Chapter 1
That morning the alarm rang at eight, but Jill pushed the button and stopped its squalling. Back asleep, the dream began again. Her body moved over the crumpled sheets like a rope twisting and tightening. When she awoke, her armpits were moist with sweat, and her hand was cupped over the hairy mound at the intersection of her legs. The dream had broken along a jagged edge, and her mouth had formed, half aloud, half in a whisper, the name of her brother, Christopher. Caught for one brief second between consciousness and sleep, she recognized the young boy in the dream as Chris.
Her fingers were straightened and tense; the joints ached with stiffness. Her right index fingertip pressed into the raw clitoral button. In her sleep, she had somehow brought her sheer, shortie nightgown over the crotch. A slight film of moisture covered the slit's outer folds; the pubic threads, too, were covered with hormonal sweat. Jill sniffed the salt-sour odor.
She looked up at the off-white ceiling and brought her lids down. Strangely, that the dream-lover was her brother was not all that painful.
Though her first emotion was concern, her impulse was to press deeper on the pinkish eruption of flesh covered by glossy, dark hairs. The third finger brushed lightly over the oiled labia and then shoved itself inside to the first joint. Jill was surprised at her own moisture.
She bent the fingers of her hand. The index poked lower and joined the other inside the warm box, which smelled of musk.
The thumb rolled over the clitoris and pushed harder. She pressed the little button and then released it Again she slid the thumb itself over the slight flesh and made the most of the friction.
Her vaginal muscles clamped involuntarily around the two fingers she had inserted inside of her. A fire licked the wet sides of the tightened cavern. She pulled the filament of the clitoris with the stub of her pinky.
Her left hand kneaded the muscles of her flat belly. A fingernail scratched the pale skin above the hairy triangle. The fingers moved down and twined the curls on the spindles of long, manicured nails.
Jill pushed up from the bed and dug her heels into the mattress. Her backbone and shoulders shoved against the pillow. The whole frame jolted forward to receive the digits deeper inside the swelling void. The small of her back ached with tension. A quiver passed through the hole, and the sides of the box spread apart for a fraction of a second before closing in over the two stroking fingers, now wet with Jill's inner grease. The vagina's hold on the twin bones was tighter than ever. Supine once more, Jill rubbed the plush globes of her ass into the foam mattress. The flesh joggled back and forth over her tailbone. She moved her right hand in time to a steady rhythm. The line of her body pumped up in a graceful arch.
Each time her right hand was filled with the swelling of her pudendum. The palm of her hand relaxed over the hairy lining while the fingers still pushed midway inside. Jill's palm felt the moisture that had gathered and adhered to the pubic bush with the bases of her fingers.
She brought her left hand to the tip of her right breast. The nipple awakened immediately to the touch and grew more rigid with each moment that the sweaty palm rested over the cap. The red-brown areola was sharply pointed; it rustled against the flesh of her hand as Jill turned the wrist back and forth over the slope of breast-flesh that led to the stone.
She grabbed the cone more tightly and squeezed it as though the areola might burst open and pour forth erotic nectar. Her small hand could not contain all of the breast inside it. The fingertips moved between the two mounds and touched the bony septum.
She held her body awkwardly under her. Her right side jutted upward and forced friction with her cupped hand. The hand moved now to her left breast, and the body relaxed. Only her groin moved with rhythm that grew more demanding.
Her fingers pressed the yielding, loose muscle of the hillock, and the tit became pebble-hard. She cupped the underside in her hand and bend her head forward, so that her chin almost touched the rim of the nipple. She tried to reach out with her tongue and lick it, but that proved too awkward, and she relaxed.
Her head came back to the soft pillow. She rubbed the base of her skull and her neck from side to side over the bed sheets. Jill's tongue was a sudden flash of bright pink as it stuck out between the softer folds of lip and wiped them with its tip.
She looked down toward the angle formed by her two, sprawled legs. The strands of pubic hair weaved a tuft that obstructed a clear view of the glistening labia. Her legs bent at the knees, and the muscles of her thighs shook slightly with the tension in her body that wound like a spring for the coming orgasm.
She withdrew the two fingers from the moist pot, and they slid over the clitoris. The nub grew custard-stiff under the prodding.
Her left hand moved to her side and her wrist meshed with the rising hipbone. The fingernails reached down to tear at the thigh in anticipation.
