We Need to Study Our Math

We relaxed that Saturday evening, watching television with Mom and Dad. We did that both because we liked to watch television and because we thought it would allay any suspicions anyone might be developing from the way we were spending so much time alone with each other. After all, we'd told them we'd been studying—studying quite a bit more than they were used to having either of us do.

And, after that afternoon, neither of us felt pressure for a "study session." We thought, too, that we were pretty much on top of our math, so we figured we would need just one study session on Sunday afternoon (and, of course, one "study session" on Sunday evening).

As always, the parents called it a night and went upstairs around ten. Madison and I remained in the living room with the television on—saying that we were going to watch Saturday Night Live, or a least some of it. I reckoned that around 10:30, when they'd had a chance to get to sleep, Maddie and I could fool around a little—maybe even eat each other. Even though my need wasn't as pressing as it had been that afternoon, I didn't want to let an opportunity to go to waste.

Maddie seemed to have another idea. Not that she was averse to a little hanky-panky, or that her sense of timing was all that different from mine.

Just before I was about to suggest that she do so, she got up from the chair where she'd been sitting and sat down on the couch right next to me. I put my arm around her, and she snuggled close to me. But then, as my hand found and cupped a tit, she derailed my plans by asking, "How are we going to work this out, Mase?" But, after she asked, and, before I could answer her, she rested her own hand on my thigh.

"I guess we've got to quit carrying on with each other," I said, reluctantly.

"That would straighten things out," she replied. She paused; she didn't remove my hand from her boob. I didn't mention how good she was at "straightening out" one thing in particular.

I still hadn't answered her when she continued: "But I don't want to quit. I don't think I

can

quit—touching you and having you touch me, at least."

That admission sent a thrill through me. I made my own admission: "I don't want to quit fooling around, either. And I don't think I can, either."

We sat there in silence for a few minutes. I kneaded the tit I'd been cupping. There was no bra, as usual at home; I felt her nipple stiffen under her sweatshirt—which she also usually wore around the house because its loose fit meant Mom wasn't as likely to complain about what wasn't underneath it.

She said, "We can't keep fucking each other, though. We shouldn't have done it this afternoon. We said we weren't going to do that any more."

"I guess that was my fault," I admitted. "You looked so hot that I just had to fuck you."

"Well, I had something to do with it," she said. "You instigated it, but it isn't

entirely

your fault. You're hot, too; and I needed it. But we've got to stop."

"I guess it really wouldn't be a good idea for us to keep on fucking each other," I agreed—more or less.

"Oh, Mase," she said, "you know it isn't. We just can't be fuck buddies. We've talked about it. You're my brother. We're

twins.

Fucking each other is

so wrong.

" She squeezed my thigh as she spoke; squeezed and released, squeezed and released. She did that repeatedly, and threw in an occasional stroke.

"Yeah, I know," I answered after a bit. "It's really wrong. But it's so good!"

She snorted. "Don't say that, Mase," she said, looking me in the eye. "We can't say that it's good."

"Why not?" I asked, looking back. "Fucking with you

is

good! It's

really

good!"

She smiled up at me. "Yeah, it is," she agreed. "But we have to stop fucking, Mase. Even though I like it, too. Like you just said, it's

really

good! But we have to stop thinking that way."

I reached for her other tit with my other hand. "Who's thinking?" I asked.

She reached for a kiss, but before our lips touched, she said, "Not me. At least I'm not thinking about how good your cock feels when I fuck you." She reached for my zipper. She reached into my pants when she'd worked it down, and she added, "I'm too busy thinking about how good your cock feels when I suck you," as she pulled my boner out into the open.

We didn't fuck. But Maddie seemed to think coming when I tongued her was nearly as good as coming when I fucked her, and I thought coming into my sister's mouth was pretty good. It was sure better than jacking off, even if it wasn't nearly as good as coming into her pussy.

===||<>||===

I woke up earlier than usual on Monday morning and claimed the bathroom right after Mom and Dad finished, even before Maddie did. I heard Mom and Dad going downstairs together just as I was finishing up, so I didn't bother wrapping my towel around myself when I opened the door. As I might have expected, Maddie was waiting for me—wearing nothing but a huge grin. I grinned back and reached into her crotch to caress her slit as she grasped my already half-hard cock and stroked.

