Chapter 1

Cindy looked over the top of her book. I felt her eyes on me, the way you do when a person stares at you, and looked up. I couldn't actually define the expression on her face, in her eyes, but then she said, "You had the strangest smile on your face. I've never seen you look like that in the six years of our marriage."

I scoffed at her, of course, but at the same time I realized that it might be true. After all, I hadn't seen my sister, Marge, in those six years, and this afternoon I'd gotten a call telling me that she was coming for a visit. The call had awakened many memories, and those memories conceivably could have brought a smile saved for such special occasions.

I couldn't tell Cindy about it. How could a man say to his wife, "Well, you know, Marge was my first real love, and I guess your first love never fully dies." I couldn't tell her how, when I was thirteen and fourteen years old, I used to hide in Marge's closet and beat my meat while I watched her undress. Nor could I tell her that my first complete sexual experience had been with my own sister. An unforgettable time.

Marge was a year older than me. Our mother died when she was nine and I was eight, and she sort of took over the house. Dad kept going, but he seemed to have lost interest in life; he moved by habit, routine, but things would surely have fallen apart if Marge hadn't taken over. She became more mother than sister to me, and-at least in some things-more wife than daughter to Dad.

Little wonder I fell in love with her (without actually knowing that was what it was). Probably the first inkling was, as I mentioned, when I started feeling sexual urges and found myself thinking about her; it would get so strong that I couldn't help myself, I had to hide where I could watch her undress. Seeing her own ripely developing body, I took slow strokes while I imagined myself nuzzling her pear-shaped breasts, licking and sucking on the cute little nipples that jutted out. As she would step out of her panties and I'd see that lovely mound between her legs, the hair on it soft and velvety-looking, I'd start stroking faster. Each of my climaxes, caught in a handkerchief, was a sort of secret love-offering to her.

T I was fifteen when I got sick. They weren't sure at first what it was, but the doctor finally labeled it rheumatic fever and one of the medical requirements was to get a lot of rest. Marge took

;on the extra load unflinchingly, becoming my nurse along with all of her other duties. So it was that one afternoon, when I was beginning to feel better, I felt myself getting a hard-on as I lay on my stomach while she gave me a sponge bath. How could I help it, the way she washed my back and shoulders, moved down over my buttocks, and even went between my legs to where she was gently brushing against my balls. When she told me to roll over I felt my face turn red. "I ... I can't!"

"Why not, silly? You're not that tired."

"It ... it ain't that. I just can't turn over."

She moved so fast that I didn't realize she was doing it. I was suddenly flopped over onto my back and my ramrod was sticking up like a dead tree growing out of the dark brush below. Marge's eyes widened, and before she even realized what she was saying she said, "Heavens, Davie, you're bigger down there than boys a lot older than you!"

I tried to cover it, but she grabbed my wrists, then she smiled up into my face and said, "Davie, don't be embarrassed! Heck, I've known all the time you had one, so why shouldn't I see it, especially when I'm your nurse?'

"But ... but it's ... it's hard!"

She giggled a little. "Want to know the truth? I like it that way. Here, I'll prove it!" She leaned over and kissed it right on the head, a brief kiss. "Now," she said, "Let's get on with your bath."

She washed my face and neck, my shoulders and chest. Rinsing the cloth out from time to time; she moved lower. Finally she was "down there," and she gently lathered and then rinsed both my cock and my balls; I wasn't sure if she did it deliberately or not, but there was a certain amount of stroking to it, and if she had kept going much longer she'd have had an extra clean-up job.

After she had dried me, she took the washbasin and other equipment into the bathroom. I pulled the sheet up over me, but it didn't help much; my rod still stuck up like a pole, and the sheet was like a tent stretched out from it. Marge saw it when she came back. She sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out, put her hand over it. "Gee, Davie, I don't know if it's good for you to stay hard like this, but I don't know if it's good for you to ... well, you know, get rid of it." She had pushed it down against my stomach and started rubbing her hand up and down it. "Will it go down by itself, or do you have to...? "

I swallowed, because I had already started thinking that as soon as she left the room I'd pretend I was hiding in her closet, draw up visions of her taking her clothes off and beat it off.

