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Subject: RP--After The Funeral
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=========================
The following is total fiction.  Any 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.

©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!
=========================
M/F  Inc Cons Humor
NOTE:  This is a long strange one.  Despite the setting, no necrophilia 
involved!  You can keep your pants on until the second part [+  +  +].


AFTER THE FUNERAL  

My Grandma chose the most inopportune time to die.  I was engaged in 
the lengthy process of lining up a new job that actually granted paid 
funeral leave, but I was still a few weeks away from giving my notice at 
my old position.  As opposed to the numerous times she'd "died" earlier 
in my life, come the one true time there wasn't anything exciting I 
wanted to do with the time off.  I was hoping that no one in Personnel 
was clever enough to say _Hey, wait a minute, didn't your Grandmother 
die a year or so ago?_  "Oh yea, but that was the time she conveniently 
died when I wanted to extend a long weekend down in Florida; this time 
it's for real."  I had a cache of unused Personal Days I was hoping to 
cash in when I left, a transaction that would likely be complicated by 
such a discovery.  Not to mention the fact that barely a month before 
I'd used up my vacation time and a chunk of savings to fly with my 
wife and the baby to visit her.  There's all this talk about how 
deregulation and competition has caused the cost of air travel to 
plummet just like the airplanes themselves.  Well, not if you need to get 
somewhere at the last minute.  You pay like you're flying the Concorde 
but ride like you're on a Greyhound.
	
Oh, good old Grandma!
	
All of this sounds evil, but that judgment must be tempered with the 
understanding that I am from a family famous for their wicked sense of 
humor.  And humor is of course a great tool in dealing with grief.  
Grandma had a full, wonderful life.  She lived to marvel in full cognition 
at the miracle of her great-grandchildren.  Death granted her the 
easiest of exits, asleep in her own bed.  While she'd had to deal with 
the disruptions of nurses in her house a few times, she'd managed to 
outwit and elude _Nursing Home Hell_.  She left this life right as she 
was hitting the cusp where her deteriorating health would have 
inevitably descended into a diminished body, mind and spirit.  Grandma 
had one great regret in her worldly existence, and she intended to 
rectify it in the afterlife.  As she confided in me during our last visit, 
"When I meet up with your Grandpa in Heaven, I'm going to kick his 
butt clear on down to Hell for leaving me alone for fifteen years."
	
I probably would have skipped the whole ordeal, but in the long 
distance call announcing the death, my father also requested that I join 
him in being a pallbearer, noting that it would mean the world to him.  
"You do have a decent suit coat, don't you?"  I accepted out of 
embarrassment at admitting that I didn't. "And black shoes, dress shoes, 
not those . . ."  
	
I laughed.  "It's all covered Dad, don't worry.  I'll be there, with no 
shame on your face."
	
I'd worn nothing but black shoes for years.  But they were canvas 
high-tops.  I quickly began assembling my mental outfit.  I've never 
been a very formal guy.  Never has a black-tie invitation arrived in my 
mailbox.  Every job I've had has been pretty casual.  I was making 
pretty decent money as King of the Warehouse, but the uniform was 
jeans and tees.  A company emblazoned polo shirt if some bigwigs were 
due in for a tour.  My upcoming position would require the half-step up 
to shirts with a full front of buttons.  I dug around in my closet and 
found the leather shoes and slacks I'd used to interview for the 
warehouse job.  They were a little worn from age and a brief stint as a 
waiter.  I went out and bought a brand-new white shirt.  The coat and 
tie I borrowed from a friend.  I felt like a bride.  _Something old, 
something new, something borrowed, something blue._  The socks 
matched all the rest, but I packed a pair of underpants the color of a 
summer sky.
	
I got off the plane and immediately began reiterating my ancient 
knowledge of the public transit system.  I could take a taxi, but that 
would eat up most the cash I had.  The shuttle from the airport ran on 
rails to the subway which would take me to the elevated that would lead 
me to a depot of buses, one of which--if I could only recall the name of 
the proper route--would drop me a few blocks from the house.  My head 
was filled with this as I was navigating the vast network of connecting 
corridors.  Just then I felt a tap on my shoulder.  I grabbed for the 
bulge of my wallet in my back pocket.
	
"Good instincts," I heard chuckling.  And there stood Uncle Bob.
	
"Wha-at?"
	
"I got your flight info from your folks.  I guessed you wouldn't have 
cab fare, and given your sense of direction I knew you'd hop the first 
train to the south side."
	
"You bastard you!  Thanks."
	
"No problem," he grinned.
	
I followed his limping form.
	
Bob had the disadvantage of growing up under the shadow of my 
father's brilliance.  A mild bout of childhood polio had left him quite 
mobile but with shriveled social skills.  He finished college and was an 
intensely intelligent man, but ultimately he fell back into the family 
business and never moved away from his boyhood bedroom.  His 
presence, really, enabled Grandma to die in her own home.
	
We got back to the house, and I was the last to arrive.  I demanded 
coffee, but by the time it brewed I barely had time for a cup before I 
needed to start getting dressed.  
	
"Heavens Tom, don't you look snazzy," Mom announced me as I came 
down the stairs.
	
Her pronouncement was followed by a muted wolf whistle.  "Whoa, big 
bro, lookin' _good!_" my sister crowed.
	
