Looing for Trouble

This is the last of five chapters in a story of eighteen-year-old, mixed-sex twins, who find themselves engaging each other in some things that many people don't approve of. I recommend that you read the earlier chapters before reading this one, so that you'll know what's going on.

*****

I was working the day shift---seven to three---that week, so it was about half past three when I got home from work. I came in through the kitchen door, as usual, to find that my twin sister, Brielle, hadn't gotten home from school yet. I'd just had time to put my empty lunch box on the kitchen counter and get a glass of water when I heard the car on the gravel driveway, and knew she'd be in shortly.

Moments later, she was in my arms, greeting me with a lengthy, passionate kiss and accompanying wiggling against me. After we disengaged our tongues, we stood body to body, looking into each other's eyes. There was some commotion in my pants, but she didn't seem to have noticed it as she remarked "You aren't

too

stinky, so work must not have been too bad."

"No," I said, "it's been cool for a few days, so the building wasn't hot. And I didn't have to do anything heavy today, because everybody came to work and there were no jobs for any of us in the labor pool. The boss just had us sweep up around the four-high tandem mill. Then we could go hide as long as someone could find us if he needed us."

I kissed her again (both the wiggling and the commotion intensified) before I asked, "How was school?"

"About as usual," she answered. "My English professor wants a five-page paper by Friday of next week, and my math professor scheduled an exam for the same day. I wish we were going to school together."

"I've got some good news for you, then," I said. "I got the job! I start at the beginning of August—not quite three weeks."

"The engineering technician job? Working day shift? Oh, Brye! That's wonderful!"

"It's in the Industrial Engineering Department. It isn't a union job, so I won't have to pay union dues and I won't be subject to layoffs. I might still have to pull occasional evening or night shifts out in the mill doing time studies and things like that, but mostly it'll be eight to four-thirty in the office. And the company likes to encourage techs to get more education so they can advance. They try to avoid scheduling conflicts for guys who're in school."

"It'll sure be better than the way you've been working—a different shift every week," she pointed out. "I'm really glad you got the job."

"I was worried," I admitted. "There are a lot of guys with more seniority than me. If one of them had wanted the job… But I guess they weren't qualified. Or didn't want it because they don't think the moneys's as good as it is for the union jobs."

"It doesn't pay any 'incen-ta-tive,' does it?" she asked, being careful to insert the extra syllable—as the men I worked with all did.

"No, it doesn't. That's probably why a lot of them weren't interested. But I won't be working a different shift every week now. We can go to night school together!"

"I'm glad, Brye," she said. "You should be in school. If you hadn't finished high school, you probably would have been just another guy who didn't qualify for this job."

She reached up for another kiss. As we kissed, she made sure to wiggle some more. She might, I thought, be getting the message my cock was sending.

"Well," I replied, as that kiss ended and I wormed my hand between us to fondle a tit, "it would be nice if I could make a little 'incen-ta-tive' money, but we'll be okay without it. And school's more important. Some of the older men at work keep telling me that I need to get all the education I can—that not doing that was the biggest mistake they ever made. Dad always said it would be a big mistake, too."

"Speaking of

mistakes

and

big

things…" she said with a dirty grin and another wiggle. "Let's go make another mistake with that big

stake

between us right now."

"We have made some mistakes with it, haven't we!" I agreed—with my own dirty grin and wiggle. "But I've got an idea or two about what mistake we could make with it now." I squeezed the tit I was holding. She was wearing a light cotton shirt and no bra, so her nipple prodded the palm of my hand.

"I'll bet you do!" she replied. "But I'll bet you don't have any ideas I don't have." No longer wiggling, she pressed herself firmly against me and reached up for still another kiss.

It was a lengthy kiss, but, finally, it ended. We partially unwrapped ourselves from each other and walked, side by side, each with an arm about the other, into the bedroom. Our free hands were at work on the buttons of our shirts as we went.

As we stepped into the bedroom, we both removed our shirts; I pulled her around to face me and drew her into my arms for another kiss. Both her nipples pressed against my naked chest, and the boner in my pants throbbed.

