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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Archive name: risk.txt
Authors name: Holly Rennick (jlrennick@yahoo.com)
Story title : Risk and Risque
--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2004. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial
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Risk and Risque
by Holly Rennick (jlrennick@yahoo.com)
***
You play Risk? The board game, I mean. OK, then, how
‘bout the other kind? (MF-teens, 1st, mast)
***
Special Bonus: A Guide for Reading Groups, by Cindi
Barton.
AUTHOR'S NOTES
What makes a verbal image stick? If I knew, I wouldn't
need to keep writing. The paragraph that follows was
just a passing allusion in "Writers' Forum", a tale
where I rambled rather too much, I fear. But to me, the
image lingers longer than its 42 words.
"Debbie was Miss Assurance. 'My folks don't even hear
our double dates, side by side when they think we're
playing Risk. The boys like it when us girls hold
hands, but we like it even more, right Heather? We play
my transistor.'"
The image wouldn't be the same if they were playing
Parcheesi.
The genesis of the story you're about to read is two
girls and their boyfriends playing a board game. The
game board illustrated at
http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/Holly_Rennick/Risk_B
oard.jpg gives you some sense of the Parker Brothers
1959 world.
So is there a tie between "risky" and "risqué"? They
come from the same French.
The word "risk" you know.
I dropped my pencil in front of his desk. I'll need to
bend way over to pick it up. Damn! I should have worn a
bra today. Or at least not this scoop neckline. It's so
loose. Maybe he'll keep reading.
And "risqué"?
Oh, my, my, my! Excuse me. I think I dropped my
pencil. I'll have to pick it up now. I'm so sorry!
There's risk in most everything we do, especially
anything risqué. Something that satisfies is usually a
balance between problematic possibilities and cautious
alternatives. Either extreme probably gets you nowhere.
If you did well and were offered a free replay from the
same starting point with the same potential for
surprises, you might fine-tune a few details, but
overall you'd play it much the same.
So let's say you're a male teacher wanting female
companionship. They'll be risk involved if it gets
risqué. Consider these options.
(1) Be chaste. You'll have more time to bowl and maybe
say hi to Ladies League foursome in the next lane.
(2) Make yourself advisor to the school rally squad.
They're catty, pushy, insecure, half of them thinking
it would be so cute to have a little baby. OK, they do
have great bodies and probably know more about sex than
you do if you're a teacher.
(3) Take out a female faculty member who's
interesting, discrete and a quick study. She wants to
do it, but you'll need to coax. Try flowers. Read a
book that you can discuss. Not by John Grisham.
Compliment her on her dress. If you get it off, don't
wad it up.
Luck? You might have bowled 300. The cheerleader
captain's folks might be out of town. The teacher might
have worn her risqué silk blouse to let you know. But
you still need to help things happen. Eyes on the pins.
Tell the rally girl that you're not sure if she's
passing. Start with the buttons and see if she tenses
up.
Risk isn't black or white. Jargon like "exceedance
probability" and such criteria as "maxi-min vs. mini-
max-regret" help in the formalization, if you even
care. We have our individual preferences. (Honest,
those last terms come out of "Decision Analysis",
nothing at all to do with feminine products.)
Couldn't care less? Here's a story. Meet James.
THE BOARD GAME
For me and my sister, the board game was where we'd
deal every backstab, assault and annihilation the other
ever deserved. Siblings have years of injustice to
avenge.
As the game touts, "Risk. Isn't it about time you ruled
the world? In this combat classic, all you need to do
is plan carefully, make decisions quickly and move
boldly. The object is to conquer all 42 territories on
the board, thus eliminating your opponents. You'll use
dice and cards to shape the size, strength and
locations of your troops, but it's up to you to make
strategic decisions that'll keep you on the march. You
must launch daring attacks, defend yourself on all
fronts, and sweep across vast continents with boldness
and cunning. But remember, the dangers, as well as the
rewards, are high. Just when the world is within your
grasp, your opponent might strike and take it all away!
2-6 Players."
Being Claire's little brother posed many difficulties
in my life's march, not the least being that every
September I'd get her teacher from last year. "Oh,
James Cronan. Claire's brother! You look just like her,
such a model student."
At least me being now fifteen, I was as big. I could
(as I freely informed her) sock her in the jaw. But the
real way to take a sister down a notch is to do it in
her territory -- not by left hook, but by brain. Take a
few risks and level her! And, heck, why'd I want to hit
my sister?
