A Picture Is Worth 1000 Words Ch. 05

"'Cause I did it so well!"

"You sure did! A natural talent, even the first time."

She chuckled warmly and watched her hand, and I watched it, more humming than moaning, enjoying after all our experience together that it wasn't being so overwhelmingly arousing, as it had been Saturday morning. All our experience together was also manifested, when she released my cock and let it bob up. She rubbed the back of his head with her index finger, chuckling at the way she could make him surge up, murmuring: "Nice plaything."

She did that again, and then just held her hand up, watching him. He moved a little with each heartbeat. We watched him. He rose very slightly each time, but slowly began to sink down. She chuckled again and stroked him there with her finger until he rose up again. Clear liquid was oozing out of his little slit. She chuckled again and said: "I can do that."

With her finger, she caught the thick drop that was drooling down the front of his head and licked her finger, humming and smacking her lips. She waited for him to begin to sink down again. When she finally wrapped her fingers around him again, she turned her head further down towards him and whispered to him:

"Don't disappoint me; you know what I want - lots of it, all over the place. I know you want to, and I'll try to do all I can to help you."

I chuckled and made him twitch twice. She drew her head back up and said:

"He was nodding again."

"He sure was," I agreed.

After that, I didn't have to make him twitch, on the contrary, I was trying to keep him from twitching, but just trying to, and then trying to keep my hips from rocking up. She moaned in empathy with me. When I couldn't keep my hips still, and my moans turned to groans, all our experience together was manifested again. She recognized that I was about to come, and just before I had to grunt with a stronger rock of my hips, she turned my cock towards her face, and I felt her open her mouth.

I grunted and came. My - his - first spurt shot up towards her face, but missed her mouth. She gave a disappointed sounding "Uhn!" but continued to make him spurt again and again, despite the thick, white drops on her face. When there was trail of thick drops down to my pubic hair, her hand stilled.

"Enough," I murmured, then thinking that I should have made it question. She nodded. She licked her hand and then wiped her face and licked it again. She nodded again with a chuckle and replied:

"Enough, plenty, a lot, and all over the place. Have to do that again and learn to aim better."

We both chuckled, almost laughing. She wiped up the other drops, licking her fingers, then remarking:

"We can do that again. Yeah, I go a little wet when I taste it, but not like when you come in my mouth."

"Still a little unfair, but if you want to."

"Sunday or Monday, you'll make up for it."

"I'll sure try," I agreed and slid my hand to her breast and squeezed it.

We got up. She went to our bathroom to change her tampon, like she had the day before, and then we had our shower, dressed, had breakfast and went to work.

That was Thursday morning. That evening, she almost insisted on doing that again. I had long since learned not to argue with my older sister, when she was insistent. My remarks about its being unfair were not seriously meant - not when she was insisting on giving me another orgasm.

When she wanted to again, Friday morning, she had to start with him all small and soft, like she liked to start with him in her mouth, but she also enjoyed starting that way with her hand. Friday evening and Saturday morning were the same. Even though she enjoyed so much wiping and licking it up, I thought it was being unfair and wondered how I could ever make it up.

Oh, she did learn to aim better. At least once, his first spurt landed right in her open mouth. I was as pleased as she was, thinking that for good target practice, one had to have a dependable gun that shot the same way every time. When I told her that, she laughed and said that we had one, shaking my cock.

Saturday, we had to buy food from Mom's shopping list and buy beer, which wasn't on it. There were some clouds, but we remembered our talk about my having wanted to chat up a girl in a bikini at the swimming pool and Vicky's having offered to play the role as such a girl. We drove to the nearest town with a pool, to avoid running into someone who knew that we were siblings.

We had a lot of fun. She found a place to spread out her towel on the grass. I wandered around, ogling bikinis, well-filled and less well-filled ones. I even got a couple of glances, that suggested that if I had spoken to the girls, they wouldn't have minded. If I did this again without my sister, I thought I wouldn't be so shy about trying to chat one up. When I smirked to myself at the thought that if I did, and it worked out, now I certainly wasn't going to have to worry about what to do.

