Extending the Milf List

Blond Perfection teases me deep into my first sister.

The MILF List is extended to include the SILF list, the sisters I'd Like to Fuck. Hope you enjoy this extension.

*****

All week long every minute I was not studying I spent with D. Debra Hamilton. Finally, Thursday night, I got home at a reasonable hour, about nine. My sisters were sitting in the living room watching some inane reality show. I came in from the garage and Georgia muted the sound.

"Sonny? Could you come in here a minute?"

I shivered because she sounded exactly like mom.

"What, Mom?" I said so automatically that I could not stop myself. When I got to the edge of the living room, Georgia was glowering at me.

"What?" I asked.

She shook her head. "We, we think you should not be driving Mom's car." She said finally.

"Oh? And who do you think should be driving Mom's car?" I said, my ratface voice emerging; the one that got me clonked when I was a kid.

"She means that you should be driving her car and let us use Mom's." Tawny said quickly. "Because the three of us car pool to work and hers is a two door, see? We wear dresses to work and all that and one has to climb into the back. It would not be a problem for you, though."

Georgia picked up the explanation. "That is what we are thinking. And, yes, I have already added you to my insurance, at some considerable cost."

Now there is a history to this particular discussion that made it somewhat more interesting than it at first appears. The short version is Dalia once had a very nice little Honda which I "borrowed" without permission and promptly ran it into a light pole—it was icy, I could not help it but I was convicted of being irresponsible which meant I had to ride the bus to school and nearly no one offered to give me rides from then till eternity. The females in the house were angry with me about that and punished me for it for going on a year. I, it turned out, at that time was not on Dalia's insurance so it did not pay to fix or replace it and she had to pay off a car that she could no longer drive. Mom helped but, well, I ended up walking or coasting with someone else when it was time to go anywhere. This swap of Georgia's car for Mom's was a step past that, forgiveness as it were.

Or as I saw it, a bribe. I was right.

"Okay." I said.

Dalia sat forward and picked up a manila folder from the coffee table. "We have discussed this at length and the only way we think this is going to work is if we have a schedule." She had her professorial voice on as she deftly but abruptly changed the subject. She opened the folder, took out several green graph sheets of paper and extended them towards me. "We think this makes sense for all of us. You, clearly you want to sleep with us all and equally as clearly we want to sleep with you."

"We want to fuck you." Georgia growled. "I want you between my legs."

Dalia gave her a look.

Now, I know how this sounds, a bit perverse but I had just had my lips on the most beautiful woman in the world and I was swimmingly in love. I felt like this was happening in some twisted movie I was watching on Netflix.

Dalia continued. "The schedule has the week divided up. We figured you should have Friday to yourself and so we divided up the other six days. I will sleep with you on Monday and Wednesday, Georgia..."

I do not know what came next. I just went up stairs without listening to anything more. When you are in love, I mean really, really stupid love-intoxicated, the whole idea of fucking your sister just feels rotten. Now, my cock did get hard. I admit that and based on what happened later in December, well, I'll get to that. I just had no stomach for it. I showered and it was only after I got into bed that I realized I could be compromised by my stupid door. The girls could lock their doors, with real locks and keys and everything. I still had the door lock you could jimmy with a long thumbnail.

That is a bit of a story too but not worth telling. Suffice to say that I had gotten caught, camera in hand at various doors around the house which precipitated the adding of actual locks to three bedroom doors behind which females dressed and what have you. Mom included that the bathrooms in the keymaster's repertoire only after I resorted to catching females in their respective showers, which I must say did not go over too well with anyone either. Another trip to the doghouse for the house-male; far from pussy as it were. The keys were all in Mom's closet so it was a little disingenuous but still. There was a point to be made and I got no more pictures of underwear clad females in my household. Plus having every split-tail in the house really, really pissed off at me for reasons beyond wrecking the car was not worth catalog pictures any longer. That is what the Internet is for. So at that moment lying in my bed, I realized I had no good way to lock my door and any one of my blisters could creep into my room while I slept and suck my cock and then fuck me. And as addled as I was, I would likely let them. Then where would I be? I felt that lurch in the stomach that told me I could not take such a risk. It'd be like spitting on a birthday cake.

