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o The Bookshelf Directories offer a very wide variety of stories. o
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Sisters - Sally and Gerry (mff, sneaky mast, sisters)
by BillyG
***
There was a period in my teen years when I was uncharacteristically
positive about few things in life. This stance, so antithetical to how I
would have people think of me, was operative only secretly. On the
surface, what I lacked in self confidence, I compensated with bravado. Not
a loud, in-your-face, strutting bravado, but more a quiet, act-as-if behavior.
Yet, one of the facets of my personality about which I *was* certain was
my lust for women. Not, mind you, a woman. But women. Pleural. That
both the broad brush strokes of our culture as well as the more narrowly
defined constraints of our local society didn't condone such a view was
clear, even to an insensitive teenage male such as me. I may have been a
libertine at heart, but I wasn't dumb about it. I kept my views to myself.
I was, at the time, dating a girl, a high-school cheerleader, named Sally.
Our relationship wasn't "serious" - there was never anything approaching
commitment, at least on my part. I was spared that near-fatal, teen-age
malady known as "falling in love." Oh, I recognized readily that I'd fallen
in lust, but that's quite another matter.
Sally was attractive, sexy, and very enthusiastic. She loved to fuck.
That was it, the whole of it, readily summarized. Aside from that, we
didn't have much of a relationship. Part of that was due to my own
superficiality, I'm sure. Another part was a consequence of Sally's limited
interest in life's matters distanced from fornication. I suppose that might be
said another way: Sally was an attractive and very horny air head with no
particular concerns or interests beyond getting laid and boys in general.
Her interest and enthusiasm for things sexual knew few bounds and
even as a lustful teenage male with an ingrown hard-on, there were times
when she asked for more than I could deliver. It may be that there were
nymphomaniacal elements there; even then I recognized this dilemma as a
quality problem.
I'm attempting to set the stage for the main thrust of this little story.
You see, Sally was the youngest of five girls and all her sisters were as
attractive. More, they were sexy and to a one, knew of our affair.
Somehow, that carried a charge for me. Knowing that they knew added
considerable spice to the whole thing. Despite being fully sated with Sally,
I remained keenly aware of her sisters. I didn't suppose I'd "make out"
with any of them; heck, they were so much older. Three of them must
have been in their early and mid twenties for God's sake! Still, no woman
was *too* old, I reasoned.
Sally was from an old family in our home town and like many old
families, they named their children after even older family members. Her
real name was Sara and her next older sister - she was probably about three
years older than Sally - was named Geraldine. No one - at least no one in
our generation - called her Geraldine. Gerry was the most commonly used
affectionate diminutive.
Anyway, Gerry was a raven-haired beauty with dark, snapping eyes and
a sensuous, mostly unsmiling mouth. It wasn't that she was grim or lacked
a sense of humor. It just appeared that her natural continence was serious
and unsmiling. She had a way of looking at me that made me squirm a
little. It was as if she knew something about me and expected an
explanation.
The rational side of me knew this was only my self-centered fear
speaking to me while the emotional (read irrational) side of me knew with a
certainty that I'd been found out. She could see my licentious thoughts
written across my face. And with good reason. At a later stage in my life I
figured out why I felt guilty so often. Usually I *was*!
You see, Gerry was a knockout, a sex bomb. She had a fantastic figure
with prominent breasts and a nice jutting butt. She had a habit of reaching
with her right hand, under her left breast into her left arm pit as she was
talking with me. This served to push her breast up and in, accenting the
visible cleavage. I was powerless; I had to stare. Often, I suspected, she
didn't wear a bra. Sometimes when I'd give her a hug, I'd be sure of it.
She was chief among my illusionary women and an active masturbation
fantasy. Her dark-eyed serious stare was often interpreted by me as
representing her knowledge of my unbridled lust. Of course, that made it
all the juicier.
Back to the story: Once Sally and I were sitting together in her living
room. Actually, she was sitting on my lap as I sat in a large, over-stuffed
chair as we often did. We'd been whispering and engaging in some low
grade petting. It was the custom of her family to stay in the family room,
rarely venturing into the living room it seemed. Perhaps it was because we
were there and they were giving us space, but in any event, it had come to
be held by us as a safe place to mess around. Sally was wearing a long and
full skirt and was curled on my lap in such a way that it was easy and
natural for me to slip my hand under her dress and into her panties to play
with her pussy.
