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From: BillyG <hayden@mindless.com>
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Subject: My Sister Jean XV (m/f, inc, cons, oral)
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                                      MY SISTER JEAN 

                                                                    By BillyG


Billy, The Pussy Barber  -   Chapter 15


     The behavior that my sister and I exhibited after our last erotic encounter
was a Xerox copy of every other time we'd come together with the energy
of two freight trains in the night.  In reaction, we had pulled back a little and
our old approach-avoidance dance was played out one more time.  Oh, we
didn't ignore each other and we certainly didn't engage in the silent
treatment, but there was a certain tender, eggshells-tip-toeing around with
us.  

     The morning after our last unplanned sexual tussle, I'd awakened with a
lightness and freshness of spirit, feeling at ease with my self and the world,
secure in the knowing that I was, at base, an OK guy.  I knew I was OK,
but I didn't know if Jean felt the same way about herself.   I worried about
her psyche and wanted to touch base with her as soon as possible.  

     That on my mind, I came down to breakfast just a little later than usual
as Jean was telling our Mom that she had to drop off her car at the
mechanic's and would she pick her up after?

     "I will," I offered, hoping to have the chance to have some "plain talk"
with Jean.

     "You have an interview this afternoon you told me," Mom offered.
"How're you going to handle that *and* pick up Jean?"

     "Rats!  I forgot," I said, slapping my forehead in dramatic overstatement. 
"Sorry, Sis.  Guess I can't."

     "That's cool, Billy."  She smiled one of those exquisitely bright smiles
and turning to Mom said, "You're playing tennis at the club today, aren't
you?  You could pick me up later, huh?"

     "Sure, baby.  Call me or leave a message at the club if your plans
change, OK?"  Mom said as they both threw me a warm smile and left at
the same time.

     And so it went for a couple of weeks.  Little things like that - small
hitches kept occurring that seemed to prevent us from spending anything
more than a few minutes with each other.  Yet, Jean's upbeat attitude and
positive outlook on life, now even more evident, assured me that she wasn't
stuck in some emotionally grey place and my need to reassure her gradually
became less pressing.

      In fact I'd almost forgotten it when one afternoon one of my labs at
school was canceled and I found myself unexpectedly home early.  As it
turned out, Jean's writing seminar had also been canceled.  Her prof had
been called away and hadn't had time to get a sub.  

     I found her sitting, tilted back in a chair on the redwood deck, her long
tanned legs braced against the railing, just looking off into the valley.  She
was wearing a pair of yellow shorts that I remembered from last summer. 
They were tight then.  Atop that, she had on a sleeveless pull over and I was
immediately aware she wasn't wearing a bra.  For a long moment, I admired
her prominent nipples indenting her thin cotton shirt.  I seemed always to be
aware of things like that.  Then I looked at her lips, half open, a little pouty
it seemed.

     It had occurred to me that I'd seen my sister naked, or nearly naked, a
few times in the past.  That I'd touched her intimately . . . she'd once even
sucked my cock.  We'd shared our secrets with each other and knew we
loved each other deeply.  But I'd never kissed her. Oh, I'd given her a chaste
peck on the cheek and once or twice on her lips, mine all puckered up.  But
I'd never really kissed her.

     Coming up beside her chair, I leaned over and looked into her eyes
and asked, "Would you mind if I kissed you?"

     "On the lips, I hope?" She smiled up at me as I bent over slowly,
trying to keep eye contact.

     She tilted her head back, eyes open, and with her lips slightly open,
offered her mouth to me.  Trying to keep my own lips soft, I touched hers,
feeling her mouth open a little more as we kissed softly.  It was
indescribably sweet.  I felt as though I were sinking into her.  Flicking the
tip of my tongue between her lips, I felt hers brush mine and then retreat.

     Feeling a bit heady, I pulled up a chair next to her and  said, "Hi, kid. 
How's it goin'?"  Last year she would have had a fit if I'd called her "kid"
but it didn't seem to bother her today.  Maybe it had something to do with
the kiss.

     "Billy!  That was *nice*.  You've never kissed me like that before!  

     "Thanks.  I liked it too.  Before I settle, can I get you anything?

     "Yes, would you get us a couple of sodas?  I'm feeling lazy and I'd love
it if you'd wait on me.  I'd like to be pampered."

     "Sure  . . . and I won't dump the ice down your shirt either."

     She turned her head to smile at me and said, "Yes.  I remember."

     Holding the glasses under the ice dispenser, I listened to it grind away
with its characteristic clunking noise and recalled that I'd not had the
chance to talk with her intimately since the morning after our phone sex,
the time when she'd dropped her scented panties on my face.