So I was in love. Not Landon Clark sort of love, either because this woman was not hooking or or gave any indication she was inclined to fuck my friends. So far, I had no indication that I had much hope that she would fuck me at all. But I am getting ahead of myself.

I put a chair under the door knob. I know it rattled twice that night so it was a valid precaution against my own human frailty and my sister's predation. Now, either you are thinking I had lost my mind or you are thinking I came to my senses and turned my warped back on the potential to fuck my sisters and the MILFs in general. Effectively, you would be right and the result was the same either way but dammit, I just had no heart for it. D. Debra Hamilton had ensnared me and I was well and truly caught. I had no desire to find myself taking down her panties with the full knowledge that I had been busily fucking someone else, anyone else, particularly my sisters. With my mother gone, I guess I felt like the past evaporated and I could act just like the kid I had been before my fucking friends threw me to the wolves, that is to the MILFs and changed my life for ever. I honestly gave absolutely no thought to how I would explain the MILFs to D. Debra Hamilton and that seems just daft after the fact. That would take care of itself, apparently. It was, however, the fact. I had fallen in love with D. Debra Hamilton. There was nothing about her that suggested she would take kindly to discovering that my sisters had sat on my cock or sucked it or what have you. That much was perfectly clear to me.

So I put a chair under my door knob and blocked the tilted legs with shoes and went to sleep. The next day, I got a lock and replaced my knob. I locked my door at night and my sisters spent the next week really, really pissed at me, embarrassed but pissed. Hell hath no fury like a woman spurned—what compares to three? And sisters to boot? I lost weight because I cannot boil water or make toast for that matter. Thank god for my recent influx of capital or I really would have starved because I was not at all hungry. I ate at school out of habit or when D. Debra lured me out for lunch, which I duly paid for.

Every day or evening, I spent with D. Debra Hamilton. Nothing more happened till the second Friday night in December. We necked like new lovers and did sweet things that normally set my teeth on edge but with D. Debra, they were just buzzing noises that blended with the ringing in my ears when I was around her. After playing putt putt golf in the cold, with gloves and mittens—why they were still open I could not say but we were not the only polar golfers out that night—afterward, she asked to go home but when I stopped at "her" corner, she looked blandly at me and said, "Are you going to make a girl walk to her house from here? In the cold? What sort of cad are you?"

Like everything she said to me, it left me dumbstruck. I fumbled, I hemmed, I hawed before I finally mumbled something utterly pathetic like, "No, ma'am." This ignored the fact that I literally did not know which house was her house so required directions. Being pathetic seemed to please Ms. Hamilton.

She nodded and directed me to her house. Her house had a circle drive. I pulled into the drive and stopped before her front door. A line of ceder trees hid the front of the house and my car from the street and neighbors.

"Are you going to turn off the car?" She asked sweetly. "I have a confession to make."

I gulped, turned off the car and wondered if that lump in my stomach was lead or iron. I felt like Mike Tyson was giving me a twisty from inside. It physically hurt!

"I like to have my breasts kissed." D. Debra Hamilton said softly. "You asked me, you asked me once if I was a virgin princess and the answer is no. I am no virgin. Neither are you. That day after Thanksgiving you picked me up smelling like you had just fucked a cheerleading squad. I could smell it on you, that perfume of sex a woman rewards you with if you are attentive enough." She stopped and turned as much as she could in the car to face me, pointing her breasts at me as directly as her perch in my sister's car allowed. "I, I have had a lot of boyfriends and let me be clear. By 'boyfriends' I mean lovers. Men who took me, lusted after me, panted after me and eventually had me. Till they got my knickers down, as our British cousins might say it, they respected me and treated me with some kindness but once they got between my legs, they always turned into assholes. Are you going to turn into one big walking circle of hair if you come inside of me?"