I blushed.
	
"Look Ashley, you made your brother blush.  I think you should 
apologize."
	
I was blushing the way you do when you know someone's taking the 
liberty of pity with you.  I felt like a clown.  The borrowed jacket was 
too short in the arms which heightened the fact that I'd bought the 
shirt a size too big.  I felt like I was wearing a balloon under the coat, 
and the sleeves of it looked like I'd misplaced the cuff links and sewn 
on some buttons.  The slightly frayed pants cuffs sort of matched the 
fact that I'd never bought a tin of shoe polish in my life.  I thought I'd 
done a bang-up job with the tie, but then mom insisted on retying the 
knot.  Luckily I was too tongue-tied to have to bite my tongue.  Ashley 
was wearing the mourning color, but it was a slinky black number cut 
well above the knees and strategically tight in all the right places.  
Spaghetti straps, for chrissakes!  I'm sure the fishnets were pantyhose, 
but they sure looked like the type where, given the dress, you wouldn't 
have to try too hard to see the garters.  She topped it off, or bottomed 
it off, with a pair of shoes you might choose to call _maybe-come-fuck-
me_ pumps.  She really was attired for cocktails.  Or rather, a quick 
spin out dancing to find a partner for cocktails.
	
"Golly, since we all look so nice, maybe we should cut out early and go 
out and have some fun.  Hit the service but skip the cemetery."
	
"_Mom!_  We're in mixed company." 
	
"Honey, come on, I didn't mean _that_ kind of fun."
	
"I mean, Mom, these guys got a job to do.  If they ditch out, the coffin 
goes _whumpity bump, whumpity bump_."
	
"Oh, that's right.  I'd forgotten."
	
Poor mom.  Here she was, all decked out and in the big city, just 
_yearning_ for a bit of the bright lights.
	
"Okay then," she went on, "we stick around for the dust-to-dust stuff, 
but please can we forget about the stale donuts in the church 
basement?"
	
Dad sort of sat there in his usual way.  Pretending he didn't know us.  
Wondering who these sick strangers were sitting around his mother's 
livingroom profaning her memory.  Well, no.  He generally keeps quiet, 
keeping his batteries on recharge.  The man knows humor, but he saves 
up his wit to cut people to the quick.  But I could see what passes for 
a smile on his face.  "Sweetheart, I'm no fan of the Old Ladies' 
Auxiliary, but they are mother's friends."
	
"No they aren't.  She outlived all her friends.  The bunch of biddies 
forced her to be their mentor.  She didn't care for them one bit.  She 
told me so numerous times.  They've crowned me Queen of the Biddy 
Brigade; time for me to kick the bucket._"
	
Dad roared with laughter.  "Okay, okay.  We put in a brief appearance, 
then we're out of there.  Just don't fill up on donuts.  After the show 
I'm taking you to Martine's."
	
"_Martine's!_" Mom fairly squealed.  I recognized the name.  Fine dining 
and exotic cocktails and dancing 'til dawn.  "Oh kids," she cautioned, 
"don't wait up for us!"  I took that to mean us kids weren't invited.  
"But what show?  You can't get tickets at the last minute."
	
Dad reached into the breast pocket of his jacket.  Two tickets to the 
finest show in town.  Prime seats too.  "Must have been a gift from the 
dry cleaners for so many years of faithful patronage," he smiled.  That 
wily old bastard!
	
As for the funeral itself, well, talking about them is the same as 
suffering through them.  The quicker it's over with the better.  Piped 
in music that makes you want to rip the speakers from the ceiling.  A 
cadre of funeral home ghouls standing around in plastic hair and funny 
suits.  The minister of Grandma's church not just stumbling over her 
name, but doing so while he read it off an index card.  The eulogy the 
usual pastiche of irrelevant aphorisms mixed in with incorrect facts.  
Fortunately the man didn't strain himself with any great length.  Lining 
up for the _viewing_.  The modern pallbearer, I discovered, is mostly an 
honorary position.  You lift the coffin onto a dolly, then sort of shuttle 
alongside it.  Riding to the cemetery in those big black cars that 
seemed to have been retrofitted with shock absorbers meant for a 
subcompact.  
	
Dad got to ride in the front car with the other primary guests of honor.  
In our car Mom and Ashley went off about the mouth.
	
"They never can get the mouths right," Ashley intoned
	
"They botched the job worse than great-aunt Clara's.  And _hers_ 
looked like a piece of rotten fruit."
	
I was momentarily appalled, but they were just speaking the truth.  I 
had a more important truth, so I joined in, "But wait!  Did you check 
out the hands?  Whose hands were they?  Like they had a terrible 
accident and had to send off to Madame Toussaude's for replacements.  
And they were out of stock so they stuck them with some seconds?"
	
"To each their own," Mom added, "but me, I'm not so sure about this 
coffin business."
	
"Definitely not _open_," Ashley added.
	
"Why don't they just tuck a $10,000 bill in your pocket and skip the 
box?  When I even begin to suspect my time is drawing nigh, I'm 
_hopping_ in that old oven under my own steam.  Skip the pine box too.  
I don't want some pissed off tree chasing me around in the afterlife."
	
"That's right!" Mom asserted.
	
"Even if it's not legal," Ashley agreed.	
	
