Part One: The Famous Couch
I'd had sex before, but I recall that it was unmoving. The girl's name was Sarah, she was pretty although now I can't remember what she looked like. My mind has been diluted by the fantasies it creates, which all involve my sister. I should have always been worried about how much power her form had over me, and how much I let it haunt me, but I had figured that someday I'd get over her. The only downside to the events that had happened the preceding night was that now there was no way I'd ever get over her. She had complete control over me now; she sanctioned each breath that I took. Her attention was exhilarating, and kept me on the edge. I wanted to excite her, so that I wasn't the only one enduring this constant state of electricity. I wanted so very badly to glance over at her, to find her already staring at me, and to blush because she was as nervous about my impressions as I was about hers.
It was the night of the following day, and my father was at the table with Amanda and I for dinner, although he wasn't eating. I felt angry around my dad for some reason. I didn't show it so you never would have been able to tell, but I wanted for him to leave the house so that I could be alone with my loving sister. It made me sad that I felt this way, he did nothing wrong and if anything, I was the one wronging him. I knew this, if I were a father, I'd be furious beyond comprehension to find out that my son and younger daughter had began to fall for one another romantically. Nonetheless, his presence was the barrier between my sister and I being able to be open with each other, and I wanted him to leave us.
Multiple times my father would stand from the dinner table to grab another beer from the fridge, and I was relieved each time to see that he had brought back only one to the table, dooming himself to have to get another one only minutes later. These short periods of time were the greatest parts of my dinner, Amanda would look over to me with her big eyes and default smile, and once or twice she would raise her foot to caress my groin beneath the table. She was barefoot, and I would reach down, guiding her smooth toes along my hard dick beneath my pants. It was as casual a thing as if we had not done it; the two of us were certainly beyond the stage that involved getting to know one-another.
With my dad returned to the table, he again suggested that the reason he wouldn't eat with us was because he was going soon to pick our mother up from the airport. She had warned him that she had good news for him, and his plan was to take her out to dinner straight from the airport to celebrate. Amanda and I both deduced that given the amount of beers he had consumed, he probably thought that this was the first time he was telling us, but we knew better than to be worried. Our father preformed better when intoxicated than when not.
Amanda seemed to be getting antsy, which excited me because our father would be leaving soon, and I hoped that her energy would translate to something nice when that happened. Now when my father would stand to visit the refrigerator, she would slyly press a green bean into her mouth, only to retrieve it and push it into mine. A line from the Dean Martin song, 'Aint That a Kick In The Head, seemed to describe my feelings all too well, "If this is just the beginning, my life is 'gonna be beautiful." At this point in time, all that I could think about was the future, and how wonderful it was going to be if such interactions persisted.
"Dad," Amanda whispered.
"Yes dear?" Something about him calling her 'dear' made me oddly uncomfortable at first, but I eased relatively quickly.
"Yesterday I met this amazing boy," she giggled, not looking over at me.
"Oh really?" My dad asked this question as though he were curious for more details, but I could tell that there were no possible details that Amanda could give that would satisfy his fatherly, suspicious instinct.
"Yeah." She was blushing now. "He's great, a real gentleman. I think you would like him." My father looked angry now if anything.
"What's this gentleman's name?" He asked. Amanda seemed a little caught off guard by his question, like she hadn't planned this far ahead when she started this uncomfortable conversation.
"Uh- Burgess," she looked stone-faced back at him, as he did his best to conceal laughter. My willpower was not quite as strong, and I let loose a slight chuckle.
"Oh shut up. With a name like Nathan, you can only be one of like three people." She laughed a little bit, as did I. I thought to myself, "Burgess is one of the three I guess."
"So, you met a boy named Burgess, and he's a gentleman?" My father inquired.
"Yeah. He makes me feel like a woman, not a girl." The amount of discomfort that I had during this conversation in its entirety was ridiculous. It only escalated when Amanda would rub my dick beneath the table with her sexy feet.
