Charlie and Mindy B. 03

This is the second chapter of seven in Book 3 of the

Charlie and Mindy

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

This book stands on its own, but it refers to events that took place in Books 1 and 2. You may therefore want to read Book 1 and Book 2 before reading this book.

I value your comments and your feedback. I try to reply to comments.

—CarlusMagnus

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

So Stephanie's twin brother, Steve, was my old friend Buck. The revelation was a shock; Mindy and I had good reason to believe that Steph and Buck were lovers.

Mindy had forewarned me, if only barely, so I didn't just stand there with my jaw hanging down to my belly button. At least, I didn't just stand there that way for as long as I might have without the warning. Mindy stood nearly behind him, near my line of sight—glaring at me and giving me a barely perceptible shake of her head. Evidently, she was worried that I hadn't understood her message and would say something awkward.

But I recovered quickly enough to take his proffered hand and shake it. And I managed to cover the surprise I must have shown by saying, "Hey, Buck! So you're Steph's brother. But how do you get 'Buck' out of 'Steve'?"

The tension went out of Mindy like air out of a punctured tire. She winked at me; then she turned and offered to help Steph baste the turkey. The two of them opened the oven and gave the bird most of their attention.

Steve, meanwhile, replied, "It doesn't come from 'Steve.' My middle name is Rogers—my dad's mom's maiden name. Steph and I had a sixth-grade teacher who read out everybody's full name when he called the roll. He noticed my middle name and started reading it as 'Steven

Buck Rogers

Young.' Before long, he was just reading 'Buck Rogers Young.' And then everyone started calling me 'Buck.' I've been 'Buck' ever since to everyone but Steph—who always calls me 'Steve.' Except when she's pissed off at me. Then she calls me 'Steven Rogers Young.'"

"I know how that works," I said. And then I went on, making sure that I said it so that Mindy would hear, "When that little girl you just hugged is going to let me have it, she starts by calling me—"

Right on cue, Mindy interrupted. "Charles Edward Magness, I am

not

little!"

And then Steph chimed in. "Steven Rogers Young, don't you start a fight between our guests!"

Buck and I looked at each and said, simultaneously, "See?"

Mindy and Steph exchanged looks of their own.

"I think we've been tricked," Mindy said to her.

"Led down the garden path," Steph agreed.

"Bamboozled!" Buck added with a grin.

"Hornswoggled!" I tossed in my opinion, too.

We all laughed, and the party was off to a good start. Buck got things rolling even better by opening a cold bottle of champagne and pouring it out for the four of us. They even had champagne flutes—albeit mismatched—to serve it in.

Somehow, I managed to stuff what Mindy and I knew about Buck and Steph into a cupboard in the back of my mind, force the cupboard closed, and latch it firmly—locking the information out of the way where it would cause no trouble that afternoon. Mindy seemed to have done the same. We wound up having a great day, and a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner, with the two of them.

They were good company; Mindy and I enjoyed them. Steph had done a great job with the turkey and the trimmings—though she consulted with Mindy on the gravy, who showed her how Mom had always minimized lumps by mixing a little flour with water and then slowly pouring the result into the simmering mixture of broth and pan drippings while stirring constantly.

The cranberry sauce from Mom's recipe was a hit. Our salad was a good one. Two hours after we'd finished with the main part of dinner—and even done the dishes—Mindy served her pie with a mountain of hand-whipped cream on top of each slice. It was much more than edible. Buck did agree with me that bringing a pie to dinner at someone else's home when you didn't have experimental evidence that it would be any good was risky business. But Mindy was unmoved. She remained unapologetic about refusing to let me sample the other pie before we'd shared this one with our hosts.

When we'd finished the dessert, two bottles of the pinot grigio remained, and we saw no reason to let them languish, untouched, in the refrigerator. We sat around, stuffed and chatting, polishing off the wine, well into the evening—each pair of siblings getting to know and like the other more and more.

It was nearly ten when we all decided to call it an evening. Mindy packed up our traps in the bag I'd used to bring them over, and we put our coats on to leave. Steve and I again shook hands, while the women exchanged a hug. Then Steve hugged Mindy while I squeezed Steph. (And, when I felt those glorious honkers pressing against me through my leather bomber jacket, I regretted putting it on before saying good night.)