The board game was our battlefield. Watching her armies
mass on my borders, I'd fortify and hit her from
behind. Here are a few pretty good strategies:
The road to victory almost always starts in the
Southern Hemisphere. Take Australia and pile your power
in Siam. Or conquer South America and fortify its two
gateways.
Leave Asia alone until you have enough troops to do
real damage. One large attack is better than several
medium sized probes.
It's no use conquering a continent you can't hold.
We'd set up in Claire's room and yell battle threats
until Mom would call up to hush us.
Of course, Risk is better with more players. Another
player cripples the defense of a country you covet and
you then sweep in to claim it. You can form alliances,
spoken or unspoken. It's somewhat safer to be weak,
even, when people gang up on the leader.
We'd recruit the McCarthy kids, Dorrie and Dennis.
Dorrie was in Claire's class and Dennis was a year
older. Being fifteen and having an acquaintance
(brother of sister's friend, actually, but we were
friends, too) with wheels was fairly cool. The
McCarthy's lived just two houses down and our families
did lots together. Both dads worked at the Ford plant
and both moms drank coffee.
It's hard to be to social friends with a girl a year
older, but Dorrie and I were at least good neighbors.
We'd talk when she'd come over to hang out with Claire.
I might even tag along with the two if they ventured
where a little brother (who was as big, but that didn't
count) wouldn't diminish their status. I couldn't go
with them to the drugstore, but could come along to
pick apples.
Sometimes when the Cronan-McCarthy's played Risk,
Dorrie and I would battle for the North American, South
American, African half of the world while Claire and
Dennis would vie for Europe, Asia and Australia. The
winners would face off globally. But if Dorrie and I
were thinking, one of us would swarm Europe from
Iceland or North Africa while the other crossed the
Bering Sea into Kamchatka. Bye, bye, big sister and
brother!
Actually, I always wanted to team up with Dorrie. I
knew every bra she owned by its back. (Boys of my age
find such things risqué, anyway.) Plus I'd seen down
her neck enough times to know most by their fronts. One
reason that I liked to play Risk with her was how much
she'd lean over.
Fifteen-year-olds can get very horny about an older
girl, especially one who plays you like a piano.
PIANO
If Dorrie came over and Claire was still in the
bathroom, she might kill time with me in the living
room. My teacher had me working on "Duets from the
Fabulous 50's", lame arrangements, but "Just Walkin' in
the Rain" beat playing another sonata. Dorrie was the
better pianist and we could rock if we both knew the
tune.
Kids, of course, like to complicate things. Rather than
Dorrie's two hands on the upper register and mine on
the lower, how duets are arranged, we'd try it with
alternate hands: my left pounding the bass notes, her
left catching the next span, my right going for the
lower high notes, and her right doing the musical fluff
at the top. Mistakes made it all the more fun.
The serendipitous part for a guy came in running my
right hand up the keyboard while Dorrie's left ran
downward. By the time I was an octave above Middle C
and she was an octave below, I'd be against her chest,
not only touching, but bouncing her tit with the
sixteenth notes. Her breast reminded me of a half-
apple.
The first time, I assumed that we'd promptly rearrange
our parts or at least I'd have to make my right arm go
over, not under, hers. Less propensity for titillation.
But as it was only the edge of my arm perhaps, she let
it go. She knew what was happening, though, how I'd
cock my elbow to best advantage. Probably me being just
her girlfriend's little brother helped out. I was safe.
Lots of guys would chicken out, her being older. But
not me. If I weren't good, she not have let me do it to
her.
If Mom came in the room, Dorrie would disengage. If it
were just my sister, however, Dorrie would have us do
the refrain again until I could see my boner, but
couldn't cross my legs. I'm sure she noticed. If I gave
Dorrie a good finale, both girls would be grinning.
She'd bet that I couldn't play a refrain by memory. To
test me, she'd stand behind the bench and cover my
eyes, my hair touching her chest. Or she'd have us try
duets, me doing the bottom and top, her doing the
middle hands. She'd sit on my lap where I could hardly
see the score. I hoped her butt couldn't tell,
especially when she'd be on me dead center. Claire
would kibitz that we still didn't have it right.
MADAGASCAR
I didn't even know that Claire and Dennis were dating.