A girl almost winked at me. Because she had seen my smirk? Yeah, whatever, the girls were also watching out for guys, some of them, enough to make it interesting, maybe because I was stranger at the pool? But I had a date with my sister, and was supposed to be the bashful guy I had been a week before. I wandered to where she was lying.

We had a lot of fun, enjoying our role playing, trying not to let our expressions show that we were wanting to chuckle. Eventually, we got almost as close as another couple we saw, who obviously already knew each other, close enough that we could whisper and joke about what we were doing.

When we agreed to go home, we got up and held hands as we left the pool. During the drive home, I told her about my girl-watching. She snickered and wished me luck.

Briefly: the sequel to that was that a guy at work had seen us and joshed me about it at lunch on Monday, asking if we had spent the evening together. He said that she was attractive. I made up a story, suggesting that we were going to meet again. At lunch the following Mondays, his questions and my story continued, to the entertainment of the others in our group, with their suggestions of what I should do to get her in bed. They helped me continue my story, not that I immediately was as forward as they thought I should be. With their encouragement, however, by the end of August, I could admit that we had, that she had let me. Vicky got a weekly update on our supposed summer affair, of course, enlivened by her comments, which also enlivened my story.

Back home, we had a shower to wash off the suntan lotion that we had spread on each other as part of our role playing. Naked again in the kitchen for the first time, we had a beer, leaning against the opposing counters. I noticed her slight tan line and remarked:

"Your nipples are still just pink."

"You wanted them to tan?"

"Just wondered if they would."

"We can still found out. Hm-hmm! Maybe your cock has a little."

"It's just blushing, 'cause you're staring."

"He can still blush? Didn't know he could see that I was; just knew that he could hear."

"He has all the five senses."

"Hm-hmm! All five? I know he can feel, but taste and smell too?

"Maybe I help him with those two."

We chuckled and drank. I thought we were too close to talking about sex, considering that she was still having her period.. We were silent and had another drink, another good one, since we thirsty after being out in the sun. We had another one. Then she swilled her beer and emptied it. I finished mine. She put her empty aside with a slightly wry expression and said:

"I'm going to do it anyway, even if I drip. Sit on the counter again."

I did, obedient younger brother. As she turned the chair to sit between my legs, I found myself saying:

"And then I will."

She looked up in surprise, then asked:

"You really want to?"

"I said so; I'll risk it. If you can pee ...?"

"Yeah, probably okay; I've rubbed and nothing happened. Well, I mean, It was just about the same, except that my pussy had something to squeeze."

"Better?"

"Not as good as your cock, didn't twitch and move."

We chuckled, and then she was sucking my cock, It seemed as though she was doing it with the pent up eagerness of not having done it for a couple of days. But then - all our experience together - she stopped and massaged my balls, until she could suck one in her mouth. I hummed cheerfully in appreciation and enjoyed watching how I could make my cock twitch. When she let my ball pop out of her mouth, she glanced up and said:

"You don't have to, if you'd rather not."

"I will; I shall," I replied, remembering the fine grammatical distinction between mere intention and absolute commitment.

She nodded with a little smile and began to suck my cock again. Maybe she had understood my distinction, my assurance that I would lick her pussy. She didn't do anything to prolong my arousal, and I didn't want her to; feeling her sucking and licking my cock again was just too good. I only wanted to come in her mouth as soon as I could. I groaned, and she moaned, and then my hips rocked, and I grunted and came, and she moaned, as though she was delighted to feel my cock's spurting in her mouth again. It sure had!

When she raised her head, she murmured:

"I just had to swallow it all."

I understood her apology for not being able to share it with me. I nodded with a slight smile and murmured: "Table."

She rose up and pushed to chair aside and backed up to the table and hopped up on it. Before I could drop to my knees, she had dropped back on her elbows and drawn up her thighs. Her pussy looked as attractive as ever, already moist. Yeah, the string of her tampon, but it wasn't going to stop me from licking her pussy. I wanted to taste her again as much as she had wanted to lick and suck my cock and taste me, and I could also lick her asshole again.

