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Archive name: leah.txt (Mf, inc, mildly rough)
Authors name: Simon (simon@jazzandjava.com)
Story title : Leah

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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2002.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  All rights reserved. Thank you for your 
consideration.
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Leah (Mf, inc, mildly rough)
By Simon (simon@jazzandjava.com)

***

It took me a while to admit it, to realize it, but for 
years I was in love with my sister. It's a hard thing 
to get right away: sure, I loved her, but I didn't 
realize I was IN love with her. 

And I somehow managed to avoid thinking about the fact 
that I wanted her, more and more as the days went on. 
That I scheduled my showers for those glimpses of her 
in the towel; that when I jerked off, it was her face 
in the back of my mind; that I'd dated a friend of hers 
because it was some kind of connection. You know what 
did it, though? Coming home from college for Christmas 
break.

I'd gone to school on the other side of the country, 
near about, and been gone just long enough for her to 
look... less familiar. Do you know what I mean? At that 
age -- she was a year and a half younger than me, a 
senior in high school -- a few months can make a 
difference. 

It was like, before leaving, I had continued to see her 
as she was at 14: and being away from her for four 
months, it made her age three years. Longer legs. 
Creamy pale skin that had lost most of its tomboy 
freckling. High, pronounced cheekbones, making her face 
more angular, the baby fat stripped away. Her dark 
brown hair had been dyed a deep shade of purplish-
black, the Crayola color only showing when the light 
hit it just right: her long eyelashes and jade-flecked 
eyes were accented by expert shadow and mascara now. 
Her hips had more sway, her breasts more curve. She was 
a completely different person.

Except, of course, she wasn't.

She was the one who greeted me at the airport, having 
driven my car -- well, her car, but it'd BEEN mine -- 
there while the folks were at work. My eyes went right 
past her, right past the simple white sweater and long 
black shirt where I was expecting a concert T-shirt and 
ripped up jeans. She had an arm around my neck before 
it completely registered who she was, and I couldn't 
help laughing.

"Jesus, Lee," I said. "I was expecting --"

"-- pigtails? Pony sneakers?"

"Well, not that bad. But, you know. You've grown up a 
little."

"Kinda did the makeover thing for senior year. Anyway, 
just want you to know -- since my car used to be yours 
and everything, I figure you'll want it to be able to 
get out of the house for the next couple weeks."

We headed down towards baggage pickup, and I nodded, 
talking over the holiday crowd. "Actually, yeah, that 
would be--"

"Well, tough. I can drop you off places or whatever, 
but the car's mine now. Suck it up and deal."

Now that was the Leah I remembered.

* * *

We ended up working out a complicated schedule so that 
I'd have car access, but as it turned out, there was 
really no need. After a few days I'd seen everyone I 
wanted to see, and there just wasn't a damn thing to do 
in the area. Finals had worn me out, and truth to tell, 
I was as happy staying home and enjoying the digital 
cable setup as anything else -- the dorm televisions 
got an odd mix of Spanish-language Disney channel, a 
few obscure pay stations, and NBC.

Closer to Christmas, Leah was home more often, too. 
Most of her friends had gone off to the relatives 
they'd be visiting, or to Vermont or Colorado where 
they'd be skiing. Yeah, it was that kind of town, those 
kinds of social circles. 

My room was sort of an adjunct to both the rec room -- 
no one called it that except my mother -- and the 
storage areas of the basement. The basement was only 
bearable spot in the house in the summer, because my 
parents didn't believe in air-conditioning; but in the 
winter, it was cold as sin. 

That's probably the only reason Leah hadn't bothered 
moving in to my room. Mine was larger, sure, but she'd 
taken care of that by putting all the crap that had 
taken up her closet space and shoving it in between my 
bed and the windows (the windows could barely be called 
such: medicine-cabinet-sized things high on the 
ceiling, where the basement overtook the ground 
outside). 

It wasn't so bad, though. I threw an old quilt over the 
boxes, and it almost looked like I just had a raised 
floor there. Or a weird table. Or boxes and a quilt.

Mom and Dad had their cocktail parties, their dinner 
parties, went to the country club, cajoled me into 
going along to a distant aunt's house for dinner (Leah 
was smart enough to be out of the house when it came 
time to leave), and Christmas inched slowly closer, 
break seeming to last forever. Sure, I loved having the 
time off, but my God. None of my friends were around, I 
didn't have a car, and it was damned cold.

This is the part where I say "what I didn't realize was 
that by the end of the break, I'd wish it would never 
end."

