Playing With Matches Big Ones

{I got this story from an email contact. She calls herself Gemineye, and knows all about my interest in stories where "good women" are swept up suddenly in desires that threaten to get out of control. There was a story Gemineye read recently about a guy and woman who got the guy's older brother to make her pregnant. She said she knew a story that was twice as crazy — it was about her, and her husband's twin brother.}

* * * * *

I never cared much for sex. Maybe for a couple of years after Danny and I got married. I wanted it maybe once every couple of weeks. Danny wanted it once a week, at least, and I gave in. Sex made me feel good, but I'm not sure I every really had an orgasm. Goes to show you how ignorant a couple of kids can be. All I had to go on was a couple of descriptions I read somewhere. A Cosmopolitan in the doctor's office, I think it was, or some magazine I wouldn't care to look at anywhere else. Long story short — the only reason I was halfway interested in sex, apart from the fact I liked making Danny feel good, was to get pregnant.

From the day we got married, Danny and I wanted kids. We never used protection. Seven years later, we figured we better head to the doctor's office. The bad news was, Danny's sperm count was pretty low. The doctor offered a bunch of ways to take care of our problem, including going to a sperm bank, but that didn't appeal to us at all. I remember catching the doctor's eye near the end of that conversation, and I kind of thought he was going to make an indecent proposal on the spot. I'm not bragging or anything, but I'm in good shape. About 5 foot 7, 36B, a 25 inch waist, and I jog at least three miles every day.

At the end of our last visit to him, Doctor Durkman said, "Well, if you keep trying, things could work out some day. You never know." He told me to stay healthy and cut down on my coffee. He told Danny to exercise, lose about 40 pounds, and eat lots of oysters. Danny ate oysters and mussels and you name it till the whales came home, but the only new addition to our lives was another 15 pounds around Danny's gut.

Life, apart from this, was good. Danny had a good job in middle management at a credit card company. I was between assignments as a customer relations consultant for a national agency.

Then one day we got a phone call. Danny's twin brother George had a couple of months' stress leave from the navy. He'd been stationed in Hawaii, Guam, the Indian Ocean, the Persian Gulf -- just about everywhere you could name. He wasn't much for keeping in touch with Danny or anyone else — a real no-nonsense, no flowers, no wasted words kind of guy. The biggest difference between George and Danny was in the body department. George stayed in shape. A second big difference -- George went on these party benders every once in a while. A nice hard-working straight arrow kind of guy for a couple of weeks, and then he'd booze it up for 72 hours solid on a weekend furlough, and then back to the daily grind.

And, oh yeah, a third big difference was in the politeness department. George could be as rude and crude as a sailor could be. He'd use the four-letter words like they were the ordinary way to talk about things. There were times when Danny had to punch George in the arm and say stuff like, "Jesus Christ, George — there are ladies present!" George also wouldn't think twice about saying stuff like, "Woman, get me a beer" or "Me and the boys were just out looking for a little poontang." He always said it with a half-smile, and as if it was in quotation marks or something, so that he figured he wasn't really being an asshole.

We asked George to stay with us, if he wanted to. Danny got along with him just fine. They were actually good friends, and rivals in everything. They just never got together more than once every 2 or 3 years. The first night George was with us, we had a great old dinner and drained about 5 bottles of Merlot. Near the end of the evening, we found out why George was on leave. There was an ugly incident in Guam. George took one of the base secretaries home from a bar. She said she was on the pill. They had sex twice, and four weeks later she claimed she was pregnant. George admitted to the sex, but disputed that he was the father. The woman took him to court, and sure enough, after the blood tests, he was the guilty party. There was about 5 weeks of legal wrangling, and at the end of it all George agreed to make a one-time payment of so many dollars.

Danny told me another story about George later that night, when we were in bed. George was in trouble for something like this once before. In high school, he had sex once with the mayor's daughter, the head cheerleader. He even had a condom, but it slipped off or something.

When Danny finished the story, I said, "Looks like he gets all the luck, huh?" Danny didn't understand me, so I said: "You two guys are twins, but you got the low sperm count, and he's already been a daddy twice — by accident!" Danny looked at me in a funny way. I mean, he agreed with me, but I could tell that the same idea that had crossed my mind was now crossing his.

