Zinnia Blossoms Ch. 02

"Dammit, if you don't fuck me I'm gonna pop," I moaned, pushing back again just as unsuccessfully.

"Are you suuuure?"

"Sandy, don't be such a fucking bitch!" I was so horny, so angry, so desperate. My pillow was wet with tears from hearing my Mum; I had a pretty good idea how much guilt she was feeling. My voice came out as a half-choked sob and that, perhaps more than anything, shocked Sandy deeply.

"Sally, I didn't mean -"

I sat up sharply and pushed at her until she rolled over and got out of bed. In the dark I could see the silhouette of her, punctuated by the bold shape of that synthetic cock, and I guess she thought I was going to kick her out completely until I rolled over myself and got up on all fours, my backside pointed right at her.

"Shut up! Just... Shut up! You started this," I spat, certainly rather unfairly, "now fuck it!" And to make it completely clear what I meant, I slid my hand under my body and blocked off my soggy pussy with my fingers. My other hand pulled at one of my buttocks, accentuating the remaining available hole, my torso balanced precariously and my face, well, planted on the bed.

There was a long pause. I wondered for a moment if she'd backed off but then I felt her hands on my rear. Then the tip of the Feeldoe rested at my puckered butt and pushed, slowly but determined. It was a lot more slick than I'd expected - she must have lubed it up. Still, with no prep time it was going to hurt in the morning. I could hear myself moaning into my pillow, muffled as much as I could; Sandy didn't stop until she had the whole glorious length buried in the magma-hot depths of my butt. I could feel the warmth of her hips resting against my arse before she began to pull out again.

It's got to be said: women don't have a natural sense of rhythm when it comes to wielding a cock. We can learn it, that's sure as hell true, and a skilled lesbian can fuck a girl as well as, often better than, any man. My sister and I have been with men and women before but Sandy had far more enthusiasm than she did skill. I'm not saying that to be mean, it's just that she hadn't had a lot of opportunity to learn how to fuck someone's arse.

Certainly not my arse. But she was clearly intent on making up for lost time.

The thing about a Feeldoe is that it's strapless. It's secured with a shorter 'dick' that slides up into the pussy of the wielder, has a textured pad that sits right over the clit and the main cock, I guess you could call it, juts out at a delicious angle. Mine is deep purple and has a wonderful curve; I could feel it pushing against my already-stimulated g-spot right through the wall between my backside and my cunt.

It's got to be said: I. Fucking. Love. Anal. Once upon a time it was the taboo of it but then it was just because being arse-fucked the right way feels damn good and crazy-intense. My best and hardest orgasms have all been anal. Besides, considering it was my twin sister bent over me, her breath ragged from the combined sensation of the Feeldoe and the knowledge that she was fucking her sister, the taboo of anal had been well and truly trumped.

Can you imagine it? The feeling of something that long and thick pushing into you, filling you up, thrilling nerves deep inside you. The feeling of your lover crouched over you, trying to maintain an even pace despite their own pleasure, the sweat beading on your skin and your lover's breath awash over your back. Every thrust pushes you closer to the brink, every inch is achingly, blissfully welcome. Shivers break out over your body and your skin prickles into gooseflesh despite the heat in your body simply because you want it SO DAMN MUCH.

Then throw in the dual awareness that you want it all the more because it's someone you shouldn't be fucking, and that you should hate yourself for wanting it from that person.

Welcome to incest. The early stages, anyway.

I came screaming and crying all at the same time, the sound muffled by my pillow, though I guess Dane and Mum must have fallen asleep already or surely they'd have heard it. Sandy, over me, buried her face in the crook of my shoulder as she fucked and humped her way to her first orgasm of the night - not simultaneous to mine, nothing so idyllic, but not that long after. The knowledge that the whole household was fucking itself spurred me on and when I recovered from the afterglow it was a heady combination of lust and self-hatred that spurred me on.

Down went Sandy, on her back, gasping on the bed. I grabbed the Feeldoe in one hand and wrenched it free, tossing it aside - I wasn't so drunk as to use it on her after it'd been in my arse. But I did grab my second-favourite Feeldoe (I have three) and slid it in. The powerful muscles of my hungry cunt closed around the short bulb like they were trying to throttle it. A couple of quick squeezes with the lube bottle I kept in the same drawer and my hand was pumping lazily over thick, bulbous 'meat'.

You know, I think I get why men like playing with themselves so much. There's something about pumping your hand down your cock, looking down at the pussy you're about to fuck, that's a hell of a lot of fun.

Sandy bit the hand I put over her mouth when I penetrated her slick hole, plunging too quickly and too deeply. I felt the Feeldoe bounce off her back wall and felt her flinch in pain but I just didn't give a shit. She started it, she was going to get the shit fucked out of her whether she liked it or not.

All lies, of course. Circumstance had started it and neither of us had stopped it. We were both to blame. If she'd had said she wanted me to stop I'd have done so instantly - but for a moment the fantasy was fun.

