Sister Is A Showoff Ch 02

*Part 1: https://www.literotica.com/s/sister-is-a-showoff

"You want me to be your... manager?" I asked, partially dumbfounded because of just how ludicrous the request seemed, and also partially because by now Britt had shorn her robe and was standing in front of me completely naked and unabashed.

"Well sure, Ricky," she said.

"Patrick," I reminded her, trying to sound more annoyed than horny. It was a challenge.

"All successful women have managers," she continued, "Just look at Marilyn Monroe, or Janis Joplin, or Lindsay Lohan."

"All those women drank themselves to an early grave," I protested. "They're hardly the kind of people you want to model your life or career after. Or I don't know. Janis Joplin, maybe."

"I think Lindsay Lohan is still alive," I heard Lauren say, appearing suddenly behind me. Britt was squeezing herself into a very tight pair of jeans.

"Whatever," I grumbled, "Remember where you heard it first."

"One out of three isn't bad," she told me, hopping into her jeans, her tits swaying mesmerizingly before me. "Those are gambling odds."

"Where are you going?" Lauren asked Brittany as she pulled an orange T-shirt over her head, eschewing the bra.

"Shopping," Britt answered, "Can't get a fresh start without a new wardrobe. Where's your wallet, Ricky? In your shorts still?"

"What?" I asked, partially to Britt, and also partially to Lauren, who had crept up behind me and was rubbing my bare chest with her hands.

"Never mind," she said, "I found it. I'll be back in a couple of hours, and then we can have a fashion show!" Her voice piqued so excitedly on her last two words that it was hard to want to deny her the pleasure, even though I was pretty hard pressed for cash those bleak days. And more pressingly, Lauren's soothing hands were making their way down my hard pecs and abs that I was altogether too distracted to bother to object. As soon as Brittany was out the door, Lauren and I pressed together in a kiss like I hadn't shared with her before, all of desperation and love and sorrow and loneliness and pleasure. And while our tongues minced words, her hands wandered ever lower, til one of them had a firm grasp of my throbbing erection, and when she started stroking me she had to break facial contact and speak to me.

"You get horny just watching her too, do you?" I moaned in pleasure at her touch.

"It's you, baby," I said.

"Don't lie. It's okay. I do too." I pondered.

"Yeah," I said, "I guess I do."

"It's okay, I guess," She said, "She's a beautiful woman. It's only right and natural."

But anyways I was moaning, and I kissed her again, but only very briefly before she stopped me and turned me around by the shoulders. She was still completely naked, not having dressed since the tryst.

"You're horny too," I laughed at her, accusingly.

"Oh yeah," she said, "I want to try this with you again. For real this time."

"Yeah?" I asked, wrapping her in my arms. My erection was pressing into her flat belly, rubbing up it. I dropped one hand to squeeze her corresponding breast. She sighed happily at my touch.

"Yeah," she said, "Just don't come in my pussy this time."

It was actually she who led me into the bedroom this time, dragging me along by the flesh of my own protruding member. She held it like she was pulling a dog along on a leash, like I was a pet of hers out on a play date. I loved her enthusiasm, and pinched her ass pretty hard. She spun around to meet my eyes, smiling her beautiful smile. She grabbed me by the shoulders, pulled me down onto the bed on top of her. I lined myself up and prepared to enter her.

"Look into my eyes, Ricky. Look at my eyes while you do it."

I met her gaze, and she was staring at me so intensely I felt like she was looking right through me. I felt, oddly, like she was inside of me, even though it was I on the cusp of further deflowering her newly deflowered cunt. And I saw the whole ten years of our friendship, remembered every time she'd been close to me, every time we'd been there for each other. I remembered when we'd promised to be each other's firsts. It burned me up that things had gotten so fucked up over the years. Looking into her eyes nearly drew me to tears. She was my best friend, and I loved her.

"Do you forgive me, Ricky?" she asked. I was rubbing my shaft up and down her slit now.

"What forgive?" I said.

"You know what," she said, "Do you forgive me?"

"Lauren," I said, "What is forgiveness, anyways? I love you, and that's enough for me."

She smiled at me, radiant like always, and somehow with just the pull of her arms she invited me inside of her.

