Chapter 2
Denny and Joyce entered the waiting area, moving slowly among the herd of passengers. Denny sighted his father and Norma standing some fifteen yards to their right. At the same instant, Martin Reardon spotted his children. "Denny ... Joyce!" his booming baritone voice called. Denny nudged Joyce, and then they broke into a full run and hurled themselves into their fathers waiting arms.
"Daddy, Dadeee!" Joyce cried, burying her face in their father's chest. For the moment, Martin Reardon ignored his son and held his daughter close and kept calling her, "my little precious." Then, holding her at arm's length, he corrected himself. "No, you're not little anymore. You're all grown up. A full-blown woman!"
Then he introduced his daughter to his wife. "Joyce, this is Norma," he said, beaming proudly.
Norma hugged Joyce dutifully. "Dear, I've heard so much about you from your father and Denny," she said. "We meet at last!"
Martin Reardon shook hands with his son, then released Denny so Norma could hug him. Norma seemed surprisingly cool and Denny felt a surge of disappointment as his chest pressed firmly against the large succulent breasts he had fondled and sucked just last summer. But he remembered that Norma rarely displayed much affection while in the presence of her husband. God, she's gorgeous, he thought, ad-miring her firm, ripe body that curved in all the right places, the soft ash-blond hair fragrant with a hint of perfume, the trace of lust and mischief in her deep brown eyes. He admired her full lips, too. Yes, he certainly had pleasant memories in connection with those lips all right!
Martin Reardon was glancing back and forth between his son and daughter. "Denny, you look a bit pale," he said. "You need some of our Oregon summer sun. As for you, Joyce, I don't think I could suggest any improvement at all! You—you're simply ravishing!"
Denny didn't like the way his father was drinking in his sister's lush, ripe body. He helped his father with the luggage, and then the four of them walked chatting excitedly to the parking lot and got into Martin Reardon's new Volkswagen van. Five minutes later, they were driving the freeway toward Walden Flats. Martin Reardon spoke of the changes that had taken place since Denny's visit last year. The freeway system had been extended, he said, and there was a new shopping center on the edge of town. Denny felt disappointed at the changes. He had looked forward to driving the rural, winding roads he remembered to Walden Flats. He asked his father to take a cut-off which would take them through the center of the small town. His father agreed.
As they drove, Denny was glad his father had changed so little. His father looked a trifle dissipated, true, but Denny was proud of his father—his popularity in the town, his bearing, his carriage. Everyone in Walden Flats seemed to know and respect him. He still possessed a great sense of humor and he stood tail and straight, the way a chiropractor should, Denny thought.
Very possibly, the people whose necks he cracked and whose pulled muscles he treated, laughed as they exited his office. Even now, confident and erect behind the wheel, he kept them all laughing as he related stories about patients he had treated. Dr. Martin Reardon, Denny thought. He liked the sound of the title, even if chiropractors were thought by many to be quacks.
Really, Dr. Martin Reardon was in semi-retirement and, at forty-three, enjoying life to the hilt and pleased that Walden Flats had remained small and provincial. He didn't care about making a lot of money; he just loved the Oregon weather, the land, the people, everything. Joyce kept leaning over the seat and planting big kisses on her father's ruddy cheek as he drove. As they cruised through the main street of Walden Flats, Martin Reardon pointed out his office to Joyce and told her she could drop in anytime for an "adjustment." Glancing over his shoulder, he said, "You don't even have to make an appointment, hon."
They all laughed, and when they had sputtered and spasmed to silence again, Denny nudged his sister and pointed at the town square, an old-fashioned building atop a grassy knoll that had been converted into a movie theater. "The road to Landon Pond is just behind it," he told Joyce, and he shivered with excitement, remembering the good times there. He asked his father if the pond was still the same.
"Pretty much," Martin said. "The fishing's been good, they say, and it's supposed to be a little deeper. Oh, Denny, I saw Rex and Ray in town the other day. Told them you and Joyce were arriving soon. Fine boys—both of them. They're eager to see you and Joyce. You'll have to take Joyce and introduce her to everybody tomorrow. I imagine Rex's sister, Sue, and Joyce will have a lot in common." Martin Reardon winked at his wife. "Incidentally, Norma bought another bicycle, so you'll both have wheels this summer."
Joyce squealed and leaned over and kissed her father again appreciatively.
Soon they passed tall redwoods and old-style houses, proceeding down the winding rural road Denny remembered so well. Finally, they swung into an even more secluded area and then pulled into a steep gravel driveway. The Reardon residence.