To say I was stunned is an understatement. I had been floating along on this sea of endorphins for so long I had forgotten all about intercourse. Well, not entirely. When D. Debra bent over to pick up her golf ball with her fuzzy mittened hands, I often moved around behind to inspect her ample profile and these inspections invariably lead to one very hard dick. So, no, I did not forget about intercourse as a matter of imagination but I did forget about it as a matter of practicality. I was utterly passive and this woman kissed me when she liked and she liked often enough that I was content to let us coast at her speed. Several times she had pressed my hand over one of her breasts while she kissed me and held me there, finally massaging her own breast with my hand when I forgot to do so. She always moaned into the kiss when that happened. I cannot say "I did it" so I have to say, "it happened."

"Well?" She pressed. "Are you?"

For once my brain, addled as it was, did not betray me. "No." I said firmly. "I will not become an asshole. I promise. I applied to that club and they sent me packing because I am so wonderful."

"Uh huh." D. Debra said. "Well, you have been a perfect gentleman to this point but, before we go any further—I like you a great deal, Sonny—but before we go any further, you must be tested. I cannot sleep with any man who cannot arouse me by kissing my breasts. Either you do it for me, or you don't." She smiled that brilliant Hollywood white-teeth smile of hers. "I really don't care much for gentlemen, when you get right down to it. A little nasty can be quite...endearing." She winked at me and she shrugged off her coat. She wore a rather thin—for that time of year—white sweater that covered her swelling breasts like a coat of snow. She wore a long black, white and gray plaid wool skirt with accents of red. She pulled the sweater out of the waist of the skirt and pulled it up her belly to the underside of her breasts.

I could see the lower curve of the big bra cups that held her swaying breasts. The sweater showed no cleavage ending as it did just under her chin in a big, plush curl. She hesitated then nodded, as though answering a voice I could not hear, and pulled the lower edge of her sweater up and over her breasts. They came into view and I gulped, even seeing them captured in the grand cups of her comfortable bra, the moment was, uh, momentous. Her hands left the sweater bunched across the upper slope of her breasts. She reached behind her to her back and with amazing dexterity, unsnapped her bra in an instant. It waffled and released her breasts from their stylish bondage. Without any hesitation, her hands pulled the bra up and off her tits.

After staring for a moment, I realized she was waiting on something and I looked up from her breasts to her eyes.

"Well?" She had apparently been waiting for me to meet her eyes.

"Well what? They are beautiful." And they were. Even without the bra they stood up tall and proud, gently swaying with each breath. Her breathing in that condition left me breathless. She did not have traditional nipples but only the inverted kind that created huge aureoles. I imagined that rough flesh on my tongue. I realized I was back to staring at her tits and looked back up into her eyes. "They truly are. They are beautiful." I labored, still nearly breathless with what was sitting within arm's length of me.

"I know. I have great tits. I can see for myself both by looking down and in any mirror except one at the funhouse. At the funhouse my bare tits look like a big ridge on a dinosaur's head or something. I bet you never fucked in a funhouse before."

I looked back down at her tits. I was captivated so I made no effort to consider what she was saying, her words got all jumbled up and lost their immediate meaning. I knew she was talking but had little grasp of what she was saying, something about fun, which by the way, I approve of.

"I, have very sensitive tits, that is to say, I can and have climaxed just from having them sucked or kissed, or something. To be truthful, I just remember that feeling, the flooding of my senses with the sensation of the right man's lips. I can come when a man, uh, you know. But not always. Not with everyone, the technique must be right. Or something. So, so you see my problem?"

I shook my head because what I was seeing in no way looked like a problem to me.

"You have to kiss my breasts and see if I, so I can, so I know, uh, so I can know how I respond to your lips on me."

Oh boy, did I want my chance. You have to wonder why I was hesitating because I just sat staring at her bare breasts.

D. Debra asked that very thing. "So? Do you want to touch them?"

In answer I reached out and ran a finger along the underside of her breast nearest me. It was soft, smooth, but hot. Her skin was fine porcelain. I moved my finger around the lower curve of her breast and then to the boundary of her aureole. I was totally unprepared for her reaction. She gasped and lifted her chin, closed her eyes and held very still. "Yes, touch them." She mumbled, her voice tremulous and lusty.