He was just a neighbor and she was just my sister. The
fact that he'd pick her up in his jalopy didn't seem
significant. But looking down from my window one
evening and watching them kiss told me otherwise.
It was evidence on her that I might need to nullify
evidence she might have on me. For example, let's
suppose something like that she knew I jacked off.
Actually, why suppose? She just seemed to know what I
was doing in my bed and, loud as could be, once called
through my door, "Hey, James, Madagascar's always fun."
I froze, cock straight out, and forgot to catch the
mess in my sock. Why Madagascar? I don't know, but
maybe because in Risk it sort of looks like my you-
know-what.
When we resumed our Risk contest the next night after
homework, Claire threw endless cavalry at my hardly-
defended African island. It made no sense strategically
until she triumphed, "Surrender, Madagascar," when it
fell.
She didn't say anything more through my door, but when
I thought of her saying it, I'd shoot my sheet too
often. It being Claire's job to start the laundry,
she'd check. I knew it. So then I'd look at my sheet
and wonder what she'd think and need to do it again.
I don't know what she told her friend, but next time we
played four-way, Dorrie said the same "Surrender,
Madagascar" to me and they laughed. Dorrie and I were
even working together, more or less, except for her
sally. What made it not a total loss was that in doing
so, she'd leaned over Africa enough times that I'd seen
both sides of her bra. "Surrender, Western United
States and Eastern United States," I'd wanted to
respond.
I'd got somewhat adept at hearing Dennis drop off
Claire after a school dance, or whatever. I never went
to those things. If I got to my window in time, I'd
catch their goodnight before hearing Claire thump up
the stairs. I guess she thumped to tell the folks that
she was home within the allotted time.
It's not that I could see a lot when they said
goodnight. Being her brother, I'm not sure that I
wanted to, though of course I tried. It made sense that
they'd like to kiss. I was a little more surprised that
she let him feel her up, but I'd doubt that he was
getting in her sweater. I'd seen the white of her bra.
Getting her bra off or reaching up her skirt didn't
seem like what a neighbor would be doing, though.
But then one Saturday, not three minutes after thumping
up, Claire tapped on my door.
"James?" just a whisper
"I'm sleeping."
"It's me," again hardly audible.
I secured my PJ fly and let her in.
"Here's the plan," as if I'd agreed to something.
"Follow me and hook the latch behind me, in case Dad
checks. Then at 1:30, come down again and undo it."
I looked at her, little-brother blankly. Whatever for?
"You can stay awake that long, right?" she asked, as if
my hesitation related to needing my sleep.
"What for?" I verbalized.
She looked at me and grinned. "For the rest of my date,
dummy!"
I must have still looked dumb.
"I'm sixteen," she justified. Then my sister did the
most surprising thing. She pooched and nailed me with a
kiss, not just a regular sister peck, but a smooch that
ended with an extra tongue in my mouth.
"Hey, don't," I objected, but didn't reject her proof
of being sixteen.
"Like it?" registering my compliance. "Well you just
make sure for shit the door's unlocked at 1:30." She
thought a minute. "It's kinda like in Risk how you
don't defend borders with your ally. Want another kiss
for good luck?"
I guess I did like it.
"Do me a Madagascar and tell me tomorrow," she giggled,
after Frenching me for practice.
Anyway, I did take care of the door and heard neither
Dennis' car nor Claire on the stairs. Fortunately she
never asked if I did a Madagascar for her. Maybe that's
why I didn't hear anything.
*****
After that Saturday, I more-or-less was door boy.
Sometimes I'd masturbate, just thinking about her and
Dennis. I had no idea how far they were going, but it
was far enough to make risk-taking worthwhile.
Sometimes Claire would give me one of her kisses, not
as practice, but just because she was in a good mood.
My tongue in her mouth seemed to make her mood even
better. For never having made out, I was pretty good,
she agreed. She didn't seem to mind if her breast would
touch me. I liked that part especially.
Not long thereafter, we were playing two-person Risk on
her floor, her artillery in the process of rolling over
the scant defense of my Asian overextension. "You're
cool, James," as Afghanistan fell.
"So at least leave me Africa," I suggested, knowing she
disliked ending games too quickly. Staged decimation in
stages was her preference.
"You keep it," she agreed, ending her attack with the
Middle East. "Phoobah of Madagascar," she proclaimed,
then dropping her voice to a whisper, "You knows about
me; me knows about you."
She was sitting like Dorrie would, neckline showing
what I knew to be an A cup from her underwear drawer.
