Charlie And Mindy Bk 02 Ch 06 1

This is the sixth chapter of seven in Book 2 of the

Charlie and Mindy

tetralogy—which is a story of forbidden love between a brother and a sister.

While Book 2 stands on its own, it refers to events that took place in Book 1. Book 1 also contains some of Charlie and Mindy's family history that bears on the story. You may therefore want to read Book 1 before reading Book 2.

This is a rewrite of a series I posted in the past and removed for a while.

Please leave your comments. I try to respond to non-anonymous comments within a few days.

—CarlusMagnus

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

I was still just enough hung over to be aware of it when I stepped up to Dr. Liddell's office door shortly after one o'clock the next afternoon. It was open, and he was sitting at his desk reading something from a large book—which I now know was a bound journal. He didn't see me, so I reached out and rapped gently on the open door. At the sound, he looked up.

"Uhh, Professor Liddell," I said, "you asked me to come by to talk about my exam."

He took off his reading glasses, and looked at me again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was about an hour and a half later when I returned to the house to find Mindy waiting for me. When she heard me come through the front door, she ran to meet me at the head of the stairs—where she greeted me with a full-body hug and a deep, loving kiss. In spite of the thorough treatment she'd given my DSB the evening before—less than 18 hours earlier—I felt familiar twinges in my cock; it was preparing to go to battle-stations.

When she decided she'd kissed me long enough and hard enough for the moment, she looked up at me and, still in my arms, still pressing her amazing little body against me, she smiled and asked, "Well, what did Liddell have to say?"

"Ummm…, well…" I paused.

Her smile deepened.

"He went over the exam with me. At great length… He told me how he gives really hard questions to make people think, and how my answers wouldn't have been acceptable in a graduate course, but were very good for a freshman-level course. And he told me he thought I should major in history."

She walked me through the conversation I'd had with him. I was embarrassed by some of the things he'd said about me, so I tried to downplay those things by under-reporting them. But she was still just as sharp as she'd always been at catching me when I equivocated, and she pinned me down.

"Tell me again what he said about you," she said, looking me in the eyes.

"He said he thinks I'm smart and a good student," I replied.

It wasn't quite a lie, but it wasn't the complete truth, for sure. She looked at me; her deep blue eyes seemed to bore right into me. And she saw right through the false front I'd put on things—as she always did.

"Tell me exactly what he said, Charlie." She paused. Her deep blue eyes continued to peel off the false front I'd tried to erect. And she spoke the words from our childhood, the words that nailed my dissembling hide to the wall. "

I invoke The Code.

"

She had me. My little sister had reminded me that I was obligated to tell her the truth—the whole truth. Her appeal to The Code—the code of honor we'd pledged between ourselves when we were children—was binding: There could be no lying—not even understatement intended to deceive—between us. So I did what I was obligated to do. I recounted that earlier conversation in full detail. And, thus, I confessed that what he'd really said, near the end of that discussion, had been, "…you possess one of the finest, if yet undisciplined, minds I have encountered in many years of teaching at this and other institutions of higher learning." And when I got to that part, her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. She recovered and squeezed me, her head on my chest.

"I knew it! I knew it!" she squealed gleefully. "You're so smart! I've said it over and over and over again, and now Liddell says I'm right! My big brother's a genius!"

She meant it literally, and I blushed furiously. I mumbled and I murmured. I backed and I filled. I hemmed and I hawed. I muttered something about how wrong he must be. But she would have none of it.

Fortunately for my composure (or unfortunately—depending on which part of my composure we're talking about), the touch of her firm little body was having its effect on me.

The light fragrance of her hair and the gentle perfume of her skin filled my nostrils. My cock—which has never given a damn whether I'm a genius or not—had gone to a state of full alert, and she felt it against her belly. It distracted her enough that she rubbed herself against it. She reached up and pulled me down into another kiss.

As we kissed, I ran my hands over her body, reveling again in my little sister's soft, curved femininity. When I got to her tits, I cupped them and squeezed them gently. Through the cloth of her shirt, I felt her nipples harden against my palms; and she moaned into my mouth. As I continued to knead her boobs, she broke the kiss and looked up at me; her eyes commanded my attention again, and I lost myself in those crystal pools yet another time.

