Tiny Little Fractures
My sister shaved her pussy every day. I knew this because, on the few days on which she didn't show me the irresistibly smooth flesh that curved in glorious petal-like curls between her legs, she inevitably told me she had.
"I never have much hair, of course," she might begin. "Barely even stubble, in fact, but that's just one benefit of shaving every day." Beth would then slide two fingers down into the front of her tight cut-offs and I would pretend I didn't watch them caressing her mound.
"I take a little squirt of your shaving foam," she continued, "and slowly rub it all over my pussy – even those bits that maybe," she murmured huskily, as if confessing a secret, "don't really need it. Then I take a razor, your razor, and ever so carefully stroke it over my cunt. I run it once along the grain of my skin, then once against it to leave me completely smooth and soft. Then I carefully rub lotion into every fold of my pussy."
By then, her whole hand was inside her shorts and grinding frantically over her cunt. Her nipples were thick, hard points on the shirt she tied off just under her breasts and her face and chest were flushed a dark red. My cock was always fully aroused at this point, and the only thing I could do to stop from jerking off right there was to clench my hands on my knees and squeeze until the nails cut deep half-circles into my skin through my clothes.
"After that," Beth concluded, "it depends. Sometimes by that point, I'm so horny and wet thinking about your big, big dick that I just get myself off with my fingers, strumming on my little clit as I fuck myself and all the time wishing it were you touching me down there. Other times, I'm able to wait, just a little, until I can get the shower hot and I press the head over my cunt and I come and come, over and over."
This was undeniably true. Beth wasn't quiet, and most mornings lately I was woken by her moans and screams. Every time, she called out my name repeatedly, my complicity echoing in the farthest corners of our big house.
What, I hoped, Beth didn't know, was that every morning I woke up from dreams in which the blankets tangled round me were her limbs, where the hands closed about my cock were hers and not mine, where the caress of the sheet was the caress of her lips. Every morning now I woke with an erection of almost feverish intensity, and as she cried out my name in the shower, pulsing water mingling with the juice from her cunt as she fucked herself, I quickly brought myself to simultaneous climax, my moans stifled with a pillow.
I was perhaps the only eighteen-year-old guy who actively wished his parents were at home over the summer. Mum and Dad, convinced that at 18 their son and daughter were old enough and, more pertinently, mature enough, to look after themselves, had set off on a three month lecture tour of the states. So while my mother, the classical historian, lectured on the depredations of the ancient Greeks, at home, her daughter chased her son, eager for the cock she had so cunningly tasted.
I don't know why I listened to Beth. In part, it was that if I let her talk, she was less likely to approach me in any more blatant a fashion. I have to admit, though, that since Masoko and I started having sex, I had stopped jerking off – but now I masturbated at least three times a day, and always thinking of my sister. It was hard to believe we had been in that closet for only 5 minutes. It felt like I had been buried inside her for an eternity of bliss. I remembered how it had felt as I had slowly eased my huge cock into her, the stretch of her tight lower lips as she had slowly accommodated my thick girth, her rising pleasure as I had penetrated deeper and deeper into her cunt. She had been so hot and so wet, and I could still feel the ripples that had pulsed through her pussy as she came once, twice and then again, a wide-eyed group of our peers staring on, as my sister and I had the best orgasms of our brief lives.
I had slept in this morning, after a late night watching bad horror flicks at a friend's house. Typically for my friend, he had talked through the movies anyway, more eager to tell me about how good Deborah had been in bed, than in how the citizens of some small USA town would combat the mutant menace they faced. Pruriently, he had hinted that he wanted to hear what Shannon, the unquestioned uptight bitch queen of our old school, had been like. Blushing, I had refused to talk about it, and he assumed I was trying to be a gentleman. As if a man who fucked his sister behind his girlfriend's back could ever have pretensions to not being an utter asshole ever again.
My clock told me it was half twelve, and the intensity of the sun shining through my curtains seemed to agree with it. I untangled myself from the sheets and pretended I wasn't disappointed that I had missed my sister's morning show. My cock was only half-hard, just six or seven inches weighing heavily on the shorts in which I slept. Yawning and stretching, I pulled back the curtains and my dick swelled instantly.
By the pool my window looked out on, my sister reclined naked. Even lying flat on her back, Beth's breasts still swelled roundly on her chest and her chocolate-coloured nipples stood out in stark contrast to her lightly tanned skin. One of her hands rested lightly just above her pussy, the other was held above her eyes to shade them from the sun. Now that I had opened the curtains, she lowered the hand, and her eyes met mine. Though Beth and I are non-identical twins, the one feature we do have in common is the colour of our eyes – both of us have eyes lying on the violet edge of the spectrum.