Joyce jumped out. "Oh, it's beautiful!" she gasped. "Just the way I visualized it. It's just the way you described it, Denny!" She drank in the multicolored flowers, the huge hedge surrounding the enormous green front lawn. Then, as Norma and their father took them on a tour of the house, Joyce seemed in a near state of hysterical rapture. The house was rustic looking from the outside, but the interior was elegantly furnished and modern. Denny thought his sister would have an orgasm when she saw the room where she and her brother would sleep. It had wall-to-wall carpeting, twin beds, with spreads that matched padded headboards. There was huge mirror and dressers against the opposite wall near their private bathroom. Joyce made appropriate, loud squeals and bounced up and down on the beds, which were spaced just four feet apart
Joyce pulled the cord, opening the drapes and stared through the big window enraptured at the verdant countryside: trees, patches of green surrounded by redwood fences, horses and cattle grazing in distant neighbors' yards.
"It's so wonderful I wish we could stay here for a year!" she cried, hugging her father.
"Well, maybe we can arrange for you to attend school here next year," Martin Reardon said, patting his daughter's buttocks. Denny watched, wishing his father would keep his hands to himself!
Later that evening, Norma prepared dinner in the kitchen and Denny and Joyce sat in the living room with their father. Martin Reardon sipped his martini from the long-stemmed glass and questioned Denny and Joyce about their hobbies, school, every facet of their lives. His eyes were bright and his manner jovial as he listened to their answers. But he began making more and more trips to the kitchen to fix more martinis, and gradually his speech became slurred, his behavior silly.
In his conversations with Joyce, Denny had carefully omitted, at least minimized, their father's excessive drinking. But now he remembered what he had conveniently managed to forget. Watching his father, it seemed unbelievable that this could be the same self-assured man who had met them at the airport. His jaw was slack, his eyes dull, his manner sullen. He even spilled a drink all over himself, then picked up the lint-covered olive and ate it anyway.
Denny could see the terrible disappointment all over his sister's face. "Are you all right, daddy?" she asked. "You must be tired, daddy?"
"Yeah, your old man's just a little tired, sugar," he muttered. That's right. Pretty goddam sick and tired of lots of things." He stood up, cupping his hands at his mouth. "Goddam it, Norma! You get a rag in here and clean this mess up, hear? Now!"
Norma entered timidly and mopped up the mess with a big sponge. As she bent over, working, Martin Reardon goosed her. "That'sh my li'l piece o' tail," he slobbered. "Whooeee! Is she a tigress in the sack! Unh-unh-unh," he grunted, thrusting his hips.
Controlling herself, Norma quickly returned to the kitchen without replying. Martin Reardon called after her. "My son and daughter come all the way from San Francisco and can't even get a goddam meal in their old man's house! Come on, huh? Where the fuck's our dinner?"
"Coming up, dear," Norma called pleasantly. "Be on the table in a minute."
Joyce looked aghast at her brother, then crossed the room and sat on the damp arm of her father's chair. "We can wait, daddy," she cooed. "We're not that hungry." With her index finger, she toyed with his long sideburn. Clumsily, he encircled her waist with his long arm and pulled her into his lap. He gave her a loud kiss, right on her breast, then grinned at her stupidly. "Yes siree, my little girl's all grown up now. Wow! Are you ever!" He planted a hungry kiss on her neck and his hand dropped to her inner thigh and moved slowly back and forth.
Joyce glanced at her brother searchingly, as if seeking an answer to her predicament. Angrily, Denny stood up. "I'm gonna see if Norma needs any help in the kitchen," he said. But he stood pausing in the dining room, watching.
Martin Reardon was staring hungrily, without the slightest attempt at subtlety, at his daughter's breasts as his hand inched slowly up Joyce's leg. "Boy, are you grown up," he repeated, mumbling and making kissing sounds as he stared at the twin mounds very near his face.
Joyce caught her father's hand by the wrist before it reached her vagina. Watching, it disturbed Denny that his sister was obviously filled with mixed emotions. The hand had toyed with the elastic band of her panties before she had pulled it away. Good God! he thought. Not only did he lust after their stepmother—apparently Joyce was developing a thing for their father! It was going to be a weird vacation all right.
Joyce asked her father if he would like a cup of coffee, but he declined and screamed again about dinner. "Wher's the fuckin' food!" He held his hand at his mouth then, focusing his eyes with difficulty. "Shouldn't use that kinda language in front of my li'l daughter, eh?" he said, giggling. "Well, I gotta celebrate my kids' arrival, you know?" And he stroked Joyce's ass and nibbled at her ear.