We took it considerably more slowly this time. I gradually penetrated her, inching forward and then slowly receding, pushing slightly deeper each time, gauging her comfort by the urgency of her cries. I put my left hand on her breast, tweaked her nipple gently. That made her gasp. And when I finally began to reach my ending, when I was nearly able to reach balls deep into her, I felt her begin to shudder violently.

"Oh," she said.

I knew what she meant. Understood what she was feeling. We were just able to communicate that way. I picked up the pace, withdrawing and pushing back on her G-spot with increasing pressure and speed. Her cries came out sharper at first, then slowly became drawn out into hectic pleased moans. She wrapped her legs around me and pulled me deep as she could. She scratched me all down my back, bucking her hips, and I could tell that she was coming.

After a few strokes more, I ended up coming on her flat belly. She was a beautiful canvas, my favourite work of art.

***

We had a short nap after. I don't really know if I slept, or just disappeared very deeply into thought.

"What did you mean when you said you wanted to try this again?" I asked. "What did you mean when you said for real this time?"

"The sex," she said, "You know. Fucking."

"Yeah?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"And then what about us?" I feel immature and feminine admitting that I asked this and that this is how I asked it.

"What do you mean what about us?"

"I don't know," I said, "Are we on again? Are we off again?"

"Oh," Lauren said, sitting up and clinging the bed sheet to her breasts like an unrealistic scene in a PG-13 movie. "I don't know. I came here with Britt, but I only came because I knew I would see you."

"What does that mean, 'you came here with Britt'?"

"I don't know."

"Are you together?"

"I don't know that either."

"Well what, then?" I asked, "What the literal fuck?"

"I said I don't know, Ricky," Lauren said. "We're fucking. I wanted to apologize. I wanted to see you."

"What does that have to do with Britt?"

"She said she was coming to you anyways," Lauren almost cried, "She wants to be out here. She thinks it's best for her and her stupid porn career idea."

"She told you about that, did she?" I asked, "I wasn't sure."

"Oh yeah," Lauren said, and she was really near tears now, "She told me. Warm weather. Hot baths. Big fat cocks. I got the rundown."

"You sound jealous."

"Well that's because I am! I mean, duh! Obviously."

"Well what exactly are you jealous of?" I asked, trying coldly to get to the real reasonable part of the situation.

"Who," she said, "You mean who am I jealous of. And I don't know. I don't know if it's Britt or if it's you or if it's big fat cocks but I'm leaving you and Britt and everything I know and I'm scared. I don't know what it's like to be alone."

Lauren was really struggling then, I learned later, with her decision to go to a big-time pre-med program in the North East, where she knew precisely nobody.

"Well, I don't know what to tell you," I said, "Britt goes her own way. She always has."

"I'm just afraid," she said. "I'm afraid that I'll lose you. I'm afraid that I'll lose you both. And I'm a little afraid that I'll lose you both, you know, to each other."

She was barely able to raise her eyes to mine when she said it. But there she was, head on my chest, the warm dribble of her salty tears running down my skin, eyelashes quivering, and still trying to meet my gaze. I loved her then, I really did, and I wanted nothing on the earth more than to console her.

"Is that weird?" she asked, because when you thought about it really was.

"Lauren," I said, "Please don't be sad. I know you're scared, and I am too. But we'll always have eave each other; that I can promise you. And you won't ever lose me. I am yours. And I swear to you here and now that I am not attracted to Brittany in any way."

"Really?" she asked, momentarily capturing a smile, "You mean it?"

"Baby, I'd swear it on the flesh we inhabit."

We made love once more before Brittany came home.

***

That same evening we had to send Lauren to the airport. We didn't even have the money to escort her like a polite host would, just enough to put her in a cab and hope for the best. She was off to her prestigious full-ride scholarship, and I went back to my roach-infested one-bedroom apartment knowing that I had nothing to offer her and that if she was as smart as her academic success indicated, she'd never come back to me. I almost wanted to cry, but then I couldn't even let myself in front of Brittany. Somebody had to be strong, and the way Britt and Lauren parted at the airport, I guess it had to be me.

***

So then suddenly money was tighter than my girlfriend's virgin pussy when I first had it. Classes started, and since I was still telling myself I was trying to be a better person I had to cut my hours at the gym. Britt had stopped camming after she went viral, since she said she didn't want to show off for just peanuts. If we were going to get her to perform, the nuts involved had to be considerably larger indeed.

