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Archive name: leah.txt (Mf, inc, mildly rough)
Authors name: Simon (simon@jazzandjava.com)
Story title : Leah
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Leah (Mf, inc, mildly rough)
By Simon (simon@jazzandjava.com)
***
It took me a while to admit it, to realize it, but for
years I was in love with my sister. It's a hard thing
to get right away: sure, I loved her, but I didn't
realize I was IN love with her.
And I somehow managed to avoid thinking about the fact
that I wanted her, more and more as the days went on.
That I scheduled my showers for those glimpses of her
in the towel; that when I jerked off, it was her face
in the back of my mind; that I'd dated a friend of hers
because it was some kind of connection. You know what
did it, though? Coming home from college for Christmas
break.
I'd gone to school on the other side of the country,
near about, and been gone just long enough for her to
look... less familiar. Do you know what I mean? At that
age -- she was a year and a half younger than me, a
senior in high school -- a few months can make a
difference.
It was like, before leaving, I had continued to see her
as she was at 14: and being away from her for four
months, it made her age three years. Longer legs.
Creamy pale skin that had lost most of its tomboy
freckling. High, pronounced cheekbones, making her face
more angular, the baby fat stripped away. Her dark
brown hair had been dyed a deep shade of purplish-
black, the Crayola color only showing when the light
hit it just right: her long eyelashes and jade-flecked
eyes were accented by expert shadow and mascara now.
Her hips had more sway, her breasts more curve. She was
a completely different person.
Except, of course, she wasn't.
She was the one who greeted me at the airport, having
driven my car -- well, her car, but it'd BEEN mine --
there while the folks were at work. My eyes went right
past her, right past the simple white sweater and long
black shirt where I was expecting a concert T-shirt and
ripped up jeans. She had an arm around my neck before
it completely registered who she was, and I couldn't
help laughing.
"Jesus, Lee," I said. "I was expecting --"
"-- pigtails? Pony sneakers?"
"Well, not that bad. But, you know. You've grown up a
little."
"Kinda did the makeover thing for senior year. Anyway,
just want you to know -- since my car used to be yours
and everything, I figure you'll want it to be able to
get out of the house for the next couple weeks."
We headed down towards baggage pickup, and I nodded,
talking over the holiday crowd. "Actually, yeah, that
would be--"
"Well, tough. I can drop you off places or whatever,
but the car's mine now. Suck it up and deal."
Now that was the Leah I remembered.
* * *
We ended up working out a complicated schedule so that
I'd have car access, but as it turned out, there was
really no need. After a few days I'd seen everyone I
wanted to see, and there just wasn't a damn thing to do
in the area. Finals had worn me out, and truth to tell,
I was as happy staying home and enjoying the digital
cable setup as anything else -- the dorm televisions
got an odd mix of Spanish-language Disney channel, a
few obscure pay stations, and NBC.
Closer to Christmas, Leah was home more often, too.
Most of her friends had gone off to the relatives
they'd be visiting, or to Vermont or Colorado where
they'd be skiing. Yeah, it was that kind of town, those
kinds of social circles.
My room was sort of an adjunct to both the rec room --
no one called it that except my mother -- and the
storage areas of the basement. The basement was only
bearable spot in the house in the summer, because my
parents didn't believe in air-conditioning; but in the
winter, it was cold as sin.
That's probably the only reason Leah hadn't bothered
moving in to my room. Mine was larger, sure, but she'd
taken care of that by putting all the crap that had
taken up her closet space and shoving it in between my
bed and the windows (the windows could barely be called
such: medicine-cabinet-sized things high on the
ceiling, where the basement overtook the ground
outside).
It wasn't so bad, though. I threw an old quilt over the
boxes, and it almost looked like I just had a raised
floor there. Or a weird table. Or boxes and a quilt.
Mom and Dad had their cocktail parties, their dinner
parties, went to the country club, cajoled me into
going along to a distant aunt's house for dinner (Leah
was smart enough to be out of the house when it came
time to leave), and Christmas inched slowly closer,
break seeming to last forever. Sure, I loved having the
time off, but my God. None of my friends were around, I
didn't have a car, and it was damned cold.
This is the part where I say "what I didn't realize was
that by the end of the break, I'd wish it would never
end."