She looked deep into my eyes. "Davie," she finally said, her voice weaker than I had ever heard it, "do you want me ... do you want me to take care of it for you?"

I swallowed again, heart pounding against my chest. God, yes, I wanted her to! "D'ya want to?"

She looked into my eyes a few moments longer then nodded her head. "Yes," she finally answered, "I want to. I guess I've really wanted to for a long time, I just didn't know it until now."

She slid her hand under the sheet and wrapped her fingers around my shaft, stroking it gently. "I wish we could ... well, you know, but we can't, not with you like you are. The doctor said you're not to exert yourself. So we mustn't-you know..."

I didn't know, but I didn't have time right then to speculate on what she had meant. She pulled the sheet down with her free hand, and then holding my rod by the base with her other hand, she leaned over. Her hair fell against my stomach and legs, and I felt her lips slide over the head. Her tongue slid all the way around it and I almost turned inside out; she tickled the head with her tongue, even pressing the tip a little ways into the opening, then she compressed her lips and started moving up and down the full length of my shaft. She grabbed up my balls with her other hand, gently fondling them as she kept moving her mouth up and down, and I could feel her tits brush against my legs with each stroke. I was almost going out of my mind. Finally I had to yell out, "Geez, Marge, you better stop, I'm gonna shoot!"

She didn't stop; she just started moving her head faster, and I couldn't help myself. My hips started moving up and down, driving my cock into her mouth as it slid down to receive it, pulling it away and then sending it back. My hands crept down and grasped her head, then I was romping like mad. I started gasping and grunting, and I couldn't hold back. It spurted, and spurted, and spurted. Marge didn't quit; she swallowed each spurt, and when it had finally stopped she milked it dry with her lips. "Geez," I half-whispered, "I'm sorry I shot in your mouth that way."

"Silly," she said, smiling as she raised her head, letting my gone-limp cock drop down over my balls, "you were supposed to! And hmmmmmm, it tasted like honey!"

A moment later she leaned down and planted a kiss on my cock, then pushed herself up, straightening her dress. Looking up at her, I thought, 'Tomorrow I'm going to ask if I can play with her tits a little."

'This is just our secret, Davie, don't you dare tell a soul we did this, okay?"

"Scout's honor!" I answered, and then conflicting feelings seemed to surge through me. First, looking at her well-developed body and remembering what she had just done, I felt the first concrete realization of what I would later define as love. Secondly, I felt a horrible jealousy. I had to ask her. "Marge, have you ... ever done that to any other boy?"

She swallowed, her face going almost expressionless, then she said, "Will you keep another secret, Davie?"

I nodded that I would.

"Well, one night Daddy got awful drunk and he forgot who I was. He thought I was Mama, he was all mixed up. I didn't know what to do, so I just pretended I was Mama. I figured I'd get him to bed and he'd go to sleep, but ... well, after we got in bed he started making love. He wanted to ... you know, stick it between my legs, but I begged him not to. He started to get mad, and he said I either had to do it that way or ... or do ... what I just did to you."

I nodded again, because I could understand and accept that, but I knew in that moment that I didn't want her messing around with any other boys. As a matter-of-fact, I told myself that if any boy messed around with her I'd cut his damned cock right off!

"You want to know something?" she broke into my thoughts, her voice lighter, even a little playful. "You're even bigger than Daddy is! Oh, his is as long as yours, but yours is bigger around."

She went into the kitchen to start dinner and I got into my pajamas, then I lay there thinking about what had happened. Just remembering it, I got bubbling feelings inside and half a hard-on; I could feel anticipation growing, and for the first time since it had happened I was glad that I had gotten sick. Man, what she had done (and especially her doing it!) sure beat pounding it off!

I shook my head, trying to clear it, and then looked across the room again as if I were in a strange place. My eyes finally focused on my wife and I heard Cindy saying, "What on earth's wrong with you, Dave? You're sitting there like you're in a trance but smiling like a cat that just caught a mouse!"

I mustered up a chuckle. "You wouldn't understand."

"Maybe not," she answered almost petulantly, "but I hope it's me you're thinking about because, in case you haven't noticed it yourself, you've got something mighty big and hard in your pants!"