Her bras and Dorrie's, I knew them all. I even knew
that they'd traded one time.
I must have looked too innocent, a look I was prone to
affect if I feared that guilt might broadcast on my
forehead like an RCA. This was her bra with the lace
trim, the one that she wore to the Autumn Skies Dance
in the gym.
"Good ol' Madagascar," she giggled, calling my bluff
and diving over the game board to topple me backwards.
The game description does mention, "making decisions
quickly and moving boldly."
"The pieces," I objected, forgetting bosom infatuation
and unsuccessfully trying to stay on my elbows. "We'll
never..."
I hadn't time to finish. Her tongue was already in my
mouth and her breasts were pressing my chest. "Come on,
Jamsie, let's go. You know how."
I struggled to get her off, but once she teased my
mouth open, she'd all but conquered. If I'd rolled her
over, a reverse we'd call it in wrestling, I'd have had
to decide what to do. Maybe kiss her until she said
uncle. I let her pin me.
"Madagascar!" she triumphed, still on top, attacking my
tongue until my boner was firm against her pedal
pushers. She knew exactly what she was doing with her
leg. And like the Phoobah of Madagascar, I let her.
Realizing that I was no longer pushing her off, "Wow!"
she whispered, her voice secreted in the clamor of
combatant lust. It didn't occur to me that such might
be a claim of victory. If she felt "Wow" about me, why
fight it? I felt rather "Wow!" myself, pushing up,
liking how she pushed down to help.
Her on me, we lay together, kissing so we didn't have
to talk while we rubbed legs.
The next morning, "Wow!" she whispered in front of the
bathroom. Then she reverted to big sister. "How'd
Madagascaring go afterwards, Jamsie?"
She deserved the left hook I'd warned her about, but
she pre-empted me with a kiss too quickly. Both breasts
as well and she was still in her pajamas.
RISK FOR FOUR
It was the middle of the week when the McCarthy two
came over. We'd convinced our respective parents that
we'd completed our schoolwork, so they could stay till
9:30. Dennis had the A&W and Claire had the popcorn
when the four of us repaired to Claire's floor, Risk's
established venue.
Being junior, life's fate, I had to set up the board
and distribute thirty infantry to each player. But, ha!
I won the die, selected red and put an army in Western
Australia. After we claimed our dominions, I shuffled,
let Claire cut and took first draw.
World dominion, here we come! Knowing that I'd have
first move, Dorrie without hesitation gave Eastern
Australia just a token army. I picked off New Guinea
from Dennis. As Dorrie had next play, she came south
from Siam and expelled Claire (ha! ha!) from Indonesia.
When Dorrie left her acquisition minimally defended,
certain to my capture (and thus a continental bonus
next round), the others called foul. "You can't
alliance before there's a reason," argued my sister,
ineffectually dribbled across the Northern Hemisphere.
"There's already a reason," argued my benefactor. "We
play piano duets."
Claire gave Dorrie her you'd-even-shoot-your-best-
friend look, but then laughed. "Partners to the final
stanza, right?"
Dorrie looked my way, "Right?"
I nodded as if we'd signed a nonbinding treaty.
"Well then," judged my sister, "me and Dennis have to
stick together. Right, Dennis?"
"Right."
"Really close together," Claire clarified, sliding
beside him, and then, when he patted his knee, into his
lap. "Go shut the door, Jamsie," my sister's
afterthought.
The rules say how you rotate turns, not how you sit.
Not who takes care of the door.
"So General Dennis, Sir," my sister's banter. "We're
doomed for Madagascar?"
Dennis looked at the board, trying to see the logic,
the two girls already laughing far too much for
tactical analysis. The "Madagascar" only confused me
for a moment and then I suppose I turned red.
"Well if you want to concede the rest, we'll leave you
that place," agreed Dorrie. "Maybe while you get
yourself fortified, James and I should go play duets?
We can play some different ones, even."
"No, stay here," Dennis interrupted. "Their folks would
wonder why we didn't come down too."
"And play Risk with us?" asked Claire, locking Dennis'
hands around her stomach.
"And play risky," ruled Dorrie, running her fingers
over an imaginary keyboard. The musical figment of her
imagination wasn't that far above my folded leg.
"Riskmaninoff's between the Urals and Siberia, but it's
hard to see on the board," tracing where she'd situate
the country. "That's our capital," now playing my knee.