Because the highlight was Leah. Yes, she was still
something of a brat, but reflexively, habitually. She
was funny, smart, my cohort against the parents, and we
talked for hours about both her senior year -- how to
cruise through Fisk's physics class, all the senior
benefits she should be reaping -- and my freshman year
of college -- what it was like living in the dorms,
having such a different class schedule, staying out all
night, etc. And we watched movies, when we were both
home.
That had been "our thing" forever: movies. Neither of
the folks watched them much -- Mom would purchase the
occasional tearjerker, watch it every day for a month,
and drop it off at the Salvation Army. Dad had his John
Wayne and Tom Clancy movies. Yeah, it was that kind of
family.
Lee and me, we'd watch anything together, because if it
was horrible we'd just make fun of it -- and that was
as much fun as the best of the good movies. So we
rented a bunch of everything on the folks' Blockbuster
charge card, knowing they wouldn't get the bill till I
was back at campus and Leah could blame it on me -- and
when we'd gone through that, two days before Christmas,
Leah sighed.
"Nothing's gonna be in, you know." It was true. The
local Blockbuster was small, and this close to
Christmas, everyone was renting movies.
"Eh. Well. We could watch some of your movies."
"Ohhh, my movies are crap. Girl movies. I'm outgrowing
them. There's only so many times I can watch the same
old thing. But you know what we've got." You're
thinking she's going to say porn, but you're wrong.
"I'll bet Grandma sent the usual."
"Oh God."
She grinned, jumped up from the couch, and snuck
upstairs to the presents under the Christmas tree. When
she came back, she had a wrapped package in her hands:
small, the size of a video. Bright metallic green
wrapping paper. Yep, Grandma's usual.
"You're not really suggesting we watch it?" I asked.
"C'mon. It'll be fun. We'll mock the living shit out of
it." She unwrapped it before I could object, and there
it was: The Happy Hippos Go To China. "China!" she
grinned. "God. How many has she sent?"
"Ten. At least ten, maybe more. You'd think they'd stop
making Happy Hippos movies. You'd think Grandma would
realize I'm not nine years old. You still hide wine
behind the basement freezer?"
"Sure do."
I got up, brought a couple of bottles out, and she'd
already put the video in and had laid down across the
couch, sprawled on it, very much like the teenager I
remembered. "Move over."
"Nope. Don't wanna."
I picked her legs up, and she kicked a little but let
me sit down, putting her long legs down in my lap. She
was wearing comfortable jeans and a red sweater --
nothing exceptional, but she looked good in it. I
rested my hand on her ankle, and she smiled, but didn't
say anything. While we talked for the next two hours
(the Hippos movies were bad enough, but believe it or
not they were also full-length), I squeezed her foot a
few times to make a point, and found myself running my
fingers along her ankle, tracing her skin.
I wasn't even really aware of doing it, until Leah
stretched her leg out against me, and my fingers
shifted six inches or so up her leg. "Tickles," she
mumbled, like she wasn't really going to acknowledge my
touching her, either.
We downed the first bottle of wine while making fun of
the Happy Hippos and their madcap adventures in China,
getting progressively more giggly, and when the tape
ended, Leah stood up, almost falling over, and pointed
upstairs.
"Gonna pee. Put the TV on or something. It's vacation,
we should be staying up all night."
Late Night was over, but after some flipping I found a
movie worth watching on one of the many channels
available through the wonder of digital cable.
Strangers on a Train, one of the better Hitchcock
flicks. Leah, of course, recognized it the instant she
came back down.
"Rock. Good choice, big brother." She'd changed while
she was upstairs, into nothing but a long T-shirt and
longer legs.
"Getting ready for bed?"
She shrugged. "Eh, eventually. Now move over."
I grinned. "Don't wanna."
She sailed over me, pouncing into the seat next to me
and hrmphed, stretching her legs out again. "Brat."
"Bitch."
"College boy."
"Oh yeah. Good one."
And so it went, random jabs and insults as we finished
the second bottle of wine and watched the Hitchcock
movie. I was sitting closer to the middle now, which
meant closer to her, and her legs were laid over my lap
so that when I rested my hand, I was touching just
below her knee.
Every time I didn't make a conscious effort to stop, I
found myself caressing the back of her leg there --
barely touching, but just moving my fingers along it,
stroking her soft creamy skin, rewarded occasionally
with a light "mm" or "ohh." It's just her leg, I
thought. Perfectly innocent. Nowhere near what my
mother used to call "the swimsuit area."
