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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: vac.txt
Authors name: Marcia R. Hooper (marciar26@aol.com)
Story title : Vacation Planning
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Copyright 2004. As the author, I claim all rights under
international copyright laws. This work is not intended
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Vacation Planning
by Marcia R. Hooper (marciar26@aol.com)
***
Cloe and her Brother Kevin formulate their own plans
for each other, while mom and dad plan out their next
vacation. Something tells me that Cloe's mom would not
approve were she to know what those plans were -- or
Cloe's boyfriend, either. (MF-teens, inc, 1st)
***
This is a work of fiction and is not meant to portray
any person living or dead, nor any known situation.
This story contains themes of incest and sexual
domination. It is meant for adults only and is not to
be read by person’s under the age of 18, or the legal
age in the county/state/country in which the reader
resides.
VACATION PLANNING
by Marcia R. Hooper
(marciar26@aol.com)
I have trainee breasts. That's what my brother calls
them. They are very small, and they stopped growing
when I was thirteen years old. The rest of me is
eighteen years old now, but my breasts are still in the
seventh grade.
My aureole (I looked it up in the dictionary, so I know
it's spelled correctly) are pink and kind of puckerish
and only about the size of a quarter. My friend Tami
Stanton has breasts so much bigger than mine that I
can't stand to look at them bare; her aureole are big
and dark brown and the size of silver dollars. She
wears a size 38D brassiere while I barely fill a 32AA.
When I was eleven years old and my breasts first began
to grow, I was so happy. My mom has big breasts and so
do both my aunts. On my father's side, the breasts
aren't quite so big, but at least they are there. Based
on this I expected something nice for myself. Needless
to say, I wasn't just disappointed, but heartbroken.
When I first started wearing a bra, Kevin would play
his fingers along the edges of it and along the strap
where it crossed my back, and a lot of the time he
would undo the snap right through my shirt. I would
whine at him and tell him, Come on, Kevin, don't do
that! but that did as much good as complaining about it
to my mom.
"Oh, come on," she would cluck at me. "He's only
teasing you, Cloe."
"Yeah, Mom!" I would say right back to her. "That's the
whole point!"
My real name is Cloe-Marie, one word, hyphenated, but
everyone calls me Clo, except my mom, who calls me Cloe
when I'm good and Cloe-Marie when I'm bad. I hate Cloe-
Marie. It was my grandmother's name.
Anyway, the teasing doesn't bother me now as much as it
did then. I got used to it. In fact, there's a certain
joy in not having every guy you see stare at your
chest. And besides, I've discovered that there are a
lot of guys who like girls with small breasts; they
consider it erotic or something, like being with a
thirteen year old girl. Guys are such perverts.
Kevin is a pervert, but he's also my brother. We were
born sixteen minutes apart and I'm his younger sister
by that quarter hour. His younger, brat sister. But the
truth is, I think I would much rather be a younger
sister than an older one. I need someone to look up to.
In the last two weeks, Kevin's teasing has developed
into touching. Because I love him so much, I didn't
quite know what to do about it.
"If you don't like it, Clo," he told me just this
afternoon, "tell me to stop."
"Like it would do any good?" I complained.
My uniform shirt was unbuttoned and free of the waist
band of my skirt. He had my bra undone and I was
holding it up for him. My nipples were erect from him
playing with them with his fingertips. I was
embarrassed and antsy.
He stuck his hands into his lap and said peevishly:
"I'll stop as soon as you tell me to stop. You know
that. I've told you that before. I stopped last week,
didn't I?"
You shouldn't have been doing it in the first place! is
what I should have said to him, but I didn't. I liked
what he was doing to me. Giving him too much shit might
make him stop. And since we weren't in any real danger
of getting caught by mom, I wasn't gonna do that.
"Didn't I?" he repeated.
I let out a slow, "Yessss, I guess so," and sighed.
"Then give me a break, okay?"
"Okay. But just don't make them hurt, all right? It's
not like they're used to being played with, Kevin."
"They're not?" he said, grinning slyly as he began
fingering them again.
"No, they're not," I lay back, feeling my face grow hot
with embarrassment.
He laughed and said: "You are one strange girly-girl,
Clo."
"You're calling ME strange?" I demanded. "I'm not
playing with your nipples," I pointed out. "I don't
make you play with my penis," I told him, even though I
don't have one to play with.
He laughed again and actually began to blush. "Cut it
out," he said. "That was only once."