I did it all, even twitched on the string, surprising her, but she chuckled with a moan. She let me lick where her fingers had rubbed the previous time on the table, but I loved to do that, even if I wasn't going to be able to catch her pussy juice when she came. When she did, it flooded my chin. I did catch a little of it, and it didn't taste any different. We could have been doing it the previous days, I thought, as I raised my head. It was a few moments before she recovered enough to raise hers.

We smiled wryly at each other. She remarked:

"Oh, that was good - again! You didn't mind?"

"Hm-umm, it was; I didn't."

"Have to remember that," she replied with a slight smirk.

Was she thinking we were going to keep doing it, when our parents returned, when she had her next period, or was she thinking about having sex with a boyfriend in college and encouraging him to lick her pussy, when they couldn't fuck?

I stood up and helped her off the table, and we embraced, just kissing a little. We washed ourselves with the dishcloth. I didn't say what I was thinking: "If Mom knew!"

We agreed to start cooking, choosing one of Mom's more ambitious meals that had references to pages in "Joy of Cooking." We snickered, when we read the title, recalling that "The Joy of Sex" had been the catalyst for all we had done. I found the book on Mom's shelf in the kitchen and thumbed through it, remarking with a grin:

"No pictures."

"What did you want see? How to make little meatballs, cook sausages?"

When she snickered, I did, understanding her reference to little meatballs and sausages, and replied:

"Don't think you need pictures for that; you just roll them in your fingers, the balls, and, well, I know how you cook my sausage. Hm-hmm! A picture of how you like to eat sausages might be inappropriate in the cookbook."

"It sure would be! And without one, I'll probably blush at the thought of how I do, when I bite into one."

We laughed. I snickered again and said:

"Especially if you bite into the end of a hotdog and it spurts a little."

She moaned with a long chuckle, nodding and grinning, and replied:

"Yours spurts first, and then I have to bite a little to swallow."

"Just 'a little,' thank goodness. Maybe if you have to bite before it spurts, you won't make the connection."

"Hmm? Probably anyway, just looking at it, a wiener in a bun, worse - better - a fat German bratwurst."

I nodded with another grin and suggested:

"With a beer?"

She grinned and nodded, and I got us two beers, and we drank, chuckling. She then asked:

"What do you like to eat - that's in a cookbook?"

"Hmmmm? What's in a cookbook that looks like what I like to eat, which isn't?"

We smirked, and drank again, both having to think. Then Vicky grinned and answered:

"Peaches, nice round peaches. You know, soft peach down and their seam."

"Oooh! Yeah! I love peaches; they're so sweet, and sometimes pink, and soft and delicious to lick."

"Don't make me wet again!" Vicky replied, as I licked my lips and hummed, staring at her pussy.

I nodded, retrieving my tongue, just smiling. We drank again and turned to start cooking, agreeing on what each of us would do. After a minute or two, she remarked:

"Good thing I didn't suggest that you might like hotdog buns, and then your telling how much you liked to have your 'wiener' in them."

We snickered. I nodded and replied:

"I would have, though I like to think of it more as a 'fat German bratwurst'."

"It is; why I thought of that. Had one at the Germans' Octoberfest last year, and it did spurt, when I bit into it, but not where yours does."

"Hmm,?! Do all German girls think about that?"

"I didn't, back then."

"But if they have, like you have, now?"

"Hm-hmm! I hope so! Maybe why bratwursts are so popular?"

We snickered again, and she suggested that I find a girl of German descent and ask her: "after you get her to suck yours."

We chuckled and concentrated on our cooking, having to flip between pages of the cookbook. Mom had planned that we didn't have to worry with stirring something on the stove, just try to coordinate the cooking times so that meat and vegetables would be ready at the same time.

I had completely forgotten about our being naked, until the last thing was on the stove, with just a few minutes to cook. Pleased with ourselves, we set the table, and then debated if we could celebrate with a bottle of wine from Dad's stash. Vicky suggested that we could, sending them a postcard to their next hotel, thanking Mom for her good advice and explaining that the meal was so good that we thought it deserved wine.

She wrote the card, while I found a younger bottle of red wine, thinking that we could maybe replace it. I managed to uncork it, my first attempt with a corkscrew. When everything was ready, we were quite pleased with ourselves.