Because the highlight was Leah. Yes, she was still 
something of a brat, but reflexively, habitually. She 
was funny, smart, my cohort against the parents, and we 
talked for hours about both her senior year -- how to 
cruise through Fisk's physics class, all the senior 
benefits she should be reaping -- and my freshman year 
of college -- what it was like living in the dorms, 
having such a different class schedule, staying out all 
night, etc. And we watched movies, when we were both 
home. 

That had been "our thing" forever: movies. Neither of 
the folks watched them much -- Mom would purchase the 
occasional tearjerker, watch it every day for a month, 
and drop it off at the Salvation Army. Dad had his John 
Wayne and Tom Clancy movies. Yeah, it was that kind of 
family.

Lee and me, we'd watch anything together, because if it 
was horrible we'd just make fun of it -- and that was 
as much fun as the best of the good movies. So we 
rented a bunch of everything on the folks' Blockbuster 
charge card, knowing they wouldn't get the bill till I 
was back at campus and Leah could blame it on me -- and 
when we'd gone through that, two days before Christmas, 
Leah sighed.

"Nothing's gonna be in, you know." It was true. The 
local Blockbuster was small, and this close to 
Christmas, everyone was renting movies.

"Eh. Well. We could watch some of your movies."

"Ohhh, my movies are crap. Girl movies. I'm outgrowing 
them. There's only so many times I can watch the same 
old thing. But you know what we've got." You're 
thinking she's going to say porn, but you're wrong. 
"I'll bet Grandma sent the usual."

"Oh God."

She grinned, jumped up from the couch, and snuck 
upstairs to the presents under the Christmas tree. When 
she came back, she had a wrapped package in her hands: 
small, the size of a video. Bright metallic green 
wrapping paper. Yep, Grandma's usual.

"You're not really suggesting we watch it?" I asked.

"C'mon. It'll be fun. We'll mock the living shit out of 
it." She unwrapped it before I could object, and there 
it was: The Happy Hippos Go To China. "China!" she 
grinned. "God. How many has she sent?"

"Ten. At least ten, maybe more. You'd think they'd stop 
making Happy Hippos movies. You'd think Grandma would 
realize I'm not nine years old. You still hide wine 
behind the basement freezer?"

"Sure do."

I got up, brought a couple of bottles out, and she'd 
already put the video in and had laid down across the 
couch, sprawled on it, very much like the teenager I 
remembered. "Move over."

"Nope. Don't wanna."

I picked her legs up, and she kicked a little but let 
me sit down, putting her long legs down in my lap. She 
was wearing comfortable jeans and a red sweater -- 
nothing exceptional, but she looked good in it. I 
rested my hand on her ankle, and she smiled, but didn't 
say anything. While we talked for the next two hours 
(the Hippos movies were bad enough, but believe it or 
not they were also full-length), I squeezed her foot a 
few times to make a point, and found myself running my 
fingers along her ankle, tracing her skin. 

I wasn't even really aware of doing it, until Leah 
stretched her leg out against me, and my fingers 
shifted six inches or so up her leg. "Tickles," she 
mumbled, like she wasn't really going to acknowledge my 
touching her, either.

We downed the first bottle of wine while making fun of 
the Happy Hippos and their madcap adventures in China, 
getting progressively more giggly, and when the tape 
ended, Leah stood up, almost falling over, and pointed 
upstairs.

"Gonna pee. Put the TV on or something. It's vacation, 
we should be staying up all night."

Late Night was over, but after some flipping I found a 
movie worth watching on one of the many channels 
available through the wonder of digital cable. 
Strangers on a Train, one of the better Hitchcock 
flicks. Leah, of course, recognized it the instant she 
came back down.

"Rock. Good choice, big brother." She'd changed while 
she was upstairs, into nothing but a long T-shirt and 
longer legs.

"Getting ready for bed?"

She shrugged. "Eh, eventually. Now move over."

I grinned. "Don't wanna."

She sailed over me, pouncing into the seat next to me 
and hrmphed, stretching her legs out again. "Brat."

"Bitch."

"College boy."

"Oh yeah. Good one."

And so it went, random jabs and insults as we finished 
the second bottle of wine and watched the Hitchcock 
movie. I was sitting closer to the middle now, which 
meant closer to her, and her legs were laid over my lap 
so that when I rested my hand, I was touching just 
below her knee. 