We talked about it off and on for about 5 days. I'd say, "It's too crazy. We simply couldn't ask George to help us out." And then Danny would say, "But it's the perfect way — our baby would probably look like me, and the DNA would be the same. No one would see or know." A day later, Danny would be saying, "Naw, it's too crazy," and this time it was me that would be using the DNA argument. And then on the fifth night, we agreed that Danny would at least mention our problem to George.

The two of them went out drinking. Near the end of the night, Danny told George about how bad we wanted a baby. George listened to the long sad tale, and Danny suddenly got up the nerve to ask if George would mind helping us out. They laughed a lot, and drank some more, and at some point George finally got the idea that Danny was halfway serious about this. Danny had in mind that George would masturbate, and then Danny would somehow transfer the sperm to my ovulating womb. George just looked at his pudgy twin brother and said, "Danny, I'd really fucking love to help you out. If you and Maggie are really serious about this, I'll give you a hand. But not like that. I mean, fer fucksake, I'm not gonna jerk off in a cup or any of that kind of crap. Why don't you just give me a quick in-out with her? That way it'll all be natural and fast."

The two of them drank on it, and swore themselves to secrecy, and then drank and shook on it some more. I didn't find out about the conversation till the next night, after George took off for a couple of days, saying he'd be visiting a friend out of town. I told Danny I'd think about it. I really didn't think it would ever come this far, and even when I imagined it happening, I figured it would be a medical thing in some way, not personal. The next day, I kind of got used to the idea, and that night Danny and I talked about how we might go about doing this crazy plan. I said, "Listen, Danny. You know I'm no great shakes in bed anyway. I just don't get off on it like I'm supposed to. I think it would be a pretty mechanical thing."

Danny said, "It would still be adultery. It still sounds really dangerous."

"Yeah," I said. "But not dangerous like you'd normally think it would be. I mean, I don't care much for it in the first place, and I really don't care much for George. Sorry, but you know that. When he gets as crude as he can get, it makes my skin crawl."

"What if you do get pregnant, and the kid turns out like George?"

"No chance. I think George has always got in with the wrong crowd, and that's what's happened to him. We'll just make sure we raise our little baby right." I thought for a second, and added, "If George makes it a 'quick in-out', as he says, and if I stay totally covered up in that old pair of PJ's that your grandma gave to your mom, I might be able to go through with it."

"You mean the thick cotton ones? The ones that good little puritan girls were supposed to wear on their weddings?"

"Yeah, just like that. It's got a flap near the bottom. Good little puritan girls and boys weren't supposed to feel each other's skin."

The more we talked, the more we convinced ourselves. We really wanted a baby, and we loved the idea that it would be practically and almost naturally ours, instead of some genius or star athlete that we picked out of a stainless steel sperm bank. When Danny and I made our proposal to George, well, that was one of the strangest and most embarrassing and most exciting suppers I've had in a long time. Even George got into a kind of tongue-tied and "aw shucks" mood.

We agreed we'd do the deed the following night, on a Friday. George asked just one more thing. He didn't want Danny to be in the house, and Danny said he had the perfect excuse to get out of town. The guys at his office were organizing a bus trip to the football game in Buffalo. He'd be taking off right after work on Friday, and wouldn't be back till Sunday night.

* * * * *

George and I had a pleasant supper together. Every once in a while he'd say, "I can't believe what's going to happen later tonight." We'd laugh a little, and then force ourselves to talk about something else. We agreed to watch TV until ten. Then I'd get ready, and George would come up to my room at 10:30. He had ten minutes to do what needed to be done, and then I wouldn't see him until breakfast the following morning. Later, on Saturday night, we planned to follow the same routine. Ten minutes, and that would be all she wrote.

I put on those old, thick pajamas, feeling like a nineteenth century old maid. I lay on my back, waiting for George. I have to admit, I was feeling pretty tense. Would George go through with this? Would I? I really thought I might still shout NO. I heard George's footsteps climb the stairs. I heard the shower running in the hallway washroom, then a tap running, and a toothbrush rasping. George came in at 10:30, as planned, wearing only his boxers. I had left the bedside lamp on, and I could see his hard body in the soft glow. I saw exactly how much Danny had let himself go when I saw his twin's ripped chest. George walked gracefully to the foot of the bed and asked, "Are you still 100% sure you want to do this?"