She moaned, quietly, so it wouldn't carry downstairs. Reaching up with her mouth, she pleaded, "Kiss me."

I did, and she pressed her naked body against my own. My fully hard cock throbbed against her. I stroked up and down her body and then, grasping her hips firmly, I pulled her against my swollen cock. "No, Mase," she said, after breaking off the kiss. "No. We can't. We don't have time to make out now."

"I know," I said. "I wasn't planning to. Not that I don't want to." I kissed her again; and reached to stroke her pussy again, as, not especially wanting to, I pulled away from her naked body.

"I'd like it, too, but there isn't time," she responded with a shiver as a finger found her clit. Then, smiling dirtily, she added, "Be patient. I'm going to suck your cock when we get home from school."

"Right," I said. "I'll get you off, too."

She smiled. "Deal," she said. "But no fucking. We've got to be more careful about the Pants Rule."

I smiled back. "Deal," I agreed, "we'll get together, but we can't fuck. " I gave her clit a last flick as she gave my cock a final stroke.

And we went about what remained of our morning routines.

===||<>||===

As we'd promised each other, we fooled around after school, very much as we'd been doing for a couple of weeks now. But we enforced the Pants Rule; we didn't fuck. We fooled around some more after supper, too, during our standard Monday evening "study session."

We'd reached an equilibrium, I thought. The week passed much the way Monday had gone, though Madison got to the bathroom before I did each morning. Always, she waited for Mom and Dad to go downstairs before exiting to my appreciative gaze. We'd mess around a bit there in the hall. Then, after school but before anyone else was home, we'd take turns eating each other to orgasm. When Mom and Dad watched their TV shows after supper, we'd study in Maddie's room. Generally, our afternoon activities meant that neither of us felt a lot of pressure to come in the evening—though we did spend some of that study time exploring each others' bodies, and we did get each other off during that session on Wednesday evening. Always, we observed the Pants Rule. I was pretty rigid about that. (So to speak.)

Maddie was adamant that we weren't going to fuck any more. I wasn't so

determined, but I figured that arguing with her might cost us the interesting activities we were sharing with each other—so I kept quiet. What I was getting wasn't all I wanted, but keeping that was better—a

lot

better than the nothing that pushing her too hard in a direction she wasn't sure she wanted to go might lead to.

===||<>||===

That Friday evening, Maddie went out to meet with Gene. But this time, she told me, she'd arranged it; and she borrowed Mom's car instead of having Gene pick her up. She was, she said, going meet him to tell him it was over. She left the house a little after eight, in a rather somber mood.

She hadn't said where they were going meet, only that she'd told him that they needed to talk. I couldn't guess what he thought of that. I would have known—even without having known how dissatisfying a girl found our relationship—that having her tell me, "We have to talk," probably meant I was in for the let's-just-be-friends talk. (Especially, I figured, if she didn't want me to pick her up to get together for that talk.) Not, I guessed, that Gene had ever really seemed to want more than to be just friends. Still, I was sure that he would find it painful.

So I wasn't surprised when she got home early—a little before eleven. Mom and Dad, as usual, had gone to bed; they were probably asleep by then. I was watching something on TV without really paying much attention, and I don't even remember what it was.

The garage door alerted me when Maddie got home. A minute later, she came in quietly, and I shut the TV off. I saw that she'd been crying.

She sat down next to me without saying a word—she sat right against me, in fact—on the couch. I put my arm around her, and she leaned into me, putting her head on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry," I said, not knowing what else to say.

"I am, too," she said. "I really like him, but it just isn't working. He even told me that he's worried he might be gay. He knows guys are 'supposed to want to touch girls in intimate ways,' he said. But he doesn't feel any urge to touch me that way, and he can't figure out why he would want to."

"Oh, shit!" I said. "I can only think of one reason a guy can't figure out why he's supposed to want to touch a hot babe. Especially if holding you close doesn't make him hard, like you said the other day."

