Chapter 2
Christopher was on the couch. He slipped out of his tan loafers, and his stockinged heels rotated over the surface of the coffee table. When she came to sit beside him on the couch, he looked up timidly at her as if his feet on the table might offend. "No, that's all right," she smiled as he tentatively lifted them.
She put her own feet beside his, four limbs in a row. She rubbed the side of her right foot against her left toe; the two layers of stocking ignited a sizzle of sound. She turned to him; his face was less than a foot away. He had slouched back, his cheeks even with her shoulders, and his arm extended behind her.
"How is Lisa?" she said, after exploring his plans for the summer between his high school graduation and his college freshman year.
"She's fine. She's leaving tomorrow. Going to Mexico City for two weeks with her parents and her brothers."
I'll bet you'll miss her."
"Sort of." He was noncommittal.
"Any problems, Chris?"
"Not really." He flexed his brow and extended a pointing finger to the pack of cigarettes. "Mind if I steal one?" His sister shook her head, withdrawing one for him and one for herself.
"Been smoking long?"
"Off and on."
"You were saying-about Lisa?" Jill tried not to sound too curious.
"Well, it's just that-she doesn't seem very serious, you know what I mean? About our relationship. It's like a game for her. I don't seem to be able to go very deep, getting through to her."
Jill smiled. She knew what it was like to be a shy, seventeen-year-old girl. It was murder, suppressing the feelings you had-usually sexual, although that was not all of it-because you thought that releasing them was, at the very least, bad form.
"You should have patience with her, Chris. She probably doesn't know what she wants, just now."
'Well, we've been going together over a year now."
He paused, and he was going to continue, but his sister interrupted him. "And she won't let you make love to her, right?"
Christopher smiled ruefully. "How'd you guess?"
"I'm twice your age, but twice seventeen isn't eighty."
Chris moved up on the couch, sitting straight. "Well, I like her, and she-likes me, and it shouldn't be so complicated." He pushed a long ash into the bowl of the ashtray. "If anyone tells you there's a sexual revolution going on, don't you believe it." Both smiled.
She could smell his breath: it was sweet, clean-smelling, but not the kind of freshness that comes from mouthwash. His body carried a slight, manly odor of recent sweat. The long sleeves of his striped broadcloth shirt were rolled a few times at the cuff.
She leaned too far toward him, and her breasts touched his chest. She could feel the shock in his body as her fullness moved against his muscle. There was panic in his eyes. Yet somehow, for reasons she did not know, she pressed her lips to his.
Her tongue parted the lips and pushed in between his front teeth before sliding onto his own. His tongue was broad, long, its texture almost abrasive on hers. At first he was still, unmoving, but then, as she repeated the initial act of collision, he poured it back into her mouth. His lips were full and sensuous, and Jill thought he kissed well. They were moist, too, bearing down on her lips, twisting against them as her tongue flicked his orifice. She could feel the hint of his soft beard as he began to lead. Jill's breath came in short gasps. How could she be so excited after so many years of making love? There was something almost paralyzingly erotic in this for her. She heard him breathe deeply and fast, and she knew this was special for Christopher as well. Her body was close to his, and he folded himself under her on the couch. Her nipples froze as they meshed with the bone work of his chest.
She lifted her head away so soon as the strokes became softer, slower. His penis made a tent of the trousers' crotch and she guessed the organ was of considerable bulk.
Exhaling, she could hear him inhale; he blew the air from his mouth as she gulped it in. "Oh, Chris." She almost squealed the words.
Under her, he raised his right hand and cupped it over her left shoulder. "I'm sorry, Jill. I really am." He held his breath, then added, T! didn't mean it to happen." His tone was plaintive. Jill asked herself if he really did believe that it was his fault, when she knew it to be hers.
She sat up straight on her knees, the patellas sinking into the seat cushions. She was brisk, almost amused, though the affected attitude was merely to disguise her nervousness. "Well, we got that over with. A little incest is perfectly natural; sometimes it comes out, sometimes it doesn't." She was silent, looking at him to test his reaction. She could not read his lack of expression. When she spoke again, she was soft and comforting. "Please, Chris, don't feel bad. It's the most normal thing in the world, it really is, and when you learn a little bit more about psychology and anthropology you'll know that. It's not a great sin. We're both perfectly normal.