After Strangers on a Train, I flipped channels for a
while, expecting her to yank the remote from me -- but
Leah had fallen asleep. She had her hands curled up
under her head, tilted to the side against the couch
cushion, with that slow, regular breathing where you
know someone is just plain out cold. Too much wine, too
late at night.
Her legs were still on my lap, though. I slinked out
from under them, trying not to wake her up, and wobbled
-- there's no way I was going to be able to get her
upstairs, not this drunk. But she'd freeze sleeping on
the couch, so I ... well, I picked her up, being
careful not to fall over, and brought her to my bed.
Perfectly innocent.
I had a queen-size, so it's not like there wasn't
plenty of room. I laid her down on the far side of the
bed, by the boxes, pulled the quilts up, laid down on
my side, and promptly fell asleep.
I woke up I don't know how much later, maybe an hour,
because she was huddled against me, her back against my
chest, trying to keep warm. Still sound asleep, and I
was barely awake myself. I started to push her away,
but shrugged inwardly. It was too cold to bother, and I
was too drunk. I started to drift back off, bunching my
pillows up under my head, but something started
stirring. With her this close to me, I was suddenly
very aware of the vanilla-lavender smell of her hair.
Of the curved shape of her underneath the quilt. Of her
ass almost pushing against my stomach.
Only half aware of what I was doing, I shifted, until I
was higher up on the bed, letting her ass nestle
against my crotch. I was still clothed, in jeans at
that, and she was wearing... well, panties... so it
wasn't too bad, right? But now I couldn't go to sleep.
Suddenly just wasn't tired at all, although I certainly
wouldn't say I was awake. I just lay there, listening
to her breathe, feeling her back against my chest and
the growing warmth of her against me, and realized I
was as hard as it was possible for me to be.
So what, I thought. Go to sleep. Go back to sleep.
There's nothing you can do about it right now.
Of course ... there was ONE thing I could do about it.
Moving slowly, not wanting even a chance of Leah waking
up, I unbuttoned my jeans just enough to slip my hand
down into my boxers. My fingers wrapped around the base
of my cock, and began to slowly jerk.
It's not that I wanted to take my time so much as I
just didn't want to wake her up. I kept stroking,
running my wrapped fingers along the length of my
shaft, rubbing the head against the fabric of my
boxers, doing my best to make no noise at all. Once you
get into it, though ... it's a slippery slope. My cock
began to nudge out of my boxers, out of the V formed by
my button-fly, and I froze for a moment when Leah's
breathing changed, like maybe she was waking up.
She wasn't. She just rolled an inch or so, turned a
little -- unconscious weight-shifting, it happens a
thousand times, but this time it pushed the panty-clad
cleft of her ass right against my knuckles. I took a
deep breath and kept stroking ... slowly ... breathing
deep to smell her hair, angling myself to let my cock
touch her after every stroke. I shuddered, knowing this
was an amazingly stupid thing to do, knowing that there
was no way I was going to stop.
And if she wasn't going to wake up from feeling me
stroke myself against her ass...
I released my cock and fumbled my arm around her,
pulling her against me. I didn't mean to be fumbling,
but -- the alcohol hadn't quite worn off. She made this
noise, in the back of her throat -- this little
whimper. But I was sure she was still asleep.
I let her fall into a natural position, and pressed
gradually against her, my cock pressing her panties
into the cleft of her ass, the shaft laying against her
parallel to her spine, as I slowly -- and carefully --
and insanely -- began to grind against my sister's ass.
It was so much better than my hand. It was -- just the
fact that I was trying so hard not to think about this
being my sister, the fact that I couldn't face the idea
of what might happen if she woke up or I was discovered
-- that made it so much better.
My hand slid under her T-shirt, running lightly along
her skin, tracing the contours of her, the bewildering
concavities and vexing convexities that made her who
she was, and I shuddered again, unable to stop a low
moan, when my fingers discovered she wasn't wearing a
bra.
"Ehmmm!" It wasn't quite a whimper, it wasn't quite
protest, but it was a definite sound, anxious and
whining, when my palm covered her nipple and squeezed.