She smiled at being called a 'hot babe.' Then she said, "We talked for quite a while. He likes me, but I don't push the right buttons for him—at least, not the right buttons for what I need from him. He said seeing guys' dicks in men's rooms and locker rooms does push buttons for him. It would push buttons for me, too. But I'm a girl." She sighed and continued," He's gay, even if he isn't sure about it. Even though he's trying hard not to be."

"I don't know what to tell you, Maddie. Except how bad I feel for you."

She raised her head from my shoulder. I looked over at her and found her looking up, right into my eyes. "Kiss me, Mase," she said quietly. "Hold me, and kiss me."

I was doubtful; I knew she was hurting, but—much as I wanted what she seemed to be offering—I wasn't sure that her twin brother could provide the right medicine. Nor did I want her to think, later, that I'd taken advantage of her situation.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

She smiled at me. "I've never been more sure," she said. "I need you. I need you now." And she reached up with her lips.

When we made contact, she opened her mouth in an offer she knew I couldn't refuse. I didn't refuse; it became a lengthy, deep kiss.

And, as if that wasn't enough, she reached into my crotch during our kiss and stroked my hardening cock through my jeans. It seemed natural, then, for me to reach over, find a tit, and massage it. Without breaking our kiss, she moaned and wiggled in a little closer, while continuing to play with my cock.

We ended the kiss, and pulled back enough to look at each other. She gave me her dirty smile as she reached for my zipper. "I'm going to fuck you right here," she said.

I grasped her hand. "No, Maddie," I said. "We can't. We agreed we wouldn't do that any more. And Mom or Dad might still be awake. But even more important, I don't want to be your consolation fuck." Almost as an afterthought, I added, "You should probably go to bed now.

Her smile dissolved, but she didn't stop looking me in the eyes. She said, "You aren't a consolation fuck. You'll

never

be a consolation fuck to me. But I get it." She didn't seem angry, but she pulled away. "Thanks for listening to me and comforting me. I'll go."

She broke our eye contact and rose. After taking a couple of steps, she looked back at me, grinning. "You can change your mind, you know," she said before turning and heading up the stairs. I waited until I heard her leave the bathroom and close her door before I went up for bed. My cock was still hard as I climbed the stairs.

===||<>||===

I'd been in bed for about half an hour, and the clock reported that it was nearly midnight, when I came to the conclusion that I wasn't going to stop thinking about what Madison had said as she'd left me in the living room. And my cock wasn't going to soften until I'd done something to soften it.

I thought, briefly, about jacking off. Very briefly.

Jacking off is always good,

I admitted to myself.

But...

...there was something better than jacking off. I knew what it was. It was Maddie's pussy. And I knew where to find it. It was right between her legs, right across the hall.

For a while, I struggled to dismiss those thoughts. They wouldn't go away.

A little after midnight, I gave up. As silently as I could, I got out of bed and tiptoed to my door. I stood by it for a minute or two, holding my breath, listening; the house was dead silent.

Carefully, I turned the knob until I felt the latch release. When the door had opened a bit, I listened again. Silence. I slipped into the hall noiselessly, grasping the knob on the other side of the door and taking up the slack to prevent the latch from snapping back to its extended position.

I closed the door silently and slowly released the doorknob. I slipped across the hall (avoiding the squeaky board, whose position I'd long ago memorized in case I someday broke curfew and needed to pass through the hall silently). And I slipped through Maddie's door just as quietly as I'd come through mine.

Once in her room with her door closed, I stood there, relieved at having made it without disturbing anyone. I held my breath and listened once again. I heard only the sound of Madison's breathing; its regular slow rhythm told me she was asleep.

The light from the living room downstairs hadn't been very bright in the upstairs hallway, but it had been enough that it took my eyes a little while to adjust. A little light came from outside through the window shade; it wasn't much, but I could see the dim outline of her bed and the female body that lay on its side, facing me.

Should I do this? Really?

I asked myself. My boner, projecting from my pajama bottoms, answered affirmatively;

I should do this,

it said.

I should do this, in spite of the danger of waking Mom or Dad.

I didn't feel like arguing. I tiptoed across the room to her bed, shucked my pajamas, and slipped naked under the blankets next to her.