Sally secreted copiously when she was aroused, and that was most of
the time when we were together. In addition to the lubricity, her secretions
had a strong and sexy musk. Once, after a heavy petting session with Sally,
I'd climbed into the car of a friend and he said, "Lordy, you smell like a
French whore house." I briefly wondered how he knew . . . about French
bawdy houses, that is. But back then, I'd grown accustomed to the odor
and didn't realize how strong it was.
Gerry walked through the living room from her bedroom upstairs and
then stopped, looking at us, not speaking. I froze. At that moment, there
was no way I could remove my hand without being obvious. She turned
and walked over to our chair, still not speaking. She leaned over and
sniffed the air. Busted! I was a goner, I just knew it.
Still without smiling, she said, "Nice to see you, Billy," and walked out
of the room. Christ! What did that mean?
I whispered to Sally, "What did she mean by that?"
"Oh, she's just teasing you," Sally replied, giving it no more thought.
"Jesus, she must have been able to smell you," I argued.
"Yeah? So what?"
So what indeed. I knew the social dynamics of her family were leagues
removed from my own. I had no notion of how things worked in this
family and decided to do what I usually did when I didn't fully understand.
Shut up and listen, try to figure it out.
Gerry seemed to be around more after that incident. It was nothing
intrusive or objectionable, it was just that I was aware of her more than
usual. Her comments, usually pithy, became even more pointed,
particularly around allusions to sex. Her hugs were warmer and definitely
fuller. I was always aware of her tits; now I knew what they felt like,
pressed into my chest. My fantasies soared.
Once when she was wearing tight shorts, she bent over in front of me to
pick up the paper. This pulled the shorts tight across her ass, outlining the
panties underneath and pulling the crotch of the shorts tightly into her. The
white, half-moons of her buttocks were calling out, "Look at me!" I was
staring, trying to make out if I could see her pussy lips, when she looked
back at me from her upside down position. "See anything you like?" she
asked. The best I could manage was a smile and a nod.
What was the allure here? Why is it, I wondered then, did I find other
women so attractive when I had all I could comfortably handle? I must
admit that with my marginal maturation, things haven't changed a lot. I'm
much like the alcoholic who admits that the drink he's most interested in is
the *next* one.
The family resemblance among the sisters was remarkable. While their
body types differed a bit, their coloration, eyes and hair notably, were
characteristic. Sally was willowy while Gerry was fuller. Perhaps
exaggerated is a better description, for everything about her was just a bit
on the bold and exotic side. Her cheek bones were slightly more prominent
and her lips just as bit fuller. She had an improbably small waist that threw
into greater eminence her full breasts and wide hips. She wasn't nearly
plumb enough to be called Rubenesque. Yes, exaggerated is a good term.
I was vaguely aware that while her family maintained a heightened
concern about appearances, there was an undertone of "there's nothing
wrong here and don't you tell." While no one spoke of it or acknowledged
it in any way, I was aware that Gerry had been "dating" a serviceman. This
took the form of them disappearing upstairs in her bed room, not to surface
for a week. Everyone walked around this elephant without talking about it.
Mostly I was jealous of the serviceman.
One warm afternoon Sally, Gerry and I were chatting in their family
room, a bright place with lots of plants and a southern exposure. We'd
been looking at photo albums together, sitting on a pillow-strewn day bed.
I can't remember how I came to be sitting on the day bed in the first place,
but I remember well that Gerry came and sat beside me, the bed sinking
just enough that her thigh pressed against mine. I had to turn my head to
speak to her and I was acutely aware how close our faces were to each
other. I noticed gold flecks in her eyes I'd not seen before and how thick
her eye brows were. She had a spray of light freckles across her nose. Her
teeth were remarkably white and perfectly even. She wet her lips
frequently as we chatted and I was increasingly aware of her warm breath.
I tried not to look, but my eyes were drawn to the front of her shirt which
gapped open when she turned toward me or leaned forward. No bra there
it was clearly evident. Several times I was certain she'd seen me staring
and a few times I thought the corners of her mouth turned up fractionally.
Thereafter, most of the interaction was between Sally and Gerry,
chatting about this memory or that person. I had little more than polite
interest in the pictures of dead relatives and it showed. It was a warm day
and little air was moving. I lay back and closed my eyes for a moment as
they argued about the people seen in an old photograph. Their voices
droned on and became distant. I guess I fell asleep.
When I awoke again, the house was quiet and the lengthening shadows
suggested I'd been asleep for an hour or more. Looking to the left, I saw
Sally, apparently asleep. On the right was Gerry. She looked back and
smiled, holding a forefinger up to her lips. We were all covered by a throw
blanket. I didn't know how I came to be between them but I thought Gerry
may have actually dozed off as well, for she had one knee thrown over my
thigh. Slowly awakening, we stirred. I became exquisitely aware of
Gerry's body pressed against mine. In the readjustment, Gerry's hand had
moved down to my low belly, only inches from the tip of my dick. It
lurched and I wondered if anyone besides me could feel the movement.