Denny couldn't watch it any more. He went on into the kitchen. "What can I do to help?" he asked.
Norma was briskly mashing potatoes. "You just relax, dear," Norma said. "I must apologize for your father's behavior. He was very excited about your arrival, you see. He's had too much to drink. Please forgive him."
"Yeah, and if I remember correctly, he used to get excited all the time." Denny kissed his stepmother's cheek. Then, smiling, he boldly put his arm around her waist. "I hope he's been good to you," Denny said, feeling a tingle in his groin.
"Sometimes better than others," Norma admitted. "Mainly, I worry about his practice. He has a nine o'clock patient in the morning." She shook her head.
Denny let his grip tighten just a little about her waist and he was certain he detected a trace of the lust they had shared last summer. Yes, some of the same physical attraction seemed to be flowing between them, even though Norma was busy fixing dinner and the yelling continued from the yelling room. Well, he would just have to wait and see. There was plenty of time.
There were flowers on the table when they all sat down to eat. Denny lit the candles, and then the nightmare began. Martin Reardon dominated the conversation and actually ate his roast beef and vegetables with his hands! Norma tried to distract Denny and Joyce with "small talk" but finally their father's face actually fell in his plate! He refused coffee, then slobberingly kissed Denny and Joyce goodnight and stumbled off to bed. Without speaking, Denny and Joyce helped Norma clear the table. Then they watched television until 11:00 when Norma excused herself and went to bed.
In their own room, as they undressed, Joyce said to Denny, "Why didn't you tell me daddy had become a—a slobbering drunk?"
"Didn't I tell you that he drank and they argued quite a bit?" Denny said. "Uh—he doesn't always get like that. Don't worry, sis. It's gonna be a nice summer, you'll see."
Denny climbed into bed, wearing only his shorts. He lay there with his hands clasped behind his neck until Joyce had changed into her cotton nightgown. Then he felt his sister lift the covers and crawl into the bed beside him. "It's a strange room and a—a strange bed, Denny. Do you mind?"
"Heh-heh," Denny said. "Are you kidding? Come on in."
"Norma is very patient with daddy," Joyce whispered. "I like her a lot. And I can tell you like her a lot—by the way you look at her."
Joyce snuggled up very close now and Denny loved the pressing warmth of her body through the cotton nightie against him. "What about you and dad?" he said. "Jesus, is everybody in the world after everybody else's body—sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, step-parents, everybody?"
"You didn't see it all either," Joyce said. "After you went out into the kitchen with Norma, daddy put my hand on his—his thing! He had a hard-on, and he—he put my hand right on it!"
"When he gets drunk I guess anything's possible," Denny said, the jealously rising within him again. "Why don't you just get up and go away when he does that? Father's aren't supposed to ... "
Joyce cuddled closer. "Next time I will," she said. "But what about you and Norma? Remember our agreement? Are you sure you've told me everything about you and Norma? I know you pretty well, Denny Reardon. I have a feeling you left something out."
"No," Denny lied. "I told you everything."
"Very well," Joyce said. "Then I have a confession to make. There's something I didn't tell you about. It's about Roger."
Roger Norris was Joyce's steady boyfriend in San Francisco. Denny had never liked him, because he was three years older than Joyce and had acne. Denny knew that all Roger wanted was to get inside his sister's pants. "O.K., tell me," Denny said.
"Roger and I've been going together for quite a while," Joyce said. "So before leaving him for the whole summer I decided to let him do a—a little something more than just—well, fooling around."
"You didn't let that pimple-puss fuck you!" Denny said.
"Of course not," Joyce said, "'Taut he taught me about French love."
"You mean tongues on your—your privates?"
"Yes, you do it to each other with your tongues and—and it feels wonderful. Ohhhhh, does it feel good!"
"I imagine it does," Denny said. He had heard about cock-sucking and cunt-lapping, of course. But he could not tell his sister that Norma had sucked him off last summer. He decided to behave somewhat innocently. For a long time now he had felt the urge to lick pussy. He saw lots of girls at school whose pussies he would love to lick, and of course he had thought of lapping Norma's snatch—not to mention sucking on his sister's hole. He wondered if maybe he could maneuver Joyce into that now! If she had let Roger Norris suck and kiss her pussy, why wouldn't she let her own brother do it? His heart began beating fast at the thought of this possibility.
"H-How did you do it?" he asked, his prick stirring inside his shorts.
