tagGroup SexThe Storytellers Ch. 16

The Storytellers Ch. 16

byParis Waterman©

Chapter 16

The Sisters


I came out of the shower drying my hair. On the radio Martin Block was signing off with his signature recording of Glenn Miller & the Modernaires, Make Believe Ballroom Time.

Dennis inhaled deeply from his cigarette and let the smoke out slowly, watching it spiral upward.

"Hurry it up, the girls are in the lobby," Dennis said calmly, and then stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray at his side as he rose up from the chair he was sitting in and shot his cuffs as he checked his image in the mirror.

I tossed the towel aside and got dressed. Dennis, of course was already dressed and ready to go. The Modernaires stylistic rendition filled the room as I hurriedly buttoned my shirt and slipped on my jacket.

It's make believe ballroom time, the hour of sweet romance. It's make believe ballroom time, come on children, let's dance.

Five minutes and a little dab of Brylcreem later, I was ready too. We took the elevator down and met Beatrice and Lizbeth in the hotel bar where they were waiting for us. It was difficult to tell that Lizbeth was pregnant even though she was wearing a fairly snug skirt and jacket over a white blouse, but it was evident that the blouse did little to conceal her rather large breasts. I had, of course, sampled her sister Beatrice's breasts the day before, and while they were sizable enough, Lizbeth's pregnant state had obviously enhanced hers a great deal.

Dennis greeted each girl with a kiss on the cheek, and then said, "I hope you'll allow us to pay for those drinks, after all we made you take a cab over here and then added insult to injury by having you wait while we got ready. It's the least we can do to make up for it."

Lizbeth looked at her almost empty martini and Dennis immediately ordered another for her and Beatrice and then after the bartender placed their drinks in front of them, ordered martini's for us as well, throwing a twenty on the bar in payment.

In my heart I knew that had I been left to offer an apology to them I would have stumbled and probably fouled everything up. The man was damn near incredible. A moment later I corrected myself. The man was incredible, but he had a decided advantage in knowing beforehand what the other person was, or might be thinking.

I should add that with Dennis'body between me and the girls, I didn't get to kiss ether of them. All I could do was smile and nod hello. But there was a discernible flush to Beatrice's cheeks, and a sly, knowing glint in Lizbeth's eye when we looked at each other. Things certainly looked promising.

We hailed a cab and were whisked over to Toot's Shor's Restaurant on West 51st Street and found ourselves seated at a table between DiMaggio and several other Yankee players along with the inimitable Toots himself on one side, and Ernest Hemmingway and two gorgeous women on the other.

The girls and I were agog and almost speechless when Toots patted DiMaggio on the shoulder and came over to us to greet Dennis as if he'd known him from childhood. "So how's the food tonight, Toots?" Dennis asked genially.

"Nuttin' fancy, have the shrimp cocktail, steak and a baked potato," Toots said as he slapped Dennis on the back and checked out Lizbeth's breasts when she wasn't looking. A moment later he was leaning over one of the beauties seated with Hemmingway, joking with the famous author about a fish they had let get away off the shores of Havana some years earlier.

As our Steaks were being served, Dennis regaled us with a typical story on Toots. "What a guy, what a guy," Dennis laughed. One day, the head of MGM, Louis B. Mayer complained to Toots about waiting twenty minutes for a table. He said something like: "I trust the food will be worth all that waiting." There was a gleam in Dennis' eye as he leaned closer to the girls and whispered the punch line: "Shor replied: 'It'll be better'n some of your crummy pictures I stood in line for.'"

Lizbeth shrieked with laughter. Beatrice followed a split second later. I think she was just following her sister's lead, and really didn't get the point, but I never found out it that was so.

Twenty minutes later our cab pulled up in front of the Ethel Barrymore Theatre, where 'Street Car' was being performed. The girls held back briefly to study the picture of a shirtless Marlon Brando just outside the lobby doors. With his hand on Beatrice's waist, Dennis escorted her into the lobby. I followed suite with Lizbeth, only to find that somehow she managed to press her breast against my arm in what had to be a deliberate act on her part. I started thinking about whether she was lactating and if I would have an opportunity to sample some breast milk that evening. I was sporting an erection in no time at all, and not having had any release after the previous day's session with Beatrice, I knew that blue balls were not all that far off.

"Are you a fan of Brando's?" I inquired, hoping to spark a longer conversation with her then I had thus far, and keep any curious looks at my groin to a minimum.