I thought for a few seconds, and felt a bit panicky. Then I remembered how totally boring sex usually was, and told myself, "This is going to be quick, surgical, ordinary. And I really want that baby!" I said to George, "Yes, I am. Please — do this fast, okay?"

George moved to the side of the bed, and turned his back as he dropped his shorts. I saw his lightly downed backside, and felt like laughing. Something about a man's fleshy rear made me want to laugh. I wondered why guys took sex so seriously. When George turned around, I was kind of shocked. He didn't have a hard on, but he seemed enormous. Danny was, oh, I don't know, about half an inch long before sex, and 4 skinny inches when he was erect. George looked to be about 6 inches, and thick as my wrist. He touched my thighs near the flap, and then undid the snaps. I had a small shiver: I realized my pubic mound was now exposed to George's eyes, and I felt shame. I wanted to turn the light off, but George interrupted my motion by saying, "I don't think I can do this."

Now I felt panicky again, but this time for a different reason. Here I was, a sacrifice, a person who had talked about doing this for almost a week, and who made all these plans, and now it was just going to go bust. So I asked George what the problem was, and he just said, "Oh, I'm not really sure. It's too mechanical. I can't get hard, for fucksake."

We just stayed silent for about a minute, and George finally said, "Look. I think all I need is some contact here. Just get a hold of my cock with your hand, and I'll probably be able to do what, you know, what we agreed."

I thought, "this wasn't part of the deal," but I was also just a small bit curious — and I wanted to get it over with. I reached forward, and touched the tip of George's penis. Then I got a grip on his shaft, and squeezed it a couple of times. I could feel him getting harder each time, so I began to stroke up and down. I thought about pumping up an air mattress, and I felt like giggling. Sex really was a ridiculous thing.

Then I realized I had an eight or nine-inch monster in my hand with a head the size of a fat purple plum. And then I realized George was returning the favor; he had opened the flap on my PJ's, and was lightly stroking my pubic bush. He was kind of combing it with his fingertips, and giving me a light scratch. A little while later, he slid his fingers across the lips at the opening, and then every once in a while he did something to make my crotch jerk. I closed my eyes; I realized he was giving my clitoris a light, quick squeeze or a little love tap now and again.

I heard George say, "Just a little longer. You're almost ready." I guess he was feeling to see if I was moist enough for him, and I was glad for that. His penis could do some damage if he wasn't careful. Then George moved to get on top of me. He grabbed my wrist to keep my hand on his penis, and guided it to my opening. He said, "I want you to make the first move here. I want to know for absolutely sure you want me to do this." I put his plum-head at the opening, and raised my hips an inch or two, feeling him slide an inch or two into my private garden. George pushed in another long inch. It hurt. He was stretching me way too wide. He wasn't just entering me — I felt I was being crammed, or stuffed.

Then I felt nerve endings being tingled I didn't know were there. George was touching all kinds of new places. I was afraid — I thought he might be ripping me, and it didn't seem right that big pain was somehow starting to mix with pleasure. He pushed in another inch, and gave my clitoris a little smack with his lean pubic bone, the same place where Danny was surrounded by his soft lardbelly. This time my whole pelvis twitched, and George said, "Yeah — that feels good." I wanted to say I didn't mean to do anything, and then I wanted to tell George to hurry it up, but I knew I somehow had to make more room for him. I spread my legs wide, and I shoved my hands down to my crotch to pull out a fold in my PJs that was pinching me. I suddenly became conscious of how naked George was. I couldn't help myself; I put my hands on his waist as I felt his slow, short, massive pushes past the raw nerves of my vagina. Again, I felt I was being crammed, or packed to the hilt for a long trip.

Then I felt that engorged purple head reach and practically kiss my cervix, and George began a rhythmic up and down that was like a hypnotist's watch. I felt like a drop in an ocean wave, rising and falling, rising and falling beyond my control. George moved one hand under my waist, and one under my shoulder blades, and I wondered when his job would be finished. Several minutes must have passed, way past the time Danny would have needed. Just then, George started to buck faster, and to slam his pubic bone into mine, directly onto my clitoris. Danny never pounded me like that, and I realized with a kind of shocked horror that my clitoris was liking what was happening. I could barely understand it. It was so intimate, but it was a violation. It was like waking up from a long deep sleep, but then finding out you were about to crash and burn. It felt like I was being totally filled. Like I was being conquered.