     Handing her the tall, cold glass, I said, "Jean, I'd like to talk with you
about something . . ."

     She interrupted and said, "Yes.  Yes, of course we will . . . but first I
want to ask you something and I'm too nervous to wait.  Can I go first?"

     With an exaggerated, longsuffering sigh, I said, "Oh . . . all right, I
guess."  

     There appears to be several Billys that live in my head.  One is the
kid, spontaneous and genuine.  Another is the adolescent who's very
concerned about looking hip, slick and cool.  He's the one who thinks
constantly about getting laid and he's convinced that he's got to *look*
good to score.  It was that impatient teenager in me that was so ungracious
and pouting.

     "I'll try to be quick, Billy.  This is right up your alley and I know you'll
be glad I consulted with *you*."

     It was as if Jean knew about the several personalities that resided in my
head and knew just what to say.  The adolescent brightened right up,
thinking his manly knowledge was being sought.  "Sure, kid.  Take your
time," I said, mentally slicking back my hair.

     Even though no one else was home -- actually,  no one was within a half
mile of us -- Jean leaned over, cupping her hand at the corner of her mouth
to whisper confidentially in my ear, "Billy, uh . . . remember the uh . . . the
thong panties?  The ones I bought at Victoria's Secret this summer?"

     As if I could forget!  The image of Jean, modeling those panties in the
store, bending over . . . me, certain I was going to be grabbed by the scruff
of my thick red neck and hauled off to jail -- hell, my thoughts alone could
get me 50 years! -- did I remember?  I've never forgotten.  So, with my
eyebrows a little knitted, I replied, "No, what panties?"

     For as long as perhaps one, or at the most, two seconds, Jean looked at
me with surprise and then seeing the twinkle in my eye, she laughed in
relief and said, "You shit, you!  Come ON, I'm serious."

     "Jean, I might forget my name or where I live, but I'd *never* forget
those panties.  Besides, you never *did* model them for me," I added in a
fake petulant tone.

     Her eyes un-focused for a moment, as if remembering something, and
then she replied, "Yes, I owe you.  But as I recall, something else came UP
that day."

     Palms up, I replied, "Am I an ungrateful wretch or what?" And then
glancing at her yellow shorts -- they'd climbed even higher -- I asked, "Is
*that* all you wanted to ask?"

     "No, silly.  There's something else . . . kinda embarrassing really."  She
was studying some invisible spot on her thigh.

     The *only* topic Jean had ever mentioned being embarrassed over was
something about sex.  I loved it when she was tentative that way, for it
always seemed to lead to sexy talk.  I didn't try to bail her out.  I just looked
at her expectantly, one eye brow elevated.  I'd once seen Cary Grant do that
in an old movie.  Looked good on *him*.

     She looked at me imploringly, as if I might read her mind and answer her
question.  I remained silent.  Very uncharacteristic of me.

     "OK, OK . . . here's the deal," Jean finally rushed on.  "I remembered
that I'd promised to model them for you, so I got 'em out and tried them on
again this morning . . ."  She hesitated.

     "And?" I prompted, watching the color rise in her cheeks, looking at her
full lips, wanting to kiss her again.

     "And they stick out," she gushed, almost as one word and then again in
a whisper,  "I mean, my pubic hair sticks out on the sides.  I'd forgotten
that part."  And she stopped as if the problem was now self evident.

     "Yes?" I replied, making an impatient gesture with my hand as if to say,
And then what?

     "Well, can't you see?"

     "Actually I can't.  But I'd love to," I added hopefully, looking pointedly
at her shorts pulled tightly into the prominent crease between her parted
thighs.

     "The problem, dummy, the problem," she corrected me in a vain attempt
to guide my thinking.

     At this point I was no longer thinking.  My hind brain had taken over
and the sex addict who lives up there was chortling, "Oh boy, here we go,
Billy."

     "Problem?"  I asked.  Now I wasn't pretending.

     "Billy!  For a bright guy, sometimes you are really *dense*.  If I'm
going to wear those obscenely brief panties, I can't wear them with a lot
of pubic hair sticking out, can I?"

     "Is *that* what you wanted to ask?"  

     "No!  That isn't it.  I wasn't asking your opinion about how good or bad
it would look.  I *know* that."  Then as if explaining to a dull kid, she
went on in a reasonable voice, "Sure, pubic hair is sexy, but not hanging
out of panties, or a bikini.  It needs to be trimmed."

