Message-ID: <2185eli$9707192220@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/2185.txt>
From: BillyG <hayden@mindless.com>
X-Good-Line-Length: yes
Subject: My Sister Jean IX (m/f, cons, inc, play)
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: <33D008BB.38BE63B9@mindless.com>



                                        MY SISTER JEAN

                                                                     By BillyG


Chapter 9  --  Jean's Surrender

                              
     "Billy, would you like a tall glass of ice-cold lemonade?" Jean gasped,
leaning against the front door of our home.  The bicycle ride back up the
hill from "the flat lands" in mid day was markedly harder and hotter than
the down-hill ride that cool, early morning.  Each, unwilling to be second
best in our sibling rivalry, had pushed and pushed on the way home.  We'd
arrived totally winded and drenched.  

     "Jean, babes (that was a secret term of endearment we had for each
other), that sounds wonderful . . . it just might save my life . . . but let me
serve you.  You look beat and after all, you're just a girl!"  (I'll blame
heat-stroke on such a risky jibe.)

     In a sugary-sweet tone she replied, "Oh, no-no . . . I'll get it sweet
brother.  After all, you did win."  And then in a slightly more ominous
voice, "I owe you!"

     Oh shit, I thought . . . owe me what?  But I was too winded to argue or
even attempt to be clever.  Sinking into a deck chair I waved imperiously
to her and said in my most superior voice, "While your up, won't you get
me a Grants . . . uh . . . I mean a lemonade?"

     Looking out over the valley in front of me, I again enjoyed that we lived
in such a stunningly beautiful place  - a relatively isolated country spot but
just fifteen minutes' drive to the University.  I was feeling smug and very
excited, for I was again reviewing the mind-boggling experience of my
sister Jean modeling some thong-style panties for me just an hour ago.  The
image of her firm and curvy butt was etched in my forebrain.  I was still
buzzing, for she'd intimated that she would model them again for me.

     Hearing Jean's step behind me, I held up my hand for the anticipated
glass of ice-cold lemonade.  My erotic reverie was shattered by the chilling
shock of ice cubes and lemonade dumped down my shirt front.

     "Just a girl, huh!"

     With a shriek, I bolted out of the deck chair, ice cubes falling out of my
clothes and clattering on the deck.  Momentarily frozen immobile, I stood
there, bent over, arms away from my sides, just shivering from the icy
shock.  Peals of her laughter pulled my head around to watch Jean, empty
glass in hand, holding her side in mirth.

     "Oh, Billy, you look like a drowned rat . . . whatsa' matter . . . your little
thingie all cold?"

     It *was* funny and yes, my "thingie" was cold.  Recalling those
mornings of skinny dipping with Jean . . . the mad dash into the frigid
waters of Fourth of July Lake when my penis tried to crawl back into my
belly, I had a mental picture of how I looked.  I just gave up any hope of
maintaining my dignity.

     Fishing a last ice cube from my shirt, I gently tossed it to Jean and said,
"You look much too comfortable.  Two can play this game you know."

     We'd been together so long we both knew what was going to happen. 
Jean wouldn't have stayed around laughing at me had she not expected,
even welcomed, my anticipated retaliation.  There was an almost
languorous pace to this game that had an edge of excitement, for I didn't
really know how deep it was . . . where we were going with it.

     I thought of how close we'd grown in the last months.  How we'd come
to share our truth about ourselves, about our sexuality and our mutual
horniness.  There was no more games about *that*.  But what was yet
uncertain was our physical involvement.  Oh, I knew deep down that I
wanted to jump her bones . . . to ravish my beautiful sister.  I was in lust
with her, but those years of cultural conditioning straddled any erotic path
we might explore, standing as a repressive centurion who might have worn
a Gothic sign board proclaiming, "Thou shalt not."

     Jean had already told me that as much as she loved me and was
attracted to me . . . even sexually . . . she remained totally uncertain and
apprehensive about *us* fooling around.  "Billy," she had reminded me
several times, "you're my brother and that's incest.  I can't do that.  Know
what I mean?"

      I did know and I didn't think she really meant it.  We'd skirted around
this topic enough times that I'd come to believe that she was just saying
what she was *supposed* to say . . . that deeper within her dwelled the
same fascination that gripped me.

     I knew she wanted to play.  We just had to work out the rules . . . but
without talking about it.  Our play occurred by multiple approximations
. . . a type of relationship braille.  So I wasn't surprised when she turned
and ran inside, shouting over her shoulder in her mocking, sing-song voice,
"Naa-naa, na-naa-naa!"