"Once was enough, Kevin. It spurted out all over me,
remember?"
"Clo!"
"Well it did!" I protested.
The truth was, the hot sticky fluid spurting out on my
wrist wasn't as gross as I had made it out to be. I was
more concerned about the part that got on my shirt
sleeve and on the front of my blouse than I was about
my wrist. And if you really want to know, I wanted to
taste it too... but of course, I didn't.
He stopped playing with my nipples and sat with his
hands in his lap. I sat with my bra held up and my
nipples shrinking back to their normal size.
"I could take it off for you if you want me to," I
offered. I had never offered to before, but Mom
wouldn't be home until six o'clock and Dad not until
after eight. It was only four-fifteen.
"What?" he said, wide-eyed.
"Never mind," I muttered, reaching behind me to snap
myself back together again. "I shouldn't have said
that."
"No, wait!" he said hurriedly. "Don't do that!"
I let go of my straps and put my hands in my lap. I was
covered up, but not by much. My bra just sort of hung
there in front of my breasts. I was breathing harder
now and my heart was skipping along inside my chest.
Kevin was breathing through his mouth and doing it
kinda loudly. He had done that the day I had stroked
him onto my wrist.
"Do you want me to take it off?" I asked him.
"Yes," he said softly. The look into his eyes and the
way he kept staring at my brassiere made me feel
awfully strange. I slipped my blouse back over my
shoulders and lay it beside me on the couch. Then I
slipped the bra straps off of my shoulders one at a
time, kinda slow and sexy like, although I was more
scared than feeling sexy. Some weird muscle cramp was
clamping my knees together and my legs were beginning
to tremble. Gooseflesh popped out all over my upper
body. It made me shiver.
"You okay?" he asked, kind of in awe.
"Uh-huh." But I was anything but okay. My eardrums were
ringing and I felt cold and tingly hot at the same
time. I put the bra into my lap and clutched it there.
My nipples were so hard they hurt.
"You're sure you're okay?" he asked again.
"I'm sure," I answered.
"You're all trembly," he said, looking at my gooseflesh
and at my aching little nipples.
"I know," I said. "Just hurry up, okay?"
He blinked. "Hurry up and what?"
"I don't know," I whined, scrunching up my shoulders in
embarrassment. "Whatever you're gonna do, okay?"
That's when he took me by the shoulders and twisted me
sideways and lay me down on the cushions. He took my
bra out of my hands and dropped it on the floor. With
nothing left to do, my hands just sort of fluttered
there at my sides. When he crawled on top of me, they
touched him on the back, then fluttered some more. Like
me, they were very confused. Then he bent down over me
and put his mouth over my right nipple and I stopped
breathing.
* * *
"Mom?" I said. "Can I have one of dad's beers?"
It was nine-thirty and I was half-watching CSI, and
half-doing my homework. I loved CSI. Well, I loved
Warrick Dunne.
"No," she said absentmindedly, then, "Yes, but drink it
in the kitchen."
"Mom!"
"Don't argue with me, young lady. Take it or leave it."
I got up grumbling, stuck my tongue out her when she
couldn't see me anymore, then went upstairs to the
kitchen. Dad was there.
"Hi, Daddy," I said, feeling incredibly guilty and sure
I was showing it. But Dad just looked worn out and out
of it like he always does on weekday nights. He mussed
my hair like I was still thirteen and told me hello.
"You been a good girl today?" he asked, his head stuck
in the refrigerator.
"Uh-huh."
"How about school?" He had the package of Louis Rich
turkey bologna in one hand, and two slices of cheese
and the mayonnaise in the other. I got him the bread
out of the bread box.
"Okay," I said. "The usual stuff."
"Still gonna ace math this semester, Clo?"
"Of course!" I said.
"Need it for college," he said.
"Uh-huh."
I got a Heineken out the six-pack box and twisted off
the cap. "Is it okay if I drinks this upstairs?" I
asked.
"Only if your mother told you not to," he joked.
"She did," I told him truthfully.
"Okay, but don't get caught."
"Thanks, Daddy." I took another Heineken from the box
and told him; "I'll take Kevin up one too."
"He'd like that," he said distractedly. "You and your
brother getting along better these days?"
"Some," I said. "But mostly he's still a jerk."
"All brothers are jerks," he said with his back to me.
"That's why they're brothers."
Whatever that means, I thought. I left the kitchen and
went upstairs.
