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From: Bill Hayden <hayden@mindless.com>
Subject: My Sister Jean - 20 Concluding chapter, MFF, cons, play
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My Sister Jean - Chapter 20
BillyG
Conclusion, A Resolution - Of Sorts
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Prologue: This is not a stand-alone story. To gain a fuller
appreciation of the characters, their connection and their drives, one
might better read the preceding two chapters at least. It is, of
course, not for nothing that this is chapter 20. Something *must* have
gone on prior to this, the concluding episode.
BillyG
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Little Cayman
A sudden knock on the loose-fitting screen door sounded like a gun
shot, loud and jarringly unexpected.
With a faintly British accent, a young man's voice called out,
"There's a phone call for Billy or Jean." And in another moment,
"Anyone there?"
Jean and I looked at each other. I lifted an eyebrow that asked,
'Do you know?' She shrugged her shoulders as if to say, 'Beat's me.'
A naked Margi had slumped to her knees, one hand thrust between
her thighs and the other unsuccessfully trying to cover her breasts. We
were all uncomfortably aware that whoever it was had only to step off
the walk to look through the unshuttered screens to see the three of us,
mostly naked. We remained frozen.
"Anyone home?" the disembodied voice asked again, and again
knocked.
Suddenly jarred from my inaction, I called out, "OK. Be right
there." Turning to my sister and our friend, Margi, I held my hands
out, palms up and whispered, "Stay here. I'll be right back."
Jean placed her hand on my arm and asked in a surprisingly loud
voice, "Where'd you think we were going to go?"
"Shit, I don't know . . . but wait anyway, OK?"
Jean smiled and nodded. "Hurry back."
I slipped into some sailing shorts and a fresh T-shirt. As I was
leaving, I glanced back to see Jean kneeling beside the cowering Margi.
It occurred to me that if Margi wasn't concerned about her nudity, she
might understandably be concerned about her job at this remote and
high-priced dive resort.
Whoever had brought the message was gone when I went outside.
Threading the darkened paths that connected our octagonal beach house
with the larger central building, I reflected that only our Mom knew
where we were. Entering the main structure, I walked into the bar where
our hostess, Gladys, glanced up and nodded her head toward a phone
receiver off the hook. "Your mom," she offered.
"Hello?"
"Billy? How are you? You and Jean OK?" It was Mom.
Damn, I should have called to let her know. "I'm sorry, Mom . . ."
I began but she cut me off.
"Don't worry about it. That's OK. Gladys already told me that
everything's fine; I just wanted to hear your voice. Or Jean's."
"We're fine." And then searching for something to say, I asked,
"Remember Margi, the Dive Master from last year?"
"Oh, yes. I remember Margi. I'm sure *you* do!"
It amazed me how my mother could put so much suggestive meaning
into her voice.
Before I could frame an answer, she went on, "Gladys said that the
three of you had gone to listen to CD's after dinner. Having fun?"
Cripes. Half a world away. Did we have any privacy? I looked at
Gladys and she smiled a conspiratorial, almost wolfish grin.
"Uh . . . yes. We were . . ." and I didn't know just what to say.
"We were . . . uh, playing a game."
"Truth or Dare?" Mom asked.
What the hell is this, I wondered?
"How'd you know?" I asked, perplexed once again by my mother's
seeming omniscience.
"I didn't, but it's what came to mind. Probably because that's
what I'd do in the same situation." She paused and then went on, "You
and Jean explore 'your situation' anymore?"
Our 'situation.' I was embarrassed. Even though we'd had an open,
heart-to-heart conversation about sex, Mom and me, I still found it
difficult to be comfortably candid.
"Uh . . . nothing new, Mom. We're OK, honest."
"Baby, I'm not checking up on you two. I love you both and have
confidence that whatever you do, it'll be all right. Now get back to
your party, tell Jean I love her and say hello to Margi. And oh yes.
Tell Margi not to do anything I wouldn't do . . . and that leaves her a
lot of latitude. Bye." she ended up laughing.
"Bye, Mom."
I turned to leave and Gladys said, "Tell Margi to relax."