I didn't know what to do when Dorrie hopped into my
lap, but had a reprieve when Claire told me to push the
rug against the crack under the door. "Unnecessary
risk," she clarified. "Mom and Dad aren't totally
deaf."
I fixed the rug, just in case for whatever.
Claire wasted no time in leaning back into Dennis. "So
everybody's already felt everybody's boobs before," she
declared, like this was some sort of camp stunt.
My sister said, "boobs"? Everybody? I presumed she
meant hers and Dorrie's. I guess I'd bumped them
messing around, but wasn't sure that counted. As nobody
contradicted her, though, I guess it did. I knew that
Dennis had done Claire's in the car. In fact, he was
all but doing her right in front of us, just not over
the points. I had no idea about him and his own sister,
but supposed they'd wrestled around like siblings tend
to do.
"Everybody's already felt everybody's hard-ons too,"
Claire declared.
Shit! Nobody had ever felt mine, unless you count
Claire's leg when she tackled me or if Dorrie could
feel when we'd played duets. But it wasn't as if they
really felt anything. Dennis was grinning a bit
sheepishly. Was Claire saying this because she was
sitting on his? Dorrie feeling Dennis'? I'd have said
absolutely not, except when I thought of them
wrestling.
Shit! I'd never even heard a girl mention hard-ons. It
was more of a boy's brag on camping trips.
Claire was just warming up with her declarations. I'd
had a big sister too long not to anticipate her setting
the tone. "And everybody's seen everybody's bra." Like
the hard-ons, this one again seemed gender specific.
I'd seen her bra a thousand times, but that hardly
counted. What did count, I realized, was seeing hers
and Dorrie's when we played Risk.
Claire looked at her friend who first looked away and
then looked back blushing. "OK, then," ruled big
sister, "brassieres ho!"
Unwrapping Dennis from her torso, she pulled off her
sweatshirt, revealing her cotton cones.
Dorrie on my own lap did the same. Looking over her
shoulder, I could the see the valley of her rib cage,
the fabric stretched above. It's really different to
see two halves in open air than it is to just glimpse
part of one under something.
Claire hushed when we heard could be steps on the
stairs, but it was just Mom hanging a coat by the
bottom landing.
Claire must have concurred with my assessment. "Shirts
off," to Dennis and me, puffing her chest to look
stacked. Dennis right away pulled his polo shirt off
and Claire seemed rather pleased with his acquiescence.
He was, after all, older and a guy.
When I didn't follow suit, Dorrie turned enough to grab
my Cubs tee shirt at the waist. I guess I didn't have
to let her, but interdiction would have looked babyish.
Raising my arms, I was topless.
She smiled at me and settled back, my arms wrapped
around her bottom ribs. I didn't want to do anything
wrong, but really didn't have to do much to feel how
pliant she was.
With just her strap, we had lots of skin touching.
Seeing what I was seeing, being part of it, gave me one
big erection.
And Dorrie wiggled her butt to make it bigger. So I
poked the underside of her bra to get even and we both
giggled.
"Hey!" Claire noticing our altercation. "You two want a
little privacy, a blanket or something?"
"We're not doing anything," lied Dorrie for form's
sake.
"Good," decided Claire, "'Cause you can't play Risk
under a blanket." She turned to look over her shoulder.
"So Dennis, who's better, us or them?"
"No contest," Dennis smirked. He was definitely on her
pointed parts.
Claire turned back our way, "Race to conquer the world,
you weaklings?"
I wasn't sure how to read her, but Dorrie sat up. "Are
you serious? You know good and well that..." Her
thought trailed off.
"Oh, come on, Dorrie!" Clair answered whatever was
unspoken. "We're not going to with you two here. Nobody
said take your pants off."
Pants? Claire and I had on Levis. Dennis had cords and
Dorrie was wearing shorts. Sure, the four of us were
fooling around, but it wasn't like we were really doing
anything dangerous.
"Honest, girl," added my sister, obviously trying to
retain her agenda. "James is really speedy sometimes.
Thinking about you."
Whatever innuendo was intended wasn't lost to Dorrie.
"Really, Jamsie? About me?" she asked in her best purr.
Claire's grin at her friend's co-conspiracy was to her
ears.
Are they talking about masturbating, I wondered? It's
none of their business!
"So wanna race us," my sibling pursued.
"No," Dorrie and I answered together, she adding,
"We're not practiced."