At the cemetery we had to accompany the coffin, but this time it was 
placed on a motorized vehicle.  I wanted to jump aboard and 
commandeer the controls, go for a wild and bumpy ride.  As a working 
man I'd been given this nifty pair of super thin grey cotton gloves that 
I thought would be perfect for my future dual career as assassin/thief.  
But then the scary men in the funny suits made me toss them atop the 
coffin with the other five pairs.  The big mound of dirt covered with a 
green tarp like you're supposed to think it's just a little grassy knoll.  
This big winch machine to do the actual lowering.  They lowered the 
coffin to almost ground level then stopped it.  The few dusty words 
about shadowy death valley.  And then they made you leave!  One of 
the goons actually stood up with his hands folded against his midsection 
and intoned, "This concludes the burial part of the service."  No way!  
No tossing a rose in the hole, shoveling in your personal clump of dirt.  
Talk about lack of closure.  I was instantly picturing Grandma kicking 
off the lid, jumping out, and racing down the grassy slopes with the 
ghouls in pursuit shouting, "Come back, come back, you're _paid_ for!"  
	
The memorial reception was about as deadly as can be imagined.  The 
damp of a basement church recreation room.  The battered upright piano 
pushed against the wall.  Old donuts _and_ platters of sliced packaged 
ham and loaves of white bread.  Two liter bottles of warm soda with a 
bowl of ice from a machine that could use a little cleaning.  Tiny paper 
cups the size of the ones the doctor asks you to pee in.
	
"The lesson to be learned here," I whispered to Ashley, "is that it 
definitely pays to plan your own party."
	
"_Really!_  And book it well in advance.  Codicil City.  I know the first 
thing I'm doing when I get home."
	
Right then Mom sauntered over and did a perfect imitation of little old 
zombie ladies.  "And _who_ might you be?"
	
"Next of kin," Ashley gasped, "wishing like hell I was lying next to 
kin."
	
"Primary beneficiary," I snapped, "the greedy bastard who smothered 
her with the pillow in the middle of the night, _a-hahahaha!_"
	
We had to get _out of there_ quick.  The giddiness was getting 
exponential.  Mom went to seize Dad and steer him towards the door 
while Ashley and I migrated to the fringes of the gathering.  I stopped 
by Aunt Cassie and her crew long enough to exclaim gaily, "We're 
sneaking out now.  Guess we'll see you guys later."  They bent their 
heads at matching curious angles and gave me a collective blank look.
	
The folks didn't even pull to the curb, slowing down just long enough 
to kick us kids out of the car before they roared off for a long night 
of fun.
	
Luckily Bob had beaten us all back to the house.  Neither of us had the 
key.  Once inside Ashley and I commenced to quarrel.  After it became 
evident that his culinary skills were not required, Bob pulled his usual 
trick of hanging around for a few minutes of chat before limping 
upstairs to hide in his room.  Eventually we resolved our differences 
and called up the pizza.  In exchange for no olives I agreed to drop my 
insistence on onions.  I hadn't really wanted onions all that much, but 
knowing how Ashley loathed them I needed them for a bargaining chip.  
Likely she was equally ambivalent about the olives.
	
That settled I went immediately to change out of my patched together 
penguin suit.  I was almost sorry when Ashley switched into her 
sloppys as well.  Disregarding the obvious, I had spent a pleasant 
afternoon amid the vicarious thrill of watching her outfit do such a 
splendid job of showing off a fine female form.
	
Being in the big city we were hankering for some authentic big city 
pizza.  We skipped the franchises and went for the local guy.  This 
meant that they didn't bullwhip their drivers to run red lights and mow 
over pedestrians with the gall to get in the way of free enterprise.  
Which meant we waited hours for the knock on the door.  The pizza 
arrived barely warm but we were so ravenous it hardly mattered.  By 
the end I was half-tempted by the greasy cardboard of the box.
	
As the feast wound down I stirred up a little dinner conversation.  "So 
how are we getting downtown?"
	
"Downtown?"
	
"The hotel?"
	
"The hotel?"
	
"Uhm, Cassie et. al.?"
	
It'd taken her a few tries, but the third time proved the charm.  Aunt 
Cassie had the face and figure still left that even with two kids from 
two other men, she'd managed to snag a big fat millionaire with her 
third turn at marriage.  He owned a semi-swank hotel downtown where 
we'd stayed several times before.  Gratis of course.
	
"Well, my understanding is that they could barely manage rooms for 
them.  Something about being booked up by some big convention."
	
"Oh, bullshit!"  I was up looking for the phone book.
	
"What are you doing?!"
	
"I'm going to call down there and inquire at the desk."
	
"You are not!"
	
"Sit there and listen."
	
I hung up the phone and reported back.  "_I'm sorry, there's no 
convention here._  The small rooms are solid, but they have suites 
galore."
	
"No way!"
	
"Yes way.  Those fucking bastards!  Who do they think they are?  
Stiffing us freeloading poor relations.  See if they get an invite to _my_ 
funeral!"
	
We sat there in silence, until I mused aloud, "Wonder what a room runs 
in this city."
	
"I think the cheapest is around fifty bucks."
	
"That's not bad."
	
"But that's the by-the-hour rate."
	
I rolled my eyes.  "Good thing I wasn't looking forward to getting laid 
on this trip."
	