     I didn't hurry; I knew where she'd be.  Walking upstairs and past my
room, I turned the knob of the closed door to Jean's room.  She was
standing in front of her full-length mirror, arms crossed in front of her and
elbows up as she paused, pulling off her shirt.  From the door I could see
the contrast of her white bra strap against her tanned back and in the
mirror's reflected image, the bottom of the bra's cups pulled up, partially
uncovering the under swell of her breasts. The afternoon sun slanted
through the gauzy drapes, casting a soft pattern of muted colors in the
room, accenting the shadows of her body.

Suddenly, it was very quiet.  I could see her eyes looking between her
crossed arms as she stood frozen.  There was no alarm, just a calm
expectancy that silently asked, "What now?"  

     "Don't move!" I whispered with a quiet assurance that surprised me. 
"Just stay that way."

     The side of her shorts were undone and partially open.  I could see a
flash of her panties as I walked up behind her.  Then, looking into her eyes,
I said softly, "Let me."  

     She nodded.  I'm not sure either of us knew just what it was that she
was going to allow me to do.  I gently pulled the shirt from her hands and
finished tugging it over her head, briefly hung up in her pony tail.  

     Still looking at me, she dropped her hands to her sides and stood
passively as I examined her . . . both the real and the reflected images in the
soft yellow light one sees just before a rain storm.

     "You have beautiful breasts, Jean."

     She smiled and made no comment, even as I unhooked her bra. 
Loosened, the cups fell an inch, just exposing the pink areolae and nipples. 
As I pulled the straps off her shoulders, I watched the crinkling of her
areolae as the nipples hardened.  I slid a hand under her arm and cupped a
breast, catching her nipple between my thumb and index finger, rolling it. 
Her breast was heavy in my hand.

     She shuddered and whispered in a barely discernable voice, "I can
feel that down there."

     Pulling off my damp shirt, I hugged her from behind, holding both of
her heavy tits in my palms and looking into her eyes.  "Down there?" I
asked.

     "Oh, God, yessss."

     My vision narrowed to our reflection.  In the blurred half-light,
half-shadow, I saw Jean, breasts bared and held by my hands.  I was
watching someone else . . . part of me was a voyeur in a sepia vision.  I
knew this was uncharted waters for us.  We'd watched each other
masturbate on a very few occasions and we'd confessed our horniness to
each other, but I'd never held her in my arms.  It had mostly been
near-arms'-length encounters.  

     I could feel her buttocks pushing back against me.  My hard on was
pushing into her butt as I slid my hands down over her stomach and under
the elastic of her panties.  My entire awareness was centered in the gentle
curve of her belly.  The tips of my fingers were brushing the top edge of
her public hair and on each downward caress, I cupped more of her mons.

     "Ohhhhh . . . that's so . . ." and she didn't finish.  Her head rolled back
and rested on my shoulder.  Her eyes fluttered closed.  The room was quiet
except for our breathing.  Nothing was said.  She had surrendered.

     Searching with the fingers of my right hand, I found her slit, wet and
pulpy.  I'd slipped my fingers into her pussy only once before, the day on
the trail out of Fourth of July Lake.  Now I was there again and half out
of my mind with excitement and desire.

     I slid down her body and kneeling behind her, I beheld her back and
hips and buttocks.  Through the almost transparent panties, I looked at the
deep shadow between the cheeks of her ass.  Slowly hooking my fingers in
the elastic of the waist band, I pulled her panties down over her buttocks,
and off her hips to her ankles.  She lifted one, then the other leg as she
stepped out of her damp underpants.  I looked at them a moment and then
held them to my nose, taking in her odor . . . the sweat and the musk.  The
power of it shook me.

     Then, holding her hips in my hands, I looked at her ass.  I'd been
admiring her butt for ever it seemed.  I'd been brushing up against her every
chance I could, letting my hand fall from her waist to her buttocks, trailing
my fingers across her back side.  Jean knew how I adored her ass.  I
suspect it pleased her to be adored even though she pretended it was "no
big deal."

     There was a gap between her thighs right below her pussy and I could
see the soft hair of her cunt between her legs.  I traced a pattern up from
the inside of her knee to a velvet inner thigh, pausing for a moment to say,
"Open your legs for me, Jean."

     For a long moment, perhaps thirty or forty seconds, she didn't move. 
And then she moved one foot away from the other by no more than an inch
or two . . . but it was enough.  One millimeter would have been enough. 
At this point, her surrender need be no more than symbolic to be real.  

     "I loved it when you flashed your ass at me today in the store."

     Her only reply was a momentary tensing of the muscles of her buttocks.

     "Do it again, won't you?"

     "Flash you?" she asked.

     "Yes, bend over for me . . . way over . . . show me yourself.  Show me
your secret places . . .  now."