Her breasts were perfectly shaped, sized for hands,
designed for mouths, and when she pushed back against
me in her sleep, pushing her ass against my bare cock,
it was all I could do to keep from taking things much
further than I dared.
I stopped, looking at her face closely, but she seemed
asleep -- drunk-unconscious, as if just responding to
some dream. I wondered what she was dreaming about,
whose cock she thought she was feeling. I started to
stroke myself against her, moving up and down along the
bed to feel her ass hugging me, and her foot criss-
crossed between mine, her leg stroking me just where
I'd caressed her in the rec room.
My breathing was erratic, my chest pushing against her
back, and hers was heavier now, deep, punctuated with a
steady layer of almost-groans, little noises she wasn't
awake enough to make. This was dumb. This was really
dumb. This was -- sooo good. I rocked my hips against
her, grinding steadily against her firm ass, and when
she moved back against me, it was only instinctive,
off-rhythm, as if in a dream.
I wanted to squeeze her breasts, to slide a hand down
the front of her panties, to kiss her, but I didn't
dare. I pressed my mouth to the back of her neck, just
where her hair fell to the pillows, but didn't kiss,
just held it there as I clenched my teeth, and pulled
my hand away from her breast so I wouldn't bear down on
it, curling my hand into a fist beneath her shirt as I
came, stifling grunts and groans and holding my breath
until I could release it slowly, silently, as I rolled
away from her, staring at the dark ceiling.
* * *
"Mrrm. You could've woken me up or something." Leah
looked over at me, wrapped in the quilts, and I
couldn't read her expression. By daylight, the night
before felt... dangerous and stupid.
"You were out cold." I forced myself to grin, and
realized I'd fallen asleep without buttoning my jeans
back up. The quilt covered me, but only barely. "And I
was way too drunk to dry to drag you up the stairs."
She nodded and pushed her hair out of her face
groggily.
"Unh. At least it was the white wine. Red gives me such
a hangover. And we have--"
"Church today. Christmas Eve. Yeah. Fun for the whole
family."
"Mmhmm." She crawled over me to the side of the bed
without boxes and got up, pulling the quilts off behind
her. I yanked up my boxers and started to button my
jeans, and she turned around to say something, but
stopped. Still unreadable. Intentionally unreadable, I
could tell that much: guarded. Uncertain. She nodded to
my jeans. "Just how drunk were you?"
I faked another grin and finished buttoning. "Dunno.
Probably got up to take a piss."
She nodded and walked away, up the stairs to take a
shower. "Silly college boy. Hey, by the way -- I'm out
to the mall this aft to do my last minute shopping. You
wanna come with, just let me know."
* * *
We made the mistake of shopping. I say "mistake"
because -- hey. This was Christmas Eve. You've seen the
malls.
Wall to wall last-minute shoppers, us included. We
finally found something for the folks, and showed up to
church -- fifteen minutes late.
You'd think the only pews left would be the ones in the
front, the ones no one wants. But no. We found
ourselves in the back, in one of those mini-pews in the
corner -- it had already been abandoned by someone
who'd come in to make an appearance and left as soon as
they could. Damn fickle Christians.
Mom and Dad were up front in the choir, as per always.
We'd catch hell later for showing up late, if they saw
us come in. I didn't look up to make eye contact.
Sometime between "O Come All Ye Faithful" and the
sixth-graders' nativity play, more late-comers shuffled
in, squeezing in to our pew, and I found myself pushed
against the window, our coats bundled in my lap and
Leah practically sitting on top of them.
You know how it is in northern winters: you dress up
all warm to deal with the outdoors, and then when you
get inside, with too many people, you're far too hot.
Leah's leg pressed tightly against mine was oven-hot,
fire-hot. She was pressed much closer than she needed
to be: doing that crowded movie-theater thing where you
press against the person you know instead of getting
wedged next to the stranger.
After the nativity play but before the sermon, she
reached into her coat to find a Tic-Tac, rummaging
through my lap -- and when she'd found it, her hand
stayed there as she straightened up, eyes front and
innocent ... her fingers making their way through the
layers of coats until happening on the fly of my pants.
I glanced at her again, but her eyes were firmly
forward with no chance of contact, and the way she was
sitting, you couldn't tell from the position of her arm
that she was doing anything but keeping her hand warm
under her coat.