The first and fourth fingers of her right hand pressed into the division between crotch and leg, while the two middle fingers stroked the erectile tissue of the clit. Jill felt herself come apart as the walls dilated again, and she held herself still so they shut afterwards more tightly than before. Her left thumb stretched and curled back to press into her stomach. She pushed up on her heels and stretched her body straight out to contain the assault of climax.
She smelled herself, the oils and essence of her vagina. Though the daylight poured through the curtains, this scent of woman-flesh was a night smell, as was the hot, sweet lava that escaped from a man's penis. Her own fishy smell was the last thing she consciously noted before the orgasm passed through her body, one wave at a time.
The first jolt was like an electric shock. The bases of her fingers jammed the cartilage below the thin surface flesh at her groin. The fingers slipped inside the wet snatch, while the palm jammed the clitoris.
Jill's heels left the bed as a shiver made her body tense. The toes were stiff; they stretched to separate from each other during orgasm. Mattress springs squeaked below pumping buttocks. The cunt's fleshy coils tightened again and then relaxed while she was still coming.
Her groin rolled under her fingers and hand. As the orgasm poured from her, her manipulations were slower and more graceful, even feline. As though the pleasure was elastic, she pushed her crotch longingly upwards and savored the climax.
Her hand was still immersed in the damp and hairy cleft. Her breathing was a soft rasp. The forearm ached with the exercise she'd given it. Her eyes moved to her breasts, which still rose and fell with each breath, and she shut her eyes. The light in the room penetrated past the lids, and it colored the darkness.
The left arm moved back and crumpled a handful of the bed sheet in its palm. Fatigue was concentrated in the base of her skull.
Then, the dream. Again.
The stage was familiar. The same bedroom, her marriage bed. She viewed the scene as if she observed it from the bed, though it was she who entered the room first, with Christopher in tow behind her. His face was blurred, but she knew now for certain that it was him, her brother.
Now, as dreaming observer, she was not surprised when her perspective dissolved. The two moved onto the bed, and she was alternately in front of and over the bed, viewing from almost cinematic angles.
Then both were naked. Her hand reached for his cock. In the dream it was small and almost boyish, but it sprang instantly to life at the touch of her inner palm. The dream was so real that she could feel the scraping of soft, malleable flesh against skin-padded bone. The bag below the erection was full with enlarged testes, floating and bobbing at the slightest push of her forefinger as it shot between the two balls. .
Her fingers closed around the tool, and she felt the pulse of the blood inside it. She ran the side of her bony forefinger against the glans. She turned her wrist and led the flat of the fingertip along the thin slit. Christopher lay there, legs slightly apart; the scrotum sagged against the smooth, white sheet. She pulled the cock away from his belly and its accustomed angle. Her side rustled upon the sheet as she moved down. Her mouth opened, the lips parted and puckered. On her knees, she pushed one of her brother's legs to the side of the mattress. With her right hand she grabbed the sibling's prick and moved her lips to its fleshy head.
The mouth opened wider, and the bite of upper and lower front teeth sank into the taut foreskin below the dome. The edge of her tongue licked at the flatter side of the head and lashed down to the foreskin. The side of her hand rested in the furry pile of pubic hair; her thumb pushed forward into the meat at the slab's base. Forefinger and thumb pinched at the sides of the organ; she brought it sideways from its origin.
She filled her mouth with the penis since it was small. She could devour it to its base. Her lips were less than an inch from the tangle of hairy matting. She curled some of the strands on the spool of her index finger. The edges of her teeth grated over and under the cock. She let them move into the stiff meat itself, but she was careful not to confuse pleasure with pain. Under her face, Christopher's body was thin but muscular, and each fiber strained with tension. His arms were at his sides; fists clenched as though he were trying to contain laughter or strong emotion.
Her two hands ran up his body. His red-brown nipples were cold, frozen erect. Her thumb pushed down and felt the bones below. The boy's eyes were closed, but his tongue had pushed out between his lips and rested over the joined corners of his lips.
His sister's right hand moved down his left side. Jill folded her knuckles back and pressed them against his hipbone. With his buttocks he pushed his stomach up further, and his cock penetrated deeper in her mouth and threatened to gag her.
She took his limp hand. Supporting it in her own by clamping the wrist with her fingers, she placed the palm against her nipple. A hundred tiny budlets erected at mere touch. The sudden stiffness aroused the boy, and he began to move the hand over the tit. He sifted the areola between his fingers, and it grew harder.