We quit the banter to sit bloated on the sofa with the numbing 
companionship of the t.v.  Ashley yawned, then I yawned.  I yawned, 
then Ashley yawned.  "Quit it!" we declared in unison.
	
Before long she stood up and announced her horizontal intentions.  "I'll 
be generous and take the tiny room."  
	
I was on my feet in an instant.  "No way, I insist.  Let me be the 
gentleman."
	
Bob's room was the one he and Dad had shared growing up.  
Historically, in our lifetimes, Dad and Mom always claimed the pull-out 
sofa.  Cassie's tiny old room was proclaimed Siberia.  The luckier of us 
two got to sleep in the big bed with Grandma, even when grumbly old 
Grandpa was still alive.
	
"A true gentleman always honors a lady's wishes."
	
"You're no lady!  You're a conniving bitch.  No way am I sleeping in the 
death bed.  You know Bob hasn't gotten around to changing the 
sheets."
	
"And you expect me to sleep in there?  That's terribly altruistic of 
you." 
	
We both had our points.  We stared each other down.  Ashley finally 
lowered her gaze and spoke softly, "Okay.  If it's okay with you.  It's a 
small bed, but we can both fit."
	
"As long as you don't snore," I answered.
	
"_I don't snore!_" Ashley replied indignantly.
	
"Never said you did.  It's a bad habit, and I just don't want you to 
pick it up when I have to be around to hear of it."
	
Ashley slugged me on the arm hard enough to hurt.  "I'll get you!" she 
forewarned as she stormed up the stairs.

		+          +          + 

I couldn't quite place the face, but maybe that was because it was 
pressed against mine.  Sight wasn't exactly the sense that was my major 
concern at the moment.   I was concentrating on the set of full soft lips 
making mirror motions on mine.  God, what a kiss!  What a kisser!  The 
hint of hard teeth underneath the plushness, the juicy tongue darting 
in and out of my mouth.  Our tongues were two children playing a 
game, inventing a game combining tag with hide-and-seek.
	
Her mouth went nipping around my lips, giving breathy little gasps, 
letting me know how much she liked the way my hand was letting her 
know how much it liked her breast.  Her breast was by no means large, 
but that's no measure of anything.  The size and shape was divine, 
perfect in my palm, the flesh soft yet firm under my hand, the nipple 
ripening almost into a tickle.
	
All these wonderful sensations got a little blurry.  My awareness 
focused on the firm flesh cradled in my hand, and the nearly painful 
throbbing between my legs.  Damn but I was hard!  My cock felt like a 
hot dog that's been cooking too long--the skin was about to split.  
_Vive la différence!_  Things start getting too tight, there's that 
pressure valve on the end, and all the excess comes spewing out.  
Feeling that, and feeling that, caused a shift in my consciousness and 
the dream evaporated.  I still had my little man of steel.  The pleasant 
surprise was the nice breast still in my hand.  _Oh sweet Susie_ I 
sighed, my hand slipping down to her hip, sliding easily through the 
flared leghole of her shorty bottoms.  Gently, gently, I touched the mat 
of special hair, and then slowly lower the slight puffiness of her mons.  
It felt so warm down there, and almost damp.  This was a tender 
pleasure of mine with my wife.  Susie knew about it and didn't mind.  
Sometimes she would wake up and participate.  Other times she slept 
through, coaxed into erotic dreams I'd never know.  Just as often she 
lay deep in a realm of unconsciousness, a depth to which I'd eventually 
return myself.  No scenario was better than the other in my mind.  
They were all equally special, little treasures of my night.  With a 
languorous sigh she rolled fully on her back, opening wide, a leg flung 
over mine.  A hand came to rest on my forearm, but not in protest.  It 
lay with the leaden weight of full sleep.  I could feel the pulse 
pounding under my hand as the blood rushed to her groin.  She gave a 
slight groan as her labia swelled under my touch.  Wherever my 
fingertips touched, the skin just rippled, as though I was dispensing 
electricity.  Her breath went ragged and irregular, coming in little 
bursts.  It made me delirious to feel her actual blossoming, her flush 
petals opening and parting, lush with her nectar.  I dipped a finger a 
little inside her, and it went swimming.  God, she'd gone from damp to 
drenched in mere minutes.  She mewled in her sleep.  I couldn't begin 
to guess her dream, but no doubt it was very nice.  My only regret was 
that I couldn't get her bottoms off and completely out of the way.  And 
then I had a curious thought.  Why did she have them on?  Susie 
always slept naked from the waist down.
	
That observation was the crack.  Then the whole drowsy dam burst.  
Why was I sleeping on the wrong side of the bed?  Why was the bed so 
small?  Why was the one side of the bed pushed against the wall?  Why 
was the light in the room so different?  Where was the other window?  
Suddenly I remembered everything.
	
Oh _shit!_  I was diddling my sister!  That was Ashley's cunt nudging 
up against my fingers!  God, I had to get my hand out of there.  But 
how?  Her hand had my arm pinned in place, and the weight of it was 
concrete.  How to extricate myself?  Very _very_ slowly, or in one quick 
yank?  Either way had the potential of rousing her, and either way my 
whole arm had to be _gone_ if she stirred.  While I considered my plan 
of action I tried to get her leg off me.  That wasn't such a bad 
situation--after all, it was _her_ leg on top of _mine_--but I didn't want 
to give her cause to wonder why she'd flung her leg up like that.  The 
damn thing would not budge.  Her thighs were shouting _we want to be 
spread wide open!--now get back to business_.  In fact, Ashley drew 
her leg up even higher.  It seemed to be having trouble getting settled 
in its new position.  I was in a panic.  The movement had made a cock 
sandwich between our thighs, and the motions were threatening to 
squirt some dressing on the meat.  The fabric of my gym shorts lay 
between our flesh a limp leaf of lettuce.
	