Lizbeth pressed her breast harder against me as she responded. "Oh, yes. He's a man's man. I was lucky to see him in Truckline Café, which although it bombed, earned him Broadway's Most Promising Actor Award for his role as an anguished veteran."

Her breast was hard and firm, although it also was pliant as breasts tend to be; I felt the first twinge of tension in my testes. Discomfort was not far off.

I told her I had first heard of him when he appeared on Broadway as the young hero in the political drama A Flag is Born, and made headlines by refusing to accept wages above the Actor's Equity rate because of his commitment to the cause of Israeli independence.

Lizbeth countered by telling me how Brando got the role of Stanley Kowalski. "He... he had the audacity to drive up to Provincetown where Tennessee Williams was spending the summer, to audition for the part."

"I didn't know that," I said,

"Oh yes," she replied keeping her breast firmly lodged against my arm. "Williams has said repeatedly that the moment he opened the screen door and saw Brando, he knew he had his Kowalski."

I presented out tickets to the ticket taker and whisked Lizbeth into the orchestra, where we joined Beatrice and Dennis.

Beatrice took her seat and Dennis sat beside her and patted the seat next to him and Lizbeth sat there and fussed with her skirt as I sat down next to her.

People were still streaming into the theater. I checked my watch and found we had about ten minutes before the curtain was scheduled to go up. Lizbeth broke the silence.

"I understand that you were raised in Missouri, Mr. Shannon, would it have been St. Louis? I ask because I visited there when I was twelve. I liked it and found the people there to be very outgoing and friendly."

"Actually, I was born and raised in Columbia, the state capital, and home of Missouri University."

Her hand was suddenly on mine. "Really?" she said. "And did you attend the university?"

"I did. I majored in journalism. After the war I was hired by the Chicago Tribune."

"Oh, you're sort of a celebrity then."

"Not at all, I'm just a working stiff."

"How is it that you're here in New York and not in Chicago?"

"Mr. Dennis was kind enough to invite me to see the World Series, and I could hardly refuse."

I heard Beatrice remark to Dennis that the other patrons were watching each other as avidly as they would the stage when the play began. Dennis laughed and told her they were people watching; a sport that New Yorkers loved to take part in, hoping that they would spot a celebrity.

I caught a glimpse of Dennis' hand on Beatrice's thigh, and glanced at her face. It was aflame with guilt and possibly lust. I thought of placing my hand on Lizbeth's thigh as well, but the lights dimmed and went out a moment later.

And as Streetcar of Desire began to unfold before us, I was caught up in the brilliance of Jessica Tandy's, Blanche and Brando's, Kowalski. The spell remained unbroken until the curtain came down at intermission. Then I blinked owlishly around as the audience streamed past me on their way to the lobby to discuss the performance thus far, and to quench their thirsts with a glass of wine or Champagne.

I turned to Lizbeth and saw that Dennis had his right hand on her upper thigh. I was stunned for his left hand was similarly placed on Beatrice's thigh, only that hand was moving into the area of her crotch while she stared straight ahead at the stage.

I distinctly heard him tell Beatrice, "You don't hate me, do you?" And her answer left me dumbfounded. "Of course not," she gasped, "How could you think that?"

His hand was rubbing her cunt through the dress and she was actually squirming around in her seat. Anyone bothering to look could see what he was doing, but apparently no one could be bothered.

I put my arm around Lizbeth's shoulder and received a sheepish smile from her. Dennis promptly removed his hand from her thigh and motioned for me to take its place.

But my arm was around her shoulder, and so I did what I presumed Dennis would have done in my stead, reaching across my body with my right hand and laying it directly on her belly swollen with child.

I couldn't believe my ears. Lizbeth actually purred and covered my hand with her own, squeezing it gently.

"I was beginning to wonder about you, Roy," she told me in a whisper.

"There's nothing to worry about," I said as my hand swept lower and lower and her hand went with mine.

"Did you really do all those things in the ladies room on the train?"

"Beatrice told you?"

"Of course, we're sisters. She told me everything. I can't believe she let you insert a finger in her heinie. It's unlike her."

As she uttered those words my middle finger dug through the folds of her dress and into her vagina. Of course it had been Dennis who had the finger up her ass, but why would I quibble at this point?

"YES!" she moaned softly.