Every time I didn't make a conscious effort to stop, I 
found myself caressing the back of her leg there -- 
barely touching, but just moving my fingers along it, 
stroking her soft creamy skin, rewarded occasionally 
with a light "mm" or "ohh." It's just her leg, I 
thought. Perfectly innocent. Nowhere near what my 
mother used to call "the swimsuit area."

After Strangers on a Train, I flipped channels for a 
while, expecting her to yank the remote from me -- but 
Leah had fallen asleep. She had her hands curled up 
under her head, tilted to the side against the couch 
cushion, with that slow, regular breathing where you 
know someone is just plain out cold. Too much wine, too 
late at night.

Her legs were still on my lap, though. I slinked out 
from under them, trying not to wake her up, and wobbled 
-- there's no way I was going to be able to get her 
upstairs, not this drunk. But she'd freeze sleeping on 
the couch, so I ... well, I picked her up, being 
careful not to fall over, and brought her to my bed.

Perfectly innocent.

I had a queen-size, so it's not like there wasn't 
plenty of room. I laid her down on the far side of the 
bed, by the boxes, pulled the quilts up, laid down on 
my side, and promptly fell asleep.

I woke up I don't know how much later, maybe an hour, 
because she was huddled against me, her back against my 
chest, trying to keep warm. Still sound asleep, and I 
was barely awake myself. I started to push her away, 
but shrugged inwardly. It was too cold to bother, and I 
was too drunk. I started to drift back off, bunching my 
pillows up under my head, but something started 
stirring. With her this close to me, I was suddenly 
very aware of the vanilla-lavender smell of her hair. 
Of the curved shape of her underneath the quilt. Of her 
ass almost pushing against my stomach.

Only half aware of what I was doing, I shifted, until I 
was higher up on the bed, letting her ass nestle 
against my crotch. I was still clothed, in jeans at 
that, and she was wearing... well, panties... so it 
wasn't too bad, right? But now I couldn't go to sleep. 
Suddenly just wasn't tired at all, although I certainly 
wouldn't say I was awake. I just lay there, listening 
to her breathe, feeling her back against my chest and 
the growing warmth of her against me, and realized I 
was as hard as it was possible for me to be.

So what, I thought. Go to sleep. Go back to sleep. 

There's nothing you can do about it right now.

Of course ... there was ONE thing I could do about it.

Moving slowly, not wanting even a chance of Leah waking 
up, I unbuttoned my jeans just enough to slip my hand 
down into my boxers. My fingers wrapped around the base 
of my cock, and began to slowly jerk. 

It's not that I wanted to take my time so much as I 
just didn't want to wake her up. I kept stroking, 
running my wrapped fingers along the length of my 
shaft, rubbing the head against the fabric of my 
boxers, doing my best to make no noise at all. Once you 
get into it, though ... it's a slippery slope. My cock 
began to nudge out of my boxers, out of the V formed by 
my button-fly, and I froze for a moment when Leah's 
breathing changed, like maybe she was waking up.

She wasn't. She just rolled an inch or so, turned a 
little -- unconscious weight-shifting, it happens a 
thousand times, but this time it pushed the panty-clad 
cleft of her ass right against my knuckles. I took a 
deep breath and kept stroking ... slowly ... breathing 
deep to smell her hair, angling myself to let my cock 
touch her after every stroke. I shuddered, knowing this 
was an amazingly stupid thing to do, knowing that there 
was no way I was going to stop.

And if she wasn't going to wake up from feeling me 
stroke myself against her ass...

I released my cock and fumbled my arm around her, 
pulling her against me. I didn't mean to be fumbling, 
but -- the alcohol hadn't quite worn off. She made this 
noise, in the back of her throat -- this little 
whimper. But I was sure she was still asleep. 

I let her fall into a natural position, and pressed 
gradually against her, my cock pressing her panties 
into the cleft of her ass, the shaft laying against her 
parallel to her spine, as I slowly -- and carefully -- 
and insanely -- began to grind against my sister's ass. 
It was so much better than my hand. It was -- just the 
fact that I was trying so hard not to think about this 
being my sister, the fact that I couldn't face the idea 
of what might happen if she woke up or I was discovered 
-- that made it so much better.

My hand slid under her T-shirt, running lightly along 
her skin, tracing the contours of her, the bewildering 
concavities and vexing convexities that made her who 
she was, and I shuddered again, unable to stop a low 
moan, when my fingers discovered she wasn't wearing a 
bra.