First things first, I figured.  Make my hand's placement seem as 
innocent as possible.  _Get those fingers out of her pussy!_  That 
accomplished, I tried to crawl my hand out of her bottoms.  Without 
smearing her juices all over.  Her whole crotch quivered every place I 
brushed against while making my unsteady exit.  I was almost out when 
Ashley murmured a slurred, "Don't."
	
_Don't_ was exactly what I was trying to do.  I paused, then continued 
my escape.
	
"_Don't_," she repeated a bit clearer.  "Don't, Tommy, _don't!_"
	
Oh shit!
	
"Don't stop, not _now_."
	
My heart went a minute between beats.
	
"Please, Tommy."  What?!!!  Then I saw the glimmer of her open eyes.  
She turned a little towards me and growled, "Didn't anyone ever tell 
you it's _dangerous_ to not finish something you've started."  Her hand 
slid down my arm and firmly returned mine where it'd been.  She 
shifted her leg a little, then her hand moved over and up inside the 
leghole of my bottoms.  "Tit for tat," her lips whispered as she homed 
in on me. 
	
"I'm sorry, Ashley, I didn't know what I was doing."
	
"It sure felt like you did," she giggled.  "Lucky Susie!"  Her hand 
began rubbing up and down the length of my erection.  "Mmmm. _Very_ 
lucky Susie."  She freed up her other hand, and used it to shove mine 
more firmly against her cunt.  "I'm ready for a nice big piece of luck 
myself right now.  Many strokes of good luck."
	
I wasn't so much massaging her pussy as her pussy was massaging my 
fingers.  I tried a final feeble protest. "But Ashley . . . I mean, Ashley 
. . . "
	
"But what?" she gasped.  "I'm so fucking horny right now I don't care 
who you are.  You're a man with exactly what I need.  That you happen 
to be my brother," she nibbled around my ear, "that's the icing on the 
cake."
	
I was stunned, and I guess my silence revealed that.
	
"What?  You never thought of me when we were teenagers?  I always 
kind of wondered what it'd be like with you.  Guess I'm going to find 
out."
	
Well, what healthy adolescent brother hasn't heard the running water 
and thought _there's a naked girl in the shower!_?  Who hasn't fondled 
his cock in the dark of night while thinking _there's a pretty little 
pussy right in the next room!_?  Well . . . guess I was going to find out 
too!  
	
We fell to kissing like a couple of lust-crazed teenagers.  Hers was 
_better_ than the mouth of my dream.  Now that she'd jump-started my 
hand, she moved that one up to lift the hem of her top.  Then she 
moved herself to lift a breast to my mouth.  One, then the other.  By 
now I had several fingers buried deep in her cleft while my thumb 
traced little circles on her clit.  I stopped long enough to bring my 
hand up and smear some honey on her nipples.  As I sucked off the 
sticky sweetness, Ashley moaned, "God, Tom, that's a sexy trick!"
	
Her top kept getting in the way so she stopped her hands to pull it off.  
"Too many clothes," she grunted through the fabric.  I agreed and 
paused to remove my t-shirt.  Then, as long as our hands were free 
anyway . . . I reached to the elastic of her waistband.  "Mmmm, I like a 
boy who knows what he wants."  Ashley lifted her hips to help me with 
the task, then she turned her hands to my waist.  "Hope you like a girl 
who knows what she wants."  She didn't give me the time to help her.  
She shucked those suckers right past my toes.
	
She fairly leapt upon me.  "Now back to that kiss!"  Our hands quickly 
returned to their masturbating ways.  I was just starting to think about 
doing something different when Ashley gave a little hiccup, then 
erupted like a volcano being born.  Her whole body shook as if in 
seizure and a huge flow of magma ran dripping down my wrist.  She 
nearly bit my tongue off inside her mouth!
	
Ashley melted against my side, reduced to a sweaty panting pile of 
flesh.  I was in complete awe.  "Geez, Ashley," I crooned in her ear, 
"did you break or something?"
	
"No," she whimpered as she slowly caught her breath, "I do believe . . . 
that . . . I am . . . working . . . better than ever.  What did you just 
do to me?  No, wait, don't tell me."  She grinned and reached down to 
stroke my hand.  "Don't say anything, just do it again."
	
And so I did.
	
Once she recovered again she purred, "Would you like to see what 
you've been doing to me?  I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours."  
What a bunch of rhetorical nonsense!  Ashley didn't wait for an answer 
or a movement on my part.  She rose up on all fours like a foal first 
rising.  Her limbs were all wobbly.  She managed to get turned around 
and straddle my body, then she collapsed again.  Fortunately her mouth 
was wide open and in I went.  I was in the position known as the pussy 
eaters paradox, a paradise of sorts.  I was both a drowning man and a 
thirsty man.  The only way to survive was to lap it all up.  I could 
have died without regrets doing just that.  The touch, the taste, the 
smell of her had my brain soggy with endorphins.
	