"Watch how then," retorted Claire, sliding off Dennis
and flopping on her back, hands behind her head. "Come
on, Dennis, show them. No, first James gets me my
pillow."
Dennis didn't look our way as he spread himself to
blanket his partner. I could tell he was confident,
though. You'd have to be confident to lay bare-chested
on top of a girl in a bra.
Dorrie and I watched them kiss, tonguing being a major
component. Claire's skill, while animated, wasn't
anything that I couldn't have followed up on. She
already let me practice, though I presumed Dennis
didn't know.
Actually, it seemed pretty natural when Dorrie pulled
my hand up to hold her front. I guess I was a little
surprised to feel her nipples, hard within, but I tried
to act like it was regular.
Clair turned her head enough to confirm our attention,
flash us a smile, and return to Dennis. Originally he'd
had his legs around hers, but in their gyrations, he
was now between her knees.
I forgot about Dorrie's breasts and maybe she forgot
about my hand. They weren't going to fuck, were they?
The other two clearly knew how to work together, Dennis
now sliding up and down between my sister's legs, my
sister pushing up vertically to meet his horizontal
thrust. They both looked determined. I was glad for
their sake I'd sealed under the door, as the
physicality of their rubbing was regular and audible. I
wondered if they'd go faster with their pants off, but
maybe not.
Dorrie and I made not a peep. It was almost like I was
holding Dorrie to me to protect her. In any case, I
could feel her heart. My erection absolutely wedged
into Dorrie's shorts, but neither of us was trying to
emulate our siblings' friction. I'd have come if she
had.
In not more than a minute, it was over, Dennis red-
faced, but seemingly at ease, Claire moaning just
enough for us to hear her climax. I suspected she
vocalized it for our edification. She then lay still
under Dennis.
I'd seen guys come at Scout Camp, won a few contests
myself, actually. But I'd never watched a female, much
less my sister. It sort of looked the same -- lots of
facial tension followed by total nothing. It didn't
occur to me to wonder what part of Claire worked like
the underside of my cock.
I knew the term for what they'd done. I'd seen a dry
hump. Witnessing something so sexual is emotionally
draining on you, too.
Claire lazed us a look, satiated to be sure, but a look
that also conveyed, so that's-how, boys and girls.
Only two had risked it, but all four of us were
partners. Claire looked down to see if her bra was
still proper. It somehow was. "That's the quick
version," she volunteered. "The real contest is to make
it last the longest."
Dennis mumbled something I couldn't understand.
Dorrie settled back and pushed my hand up into her bra.
Her nipple was like a little grape. When I pushed out
the fabric with the back of my hand, I could see down.
It was pink. Dorrie must have wanted to show her friend
that she didn't need instruction in everything.
And I'd just come to play Risk.
We actually finished the board game to the point of
Dorrie and me purging the globe of lesser empires. When
their doom irrefutable, Claire and Dennis just made
suicidal marches to deprive us the joy of smashing
their defenses.
Claire had regained her position in Dennis' lap and was
letting inside him her bra too. She wouldn't let him
push it off where I could see, though. I figured it was
because I was her brother.
Dorrie and I decided to call our own showdown a draw.
The board was half her color, half mine.
RISK FOR TWO
It was a little awkward seeing Claire around the house.
She'd told the other two that I masturbated. Worse,
she'd said it to Dorrie where I could hear, so now I
knew that Dorrie knew that I knew that she knew that I
did it. Knowing that Dorrie knew I was doing it made me
want to jack off again. That was one thing.
I'd seen Claire make out all the way to climax. That
was a different sort of thing -- the sort of thing not
my fault that makes me masturbate. So maybe it wasn't
that different from the first thing. Knowing that
Claire showed me made me do it even more. It sounds
confusing, but when you're on your back, it all flows
together.
Fortunately, Claire didn't hassle me, and actually, to
my surprise, volunteered to explain a way to remember
the quadratic formula for math.
I'd see Dorrie just in passing at school, and it would
just be, "Hi."
It was days later when Claire flagged me into her room.
Risk was already set up. "Ready to risk getting
creamed, weakling?" shutting the door. Nothing
different from our standard blustering. Or so I thought
at the time. But maybe I should have caught the,
"creamed".
We traded a few countries not worth defending before we
began to mass forces on the battle-lines. I was going
to end up the stronger.
