Games We Played 1

Chapter One

She positioned herself over me and sat down, and just like that, I was in to the hilt.

Damn.

I didn't want to think it, but it popped into my head before I could stop it:

Someone's been in here before me; this week, probably.

I'm not the most well-endowed guy on the planet, but not the tiniest, either.

This chick's been fucked. A lot.

I put the thought out of my mind and focused my attention on the goal. Closing my eyes, I summoned my dark-haired fantasy mistress. She'd been with me for as long as I could remember. Every time I needed to rub one off in the shower, random visits in the middle of the night, and ever present for my morning boner. And always helpful in stilling the dry sarcasm of my inner voice. I'd come to call her simply

Beauty

. Long, flowing, dark brown hair, swaying over the most luscious frame. Curiously faceless in my fantasies, but stunningly beautiful from the inside, out. Soft, supple, responsive, eager to please; utterly feminine.

"Oh, yeah, baby. You feel so good inside me."

A talker. Fuck!

It's not that I don't like to hear dirty words occasionally, it's just that...

"Uh, oh, uh, yeah. Do you like the way my pussy feels?"

Compared to what?

"Yeah," I huffed.

Not entirely a lie.

I could feel the blood rushing from my dick back to my brain.

Shit! Beauty, I need you.

I set my jaw, dug my fingers into her hips, and tightened my ass muscles in an attempt to penetrate some secret cavern or crevice that hadn't been pummeled before. My lovely darling joined me.

Her arms chained above her head, she thrust her perky mounds submissively forward in silent offering. Yes. That's it.

Eyes fastened shut in concentration, my palms snaked up her sides and wrapped around her mounds, tugging at them as she bounced up and down on my lap.

Beauty's thick strands of hair sweep over the back of my hands. So fucking feminine.

I immersed myself in fantasy.

Beauty's nips were now bunched into tiny points, broadcasting her arousal. Her shallow panting tells me she's close. But she's holding on for me. Waiting for me. Her faint whimpering drives me closer. Closer. I pinch her hard points between my fingers and thumbs and apply pressure. More. She mewls and the chain links rattle. Closer. The scent of her approaching orgasm fills my nostrils, turning my cock to stone. Fuck, yes. So close...

During those few moments when all bodily functions work in unison, swelling, tensing, then contracting and propelling viscous fluid in a pulsing gush, time stands still. In that blissful space, that fleeting nirvana, there is no gravity or emotion. Then it's over...

"Was that good for you, baby?"

...And regret comes crashing down on you like a piano from a second story window.

I nod and smile weakly, "Yeah".

It's what she wants to hear.

She pushed herself up, disengaging, as I held the condom in place around the base of my wilting cock. She then collapsed on the bed next to me.

At least she's not a snuggler. She realizes on some level that this is just fucking. Now I just need to figure out how long I have to stay here.

"My mom is going to be home from work soon."

Excellent!

I nodded and sat up, still gripping the base of the condom to make sure it didn't slip. My feet swung over the side as I gripped the tip of the latex protection and smoothly pulled it off in a single motion.

"What should I do with this?"

"Just flush it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

I walked to the bathroom and tossed the soiled condom into the toilet.

One of these days, this commode is going to clog and they're going to find a shitload of condoms down there. Oh, well.

I flushed and watched the crumpled sheath swirl slowly around until it disappeared.

When I returned to her bedroom she was already partly dressed.

"Should I hurry?"

"Nah. I need to head out, too. I have to be somewhere by 6."

"Oh. Okay. It'll only take a second to get dressed."

"Thanks. Sorry to rush you. My boyfriend is expecting me for dinner."

"Your

boyfriend

? Aren't you a little worried that he'll know you've been, you know...?"

"Nah. We're going out to eat with some friends and then to a bar. It'll be hours before we get around to sex. And he'll be drunk by then. He'll never notice. Don't worry."

"I'm not worried. Just curious how that works for you."

That's fucked up.

Janice ran a brush briskly over her short, blonde hair and reapplied mascara. It was like I wasn't even there. We bypassed the awkward after-sex-small-talk and waltzed right into that blind spot that married couples get lost in. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't complaining. It was just a little bizarre. I barely knew her.