The tiger inside her roared once more.  The sweet thrill of it sent me 
blasting into space.  I didn't get that far because of course Ashley's 
mouth was there to catch the whole load.  We lay there like that for a 
short while, caught up in the limpness of that queer upside down hug.  
Then Ashley leaned back in with her tongue to my cock, licking gently 
but stubbornly, cleaning me off, the mama cat giving her kitten a 
thorough wash.  I tried the same with her, but it just seemed to make 
more of a mess.  Not that that was any reason to stop.  Maybe I wasn't 
trying hard enough.  I gave it a real good go, but then her thighs 
were squeezing my head again.  
	
Ashley squirmed away from me with a guttural mention of my magic.  
But she was the one working the magic.  By some miracle she had 
coaxed my cock back to its former glory.  She squirmed around in a 
major shift of position, on her knees sitting high above me.  Holding me 
stiff in a hand she guided herself down, sinking me deep inside her 
cunt.  From the initial contact we had a Moan & Groan competition, but 
it was impossible to judge a winner.  As I slid all the way in Ashley 
had a minor flare up.  I watched her face contort in pleasure.
	
"Jesus, Ashley, don't you get it anymore."
	
"Ohhh," she moaned, "I get all I want.  I guess . . . I just . . . don't 
get it quite like this.  Mmmm, you're one to talk.  When was the last 
time you were ready for more so soon."
	
Such intimate moments beget utter honesty.  I placed my hands on her 
breasts and stared deep in her eyes.  "Never . . . ever . . . in all my 
life."
	
I suppose she thought that in the superior position she'd retain all the 
best control.  My secret was that in these circumstances, if I can get 
past the teeth-gritting phrase, I can go on right at my leisure.  I made 
it past that point, and let my hands slip around and down to her ass.  
I ground her down upon me and squeezed her into a tremendous 
orgasm.  She gave a low cry and collapsed on top of me, her face in the 
tears of a superhuman experience.  All her muscles had gone to liquid.  
I rolled us over and she somehow managed to lock her legs behind me.  
In a tiny voice she chanted her mantra, "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me."
	
I fucked her, fucked her, fucked her.  Her vaginal muscles were as 
strong as ever, and she fucked me, fucked me, fucked me.  Ashley got a 
big smile on her face as she reached underneath and behind us to 
fondle my balls.  "Now," she coaxed me, "_now!_"  My cock swelled as I 
started to explode, and her eyes went just as big.  "Yessssss," she 
hissed as I pumped away like crazy.
	
I collapsed upon her even before I was fully spent.  I lay there 
wordlessly as the final spasms left my body.  I nuzzled against Ashley's 
cheek as sleep stole me away from the moment.  I drifted off to her 
softly whispered lullaby, "So good, so good, _so-o good_."
	
I woke up alone and fully dressed for bed.  Grabbing some clothes I 
went in the bathroom for a quick shower.  Soap and hot water had 
already erased whatever evidence might have been lingering when the 
full memory of the night flooded my mind.  Memory?  I was bludgeoned 
by a stroboscopic series of images of wild sex with my sister.  Did that 
_really_ . . . ?  No way!  It must have been one of those weird multi-
layered dreams, where you keep waking from dreams that ultimately 
prove to have been dreams of dreams.  Aside from feeling like a real 
sick pup, I did have to congratulate myself for having such a vivid 
imagination.  With virtual sex that great, who needs the real thing?  
There was a dissenting vote from down below.  It was like a guy I used 
to work with whose job was to keep the propane tanks for the forklifts 
filled.  When the warehouse switched over to electric lifts, he made a 
damn convincing argument to the management about the vital nature of 
his position.  They kept him on until retirement, placing him in charge 
of keeping the spare batteries recharged.  It was the cushiest year of 
that man's life.  My penis was bobbing around babbling something about 
keeping the juices flowing.  I gave it a playful whack.  "Shut up you."
	
I toweled off and dressed, then followed the aroma of coffee downstairs 
into the kitchen.  When I entered the room Mom looked up from the 
table.  "Hello Sleepy-head."  Geez, give me a break.  It wasn't that late.  
True, they were nearly done with breakfast, but they had an early 
flight to catch.
	
"Morning Slug-a-bed," Ashley sort of echoed.  Her quick glance up and 
her tone of voice convinced me that I was right about the night's 
events.  _Oh well, at least no one knows you're a pervert._  You really 
don't have to feel too ashamed of your depravities as long as they don't 
escape the confines of your own cranium.
	
We had about an hour of chit-chat before Bob announced they'd better 
get a move on.  He was going to drop them at the airport on his way to 
work.  But then he wouldn't be back for us.  The business world waits 
for nothing, and apparently there was a big bunch of shit awaiting at 
the office that no one could clear up but him.  That was okay.  Ashley 
and I both had mid-afternoon departures, so we were going to split a 
cab.
	
After they left I finished my toast and settled in with the newspaper.  
Ashley announced she was going to grab a shower, get dressed and put 
her luggage in order, suggesting that I root around the cabinets to see 
if there was anything to rustle up for lunch.  I grunted behind my 
prop like an old man.
	