"Like it, Lizbeth?"

"It's been so long since anyone's touched me. I've begun to feel like a pariah."

"After the show I'll do more than touch you," I said breathing heavily.

"Will you?" she gasped and gave my hardon a quick squeeze as the house lights blinked twice, signaling the end of the intermission.

I glanced over at Beatrice and Dennis. His hand was clearly under her skirt, and unless I misjudged him, he was already fingering her to a climax. Beatrice's eyes were tightly closed and her lips were compressed as if she were in pain. But I knew she felt no pain, she was feeling intense pleasure as he strove to bring her to a fast orgasm before the audience returned to their seats.

"OH!" Beatrice drew in her breath with a short audible moan. "S... Stop it!"

"What is it, Beatrice?" Dennis asked innocently. Lizbeth giggled and I reluctantly removed my hand and placed it on my own lap.

Beatrice had reached down and now had Dennis' wrist in her hand and was tugging it out from under her dress.

"Everyone will see!" she whispered then realized that both Lizbeth and I had heard her. "He's being a bad boy!" she said as if that explained everything.

As far as Beatrice was concerned it did, for neither Lizbeth nor I made any comment on the matter, but looked at the stage as if the performers were already on stage.

Both Lizbeth and I knew that Beatrice may have feared being caught, but certainly welcomed not only his touch but mine as well. I proved this by reaching across Dennis to squeeze her breast without drawing any semblance of protest from her. I relinquished my hold on her tit and turned back to Lizbeth who still had a firm grip on my cock.

"She's putty in his hands," I said into her ear and followed up by licking her ear lobe.

Lizbeth shuddered, and then squeaked, "I think I am too, but we're not in the balcony of the local movie theatre. People will take note and very possibly complain."

"You're absolutely right, my dear. Let's hold off until we get back to your place."

"I couldn't agree more," Lizbeth answered; "although I have to tell you..." she gave me another hard squeeze... "I'll miss holding this monster of yours."

And so we pretty much behaved ourselves until getting in the cab on the way to Lizbeth's. Beatrice sank back into the seat, her thighs almost involuntarily parting to allow Dennis' magical hand access. Then, as though waking from a dream, she slammed her legs closed. "Um, I can't!" she gasped.

"Sure you can," Dennis said persuasively.

"Oh, go on, Sis," Lizbeth added, "You know you want him too. Don't be a cock teaser."

I was stunned to hear Lizbeth telling her younger sister to grant Dennis anything he wanted. Dennis added a few additional honeyed words to Beatrice and her legs parted.

Moments later I was kissing Lizbeth and she was trying to swallow my tongue. Yet in all this turmoil, I could clearly hear the squishing sound from between Beatrice's thighs as Dennis fingered her to a rousing orgasm.

Absorbed with watching the shenanigans in the back seat, our cabby almost lost control of the taxi. He managed to get back on course as the brakes squealed just a fraction louder than Beatrice did on coming from Dennis' fingering.

I was busy myself. I had a hand under Lizbeth's blouse and busied myself with trying to get my hand into the cup of her brasserie. I wasn't having any success until she reached in there herself and hauled a heavy breast from the brasserie and plopped it in my hand. The nipple felt firm and supple to my fingers and after several soft flicks and a squeeze or two she was moaning into my ear and squeezing my cock again.

Seeking a greater reward, I left her breast hanging over the top of her brassiere and whispered: "I'm going to put my hand underneath your skirt in a moment, no one will see us except perhaps your sister, but she has her eyes closed and I doubt she'll care anyway.

"Okay, Roy, do it!" she hissed in my ear then sent her tongue into it, swirling about and driving me half mad.

I didn't come to my senses until my hand was at the gusset of her undies and the heat and dampness that greeted my fingers brought me back with a jolt.

I watched her closely, my own breathing rate increasing at a dangerously high level. Men have been known to have heart attacks or strokes under similar situations.

Alongside me, Beatrice emitted a soft moan that trailed away as she placed several fingers in her mouth to stifle an even louder groan.

I had two fingers buried in Lizbeth's twat and her head was nodding jerkily, her breathing already hurried. "I can't believe how wet you are," I said, my voice merely a soft rustling sound, heard only by Lizbeth. I can't wait to taste you down there."

"You... you'd do that?" Lizbeth replied in a hushed voice.

"Of course; I love doing... that." I replied in kind.