Again we looked into each other's eyes, and she said, "I love to feel your skin against me. And your dick's throbbing against me. I like to feel that, too."

She reached up and delivered a quick peck to my lips.

"Did I ever tell you how much I like your boobs?" I asked.

"Not often enough," she said. "Only four or five times a day."

She wriggled out of my arms to drop to her knees in front of me. Quickly, she unbuckled by belt and undid the waist button of my jeans. As she pulled the zipper down, she asked "Have I ever mentioned how much I like your cock?"

As I replied, "Only several times a day," she pulled my jeans and my shorts down to my knees so that my hard-on sprang out into the open—pointing directly at her face.

She smiled up at me, grasped my cock, stroked it a few times, and directed it into her mouth. Immediately, she began pumping me in and out. Overwhelming sensation claimed me, and my hips bucked in rhythm with her before I could think of any reply other than "Uhhh…"

Pressure and compulsion built within me, but well before my cum exploded into her mouth, she backed me out.. Still on her knees, she looked up at me, smiling at what she'd accomplished. "I really like to do that," she said. "It really turns me on. Almost as much as it turns you on, I think."

Able to think coherently again, I reached down and pulled her to her feet. "I like it, too," I said—unnecessarily—as I backed her the remaining couple of feet toward our bed. The pants we'd left at my knees dropped to my ankles, hobbling me, but I persisted. Just before the backs of her legs made contact with the bed, I kissed her again. She pressed her naked boobs against me—but this time, instead of pulling her more tightly against myself, I gave her a gentle push toward the bed.

She shrieked in surprise and toppled backward onto the bed. Before she could regain her composure, I had her jeans unzipped and was reaching to pull them off. By the time I began pulling, she was back in control of herself; she signaled her approval by raising her hips to make it easier for me.

I watched in fascination as her slit came into view, surrounded but not concealed by her scanty bush. When I'd gotten her jeans down as far as her ankles, I reached for her shoes, which now blocked further progress. As I did so, she pulled her legs upward and separated her knees, providing me with an even better look at her pussy—the lower part of whose outer lips now pulled apart to expose her inner folds and the opening in their midst.

Quickly, I took off her shoes and finished getting her pants out of the way. Her legs now free, she brought her feet up onto the mattress, maintaining the separation of her legs. My cock throbbed at the sight. I pulled off my own shoes—which took me more time than I liked because they were the heavy steel-toed safety shoes I was required to wear in the mill. My pants then followed hers onto the floor at the side of the bed.

I was still bent over from removing my pants when the scent of her arousal reached me from her pussy. My attention had already been focused on that part of her, but under the influence of her natural feminine perfume I bent slowly toward her where she lay on the bed, legs spread wide.

As I bent, I inhaled my twin sister's hypnotizing aroma, looking admiringly until I lost the heavenly vision a split second before my lips touched the head of her slit—right outside her no-longer-quite-concealed clit. Gently, I moved my pursed lips from side to side, nudging her outer lips aside until I reached the stiff little stem. At that, she moaned and brought her hands to my head to hold me in place.

I knew what she liked, and I extended my tongue until it just touched her little jewel. She emitted another moan—a moan that was almost a shriek—as I licked up and down and side to side with the warm, moist tip of my tongue. Then, feeling the increased pressure of her hands on the back of my head, I extended my entire tongue and stroked up and down the sensitive projection.

She put her heels on my upper back and pulled me toward herself, insistently, demandingly; she wanted more, stronger, deeper. I gave it to her, drawing my tongue repeatedly, now, from deep between her thighs at the base of her cleft, up along her inner lips to the point where they formed the hood that covered her clit and beyond—up to the point where her clit was rooted near the head of her cleft. At each of the successive motions, I heard her transported moan.

I sensed that she was getting close, and I bent to my task, meaning to bring her off. But before I could, she moved her hands to my arms, where they rested against her thighs. "Oh, God, Brye!" she breathed as she pulled. "I'm almost there. But I want you in me when I come. Put it in me. Now!"