"Cheater!" Claire accused. "You can't roll three dice
with just three armies!"
Without waiting for my explanation (I'd had four, but
one was standing near another border.) she jumped me,
just like before, once more messing up the board.
"I had four," but by then she was on top, laughing,
"Double date practice, sucker!"
Once I was down, her intent was manifest. "Come on,
Jamsie. Kissie?" She'd figured me out from before and I
pretty much knew how her tongue would find mine. I
didn't counterattack any more than to make it obvious
that it was all her doing. If I squeezed her breast a
little, it was her fault.
But as Claire-flippant as was her "Kissie?" prelude,
behind it I recognized stone-faced want. Part of it, of
course, was pure-and-simple sexuality I knew from
before that she liked to orgasm. The other part,
though, was something about me. She wanted to see me
capitulate, to ally, to climax with her.
I wasalready hard when she straddled me, grinding me
the way that Dennis had ground her on the same floor.
If I could have broken away from her mouth, I'd have
made her stop. But she had the back of my head cradled
with her hand. And actually, by the time I was enough
together to know that's what I should have done, I knew
that she'd make me come. Had I not seen her climax
before, I'd not have realized the outcome so far in
advance. Realization, though, made it destined. She
knew the instant that I started to cooperate.
"Let me be on top," she asked, and I think it was a
request, not demand, what I'd normally expect of her.
"We'll do it really nice."
In case of a tie in the board game, the defender wins.
As the defender now, I'd settle for less than a draw.
Don't risk messing up an orgasm.
I let my sister hump me so very slowly for the longest
time, not at all like the frenetic shoving I'd seen
with Dennis. Maybe the way she'd showed me her bra told
me she knew what I'd like, when to back off so I'd not
fire, but at the same time, when to attack so I'd
resist. I suppose that she was measuring her own
instincts the same way. In any case, when I did come in
my pants, I was tingling.
When she followed suit, she puffed little puffs of air
on my neck.
"Don't tell the other two," ending it not romantically,
but then, I was just her brother. "And just so you'll
know I'm listening, I can always hear you through the
wall when you jerk off."
Before, I'd have seen her revelation as another way of
getting one up on me, letting me know who's the older.
But having just shared orgasms, it didn't seem an
affront; it seemed like something that I didn't mind
her knowing.
"Think of me listening, doing it quieter than you, and
it will be more fun," she added as afterthought.
In getting the game board picked up, I saw how she'd
blocked the door bottom with her rug.
RISK THEREAFTER
Like the game's advertisement says, "Just when the
world is within your grasp, your opponent might strike
and take it all away!" But Claire didn't take anything
away.
So did the two of us become lovers? Carnal sex on her
floor, then on her mattress? Sibling besting fanned by
the thought that Mom might hear.
No we didn't. Coming in our pants was right for us. I
didn't get in her panties and she didn't get hand
around my boner.
Sometimes, though, in my own bed I'd hear the faintest
of taps on the wall. Semaphored signals telling me to
tease myself harder. Maybe sisters just know stuff.
Claire might as well have had her fingers around me and
done the stroking.
Her tap-tap-tap just consolidated her hold on Africa,
so to speak, me paroled from captivity in Madagascar
when we played four-player Risk. The rulebook never
says you can't rule the world sweetly.
I always see Clair's breasts and usually her pubic
hair, reddish like mine, while Dennis fucks her. I'm
busy fucking Dorrie, though Dorrie knows I'm looking at
my sister too. I'm really good at fucking.
We try to slide the game board aside so as not to lose
track of our countries while we fuck. Should Mom or Dad
ever come upstairs, we'd have had the board in place,
though maybe not our underwear.
Dennis and I don't talk about sex, probably because I'm
younger and he has friends his own age. We just do it
to our girlfriends in the same room.
I expect that Dorrie and Claire keep each other
informed, though. Since Dorrie and I don't actually
date or anything, it's really rare that we're alone,
other than sometimes at the piano.
The reason that I think that the two might talk is that
on a day after Claire taps on the wall, Dorrie will
goose me while I'm trying to get the bass line. "So
what'd you think of last night, Madagascar boy? Our
duets?" I'll keep working on the bottom notes as long
as her left hand takes her. If Mom rustles in, of
course, I'm left aching. In Claire comes in, she sits
on the sofa or even stands behind me, probably hoping
that I'll make a big wet spot. One more thing she'd
have on me. I guess I'm just wondering how much
evidence she wants.