In the hallway outside his door, I stood for quite a
while, too chicken to knock. My heart was skipping
along inside my chest, and my breathing was getting
ragged. I turned away three times, then finally tapped
on his door.
"What?" he asked grumpily.
"It's me. I've got something for you."
There was a long pause, not as long as I'd spent
standing at his door, but long enough to make me want
to walk away again. Then I heard him get off his bed
and walk across the room. His door opened one inch.
"What?" he demanded.
That was it. I burst into tears and made a beeline for
my bedroom door. I had just gotten to it when he hissed
out after me: "Cloe wait!"
"No!" I wailed back at him and banged open the door. I
was just trying to get the door knob locked when he
pushed the door open and forced me back. I was too
upset to know what else to do so I wailed "No!" at him
again and just stood there crying.
"Shhhhh! Mom and Dad are gonna hear you!"
"I don't care!" I cried out. But it was a very low cry
because, of course, I really did.
He made shooshing motions with both his hands and
mouthed "Be quiet!" and then looked out the door. Then
he closed it for me. And then he grabbed the Heineken
bottle that I threw at him.
"What is the matter with you?" he complained.
"Me?" Ever since we had done what we did on the couch
downstairs, I was worse than a little sister to him; he
was treating me like a leper.
He shooshed me again and I burst into fresh hot tears.
"Why are you treating me like this?" I bawled.
"I'm not treating you like anything!" he came back.
"I know! That's the whole point!"
He came over and put his hands on my shoulders. I tried
to get him off me by twisting and trying to duck away
but he held on tight. I was crying really hard by then
but doing it silently--trying to do it silently--and
was amazed at how real the tears were. My crying fits
are usually more show than real, but this one was not.
I was really crushed.
"All right, all right!" he said. "I'm sorry! Okay?"
As desperate as I was to hear those words, I needed an
explanation more. "Why are you being so mean to me?" I
sobbed.
And then he did something that shut me up and made me
stop my crying.
He kissed me.
* * *
It was an hour and a half later. We were in the
basement together. Mom was upstairs talking to Dad
about summer vacation and Kevin and I were pretending
to watch THE RUNDOWN, with The Rock. What we were
really doing was talking.
"Bobby sees this hickey and I'm dead," I told him
quietly. We both looked back at the stairs at the same
time. This was not as good as being alone in my bedroom
would have been, but a whole lot safer.
He slipped his hand into mine and interlaced our
fingers. I shifted uncomfortably, but didn't let go of
it.
"I got carried away," he said softly. "Sorry."
He got carried away, all right. Right below my left
nipple. It had happened while we were on the couch
upstairs. I rubbed absently at it through my shirt
front and he pushed my hand away.
"Stop that," he said.
"It hurts!"
"You're drawing attention to it, dummy."
"It hurts," I repeated.
"Sorry, okay?"
Maybe he was, but I wasn't. And I wasn't sorry he had
kissed me, either.
After my shock had died away (and I really was
shocked), I had stood up on tiptoe and kissed him back.
I had been kissed before, of course, by my boyfriend
Bobby and by Jamie Kent and Michael Kurtz and David
Segal, and once even by my best girlfriend, Erica Ross,
just to see what it was like, but I had never been
kissed before by my brother. I was grossed out and
turned on at the same time. Then I was just turned on.
"Nuhhummnnnn!" I went after about thirty seconds,
finally tearing myself away. I staggered back four or
five steps, him coming after me two or three. I blinked
in confusion and looked from him to my unlocked bedroom
door, then back again. I gulped really loudly.
My God! I thought. Did I really just do that?
"You okay?" he whispered.
I nodded, then shook my head back and forth, then
nodded again. I was panting through my open mouth. I
was shaking. What if Mom had walked in?
I went right over to my bedroom door and flung it wide
open.
"What are you doing?" he asked incredulously.
"Do you want her to catch us?" I responded, just as
incredulously. He hadn't been alone with me in my
bedroom with the door closed for.... well, maybe never.
So, was there a better way to get caught?
My entire body felt disheveled, my clothes all pulled
loose and twisted around me, like we had been wrestling
on the bed or something. I went to the mirror on the
back of my closet door and straightened myself out.
"Maybe I should go," he said uncertainly.
"No!" I hissed. I was confused and totally freaked out,
but I wasn't that freaked out. I wanted to be with him.