On my drive home I ran through the whole scenario from the beginning. I wasn't trying to get romantic or nostalgic or anything like that, I just wanted to pinpoint the moment that studying turned into going to her place for sex. So I could repeat it with that hot chick in my Language class.

Damn, but I love college.

Mom was in the kitchen when I arrived, pulling together dinner. Usually that meant serving takeout or calling for pizza delivery, or on this occasion, making something simple but filling, like spaghetti. She was no June Cleaver. But she was more traditional than most mothers I'd seen. She handled the household chores on top of a part-time job while Dad worked.

"Hey, Mom."

"Hi, sweetie. You're home a little later than usual."

"Yeah. I needed to study. Finals. Is Rachel home?"

"She's upstairs. Did you guys have plans? She's been coming downstairs and checking the driveway. I got the impression she was waiting for you."

"Oh..."

Fuck!

"I totally forgot. Yeah. I told her I'd help her with Trig."

"Is she struggling in that class?"

"A little. Nothing to worry about. She'll probably end up with an 'A'.

I suppose if someone just walked into this conversation, they'd have a hard time understanding. Every family has a unique dynamic. In matters that required parental guidance, like moral character, values, beliefs, my folks were the law. They weren't overly strict or anything, but they were in charge.

I'd never challenge that.

Somewhere along the way, however, they lost Rachel's trust in everything else. It may have been as early as grade school.

As a child, Rachel was afraid of thunderstorms. Deathly afraid. Thunder would wake her up and lightning would send her fleeing for safety. The problem was that we lived in a house where the master bedroom was on the first floor and the two other bedrooms were upstairs. The first time Rachel attempted to get to my parents bed, lightning flashed through the large picture window over the stair landing, sending her back down the hall and into my room.

She was maybe 5 at the time. It didn't matter to her that I was only 2 years older. She curled up under my arm, trembling and sobbing against my chest, and somehow found comfort there.

This continued for many years; although each time I could feel her trembling less, recovering quicker. And during the day she handled it better each year, hardly ever asking permission to go to the nurse's office where there were no windows. I was proud of her for overcoming her fear and I told her. But no one else ever told her that. No one really saw the transformation she'd been undergoing except for me.

I remember one Saturday, when she was about 10 maybe, a wicked storm hit. It was brewing during dinner and hit us full force that evening, turning the gray dusk into blackness. We lost electricity and everything. We were all in the living room when it happened. What I remember the most was that when my dad finally got the batteries replaced in the flashlight and my mom had managed to return with a lit candle, Rachel was fastened tightly around my torso. And their attempts to extricate her from me so she could sit between them on the sofa just made her scream louder.

I didn't take it very seriously at the time but I do remember the look on my father's face.

Betrayal?

Anyway, things haven't been the same between me and my dad since.

Mom's voice snapped me back to the present.

"You mean she's in real danger of a 'B'? Oh, no, we should probably call a family meeting."

No question as to where my sarcasm comes from.

"You complaining?"

"I think you push your sister a little too hard in school. Trying to make up for your own grades?"

I shrugged, "I don't know. Maybe. Rachel's not complaining; I don't see why you are."

"No, honey. She wouldn't complain to you about it. She adores you, and she'd rather keel over than disappoint you. That's a lot of responsibility to take on. Anyway, I'm not complaining. I'm, I don't know, concerned I guess. What's going to happen next year when you're both off at college?"

"I don't know, Mom."

It was eerie because I'd been feeling bothered by it, too. I didn't want to think about Rachel going off to college. She'd be staying in a dorm with a bunch of other girls, perfectly safe. But it didn't feel right. In fact, it made me damn uneasy.

Rachel's bedroom door was closed. She undoubtedly heard my voice and decided to make this defiant statement about my forgetfulness.

Bad move.

My backpack probably slammed down on my desk a little louder than usual. I wasn't mad. I forgot about our study date in favor of getting fucked, so it was my fault.

Shit happens.

Truth be told, the sex was hardly worth it. But Rachel wanted to turn this into an argument. And that was just unacceptable.