Duets? Not really, other than as hyperbole, a term I
learned in English.
No, what I think about is playing Risk. The girls are
almost always side-by-side, close enough to hold hands.
Claire always turns her head our way. My sister watches
my boner more than Dennis' some times. If I'm kneeling
between Dorrie's knees still, it really sticks out
Even if they're not holding hands, the girls usually
come at the same time.
Someday when where playing a two-person game on her
floor, she'll start to capture me and I'll say no at
first. It's too risky.
But you know what? In Madagascar they still speak
French. What's "risky" to us is "risqué" to them.
Parker Brothers bought the game from a Frenchman in
1957.
I'll need to push the rug against the door, since I'm
the younger.
A GUIDE FOR READING GROUPS
Hi! Cindi here. Holly has sent James to earn the ways
of the world with Dorrie, the neighbor girl that guys
wish they'd had. Sorry, fellas, those were the good ol'
days.
It is very current for women to discuss readings
relevant to our lives and unrealized potential. The
gatherings are typically designated as "Women's
Circles", dispelling any suggestion of hierarchy.
Generally the works discussed are recommended by Oprah
or are in the vein of "The Red Tent". If "Risky and
Risqué" should be so utilized, the following may
promote discussion.
(1) Should we associate risk with sexual activities
other than those involving transmission of bodily
fluids? Is the concept of risk not a product of linear
thinking, perceived dominion over nature, litigation?
(2) Chart you own Life Line (, indicating risks you've
overcome. Rank them from 1 (minor inconvenience if
unthwarted) to 10 (pregnancy stretch-marks or sagging
breasts).
(3) Was Clair's tapping intentional or was it perhaps
her headboard? Do we as women have the right to self-
actualize?
(4) Envision a risk you'd like to explore to enhance
your self-esteem. Role-play asking a woman to help you.
(5) The game of Risk's designer was Albert Lamorisse,
director of "The Red Balloon". What do you think
ultimately happened to that little French boy in that
Academy Award classic?
(6) In "Risky and Risqué", James takes risks. Without
angst, he risks friendship with his sister's girlfriend
for the lure of sex. Boys! Rarely would they do that,
right? List other risks he may have taken. List ten
males whose judgment appears to be driven by their
penises. Start with Justin Timberlake.
(7) In the story, Claire takes risks. Had her parents
wandered upstairs, holy shit! Why did Claire risk
goading her brother? Some brothers you'd not tackle and
French kiss. Should she have told her friend that her
brother jacks off? OK, Girls! List other risks she may
have taken. List two females whose judgment appears to
be driven by their breasts. Start with Britney Spears.
(8) The author leaves unconsummated the relationship
between James and Claire. Do you think they should do
it? If so, how might this affect their sibling bond.
How might agreements worked out in advance minimize
their risks?
(9) Draw upon your own creativity to write a chapter
in which Claire is impregnated by her brother. Discuss
the pros and cons.
(10) Isn't risk what erotica's usually about? Sex
without risk is biology. That's not so say that erotica
has to be exotica. Even legitimate sexual union can
hold our attention if characters put themselves on the
line. Discuss exotica.
(11) Why did the "Writers' Forum" paragraph leading to
this story stick, unlike most of Holly's dream world?
Because doing it on the floor's so imaginative? Or does
it draw the reader to sense some of the risk herself?
James' tale isn't about high-voltage risk taking; it's
about a kid's getting older, the riskiest thing we do.
Share thoughts that occurred your first time.
(12) Authors of erotic fiction tend to live dual
lives, hot and seductive with their pen, risk-aversive
and mousy with their bodies. They tend to wear full
slips. List one such author. If unsure, visit Holly
Rennick's web page and then try to Google our
workplace, Compton Springs Middle School. Why does she
lie?
HOLLY ON THE WEB
Wherever you found this story on the web, thank you to
the server. My problem is that I've no systematic way
to update the various servers. As literary errors (or
just poor word usages) are made known to me, I'll
repair that which is salvageable on
http://www.asstr.org/~Holly_Rennick/. My website's not
much graphically, I admit, but HTML isn't my native
language.
You can contact me via the site's message form, that
HTML code by the smart people at ASSTR.
I won't be changing the story significantly, so if you
didn't like it before, that much will remain the same.
But if you did like it, an update may read a bit more
cleanly.
Holly
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 28