Mindy and I hadn't gotten twenty yards from the door when we turned to each other. The latch popped open on that back cupboard, and it sprang open of its own accord. I got there first with the words: "Do you think they're…"

"…screwing each other?" she finished before I could. "I'm sure—" She interrupted herself: "Look!"

She pointed toward the house we had just left. The curtains on the front window were discreetly closed, but they weren't as heavy as Buck and Steph seemed to think. With the light from the dining room shining through the front room from beyond them, we could see that two figures—one female and one male—had taken each other into their arms and were sharing a very non-fraternal embrace and kiss. To be sure, they weren't Doing the Dirty Deed before our eyes. On the other hand, the embrace we were witnessing wasn't a siblings' embrace. We couldn't have sworn to the identities of the people whose silhouettes we saw. But we had just been in that house; we knew who was in there.

Mindy prodded me, and I realized that I'd stopped to stare. "Keep moving," she hissed at me. "Don't give them a chance to catch us staring. We aren't ready to let on what we know."

Guiltily, I started moving again. "Hunh? Why not?"

"Use your head, Charlie!" she said. "We got along well this evening, and I think they like us. We could be really close friends with them—especially given the…

special circumstances

…we share with them. And that could turn out to be really, really good for all of us.

"But getting there is going to be pretty delicate. We want to save our friendship with them—and strengthen it. How do you think we'd react if someone caught on about us and just bluntly confronted us? Especially if all they really knew was that they'd seen us feeling each other up on a park bench?"

"Hmmm." She'd gotten her point through. "I guess we'd be pretty…angry?…afraid?…resentful?…defensive?…embarrassed?…all of the above? I guess it wouldn't be collusive to strengthening a friendship." I looked at her as we walked.

She grinned, I saw in the dim glow of a nearby streetlight.

"The word you want is

conducive,

nitwit." She elbowed me in the ribs.

"But you're getting the picture. We have to know

for sure

that they're Doing It with each other—and not just feeling each other up every now and then—before we can say anything. And we have to think carefully about what to say when we decide that it's time to say something."

"Well, how are we going to be sure? I doubt that they're going to invite us over and then screw in front of us…"

"I'm working on that," she said mysteriously. "What we saw as we left their house is a second piece of the puzzle. I'll have a third piece tomorrow. And that should be enough."

I looked at her. Even in the dark, she saw the question in my eyes.

"Never mind. I'll tell you when I know," she said, even more mysteriously.

"Okay," I said, "But I'll tell you something I

am

sure of." I grinned at her. "And that's that I love you so much I can't bear it. So I'm in a hurry to get you home…where I'm going to tear off your clothes and… Well, let's just say that you'll be blind when I finish with you."

It was dark, and we were now around a corner from Steph and Buck's—where they couldn't see us. Nobody who knew us could identify us now, so I snaked my arm around her waist and drew her close. She responded by wrapping her arm around me and holding me tightly. I turned my head and looked at her as we walked.

"I love you even more," she said, "and when I'm done with you, you won't be able to tell that you're blind because you'll be unconscious!"

"If you weren't still limping," I said, "I'd make you run!"

She responded with that deep, throaty chuckle—thinking about what Steph and Buck were likely doing as we spoke, along with what we proposed to do as soon as possible, had fired her up. "If I weren't still limping, I'd run so fast you wouldn't be able to catch me until we got to your bed!"

She stopped and turned toward me. Her hand came up around my neck and pulled me down toward her—down into her urgent kiss.

When the kiss ended, I hummed a little moan and said, "We do need to get home fast. You feel really good through all of these clothes, but you're going to feel even better naked in my warm bed."

"And," she added, "you're going to feel really, really good naked in your warm bed—and with your nice big hot cock in me." She wiggled her body against me. "I can feel your boner even through this heavy coat. It's making my panties wet."

"We'd better get moving, then," I said, unwrapping myself from her and turning back in the direction we were headed. As I did so, I offered her my arm.

She took my arm, drew herself close, and agreed. "Yes—we'd better—we'd

so

better!"

