finally cut the light, settled the pillow behind my head, and fell asleep thinking of Alex. And apparently those thoughts produced a midnight erection. Alex awoke in the night, for whatever reason, and discovered the tent that my cock had formed under the sheets. She told me later that she was fascinated by my penis, had been for years, because it seemed to have a life and a will of its own. And since I was asleep, she felt at liberty to experiment and explore.
Her attentions brought me up out of the deeps into that fuzzy region where sleep and wakefulness are confused, where you can imagine you’re awake while actually dreaming that you imagine you’re awake. And in the night, external stimuli in such a state can make you highly suggestible.
So I half-dreamed that a soft, slender hand was grasping the shaft of my cock and moving slowly up and down. Then it paused and a thumb passed curiously several times over its head, measuring its contours and the opening at the tip. My cock twitched several times at the provocation; I felt it and thought drowsily that this was a very sexy dream.
Then the hand moved to the base of the column and I felt her fingers sliding through and untangling my pubic hair — for my half-awake mind knew whose hand it was, dream or no dream. Her touch was gentle but determined. She worked her way around to my balls, and it is a measure of my trust in my sister that I didn’t even flinch. I needn’t have worried anyway. My scrotum was relaxed and loose in the warmth beneath the covers, and she carefully scooped up the whole of it and seemed to weigh it in her hand, manipulating my balls gently within their sac.
I heard her take a breath as she seemed to come to a decision, and I was awake enough now to peer through my eyelashes. The touch of Alex’s hand disappeared for a few seconds and I saw it emerge from under the covers and pause before her mouth. She cupped her palm and quietly filled it with spit, and the hand disappeared again from sight. An instant later I felt it, warm and wet now, curled again around the shaft of my cock. I wondered absently if she knew anything at all about technique.
Her hand moved up and down, slowly and gently at first, and she interrupted her rhythm every few strokes to rub her palm over the head of my cock. The pace gradually increased and she squeezed a little more tightly now and then. Maybe it was instinctive for her, too, but she definitely knew what she was doing. It felt wonderful: When you masturbate yourself it’s difficult for your hand to come up with any surprises.
I remained quiet but I was wide awake now and beginning to breath more rapidly. No point pretending to be asleep. I heard a moan of pure pleasure come from deep in my own throat and Alex glanced up quickly at my face. My arm was still around her and I squeezed her shoulder and shifted toward her a bit and onto my hip. My left hand slipped around and under her armpit to stroke her breast. I smiled and nodded and she grinned back at me.
Now that I was awake, my sister wanted to see what was happening, so she halted her exertions for an instant and threw back the covers. My cock reached even more resolutely toward the ceiling. It was just all too much for me and within another minute I could feel my climax rapidly approaching. From the expression of concentration on her face I knew she didn’t realize what was about to occur.
“I’m almost there,” I murmured hoarsely.
Either she didn’t hear or she didn’t understand. I didn’t want to frighten or disgust her, but I sure didn’t want her to stop, either. A distant corner of my mind tried desperately to think how to have it both ways, and then it was too late.
I gasped as I began to spasm and I would have rolled over flat on my back, but Alex’s grip on me prevented it. Several large gobs of semen exploded in rapid succession from my cock as if from a machine gun. One landed on her wrist, remaining connected to the tip of my cock by a long white thread. Another hit her on the collarbone and began to ooze down across her breast. A third shot spread in its trajectory and landed on her chin and across her lower lip.
Christ, I thought in dismay, she’ll be so repelled she won’t ever touch me again. When I hesitantly looked at her face, though, I saw no disgust — just startlement and surprise. She touched her little finger to the milky blob on her chin and withdrew it, as though testing its sticky consistency. Then she curled her tongue out and down and scooped most of the semen off her lip and into her mouth, like a kitten lapping milk. For a moment, she had a faraway look as she tasted my essence, and then swallowed it.
I realized that was what I really *wanted* her to do. I wanted her to swallow my come. And then: WHY would I want a girl to do something like that? It’s an old, old puzzle. Certainly, the great majority of men enjoy being the subject of skillful oral sex (no surprise there). But every guy with whom I’ve ever discussed this puzzle in the philosophy of sex admits to even greater erotic pleasure when the woman not only allows him to come in her mouth but swallows his load as well, and without making a face or a fuss.
Alex just smiled and said “No taste! Just a little salty.”
Then she leaned across my chest, smearing the wad on her breast across me — I could feel the stickiness — and kissed me firmly on the mouth. I welcomed her tongue when she poked it between my lips, as I had many times before, but this time Alex was playing one of her erotic little jokes. She hadn’t swallowed it all, and I tasted the salty flavor of my own semen.
— END —