"And it wasn't your fault I wanted it as much, at that moment, as you did."
As she looked into his eyes, she understood that she had been looking for the wrong emotion. After the first wave of guilt, desire had filled his eyes. He wanted her. And, whether she liked it or not, she knew she wanted him.
She put her hand on his shoulder. "If it's natural...." Christopher made no attempt to finish the sentence he had started. He sat up; his foot pushed up against the floor. Now the aggressor, he kissed his sister. His left hand wrapped around the back of her neck. They moved into each other. Her nipples were rigid; he felt her rub them against his hard breast He put his hand between their bodies and cupped the small hillock in his palm. His index finger traced the shape of the areola through the thin fabric of the summer dress, through the starched lace of her low-cut brassiere. His head drew back from hers, he watched her nostrils dilate with the deep intake of air as he touched her on the tender cap. Her eyelids were drawn shut. She looked younger than her age, Christopher thought; there were hardly any wrinkles but the delicate laugh lines around her eyes. Her cheeks were smooth, soft, the high bones.... The high bones were characteristic of the family, Christopher realized. They did look alike. His forefinger pushed the areola inside the breast
When her eyes opened, the green eyes were moist Her right hand filled with the bulk of his covered organ. Did she really feel the pulse, the pumping blood inside the meat? The nail of her index finger scratched the surface of the denim that camouflaged the glans, and she made out circumcised skin that stretched taut below it.
His left hand still open behind her neck, his right squeezed her waist at her left side, gathering the slight flab in his fingers. He brought her down on him again, and he relaxed his skull into the cushion in the corner of the sofa.
She turned her head from side to side as she lashed her tongue tip against his parted lips. The flunk's soft edge hit the enamel of the boy's front teeth. His erection, thick and stiff, stabbed her small, rounded belly. She moved up over it; it pressed against the labia, covered by her dress and then her rayon half panties.
Each of his hands grabbed its buttock. He squeezed the compact flesh with his fingers so hard that his nails bruised her. He pulled the short dress up and doubled the fabric. His hands moved under the panties waistband, and molded the fleshy globes with prodding finger bones, his strength reshaping them. The index finger went fractions of an inch inside the shaded crack and tantalized Jill with the hint of massage.
She brought her knees forward under her, and he peeled the panties below the curved rims of her buttocks. His palms turned upward and touched her pelvic bones. The fifth finger of each hand brushed the triangle of pubic weave. His left moved to squeeze the ball of her ass and his right rubbed flat on the ridge work of cunt folds. The tips of his forefinger and index finger teased the clitoral button. The labia grew slick with friction. Gingerly, Christopher inserted a single finger into the cleft. His sister's walls closed in wet and warm around the intruder. The sides of the soft chasm yielded easily to his pressure, and he buried the bone to its base knuckle.
Jill's head seemed to snap on her neck as she planted frantic bite-kisses on his neck. She took a small fold of skin at the side of the neck and sucked it in her mouth: her teeth gnawing the skin while the tongue licked the flesh, caught between her front teeth. Her breathing was wilder than Lisa's had ever been, he thought, but he was distracted as he felt her reach for his cock. Frustrated by the drape of denim, Jill pulled the zipper. The penis had already escaped from the cotton briefs. Her clenched fist took the tool inside. Her touch, un-like Lisa's, was anxious, hungry. His nostrils flared hungrily against the septum as he sucked in the smell of rich, vaginal juice.
Her little finger traced the incision at the head. She coated the purplish glans with premature semen. Her long, manicured nail tickled the stem at the flattened side of its base. Opening her hand, she took the bottom of the shaft and tried to tilt it from its natural bent, testing its firmness. The organ was like marble, pink marble, but it was warm. Her palm folded around the hose, and imprisoned it more tightly. Christopher clenched his teeth, breathing in hard as he memorized each change in pressure. The come welled up in the pit of his stomach; his whole body ached with its load.
Her fingers moved between folds of underwear and pushed up against the buried part of the long stalk. The cock twitched as she sifted the wrinkled scrotum between thumb and forefinger. The twin balls bobbed at the gentle pressure.