Much as I enjoyed having my face where it was—both because I liked her pussy and because I was bringing her so much pleasure—I wasn't about to argue with her. My cock was more than ready for what she wanted; it wanted the same thing—had in fact wanted it since a few minutes before I'd walked in the door to the house.

As I came to my feet, she pulled away and turned so that her head was now on one of the pillows at the head of the bed. Looking directly into my eyes, she again spread her legs in invitation. I thought of pausing to admire her naked body, but her pussy called too insistently to my cock—and my cock was impatient to answer the call. I knelt on the bed between her legs and bent forward to place a hand on either side of her body. Smiling, we looked into each other's eyes and she grasped my cock to direct it into herself as I lowered myself onto—and into—her.

She was ready, and more than ready, for me. Well lubricated by my saliva and her own juices, her pussy admitted me easily; I slid home. As I bottomed out in her, our lips came together and our tongues engaged each other. Lost now in overwhelming sensation, we lay together, our bodies joined, in ultimate embrace.

And then, almost unconsciously, without thought or will, I was in motion—sliding out of her and gliding back in, sliding out of her and gliding back in. Out and in, out and in, sensation governed me now as much as conscious effort. With each stroke, my cock throbbed at the sublime friction her sheath generated as it contracted about me. Voltage built in my groin.

I'd effectively lost control of my body, but I could still look into her eyes; and I knew that she looked into mine. As we looked, each into the other's soul, our growing Needs communicated with us and with each other. She had been close to her peak when I entered her, so only moments passed before her climax engulfed her. Not yet there myself, I pounded into her as she writhed and moaned under me.

I had just enough time to exult in having brought her to orgasm before my own climax took me. Bolt after bolt of lightning discharged itself through my cock, each driving another wave of my cum into my twin sister's body. When the lightning's discharge had run its course, thunder still rolled through me, and I knew only that our bodies had triumphed again.

==||<>||==

We lay there, then, in each other's arms, each moaning occasionally, our naked bodies still joined, sharing the langour of afterfuck. Slowly, inexorably, in spite of her pussy's firm clasp, my cock softened until it slipped out of her. I rolled over onto my back, leaving a trail of our commingled juices across her thigh. I wrapped my arm around her as she nestled against me, and we continued to share our bodies' rapport—still wordless, still sporadically moaning our contentment.

I guess that ten minutes or so of our silent communion had passed when she spoke. "Mom came home from Cape May exactly a year ago this morning," she said.

"I guess that makes tomorrow our anniversary, doesn't it?" I replied.

"Yeah," she said, "she hadn't even been home for twenty four hours before one of the neighbors told her---we never did find out who."

"Our lives sure would've been easier if I'd pulled that window shade, wouldn't it!"

She thought for a few seconds, and said, "In some ways it would've, I guess. If The Widder hadn't seen us fucking and blabbed to the whole neighborhood, Mom and Dad wouldn't have thrown us out of the house when it got back to them. We might still be living at home, trying to hide everything. But hiding might not've been so easy."

"They'd still be paying, though, and that sure would be easier. But we'd still be living by all of their rules, too," I said. I paused for a few seconds, and added, "Well, most of their rules. Not the one against fucking each other. And they might have caught us later and thrown us out then."

"I don't know what they'd have done if the whole neighborhood hadn't known," she pointed out. "Mom told me that a clergyman, like Dad, couldn't afford for people to think he condoned his own kids fucking each other. She didn't say 'fucking' though."

"Dad told me," I said, "that he'd counseled other parents who'd caught their kids fucking each other—he didn't say 'fucking,' either—and experience showed that once the kids had crossed that line they'd keep crossing it whenever they had the opportunity. That meant we couldn't both stay at home. He wasn't going to pick one of us to throw out, so we both had to go. That what we did then was up to us—because now we would have to support ourselves."

"He was right about one thing," she said. "I wasn't about to stop fucking you."

"I wasn't about to stop fucking you, either," I answered. "And I never even thought about not living with you. It was sure lucky that this place was available to rent when we needed something on short notice."

"That was a real stroke of luck," she agreed. "It's cheap and right next to the mill—so you can walk to work."