At the table, I toasted my sister, like our Dad did Mom. She smiled, and we drank. We agreed that Mom's cooking was probably better, but were still pleased with our efforts and enjoyed our dinner. I was a little surprised, when I suddenly recognized that we were naked, sitting at the table, eating a meal with wine, like we often had with our parents. I didn't say anything, but did raise my glass in a silent toast to my sister. Her nipples popped out when she raised her glass - without my having stared at them, just noticing, as we drank. She must have felt them; she shrugged slightly with a slight smile, as we set our glasses down, but whe didn't glance down at them or rub her arm over them. My cock liked that, just moving a little.

We finished our meal and the bottle of wine, smiling as we emptied our glasses. This was being nice, very nice, admitting that I was feeling the effect of the wine. Why not, Saturday evening, even if we couldn't do as much as we both probably would like to? We had almost three weeks to do that.

In bed that evening, we did what we both could, and did again in the morning. When Vicky suggested that we stay home and in the afternoon, that we go back on the patio, it occurred to me that she might be waiting - hoping - that her period would end. Of course; I did too, wondering how she could recognize that it had. Late in the afternoon, she said that she had to go. Since we both had usually felt the urge, and I didn't, I assumed that she wanted to change her tampon.

When she returned, she just shook her head. I had been right, but we both knew what we were hoping.

We cooked another one of Mom's dinners, a simpler one; we could have more TV dinners when we could do everything, anything we wanted. Before we went to bed, she again went to our bathroom, where she changed her tampons. She returned with a grin.

I thought it was a little indecent how eager she was to fuck. Oh, I wanted to, too, but, well, it was a little too much about just getting my cock back in her pussy again, not that I minded, when it was, especially not, when it was feeling better than her sucking, and a lot better than her hand-jobs - as good as they had been.

When she woke me up early Monday morning, wanting to suck my cock, that was only an preliminary to our fucking again. I owed it to her, but of course, I wanted to, too. That evening, we did the whole routine in the kitchen: her sucking, my coming; my licking and her coming; and then fucking as hard and fast as we could. The timer for heating up the oven didn't ring before we had both come again.

After that, we slowed down. We knew we could do it every evening, night or morning, seldom more than twice, sometimes only once, but always by mutual consent. The last few days before our parents returned, we talked about what would happen, about how we could we could try to forget what we had been doing in the kitchen and their bed, reminding each other that we had to remake it and have our story about doing all the the laundry, their towels too.

Then she suggested that if we wanted to, couldn't help but want to - I had nodded - that we could test if our aroused noises could be heard in their bedroom. We took turns, one moaning and groaning, while the other listened in their bedroom, both doors closed. We were going to have to be quieter. We tested that, When I couldn't hear her, she told that she had held her hand over her mouth. I tried that. She said that she thought that I usually grunted louder than I had. Of course, we practice that. That was an evening when we did more than we had usually been doing. Only then did it occur to us that sixty-nine solved our problem.

They returned, pleased that everything was in order and that we had thought also to wash their sheets and towels. We survived that, hoping our slight blushes were only understood as a reflex to the compliment.

For the rest of the summer, we took turns sleeping in each other's bed, sixty-nine, when they were at home. We didn't do it every night, and not every night, when we did, did we both really have to, but, of course, when one of us wanted to, the other one then did. If she came in my bed and wanted to suck my cock, I couldn't help but then want to lick her pussy, and vice versa, when I went in her room. And when our parents weren't home, we did everything we couldn't, when they were.

It was only about six weeks, from the end of July until we went to college, Vicky to a women's college quite near the city where my men's college was. We were both going to have roommates whom we didn't yet know. We agreed, of course, that we wanted to continue, deciding to say that we were cousins to explain our same last name. At the beginning of the term, we both were a little the envy of our classmates, immediately dating.

But that is a different story that may be told.

I was in my now divorced sister's small guest room, after another night with her. Despite all we had done together, it was rather amazing that we hadn't done anything the first few years of her marriage. We had in college and even while she and her erstwhile husband were engaged, and then when they were estranged before their divorce and since then.