Young Matthew Burke was in his room, lying on his bed, propped up on two pillows, whacking off. He had the radio set low on the Christian Broadcasting Station. Patty Jane was preaching a sermon about the redemptive power of God’s divine lovaaaah.
Matthew was holding a copy of Slut magazine open to page 39 which had a picture of a gorgeous blonde, butt naked. He thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever whacked off to. Her face was in profile; the forehead nicely rounded, the nose just slightly curved up. Pert is what he would have called it. There was a hint of blue in the eye, but it was hard to tell due to the angle of the shot. Her thick, wavy hair was fixed up on her head, really sexy.
She was sitting on her doubled-up legs with her round, firm ass resting on a pair of purple, spiked heels; her back was arched seductively, her small but shapely tits thrust out to a pair of hairy male hands. The rest of him was off camera. Matthew tried to imagine himself in the man’s place, reaching for those ripe, firm tits. His dick swelled harder in his hand just thinking about it. A tormenting tingle in his cock told him he’d better be careful and not squeeze too hard if he wanted to prolong his ecstasy awhile longer.
He slacked off, pacing himself. He didn’t want to blow this feeling.
He could hear the muffled voices of the family downstairs reading passages of scripture out of the Bible to each other. It was a mandatory family ritual always held at the dinning table after dishes had been washed and put away. His sister, Caroline, the oldest of the siblings, was down there, back from Appalachian State for a weekend visit; he could hear her gay laughter and bright voice reach up the stairwell. His brother John, the second oldest, with that deep baritone voice, was down there along with his two other brothers, Mark and Luke, the third and fourth born respectively. He should have been down there, too, but he had pleaded to not feeling well, and his mother had felt his head and said she thought he might be coming down with a fever.
He had a fever all right, and it was burning out of control right between his legs. His rod was reaching critical mass; a complete melt down was imminent.
He squeezed once more -- too tightly he suddenly realized. If he loosened his grip even slightly he would cum all over the place. He knew from the intense pressure in his balls that it would be a squirter. The last time he had shot off, with that much pressure, his cum had hit the ceiling over his bed, a good eight feet.
He was hurriedly searching for something to wrap over his dick when he heard soft footsteps coming up the stairs and a gentle rap at his door. He only had time to pull a sheet over his naked body before his mother walked in.
She was holding a glass of water in one hand and two tablets of ground willow bark in the other.
“Here,” she said with a guilty smile, holding the glass out to him. “But don’t let your father know about the willow bark; you know how he is about medicines, even if they are of nature.”
He reached for the glass with his left hand, clinging fiercely to his cock with his right.
But you can’t beat the Lord.
For at the same time she held out her hand with the willow bark, an expectant look on her mature, pretty face, an older version of his sister, Caroline. “I shouldn’t be giving you these, but I worry sometimes that prayer may not be enough.”
Matthew opened his mouth and made an gah, gah sound.
“Oh, you big baby; I thought you had gotten over your aversion to swallowing these a long time ago.
Matthew smiled shyly and shrugged his bare shoulders.
“Well,” she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and patting his thigh, squeezing it just below his crotch. “They won’t kill you; and maybe they’ll knock that fever before it gets any worse.” She patted his stomach, a motion which drew the sheet tighter over the head of his cock. It was all he could manage to keep from cuming.
She popped one tablet in his mouth and waited for him to wash it down, then the other. She took the glass from him and set it on the night stand, then touched her hand to his forehead. It was soft and cool against his feverish brow. Her eyes searched his as if looking for a name to place on his illness.
She brushed her finger tips through his short hair. Tingling sensations raced down his spine straight through to his dick. It stiffened even more painfully. She leaned toward him and kissed him on the cheek. She smelled of wash soap. Her soft, full breasts touched his chest. Her soft, cool hand moved down his chest, pushing the sheet down. She rubbed the palm of her hand over his belly; the motion sent shock waves to his cock. It was more than he could bear.
His body shook; she drew back and, as she did so, the heat of their lips touched briefly. He could feel cum spewing out of his cock, cradling into a warm, wet goo in the sheet.
She leaned over to the night stand and flicked off the lamp.
“Better try to get some sleep,” she said softly, then she kissed his forehead as if he were still a little child.
When she was gone he got onto his knees by the bed and prayed for two hours to be forgiven for giving into temptation, promising, as he had so many times before, that he would never do it again and begging the Lord to take away this hunger in the flesh. But a persistent itch in his crotch made him wonder if anyone had been listening.
.
Early the next morning he heard the bustling sounds of everyone getting ready to leave for Sunday morning services at Mount Pentecostal Church of Our Divine Lord and Savior.
His mother came in, at one point in the hurly-burly, dressed in a long, conservative summer dress, and began fussing over him, praying for a healing, then making him drink a glass of fresh herbal juice that tasted like cow dung and vinegar.
“Caroline will stay with you just in case,” she said, fluffing his pillows as if he were an invalid.
“Aw, mom, I’ll be OK.”
He was already thinking about the blonde on page 39. If everyone was gone he could whack off without fear of interruption.
But it was not to be.
As soon as the sound of the family car had faded in the distance, Caroline sashayed into his room.
“Alone at last, huh, Matt?” she said, reaching out playfully and tousling his hair.
Being at college had given his sister more maturity. She was prettier now, much prettier than those fancy, secular girls-- even without their make-up. Her thick, wavy, blonde hair hung halfway down her back where her waist seemed unbelievably narrow.
He had already achieved another fierce erection before she came in, and, in desperation, he held it pressed flat against his belly, with the palm of his hand, where it squirmed defiantly as if with a will of its own.
“Praise the Lord! What a glorious morning!” she enthused, going to the window.
She placed her palms on the sill and leaned forward peering out, her pert nose almost touching the glass. She was wearing a long-sleeved, white blouse with a pilgrim collar and over it a brown, shoulder-strapped, ankle length dress. On her feet she wore a pair of low heeled pumps with white socks.
As she leaned there, looking out, Matthew found himself examining her profile. She had a beautifully curved forehead and what would have been a straight Roman nose but for a very slight upward turn. Her lips were not what one would call full but were nicely shaped and puffed out slightly as if begging to be kissed. Her breasts were small but pressed enticingly against her blouse. The waist, as noted, was firm and narrow; the back had a proud arch below which a round, perfect ass jutted seductively.
With a shock, Matthew suddenly realized that his sister, Caroline, looked like the girl on page 39 without all the make-up. And with that realization came a revelation as to why he had found the girl on page 39 so particularly appealing. She was the embodiment of all the suppressed, incestuous fantasies that he had ever had for his sister but would never admit to himself for fear of incurring God’s divine wrath.
