Story 2 The dream and Story 3 Scoring the dive
This story is a very slow burn and involves incest between a Sister and Brother. Expect it to be about 14 stories long. Ten are already completed.
The story only contains sexually activity of a brother and Sister over 18 years old.
While set during the Paris Olympic Games and its historical setting. None of the athletes in this story are meant to represent any athlete competing in the games. Or other persons otherwise living or dead.
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The Dream.
At last I'm alone in my bedroom. I had a nice long shower and feel the guilt was washed down the sink. Clean and smelling pretty.
I stop in front of the full length mirror. I've been looking at male bodies all day. Slipping out of my nightie, I analyse my body. I gave up gym recently but I'm still well proportioned. I like my hips how they flair. Guys don't have hips. But I actually love my body. Not that anyone has been privileged to see it.
I wonder if I could somehow flash Sam. Why did I think that? The warmth returns, travelling through my body. I watch as my nipples harden once again. I like my breasts. Round firm, not big but a nice handful. I cup them, feel them, enjoy them. I think of Sam holding me from behind. Watching me in the mirror, pressing his groin into my pert cheeks.
I've got to get to sleep. Embarrassed, I quickly slip on my nightie and under the covers. Reaching over to turn off the light, I grab the spare pillow and jam it between my legs. Wrapped in warmth I resist slipping my hand down there. The pillow is enough. I'm tired and emotionally drained.
As I drift off to sleep I wonder. Do I love my brother? I mean capitol L love. I pretend I'm wrapped in his arms and sleep brings it's own relief.
Out of the darkness of desire, Shiona walks along a line of athletes on the pool deck. Beautiful bodies. Handsome built bodies. She approaches the end of the line. She feels her see-through nightie waft in the chlorine laden breeze and brush her sensitive nipples.
Her hands enjoy the muscular arms and shoulders of the first diver. She moves in close running her hands down his sleek form. She feels the abs and travel is down counting the six pack. But this one comes up short. Shiona leans in and whispers, you're short, 5.1. And flips him as if he were cardboard over her shoulder into the pool.
She proceeds down the line. Her hands roaming the firm bodies. Moulding them as if the sculptor. She lingers on a butt encased in speedos. 4.3 as he is flipped in to join the other rejects.
She wants to get to the package frustratingly hidden behind the silky material. Shiona presses her body against the tanned skin of this one, her desire growing. Willing the lump in her cupped hand to grow. This could be the one, but no! 7.8 echos through the stadium as he too sails into the pool.
The line dwindles as her passion increases. She realises her virginal juices are filling the pool. Running down her legs, slippery, stretching. Those in the pool can't get out although they try. Her girl juices coat the wreathing bodies as they move against each other but get no satisfaction.
Three divers are left. Something is wrong with that number. Shiona kneels runs her hand over and up the calves of the next body. Her cheeks run up the thighs and she nuzzles into the red encased genitals but she can only smell chlorine. Too sinewy, too impassionate. He flips over her head into a perfect bubble entry of her own juices. 2.4 because the ploop through the secretions does not sound right.
She tries to get behind the red curtain on the next diver. His muscles are all there but he is too flat. The package is diminutive. Desperately she tries to install life and passion into the body. But it's a cardboard cutout of a patriotic typecast. She tried to overcome her own prejudice, but was left unmoved. She conceives a flat 5 as he joins the others with a spectacular belly flop.
Shiona is desperate now for relief. There is only one left, Jack the Brit. Her mind follows her hands all over this perfect body. Feeling his toned and delicate skin, sheened with musk. Shiona flows over his curves, his perfection. Reaching from behind as she grinds her pelvis into two perfect cheeks. Her fingers slip into the gap created by the tautness of the cord passing his hips. Down that perfect groin muscle until her tips press themselves into his sizeable man meat. Shiona feels it start to respond, to thicken and firm up.
Her other hand travels down her own body. Feeling her groin, engaging her swelling clit. Her clit takes on the form of a penis. No matter. She feels she is close at last. Jack's head tilts to hers. Shiona looks into his pool deep eyes and brushes her swollen lips with his.
She whispers, "Where is Sam?" He nods to the stair. In an instant she knows where her true passion is. Jack dissolves into tissue paper and slips down her copious juices into the pool of the vanquished desire.
The stairs bring with them fears. Fears of the heights she knows, has known and wishes to know. Slowly she ascends leaving behind her evidence of unearthly desire, making the steps impossible for anyone to drag her back to reality.
The top appears to go on for ever. But her desire brings her to heaven. Sam is waiting clad in green and gold. He takes her hand, then her other hand and fingers clenching, Sam draws her to him.
"I've been waiting for you," he said. "I've waited for you. I can't do this without you. I can't do this alone."
Shiona sinks into his love filled eyes as she moves into his body. Releasing hands they both begin exploring the forbidden. Hands that are sensuous explore the flesh. Hands lift her silken vale and her nightie floats down along with that little towel.