"What?"
"Just relax, have a good time . . . that's all."
Once again I had the feeling that I wasn't completely in the know
about what was going on. Were we that transparent?
I was mulling that over in my mind as I walked the darkened path
back to our room. I noticed that the blinds were drawn and the room
apparently dark as I let myself in. There was a yellow, dim light, a
candle flickering on the night stand. One of Margi's CDs was playing, a
soft, melodic sound that I didn't recognize, but I liked.
"Hi, Billy," two voices intoned, almost in unison. "Welcome back,"
added Jean.
"Margi, Gladys says, 'relax'."
"What?"
"Relax. She says to relax. That's all. You know what that's a
about?"
"Uh, I'm not quite sure. But she thinks I'm too tense."
As I dark adapted, I saw Jean was sitting on the floor, legs
outstretched, her back against the foot of the bed and Margi was leaning
back against Jean in turn, between her legs. Jean was holding Margi
loosely, one hand over a full breast. Both were naked as best I could
see in the flickering light.
"We've been talking," Jean added, in response to the question
unasked. "Margi's been telling me about her sex life."
Margi squirmed, I thought uncomfortably, and looked down, not
saying anything.
"Isn't that so, Margi?" Jean asked, nudging her breast.
"Oh, Jean . . . don't," she murmured so softly I almost missed it.
"Oh, Jean, yes. Billy would be pleased to hear what you've been
telling me." And then turning to me, she added, "Our little Margi's
really quite experienced, Billy. Shy, but experienced. Right, Margi?"
She murmured something. I couldn't hear her, so I kneeled between
her splayed legs and said, "What was that, sweet girl? What'd you say?"
"She'll tell you, Billy, but first she's got to be relaxed. That
phone call scared her. Is everything all right?"
I nodded and offered no further explanation.
"Tell you what, Billy. Pull up the ottoman there behind you and
sit facing us. Put your legs over Billy's, Margi so he can move in and
be close. OK?"
Perhaps it was because of the dim, flickering candle light or
perhaps Jean and Margi had come to some trust or understanding while I'd
been talking with our mom because she didn't demure at all. Sliding up
toward them, my own legs splayed, Margi lifted her's and dropped her
thighs over mine. In turn, my legs were draped over Jean's. My dark
adaptation and the candle light enabled me to appreciate the furry core
of Margi's pelvis in the process.
"Hmmm, nice, Margi."
"Are you commenting on Margi's pussy, Billy?"
Margi gasped and I felt her trying to close her legs, but she was
stuck in an open and exposed position.
Not waiting for a reply, Jean went on, "Tell Billy what you told me
a few minutes ago, Margi."
"Oh, I couldn't . . ." she began but was cut off by Jean
immediately.
"Sure you can, girl." Jean cupped both her breasts in her hands
and rolled her nipples between thumb and forefinger. She then turned
her attention to me. "I'll start." she began. "Margi has always wanted
to acknowledge her body as well as her sexuality. She told me that
making out in the dark is fun certainly, but not exciting. She's
attracted to the excitement. Aren't you, girl?"
Margi glanced at me and then tried to look up at Jean but couldn't
manage fully. Jean nudged her again and she nodded.
"Aren't you?" prompted Jean.
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, I love the excitement."
"And?"
"And . . . I'm too embarrassed to ask for it."
Patiently, "For what, Margi?"
"For someone to tell me what to do." she said softly and then
gaining some confidence, added in a louder voice, "I want to do things.
All sorts of things, you know - sexy things - but I'm too shy. It's not
that I don't want to try things, everything, it's that I'm so
embarrassed. If someone, you, *makes* me do things . . . well, then I
can't refuse. It's like it's not my fault. Then it's OK. Know what I
mean?"
"Good, Margi. Now let me ask you this. Are you willing to tell
Billy what are deal is?"
Margi nodded, studying the rug in front of her, not looking up.
"ARE you, girl?" Jean nudged her again.
Margi suddenly looked up at me and stared for a long moment before
saying, "Yes, I am."