The fingers flipped my button through the eyehole, and
in the midst of first sentence of the minister's sermon
I was sure the whole congregation could hear my zipper
being slowly undone. Through my boxers, she caressed
the underside of my shaft with her knuckles, tracing it
warmly, with touches from firm to feather-light, making
me hard before Joseph even knew his fiancee was
pregnant.
She worked her fingers through the front of my boxers
and caressed me gently, as if getting used to the shape
of me, before rubbing her palm against my cockhead and
wrapping her hand around the base, starting to slowly
stroke me.
She was... good. This was far from the first handjob
she'd given. She brought me to the edge quickly and
kept me there, with just enough pressure, just enough
variance in her stroke, sometimes faster, sometimes
painfully slow, and I had to force myself to lean my
head against the window in an effort to look bored.
Her hand kept moving, fingers changing position, fist
twisting around my cock as she stroked, and I spent the
entire sermon, "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing!" and the
update on the church's sister congregation in Belize so
close to coming that I could feel it in my toes. Every
nerve was on fire, and I was sweating more than coats
on my lap should have accounted for.
And then she stopped.
I was right there, it would only take a little more,
and her fingers slipped off me, zipping my pants back
up and rebuttoning them without bothering to pull my
boxers back over my cock. She took another Tic-Tac from
her pocket as I stifled a groan, and popped it into her
moist mouth as the choir sang "The Little Drummer Boy."
* * *
We were two of the first ones out of the church since
we were right there in the back, and she didn't even
glance at me as we got back in her -- my -- car and she
pulled out of the parking lot. "Church wasn't so bad
this year," she said after awhile. Maybe she'd been
waiting for me to say something first.
"Oh yeah?" I shook my head. "I don't think I even
noticed."
"What, you drunk again?"
I reached into my pants to fix my boxers, and groaned
at the tautness of my still-hard cock. "Christ. Leah,
what the hell--"
She smiled. No, grinned would be more like it. "Hm?
What?"
"What you were doing..."
"What do you mean?"
"Jerking me off in church, is what I mean."
She shook her head solemnly and turned the radio on.
"That's crazy, Simon. You're my brother. Jerking you
off? In church? On Christmas Eve? That's not just
incest, it's -- well, whatever jerking off in church
is."
I leaned my head back on the headrest and groaned
again.
"Jesus, you tease."
"Oh, I'm the tease now."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Last night." I didn't answer for a long time. "Last
night when you almost fucked me and didn't. That's what
it's supposed to mean."
"I didn't -- I wouldn't have--"
She glanced at me, grin faded a little, something in
her eyes almost like anger. "What. Pretty enough to
look at, pretty enough to jerk off on, but not pretty
enough to fuck? Or even kiss?"
"Lee, you're my sister! I was drunk, I don't know what
I was thinking. It was -- crazy. Stupid. I didn't think
you were awake--"
"You should have stopped at 'stupid.'"
"Yeah. Well--"
"I know you used to watch me in the shower, you know.
And that time -- when we were playing basketball --
what was it, two years ago? You felt me up. It's not
like I wasn't going to notice. You weren't just
blocking my shot, your hands were on my tits." I'd
managed to forget about that. "I remember you kissing
me good night a few times -- lingering a little too
long, and when it was about to become something -- you
left. And I'm the tease? Fuck you."
"You should have said something."
THAT got me a look. "Oh, I should have? What, I should
have said 'please big brother, please fuck me'? You
were ashamed enough for both of us, I didn't need that
shit. You're the older one. The responsible one."
"... so you jerked me off in church because you're
angry with me."
That time she grinned. "Okay, so I'm not the most
logical girl in the world. Make it up to me."
"How?"
She pulled the car over, along the stretch of road by
the woods near our house. "Kiss me."
"Lee ... someone might drive by and see..."
She turned towards me and unbuckled her seatbelt. "Fuck
that. Kiss me or lose me forever. No more free shows.
No more feeling me up when we play basketball. No more-
-"
I shut her up by grabbing her by the hair and kissing
her, hard. No gentle caress of lips on lips, no hands
stroking cheeks and necks -- I pulled her against me
and opened her mouth with my tongue, hot and wet, and
she whimpered as she kissed me back greedily, her hands
on the back of my neck and holding on tight, her lips
and teeth closing down as she sucked on my tongue,
twisting in the seat to press her breasts against me
beneath their covering of jacket and sweater.