I could hear the water running.  And running and running.  She must 
have found some way to tap into every water heater on the block.  
After forever she finally finished, and then she was up there for 
another forever.  Not a sound.  I was down to reading the Help Wanted 
ads so I decided to go up and check on Ashley.  I hadn't heard any big 
_thump_, but maybe she'd slipped and cracked her head and then slowly 
slumped down the wall to the floor.
	
The bathroom was empty.  The door to Aunt Cassie's old room was open, 
so I stepped in without knocking.  Ashley was half lying back on the 
bed, dressed exactly as she'd been the day before.  "Took you long 
enough," she taunted me.
	
I gulped.  "Uhm, Ashley, right outfit, wrong day."
	
"Really?  Well, you seemed to appreciate seeing me in this yesterday so 
much I thought I'd give it a reprise."  Her feet were on the floor, but 
it was a low bed, and as she slowly fanned her knees in and out I 
could clearly see that I'd been right and wrong about the fishnets.  
They weren't held up by garters, but they definitely weren't pantyhose.  
What really caught my eye at that angle was the tuft of proof that she 
didn't have on any panties.  "Is something wrong?" she asked with an 
innocence that was a lie.  "I didn't change a thing.  I'm wearing 
_exactly_ what I had on yesterday."
	
Ashley extended a leg and hooked a foot behind my ankle.  "Come on.  
Come here.  We have to wash the sheets anyway."  I lurched forward in 
an unconscious parody of Frankenstein's monster.  She then lifted both 
feet to the bed and scooted herself back, leaving her legs cocked wide.  
She slipped the straps off her shoulders and pulled the fabric below 
her breasts.  No bra, either!  "Remember these?"
	
"Th-th-that wasn't a dream?"
	
"Last night?  Did I confuse you by slipping your shirt and shorts back 
on this morning?  I was _trying_ to wake you up!  As for last night, I 
call that very _dreamy_.  But it was as real as a pussy full of sperm 
gets.  I wonder how full of sperm this pussy can get?"  She gazed 
straight at my crotch.  "Better open that zippered door.  Looks like 
someone wants to come out and play."
	
Mr. Not-Obsolete-Yet jumped right out.  I made a move to take off her 
shoes but she brushed me hand away.  "No," she cooed gently, "I want 
you to do me just like this.  We're at the funeral home, and you've 
found a small utility closet.  You shove me inside and turn on the light.  
There's no lock on the door!  Better hurry!  Someone could come along 
at any minute.  Wait, what are you going to do with that big fat 
broomstick of yours?  You're not going to shove it up inside me are 
you?  You're not going to fuck me, are you?  What are you doing to my 
breasts?  But if I don't like it, why are my nipples already so hard, 
begging to be sucked?  What if someone comes in?  They'll see you 
screwing your sister!  At first they'll think you're raping me, but then 
they'll smell a pussy sopping wet with lust.  They'll see me pulling you 
even deeper inside me, they'll hear me moaning and panting and crying, 
they'll hear me begging you to never stop, begging you to fuck me, 
fuck me, fuck me _crazy!_"
	
Ashley seemed to be improvising this story but the script was an easy 
one for me to follow.  I didn't think she'd ever run out of words, but 
she did.  She didn't need to talk anymore.  Her eyes expressed herself 
better than any chatter.  She alternated between staring deep into my 
eyes and clenching them shut as the next set of trembles washed over 
her.  Good thing we hadn't washed the sheets!  Here I'd always thought 
Susie's two or three a session was the upper-end definition of multi-
orgasmic.  Ashley, it was like being a kid and running a stick down a 
wrought iron fence:  _bang! bang! bang! bang! bang! bang! bang!_  I 
would have been jealous if I hadn't been so proud to be playing a part 
in it all.
	
She was shredding the back of my shirt when I reached that 
penultimate stage where suddenly your cock swells even larger than 
life.  No backing down from there.  Especially when Ashley squeezed 
with every muscle in her cunt.  She wanted, she got, and boy did she 
get.  She must have been lying about last night.  I must have been 
imagining every orgasm I'd had in the past several months.  A copious 
amount?  I felt like I was finally urinating after having ached for hours 
to find a bathroom.
	
Even Ashley noticed, twirling her fingers through my hair as we lay 
there in that dazed glow.  "Wheeeew.  Whooooa.  And I though I was 
getting off like crazy.  Where did you get all that?"
	
"Hollow leg I guess," I gushed.
	
"I _liked_ that," she nodded.  "I liked that a _lot_."  Reaching down 
between us to where we were slowly separating, Ashley remarked with a 
big smile, "Wonder which one of us made more of the mess?"
	
"Well, I think we both get trophies."
	
We cuddled up warmly together in the nest of each other's arms, hands 
stroking, petting, sharing long slow kisses.  I guess I started drifting.  
Next I knew Ashley was nudging me gently.  "Hate to end this 
wonderful interlude, but we've got laundry and lunch to do.  Not to 
mention a quick wash-up."
	
I was putting the clean sheets back on the bed when Ashley announced 
up the stairs, "I called for a car.  They'll be here in ten minutes."
	
"Okay, I'm about done."
	
We were ready and waiting when the horn sounded outside.  The day 
was so bright I felt blinded and stunned.  I concentrated on getting the 
tricky lock to turn, then slid the key in through the mail slot.  When I 
turned around Ashley was halfway down the walk watching me.  What 
caught my eye was the yellow taxi was in fact a black _limousine_.       
	