     The sex-addict suddenly clapped his hands with understanding and glee
and said to me,  "Oh boy, Billy! Oh boy, oh boy. You're gonna score!"

     The cool teenager said to Jean, "So, how can I help you?"

     Dropping her gaze, Jean murmured, "I've always done it myself, but . . .
but I thought maybe you might want to help."

     "You mean trim your pubic hair?  Me?  I get to trim your *pubic* hair?" 
I asked with unrestrained enthusiasm . . .  a sudden and definite loss of being
"cool".

     "Well, yes . . . if you want to that is . . . but if you've got . . ." and her
voice trailed off as she looked at me, a little apprehensive and looking
incredibly vulnerable.

     "God, Jean!  I'm honored . . . I mean I'd be delighted to . . . to help you." 
I didn't have to fake any sincerity or enthusiasm with this affirmation.

     She seemed almost to slump in her chair with relief.  How frightening it
must have been to take such a chance with her kid bother, to have stretched
herself so much and how relieved she appeared to be when I jumped with
joy at the opportunity.

     "Oh, good!  I've got everything upstairs in my room.  The scissors, the
comb, and the clippers . . ."

     Interrupting, I asked, "The straight razor?"

     Jamming her hands into her crotch, she doubled over and said, "Not a
chance, Billy.  Not even close.  I saw you shaving with that damn thing and
I saw the nicks . . ."

     Throwing up my hands in surrender, I said, "Kidding, just kidding, Jean,
honest."

     Jean jumped up and ran into the house laughing and squealing, "I can't
believe I'm doing this."

     I came in behind her just in time to see her long legs disappearing up the
stairs and by the time I got to her room, she was standing in front of an
open dresser drawer, holding up a pair of panties . . . the thong panties in
which I'd once seen her . . . for what, seconds?  She glanced over her
shoulder at me, still holding out the bit of fluff, and smiled.

     "Ready?" she asked.

     For a moment, I couldn't speak.  I just looked at her, her spine arched,
head thrown back, hips pushed forward  and her old, faded yellow shorts
pulled tight across her butt and into the crease of her butt.  Her beauty and
her sexiness just stunned me.  How could I be so lucky, I wondered?

     "Billy, you ready to do this?" she asked again.

     Snapping out of it, I grinned that silly who-me-grin and said, "Am I
ever!"

     The next several seconds flew by so fast, I could barely see what was
happening.  Without another word, Jean unbuttoned her shorts and skinned
out of them.  Bare ass!  No panties.  I saw that much and then she stepped
into the thong panties before any of this registered in my befuddled mind. 
Turning, she stood, one hand on her hip in some effortless model pose right
out of some damn lingerie catalog and said, "Ta-Dah!"

     Then, turning en face, she placed the flat of her hands on her lower belly
and looking down at her self critically, said, "See?"

     Indeed I did!  Her legs, already long, looked even longer in those brief
panties that climbed high on her hips.  The front panel, silk perhaps, was
trimmed with a broad border of lace, swooping in a low "U", ending just
below the top edge of her pubic hair.  Through the lace and sticking out the
sides, I could see her auburn curls.  The lacy crotch was pooched out with
the thick cushion of her pussy hair.

     Gesturing toward the single straight-backed chair in the room, I said,
"Sit there and let me check you out."

     Now, no longer embarrassed, caught up in the adventure, Jean sat in the
chair with her butt at the front edge and sprawled back.  She extended her
legs straight out and spread wide, displaying the all-too-thin crotch of the
panties that failed miserably in containing her luxuriant bush.

     "See?" she asked again.  Had she glanced at me, at my bugging eyes, it's
likely she would not have asked.

     "Yes . . ." I gasped, "I see."  

     Pulling together some last vestige of control, I leaned over and gave
her another brief kiss and then sank to my knees between her thighs and
looked at her for a moment, as if to appraise the magnitude of the problem. 
The "problem" of course, was jammed down my pant leg.

     "As I see it," I said, "there are a couple of options here.  How much we
trim from the sides is dictated by the width of the front panel of these
panties . . ."

     "So, what *are* the options?"

     "Well, in no particular order, we can shape the top part . . . you know  . . 
make it a narrow band or stay with the natural look."

     "I vote for natural," she interjected and I agreed.

     "What other options?"

     "You need to decide if you want the length of the remaining hair
shortened, you know, made less bulky, or left long."

     "OK, what else?"

     It was getting very warm and I suspect I had beads of sweat on my
forehead.  "Well  . . . ," I started to say and then stalled.  This was tough.

     "Yes?  Well what, Billy?"