My vagina walls were starting to spasm. My hips were thrusting up to meet the man-meat that was thundering in. It was out of my control — that was the most amazing thing. And then I went over the top. I started bucking and thrashing as if I was having a fit, and I felt the waves of the ocean crashing all around me, and it was the most intense pleasure I had ever felt in my life. As soon as that first tidal wave crashed over me, I could feel another one building up. I could feel George's penis expand inside of me, and then I felt his hot seed pumping hard and powerful and fertile into me. That was the blast of rain that started my second crashing tidal wave. I started rolling and spasming and digging my fingernails into my brother-in-law's back as if he were no more than an animal. It was like he had come here to slaughter and devour me, but I was devouring him instead.

When George began to slip out of me, I got another surprise. I felt regret. I couldn't remember the last time I was sad to finish with sex, but now I was hoping George would hold me for a little while before he took off. I gave him the signal by holding on to his waist. I didn't want to say anything. I didn't want to betray how good I felt. George must have been a bit worried about what happened, too, because all he said was, "That was… so good", and then he didn't say anything except to hold me by my waist. I rolled onto my side after a while, feeling ready to sleep, and George spooned in behind me. I felt even fuller than before. I felt as if I had conquered him.

* * *

I woke up, and saw the clock on the night table. It was about 11:30, and I realized George was still in the bed with me, behind me, stroking my hip across the thick cotton cloth. I still had the afterglow, but then I got serious. I was trying to figure out a way to order George out of the room, but nicely, when he got a bit more daring. He ran his hands across the back of my thighs, pushing lightly at the space between them all the way up to my butt cheeks and back down again. I was confused: I wanted him to stop, but I was still feeling a sleepy kind of goodness, so I didn't say anything right away. Finally, it came out of me: "I think you'd better go now." George wouldn't move, so I said, "George? Did you hear me?" He just said, "If you want to get pregnant, you should get as much of me into you as you can."

I was stunned. "Are you … you're really able…?"

"Am I really able to get it up again? I should hope so."

"I don't know about this. I'd rather wait till tomorrow night."

"I'll give you a two for one deal tomorrow night too. This time, though, I want to do it in a way that'll make it even more likely for you to get pregnant."

"What do you mean?"

"Trust me on this," George said. "If a guy comes into a woman from behind, I've read it's more likely she'll get pregnant."

I thought about how hard it would be for him to do it that way, especially with my puritan PJs getting in the way. Then George added, "Besides, it's not as personal in a lot of ways. The guy isn't face to face with the woman and all that."

The logic there wasn't all that convincing. The first time around, I didn't see much of George's face. It was either turned away from me or mashed into the pillow. Then I thought, why not? It would be less personal for me for a second reason — because I had so much pleasure the first time, and that was way too personal. At the same time, I still kind of wanted to thank George. I knew very clearly, now, that I'd experienced orgasm, and that's a Cloud Nine kind of thing. It's a spell that can knock the usual moral picture out of whack.

I said I wanted to think about it for a couple of minutes. I already knew what I was probably going to say, but I felt the need to wait. And I kind of liked the fact that he was still interested, and still stroking my thigh lightly against the thick cotton.

Then I said, "OK. One more. But please, as quick as you can. OK?" George just said, "Yeah, all right kiddo. This is the one that'll make the baby." He spooned in behind me, and I could feel his monstrous penis jutting against the PJ bottoms. George nuzzled the back of my neck, and that felt very nice. The nuzzles turned into soft kisses, and I let him. I felt one hand ride under my bottom hip, and the other ride on the top side, but it was obviously not easy passage through the flap. He hooked his thumbs into the PJ bottoms, and his fingers on my skin felt electric. He said, "I need to drop these over your butt. Otherwise this isn't going to work." I wanted to say NO, but nothing came out. George worked his hands down onto my haunches, under the PJs, and the violation felt wild, wicked… too good. He pushed his hands out against the fabric, and got my PJs down past my hips. Still stroking my thighs, he began butting his new erection against my raw, well-used labia, and began to slide in. Again, the pressure was almost painful, the pressure of stretching me out again to take him in. The nerves he was touching were frayed knots of pain and pleasure. The fat snakehead began moving in and out again, this time pushing at the soft wall just above my pubic bone. This was something new — he must have been touching there an hour ago, but now it felt as if he'd found a totally new country.