"Ashley?" I patted my pockets.
	
"My treat!" she beamed.
	
The car wasn't one of those hugely ostentatious stretch limos, but it 
sure was shiny and new.  Inside you could see where the ice bucket 
would rest, where a little t.v. could fit.  But the only true luxuries were 
the big wide facing seats, and the smoked glass divider hiding the 
driver.  Ashley slid the little window open, discussed the price, then 
dispensed much more than the amount mentioned.  Before closing it she 
informed the driver, "We need to be at the airport no later than 2:00, 
but otherwise there's no rush."  
	
After that we were in our own little world.  Ashley came over and sat in 
my lap, straddling me, facing me.  "Um, there are plenty of places to 
sit."
	
"And I've found the most comfortable seat!" she answered primly with a 
smug little grin.  She leaned over and gave me a huge kiss that was all 
tongue.  All _tongues_!  It felt like she had about ten of them.  Then 
down came the straps again and out popped those marvelous breast.
	
"Wow," I exclaimed, "_déjà vu!_"
	
"I thought you might be missing them already," she gave a happy 
squirm.  She tweaked her nipples with a little gasp, then swiveled her 
bottom again.  "Feels like these two guys aren't the only erect things in 
this car.  I know what I'm missing already."
	
Before I could react, she reached between her legs and undid my 
trousers, buckle, snap and zipper.  She raised herself enough to pull 
them to my knees.  We were both off the seat as I helped her get my 
shorts down.  "I thought you'd know by now to skip the underwear 
around me."  She sure did.  She sank right down on my shaft, all the 
way down, moaning with her eyes closed, "Such a magnificent cock!  
Why've you been hiding it from me for so long?"  
	
Her skirt hid most the action so I lifted it up and held it at her hips.  
Ashley leaned forward and craned her neck down, enjoying the view 
before returning her gaze to me with a breathy sigh.  "Just look at us.  
You in me, me engulfing you.  So-o-o beautiful."
	
It was a nice slow _very_ nice ride to the airport, ending with the limo 
hitting a well-placed pothole in the approach road.  As the driver 
opened the door for us, his face was one big wink.  The hand that 
wasn't on the door held an aerosol can of potpourri scent.
	
"I thought that glass was completely opaque," I hissed at Ashley.
	
"So what if it wasn't?  And if it was you think he didn't notice that 
we'd trashed his suspension?"
	
Strolling down the corridor Ashley stopped to stick a hand under her 
skirt, in plain view of half the world.  "One guess what I've got 
running down my thighs!"  She popped two fingers in her mouth, 
swirled her tongue around and declared, "_Delicious!_"  People were 
gaping.  Myself included.  A little louder still, "Oh, they're just jealous 
because they don't have that freshly fucked look on _their_ faces.  
Don't have that freshly fucked feeling between their _legs_.  Bunch of 
grumpy old sourpusses!  They should try getting their rocks off more 
often."  My sister the sultry clown.
	
Ashley's gate was the closer of the two and her departure was fifteen 
minutes earlier, so I lingered with her.  She was one radiant woman.
	
"I just _adore_ these family gatherings, don't you?"  Kiss.  
"_Especially_ the last-minute ones where the spouses and kids stay 
home."  _Kiss!_  "Let's not wait for someone to die before we do this 
again, okay?"  _KISS!!!_
	
"You know," she grew thoughtful, "David _is_ everything I want in a 
man.  The whole listing:  friend/lover/husband/father.  But lately I've 
gotten this strange _longing_ I couldn't quite make sense of.  I'm not 
one to slut around with strangers, and I'm not much interested in all 
the baggage of a steady lover.  I just, I don't know," her eyes 
twinkled, "I just wanted some extra spice in my life."  She gave me a 
penetrating look.  "Wonder if I've found it?"
	
"Spice?" I asked.  "I'll give you _spices_," I growled, "every kind and 
brand you want.  _And_ . . . I'll throw in the rack for free!"
	
Ashley just seemed to melt, "Oh-h-h _Tommy_."
	
As the final minutes ticked away, she flung her arms around my neck, 
shaking her head silently with a big telling smile, staring at me with 
eyes a mile wide.  She tightened her grip and seemed to be pulling 
herself up.  I knew exactly what Ashley wanted.  I slipped my hands 
under her dress and cupped her bare bottom.  She gave a little jump 
and wrapped her legs around my waist for a full body hug.  Then she 
puckered up and gave me one of the most probing, soul searching 
kisses of my life.  I held her until my arms were aching and even then 
didn't deny her.  At last they announced the boarding and Ashley 
slipped down.
	
"I wish I could fit _you_ in my luggage.  Say," she tapped my crotch 
with a finger, "you sure that thing isn't detachable?"  At exactly the 
same moment we both noticed that damp spot she'd left on the front of 
my trousers.  "Oh my, won't the flight attendants be talking about you," 
she giggled.
	
Then she was gone, grinning and waving and blowing me kisses all the 
way down the ramp.

=========================
Like? Yes? No? Comments welcome. losgud@hotmail.com
=========================
I am archived at DejaNews under the "Author" name:
	lushgod@hotnomail.com

	 

	

	 

	


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