Message-ID: <11685eli$9805281506@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/11685.txt>
From: john_dark@anon.nymserver.com
Subject: {Losgud}JDR"Closing Up the Cottage A"( MF inc cons )[1/2]
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <6kiv1j$jbf$1@sparky.wolfe.net>
JOHN DARK REPOST
The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults. If you are
below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic
erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now. The story
codes in the subject line are intended to inform readers of possible areas
that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author
make any guarantee. You should be aware that the story might raise other
matters that you find distasteful. You read at your own risk.
The enjoyment of these reposts can be increased by reading the "Coming
Attractions," which includes the titles to be reposted in the next week.
These stories have not been written by the person posting them. Many of
those e-mail addresses below the author's byline still work. If you liked
the story, either drop the author a line at that e-mail address or post a
comment to alt.sex.stories.d. Please don't post it to alt.sex.stories
itself. Posting the comment with a Cc: to the author would be the best way
to encourage them to continue entertaining you.
The copyright of this story belongs to the author, and the fact of this
posting should not be construed as limiting or releasing these rights in
any way. In most cases, the author will have further notices of copyright
below. If you keep the story, *PLEASE* keep the copyright disclaimer as
well.
=========================
The following is total fiction. And resemblance etc. is a product of your
imagination. This work is meant as ADULT entertainment. If the laws
where you sit say you're too young to read this, go away and turn
yourself in to the thought police. Even thinking about sex is dirty and
nasty and will warp your mind forever. Go watch a movie or play a
game that ends with a body count in the high four figures. Death and
destruction are good clean fun.
Copyright (c)1997 losgud. Personal use just fine. Archiving okay.
Absolutely NO for-profit use permitted. Reposting without notice is
frowned upon. Tampering with the text (rewriting) is illegal. Copyright
violations will fall under the jurisdiction of my principality, where the
punishment is to discourage repeat offenders. We cut your fucking hands
off!
=========================
Note: This story is like great sex--a long build-up and then ... and
then ... and then ... ! Enjoy!
======================
CLOSING UP THE COTTAGE
losgud
losgud@hotmail.com
Section A
It started out as another case of me-and-my-big-mouth. I was down at
my parents' and had wandered into the livingroom in time to catch the
last snatch of a conversation. My sister Ria was saying stuff about
closing up her cottage for the winter. Figuring that to be a pretty
tough sport and feeling full of false magnanimity, I volunteered, "Well
gosh, Ria, I'd certainly come out and help, not that I could get time
away from the kids or afford the airfare." I really would have been
just as satisfied with myself if I'd just thought about offering.
Unfortunately there was a roomful of family to witness my words.
I hadn't seen Ria in a couple of years and didn't expect to see her
again for a couple more. That was the standard schedule since we'd
become adults. Ria and I were not at all close. As children we had
fought like monsters all the time. Sometime in our early teens came a
cease-fire, both of us independently deciding it would be less hassle to
simple ignore the other. Now that we'd both crossed the threshold into
our thirties, things between us were civil enough. Though neither of
us felt obliged to words if we wound up alone in the same room.
It was like some sort of conspiracy. Less than a month later my wife
announced that she and the kids were driving for a week's stay at her
parents a state and a half away. Instead of being torn between desire
and duty--can I stay or should I go?--I was directed towards a third
choice. She and them were off to her parents, while mine had mailed me
the plane tickets out to Ria's. Somehow I didn't feel much in charge of
my own destiny.
I boarded my airplane, found my seat and sat down. I pulled the in-
flight magazine out from the pouch on the back of the seat ahead of me.
It was not a far reach. I thought to myself _This is insane!_ My sister
was a virtual stranger. There was this cottage, out in the country, up
in the mountains, something like that out in one of the western states.
I had no clear idea what she did with her life. I had not even seen a
photograph of this _cottage_. I didn't know if she owned or rented or
just somehow _inhabited_ this cottage. There was something about a
roommate going abroad for some long stretch of time. My sole
knowledge of this person was her gender. Were they roommates or
friends or lovers? As for my sister's sexuality, I could state with some
certainty that she was female. All the sorts of details that make up a
life, and so few did I know. It was all information I didn't care about.