I ran the nail of my index finger down the underside and around to the high slope of one tremendous breast, skirting the broad, round oval of her aureole. After a couple circuits, I switched to the other breast. D. Debra held very still, panting as I touched her and for once, she said nothing. She was totally focused on my finger leaving tingling lines on her skin. When I stopped touching her, it was not because I lost concentration, well not really. It was because I realized we were sitting in front of her house with her sweater pulled up and her bra off, her tits bare to the world in the light of the night-light over the door. I could see the two broad windows were curtained with light around the edge of only the one to the right, towards the back of the car. The front door was right there over Debra's shoulder.

"Your father does not have any guns in the house, does he?" I thought that was a very clever question, indirect but to the point so that the answer should yield me the answer to the dick-softening question that interrupted my physical appreciation of this woman's breasts which she had presented to me with such calm deliberation, right here before her front door. I wanted to know if her father was home. I withdrew my one finger from the inside taper of her breast.

Her eyes opened. Her chin lowered. She licked her full, delicately pink lips, rubbed clean of the evening's initial coating of scarlet lipstick by our occasional necking. "What?" She said softly. "You, you said something?"

"Your father does not have any guns in the house, does he?"

"Please touch me again. That was very nice." She sighed.

I compiled, all my concerns forgotten. My heart hammered and in truth I do not know if it was inspired by the woman's awesome breasts cloaked in the patina of my infatuation—yes, love if you are a romantic—or fear of what I was doing and what could happen to me if things went awry, if the front door opened and an angry father appeared in the doorway with an Uzzi in his hands. I touched her as she requested but with just a finger.

"Oh, oh yes, I like that. I love it so much!"

My palms itched so much, demanding the kiss of her breasts on them, I thought I was delirious. I maintained my delicate contact with the one lucky finger, but turning my hand around so that the rough pad of my finger traced invisible lines under her breast. I lifted each one with just my finger, feeling their weight and imagining my tongue on them, my lips pinching at her so sensitive flesh. Then suddenly like a store front closing, the sweater descended and she was shrugging into her coat. When she was cloaked again, though the bra was tangled about her breasts in a way that drew sharp, hard lines in the soft sweater—she looked me in the eyes. "My father is gone, out of the picture. Thank you for a lovely night. Your touch is oh, oh so delicious." The last came out as a suspiration that made my throat go dry. "Your lips, perhaps another time."

I think I blanked out because when I came to myself again, she was gone. The front door was closed. I swear I do not even remember her getting out of the car. It was like she was teleported out of my car to who knows where. I think I was hysterically blind. The drive home was similar. I got home, somehow, coming aware sitting in the garage in the darkness, ebullient but unable to move. I stalked into the house with full intent to be off to bed. Since I had turned my back on my sisters and their little "we will fuck you now" schedule, it was nearly as cold in my house as it was outside of it. I had no illusions about hearth and home welcoming me with warmth and sympathy for my plight.

They were clustered like a little coven in the living room and save for Tawny, glared at me as I sauntered through the room. At the foot of the stairs, I turned and went back to the back the couch. Georgia looked up at me and paused the movie they were watching. "Yes, Sonny, what is it? Mom says we must be kind to you."

"I am in love." I blurted it out like I was projectile vomiting. "I, I know this makes no sense but I am in love. I, I met her just before Thanksgiving." I stopped. I had no idea why I was saying this, nor why now or why in this way to them. Suddenly I wanted them to feel why I was, uh, refusing the implied offer that their schedule held. I did not register their reaction but only when I was showered and tucked safely in the bed in my safely locked room did I come aware. But it was not an awareness I expected. I became aware that my dear sisters could not be allowed to rule me or mine. It was a MILF awareness. My cock sprang to life after a less than satisfying shower, and I consciously considered fucking my sisters.

It was like I was Snow White waking up. After all this time, I felt suddenly stupid for refusing their offer but at the same time, recognized the indentured service it implied if I left the matter up to them. I hadn't and that was good, lucky perhaps because till that moment I had not consciously recognized the situation, denying them only because I was in such hot pursuit of the tits I had touched just that night. My sisters surely had taken my inattention personally, hence the various cold shoulders. I understood that I could not be subject to them. I had to...then I saw clearly. The MILFs had represented the same danger. My sisters, I had to own them like I owned the MILFs! I went to sleep and slept sound and long for the first time in weeks.