Rachel's reliance on me from an early age defined our relationship pretty clearly. It placed me in the role of protector at first, and then friend, confidant, tutor, and surrogate parent. We were tight. Closer than any brother/sister I'd ever known, but we could also bring the house down with our fighting. It was times like these, when she pitched mini fits, that were the worst.

I hate when she's bratty.

I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders for battle, then spun on heel to face the closed door.

You know I'm standing here. You've got ten seconds to open it and come in here and face me like an adult.

I didn't have to say it out loud. We'd lived across the hall from each other our entire lives and, quite honestly, were best friends. About the time I silently reached the count of eight, the knob turned and her door flew open.

Rachel stomped across the hall and stood before me, crossing her arms over her chest in a somewhat overly dramatic gesture of disgust.

"I thought you were going to help me study before dinner."

"I forgot all about it, but I'm free after dinner. Will that work?"

"I don't know. Depends."

"On what?"

"On what you were doing that made you forget, and on whether or not you're sorry for standing me up."

"Okay. I'm sorry. I didn't do it on purpose."

"I texted you."

"I haven't even had a chance to check my phone."

"What were you doing?"

"I, uh, stayed after class to study with someone."

"A girl?"

"Yeah."

"So, what took so long? Did you end up in bed with her or something?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"No kidding?"

I shook my head, "No kidding."

"Dang. Are you going out with her now?"

"No. We just...we're just friends."

"Oh. Well, uh, was it, uh, you know, good?"

"You know what they say, 'Even bad sex is good'."

Rachel frowned and looked down at her feet.

"So, does this mean you are, or aren't, available for a makeup study session tonight?"

She shrugged, "I guess so."

"Listen, I told you the truth about where I was, and I apologized for forgetting. You can forgive me and get over it, or we can fight about it. Which is it going to be?"

Rachel scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. It was her signature mannerism when she mulled things over.

"Fine. Think about it, then. I'm going to shower."

I walked to my clothes hamper and flipped the lid up, then peeled my shirt off, dropping it inside. I glanced back in her direction. She hadn't moved. I wedged my feet out of my tennis shoes, removed my socks and then unfastened my jean shorts and wiggled them down to the floor. When, at last, I was standing in my boxers with all of my clothes in the hamper, I turned back to Rachel.

She was still scraping away at her lip, so deep in thought she hadn't noticed I was undressed.

What could be going through that head of hers? She can't really be considering starting a fight over something this trivial.

I stood still and stared at her until she glanced up from the floor.

"I'm fine. I'll see you downstairs."

She turned and hooked the corner toward the stairway.

Strange. Wonder what that was all about.

After dinner, her mood was improved but not completely normal, I didn't think. There wasn't anything in particular I could put my finger on; she just didn't seem herself. I asked her about it but she denied anything was bothering her.

I studied for a bit while Rachel finished her homework and then we worked on her trigonometry. Eventually, we ended up lounging on my bed, talking. It was a Thursday night and Fridays were long days for me. Even though I only had one class on Friday, I went straight from school to work the closing shift, so I kicked Rachel out of my room before ten and retired.

It barely registered in my brain when the mattress moved. It wasn't uncommon for Rachel to climb into bed when we'd had a disagreement, although I hardly called what happened a disagreement. It didn't matter. After thirteen years, it would feel wrong to stop her. Especially since it was totally innocent. Not that my dad agreed. He'd caught us one morning and nearly came apart at the seams over it. I could see his point, but Rachel couldn't. They exchanged some wicked words over the incident and Dad was pretty clear where he stood on the subject. But in the end, Rachel did what she wanted to do, anyway. The only person that could have convinced her to do otherwise, was me. And I didn't have the heart.

I suppose when it came right down to it, Rachel always got her way. Mom teased me about being hard on her but that was because she didn't understand how things were between us. I wasn't the hard-ass brother like they thought. I was just her guardian. Rachel understood that. More than that, she relied on me for it. Sometimes that meant being the firm one when she needed discipline and sometimes that meant beating the shit out of one of her asshole ex-boyfriends. And then other times, it meant holding her until she stopped crying, or driving her to the mall, or loaning her money I never expected to get back. It was the way things had been between us since we were little.