I could see no reason in the world why I would be on my way to help
her out. Blood isn't _that_ thick.
The pleasure of my flight was mitigated by the circumstances of having
been booked on the cheapest airline still up in the air. The only
refreshment they offered was water, and for that you had to go back
and suck it from the bathroom spigot. Carry-on luggage was restricted
to purses and briefcases because there were no overhead bins, so my
similarly sized duffel had to go into the belly of the beast. I didn't
really need the book I'd neglected to retrieve until I discovered that all
the magazines were actually thickish catalogues of cheap goods. My
favorite was the catalogue catalogue, a huge lavishly illustrated
catalogue of all the catalogues you could possibly want to order. I did
a total tally. For only almost $1000 I could have many hundreds of
worthless catalogues I didn't want delivered to my doorstep. The
prospect was thrilling. The exercise got me past those first ten minutes
when the plane is suddenly rumbling into the air, going up steep fast.
My fear of flying is restricted to these minutes, and their companion
ones at the other end of the flight, when, statistically, most planes tend
to crash and burn.
During the descent I silently waxed poetic about the grand old days of
air travel. When your plane landed, by god you were where you were
going. And you had to worry about dying only twice. My modern
flight sort of hopped across the landscape. Each subsequent airport
was smaller than the one before. And at each we as well traded down
for the next smaller aircraft. It got to the point that as we were once
again nosing back down to earth, all I could really imagine ahead was a
sort of lawnmower with wings. Out the window all I could see us
approaching was what looked like a failed subdivision out in the middle
of nowhere. The sad lines of merrily named streets leading to nothing,
making tracings in the bulldozed mud sea surrounding. The roads
anchored to a small solitary building, the model home/sales office. We
landed there, and it didn't look much different from the ground. The
building was the tiniest terminal that was ever built. Luckily it was the
end of the line. I was where I wanted to be, or rather, where I was
supposed to be.
Amazingly, the flight arrived on time. Nothing else did. I spent the
hour Ria kept me waiting trying to locate my duffel. She finally caught
up with me at an out-of-the-way counter where a gleaming young woman
was filling out a missing tracer for me. Well, she was noting the
information on the backside of a napkin with a snapped pencil. "So
just come back in ten days to check," the woman was telling me with a
winning smile.
"I'll be back in four," I snapped, "That's when I leave. Preferably with
the duffel."
Ria came up and greeted me. She stopped ten feet away and barked,
"Where's your bag?"
I turned back to Miss Perfect Career Choice and asked, "How many
cities does your fine airline serve anyway."
"Thirty-eight," she gave a cheery chirp.
I turned back to Ria. "Take your pick. Now I sort of know why my
bag is late. What's your excuse?"
"I'm here now," she shrugged. "You ready to go?"
The cottage, when we got there, wasn't really much of a cottage. It
wasn't a shack, but it wasn't a cottage. It was a house in the way a
cave can be called a home. It could be called a cabin, except cabins
generally aren't clapboard with little trims around the rims. It didn't
look at all new. Thank god, I thought, it wasn't some listing double-
wide trailer dragged up the hills.
It was really rather nice inside. One big central room, the livingroom,
with vaulted ceiling and a wide stone hearth. A hallway led off to a
pleasant little bedroom opposite a full bath, ending in the kitchen at
back. I retraced my steps and headed for the great room. In the
middle of the room, facing the fireplace, there was one of those frame
things that folds a futon up into a sofa. I was on it in an instant.
Ria was on me before I could get comfortable. "What do you think
you're doing? Come on! get up!! We got a ton of work ahead of us."
"Coffee," I groaned. "First comes coffee."
"Coffee?" she gave me a queer look. "I don't drink coffee."
"Well I do. You could be nice, or just tell me where everything is and
I'll make my own."
