Note: All characters in this story are at least eighteen years of age.
I have this heartless bastard of an internet buddy whose nic here on Literotica is EldridgeinOO. He's the deeply afflicted author of "Conflicted," a story which tells of the delightfully daft albeit painfully nubile cheerleaders who spend many an extended lunch hour plowing the living bejeezus out of each other in the bathrooms and bleachers of the happiest place on earth, Teen Fucktoy High School.
As it turns out, his bout of all too public dementia strides like an Ecstasy-addled colossus atop Literotica's Incest/Taboo stories category. Check it out, but don't blame me if you later hate yourself. If you should also find yourself in your garage trying to build your own version of a Japanese Fuckbot 3000 cheerleader, it's not my problem. Take it up with him.
Anyway, one day this morally gangrenous freak and I got to joking around about how great it would be to have an ass model as a girlfriend or wife; an ass model, i.e., a woman who makes her living by being the go-to girl whenever some ad campaign or film production requires a perfect, best-in-the-business ass to sell its wares.
A 'stunt ass,' of sorts; like a hand model who does those Palmolive dish soap ads, only instead of her hands we're treated to loving shots of her perfect ass.
In joking around, we came up with all sorts of funny and stupid scenarios for an ass model.
"You should write 'Ass Model.' That'd be a perfect story for you," he suddenly blurted out.
Hmmm. That got me to thinking, which usually isn't a good thing.
'Yep, I should,' I concluded, a scant day later.
"And while you're at it, go ahead and make it an incest story so lots of people will read it," he added.
E-mails flew back and forth, ridiculous ideas were tossed around, the basic character-groundwork was laid, and bam, here we are.
We've all seen this girl. We all want this girl. Now it's time to read her story.
~ ~ ~
'We're definitely not in Kansas anymore,'
I thought, with only a hint of irony.
There I was, standing at the edge of the Santa Monica Pier with Paul, my eighteen-year-old younger brother, and we literally are from Kansas. We're both eighteen, actually, but I'm the older sibling by ten months, the fact of which I never fail to remind my "baby brother."
Anyway, our family lives in Lawrence. Dad is a professor at the university, while Mom works in the administrative office. Just a couple of months ago I was kicking back at the house, and life was good. One hot summer day, everything changed for me. I have to say, life is still good, but it sure became...different.
High school was finished, so I had some time to enjoy myself before starting college in the fall, and I was being lazy. Since there wasn't a cloud in the sky, I'd decided to chill out by the pool. I'd been sunning myself for an hour and was just starting to doze off when I heard Mom call from the kitchen, "Dawn, could you come inside for a minute, please? We need to talk."
It's never good when Mom says, "We need to talk." That phrase usually means, "You need to listen, and you probably won't like what you'll hear."
I love my parents to death, but they're kind of predictable that way.
Hopping up from my sun lounger, I reluctantly went into the house. Mom and Dad were sitting at the kitchen table, and they weren't eating. They were simply waiting for me.
'Yep, this must be something really serious,'
I thought.
When I walked into the kitchen, however, Mom's slight frown of concern gave way to a warm smile, and she had me come stand before her. "Let me see my beautiful girl," she grinned. Tenderly running her hands up and down my hips and thighs, she was fairly beaming. "God, look at you, baby...your bikini is so skimpy on you now. Sweetie, just a suggestion, but if you're at all concerned about modesty then you may want to start thinking about whether you still want to wear such a revealing bikini in front of your father and the boys."
Mom was always funny like that, and Dad just smirked. Guffawing at his reaction, she smacked him on the shoulder. "Hush, you. She walks around the house this way in front of you too, even when she's wet," she said, giving him a knowing grin.
Dad held his hands up in a silly gesture of surrender. "I didn't say nuthin'. Don't bring me into this," he chuckled.
I jumped in then. "Mom, it's no big deal. The boys see me in my bikini all the time."
"Yes, I know they do. I'm sure they wouldn't miss it for the world," she smiled.
Paul and his two best friends, Rick and Donny, have seen me in my bikini lots of times. Rick and Donny are eighteen, too. We've been friends for so long, they're pretty much like family to us now. We often hang out together, and it'd only been two days since Rick had come over to go swimming. They all saw me, Dad included.