Yeah, yeah, I know . . . grandiose thinking.
Moving my right hand that had been wedged between me and Gerry, I
suddenly realized that it was right next to her crotch. I could feel the
softness of her thighs and the roundness of her mons against the back
of my hand. God! There was nothing separating me from Gerry's pussy
but her dress and panties.
A plan spontaneously hatched and, as with most of my lust-driven
brilliant ideas, I didn't subject this scheme to even the briefest
consideration, I just acted. As Gerry traced circles on my chest, I began to
inch up her dress with only the tips of my fingers, a decidedly slow but
delicious task.
Could I get away with such an audacious transgression, feeling up my
girlfriend's older sister as we all lay "innocently" under a blanket? My
rational brain said, "Of course not," Fortunately, or unfortunately, that part
of my brain was not in control. I suspect my more primitive hind brain was
calling the shots and it said, "Go for it, Billy. You deserve it, you sexy
devil you."
My lecherous intent had to have been unmistakable to Gerry. I'd inch
up her dress a bit and then press the back of my hand to her mons. She'd
answer by rubbing her knee up and down my thigh. Subtlety was lost on
us.
I felt something, a finger, no, a hand against the bulge of my cock.
Who was it? They were both facing me, both with their legs over mine. It
could be either one. My brain was frying from over stimulation. Sally,
now awake, was nuzzling against my neck and talking to Gerry just across
my Adam's apple.
"Isn't this cozy?" Sally asked, kissing my neck.
Was she talking to me? Hell, there wasn't a prayer I'd be able to talk
much less think. I just continued to inch.
After a moment, Gerry answered, "Yes. I'm enjoying being with both a
you guys. It's kinda sexy, huh? I mean, all of us in bed together."
"Kinda," Sally admitted, "but we've got all our clothes on," she
complained in a fake petulant voice.
I wasn't sure if this was a complaint, an argument or a suggestion. I
thought of a solution but wisely chose to stay quiet and continue my
inching. Suddenly my fingers touched warm soft, bare thigh. I pulled the
hem up higher and ran the tips of my fingers across Gerry's skin. How
close was I? Could I pull it up higher? What about the part of her dress
that was trapped under her leg?
As if reading my mind, Gerry adjusted her position on the day bed and
in the process, lifted her hip and pulled her dress up and out of my hand.
Since that accounted for her free hand and there was still a hand cupping
my cock and balls, I knew it had to be Sally copping a feel.
I was thrilled with the entire thing. My girlfriend snuggling against me,
caressing my cock while her sexy older sister was on the other side pushing
her mound against my hand. I knew it was naughty at best and possibly
forbidden at worst, yet that make it all the more delicious. Was this a form
of second-hand, non-consensual incest? I rationalized my behavior by
thinking to myself, "They *both* want you, Billy." The very worst part of
such errant nonsense was I believed it!
I pulled my left arm up and wrapped it around Sally's shoulders, leaving
the back of my right hand against Gerry's prominent mound. Now I was
touching her warm panties right over the cushy mons but there was a
problem. I couldn't turn my hand around to really feel between her legs.
She solved my problem by further turning into me, ostensibly to reach
across and run her fingers along Sally's face. But what it really
accomplished was to turn her pelvis down toward my hand and by rolling
the palm up, I could cup her pussy fully.
I thought to distract Sally by caressing her tits, so I slid my hand off her
shoulder and across her chest while my left arm was wrapped around her
neck. Even though the blanket was covering us, the bulge of my hand
moving under the blanket's cover was evident to everyone. Both Sally and
Gerry could see my hand grouping Sally's breast. Neither said anything.
We all fell silent. The only audible sound was our breathing. It sounded
deep and passionate, or was that just me?
Gerry was doing a slow, erotic grind into my upturned hand and at
the same time, Sally was pressing her crotch into my thigh. I took my
girlfriend for granted. At this moment, it was her sister who had my
attention. As I cupped her soft pussy through her soaked panties, I ran a
finger along her cleft, gradually sinking in deeper, carrying the panty crotch
with me. Somehow I managed to get my fingers inside the legs of her
panties to cup her full, hairy cunt. By this time, she was increasing the
intensity of her pelvic grind at the same time she was tracing lines about
Sally's mouth.