I went over to the bedroom door, looked down the
hallway, then tiptoed out to the stairs. I could hear
Mom and Dad talking, either in the kitchen or in the
dining room. They were saying something about whether
we should fly out to Grandma's house in New Mexico and
then rent a car, or take the van all the way out. I
heard Mom say the word Grand Canyon, and I tiptoed back
to my room.
"They're talking vacation," I said.
"Uh-oh."
Uh-oh was right. Any minute now--any second now--one of
them might call up the stairs for us to come down. Mom
would want to know what I thought of an indoor pool or
an outdoor pool at some motel, where Daddy might asked
Kevin what he thought about seeing whoever might be
fighting in Las Vegas. I figured our best shot was just
to go downstairs ourselves and see if they button-
hooked us. I went first.
"Hi, Mom," I said.
"Cloe, come over here and take a look at this."
I sighed dramatically and clumped over to the dining
room table and took a look. They had a dozen travel
brochures and motel brochures and attraction brochures
spread out on the tablecloth, and Dad's laptop computer
was sitting there. On the screen of the laptop was a
pretty cool view of The Grand Canyon.
Normally I would have gotten excited about that,
because they took us there five years old and I had
really just loved it, especially the Colorado River,
which was so cool with all the white water and the
rafting and all that (not to mention the guys) but I
was too antsy to appreciate it just now.
Patiently, she showed me a map and motel/casinos in Las
Vegas. That should have excited me as well, because
when we in Atlantic City just last month for a weekend,
and I had stayed up all night and partied with my two
best girlfriends, Erica and Tricia, doing things in the
room of a boy we had met there that my boyfriend,
Bobby, would have dropped me over in a second. I still
get giddy and guilty feeling, just thinking about it.
"We're thinking about staying at The Bellagio," she
said. It was a big curvy white hotel with a big
fountain out front that looked really expensive. We had
stayed at Trump Plaza in Atlantic City and that had
been just fine with me. But if the Bellagio had a
casino downstairs and guys my age I could meet when my
parents were downstairs gambling, then that was fine
with me also.
She kept talking and I did a lot of hmm'ing and
yeah'ing and saying things like, Sure, that would be
cool, Mom, and Yeah, I guess that's all right, until
she finally got irritated enough to send me away. I got
halfway over to the basement steps when I suddenly
turned around, went back over to the dining room table
and kissed my mom on the cheek.
"Don't be mad at me," I said. "I'm just not in the mood
right now, okay?"
She looked at me surprised, as well as angry, but the
surprise began winning out. My mom and I don't get
along very well any more and mostly, of course, that's
my fault. But I'm eighteen years old, you know--I'm
supposed to piss off my mom.
Not wanting her to come grab me later on for a second
thought, I hung around for a while and pretended to be
interested in what they had to say. That's why it took
almost an hour and a half before Kevin and I could be
alone together again, downstairs.
I snuggled an inch closer to him and squeezed his hand
in mine. Our fingers were still interlinked and he
looked anxiously back over his shoulder.
I said, "Don't worry, okay? We'll have plenty of
warning if they come downstairs."
He only grunted. When I went to lay my head on his
right shoulder, he bounced it right off again.
"Ow! Kevin!"
"Stop that!" he hissed.
"I told you it's okay!" I complained, rubbing my head.
"They can't hear us or see us down here!"
"I don't care!" he said.
His face was sulky-looking and he had his bottom lip
stuck out, so of course, I took it the wrong way.
"No!" he said, grabbing back my hand. "I didn't mean it
like that, Clo. Not like that." He held it tightly in
both his hands and I couldn't get it free. Finally, I
settled down and it was okay again.
"You've got to stop being so freaked out," I told him.
"I can't help it. This is weird and you know it, Cloe."
I turned so that I was facing him, my left leg up on
the couch, his hand in both of mine. "We're not doing
anything we don't want to do," I told him. "Right? So
what's the big deal?"
He gave me that Big Brother look, the one that said,
Don't be a stupid ass, Cloe.
"Is it the kissing?" I asked, knowing very well it
wasn't the kissing.
"No!" he said angrily. "It wasn't the kissing. It was
the fucking, okay?"
The truth was, he had been very gentle with me on the
couch. I had expected... well, I don't know what I had
expected, because I had never done it before.
"Are you all right?" he had asked me anxiously.
At the moment I was, but fear had me tight as a brand
new pair of shoes (I was going to say tight as a
virgin, but that's what I was), and I half-squeaked,
half-pleaded at him. "Yes! But be careful!"