Returning her smile, I said, "So? Mom, it's not like they haven't seen girls in bikinis before. I'm not showing them anything they haven't already seen a million times."
"Oh, I highly doubt that, little one. Girls who look like you do in that bikini don't exactly grow on trees," Dad said, still chuckling.
"He's right, dear. There are girls wearing bikinis, then there's
you
wearing
that
bikini. They're not the same thing," said Mom, adding a wry little smirk. "Don't think your brother, his friends, and even your father haven't noticed, especially with the way you've filled out. That old bikini used to be cute and girly on you, and that was fine. You were fourteen then. Now you're eighteen, and look at you. Baby, you're built like a Playboy Bunny. Your bikini barely even covers you anymore, and it's become so thin and threadbare that it's basically transparent. Honey, we can see every perfect inch of your beautiful body, including the parts bikinis are designed to cover."
Pausing for effect, she gave me another warm smile. "We can see
everything
, baby."
Taking my hands, she kissed my knuckles. "Sweetie, I don't have any problem with you wearing your bikini around the house, either here inside or out at the pool. Really, I don't mind. If you want to drive our men completely crazy, that's entirely up to you. I just want you to be aware of how much you're showing, that's all."
"God, Mom, you make it sound like I'm flouncing around in a g-string and stripper heels, showing off for all the boys in the neighborhood. It's just a bikini. Besides, Paul doesn't care what I wear. He barely even knows I exist. As far as he's concerned, I'm just his boring older sister, and that's about it. You know, I don't even think he likes me. He tolerates me, sure, but only because he has to. Otherwise, I'm just a big pain in the you-know-what to him," I grinned.
Smiling to myself, I recalled how flustered I'd made Paul only a few days earlier.
~ ~ ~
Having just gotten home from school, I was heading toward my bedroom when I happened to hear sexy sounding girly-stuff coming from Paul's bedroom. He'd been a real jerk to me that morning, laughing and running away after sticking his fingers in my bowl of cereal. So, naturally, I wasn't feeling very charitable toward him. With the sounds coming from his room, I had a pretty good idea that he was again watching internet sex stuff. Giggling to myself, I casually knocked on his door, which was open about six inches. At the same time I was knocking, I poked my head inside. "Whatcha doing?" I asked, all sweetness and innocence, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
"Dawn! Get outta here!" he shouted, covering his crotch with a beach towel while jumping up from his chair.
"Okay, okay! Jeez, don't spaz out. I just wanted to let you know I was home, and to say hi. I'll let you get back to, ummm...whatever you were doing," I said teasingly, shooting him a goofy grin.
Busted! Oh, yeah, I got him good.
Later that day I found him in the living room, watching TV. Deciding to join him, I offered to get us some snacks. He wouldn't make eye contact with me. Instead, he just shook his head while mumbling, "I'm good." It was really cute, the way he started blushing. When I plopped myself next to him on the couch, he finally glanced over at me.
"Pervert," I giggled.
His eyes got so big! I jumped over the back of the couch and took off up the stairs, with Paul tearing after me like a maniac. I was laughing like crazy when I got to my room. Just in time, I closed and locked the door behind me.
"Not cool, Dawn! Very not cool!" he yelled through the door, yet I could tell that he was laughing, too.
We were always doing stupid things like that, and I'm certain he thought of me as just a constant nuisance. He never said a single word to me about my bikini, though, or about anything else I ever wore. I often had the feeling that he really didn't think of me as a girl. Even if he did, I probably still wasn't his type, besides being his sister.
In fact, I was sure of it, because one day I overheard Paul and Rick in the kitchen having a discussion about girls. Being the little sneak that I am, I hid in the dining room and heard Rick ask, "So, what's your favorite type?"
"Blondes, with huge tits. I definitely like blondes with long hair and big tits. The bigger the better," was Paul's answer.
It was true, too. I'd seen his dirty magazines and the posters on his wall. It was always bionic blondes for him. I almost couldn't be less of his type, which he shortly confirmed.