That was worth a short laugh, especially because she was right. My cock had stretched out below my shorts and hardened. I reached down and rubbed it, enjoying the sensations that went through my body, then I looked across at Cindy again and wondered if I had married her at least partially because she looked so much like Marge. Both were of medium height, which meant that now I was adult they came to my shoulders; both were well formed, with pear-shaped, firm breasts with easily aroused nipples. Both had narrow waists and flared hips, with nice, round buttocks. Despite frequent use, because I have always had a rather healthy sexual appetite, both had firm-lipped mounds under muffs of soft, almost velvety hair. Both had legs that could be used for hosiery ads and, while neither was beautiful in the Hollywood sense of the word, they had attractive faces with well-shaped features properly placed. Both, in other words, were good-looking, tempting pieces of femininity!

Still half-caught in memory, I smiled at Cindy and said, "As long as you've noticed that, why don't you be a good girl and give your ever-lovin' husband a show?"

"Oh, Lordie!" she feigned disgust. "Why can't you just be like other men? If you want to screw, why not just say so?"

I chuckled a little. "The games are fun, honey! They're like eating the cake and saving the icing for last. But then," I mustered up a pouty expression, "if you don't want to..."

"You bastard! You know I can't look at a hard-on like that and resist it!" She laid her book aside and pushed herself to her feet. "Tell me, sir, why have you come?"

It was going to be that game. "I have come, madam," I answered, "because I have always lived on a farm and as a result I have only heard things. I have never seen a real woman. I have, alas, had no means of gratification other than meat-beating and cows."

"Ugh! But then, I have only to look at your crotch to see that you, sir, would not get lost in a cow as many would! But as you know, you have paid your money and therefore I have no choice but to provide the services for which this establishment is noted!" With that she pulled her blouse up over her head and threw it aside. She reached behind and unsnapped her bra, wriggled her shoulders so that it fell, exposing her lovely breasts. She put her hands near her waist and moved them up slowly, cupping a tit in each and holding it out toward me. "These, my unsophisticated friend, are called tits. They were designed to provide milk for young babes, but older babes find another type of satisfaction-or perhaps a carry-over of the other-from using their mouths on them! Would you like a sample, sir?"

"I think I must," I answered in my role-playing, "because as they came into view and you explained them my cock did a sort of St. Vitus' dance."

She undulated toward my chair and went to her knees between my knees. I leaned forward, reaching out to cup her tits as she had; I raised one and lowered my mouth to it, kissing it and then holding my mouth open over it as my tongue flicked out to to tease the nipple before I went into actual suckling. I transferred to the other and repeated the procedure. I buried my head between them, drinking in the sweet fragrance. She grabbed my head and pushed it away.

"Sir, are you lying to me, or are you an avid student?"

"M'lady, I would not think of lying to you! Never before have I touched anything so lovely nor felt the need to do what I have just done. My mouth hungers for more!"

Pushing herself to her feet, she soliloquized. 'There is nothing that says the teacher should not also enjoy the lesson." She turned to me. "Sir, I think that the time has come when you should give that poor creature of yours some fresh air, as it does seem to be suffering from suffocation."

"Prithee, madam, would you close your eyes while I thus expose myself?" I asked. She put a hand over her eyes, fingers spread so that she could see between them. I opened my belt, loosened my trousers and slid them down over my knees to my ankles. My balls rested comfortably against the chair cushion and my rod stuck up like a stick of bologna.

She lowered her hand, stared as if it were the first time that she had seen me, and gasped. "Good heavens, sir, if you'll pardon my saying so! I worried about you getting lost in the twat of a cow, but now I worry about the poor cow! I do hope that you used vaseline or something of that nature."

"I used self-lubricating cows," I answered.

"Well, so much for that! Now, on with the lesson ... but, by the way, have you ever measured that cattle prod?"

"This?" I asked, grasping my cock in one hand. When she nodded in the affirmative I replied, "I've had no occasion to, but a friend, I must admit, so desired. It measures out to ten inches extended, and no hand, including my own, has reached around it."