"I said I don't drink the stuff. The closest coffee you'll find is down
in town."
"Then get your butt down to town and get me some!" I cried. "I'm not
moving 'til I've had my fix. Get me a pound, ground, and something to
brew it in."
Ria took my look of exasperation and multiplied it. She went off in a
huff, but she did go off. Without another word she was out the door
and in her truck. I guessed it to be at least a twenty minute trip each
way, nestling my head languidly down into a pillow.
In fact I got to snooze for well over an hour. But then my nap ended
with that terribly disorienting sort of jerking way. It was like my body
shivering awake at the presence of a cat sitting on my chest staring at
me while I slept. The cat was Ria. "Wake up and smell the coffee," she
gently cooed. I couldn't imagine how she had gotten into that position
without me waking straight off. She was straddling me and half lying
atop me. It was a familiar posture from childhood, but any adult
interpretation tended to involve complete lack of clothing. Of particular
embarrassment for me was that she'd caught me at some stage of sleep
where I had an absolutely throbbing erection, a condition complicated by
being twisted up in my underwear. The warm soft pressure of her
crotch was hardly the dash of cold water I needed. I tried to think of
all the most horrifying things I could to make my tide subside. What
more wilt-worthy material was there than the thought that your own
sister might feel your accidental erection? But it was my own sister on
top of me and there was no way she could mistake what she was sitting
on, and Ria really was doing nothing to abate the situation. If we'd
been naked, the sweat alone would've sent me filling her to the hilt.
Her breasts hung unhampered in her shirt, sometimes swaying against
my chest. The view down her shirt was always excellent. I of course
could not linger on the scenery without appearing quite obvious. It
really was much harder on my neck to keep my gaze up at her eyes.
Ria's smile seemed to be quietly laughing about my quandary. She
crushed them against me as she swung her leg back over me, pushing
off me to stand up.
"Coffee's ready," she tossed off. "Drink up!"
It was the worst cup of coffee I'd ever had. It was like she had gone
to the clandestine and unscrupulous open coffee market and been
suckered into buying a bag of dried used grounds disguised as freeze-
dried instant. The best course of action seemed to me to be stoic and
obey orders.
The first order of the day was to put in all the storm windows. There
weren't all that many windows, but it didn't sound like an interesting
chore to me. But if I was going to do any griping, I should have done
it by keeping my yap shut weeks ago. It was a great time-saver that
Ria already had the logistical end figured out. One of us would climb
up the ladder, while the other would hand up the big panes of glass.
We took turns which helped vary the task. And either way, I had a
great view. Divorcing the sights from the fact that it was my sister.
It gave my mind something to do while the rest of me hefted away. I
mean, I'd be a liar to deny that Ria's got a luscious ass, and there it
was, sort of pushed out, just a few feet from my face. Or else I was
looking down deep into some mighty fine cleavage. Looking down there
because that was where I had to look down to reach down and grab the
glass. I mean, Ria's my little sister but she's a big girl now; she can
dress herself.
The problem that arose was that due to warping in the frames, it was
stupidly difficult for the person on the ladder to hold the window fast
while reaching up to secure the fasteners. I was up top when Ria
decided the best thing was for her to follow up the ladder, reaching
around me to hold the window steady while I busied around with the
latches. She couldn't help but mash her breasts against me a few times
while she got set. In all my wriggling around there were some
contortions that required I brush back against them. I was hoping Ria
wouldn't notice how much I was blushing as I tried to avoid the touch.
I let my manner be matter-of-fact, and thought it best to mention not a
word of it. But it was driving me crazy, every now and then, that
brush of hot breath on the back of my neck. And then back down the
ladder. Next was the worse way. I followed her dancing ass up the
rungs and then had to become a true contortionist. Leaning in enough
to hold the glass flat while keeping my pelvis kept cocked way back.