"Ehmmm!" It wasn't quite a whimper, it wasn't quite 
protest, but it was a definite sound, anxious and 
whining, when my palm covered her nipple and squeezed. 
Her breasts were perfectly shaped, sized for hands, 
designed for mouths, and when she pushed back against 
me in her sleep, pushing her ass against my bare cock, 
it was all I could do to keep from taking things much 
further than I dared. 

I stopped, looking at her face closely, but she seemed 
asleep -- drunk-unconscious, as if just responding to 
some dream. I wondered what she was dreaming about, 
whose cock she thought she was feeling. I started to 
stroke myself against her, moving up and down along the 
bed to feel her ass hugging me, and her foot criss-
crossed between mine, her leg stroking me just where 
I'd caressed her in the rec room.

My breathing was erratic, my chest pushing against her 
back, and hers was heavier now, deep, punctuated with a 
steady layer of almost-groans, little noises she wasn't 
awake enough to make. This was dumb. This was really 
dumb. This was -- sooo good. I rocked my hips against 
her, grinding steadily against her firm ass, and when 
she moved back against me, it was only instinctive, 
off-rhythm, as if in a dream. 

I wanted to squeeze her breasts, to slide a hand down 
the front of her panties, to kiss her, but I didn't 
dare. I pressed my mouth to the back of her neck, just 
where her hair fell to the pillows, but didn't kiss, 
just held it there as I clenched my teeth, and pulled 
my hand away from her breast so I wouldn't bear down on 
it, curling my hand into a fist beneath her shirt as I 
came, stifling grunts and groans and holding my breath 
until I could release it slowly, silently, as I rolled 
away from her, staring at the dark ceiling.

* * *

"Mrrm. You could've woken me up or something." Leah 
looked over at me, wrapped in the quilts, and I 
couldn't read her expression. By daylight, the night 
before felt... dangerous and stupid.

"You were out cold." I forced myself to grin, and 
realized I'd fallen asleep without buttoning my jeans 
back up. The quilt covered me, but only barely. "And I 
was way too drunk to dry to drag you up the stairs."

She nodded and pushed her hair out of her face 
groggily. 

"Unh. At least it was the white wine. Red gives me such 
a hangover. And we have--"

"Church today. Christmas Eve. Yeah. Fun for the whole 
family."

"Mmhmm." She crawled over me to the side of the bed 
without boxes and got up, pulling the quilts off behind 
her. I yanked up my boxers and started to button my 
jeans, and she turned around to say something, but 
stopped. Still unreadable. Intentionally unreadable, I 
could tell that much: guarded. Uncertain. She nodded to 
my jeans. "Just how drunk were you?"

I faked another grin and finished buttoning. "Dunno. 

Probably got up to take a piss."

She nodded and walked away, up the stairs to take a 
shower. "Silly college boy. Hey, by the way -- I'm out 
to the mall this aft to do my last minute shopping. You 
wanna come with, just let me know."

* * *

We made the mistake of shopping. I say "mistake" 
because -- hey. This was Christmas Eve. You've seen the 
malls. 

Wall to wall last-minute shoppers, us included. We 
finally found something for the folks, and showed up to 
church -- fifteen minutes late.

You'd think the only pews left would be the ones in the 
front, the ones no one wants. But no. We found 
ourselves in the back, in one of those mini-pews in the 
corner -- it had already been abandoned by someone 
who'd come in to make an appearance and left as soon as 
they could. Damn fickle Christians.

Mom and Dad were up front in the choir, as per always. 
We'd catch hell later for showing up late, if they saw 
us come in. I didn't look up to make eye contact. 
Sometime between "O Come All Ye Faithful" and the 
sixth-graders' nativity play, more late-comers shuffled 
in, squeezing in to our pew, and I found myself pushed 
against the window, our coats bundled in my lap and 
Leah practically sitting on top of them.

You know how it is in northern winters: you dress up 
all warm to deal with the outdoors, and then when you 
get inside, with too many people, you're far too hot. 
Leah's leg pressed tightly against mine was oven-hot, 
fire-hot. She was pressed much closer than she needed 
to be: doing that crowded movie-theater thing where you 
press against the person you know instead of getting 
wedged next to the stranger.

After the nativity play but before the sermon, she 
reached into her coat to find a Tic-Tac, rummaging 
through my lap -- and when she'd found it, her hand 
stayed there as she straightened up, eyes front and 
innocent ... her fingers making their way through the 
layers of coats until happening on the fly of my pants. 
I glanced at her again, but her eyes were firmly 
forward with no chance of contact, and the way she was 
sitting, you couldn't tell from the position of her arm 
that she was doing anything but keeping her hand warm 
under her coat.