"Ooohhh! I like it when you touch my boobs like that," she whispered to me, breaking the spell her eyes had cast. "It turns me on."

"I like touching them, too," I replied. "They turn me on. Your little body turns me on."

Lightning flashed from her eyes. "I am

not

little!" she said. "And don't you forget it."

Her countenance softened again as she reached up for another kiss. When it ended, she brought her arms from around me, took my hand, and pulled me into my room and to the bed—which stood with its head against the far wall. She didn't have to pull very hard.

When we reached the bed, she stopped and turned back toward me. She reached up around my neck, and she pulled me into yet another kiss. My arms went around her and pulled her close. We stood there, our tongues intertwining, each body communicating its need for the other, each body driving the other's need higher and higher.

At length, our lips parted. She looked up at me, I down at her, and we read the desire in each other's faces.

"God, I'm so in love with you, Charlie!" she whispered softly.

I bent over and whispered, "And I'm so in love with you," into her ear and nibbled on her earlobe with my lips.

I felt her shiver in my arms from that touch; her arms clutched me more tightly.

She uttered a deep guttural growl, and breathed out, "That feels good, too."

I nibbled a little harder, bringing my teeth into play very gently. She shivered again, as, still nibbling, I backed away a bit and reached for the buttons of her shirt. She brought her own hands from my neck down to my shirt buttons. Soon, we had wiggled out of our shirts. I held her against me again, thrilling to the touch of her firm little tits and their hardened nipples.

I bent over, keeping an arm around her. I swung my other arm behind her knees and lifted her into my arms. Her arms now around my neck, she pulled our lips together for another kiss. Still kissing her, I set her down gently on her back on the bed, and I reached for her belt buckle. I undid her belt and the front of the Levis she was wearing, and then I had to break our kiss to remove her shoes. Her hands played over my back as I leaned toward her feet.

When I'd gotten her shoes off, I stood up, grabbed the bottom ends of her pant-legs, and pulled upward, raising the lower half of her body off of the bed. Slowly at first, then faster and more easily, she slid out of her jeans and back down onto the bed, leaving the empty pants in my hands. She smiled expectantly at me. She was now wearing only short white socks and panties. She had on another pair of those little, pink, cotton, bikini panties, and they were identical to the pair she hadn't worn the day before—the pair, that is, that she'd worn just long enough to imbue with her body's perfume before she took them off and gave them to me to carry around for most of the day.

Those little panties clung tightly to her; it was almost as if they'd been painted on her body. They accentuated her shapes—her rounded ass cheeks, the swell of her hips, the prominence of her mound, the nook sheltered between her thighs, the shapes of her outer lips and the cleft between them. They outlined her cleft so clearly that it excited me even more than when she was naked.

Deep in her crotch, I saw a patch of darker pink where her panties were wet from the moisture that flowed from her—and I knew that moisture for what it was, the moisture of her desire. The sight inflamed me. If I hadn't already had one, seeing her clothed only in those panties—dark with her liquid, evoking memories of yesterday's pacifier—would've given me an instant boner. As it was, my rod throbbed and pulsated at the sight.

Before I could reach to remove those panties, however, she wriggled up onto her knees and reached for my own belt buckle. Knowing what she had in mind, I kicked off my shoes. She undid the buckle, opened the front of my jeans, and pulled them down along with my shorts—freeing my cock from its confinement.

As I wiggled my feet free of both pairs of pants, she took my boner into her hand and stroked it gently a few times before guiding it into her mouth. She wrapped her other arm around my hips, placed her hand on my ass, and pulled my cock all the way in. Her tongue swirled around me as she enveloped me. The heat, the moisture, the feel of her tongue and her silken mouth paralyzed me, and I groaned with delight.

But, kneeling on the bed as she was, she'd had to crane her neck, and she couldn't hold that position for long. So when she couldn't hold her breath any longer, she backed away and stretched herself out on her side near the middle of the bed. As she moved, she took my hand into hers and, smiling up at me, pulled me onto the bed with her. She didn't have to pull very hard this time, either.