     "Uh . . . we need, er . . . that is, *you* need to decide if you want the
hair on your pussy lips just trimmed short or  . . . ," then I paused again,
took a breath and rushed on, " . . . *shaved*."  The "shaved" part came out
in a rush and too loud.  I hadn't intended to give it such emphasis and I was
suddenly hotter.  I knew my face was burning.

     Jean relieved the tension by laughing and asking, "Well, professor,
what's your recommendation?"

     "About?"

     "About everything, guy.  But let's start with the shaving part."

     With an audible exhale, I said something really cool . . . something like,
"Awesome, dude."  Then, pulling my eyes away from her crotch, just a foot
away, I looked up at her.  She was smiling!  Christ, *she* was relaxed and
I was almost hyperventilating!

     "Yes, Billy.  Go on."

     I couldn't do it.  I couldn't maintain eye contact with her and keep my
few meager thoughts organized.  So I acted out the best compromise I
could put together.  I looked up at the ceiling as if contemplating a weighty
topic, then closed my eyes and said, "I'd trim the upper part back, but
maintaining its natural wedge shape but at the same time, I'd shorten the
length of the remaining hairs.  De-bulk it a little."

     Then, taking another deep breath, I continued, still without looking at
her, "I'd first trim back all the public hair on your labia, say below your
clitoris, back to your . . . uh . . . your back bottom."

     "Back bottom?  You mean my ass hole, Billy?"  She laughed that soft,
tinkling laugh that assured me everything was OK.

     "Yeah, ass hole, that's what I mean.  And then . . . I'd shave the lips."
I heaved a big breath and asked, "So there, what'ya think?

     "If that's the way you want it, Billy, then that's the way I want it."

     Once again, the complexities of life, largely perceived by my mind,
were reduced to a simple and uncomplicated statement. "If that's the way
you want it . . ."  The need to rationalize was passed.  My desire to
negotiate a scene the way I wanted it was just put aside by her simple
acceptance.  

     We didn't speak.  She looked at me and I looked at her,  or more
accurately, I stared at the junction of her long tan thighs and the brief,
lacy crotch of her panties, at her rich auburn curls sticking out from the
sides.

     Finally, in a soft voice, I said, "Stand up, Jean."

     Without replying or asking why, she stood up, hands at her sides,
looking down at me as I met her gaze over the twin prominence of her
breasts, nipples now sharply visible through her pull over.  I reached up and
hooked my fingers into the elastic waist band over her hips, paused,
savoring the moment, looking into her eyes.  Here was my beautiful,
incredibly sexy sister, standing for me as I was about to pull down the
thong panties she'd purchased at my suggestion.  I'd spent half my life it
seemed, trying to catch a glimpse up her dress or up the pant leg of her
shorts . . . that I might see just for a moment, which was now right here,
mere inches away from my nose.

     My fingers still hooked, I leaned forward and nuzzled the prominent,
cushy mound of Jean's pussy hair, inhaling her fragrance.  My little sniff
was the loudest thing in the room at that moment and it jangled my
memory of all the times I'd attempted to snitch her panties from the
soiled-clothes hamper.  It had come down to this . . . all my fantasies and
machinations had come down to this moment.

     Slowly, ever so slowly, I pulled down her panties, down past the top of
her thick bush, now curling, uncovering her sex as it curved back into her
crotch, her labia barely seen.  The thong, caught in her ass cheeks, held up a
moment, and then fell with a little elastic snap.  Down past her knees, down
to her ankles and then, one foot at a time, she stepped out of them

     The air was thick with her scent.  More for the erotic impact than the
smell of her, I held them to my nose as I looked at her.  She smiled and
wrinkled *her* nose and still didn't say anything.

     "Sit, " I said, again softly.

     She sat, butt on the edge of the chair, back straight and knees together. 
I looked at her with a quizzical frown and made an opening gesture with
my hands; she opened her legs and then rested her hands on her parted
thighs.  I looked between her legs again and remembered the first time I'd
seen her pussy as she'd peed on the dusty trail out of Fourth of July Lake. 
While I'd seen her pussy a couple of times after than, it was the first time
that was so strong in my mind, so sweet and so indelible.

     Kneeling between her knees, I reached out and touched the skin of her
abdomen, just below her belly button and then traced a soft line down
through her curly pubic hair, just missing her hooded clit, and then down
the center, barely touching the hairs that mostly obscured her labia, now
opened a bit by her spread legs.  

     She gasped but didn't speak and didn't move.  

     "Ready?" I asked the rhetorical question.  