"Well, we were just playing with each other," Joyce said. "Just kissing—uh—and then he was sucking my breasts. I was playing with his stiff prick, too. He has a really big prick, Denny—even a little longer than yours—and it was hard as a rock and oozing out some of his stuff. So he requested me to kiss it with my lips, and I did. So then he asked me to lick his pole a little, so I did. Finally, he even asked me to suck on it—just like he'd sucked on my nipples—but I thought I better not. I mean, I didn't want him to tell other boys I'd done that to him. Also, I was afraid he'd get so excited he might try to rape me or something. Boy, was he hot, though. He slid down on his knees onto the floor and licked my pussy. I was hot, too!"
"Where were you?" Denny asked.
"In his car."
"You let him lick your pussy in his car?" Denny asked, shocked. He made a mental note that soon he would have to get a learner's permit and learn to drive himself.
"Right," Joyce said matter-of-factly. "I took my panties off and then he lapped and sucked between my legs for a long, long time. I didn't ever want him to stop, Denny. I mean it! I never felt anything so heavenly in my life. His tongue was just like a mop—his mouth was like a—a vacuum cleaner. He took each side of my pussy deep into his mouth and gobbled and gobbled. I mean, it was heaven! He spread the lips apart with his hand and licked right against the top, you know?"
Denny felt his sister's hand moving beneath the covers.
"Right up here. Ummm," she continued. "You know the way you've done it when you've finger-fucked me? Well, he did it the same way, except he used his tongue. Denny! It was like I was coming every second. Honest! He sucked and sucked and twirled with his tongue against my clit until I thought I was going out of my mind. I kept yelling 'faster, faster' and he wagged his head from side to side, pressing his tongue harder. Hey, what are you doing, Denny?" Joyce asked.
"What do you think I'm doing?" Denny said. "I'm jerkin' off. I can't listen to this without doing something. Go ahead, sis."
"Well, my whole body went limp and it felt like a million pinpricks running up and down my spine and even inside my—my bottom. No fooling. That's how good it was! My bung and boobies were tingling! Everything tingling and feeling good."
"But you didn't let him fuck you?" Denny asked.
"No, but he did stick his prick between my legs and—and we pretended to fuck. But not really. Not inside. I wouldn't let him stick his wiener inside 'cause I don't want to get pregnant. Besides, he's so big I'm not sure I could fuck him. He really wanted to though."
Denny was thumping his own meat faster now. "Yeah, I b-bet he did," he stammered. "I—I want to fuck you, too."
Joyce seemed to ignore his request, like always.
"Yes, Roger is awfully big," she said. "I'd rather be fucked by someone smaller the first time, you know? But what Roger did to me was really wonderful, huh? Anybody who would suck you that way is truly a marvelous person, huh?"
Denny wanted to suck his sister's cunt that very instant, but he wondered if maybe he could suck her and then fuck her, too. "Is Roger really that much bigger than me?" Denny asked.
"Yes," Joyce said, "but your prick is bigger around. I guess he's about eight inches. Yours isn't eight inches, is it?"
Denny was still thumping his prick with his right hand. "N-Not q-quite," he said. Actually, he was pretty sure it was six inches. "You're sure none of his sperm went inside your pussy?"
"Positive," Joyce said. "I made him shoot his sperm onto my tummy. Boy, I came close to letting him fuck me, though. I was really mushy and slippery inside, and I wanted to know what it feels like to have a boy's thing pumping inside of me."
"I wanna know how it feels, too," Denny said. "Let's do it, sis. Come on. I'm really hot right now. Come on."
"I'm still afraid of getting pregnant," Joyce said, breathing faster herself. "No, I'm afraid even a little bit that your sperm might make me pregnant. Sperm is amazing stuff."
Suddenly the strongest urge of his life came over Denny. They had been lying on their sides, facing each other, while he pounded his meat and his sister talked about making French love. Now Denny's prick stood as firm and hard and straight as he could ever remember. He reached out, touched his sister's beautiful tits and began massaging them, rolling the nipples between his fingers, pulling, tugging pleadingly. She let him run his hand over her rounded belly, even let him begin fingering her cunt. He knew he wanted to make French love to her—first to her titties and then to her pussy. He wanted to drink love-juice from his sister's hole in the worst possible way. His entire body was trembling.
"Please?" he gasped. "Joyce, can I please?"
Joyce was panting, too. "W-What do you want to do, Denny?"
Why was his own sister torturing him? "I—I've always been afraid to ask a girl to let me make French love," he said. "Can I do it to you? Please? You let Roger do it, didn't you? Won't you let your own brother kiss you down there?"