I laid myself down on my side, facing her. I took her into my arms, and we embraced again, front-to-front, body-to-body. I kissed her, deeply, hungrily, as my cock rubbed against her furrow through her panties. She moaned into my mouth again as she returned my kiss. She had an arm under my head; her hand rested on the back of my head, encouraging me to keep my lips against hers. Her other arm clasped my torso, and she scratched me lightly up and down my spine.

At last, she released my head, her fingers twining into my hair and gently pulling back. We broke the kiss and lay there a while in each other's arms, each of us looking deeply into the other's eyes.

What,

I thought,

can I have done to deserve such love?

Our hands were still for the moment, but our hips rocked gently against each other. With my whole body I caressed her, and I received her body's caress in turn.

The soft curves of my little sister's flesh molded themselves against me, and my own flesh stiffened even more. I inhaled again the sweet fragrances of her hair and her skin. Those aromas were different from each other, and they were much different from—and far lighter than—her pussy's perfume. And yet, somehow, her lighter scents bore hints of the heavier scent that so enthralled me.

At length, still peering into my eyes, she whispered, "I want you in me, Charlie! I want you so much."

Her voice, her words, her tender loving touch, her soft warm skin, her shapes, her textures, her odors, her desire, her need, her place in my heart, her heart's love for me, and her femininity—her elemental femininity—all combined and overwhelmed me with desire.

"God, yes! I want to be in you. I need you," I whispered back as I rolled to my knees between her legs.

"But first," I said, as I looked down again at the damp pink cloth that, at once, concealed and revealed the core of her femininity, "let's get you naked."

I pulled her legs up until they were vertical, knees together, ankles together; and I leaned her calves against myself. Slowly, I drew those little, pink, cotton, bikini panties downward. She raised her hips a bit, and the panties slid down over her hips and around her ass. I drew them over her thighs, over her knees, and on up over her legs and over her feet—taking the opportunity to stroke her soft, smooth skin as I removed them.

Once her panties were gone, I reached for her ankles. Holding one leg in place against my shoulder, I brought her other leg over to my other shoulder, so that her legs now formed a "V." I looked down at the junction of her thighs; there, the little brown triangle of her fur pointing directly at it, her femininity lay open to me. With both hands, I reached down, outside, around, and between her legs to caress the smooth, creamy skin of her inner thighs.

At my touch on her thighs, she moaned. She locked her eyes on mine, and she stretched out her arms toward me, inviting me again to her embrace. She slid her legs over the corners of my shoulders as she parted her thighs and bent her knees, inviting me to enter her body. I could not have refused either of my little sister's offers to save my life.

Leaning forward, I guided my cock into her furrow. I slid my crown up and down, up and down the whole length of her hot, slippery slot. I tried, in spite commanding sensations, to maintain enough control to tease, gently tease, her clit. She greeted me with her arms, and she shivered again as I rubbed the head of my cock against her clit.

"Oh, yes, Charlie! Now put it in me! I want you in me!" she whispered.

She slid her hands slid down my sides to my hips, where she clutched me and, as I stroked my crown past her entrance again, she pulled me downward in an invitation that became a demand. Once again, she didn't have to pull very hard.

Our eyes were still locked together, and I saw deep blue fire flare in hers as I sank into her deep thermal pudding. She closed her eyes and moaned as she wrapped each of her legs around one of my thighs.

We lay there, joined, in each other's arms, not yet moving.

"Oh, Charlie! You always feel so good in me!"

I could only moan in response. She stroked my back and my sides. She sought my lips with hers, and, finding them, she kissed me. It was a gentle kiss at first, but it deepened until it consumed us almost as much as our more intimate union.

Sensations overcame us, and our lips parted, and our hips were moving, moving, moving against each other, and my cock was sliding out, in, out, in, out, in and our tempo increased, and we slammed ourselves into each other, and we moaned, and we clutched at each other, and she exploded around me and I exploded within her.

We lay there, limply, her arms and her legs still clasping me, my weight on my gentlemanly elbows, my manhood still embedded in her womanhood. We breathed in deep gasps—almost sobs—as we recovered. At length, when I could think again, I pulled my cock—now sloppy with my cum and her lubrication—out of her. I rolled over onto my back.