"Obviously," she replied. "But now, on with our lessons. I will now remove my shoes and stockings." (She did, with great visual eloquence!) "There are some who react to such action, seeing exposed ankle and thigh, but you are obviously not one of them. That being the case, sir, I feel that we must get down to the nitty-gritty. I am now going to remove my skirt, and once it is removed you will see that between my legs there is ... what some people call a palace of pleasure, others call a pleasure spot, and on and on. It is, in truth, merely a cunt, perfectly designed so that the male organ-that thing you have sticking up from your crotch-may fit into it. You have heard of fucking, have you not?"

"Nay, fair lady, I know naught of which you speak."

"Fucking, sir, would be doing to me what you did to that poor, defenseless cow." She opened the zipper on her skirt and slid the material down, letting it drop into a puddle at her feet. She was wearing only her flimsy panties now, and I could see that they were moist at the crotchfull indication that she was enjoying the game as much as I! But, as was frequently the case, I let the game end there. I pushed myself up, kicked shoes and then pants and shorts off, and crossed the room hurriedly. Dropping to my knees, I pulled her panties down and with the same motion buried my face in her crotch. I smelled her femininity as I rubbed my nose up and down through the soft hair, pressing it between the firm lips, then I let my mouth take over. I lapped like a dog going hungrily after something tasty, my tongue going as deep as it could through the full length of her cleavage. She groaned and grasped my head, and as I sent my tongue up into her she pushed her pussy against my face, legs spread slightly apart; I found her clitoris with my tongue and gave it a thorough working over. "Oh, God!" she moaned. "Oh, God!"

I wanted to reach up for her tits, but a man can do only so much. Instead, I grasped her firm buttocks, fingertips meeting in the cleavage, and pulled her twat hard against my face. I gave her a thorough tonguing, then pulled way. Sitting back on my haunches, I looked up at her. "Tell me what you want," I demanded, and an observer would never have believed that we had screwed maybe a thousand or more times before.

"I want you to fuck me!" she half-gasped. "Oh, God, I want that big whang of yours up me. Please, Dave, please. Please fuck me royally!"

I pushed myself to my feet, swept her into my arms and carried her into the bedroom. I laid her down on the bed and in the same motion straddled her. My mouth found hers, kissed her greedily, and I reached down between us. I pushed my big, pulsating cock straight, got it positioned, sent it home.

I sent my tongue down her throat at the same time, then moved my mouth down to those luscious tits as I started a smooth in-and-out motion. Everything, even Marge, was forgotten; I merely fucked until we reached a fantastically beautiful climax. "Oh, God," she moaned when it was over, when I lay on top of her, still embedded in her although I had gone limp, "with that big prick of yours it's always the same. It hurts so much it feels so good! God, Dave, no man could ever satisfy me after you!"

I nuzzled my mouth against her cheek. "You better never even let another man try to satisfy you!" I kissed her tits again, then pulled my limp cock out as I moved my mouth down over her stomach. My tongue was a darting snake, and despite her orgasm of but a few moments before, she writhed; I got my mouth to her just as she spent for a second time. I lapped it all up, adding to her frenzy by circulating my tongue over and around her, then rolled over onto my back and stared up at the ceiling. I knew that, if I wanted, I could get hard again and either roll back over onto her or take her head and push it down in that direction, but the thoughts were pushing in on me again. The game of the moment was over, I was moving back into the past again.

Marge had blown me that afternoon, my first sexual experience other than pounding my pud. Even then I had seen it as more than just sex-she hadn't just done that to get my rocks off, to make my cock go soft, she had done it because ... well, because it made us close. It made us as close as two people can get. As brother and sister, especially after my mother died, we had been drawn together; the next step was to see each other as human beings, forgetting blood relationship. As such, love grew. The ultimate of love was physical contact, the merging of bodies after souls had met. That first blowing had been not only the beginning but only what it could be under the circumstances-after all, I was supposed to get as much rest as possible but I was stuck there with a hard-on! We had not seen each other as anything other than brother and sister. And I honestly think that's true. Even as I hid in the closet, beating my meat while I watched her undress, she was still my sister on the one hand and female on the other! I left my sister outside the door, looked at the female from within). With that first encounter, then, with her going down and sucking my cock, we crossed over the line; we became male and female, not brother and sister.