My heart raced and my breath wanted to tear its way out
of my chest. Timmy Roland had fingered me with two of
his fingers that night in Atlantic City and Michael
Kurtz had put his finger up me, and of course, Bobby
had fingered me too, but this was not like being
fingered, not at all.
Frozen, Kevin just hung there above me, his face rigid
with stain, the head of his penis stuck in the mouth of
my vagina. It was too big; it would not go in.
"Do you want me to stop?" he asked.
Of course I want you to stop! I almost screamed at him.
You're my brother! But I didn't want him to stop.
The moment he had laid me down on the couch, I knew
this might happen. But I had denied it right away,
saying, No way! Uh-unh! No way that's gonna happen to
me! But here I was now, completely naked beneath him,
my legs spread wide to take him inside me (wide, but
ready to clamp down on him at the first hint of pain),
my hands clutching his biceps so hard that they'd leave
indentations from my fingernails that you could see an
hour later.
"Kevin," I moaned up at him. "I'm scared!"
"Does it hurt?" he asked, shaking from the strain of
staying where he was.
"No," I admitted. "Not right now." It had hurt when he
had first gone in--a sharp, tearing-like pain from
being stretched--but for now I was okay. I was just
scared shitless, that was all. Shit, I was terrified!
"Maybe we shouldn't do this!" I suddenly pleaded, fear
starting to build into a panic. I had visions of his
hot sticky white stuff spurting into me like it had
spurted out onto my wrist. And I wasn't on the pill and
my period was still two weeks away and there was no
condom on him protecting me which meant I could get
pregnant if I did this!
Pregnant by my own brother!
"I don't want to do this!" I screeched at him. "Get off
of me, Kevin! Get off!"
I began to push at him and shove with my hands and my
feet and suddenly he was off the couch and backing away
from me. I sat up and drove myself backwards against
the couch arm with my feet. I was panting and panicked
and ready to run screaming to my bedroom. I thought my
heart would stop. I grabbed the Afghan my grandmother
had knitted off the back of the couch, clutched it to
myself, then wrapped myself up in it.
I had been fucking my own brother.
For a minute I just sat there, huddled inside the
Afghan on the end of the couch, my breath chugging in
and out of my lungs. My brother had gathered up his
undershorts and t-shirt from the floor and was putting
them on. The t-shirt was draped across his right
shoulder and he was hopping up and down on his right
foot, trying to get into his jockey shorts. His penis
had gone completely limp now.
"Kevin?" I said to him unsteadily.
"What?" It came out very gruff and he didn't look up at
me.
I could say that I was sorry, I could tell him that I
had just freaked out and it wasn't his fault, I could
sit there and cry as he put his underpants on and then
his t-shirt and then the rest of his clothes and went
out of the room and left me sitting there on the couch
crying. Then I could watch our relationship turn into
absolute shit.
I had to word this very carefully. Boys, Kevin
included, react to stressful situations with their
sense of pride, not their intelligence. "Kevin?" I
said.
"What?" he repeated, even more gruffly this time.
"I want you to go up to Mom and Dad's bedroom, get
their box of condoms out of the drawer and bring me
one, okay?"
He stopped hopping up and down on his foot. One side of
his underwear was halfway up his thigh. He blinked six
or seven times, his face all red, his mouth twisted up
into a frown.
"What?" he said again.
I repeated what I had just told him. He stared at me,
flustered. For a moment, I considered unwrapping myself
from the Afghan, letting him see me naked again, but I
was afraid that might be too much. I stayed wrapped up.
"Are you serious?" he finally asked.
Don't try to mend their broken sense of pride, don't
try to make them feel less guilty, don't give their
self-destructive nature the chance to hurt them even
more by hurting you... simply head them off in a new
direction, my mother had once told me.
"If you're gonna fuck me," I told him, a lot more
steadily than I felt, "you're gonna use a condom."
He had then gone upstairs and gotten the condom.
* * *
"I liked what we did today," I told him softly.
He was quite a time, but I let him be quiet. He would
say it eventually, we both knew that, but it was just
harder for him because he was my brother. My older
brother who had "copped my cherry" as he put it.
"I'm fine," I assured him. "No bleeding, no soreness,
no nothing."
"Cloe!" he moaned, embarrassed, and making me laugh
again.
I looked over at the stairs, got up and went over to
them and stood there listening. Then I climbed halfway
up to make sure Mom and Dad were still in the dining
room, still talking, then went went back down again on
tiptoe. I went back to the couch were Kevin sat turned
around, looking at me in puzzlement. Then I straddled
his lap.