If we hadn't wanted each other so much, we might've gotten home sooner than we did, because we kept stopping to squeeze and kiss. It probably took us a good fifteen minutes to complete what should have been a three-minute walk.

Once we'd reached my house, we'd no sooner gotten inside and closed the front door than she turned to me in the entryway. I saw her grin in the dim light from the upstairs hallway, and—pulling me toward herself—she stepped up onto the first stair. Facing me from that perch, she unzipped my jacket, and began unbuttoning my shirt. I saw which way the wind was blowing, so I interrupted her to set down the sack full of our stuff I was carrying. Then I unbuttoned her coat, and began working on her shirt buttons. In a matter of seconds, we were completely bare in the chilly entryway.

She threw her arms around my neck. My own arms went around her waist, and we pulled ourselves close. Even as she stood on the first step of the staircase, her face was still below mine—though we didn't have to make nearly as much effort as usual to bring our lips together.

Her naked boobs rested tantalizingly against the skin of my lower chest, instead of against the upper part of my belly. But her hips were, relatively speaking, considerably higher than we were used to, and, as we shared a deep kiss, my cock needed to hinge only slightly downward in order to slide between her thighs and come to rest against her furrow. Feeling the contact, we began rocking our hips gently—and the motion drove me into better contact with her hot wetness, until three-quarters of my rod skated back-and-forth, back-and-forth along the length of her cleft.

In spite of her elevated position, she was still too low for what we really wanted—we couldn't comfortably get me into her. Breaking our kiss, but still holding her wonderful little body in close contact with my own, still driving my cock back-and-forth, back-and-forth, I looked into her eyes—now only a few inches below my own.

"I don't think we can, standing up, even here," I said. "Maybe we should get you a stool."

"If only," she replied, "certain people didn't have an overabundance of growth hormone." Her hips continued rocking as she spoke. "But we could do it standing up, outside in your back yard, if you'd just dig a hole you could stand in."

We'd established a nice rhythm, now; my cock liked it. So, it seemed, did her pussy.

"There's another point of view, you know," I replied. "Some people might say that you're—"

"Don't you say it!" she interrupted, glowering at me. "I am not! So don't you say it—or you just might not get any tonight!"

I grinned at her. "Oh, sure! Ms. Pussy-So-Wet-She's-Almost-Dripping is gonna to say "No!' to what she wants most."

She grinned back at me. "Well, maybe not. I do want your big hard cock in me tonight. But does Mr. Dick-So-Stiff-It-Might-Break-Off wanna risk it? Gonna try for blue balls?"

"I'd better think hard about that."

"Part of you," she said, rubbing against my cock a little more vigorously, "is definitely thinking

hard

."

"We're naked," I said as I stepped a bit to the side, pulling my prong from her sweet groove. "But we aren't in my warm bed. We were planning on both."

And, moving an arm under her shoulders and around her back, I swooped down, brought my other arm behind her knees, and lifted her off the stair she'd been standing on.

Her arms, which had slipped over my head as I ducked to pick her up, went back around my neck and drew us even closer.

"Looks like I will be soon," she whispered, still grinning at me. "Overabundant growth hormone does have some positive effects; I don't have to climb all these stairs. And drip all over them."

The double armful of warm, smiling, naked sister inflamed me even more than I'd thought it might, and my cock pulsed strongly. I started up the stairs. With her in my arms, I couldn't see my feet or the stairs—but I'd been up and down them hundreds of times, and I didn't need to see. Her nibbling on my neck was something of a distraction, but I managed.

A few seconds later, I deposited her on my bed—the covers of which were thrown back as we had left them that morning. We hadn't turned the room light on, but there was enough light from the hall for us to be able to see each other reasonably well.

"Oh, shit!" she yelled as I set her down near the middle of the bed. "These sheets are

cold!

I thought you said your bed was warm!"

I lay down beside her, on my side of the bed, facing her; the sheets

were

cold. I reached over her and drew the quilts over us, as she snuggled close. My boner had a little trouble deciding whether to shrink from the cold sheets or remain stiff for the warm woman. She helped it decide by pressing the length of her body against me and guiding me back between her thighs to her slippery wetness.

Almost instantly, our hips were rocking again.

"It'll be warm pretty soon," I said. "You'll see."