He pushed the filament of the clit from side to side, stretching it, alternately digging his fingers inside the' divide and pulling them out well-moistened. Emboldened, he pushed two straightened fingers inside the aperture and wiggled the fingertips against the pliant flesh. Her smell was musky, smoke that spoke of fire. She raised her head from his neck and put her lips against his. The pressure of her teeth below soft lips was a drilling of dull pain. She opened her mouth and their teeth jammed, surface against surface, for a moment before their tongues meshed. She withdrew and captured his lower hp between her upper and lower front teeth. She pulled it away and let it spring back to recover the white.
Impatient to perform the exercise of removing his sister's bra, Christopher's left hand crushed the contained breast inside the undergarment. The tit was hard and solid as it nestled, clothed and covered, in the center of his palm. It was Jul who reached behind her; she drew the dress zipper down its tract. Her pink-lace brassiere was bound by only two snaps, which she pulled to free her firm, round mountains.
Without grace, Christopher peeled the front of the dress from his sister's shoulders. The starchy pink lace of the bra fell below the red-brown nipple, stiff to a sharp point. He grasped the breast tightly inside his hand and opened the palm to run the knuckles over the grainy areola.
Jill brought her right leg up and pushed down at the small panties. She brought them below her knees, halfway down the calves. Her body turned on the axis of her waist and twisted against the flattened underside of the cock. Her forefinger twined a few black pubic curls, thin like silk; her fingernail scratched the tight skin hidden beneath the underbrush.
More dog-water formed at the slit. She smoothed it into a thin film over the head. She pressed a finger into the stalk and it ran down until it pushed in at the juice bag.
The intensity of his breathing frightened Jill. He would climax soon, and she wanted him inside of her. Pushing his right leg to one side with all her strength, her palm pressed at the inner thigh and her wrist clashed with hard, flat muscle. She created an open angle, out of which the pink cock arose. His right sole touched the floor as he arched his spine. Jill's legs were between his; she kneeled to take him inside of her, her dress crumpled on the thin line of her body.
The plow passed the slick furrows of her labia. She looked down at the organ as it disappeared inside of her. The penis was thick, an inch or more in diameter, and at least nine inches long. She came down slowly and turned her body from side to side, swiveling down on the instrument as if to savor each new bulky inch. His manhood pushed back the wet walls of her cavern and sliced the wound. Jill had to press down at his ribs to keep him driving up faster and more frantically.
Once he had driven the spike the length of her interior, it was Jill who found restraint difficult. She pushed up on her knees and uncovered all but the buried head. She folded her small body and consumed the fiber once more. She came up off the organ again, but this time she could not part with more than half the prick. She sloped down it, and when it was fully inside, she stuck her left hip outward and forced the stick's head against the vagina's left wall. Up again, she repeated the maneuver for the right side of the chasm.
Her strokes became faster and more blunt at the same time. She gave up the effort to control her brother's frantic pumping, and her hands flicked loosely but nervously from her wrists as they hung at her sides, palms facing to the couch below. With each penetration, the fingers would flex and straighten; they cramped with the succeeding withdrawal.
He had taken the lead, and he was now carrying her limp body to the precipice of the coming orgasm. Her eyes were shut, but the lids blinked open to reveal glazed and expressionless eyes. Her body pulsed with its own accelerating meter, but it was Christopher who was in command as he struck the plank straight forward and up, insistent with each stroke.
He did not push fast enough. Jill moaned, over and over, "Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" the words escaping between gasps like an erotic mantra.
The walls of her hole dilated as the first hot spurt of come escaped his jumping head. He wrenched his lower back as he tried to push even further inside his sister. Her walls closed more tightly than ever around the bulk and opened again with the next wad of the sticky fluid.
The goo adhered to the sides of the inner chamber as the strokes subsided in intensity and were interrupted by longer and longer pauses after each advance. Slowly she writhed down the pole, draining the boy of his last dribbles of semen.
Tears had formed in the corners of her eyes; looking at her brother, she blinked, and one watery bead fell toward each cheekbone. "I love you, Christopher," she said tremulously, her voice half a whisper, half a sob.