I touched her for the first time. I placed my hands on the tops of
her thighs and slowly stroked up and down. "Then tell me, Margi. What's
the "deal' - the one you've made with Jean. I'd like to hear you tell
me."
She took a deep breath and blew it out. Then another before
beginning. "I told Jean that I was so excited, so hot a little while
ago - when we were playing Truth or Dare - that I would have done
anything, and Jean asked, 'Anything?'"
She took another breath and continued. "When she asked me that, I
was excited and afraid at the same time, but I guess I was more excited
then frightened so I said, 'Yes, anything.'"
Jean continued to roll Margi's nipples in her fingers. They were
swollen and dusky. I hunched a little closer and ran my fingers over
the tops of her thighs, ending just an inch away from her public thatch.
"Go on," I urged.
"She asked me if I'd be your slave for the night, the two of you's
slave. I wasn't sure what that meant, but somehow it made me wetter."
She looked at me again and asked, "Know what I mean?"
"The slave part or the wetter part?" I asked.
"Uh . . . I figure you know about the wetter part. I'm horny. But
do you know about the slave part? What does that mean to you?"
"No, Margi. The real question is: What does that mean to *you*?"
She looked down, nibbling on her lower lip and brushed the top of
her pubic hair with her fingers. "Well, I *think* it means that I have
to do what you tell me to do, that I have no choice."
I traced a line across the top of her pubic bush, meeting her hand
in the process. She started to pull away but I grabbed her hand and
pulled it back to the top of her pussy and held it there.
"Margi, it's important to know that you *do* have a choice. You
always do. This is a game. That's all it is. And in this game, we
play that you're a slave, our slave, and that you have to do the things
we say. Keep in mind, if you agree, we'll expect you to keep your
bargain. We'd never hurt you, but we might embarrass you and we just
might make you even hornier. But you do have a choice. Do you
understand that?"
After I removed my hand from her's, she resumed touching the area
around the top of her slit, idly moving her fingers through her bush.
Oddly stronger, she went on. "Oh, I know that. And I've already
made the decision. That's the "deal" I made with Jean. I'm yours for
the evening and I have to do what I'm told." Glancing back, she added,
"Isn't the right?"
Jean answered promptly, "That's right, girl and the first thing I
want you to do is play with yourself. I'll play with your tits. You
play with your little cunny. Yes, show Billy your pussy."
Jean has assumed a firm, directing voice and I took my clue from
that. "While you're playing with yourself, Margi, tell us . . . when
did you start masturbating?"
She ran the index finger of her right hand up through her slit. In
the yellow light, I could see her finger glistening with her wetness.
"Um . . . I'm not really sure. A long time ago. I was young. I
mean, very young. Maybe eight. Even seven. I don't remember. All I
knew was that it felt really good and I knew I wasn't supposed to be
doing that. I didn't know why. I don't remember anyone telling me not
to touch myself, but I knew. Maybe my girlfriend told me. I knew it
was naughty, but it felt too good to stop."
"Ever get caught?" Jean asked.
Margi slipped two fingers into her slit and then rubbed her juice
on my hand as I toyed with her pubic hair. When I looked at her, her
eyes were glistening, intense and wide open. She smiled a little.
"Several times. It was embarrassing, but it also was exciting. I
think I *wanted* to get caught."
"Did you cum then?" I asked, holding my hand up to my nose.
Her eyes glittered as she watched me. I smelled her and then
touched my tongue to my fingers. She jerked.
Now a little more breathless, she answered, "I could cum as long as
I can remember. Just some were more powerful than others."
I wondered what she was trying to tell us, but before I could frame
another question, Jean asked, "Tell us about the powerful ones, girl.
Can you remember what made them that way?"
"Yes, I can . . . but I'm a little embarrassed to talk about it."
Bending forward, I used my finger tips to pull open the lips of her
pussy, watching her finger roll her clit.
"Then all the more reason to tell us," I interjected. "It's the
stuff about which we are most embarrassed that's often behind the
greatest erotic charge."
"Exactly," chimed Jean. "Remember, you're our slave, so tell us
everything girlfriend."