The fingers flipped my button through the eyehole, and 
in the midst of first sentence of the minister's sermon 
I was sure the whole congregation could hear my zipper 
being slowly undone. Through my boxers, she caressed 
the underside of my shaft with her knuckles, tracing it 
warmly, with touches from firm to feather-light, making 
me hard before Joseph even knew his fiancee was 
pregnant. 

She worked her fingers through the front of my boxers 
and caressed me gently, as if getting used to the shape 
of me, before rubbing her palm against my cockhead and 
wrapping her hand around the base, starting to slowly 
stroke me.

She was... good. This was far from the first handjob 
she'd given. She brought me to the edge quickly and 
kept me there, with just enough pressure, just enough 
variance in her stroke, sometimes faster, sometimes 
painfully slow, and I had to force myself to lean my 
head against the window in an effort to look bored. 

Her hand kept moving, fingers changing position, fist 
twisting around my cock as she stroked, and I spent the 
entire sermon, "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing!" and the 
update on the church's sister congregation in Belize so 
close to coming that I could feel it in my toes. Every 
nerve was on fire, and I was sweating more than coats 
on my lap should have accounted for.

And then she stopped.

I was right there, it would only take a little more, 
and her fingers slipped off me, zipping my pants back 
up and rebuttoning them without bothering to pull my 
boxers back over my cock. She took another Tic-Tac from 
her pocket as I stifled a groan, and popped it into her 
moist mouth as the choir sang "The Little Drummer Boy."

* * * 

We were two of the first ones out of the church since 
we were right there in the back, and she didn't even 
glance at me as we got back in her -- my -- car and she 
pulled out of the parking lot. "Church wasn't so bad 
this year," she said after awhile. Maybe she'd been 
waiting for me to say something first.

"Oh yeah?" I shook my head. "I don't think I even 
noticed."

"What, you drunk again?"

I reached into my pants to fix my boxers, and groaned 
at the tautness of my still-hard cock. "Christ. Leah, 
what the hell--"

She smiled. No, grinned would be more like it. "Hm? 

What?"

"What you were doing..."

"What do you mean?"

"Jerking me off in church, is what I mean."

She shook her head solemnly and turned the radio on. 

"That's crazy, Simon. You're my brother. Jerking you 
off? In church? On Christmas Eve? That's not just 
incest, it's -- well, whatever jerking off in church 
is."

I leaned my head back on the headrest and groaned 
again. 

"Jesus, you tease."

"Oh, I'm the tease now."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Last night." I didn't answer for a long time. "Last 
night when you almost fucked me and didn't. That's what 
it's supposed to mean."

"I didn't -- I wouldn't have--"

She glanced at me, grin faded a little, something in 
her eyes almost like anger. "What. Pretty enough to 
look at, pretty enough to jerk off on, but not pretty 
enough to fuck? Or even kiss?"

"Lee, you're my sister! I was drunk, I don't know what 
I was thinking. It was -- crazy. Stupid. I didn't think 
you were awake--"

"You should have stopped at 'stupid.'"

"Yeah. Well--"

"I know you used to watch me in the shower, you know. 
And that time -- when we were playing basketball -- 
what was it, two years ago? You felt me up. It's not 
like I wasn't going to notice. You weren't just 
blocking my shot, your hands were on my tits." I'd 
managed to forget about that. "I remember you kissing 
me good night a few times -- lingering a little too 
long, and when it was about to become something -- you 
left. And I'm the tease? Fuck you."

"You should have said something."

THAT got me a look. "Oh, I should have? What, I should 
have said 'please big brother, please fuck me'? You 
were ashamed enough for both of us, I didn't need that 
shit. You're the older one. The responsible one."

"... so you jerked me off in church because you're 
angry with me."

That time she grinned. "Okay, so I'm not the most 
logical girl in the world. Make it up to me."

"How?"

She pulled the car over, along the stretch of road by 
the woods near our house. "Kiss me."

"Lee ... someone might drive by and see..."

She turned towards me and unbuckled her seatbelt. "Fuck 
that. Kiss me or lose me forever. No more free shows. 
No more feeling me up when we play basketball. No more-
-"

I shut her up by grabbing her by the hair and kissing 
her, hard. No gentle caress of lips on lips, no hands 
stroking cheeks and necks -- I pulled her against me 
and opened her mouth with my tongue, hot and wet, and 
she whimpered as she kissed me back greedily, her hands 
on the back of my neck and holding on tight, her lips 
and teeth closing down as she sucked on my tongue, 
twisting in the seat to press her breasts against me 
beneath their covering of jacket and sweater. 