"But it's considered so... nasty!"

"Don't you want me to do the nasty with you?"

"I... I don't... yes! Yes, I do!"

"And then what, darling? Will you do the nasty to me?"

"I... I've never... but I will. Yes, I will!"

"Will Beatrice do it too?" I said, pushing my luck.

"I don't know... why wouldn't she? Especially if I urge her to do it."

Our conversation and my fingering her twat came to an abrupt end when the cabbie pulled up in front of a typical Brownstone and announced that we were at our destination.

Dennis unhurriedly withdrew his hand from under Beatrice's skirt, smoothed the wrinkles from it as he whispered our arrival into her ear.

I gave him a five dollar bill and told him to keep the change, which was about three dollars. He gave Dennis and me a broad grin and wished us a good evening, and then he ogled the girls as they headed for the entrance of their building.

Once inside, Dennis took charge, made us all martinis and had Lizbeth sit on my lap on the divan, and after turning the lights down low, took the sofa for Beatrice and him.

"Cheers, everyone!" he called out and we raised our martinis up in acknowledgment. Both Dennis and I pretended not to notice the flushed faces of our respective partners.

"Drink up, Beatrice," Dennis said, urging her to do so by emptying his own glass in one long gulp.

Lizbeth emptied her glass as well, handing me her glass with a trembling hand.

"Beatrice, we should get more comfortable, here, let me help you off with these, they'll only get in our way," Dennis said cheerfully as he opened her dress and deftly unhooked her brassiere, letting her generous breasts spill out into the open.

I freely admit I gawked at seeing them again. They were magnificent -- twin peaks with pebbled areola and stiffened nipples

Dennis chuckled, his teeth gleaming whitely in the dim lighting. "Lizbeth, my sweet, let us see your breasts too so we may compare. But I promise the both of you; neither Roy nor I will make any comment as to whose are the nicer."

I was stunned to see that Lizbeth was already opening her blouse to release her heavy breasts to view.

If Beatrice had a magnificent pair I don't know what Lizbeth's were. First of all, they were filled, or beginning to fill, with milk for her as yet unborn child. Blue veins were evident in hers, but not in Beatrice. This was, of course, due to her pregnant state. Her areolas were pebbled as were Beatrice's, but much larger in circumference. Again, a factor of her pregnancy.

Other than that, the girls were identical, but I digress, for although my memory of their respective breasts is filled with descriptive adjectives and superlatives, Dennis and I did not spend all that much time in admiring them. Instead, we set out to pay homage to each of them in turn, burying our faces in their bosoms' and suckling like babies.

I heard Dennis croon to Beatrice that he was not going to take her virginity; that he would leave that honor to her future husband. Shyly and somewhat taken aback, Beatrice replied, "But I thought..."

"There are many ways to give and receive pleasure, my dear Beatrice. I had thought Lizbeth might have discussed them with you?"

"I... I haven't had any...."

"But you told her what happened on the train didn't you?"

"Yes, and she had questions about it..."

"But didn't offer any advice?"

"Um, well... she told me that she lost her virginity before meeting her husband." "Oh, who was it, a boy from high school?"

"No, it was a friend of my father's. Just after his funeral, he paid us an unexpected visit. I was at a piano recital with my mother, Lizbeth was home alone.

She confided to me that he took her on father's leather couch; that it hurt dreadfully the first time."

"So they met another time?"

"Yes, she agreed to meet him at his office the next day."

"So it wasn't as bad as she made it sound, was it?"

"No, and she explained that to me, saying that afterward she had this wonderful feeling... down there, and she was more than receptive to trying the experience again."

"How long did this go on?"

"That time in the office was the last time. Lizbeth feared being caught. Then she met Steven, her husband. She told me they did it after the second date. He didn't have any protection, but persuaded her to let him in the back door as she couldn't get preggers that way."

"They must have gone at it like rabbits after they married," I said.

"They certainly did! Lizbeth even told me that a woman was capable of enjoying two men at one time. Can you believe it?"

"I can visualize it. Would you be interested in trying it?"

"I... I was thinking about it on the train. You know, when the two of you..."

"But fear of losing your virginity kept you from going ahead with it, didn't it?"

"Yes... and that's all that stopped me. God, I was so...."

"Aroused?"

"Yes, that's the word. Aroused. Mmmm, and then... Lizbeth told me she wanted to meet the two of you, and... um...."

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