I presented the wet tips of my fingers to Jean. She sniffed them
and said, "I'm beginning to understand why you keep snitching my
panties, Billy."
Margi looked back and forth between us, straining her neck trying
to see Jean behind her. I nodded to her. "Go on."
"You guys make me forget what I'm saying . . ."
"The most powerful cums," I prompted.
"Oh yeah! Well, it had something to do with the fear of getting
found out. That some one would catch me. The closer I got to
discovery, the more powerful my cums got. A couple a times I got caught
with my hand in my panties as I was about to cum and it shot me over the
edge. I just doubled up and groaned, it was so strong."
I scrunched a little closer again. Margi had to lift her thighs
even higher as I moved in. She looked down and saw my cock, inches
from her. She tentatively reached out to touch me and I said, "In a
moment. But right now, I want to look at you. I want to touch you.
Have you ever been this open for anyone?"
She shook her head and continued to look at my cock, now bobbing. I
ran my finger through her slit. It was swampy and the musky scent of
her was filling the room.
"And have you *wanted* to show yourself this way? "
She nodded her head vigorously. "All the time! I don't understand
it, but I *want* to be seen. I put myself in positions where I'll be
exposed and then almost die of embarrassment when I am. And I keep
doing it. I get so hot sometimes I have to . . ."
"Masturbate?" Jean prompted.
"Yes. I *have* to get off. I even stick things up inside of me."
She paused and then added, "God, I can't believe I said that!"
Turning her back to the moment, I asked, "Can you feel it in your
pussy when Jean pinches your nipples?"
I nodded to Jean. Margi gasped with the intensity of Jean's pinch.
"Can you feel that in your little cunny, Margi?" Jean asked, tugging on
her swollen nipples.
Margi bobbed her head and groaned, as she slid down a bit, pushing
her cunt at my fisted cock. I slid the head of my dick up and down
through her wet slit and said to her, "Margi, bring yourself off for us.
Show us how you cum. We want to watch you, your pussy, your sweet cunt.
Watch it drool. Make it foam, girl. Jill off for us."
She looked wildly at me for a moment and then surrendering, she
threw her head back, her neck arched, tits thrust forward and slipped
the fingers of her right hand into her cunt as she began rolling her
clitoral hood with her left hand.
I began to tap on the ingorged and jutting tip of her clit with the
head of my cock, much as I'd done with Jean once a few years before.
And like Jean had done, she began a grunting moan that sounded like,
"Mmmm, uh, uh, uh," over and over, thrusting her hips at me, plunging
her fingers into her swampy core. My desire was surging.
As she slid forward again, I noted that Jean had pulled her hands
away from Margi and into her own crotch. At least it looked that way. I
made eye contact with her and she looked almost pained. Her brows were
knitted and she was biting her lip. Her eyes were open and wild with
passion, unfocused.
Margi had slid almost flat with her legs wrapped around me. My
cock had been pulled down into the crack of her ass as I mindlessly
began humping at her sexy, wet warmth.
Jean pulled away and shifted position, now kneeling over Margi's
head, her hand buried in her own cunt, frigging away, almost
frantically. Margi's unsupported head was thrown way back, neck
hyper-extended, mouth open. When I caught Jean's eye again, I nodded
toward Margi's open mouth and Jean threw her leg over and lowered her
cunt to Margi.
Margi immediately opened her mouth and started to suck on my
sister's pussy as she continued to frig her own cunt, now with three
fingers jammed in and still blindly humping the air.
Jean was moaning and grunting as she fingered her clit and Margi
mouthed her slit. No less intense, Margi continued to moan incoherently
as she fucked her self with her bunched fingers, my hard cock rubbing
the crevasse of her ass cheeks. I wondered if she'd ever taken it up
the ass.
I wrenched myself back, pulling away from Margi. Without looking,
she pulled her mouth away from Jean long enough to moan, "No, please
no."
I kneeled between Margi's legs and pulled them up, pushing her
knees toward her shoulders, baring her open and swollen sex as she
crammed her fingers into herself. Just below was her ass hole, fringed
with dark hair. I was desperate to sink my cock into something.