We found her a job dancing at a club I knew that didn't ID (don't ask) and they even agreed to let her not use her real name. Britt thought, and I agreed, that stripping would at least raise her profile if she were going to go out for the adult business anyways.

Which business I honestly had no fucking clue about entering, and yet here I was suddenly pretending to be a manager. I had terrible fears she'd end up being humiliated on some Backroom Casting Couch type video, or some other seedy porn shit I was familiar with from general perversion. My only real solid idea for how to proceed had been to try to pitch a leaked celebrity sex tape to Vivid or something, and we'd emailed the guy and even got a meeting, but when she came home from that in a considerable huff I guessed how well that had gone.

"Well," I asked anyways, "How did it go?"

"They weren't interested," she said dismissively, "They said porn star wasn't a viable celebrity market for celebrity sex tapes or something."

"But you're not a porn star," I said. "Did you tell them you're famous on the internet?"

"I did," she said. "They said it was pretty much the same thing."

"Well that's it then," I said. "We're fucked. How do you get paid to fuck on camera when so many people are already fucking on camera for free?"

"I only wanted to be rich and famous for having sex," Brittany said, her voice quivering as though she were approaching tears. "It's so hard. How do those Kardashian bums do it?"

We hadn't even a moment to consider the question when suddenly there was a knock at the door, hard and rapid and frightening. We weren't expecting anyone. We hardly even knew anyone.

"Oh God," I asked, "Did you give them our address?"

"Of course I did," she said, "How could you work for a company if they don't know where you live?"

"It's Steve Hirsch," I said, "He and his Vivid army of wheelchair guys are coming to rape you! Every awful thing about the porn industry I've heard is gross and true!"

I was drinking a lot those days, courtesy of Brittany. And at that moment I was probably pretty close to abusing some prescription painkillers I'd skidooched off a work buddy at the gym. It was weird.

Also kind of weird was just that I was living with Brittany in general. She made good money dancing, and kept herself well dressed and well fed and pampered and generally had enough booze to spare, and she could have probably rented a beautiful place of her own, if she'd wanted to, but even despite my rinky-dink living conditions, she stayed with me. She said it made her feel comfortable. I couldn't understand.

"God, you're even crazier than I am sometimes," she said, heading for the door, "And he's not in a wheelchair army. You're thinking of the Hustler guy."

She answered the door, confident as anything, even though she was still dressed in her best slutty come-hither outfit we'd picked out for trying to ace her porn star interview. She was wearing a scandalously short halter top that showed off how naturally toned her tummy was, and her ass was looking its plump best in a pair of exaggerated Daisy Duke tattered denim shorts. Seedy as my area was, I rarely answered the door with less than a baseball bat in my hand, but she just swung it wide open, looking sexy and vulnerable and still strong enough to greet whatever was out there with all the force of her personality.

And then behind the swung-wide-open door was nothing less than the least frightening thing I could have imagined. There, smiling awkwardly and looking kind of impish and reserved despite his impressive stature, was Joel himself. And worse, when he saw Britt in the door, even his smile dropped as his last outward projection of any confidence.

"Oh, uh, hi Britt," he said, "Is Ricky home?"

"What are you doing here?" she asked him.

"Me?" He asked incredulously, "What are you doing here?"

"Her?" I asked, emerging from behind the couch, "What the fuck are you doing here, motherfucker?"

"Oh hey, Ricky," he said, "What's up? I came here to see you."

"Why?"

"To see what you were up to. You know."

"You came halfway across the country just to see what I was up to?" I ask, "Without even checking with me first?"

"How was I going to check with you? You're not even on Facebook anymore. I missed you."

It was hard to process. Whether or not I'd admitted it, I kind of still blamed Joel for the video getting out, even though I knew it was Lauren that did it. It was just compartmentalized that way in my brain, just to make processing what happened easier. But then looking at Joel, awkward as ever with his slumped shoulders and apologetic posture, I couldn't help but admit that I'd missed him too. He was my best guy, ten years running.

"So what are you up to?" he asked again.

"I don't know," I said, "Nothing. College."

"Oh yeah," he said, "Man, college is so dumb. They don't do anything there but make you learn stuff."

"Yeah," Brittany chimed in, "Learning is stupid, Ricky. You should get a real job."

"I have a real job!" I insisted, "I work at a gym. And I'm a full-time student. And you're a stripper!"