Passion looses control as it breakers the taboos of incest. Shiona can feel Sam's genitals stretch the bonds of green and gold loyalty. She encases him in her body grinding her pubic mound into Sam's perfect hardness. Their eyes meet and lips say fervent prayers to their passions. Brotherly kiss, sisterly kisses no more. Sparks fly in mutual enflaming of deep desires. The deepest desires, the wrong desires, the forbidden foreboding.
Sam lifts her and Shiona wraps her legs around his hips. Frustratingly she can't see his manhood. Can't reach the object of her desire for fulfilment. Then the green and gold fabric is rent by desire and flutters away as a butterfly. She feels soft steel part her lips and meet her desperate clit then backward on her well prepared slide to the home of their union.
Sam thrusts upward and takes her virginity with him into the air. One thrust. One moment on the precipice of satisfaction and they fall, fall, fall into darkness.
Shiona sits bolt upright in bed. She is shaking, remembering, trying to remember. Her hand snakes down her body desperate to find the point of her union. But she only meets her swollen clit and that stretchy slippery mucus of desire. Her pillow still forms a warm body between her legs.
She grabs the towel next to her on the bed. She though she might need it. Hurriedly lifting her torso to place the towel, she thrusts a finger straight into her desperate pussy and explodes in fulfilment a dream can never bring. She knows she must come again and again until her quaking body fibulates and sprays her desires once again.
Now drenched her passion is drained and Shiona falls into restful sleep, dreaming of butterflies.
Story 3 Scoring the Diver
Morning Parisian light washes over me. I stir, too excited about today. The chance to watch my brother again. I hesitate as the battle in my mind reignites. I take a deep breath. Crap it smells of stale girl cum. I'm not really sure what sex smells smell like but it cannot be anything else. This gets me out of bed quickly.
Opening the window invites the fresh breeze in and with it the smell of coffee and fresh baked goods. In the street below the cart vendors push their way down the cobbles.
Chatter in French sprinkles the air as store owners greet each other tending their awnings and signage. The air was clean and fresh. It was not the coal smoked air of the Paris the Impressionists knew and painted. Air that muted colours into violets and fused detail. This was crisp and bright. But the coffee was really calling.
Turning back to the room I survey the mess. Crap I have to clean this up. Another shower needed. I grab cloths and my soaked wet emergency towel I had flung to the floor. I open the door gently and look. Good the olds were still asleep. I duck into the shower and start the process of freshening.
The towel joins me in the shower and once cleaned with shampoo I use it to scrub my skin. The slightly rough texture of these cheaper towels is both cathartic and refreshing I vigorously scrub over my back and between my legs. Over and over until I realise I'm trying to purge myself of my sins, my thoughts, my rampant sexuality, and dare I say dreams.
Next I'm aware I'm sitting on the shower floor weeping. Weeping for a love just found that I can't possess. My heart's broken because I know he can never know. A love that is in my mind and body. Forever love where nothing else will compare. Everyone else, like Jack the Brit in my dreams, though almost perfect will not measure up.
The chilling water pulls me out and I turn off both taps. Shit! I hope it warms before the folks want it. Dressing quickly, I gather my things including my purse and follow my nose down stairs to the bakery across the street.
I buy fresh croissants and pain au chocolat's for the family but I take some time to sit in the sun before it gets hot. A rich double shot cappuccino restores my centre. I open my phone.
Crap, it's been going off. A flood of messages and posts. What you're in Paris and you can't post pics? What did you die or something? Only one pic from the pool, what gives? I take some quick picks of my quintessential French breakfast, and post them.
Going back through nearly a day of posts I pull up a mixture posts seething with jealousy and suggestions. These are sprinkled with images of my brother. Obviously taken off the tv screen. Wow, you never told me he was smoking hot. Can I get a bit of that stud? Wow he really can dive.
Not helping girlfriends. My feelings come flooding back.
Then I realist that I can see the Eiffel Tower in the background, so I swing a selfie with it behind me. Ok, I look hot as in smoking. I'm beaming. I post that one. I realise my mistake when almost instantly a few of my besties post back comments like - girl you must be getting some, or less polite - girlfriend you look like you just got fucked. No wonder we ain't heard from you. Fuck I'm fucked.
I suck in my coffee. I know I now have a morning of diving to get through without getting my jollies off or exposing my vulnerable heart to my parents. Ding, my phone rings again. Replete with photo. -It's that English diver Jack isn't it? He can muff dive into me anytime. I reply - don't be sick he's diving this morning. I can't even get to see my brother. The athletes village is locked down as tight as a drum.
So I make my way upstairs but not before ringing my folks and getting their coffee order. Be busy girl. Don't think. Please don't think.
Instead l am chatting about Paris. Going to the Louvre tomorrow. I chat over my second coffee. I want to get there early to beat the crowds. Mum and Dad are not that keen, I think they want some space to do in Paris... I suggest I go early and they meet me at
Lunchtime. I have a day pass. We ordered these months ago realising that people may want to flood the galleries once the eventing stopped.