Sally loved to have her face touched. It had a near hypnotic effect on
her and Gerry must have known it. I was only dimly aware that she had
been able to carry out two tasks at once. Like me, one of these "tasks"
might have been purely instinctual, a no-brainer as it were.
I'd slipped my hand inside Sally's blouse and bra and was idly rolling her
hard, erect nipple between thumb and forefinger, then tugging on it. When
I pulled hard, she groaned just a little. Gerry was watching me and when I
looked over at Sally, she was watching Gerry watching me.
Both of the sisters were light complected and both were brunettes, with
near-black hair. Sally, I knew, had a broad and thick bush of long, black
curly pubic hair. I wondered if this was a genetic trait that also ran in the
family? I managed to extricate my hand from Gerry's crotch and run it
down inside the waistband of her panties, accessing the quality of her pussy
hair. If anything, it was thicker and more profuse than Sally's and by now,
matted soggy wet between her thighs. I felt a strong compulsion to smell
my fingers but couldn't figure a way to accomplish such an overt act
without being obvious.
After rolling Gerry's prominent clit between my fingers, I curled one,
then two fingers into her cunt. She gave a soft grunt and humped against
me harder. My own pelvis continued to work against Sally's hand which
was now gripping my cock through my trousers. I wanted her to open my
fly and stroke me, but didn't know how to ask. I mean, how *do* you ask
for a hand job in polite company?
Glancing at Sally, I noticed she had a puzzled frown. Her nostrils were
dilating as she sniffed the air. Then I smelled it. Pussy! She must have
know it wasn't her's, for she suddenly looked at me as if to ask, "Where is
that pussy smell coming from?"
Her hand slid off my cock and found my right forearm. She followed it
under her sister's belly and then pushed her hand between Gerry's thighs
where she found my hand. As guilty as I felt at that moment, I knew there
was no chance of me stopping. This was some run-away train of erotic
desire; I was aboard and it was an express.
When I glanced over at Gerry, she had her eyes closed. She could feel
both my hand in her pussy and her sister's hand feeling mine. She simply
chose not to deal with it. Ignore it. Maybe it'll go away.
Looking back at Sally, she met my eyes with a confused and hurt look.
She didn't say anything right then, but I knew the erotic moment was over.
I'd been caught with my hand in the cookie jar . . . well, not quite a cookie
jar, but certainly caught. I suppose I was coming from the emotional high
ground, knowing that she cared for me more than I cared for her. I didn't
want to hurt her, but I'd already moved into that space that allows to
happen whatever is going to happen. Whatever it was, it was all right.
Sally pulled her hand away from my mine as Gerry's hand dropped to
the breast I was feeling. I felt empty in my pelvis, neglected even and I
wanted to be held. As if reading my desires, Gerry then ran her hand down
my torso and cupped my cock, slowly stroking me as she humped against
my hand. Moments later, she shuddered and groaned as she crashed over
the top.
I wanted desperately to cum, but the situation was too weird. It just
didn't happen that way. Instead, we all lay quietly, no one saying anything.
I'd practiced a studied imperturbability so long, it actually worked. I fell
asleep. Later, when I awoke, Gerry was gone and Sally was curled up next
to me.
"You okay?" I asked, genuinely concerned.
"I suppose you're Gerry's boyfriend now, huh?" Sally asked with a
catch in her voice.
"Sally," I began, "I'm attracted to Gerry . . . hell, I'm attracted to all you
girls. Sure, I'd love to jump her bones, but there's no romance budding
here. I'm not her boyfriend and she's not my girlfriend. You are."
"Really?" she asked, wiping a tear from her eye. "Are we still
boyfriend-girlfriend?"
I nodded.
"Oh, good. I didn't mind you feeling up Gerry, I just was afraid that
you'd want her all the time and not me. I'm so glad I'm still your girl."
I knew Sally well enough to realize it was that simple for her. She
didn't complicate her life with lengthy analysis. Our relationship, narrow
and limited as it was, limped on. Less than a year later, we just drifted
apart.
EPILOG
One might think that with that experience and given Sally's tacit
permission that I'd certainly get it on with Gerry. That was not to be the
case. Oh, we flirted around for a long time and there was always energy
between us, but circumstances never allowed it to happen.
Sally eventually married an abusive alcoholic who threatened to kill
her if she messed around with another guy. Years later I visited her and
while she admitted she was horny all the time, nothing could happen
between us, largely out of fear on her part I suspect.
Gerry never married but lived with an older guy for years. We always
talked about getting together, she and I, but it just didn't happen.
Things happen just as they're suppose to. Otherwise, something else
would have happened, eh?
BillyG
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