She rolled after me, coming to rest with her chest and her belly against my side. She stretched her arm across my chest, and she rested her head on my shoulder. She folded her leg up over my thighs, pressing her pussy up against my hip—and I felt our hot mingled juices seeping out of her. I put my arm around her and pulled her more tightly to me; her shoulder slipped into its place in my armpit.

We lay there a while, enjoying sweet lassitude, basking in each other's love. She stroked my chest and my belly; I stroked her arm, her neck, and her cheek.

Eventually, she tightened the clasp of arm and leg on my body; and as she delivered the squeeze, she said, "You're so good to me, Big Brother."

"I haven't been very good to you recently, Little Sister," I confessed. "I'm ashamed of myself."

She raised herself up and looked at me, her deep blue eyes again riveting my attention.

"There's no need for shame, Charlie. You're my lover—the man I need, the man I love."

"I love you so, Mindy," I said, squeezing back. "I'll try to never be so mean again."

"It's okay, lover," she said. She kissed me lightly on the lips. Her devilish smile appeared, and she said, "Everybody knows that geniuses are temperamental."

A second later I saw, as her face fell in dismay, that she knew from my eyes that she had hurt me.

"Please, Mindy! Please don't call me that," I pleaded with her. "And I don't want to be temperamental—especially with you.

"I don't want to be a… a… genius, and even if… even if… even if I am one I don't want

you,

of all people, to think of me that way. Even if it turns out that I am as smart as Liddell says I am, I want to be the same Charlie to you I've always been."

"I'm sorry, Charlie," she said contritely. "I was being a smart-ass, and I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. You're still you. You haven't changed, and I haven't changed the way I think about you, and I won't. You'll always be my same Charlie, no matter what. I promise."

I reached up and kissed her so she would know I'd forgiven her.

She went on. "But you

are

a very smart guy. That hasn't changed, either—you always have been. And I can't stop thinking of you that way because it's the way I've always known you."

I was smiling again.

She continued. "But I promise I won't use the

g

-word when I think of you."

She was smiling again, too.

"Well," she said after a moment's thought, "not

that

g

-word, anyway. You're still a

guy

.

My

guy!"

She kissed me again.

"Big Brother and Little Sister!" I grinned at her as I said it.

"Best friends and lovers!" She grinned back at me.

"Now and always," we recited in chorus, as she nuzzled my neck.

"I love you so much," I whispered.

And from somewhere around the juncture of my neck and my shoulder came back the muffled whisper, "I love you even more."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The days passed in succession, one much the same as the others. We studied diligently—though not especially hard—and we did well. I was being forced, unwillingly, to the conclusion that Mindy had been right, and that I really was a smart person. My wonderful little sister had taught me that I needed to discipline myself a little, and, once I had learned to do so, high grades seemed to come easily to me. Easily, that is, compared to the effort that many of the people I knew put in for the mediocre grades they earned. And except in Liddell's history course, where

nothing

was easy.

The second round of exams came and went, and I got

A

's on those as well. (Mindy just smiled knowingly when I told her about those grades.) And I did it without any of the drama that I'd created regarding the earlier exams.

Mindy was getting

A

's, too, and though I was coming to accept her analysis of my own intelligence, the thing I couldn't even begin to believe was that I was smarter than she. She seemed to learn French without effort, while I had to pay more attention to it.

On the other hand, calculus came naturally to me, and she—well, I can't say that she

struggled

with it, but she had to put noticeably more effort into it than I did. I thought we were putting comparable efforts into our other courses, and we were getting the same kinds of grades in those courses. So I was convinced that, overall, she was at least as smart as she said I was, though we were better at different things.

We found an equilibrium in our routine. Indeed, I found myself looking forward to our study times together, and not just because our intellectual powers seemed to complement each other so well. Sex wasn't the only thing we did well together; we also learned well together. And, now that she had pointed me in the right direction, I was beginning to learn that scholarship has its own rewards—rewards more enjoyable and more enduring than good grades.