Maintaining that posture, and affecting it as natural, required true
talent. If I'd been in a calmer state I wouldn't have minded nestling on
up when the job required it. But really, my idlings had left me with a
big hard thing in the front of my pants which I really did not want to
be rubbing up against my sister's ass. On several occasions, exactly
that did happen. I was flooded with self-mortification, a weird sort of
fluid in my veins and stuff which served to push even more blood into
the offensive member.
I was so relieved when the job was done and it was time to go in and
make sandwiches.
But then afterwards we filled the back of her pickup with tools and
drove down the drive to the road. Down there a big gate could be
swung closed and locked, blocking the drive. Apparently some errant
rural postal carrier had swerved bad and knocked the gate posts to
their current strange slants. Ria had the new lumber ready. We
weren't righting the posts. We were there to replace the old 4x4s with
8x8s, sinking them about a yard down and setting them in concrete. I'd
used a post-hole digger before in my life, and wasn't exactly thrilled at
the repeat. Again, the labor was equitably divided. Down there, the
ground revealed itself to be about three inches of top soil covering an
unending bed of large rocks glued together with clay. It was hard, hot
work, and soon enough Ria finished off the buttons on her shirt and
hung it on one of the tilted old posts. Ria's breasts were now covered
by only the pale lacy pink wings of a giant butterfly. I couldn't tell if
it was a sorry sort of halter, or bikini top, or more intimate upper
apparel. Whatever the function, the material made the contents sway as
easy as a sweet summer breeze. They jiggled quite smartly when Ria
plunged the digger down in the hole, repeatedly, seeking purchase.
The whole scene seemed orchestrated, choreographed really. She'd move
halfway around the hole so that by the time it came to bend low and
take the big bite, well, I would want to bend low and take a big bite
myself. _Hey, that's your sister_, I had to keep reminding myself, _and
she doesn't particularly like you in the first place_. Like she'd be
terribly thrilled to turn around and catch me drooling over her ass.
Keep your eyes on the concrete and your hands stirring the shovel, I
made that my motto. But not soon enough, for as soon as I took over
on the digger, Ria bitched at me for not attending to the concrete.
"You let it start getting _hard_," she snapped. No doubt! "You should
have stirred it more." No doubt!!
Her remonstrations did act nicely as a bucket of cold water, leaving me
in much less of a state when we got down to the tugging and grunting
of getting the posts set in place. Difficult though it was, I kept most
of my mind on the job holding the posts steady while Ria twisted and
turned, shoveling the concrete from the wheelbarrow into the holes.
The posts stood up straight and tall and proud. "See," I said as we
cleaned up, "everything worked out fine. They're poking up like poplar
trees." Ria, I swear, blushed. And it was that that made me decide
that her nipples really were erect. Well, we'd been working pretty hard
and gotten hot and sweaty, and now as we loaded up the truck the
afternoon was fairly done and the air was taking on the chilly cast of
evening. Something else was starting to poke up again as well, but I
was feeling pretty cocky having discovered that, come untucked during
our labors, my shirt was plenty long enough to keep all that quite
hidden.
I couldn't figure out why I was so blasted horny. It probably was some
bizarre combination of a good honest day's work and the vast lungsful
of clean mountain air. At any rate, I figured once I got my turn at the
shower just the mild touch of soaping myself up would take care of the
problem. I wasn't quite sure what I was going to do about the matter
of my sole set of clothing being soiled.
As to be expected, Ria seized first shot at the shower. Only there
wasn't a shower, just a bath. She was off in the tub splashing away
for hours like a child. When she emerged she was flushed from the
heat, trotting to the bedroom in just a towel. "_Woo!_ It's chilly in
here," she squealed. "Why don't you hop in the tub while I get some
dinner going, and then we'll attend to the fireplace."
Continued.
=========================
Like? Yes? No? Comments welcome. losgud@hotmail.com
=========================
I am archived at DejaNews under "Author" name:
LUSHGOD@HOTNOMAIL.COM
======================
CLOSING UP THE COTTAGE
losgud
Section A
-30-
--
+----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+
| <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> |
| Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>