     She just smiled so I asked again, "Ready, Jean?"

     As always, I was trying to engage Jean in conversation about some
sexy topic.  She wasn't buying.  She just smiled broader and nodded her
assent.

     I picked up a long comb that had both coarse and fine teeth and then
ran the coarse end through the hair on her lower belly, slowly combing
out the tight curls and tangles, each stroke getting closer to her clit.  She
didn't speak but said something like, "Hmmmmm  . . . ," as she spread her
legs a little wider, opening more the lips of her pussy, now swollen and wet.

     Holding the comb vertically, I combed her labia's hair away from
center, toward her thighs, pulling her lips open still more, making a moist,
sucking sound.  This was entirely new territory for me.  I'd never seen Jean's
pussy so close and so open before.  I was excited and hard, yet aware of our
elevated plateau of awareness and didn't want to rush anything.  So,
continuing my placing a "part" in the middle of Jean's cunt, I combed and
combed, watching the further eversion of her lips, and the pooling of her
secretions at the bottom of her slit.  

     Her thick white emissions pooled, filled and spilled over, running down
into the crack of her ass and she moaned again.  As I combed the pussy
hair near her clit, she shuddered, and then spoke for the first time in
minutes, "That's OK . . . I'm OK . . . keep going."

     Jean's clit was poking out, a tiny girl hard-on, peeking out from her
clitoral hood.  I was mesmerized and moved closer yet, initially to inhale
her fragrance, but when my hot breath washed over her clit, she shuddered
again and moaned, "Yes."

     I opened my mouth and slowly exhaled my hot breath on her pussy
again and again.  She began to sag, her back falling against the chair and
her hips sliding forward another inch as her hands slipped between her
thighs, pushing them farther apart, opening herself to me.

     All conscious thought gone, unplanned and unthinking, I reached out
with the tip of my tongue and licked her pool of secretion at the bottom of
her cunt.  She jerked, her legs hitting the sides of my head for a moment as
she expelled a whoosh of air, and then she snapped them opened again,
slouching still farther.

     As if in a dream. I again reached out with my tongue and slowly pulled
it up one side and then the other or her labia, closer and closer to her clitty.  

     She hissed, "Yes-s-s-s!"

     I leaned into her crotch and with a partially open mouth, kissed her clit
as softly as I could.  She suddenly hunched her pelvis into me, driving her
cunt into my mouth.  I softly sucked her clit with my lips as she moaned
and moaned, "Ungh  . . . ungh . . . ungh . . ."

     I nursed on her, sucking her lips, sucking her clitty, tonguing her sweet
feminine slit, tasting her, pulling her copious secretions up to her clit.  I
wasn't aware of another thing.  My world had narrowed down to this
feminine trough in front of me.  I was drowning in her scent and her moans
of pleasure.

     I thought she said something like, "In me," so I slipped a finger into her
vagina as I continued to suck and lick her pussy.  

     The correctness of my interpretation was given evidence by her crying
out, "Yes! Yes! Yes!  More!  In and out! Oh God, oh God, oh God!"

     Jean's ass had slid off the chair and she was supporting her lower body
with her widely splayed legs while her upper torso was balanced rigidly on
the seat.  Grunting, moaning, she repeatedly heaved her crotch into my
face.  Holding her hips in my hands, as if holding a large slice of
watermelon, I mindlessly mouthed her pussy, licking her slit and
attempting to tongue fuck her as she repeatedly thrust against me.  

     Jean started a low moan that built in intensity, melding into a rising
scream as she exhorted me, "Billy, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me."  She
grabbed my head in her hands and pulled my face tighter to her pussy,
hunching against me.  

     Air hunger began to build, forcing me to bob my head, breaking the
suction that I might gulp another lung full  before diving again into the
center of her wet, swollen desire.  

     As if a trip-wire had been triggered, suddenly she scissored her thighs
about my head, trapping and squeezing me, almost shutting off all sound. 
Perhaps more by vibration, I heard her scream, "Billy, I'm cumming."  

     Moments later we crashed to the floor.  I was gasping for air, my face
totally wet with Jean's juices, my head still between her legs.  For long
minutes no one said anything.  I couldn't.  I couldn't *think* much less
speak.  I was stunned and overcome with the intensity of it all.

     A little while later Jean said, "Billy?"

     "I think I'm dead," I mumbled.

     "Billy, are you going to trim my pubic hair or not?"

     "Will you kiss me again, Jean?"


                                  END OF CHAPTER 15
     
     
     
     

     .

     

     

 


     

     
     


     

     

     



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