"Cloe--" he got out before I put my mouth over his and
began to kiss him. I put my arms around his neck and we
began to French kiss deeply. His tongue made my tongue
work very hard and we both began to moan.
"Quiet," he whispered to me hoarsely.
My heart was playing racehorse again. I took a deep
breath and lifted my shirt up to my underarms. My
brassiere snapped in the front this time and I let him
undo it. The cups fell away. I watched my chest go
rapidly up and down, my nipples get hard as he rolled
them between his fingertips. The hickey below my left
nipple was shockingly purple-black. It was the exact
size and shape of Kevin's mouth. There were tooth-marks
around the edges. I thought again about what would
happen to me if Bobby ever saw this.
Kevin touched the hickey gently. I jumped, although it
didn't really hurt. Then he leaned me back and placed
his mouth over the oval shape and sucked gently on my
skin.
"Kevin?" I pleaded with him. "Don't do that! It'll make
it worse."
He took his mouth off the bruise and proceeded to give
me an identical one right below my right nipple.
"Kevin!" I squealed quietly at him. "Stop that!"
But his mouth stayed right where it was and he sucked
until he finally came away and looked up at me with
this huge grin on his face. The bruising had already
begun, and if anything, this one would be bigger.
"Kevin!" I whined. "Are you trying to get me killed? I
have a boyfriend, remember?"
"Just be glad you don't have gym class anymore," he
said, and I blanched. Gym class had only been over for
two days. If any of my friends--or enemies--had seen
these things and told Bobby about them... it made me
shudder violently.
Bending me back and to the side, he put his mouth over
my right nipple and began to suck it. I shuddered
again, only this time from pleasure. I had to breath
through my open mouth and struggle not to moan out
loud. I watched the basement stairs through my half-
slitted eyelids while he went from one nipple to the
other. And all the while the hickey beneath my right
nipple just kept getting darker and darker. Fear of
Bobby or not, I was so glad he had given it to me.
Insanity took me over then. One moment I was sitting on
his lap, the next I was on the floor between his legs,
breathing so heavily that each exhalation came
accompanied by a shudder. He tried to keep me from
doing what I intended to do, but I wasn't gonna let
him. I put my right hand on the bulge of his crotch,
traced the outline of his erection, rubbed it along its
entire length with my fingertips.
"Cloe, no!" he croaked.
"I want to and I'm going to," I told him in a whisper.
"You might as well just let me go ahead and do it,
okay?"
Half-watching the basement stairs, and half-watching
what I was doing, I lowered his fly--we cringed at the
noise it made, it was so loud!--and spread his jeans
apart. I did not unbuckle them at the top because I
felt that wouldn't be as sexy as just undoing his fly.
I was going on auto-pilot anyway; I had never done this
before.
I freed his penis, working it through the flap on his
underwear. I released it and it stood straight up in
the air, completely erect, eight inches long and about
and two inches wide. It was the only penis I had ever
seen erect that wasn't in a picture or in a video tape.
It was pink and lightly marked with irregular blue
veins. The pee-hole was at the very bottom of the head
and was already leaking semen. I shivered, just looking
at it.
"God, Kevin," I whispered. I wondered if I could go
through with this.
When he had made love to me this afternoon, his penis
had been safely tucked away inside me, where I didn't
have to see it. Here I was with it now, its eight thick
inches only eight inches from my mouth. It would spurt
its hot sticky white stuff out again, and not into any
condom this time.
"You don't have to do this," he whispered at me
fiercely.
I thought that probably he was not so sure he wanted
his little sister's mouth all over his cock. Fucking me
and getting a blow job by me, maybe, were two entirely
different propositions for him.
"Let's think about this," he further pleaded.
I was thinking about it all right. "Are you gonna come
in my mouth?" I asked him in a whisper.
He looked back at the stairs, then at me, then back at
the stairs again. "I may not be able not to," he
hissed, still watching the stairs. "I'm ready to come
right now!"
He was. I had the feeling I had only to take him in my
hand and stroke him up and down one time and hot sticky
white stuff would come spurting out of him like a
geyser. The question I had to ask myself--or answer
myself, really--was whether I wanted that geyser in my
mouth.
The answer was yes.
* * *
Tonight, or early tomorrow morning, when I sneak back
down to the basement to be with Kevin again, I have to
ask him what the slang term is for copping a girl's
rear end.
THE END
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 28