Her regular breathing remained unaltered, though the disturbance made her move a bit. I congratulated myself on getting from my bed, out of my room, into her room, and even into bed with her, without waking her—and, more importantly, without waking anyone else. Her warm proximity and the fragrance of her bed confirmed my plans; now I wanted to grab her and start doing what I'd come for.

Doing so without preparation or even warning, I realized, could lead to a disaster. Somehow, I retained some control of myself. I reached for her waist and gently pulled us together, seeking her lips with mine. I was more than pleased to discover that she'd gone to bed naked—guessing, maybe, what was going to happen.

Even though she'd been asleep, she'd already engaged my tongue when she woke in mid-kiss. She moaned into my mouth, wrapped her arms around me, and pressed herself against me.

"Oh, Mase," she whispered after our mouths separated, "I hoped you'd be here tonight."

"I couldn't stop thinking about you," I whispered back. "And I couldn't sleep."

"I had a long evening, so I fell asleep," she said. "But I was thinking about you."

"You did have a long evening," I replied. "I can't imagine how hard that must have been for you."

She reached for my cock and, grasping it, said, "The problem was that

Gene

didn't get hard for me—like you are right now." She stroked me, and my (few) lingering reservations about what we were going to do vanished.

I reached into her crotch; she was already moist. "I need you," I said. "Are you still okay with this?"

"Yes," she said. "And not just 'okay.' I need you, too." She gave my cock a final stroke, let go of it, and rolled onto her back. The blankets over us shifted as she spread her thighs for me.

Still facing her, I got to my knees between her legs; the blankets slid down my back and came to rest on my lower legs. Her room was chilly, but by now we were generating plenty of our own warmth. She reached up to embrace me when I lowered my body, as she had known I soon would. Her pussy was, again, a dark splotch at the juncture of her thighs. Leaning forward, I put one hand on the mattress beside her to bear my weight and used the other to direct my cock toward that formless mass. I found her slit and slid my tip up and down—stroking her clit directly, seeking the entrance to her body.

What I needed was there, right where it had always been. My cock sank into my sister's hot, wet pussy, and the welcoming clasp of her internal muscles greeted me. The indescribable sensations elicited low groans from us both; almost immediately, we pumped our bodies rhythmically in opposition to each other.

===||<>||===

Order emerged from the fiery chaos of the desire we'd just quenched, and we found ourselves lying lengthwise on her bed, both naked. I lay on my back, with her against me, facing me, my arm around her. I was just beginning to feel enough of my strength return for purposeful movement, when she raised her head from where it lay on my shoulder and delivered a kiss. It turned into a long one, a deep one; I raised my other arm and wrapped it, too, around her. Soft femininity pressed against me.

She must have felt the chill in the room, because when she'd finished kissing me, she sat up and pulled the blankets up over the two of us. Then she came back to my waiting arms and whispered, "Thank you, Mase, for being you,"

I replied, whispering, too, "I'm not sure who else I'd be, but you're welcome. I'm glad you're you, too."

"I'm not sure I'm glad about that right now," she answered, soberly. "Here I've gone and tempted you again. I wasn't going to do that."

"Don't be sorry about that," I said. "You needed cheering up. I hope I helped you. Both downstairs and here in bed."

"Just being you helped," she said. "Fucking you was kind of frosting on the cake. But we shouldn't have fucked again."

I reached for her head and aimed her face upward a bit toward mine, so I could kiss her again. It was another delicious one. And, when she'd put her head back on my shoulder, I said, "The frosting is the best part of the cake."

She snuggled in a little more tightly against me. "It is, isn't it." We lay there, together in her bed, sharing our bodies in the quiet delight of afterfuck.

===||<>||===

I woke to the sound of someone in the hallway, headed for the bathroom. The room—Maddie's room—was bright with the morning light that filtered through the window shade. Maddie's clock said that it was nearly seven.

We'd fallen asleep again! I was on the verge of panic when Madison, evidently waking to the same sounds, stirred next to me. She moaned slightly, and the sound—together with the urgent necessity of keeping her quiet—calmed me enough to see what we had to do.