Joyce reached down and took hold of her brother's rock-hard prong. "Ouuuhhh, you're really hard, Denny. You're all wet, too. But we're getting older now. I—I don't know if we should. Do you think a brother and sister should keep on doing things to each other when they're fourteen and fifteen?"
Denny kept working on her titties—steadily stroking her cunt top, too.
"Ohhhh, Denny, that does feel good though ... oh, yessss ... press a little harder ... ohhhh ... "
Denny had ceased pounding his erection completely now. Frantically, he massaged his sister's luscious tits, rolling the erect nipples and forefingers with one hand, alternating quickly back and forth between her heaving ivory mounds, while his other hand tantalized the top of her fiery wet slit. She began moaning and jerking on his dripping rod harder now, bending it, loving the thickness and stiffness of it. He could tell she loved his cock. He asked her if she loved his prick, and she said she loved it more than anything. Then he told her he loved her tits and pussy more than anything, too. He asked her if Roger had done her tits and pussy better, and she said, no.
He leaned over and kissed her breast and let his tongue play against its tip. She was really breathing hard and fast now. "You're going to let me do everything you let Roger do, aren't you?" he asked, then began nursing hard on the nipple.
She didn't answer. She just moaned and held his head hard against her heaving bosom and began pumping her hips to meet his finger against her cunt top.
"Shouldn't you let your brother do things first?" he asked then. "So you'll b-be experienced and—and know what to expect? Shouldn't you?" He quickly returned his mouth to her nipple.
"Yessss," she sighed. "I guess I should ... yesss ..." Her hands fluttered hungrily over his cock and balls now, cradling and lovingly fondling his organ and flesh sack. "Your p-prick is sooo hard and it's dribbling all over m-my hand. Oh, Denny!"
Knowing girls liked breathing in their ears, Denny breathed hard in his sister's ear. "Joyce," his whispered, "I'm gonna make French love to you. We'll both love it. I—I'll do it better than Roger did ... you'll see. Ummmm. I can't help it ... I want to lick your pussy ... I have to lick your cunt ..."
Denny heard his own words pouring forth, and he knew that he loved his sister more than any female and that he could not control his feelings or actions at that moment. Joyce was so smooth, so beautiful. He felt so comfortable, so safe with her. He had to kiss and lick the wetness between her legs—gobble her luscious, tight cunt up and taste its juicy beauty. He wanted to lick and gorge himself on everything she owned that was flesh and female. And he wanted to prove to her he was even more sexy than Roger.
Suddenly, boldly, he reached over and turned on the lamp between the two beds. "I want to stare at your pussy a second before I eat it," he said. "The way you used to let me study it, huh?" Without protest, she drew her knees up high then, against her chest, and he slid down so that he could stare right into his sister's gorgeous cunt. Why had he never eaten his sister's pussy before, he wondered. He guessed it was merely a matter of growing up. He had been afraid Joyce would consider him an animal, a freak. But now another male had eaten his sister's cunt, so it was all right. Now he adoringly examined every little fold of pink, wet, glistening flesh in the soft light.
He stared for a long time, and then he showered kisses—loud smacking ones—all over the tight hole. Finally, he began working his middle finger in and out of the velvet textured love-nest, watching her juice run into her bung and onto the sheet. In and out ... in and out, his finger worked while his sister tossed her head from side to side and moaned.
But no, she would not fuck! "You can do anything to me, Denny! Anything! B-But we can't fuck, Denny! Lick it, though? Please lick it? Hmmm? Hmmm? Hurry up and lick my pussy. But—but what if daddy or Norma came in and—and caught us? I'm so afraid, but go ahead and lick my hole, Denny! Shhhh, quiet, but go ahead and do it! Hurry!"
The idea of anyone intruding and catching them had not occurred to Denny. Briefly, his erection dwindled, but then as he slid down with his face close to his sister's pussy, once again his prick stood straight up, bone-hard.
Crazily, the thought that he had to do what Roger had done to Joyce, only better, struck him at the instant his mouth settled over the lovely mound of soft pubic hair. He inhaled deeply, savoring the delicious scent of pussy and knew at that instant that he would suck pussies for the rest of life ... delicious, gorgeous cunts ...
Gently, somehow under control, he lifted his sister's ass and began licking just like a dog, tasting every pore of the tangy vagina. Joyce began moaning, grinding her hips and spurring him on with words as his mouth worked. Her voice became eerie, shrill and he was afraid their father and Norma might hear, but then all trace of fear left him and he buried his face in the gushing vagina.