     She slid her hands up her thighs and lightly cupping the under curve of
her ass, she slowly bent over.  In the half light, most of her bottom was in
shadow, but the posture of giving, of showing, was so erotic I could only
stare.  Speechless. 

     "Let me look at you," she asked.

     I was surprised.  I had no idea she'd want to look at my body.  "N -
naked? I almost stuttered.

     "Of course," she answered, still bent over.

     Of course, I thought.  What else?  "All right.  Sit in that chair.  We can
watch each other."

     Jean sat, bringing one heel up to the edge of the chair, opening her
crotch to my gaze and said again, "Let me look at you."

     I looked down and smiled, for the front of my shorts were bulged out. 
My cock hurt from the hardness and being trapped, bent in my pants. 
Wanting to draw this out . . . the sibling equivalent of a strip tease, I slowly
unbuttoned the cut-off 501's, exposing my pubic hair.  I'd neglected to
wear underwear that day . . . a rare thing on those days when I'm riding my
bike.  

     With a soft chuckle she asked, "Can you get them off, Billy?"

     My answer was to slowly push down the shorts, bending my cock
until it sprang free, snapping against my belly.

     "Oh!" she gasped as her hand slipped between her thighs, driven by
some unconscious need.

     Turning obliquely away from her, I grasped my cock in my fist,
sliding it up and down slowly, moving the soft skin over the hard shaft.

     "Yessss . . . show me Billy.  Show me how you masturbate.  I know
you do it all the time, don't you?  What do you think of when you do it? 
Do you ever think of me?"

     I recognized the change in her voice.  She was running on . . . a stream
of conscience . . . as she traced a finger through the wet, soft lips of her
pussy.  We'd been here before . . . that place where we gave ourselves to
the moment.  Turned on by the moment, the voice, the images.

     Stepping closer to her, stroking my impossibly hard cock, I stood
straddle-legged and said something like, "I think of nothing else.  All I can
see is your legs, your breasts, your ass . . . all I can remember is jacking off
with you, seeing your naked body at the lake, watching you pee . . .
watching you touch yourself.  I beat off every day, often twice, thinking of
you.  I think I'm obsessed with you."

     I fell silent for a moment, still slowly stroking my cock.  The wet noises
of her fingers in her pussy suddenly sounded loud.  The musky odor of her
pussy rose to fill my nose.  It was heady.  I was drunk with lust and the
desire to fall between her legs . . . to taste her.

     "What do you want to do, Billy?  I mean right now . . . what can we do. 
I want you so much I hurt . . . but we *can't* do it . . . you know we can't. 
What can we do?"

     We'd lost our eye contact.  When I glanced up from her open pussy, I
saw her leaning forward, eyes hooded, mouth a little open, staring at my
cock as I continued to fist it's full length.  She wet her lips and stared. 
Then, all I could see was her lips.

     Another step forward and I was pushing my knees between hers. 
Slowly I hunched my hips toward her and the head of my cock touched her
wet lips.  She glanced at me.  I nodded.

     Her lips opened and her mouth sank slowly over my prick.

     "Ouch . . . no teeth!  Just your lips and your tongue . . . that's it.  Now
let it slide in as far as you can . . . breathe through you nose . . . yesss, just
like that!"

     Her hands slid up and cupped my balls for a moment and then pushed
my hand away.  She slowly stroked the base of my cock as she ran her
tongue over the head and underside of my shaft.  My knees grew weaker.  I
felt faint.  Watching her masturbate my cock with her delicate hand,
watching her lips form an "O" around the head of my cock, her cheeks
pulled in with the suction . . . I couldn't last.  I didn't want to last.  

     I couldn't think of anything.  My entire waking awareness was 
narrowed down to my sister's mouth on my cock.  It probably lasted thirty
seconds . . . perhaps less . . . yet it seemed to go on and on. 

     "Gonna' come, Jean . . . can't hold it . . . JEAN . . . here it comes!"  

     Now, in retrospect, I don't know if I were warning her so she could get
away or, more likely, that she might enjoy it the more.  In any case, she
never slowed.  She masturbated me through spurts of my hot come,
holding my cock right inside her lips, stroking my shaft with her hand.

     "The better to taste you," she explained to me later.

     I wasn't aware that I'd slipped to my knees.  I had a grey out and
came to kneeling between her legs, my face resting on her thigh.  Jean bent
down and held my shoulders, hugging me, murmuring, "Oh Billy . . . Billy .
. . Billy . . . that was so nice . . . that was beautiful . . . thank you, thank
you."


                       * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


-- 
+--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+
| story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |
| Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
\ <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/>    .../assm/faq.html> /