"You're a stripper now?" Joel asked, his posture relaxing as he eyed Brittany up and down, "Nice."

"Well what are you going to do?" I asked, "Get a job working for your Dad? He barely makes enough money to pay your cable."

"I'm following in my Mom's footsteps," he said, "I've decided I'm going to be an actor."

"Ooh," Britt squealed excitedly, "That's so cool!"

"Your Mom is a weather lady!" I protested indignantly, "That's not anything like the same thing."

"She's in the entertainment business," Joel said, "That'll be my in. I've got name recognition."

"Okay," I said, giving up the argument, "Whatever, then."

"That's also kind of why I came to see you, actually," Joel continued.

"What is?"

"Well, you know you're out here on the coast now, and it seems an awful lot like this is where all the acting gigs get cast? Well, I guess I was just figuring that maybe I could... I don't know... Live here? Like with you?"

"You want to live with me?"

"Sure," he said, "It'd be a total party all the time. I didn't know that Britt would be here," he said, looking lasciviously in her direction again, "Not that I mind..."

"I live in a dumpy apartment," I said, "Britt lives here, too, and I don't even have a bedroom."

"That's okay. I wasn't expecting the Taj Mahal," Joel said, walking past Brittany and into the apartment, appraising his surroundings, "I like this. This works for me."

I don't know whether to blame it on the good nature of friendship, or my lack of much energy from working so much between school and the gym, or just my apparently push-over nature, but I couldn't refuse the guy a place to stay. He took the beanbag chairs I was sleeping on, and I moved onto the bed with Brittany. It was just more comfortable that way.

***

I had an early shift that morning before a full day of classes, so I was out of the apartment and out of my head for a good while before I got home to find Joel still sitting on my sofa bed. I could hear Britt rustling in the bathroom, singing loudly like she usually did when she was in higher spirits.

"Don't even think you have a chance of getting in there," he said, "I've been trying all day. I had to make due. Don't use the dishes in the sink without washing them pretty good."

"What else did you do today?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said, "Nothing."

"Nothing? You're not going to pay rent doing nothing."

"It's my first day on the coast, Ricky! You expect me to go out looking for work straight away? I wanted to get to know the place. Appreciate the scenery."

"Did you even leave the apartment?" I asked, "You're sitting in the same place you were when I left this morning. I think those are the same damn underpants!"

Just then the little hollow click of an opening doorframe interrupted my exhausted interrogation, and drew both our pairs of eyes to the bathroom door. Britt emerged, accompanied by an angelic whisp of steam that seemed to indicate her sizzle. She was wearing an obscenely short-cut halter-top, basic white and ripped critically down its center. Widely torn holes exposed the narrowest of shiny black bikini top barely covering her medium-sized areolas. She had squeezed herself in to the tiniest sequined short shorts I could have imagined fitting her, and even as she walked toward us, I could see the way her ass shook from the sway of the tight fabric.

Without a broken stride, she stepped clean into our view of the television (not that it had our attention at the moment) and just stood there, as if she might actually have been interrupting our view. She just looked at us expectantly.

"I just picked this outfit out for work today," she said, leaning forward and striking a cleavage accentuating pose, bringing her arms together in front of her chest. "What do you think, boys?"

And she must have correctly interpreted our slack-jawed silence as wowed impression, because she smiled at our dopey reaction.

"Yeah?" she asked, "I like it too. And then look at this." She swung around gracefully, neither too slowly nor too fast, so that she was facing directly away from us, still bent over, her luscious ass pointing directly at our lecherous ogling eyes. And then, be still our hearts, while she spoke she began pulling down the top of her shorts.

"I wanted to try something different, you know, to stand out from the other girls," she said as the milky white cheeks of her ass emerged from behind the patent pink short shorts.

"And I know girls who wear coloured contacts, or wigs, or do weird eye makeup or even wear cat's ears," she said, as the long thin painful string of a thong that matched the pink of her shorts made its bemoaned appearance.

"But I thought I'd draw attention to my other best feature," she said, and as the last of her shorts bunched up into her grasp, revealing the fullness of her beautiful ass to us, and behind the thin speckle of thong I saw a blue bejeweled plug emerging from my sister's asshole. And damn if she wasn't driving me to think some of some awful things I'd do to lick that plug clean just to taste her.