Really, he could not tell how loud she was moaning, because of the fingers in his ears. But now and then she dug her fingers into his scalp and he could hear her sobbing, crying quite loudly because it felt so good, and then her fingers would plug his ears again. Best of all, he loved the way her stomach caved in and out and her bottom quivered in his palms and the entire upper half of her body thrashed as the very best of feelings wracked her delicious, young body.
Yes, she was beginning to come. She was sopping wet, her juice all over the sheet and his chin, mixed with saliva, and finally she shuddered, pushing his mouth away and shuddering, twitching, convulsing, gasping ...
They lay very close then, both shuddering, and Denny had the presence of mind to reach over and turn off the light. Finally, Joyce murmured, "Oh, Denny, you took me to heaven. You really did! If you had any idea how good that feels!" She hugged him, kissing his cheek, and then she touched his rock-hard erection and said, "Poor, darling."
"I loved licking you," Denny breathed. "Was it as good as with Roger? Huh?"
"Better," she said. "Much better." She pressed herself very close and hugged him very hard. "But we can't ever let anybody know Denny. Daddy would kill us. Promise you'll never tell anybody?"
"We promised a long time ago, remember?" Denny said. "Why would I tell? I'm not crazy—except about your pussy. I'm crazy about your pussy, sis."
"Ummm, I know. I could tell," Joyce said.
"Does it feel that much better than with—with my finger?" he asked.
"I told you," Joyce said. "It's heaven. There's no comparison at all. How did I taste?"
"Delicious," Denny said. "You can't describe it. You'd have to do it to understand. Listen, why don't you do it to me. Then you'll know. Don't just jerk me off. Suck me off, huh?"
"Denny, you really are basically an evil person, do you know that?"
"Of course I am. We both are. Come on and loss my prick. Suck my cock."
"It's not the same, doing that to a—a boy," Joyce said. "I won't fall for your trap, Denny. Anyway, I already know how you taste. You—you're sort of salty tasting."
"That was second-hand," Denny said. "I'm talking about first-hand."
There was a long silence. Then Joyce said, "Do you really want me to—to suck your prick?"
"Yes," Denny said. "You really should experience it. You—you owe it to yourself. The first time should be with your brother. You did it with Roger."
"Well, just a little."
"Then you should do it to me. Come on." He reached over and turned on the lamp again. Then he stood up beside the bed while his sister sat on the edge of the bed. Staring down, he guided his pulsing shaft into his sister's mouth. Joyce held his balls in one hand and gripped his stalk at the base with the other hand. Then, hollow-cheeked, she began noisily nursing as she bobbed her head back and forth, back and forth, up and down her brother's engorged, dripping member.
Denny spoke to her as he fucked her mouth, telling her how good it felt—to go faster or slower, to take it deeper into her throat or just nibble at the head. His sister's mouth was very wet and hot. Denny guessed it felt very much the way a pussy would feel.
Soon he felt the tingling sensation spreading, surging like a magic pleasure-current throughout his entire body. He felt one of the most intense orgasms he had ever experienced beginning. "C-Coming ... coming," he cried, shuddering. "I'm g-gonna shoot out my sperm!" he said. Something told him he should not come inside his sister's mouth. He feared it might turn her off forever. With a mighty effort, he withdrew his hard-on from his sister's mouth just as the gushing torrent began spurting forth. He shoved Joyce's tits together and drenched both nipples with his sticky love-fluid.
Joyce responded by staring in enraptured awe and helping him drain his flesh tube dry onto each erect and waiting nipple. To his surprise, Joyce even bent down and licked a speck from her left breast.
Later, the light out again, Denny said, "I see why French love is so popular. I bet it feels like a pussy. I never felt anything like it before. Whew! Thanks, sis."
"Your welcome," she said drowsily from her own bed.
"Someday I want to fuck your pussy," he said. "Will you promise to let your brother do it first—before anyone else? Hmmm?"
"I don't know," Joyce said. "We'll see. Maybe. But I'm pretty scared. We have quite a while to think about it. I'll let you know."
Denny got up, went over and kissed his sister very tenderly. Then he returned to his own bed and pulled the covers up under his chin. Still dazed by the incredible sensation he had just experienced, he began drifting off into a deep and satisfying sleep. He loved his sister very much. He wondered if he could truly ever love another woman. The house was very silent. Denny fell asleep imagining himself with Joyce, and only Joyce, for the rest of his life.