Jill pushed her fingernails into his stomach just below the navel. She scratched the flesh and felt the sizzle of skin underneath. Her brother groaned. Jill's tongue moved more quickly up the spine of his instrument, and her teeth bumped into the compact flesh.
Her thumb pushed between the scrotum's two, small almonds, and she raised her head from the stern to tongue at his belly. This excited him more. She licked at the tiny, fair hairs that lined his midsection.
Tentatively, Christopher put the inside of his right hand against his sister's neck. He pushed down hard.
He jerked his cock against his sister's breast. She arched her spine and cupped her right breast in her hand. She pressed the cap over the head, melting the head as it pushed inside the soft mound.
Her legs spread. Her knees were planted at either side of his waist. The tuft of vaginal hair brushed his midriff. The box was close enough for Christopher to touch it without moving. For some reason he did not, and it remained for his sister to take the dick and apply it to the external folds of labial flesh. Uncertainly, Christopher poked a lone finger under his cock and stuck it inside the snatch. She was wet. She squeezed and the inner muscles seized hold of the inserted whang.
Christopher bent his arm at the elbow and pulled the finger halfway out. He plunged inside once more, and her vaginal muscles clamped in over the digit. He began to shove and pull, shove and pull, in an ascending rhythm that drove hard at his sister. Above him, she began to move her torso impatiently, as though dancing. Twin breasts danced on her diaphragm like perfect cones of molded gelatin. They shimmered; only the tits remaining implacably solid.
Impulsively, she grabbed his wrist and brought the finger to her lips. As she sniffed, the nostrils drew closer to the nasal septum. She put the fingertip to the center of her upper hp. Holding the finger at its base, she brought the finger inside her mouth. It grazed by the edges of her upper front teeth. She licked furiously at it.
Jill leaned forward slightly and put her two hands over the boy's breastbones. She dug her wrists into the flesh as though to massage him or to perform artificial respiration.
Christopher's breathing quickly took on the rhythm of her manipulations. She rose up off her haunches and began to dangle her crotch just above the head of Christopher's penis. She drew her right hand back from her brother's chest and grabbed the small weapon halfway down its length. She ran the prick's head up and down through the bush. She lingered at the cunt itself while she pushed her pelvis forward. She just missed the actual contact that tantalized him. Christopher's eyes were closed, and his upper teeth sank into his lower lips, which discolored at the pressure.
Her other hand came back to her own body. She wrapped both hands around her sides, the fingers at the borders of her stomach, the thumbs pointing to the small of her back.
Her thighs diverging, her groin sank on the erect member as it pointed up at the incision itself. The beaker pushed in easily past the lips. With a single movement, it was fully inside of her.
She moved down slowly. Her body bent first to one side and then to the other. The slight arrow dug with each alternate stroke into the same wall of the cunt, adding another rhythm to the coitus.
She began to swivel around the member, circling down the stem. She waited a second when he had penetrated as fully as he could and then rose up to repeat the process.
Tush," she said throatily to her brother who followed her order almost mechanically. He shoved up as she came down; she felt more full of his bulk as he anxiously thrust forward. "Good," she purred, drawing out the syllable of praise.
Convulsed with steady stroking, her hands snapped from her wrists. The walls of her quim spread as the cock moved deeper inside with each new stroke. Her shoulders hunched in rhythm with the forward motions of her brother's whang. She released them as he pulled out and hunched them again as he moved back inside.
The prick moved with one convulsive wave inside the tightening, wet walls. She pushed harder and faster, hoping to meet him at the orgasm she knew was close for him.
Christopher looked up to see her breasts bounce like snow-white hills. He reached forward and squeezed her left breast. The tit snuggled against his sweaty palm.
His hand moved away. His eyes closed again. His hipbone smashed against her thigh. Fire-hot come melted inside of her, and the explosion forced her orgasm. She reached under the arch of her throbbing cunt and grabbed the base of the cock as she rose off of it, anxious that she not fly off it. The climax started at her center and filled her whole body. It wrenched her with its force; she buckled as she would under the lashing of a whip.
Awake again, she smelled of hot sweat. Christopher's face, contorted with orgasm, was engraved before her, transparent over the contours of her bedroom. Her hand was at her crotch, even more damp than when she had fallen into her sleep.