We watched each other for maybe a moment or maybe a lifetime. She never broke our gaze as she slowly began to caress her nipples and deftly stroke her pussy. Safely concealed by the window, my hands freed my cock from my shorts and began to stroke furiously. Below me, Beth's fingers delved deep into her cunt. Triumphant, she withdrew her hand and held it up. The sun struck it, and it glowed gold with the liquid from her cunt. Her hand went back to work, and I watched as Beth moaned. The closed window blocked the sounds.
I don't know what would've happened if the phone hadn't rung just then. Funny as it seems to say it, perhaps things wouldn't have got so bad if I had just gone down there and made long, slow love to my beautiful sister. Some things we'll never know. In any case, the phone call broke my strange hypnosis, and I suddenly realised that here I was, frantically stroking every one of the 12 inches of my cock and fantasising about fucking my sister, the nymphet who was desperate for my touch. I tucked myself away as best I could and answered the phone, my voice thick with my sick lust.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Rob," said the woman on the other end of the phone.
"Uh, hi?"
"It's Shannon," she said.
"Oh, hi Shannon. Um... listen," I began, anxious to get it out before I could think about it and fuck up what I wanted to say, "I just wanted to thank you for that thing you did. I know it couldn't have been easy for you."
Shannon was silent for a long moment, and I wasn't sure what to say. Eventually I spoke up: "Okay, well I'll get Beth for you then."
"Actually, Rob, I called to speak to you," she said. "It's about that thing I did."
"Oh."
I never once took what Shannon had done for granted. It had hurt her reputation at school to pretend that she had fucked me in that closet, and subsequently a lot of people had made fun of the once haughty girl, her supposed action robbing her of all her poise.
"I don't want to do this over the phone," she said. "Could you meet me at my house this afternoon? How about for lunch?"
With our parents gone, Beth and I had access to both their cars, so I agreed.
"Sure," I said, butterflies dancing in my stomach. Even though I thought I would never be able to eat, I said, "lunch sounds fine."
Shannon gave me directions. I showered and dressed quickly, then slipped into the kitchen, trying to avoid Beth. She was sitting at the table.
"Well," she said, "did you not enjoy my show, or did you just come really fast?"
She had put on her bikini, which covered her bald pussy but did almost nothing to hide her magnificent breasts. What can I say? I'm a breast man. She moved towards me, and I noticed that her eyes were shining – had she been crying? She laid a hand on my groin, and her fingers quickly traced the length of my cock, which responded with an immediate and painfully intense erection.
"Guess you didn't come," she said.
In fact I had. Under the shower I had masturbated desperately, almost tearing at my cock as I thrummed my foreskin back and forth. I had pictured Beth with me, her full lips locked around the head of my cock, her hands playing gently with my balls, eagerly swallowing my come and licking tiny pearls from the corner of her mouth.
I leaped back from her, like a fencer avoiding a thrust, and hurriedly grabbed the car keys of the hook.
"Where are you going?"
"To Shannon's," I said. "She wants to talk to me about something."
Beth just smiled and undid the top of her bikini. She turned her back on me and walked back to the patio, letting the bikini top fall from her breasts just as she went through the door. My sister turned, letting me get a brief glimpse of her ripe breasts as she laid the flimsy top on the kitchen counter. As she walked away, she whispered to herself, "sure... Shannon wants to... talk."
I shrugged off what the comment I hadn't been meant to hear implied. My sister wanted me – and maybe, all right, I was attracted to her – but that was just clouding her judgement.
I pulled the car into Shannon's driveway and she was waiting at the door to meet me. Her long blonde hair was down, spilling over and behind her shoulders in great, straight sheaves. She was wearing a red top held up by thin straps running over her pale shoulders. The fabric followed the swell of her chest and then hung from the points of her breasts, and there was no hint of a bra in the way they swayed softly as she walked towards me. Her long, slender legs were tightly wrapped in cream trousers and her feet were bare. Her lips were a pale pink, and it looked like she wore no make-up.
We sat over her breakfast bar and ate sandwiches she took out of the fridge. Thick brown bread, rich ham and crisp lettuce – washed down with designer mineral water that tasted just like the stuff that came out of the tap. As we ate, she leaned over the breakfast bar and her top gaped open far enough for me to confirm she wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts were smallish – about the size of oranges, but they protruded far out of her chest, as if yearning to be caressed. I looked away quickly, and Shannon said, "Let's talk."
"Okay," I said.