It was different, even, than the situation she had described between her and Dad. Certainly she had sucked his cock, too, but he, in his drunkenness, had thought that she was our mother doing it. We knew who we were, and when she came back that evening with my dinner, Margie-sister had disappeared. Margie-lover had taken her place. The minute our eyes met we somehow knew that. I know that I did, because I immediately got another hard-on. She saw it and smiled, and she sat on the edge of the bed again and gently rubbed it while I ate dinner; she slid her hand under the sheet so that flesh could touch flesh. Most importantly, she promised to come back as soon as she could ... which meant, at that point and in unspoken language, as soon as Dad was bedded down for the night.

I knew that something was going to happen, but I wasn't totally sure what it was. At fifteen I still wasn't too well-versed. She had given me a clue, but clues can be useless. I don't know, maybe I thought she was just going to blow me again-but I did know one thing. I was going to ask her if I could play with her a little, feel those nice tits I had been looking at, fondle that lovely, fleecy-covered mound between her legs. I knew that I wanted to mouth those nice, pear-shaped titties with their cute little nipples, and at least run my hand down between her legs. I wanted it so bad that there was real temptation to beat myself off just from thinking about it; my poor old cock was straining from hardness, jerking up and down. At one point I got my hand over the head and I could feel a stickiness there; I raised the sheet and looked down, and pulling my hand away from it, there was a string of clear liquid, sticky to the touch. I knew even then that my balls, working in collusion with how I was feeling, were building up another load.

Cindy rolled over. She threw a leg over mine and her breasts were pressed against my arm and chest, her muff against my hip. She reached out and rubbed a hand across my chest, playing with first one nipple arid then the other, running her fingers through the sparse scattering of hair there. Her hand moved down over my stomach, the fingertips shoved their way through my pubic hair. "Hmmmm," she murmured, rapping her fingers around it, "I love the way you can keep getting hard over and over again."

I shoved an arm under her head and pulled her to me, "With a hot little number like you," I half-lied, "who could help it!'

"It really is great, isn't it?" she asked. "I mean, it's great how after six years of marriage we can still enjoy each other as much as we do." She ground her pussy into my hip, pressed her tits against me, and gently stroked my swollen whang. Her lips against my cheek, she murmured, "How do you want it this time, Davie?"

I was mixed up in past and present, so I decided to play it that way. I would live with my memories of Marge, but go through the physical with Cindy. It seemed almost right; at least I didn't feel that I was in any way cheating Cindy-she would get her pleasures, she wouldn't know that I had been partially fucking a memory.

I had been almost hurting and certainly under a strain, wanting to wait but needed relief. Almost as if she had sensed it, Marge came into my room during the evening, leaned down and put her hand over my cock as she pressed her lips against my cheek. "Daddy's having a couple of drinks," she half-whispered, a promise in that half-whisper, "he'll be going to bed in a little while."

I waited, listening to every sound, but with what she had told me that afternoon they had even more significance. They even held a fear; what if he should have enough to drink that he would forget again, think she was Mama and want her to go to bed with him? I liked my dad, he had always seemed like a great enough guy, but the thought of him lying naked with Marge-especially when that was so close for me-was almost more than I could take. The thought of him getting hard for her just about turned me upside down. But finally I heard him moving down the hallway and I could tell that he was alone; I sighed, relaxed, and waited. Every part of me relaxed, that is, but eager-beaver Junior-he was still standing strong, proud and throbbing.

Marge finally came in. She didn't turn on the light this time, but moved across the room. I guess that she had been doing some thinking (and feeling) herself. She pulled the sheet down and off me, then sat on the edge of the bed again and reached for my dong. She stuck her fingers inside my pajamas and got hold of it, pulled it out. Every movement she made was a gesture of love; I could feel it. [It was (I hated to admit it) even a greater expression of love that the way Cindy was fondling my dong at this very moment.] She put it into words, "Davie, I don't really understand it myself, I think people might say it's wrong, but I love you. When I did that this afternoon, it was ... it was beautiful!"