"Margi, I'm going to fuck you. You OK with that? Want me to sink
my hard cock into you soft cunt, girl?"
She pulled back, took a breath and almost screamed, "YES! Yes. FUCK
me--I want it--I need it. Fuck me, please!"
Unthinking, I leaned over her, pushing the head of my cock below
her fingers. She pulled out and grabbed my cock, guiding it into her
core as I slowly sank into her, no more than a head's depth.
"Want more than the head in there, girl?" I asked, trying to drive
her crazy."
Jean's voice entwined itself in our reverie, "Fuck her, Billy! Fuck
her while I watch. Yes, fuck her while she eats me. Oh, God. Oh,
shit. This is so hot. Put it in. More!"
"More, Margi?"
"Oh GOD, don't tease me. I'm gonna die. Push it in, Please!"
I eased in another inch, maybe two.
"Yesss," she hissed and humped at me.
"Yes," echoed Jean. "Oh Christ, Billy. I've wanted this and I've
been afraid of this for so long. Fuck HER, Billy and think about
fucking me!"
Bending forward and thrusting her hips out that she might see Margi
better, Jean added, "Come on, girl. Suck me. Eat me while my brother
fucks into your cunt. Give me the fuck energy he's giving you. Fuck me
with your tongue."
I lost all restraint as I pulled back and then slammed into her as
hard as I could. I touched something back there, in the back of her
cunt. She grunted and bucked under me as I began a trip-hammer
pounding, kneeling between her splayed thighs, my eyes locked with
Jean's as we climbed higher and higher onto some impossible pinnacle. I
lost track of time. I lost track of Margi. It came down to just the
two of us.
There was just me and there was just Jean, eyes locked, fucking and
fucking, lost in the moment, lost in each other.
She started first, as her head fell back and she grabbed her own
breasts, humping Margi's mouth, her moan drawn out to a rising
crescendo. I remember thinking for a brief moment that I'd watch this
erotic sight, but my own runaway orgasm caught me by surprise.
I couldn't remember what we'd decided about her risk. I pulled out
and fisting my cock, I stroked it once, twice and a third time when I
exploded. The first thick white rope of cum landed on Jean's thigh. The
next on Margi's chin and throat and the last on her chest and belly. A
few more dribbles ended up in my hand. I looked at the warm white
puddle in my hand and then reached out and wiped it across Jean's
breast. Her nipple was pebble hard.
We fell silent. Frozen in the tableau, Jean sat back on her heels,
freeing Margi's face. I fell back on my heels and looked at the
wreckage. The only sound was our panting. I couldn't really tell which
was mine.
Margi slowly lifted her head and make eye contact. We looked at
each other but didn't talk. Couldn't talk. We were drained.
Margi ran her finger through a glob of my cum on her chest and
looked at it. She looked back at me and then placed the tip of her
finger in her mouth, tasting me.
Jean watched silently and then similarly picked up a clot of my
jism with her finger and tasted it as well.
The CD was still playing, but I'd not heard it in the past while.
Gradually I heard again the waves on the beach as I reentered reality.
I looked down. I was still holding my cock, now soft and
shriveled. It looked almost pathetic, that once proud weapon now
reduced to a soft, wet noodle.
Jean cupped her cunt and held it for a moment before asking in a
whisper, "Well, stud, how do you feel now?"
"There are no words."
"We finally got to 'do it' Billy."
"Yeah. I wonder if we'll ever get any closer, Jean?"
"I don't know, Billy. Maybe not. Maybe this is it. I just don't
know. But I am sure of one thing . . ."
"What's that?"
"We'll never be able to go back. You can't go home again."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Epilogue
Because we're still very much alive, Jean and I, there's no real
ending to this story. Still, for now, it needs to end somewhere and
this is it.
I've taken the remembering, the reliving, the healing of it all as
far as I needed to. I have other things to write, things aside and away
from Jean.
More, I have a jazzy life to live and the vibrancy of the moment,
the here and now, is more vital than the sweet memories of what once
was. Given then and given now, it's a no-brainer. I'll go with the
moment any day.
BillyG
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