"Mmmm," she moaned. "You're nice and warm."

She resumed nibbling on my neck. I sought out her nipple, stroked it, tweaked it. She moaned and raised her head—seeking a kiss. She found it, and, mouths together, tongues exploring each other, we lay there on our sides, our naked bodies tightly against each other, front-to-front, hips rocking gently—each seeking the warmth of the other's body against the slowly declining chill of the bed sheets.

My hand left her nipple and wandered down along the curved side of her waist to the swell of her hip—and then around to clasp her ass-cheek. I stroked back up her side, and over her shoulder to caress her neck and her ear. She threw her arm around my waist and held us close together. All the while, our hips continued to rock against each other.

And then, whether because of our bodies' heat or because we no longer cared, the sheets no longer seemed cold. But part of me wasn't as warm as I wanted it to be.

We broke our kiss, and, gently, I rolled her onto her back, moving over her as I did. She brought her knees up, and her thighs parted, welcoming my hips between them.

"My cock is still too cold," I said, grinning down at her as I supported my weight on my knees and my hands. "I'd better use your dick-warmer."

She laughed. "I've never heard it called

that

before. But, yes, you'd better. We don't want any part of you to be too cold."

She clasped my rod, and guided my crown to her entrance—after stroking it up and down the length of her cleft a few times first. We moaned our desire and our sensual delight as Big Brother's cock glided easily into Little Sister's pussy.

We lay there a while, joined, recovering from the nearly overwhelming sensations we'd brought each other. Then she reached up, searching for another kiss. When we'd finished it, she looked at me, smiling her love.

"You know," she said, "there's a price for the use of my dick-warmer."

As she said it, I felt her contracting rhythmically around me. I kissed her again, and I pulsated inside her in response to those soft love-bites.

"What's that?" I asked, smiling my own love back at her.

"You have to replenish the warmth you use by leaving a big load of hot cum in me."

Her hips rocked gently under me, so that her sheath delivered a caressing stroke along and around my shaft; my own hips responded. Hers rocked again, and so did mine.

With my last remaining shreds of rational thought, I said, "That's an awful lot to ask…"

And then I was again plunging in and out of her, in and out, in and out, knowing only her body's motion against mine, our rhythmic pounding, her internal heat, and impossibly sweet, wet friction—all, all driving me inexorably toward fulfillment.

When our lust was spent, I rolled over and lay on my back beside her. She sat up and pulled the covers over us. Then she snuggled against me on her side, her head on my shoulder, her arm around me, my arm around her, the mingled products of our desire wet against my hip. We held each other, whispered our love to each other. And then I recall gently stroking her back and her side, marveling at the texture of her skin. Her breathing slowed and deepened, as did my own, and the scent of her hair was strong in my nostrils as we fell asleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

We woke around half-past-eight the next morning, and, by the time we'd finished our morning exercises and our shared shower it was nearly ten. We were so lost in our joy at awakening in each other's arms and sharing ourselves with each other—in the bed and in the shower—that we didn't notice until then that a good six inches of snow had fallen while we'd been asleep.

We were thrilled. Grown-ups that we supposedly were, neither of us had yet faced the prospect of driving to work on snow-slickened streets, so we still thought of snow as an opportunity for play rather than as an unpleasant nuisance. We ate a quick breakfast, got some warm clothes on, and went outside.

The house sat on level ground about 15 feet above the street in front, and there was a fairly steep bank sloping from the yard down to the street. We each took a flattened cardboard box—I'd never disposed of the boxes in which I'd packed the junk I'd brought to school—outside with us. Then we spent a half an hour or so sliding down the bank, across the un-shoveled sidewalk, and into the street on those flattened boxes. It was great fun! When we tired of that, we went around to the back.

The house had a generous back yard, and we made some snow angels. Soon we were throwing snowballs at each other, laughing when one of them connected—and laughing almost as hard when one of them missed. One of hers hit me in the face, and, in retaliation, I tackled her. We rolled, then, in the snow, wrestling. As the bigger and stronger, I quickly overpowered her, sat on her, and, over her strenuous objections, washed her face with snow. She threw more snow at me as soon as I let her up, and then she dodged quickly out of my reach.