I reached out and put a hand on her breast, squeezed a little, then let my hand fall to her lap. I moved it down to her knee, then wrapped my fingers over her leg and moved it back up; my hand slid under her skirt, pushed up to the warm, closeness of her legs pressed together. I could feel silk panties and under it warm flesh. "Oh, Davie!" she breathed out, and pushed herself to her feet, pulling free of me. I was afraid for a moment that she was going to leave, then I realized that she was undressing. I could see her silhouette, and while I watched I didn't waste time. I slid out of my pajamas and lay naked, then she was lying naked beside me and I had her warm body in my arms. Her firm tits were pressed against my chest [as Cindy's were now], nipples already hard, her mound against my leg. Our mouths met in a deep, tongue-joining kiss. I pulled Cindy's head so that I could press my mouth over hers, send my tongue searchingly into her mouth; her own tongue responded. I felt her, as I had felt Marge that night; I played with her tits, teasing the nipples, feeling the firmness, then I slid my hand down over her smooth stomach, slid my fingertips through the fleecy hair and got a handful of twat. I massaged it gently, more demandingly, then began to finger it. I tested, sending a finger in tentatively, and she groaned a littlea groan of pleasure. I felt deeper, felt her clitoris, teased it. I added a second finger, kissing her harder as she responded both with her mouth on mine and her hand on my hard dong.

"Oh, Davie...! " Marge had gasped into my mouth, her tits moving against my chest with her hard breathing.

I wanted to fuck. In that moment, without any previous experience, I knew what it was all about. I knew that I was supposed to put my ramrod where my fingers were and let her twat do what my hand had always done for me. I tried to roll her over with that in mind, but she stopped me. "Davie, I want you to, oh, how I want you to, but I'm afraid if we do it the right way it'll hurt you. The doctor said you aren't supposed to exert yourself too much. Davie, do it my way now, we'll do it that way later, okay?"

I was feeling pussy with one hand and tits with another, and her hand was busy with my prong. I was so damned hot that I probably would have agreed to anything, just so it was some form of screwing.

So, still remembering, still living with half-memory and events-of-the-moment, I whispered to Cindy, "You get on top tonight, okay?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she slid her leg the rest of the way over me, pulling her body up over me, too. Now both tits were against my chest and she had my prong pushed down against my belly with her fleecy cunt. She started undulating and it was almost maddening. Much of that and I would have shot off between us, but she seemed to know when she'd done just enough of it, just as Marge had known. Raising her buttocks, she reached down between us; she grasped my prong in one hand and ran it up and down the full length of her twat, sending shivers of pleasures through both of us, Back and forth it went, the pliant head bent at her will, then she got it in the right place and we started working together. I felt her tight lips open, like a flower slowly coming into bloom, and the swollen head slid between. Up I went as she came down, and inch by inch it went into her, all the way to the balls.

"Ooooooooooh!" I groaned, reliving that first intrusion, and then I started to fuck. There was no stopping me now. There was no Marge to caution me, to tell me to lie still and let her do it; instead of her sliding her pussy up and down my prong, Cindy and I were belly-banging like it was going out of style. I got a tit in each hand, squeezing them firmly, and ran my tongue around her mouth, down her throat, fucking for all I was worth. She was matching me, stroke for stroke, and when I came I thrust up, pushing her clear off the bed. Fireworks went off in my head and my midsection jerked like a chicken with its head cut off. Cindy was getting her kicks, too; she was riding hard, and I could feel our mixed come ooze out around and dribble down my cock. When I fell back she fell with me, both of us completely shot down.

A little while later, lying gently in my arms, she half-whispered, "I don't know what it was, but it was even greater than ever tonight, wasn't it, Davie?"

"It was great, all right," I answered, squeezing her to me for a moment, but I couldn't say more. A guy can't tell his wife that he'd just given her the best screw in their history because he had been reliving a similar screwing session with his own sister!

Cindy giggled. "Maybe we're getting better with practice."

"That could be it," I answered, then I rubbed her twat a little, squeezed her tits, kissed her lightly on the lips and told her that she had better get some sleep.

I laid awake after she had gone to sleep, because now that the doors to pushed-aside memories had been opened there was a lot more to remember and think about. Marge would be arriving the following afternoon; I sensed that I somehow had to reckon with the events of those years before I could face her. Perhaps I was realizing even then that my marriage was actually being put on the block-without her being around, not letting myself think very much about her, I had done all right, but having her there in the flesh again might be a different matter.

I squeezed Cindy a little, not enough to wake her up, and pressed my cock against her leg. "I hope you understand," I whispered, "that there are different kinds of love."