"Fuck me, Simon," she murmured between hot breathy 
kisses, both of us moaning every time our tongues 
touched. "Fuck me. I want you inside me, I want it so 
bad. I know you do too, I know how hard I make you. It 
would be so good."

The heat was fading from the car quickly, and I could 
see my breath. "Where?"

She disentangled herself and started the car up, 
pulling into one of the little dirt trails that 
peppered the woods. "Outside. I've always wanted to do 
it outside at night."

"It's below freezing out there, Lee--"

"So?" She opened the door and ran out. "Keep me warm!"

Once my eyes had adjusted to the dark, I found her: 
laying on her big floofy coat in the snow, my footsteps 
crunching through the ice as I came up to her. She was 
shivering, her blouse unbuttoned and opened, her 
nipples hard visible bumps through a bra the same color 
as her trembling lips. I knelt between her legs and 
kissed her hard as she unzipped my pants, reaching for 
my cock --

-- which immediately shrank in the cold. I groaned, but 
she chuckled and shook her head. "It's okay. Sit up." I 
sat up, leaning back on my heels as she pressed herself 
against me, pushing her breasts around my limp cock and 
rubbing up and down, slowly, enough to warm me up a 
little and cause a mild stir -- before she took it into 
her mouth, her lips swallowing down to the base as her 
hot tongue worked around me, teasing every fold of 
skin, lapping against every inch of me. 

She started to withdraw slowly, sucking, and bobbed 
back in as I stiffened. For minutes she sat there, 
playing with my balls, my hands in her thick hair as 
she sucked my cock, teasing me with tongue and lips and 
teeth, waiting until she was sure I was fully hard.

"Hurry," she murmured, her mouth half-full, as she 
reached down under her skirt and pulled down her 
panties. "I'm fucking freezing!"

My wet cock felt like it was going to freeze in the 
Christmas Eve air, but it didn't take long for me to 
nestle on top of her and find her warmth. She was as 
wet as I was hard, and hot, so hot, I couldn't believe 
it. She groaned as she pulled me inside her, wrapping 
her legs around me under my coat. The snow and the dead 
leaves beneath it crunched as I rocked into her, and 
when she kissed me I grabbed her tongue between my 
teeth, sucking on it, teasing the edges, as she bucked 
up against me.

It wouldn't have looked like lovemaking to anyone else: 
it was a hard, fierce, vicious fuck, full of growling 
and mewling and clawing at the ground. But it was love, 
too -- a validation of things we'd never let ourselves 
say or do. 

Her heels dug into the small of my back as I pounded 
her down into the snow, thrusting hard enough to make 
us both grunt, and our mouths were everywhere: hers on 
my shoulder, mine on her breasts, biting and sucking 
through the bra; mine on the side of her neck, leaving 
a bruise she'd have to cover with her hair the next 
day, hers sucking hard on my collarbone; and on each 
other, kissing, tasting. 

We were hungry. We needed this. Every time her ass 
lifted off of the coat as she shoved her hips up, I 
pushed back against her thighs. Every time I sank 
inside her, she gripped my hair and begged me for more. 
Every time I pulled back, she whimpered and wriggled 
for me.

All I could think was how I'd dreaded even 
acknowledging this is what I'd wanted, and how I 
couldn't believe we had waited so long.

"Harder, Simon," she panted in my ear, her nails 
digging into my scalp as she grabbed my hair. "I know 
you're going to come soon -- I want it hard, so hard."

I lifted her legs up around my shoulders and just 
slammed into her, fucking her like I'd never fucked 
anyone else, not worrying if it was too hard or if I 
was going to come too soon or if the angle was right -- 
just needing to be inside her, needing that slick 
friction, needing to feel her swallow up every thrust. 

She came, but I didn't even know it until later -- the 
woods seemed impossibly loud around us, the cold and 
the dark keeping the world away as we fucked until we 
were sore, until the snow had sunk into our muscles, 
and when I came it was a hot bolt of lightning that 
started in my spine and shook us both, taking our 
breath away and leaving us panting against each other, 
sweaty despite the chill.

We didn't stay there long: it was freezing out. We 
kissed, still hungry, and fondled, and touched, and 
slowly dressed again, checking for marks, before making 
our inevitable way home.

Christmas just couldn't measure up to Christmas Eve.

END

/~Simon/

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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
anyway shape or form. 

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Kristen's collection - Directory 21