"Well, I guess if he was really special I'd be fine with it," my father grunted as he stood up to prepare to leave. "I should be going now though, your mother's plane lands in less than an hour and I want to be early. Clean up after you guys finish eating, she deserves to come home to a clean house."
"Yes sir," Amanda said, her eyes following him to the trash where he dropped his empty bottle. My dick seemed to grow exponentially with each step my father took in the opposite direction.
"Seeya' dad," I mustered out. Neither Amanda nor I looked at each other until we heard the front door
start, and no words were spoken until the sounds of the car turning on could be heard.
"Well." I looked deeply into her eyes.
"Well," she repeated, with a womanly smile encasing her beautiful face.
"Shall we head to the famous couch?" I asked. She laughed and began to stand. The removal of the pressure her foot had been applying to my cock was depressing, but I knew it would be justified momentarily. We headed to the family room without clearing the table.
With my hand trapped in the warmth of her hand, she led me to the couch were we would hopefully spend as much of the night together as fate would permit. She sat down on the far end of the couch, but as soon as I sat down, she scooted closer to me. Her hip was firmly against mine for only a second, before she shifted and laid down across my lap as she had done the day before. I took note of the jeans she was wearing, and frowned, reaching for the waistband to remove them. She raised herself for a moment to assist me, and with ease they slid off. My pants came off next, before she lowered herself back down onto my lap. Her blue eyes were glowing bright, like they were the light source of the room. My right hand reached down between her thighs, and began to explore, while my left hand reached over to grasp her face. I held her chin up, and stared into her eyes while she began to hump my right hand. A sigh escaped her thick pink lips, and my hand twitched along with her warm and wet pussy. I took note for the first time that her panties were soaked. I almost laughed at how apparent it was, and yet how oblivious I had been to the fact. However, there were emotions inside me at the time that were more powerful than laughter, so I suppressed it. Her hips continued to thrust upwards against my sweaty hand, drenching it. The pace was slow and intimate, as if the two of us could continue and not tire for many hours. For all that I knew, it had been many hours when I finally lowered my left hand from her face, to the bottom of her shirt to remove it. I slowly pushed it upwards over her head, and she sat up to allow us to progress. Not a second passed before she began to imitate me, and remove my shirt. Quite suddenly, the two of us combined were sitting on the couch in a collective three pieces of clothing. 'Three too many,' I thought to myself.
"I've been thinking about you all day, Nathan." Amanda had her eyes closed, but her face pointed at mine as if they were open.
"Yeah? How funny. I was about to say the same," my response invoked a slight grin on her face. My hand continued to gyrate around her wet mound through her panties. I had become slightly more used to the idea of her being aroused by me, but I still wasn't fully sure that it was as honest as it appeared. Her sweet pussy was soaked, and her comment about thinking of me told one story, but the realist in me feared that there was some balancing factor. Whether or not there was, I decided to dismiss the thought from my mind and focus on pleasing the goddess on my lap so that she would hopefully remember this event with happiness.
My hand continued to traverse the warm skin around her pussy, spreading the wetness as it did so. Her panties seemed to begging to come off, and I eventually obliged them. They hung between her knees; heavy from the moisture they held. Even with the panties gone, I pretended they were still there by not plunging my finger into her tight depths quite yet. Instead, I maintained my broad massage, incorporating attention for her thighs and hips. Her eyes were tightly shut, as if she were resisting a scary movie, and the expression on her face showed some degree of frustration. I imagine that she sensed my fear about her expression, because she clarified it soon after I noticed.
"Stop teasing me, you bastard!" I laughed a little bit, relieved that she was only fed up because of my slow pacing.
"Why? Watching you squirm at my touch is just about the most fun I could be having." The flirtatious nature of our talk seemed natural, and relevant. Her eyelids seemed to ease their tension, and her lips turned upwards, to support my theory.