"And the mill was hiring, too. That layoff had ended just a few days before we had to leave home, and I got hired only a few weeks later. But getting through those first two months with just what we had from our summer jobs was tough. I was really glad when we realized we had enough that you could start school last spring—even though we were still paying bills from the fall before."

"You know," she said, "I won't turn down another stroke of good luck, but even if we don't get any more, I think we'll be okay, now. And you'll be able to go to school, too, now that you have that new job!"

"It pays about what I get as a 'laborer' now, at least when everybody comes to work and I can't move into an in-cen-ta-tive paying job for the day. But I won't ever be laid off or have to go out on strike! So, yeah. I think we're gonna be okay."

==||<>||==

After we'd put on some clothes, gotten supper, and cleaned up the kitchen, we sat and read for a while. As darkness gathered, we went outside into the evening's coolness. An arm around each other, we walked around to the side of the house that faced the river. By mutual consent, we strolled to the edge of the river bank—about forty feet from the house and twenty-five feet or so above the level of the water.

Noises from the mill, a couple of hundred yards to our left, broke the evening silence. Out on the river, a tug sounded its horn in warning as it pushed eight or ten loaded coal barges toward a bend downriver—adding few knots to the lazy current's motion. We'd long been used to those noises, and we barely noticed them.

In the gathering gloom that accompanies sunset, we held each other and watched as isolated lights came on across river, three hundred yards away.

The tug was out of sight around the bend, and its wake now invisible in the subdued light. Bree spoke. "Brye," she said, "Maybe I shouldn't be, after we got thrown out of our parents' house and after the way we've had to struggle to make ends meet, but I'm happy here with you."

I turned toward her and felt her turn toward me in response; my free arm gathered her in. We looked again into each other's eyes, and I said, "Bree, I'm glad." I paused and held her tightly against myself. Then I continued. "You know, right after we figured out that we were each okay with fucking our twin, we agreed…" I paused. I knew what I needed to say, but I was afraid—afraid to admit that I'd broken my promise.

She waited for me to continue, and, when I hadn't after a minute or two, she said, "I remember. I told you that I like fucking you. And then I said more."

"I like fucking you, too," I said. "But—"

"And I still like fucking you! But you

are

in love with me, even though we agreed you never would be," she interrupted. "You've been in love with me since before we left home, haven't you?"

I hung my head, unable to reply.

She didn't seem to share my reluctance to discuss it. "You haven't hidden it very well. I caught on almost right away."

I found my tongue. "I'm sorry, Bree. You're right. I am in love with you. I didn't mean to be; it just… happened. I couldn't help it."

We were still standing, body to body, front to front, our arms around each other. Without saying a word, she reached up to kiss me. It was a gentle, closed-mouth kiss; it seemed to last for an hour.

"I know, Brye," she said, when at last we broke from the kiss. "I couldn't help it either."

"Of course you couldn't help it," I answered. "You aren't the least bit responsible for how I feel about you. All you're doing is being Brielle!"

She put a foot on mine and transfered her weight to it. It wasn't as bad as that time she'd done something similar with her knee, but it elicited a squawk from me.

"You dunce!" she said. "I didn't mean that I couldn't help it that you'd fallen in love with me!"

Recovering my equilibrium as the pain receded from my instep, I began, "Well then, what… did… ." I slowed to a stop. Joy swelled slowly in my heart as the truth seeped in.

She was looking into my eyes again; I returned her gaze, and said, almost unbelievingly, "You mean… You mean… that you're…" I slowed to another stop.

"Yes, you idiot," she replied, a bit exasperated. "I'm in love with you, too." Her arms tightened about me and she reached up to kiss me again. This time her lips opened in invitation, and my tongue responded.

For long minutes, we stood in an embrace that I, too, now understood to be love's. Our tongues played the hide-and-seek game as we pressed our bodies against each other.

We walked, then, in the last light of dusk, back to our little house by the river bank. I held her as we walked, and she held me. We were still together, after a year of hard work and trial, but now I knew that we loved each other. Somehow, I also knew that, come what might, we were going to get through it all—together.