"Fuck me, Simon," she murmured between hot breathy
kisses, both of us moaning every time our tongues
touched. "Fuck me. I want you inside me, I want it so
bad. I know you do too, I know how hard I make you. It
would be so good."
The heat was fading from the car quickly, and I could
see my breath. "Where?"
She disentangled herself and started the car up,
pulling into one of the little dirt trails that
peppered the woods. "Outside. I've always wanted to do
it outside at night."
"It's below freezing out there, Lee--"
"So?" She opened the door and ran out. "Keep me warm!"
Once my eyes had adjusted to the dark, I found her:
laying on her big floofy coat in the snow, my footsteps
crunching through the ice as I came up to her. She was
shivering, her blouse unbuttoned and opened, her
nipples hard visible bumps through a bra the same color
as her trembling lips. I knelt between her legs and
kissed her hard as she unzipped my pants, reaching for
my cock --
-- which immediately shrank in the cold. I groaned, but
she chuckled and shook her head. "It's okay. Sit up." I
sat up, leaning back on my heels as she pressed herself
against me, pushing her breasts around my limp cock and
rubbing up and down, slowly, enough to warm me up a
little and cause a mild stir -- before she took it into
her mouth, her lips swallowing down to the base as her
hot tongue worked around me, teasing every fold of
skin, lapping against every inch of me.
She started to withdraw slowly, sucking, and bobbed
back in as I stiffened. For minutes she sat there,
playing with my balls, my hands in her thick hair as
she sucked my cock, teasing me with tongue and lips and
teeth, waiting until she was sure I was fully hard.
"Hurry," she murmured, her mouth half-full, as she
reached down under her skirt and pulled down her
panties. "I'm fucking freezing!"
My wet cock felt like it was going to freeze in the
Christmas Eve air, but it didn't take long for me to
nestle on top of her and find her warmth. She was as
wet as I was hard, and hot, so hot, I couldn't believe
it. She groaned as she pulled me inside her, wrapping
her legs around me under my coat. The snow and the dead
leaves beneath it crunched as I rocked into her, and
when she kissed me I grabbed her tongue between my
teeth, sucking on it, teasing the edges, as she bucked
up against me.
It wouldn't have looked like lovemaking to anyone else:
it was a hard, fierce, vicious fuck, full of growling
and mewling and clawing at the ground. But it was love,
too -- a validation of things we'd never let ourselves
say or do.
Her heels dug into the small of my back as I pounded
her down into the snow, thrusting hard enough to make
us both grunt, and our mouths were everywhere: hers on
my shoulder, mine on her breasts, biting and sucking
through the bra; mine on the side of her neck, leaving
a bruise she'd have to cover with her hair the next
day, hers sucking hard on my collarbone; and on each
other, kissing, tasting.
We were hungry. We needed this. Every time her ass
lifted off of the coat as she shoved her hips up, I
pushed back against her thighs. Every time I sank
inside her, she gripped my hair and begged me for more.
Every time I pulled back, she whimpered and wriggled
for me.
All I could think was how I'd dreaded even
acknowledging this is what I'd wanted, and how I
couldn't believe we had waited so long.
"Harder, Simon," she panted in my ear, her nails
digging into my scalp as she grabbed my hair. "I know
you're going to come soon -- I want it hard, so hard."
I lifted her legs up around my shoulders and just
slammed into her, fucking her like I'd never fucked
anyone else, not worrying if it was too hard or if I
was going to come too soon or if the angle was right --
just needing to be inside her, needing that slick
friction, needing to feel her swallow up every thrust.
She came, but I didn't even know it until later -- the
woods seemed impossibly loud around us, the cold and
the dark keeping the world away as we fucked until we
were sore, until the snow had sunk into our muscles,
and when I came it was a hot bolt of lightning that
started in my spine and shook us both, taking our
breath away and leaving us panting against each other,
sweaty despite the chill.
We didn't stay there long: it was freezing out. We
kissed, still hungry, and fondled, and touched, and
slowly dressed again, checking for marks, before making
our inevitable way home.
Christmas just couldn't measure up to Christmas Eve.
END
http://www.asstr.org/~Simon/
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
anyway shape or form.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 21