Sometime later, hours or minutes after Rachel settled in, I'm not sure which, I woke to a slight rhythmic shaking of the mattress. I remained still for several seconds trying to ascertain the source. Rachel's back was turned to me. I could just make out the dim outline of her arm resting along her side. It appeared to be shaking a bit at the elbow.

Is she awake or dreaming?

I lifted my head to get a better look and the shaking suddenly stopped.

She's awake. What was she...oh, Fuck...was she...masturbating? In my bed? Right next to me?

We both stayed frozen for several minutes. My mind went blank as to what to do. What the

right

thing to do would be. A dozen inappropriate options were presented by the smaller brain south of my navel. And my dick responded by growing stiffer.

Maybe she was just scratching and stopped when she thought she'd woken me. That's a reasonable explanation.

But my stiff cock wasn't buying it. Or maybe it didn't want to.

I scooted my body closer to hers and placed my hand on her upper arm. She didn't move a muscle or whisper a thing.

She's either awake and waiting to see what I'm going to do next, or she's sound asleep.

On some level, I knew I was about to cross an invisible line. I could leave this alone and roll over, or satisfy my curiosity. The first path would lead to where we lived presently, and the second path...well, it could lead to the same place or someplace completely unknown.

Risky.

I was too tired to weigh the pros and cons, and starting to get too horny to care. It was dark, in the middle of the night, everything completely still. In the most basic analysis, I was in bed with a female. My brain wasn't awake enough to win any battle against my raging hormones. I was still vaguely aware that this was my sister, so there was some restraint.

Not much, but some.

My fingers started to move down her arm in a slow advance, caressing her skin. My chest pressed against her back as my limb straightened to reach, to explore where her hand was resting. It didn't take me long to figure out that it was tucked between her thighs. At her wrist, I felt the elastic of her panties cutting into her skin.

She was fully engaged. How bold of her. And how nice!

I kept my fingers on the outside of the fabric but continued my path until my hand was cupping hers. She had two fingers inside her pussy. I focused my attention on those fingers, caressing them through the silky material, stroking them, coaxing them to continue. She remained frozen.

Listen, Rache, the game is up. I know what you were doing.

I snuggled tighter, resting my face in her hair with my lips close to her ear. I realized that she was going to need even more urging to continue. I lined up my two middle fingers with hers and pressed on her knuckles, sinking her fingers deeper inside. She released a shallow pant. It was enough to confirm that she was definitely awake and aware of what was going on.

"That's a good girl," I whispered in her ear.

She rewarded me with a tiny gasp, hardening my dick even more.

"Don't stop. Keep going."

Rachel mewled and squeezed her hand, rubbing the flesh of her palm against her clitoral hood. I kept my hand where it was, maintaining light contact so I could feel her ministrations through her panties. She pivoted slightly toward me to open her thighs.

I wish there was more light in here. Those damn thick curtains that block lightning out make this place pitch black. Fuck!

I had to imagine the sight by feel. I pictured standing overhead and watching my hand on the outside of her panties, moving in rhythm with her.

Fuck! I could jackhammer the sidewalk with my cock right now.

I resisted the urge to grind my hips into her. I wanted to, damn, how I wanted to. But there was something about her, about being with her, that gave me strength to stay in control.

Maybe years of being strong for her, being in charge.

Ordinarily, I had no sense of restraint when it came to sex.

Take earlier, for example: Janice. Wow, winner. No real accomplishment there. I was probably the last one in class to fuck her.

Rachel was different.

Duh.

She was my perfect angel.

But she didn't invite you to this game. Masturbation is not a team sport, dude.

I knew that what I needed to do was just help her along.

Assist. I can do that.

I focused my attention back to her. Her breathing resembled a breathy pant and her heart was thumping heavily.

She's close.

I could feel my own control slipping.

"Come for me, Rache."

Rachel cried out and thrust her hips into her hand, her fingers delving deep into her channel. She held herself suspended for a few seconds and then relaxed, shuddering in waves of aftershock. I wasn't sure if in that moment, I was more shocked, or more turned on, that she came on command.

Definitely both.

I lifted my hand and rested it on her upper arm. Then I held her there for a few minutes while she recovered.