I stared down at her magnificent tits, half her body lit moodily by a streetlight outside that was gleaming through a gap in the curtains, and I felt a deep thrill as I thought back to Dane that morning. He'd stared at my breasts just like I was staring at Sandy's. Fuck, I wanted him to see me then, kneeling over my hotheaded sister, about to pound the Charles Dickens out of her. And I hated myself for wanting it.

Sandy felt the practical effect of those conflicting feelings as I plunged into her. My hands clamped around her wrists and I held her down on the bed, feeling the stiff phallus push past her walls on every inward thrust. They resisted every time I slid into her, then sucked hungrily every time I pulled out, as if reluctant to admit they didn't want me to leave. Sandy's body arched and bucked under me, her gasping threatening to break into a cry, and when I pulled myself out her eyes opened wide at the feeling of abandonment.

It wasn't for long. I scrambled for something in my drawer, found the wrong thing, tossed it aside. Two more goes and I had what I was after - a cherry-red rubber ball gag on a black rubber strap. I held it up and her mouth formed a perfect 'O'. Then she grinned wide and nodded her head, opening her mouth obediently for me to secure the gag in place.

Her lips settled around that little sphere and I ached at how perfect she looked. She didn't move from her spot, her wrists as firmly against the bed as if I were still leaning on them, legs wide and her wanton cunt glistening in what little light could get to it. When I pushed back into her she let out a groan of relief that almost broke my heart in two.

I'm no better than Sandy at wielding a cock but together we managed to rock and roll our way together until Sandy creamed hard, her fingers curling into fists, still trapped my my grasp as her legs tightened around my waist and trembled fiercely. Sweat ran down her skin and made her nipples gleam; her legs trembled again when I licked those nubs clean but when I moved to start fucking her once more she shook her head, freed her wrists and dragged me down on top of her.

The gag's job was done so I took it off and threw it aside. The whole room stank of sex. Sandy doesn't gush as often as I do but she was breathing hard, kissing me desperately with her legs still wrapped around me.

"Thank you," she whispered between kisses, "I'm sorry, thank you, I'm sorry..." I didn't ask what she was sorry for. I already knew that. She was crying too, legs unwilling to let me go, kisses those of an impassioned lover rather than any kind of sister. It was touching, bitter-sweet and deeply, profoundly sexy.

One major advantage of synthetic cocks over real ones: when you go to sleep there's no danger of going soft and slipping out of your lover during the night.

*****

When I woke up I felt like I was smothering. My memory was misbehavin' as memories can after a long night of drink and it took me a few moments to work out that Sandy was lying on top of me. A few more seconds of horrified analysis had me realising that the bulk I could feel in my pussy was a Feeldoe (my second-favourite Feeldoe) and the business end of it was wedged deep in my sister who, of course, was lying on top of me and drooling slightly on my cheek.

It's an odd feeling when humour, horror and arousal all batter at one's head for attention. I lay quite still and waited it out, wracking my brain to try and figure out what had happened.

That didn't take long and I studied the previous night hard. We went out. During the course of that we saw Linda feeling our Mum up. Then she'd turned up at the club again and taken us out for drinks. Linda had fingered us, we got back without her and drank some more, Sandy had started getting frisky while we listened to Dane fucking someone, and then...

Then it turned out to be Mum and things went way off the beaten track.

What I couldn't work out, though, is how Sandy had ended up on top of me (I couldn't work out what I felt about the whole thing, either, but I was carefully ignoring that part). Surely if we'd rolled over the natural course of wriggling and adjusting during the night would have led to us lying side by side?

At first I tried to roll her off without waking her up. Then, once I realised that wouldn't work, I tried to wake her up and couldn't. With her face as close to mine as it was I could feel her breath (damn, she needed to brush her teeth) and after a momentary frustrated urge to headbutt her from point blank range I decided that the hangover that was even then pushing in at my awareness would probably kill me if I did.

I fell asleep again.

When I woke up the second time we were, indeed, side by side. Sandy was awake and (a bit creepily, I have to say) watching me.

"Hey," she said, smiling awkwardly.

"Hey," I answered with a tongue that felt like cardboard.

"So, last night -"

I pushed her away, got up (to find the Feeldoe had already been removed) and ran to the ensuite where I was gloriously, messily and very loudly sick. That went on for some time, Sandy coming in and holding my hair back until I was done.

"You okay?" she asked as I sat back, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand.

I let out a noise that would probably be spelled "Eurugghh."

"That good, huh?" she asked, amusement heavy in her voice.

"Don't laugh too hard," I snapped, "if you've gotten me pregnant then it's your arse paying for Child Support, boyo."

The absurdity of it kind of short circuited the moment and we dissolved into laugher. Well, Sandy dissolved into laughter. I dissolved into hiccups. You know those hiccups you get that taste of vomit? Yeah, those. It wasn't my best moment.

"We need to talk about this," I began, but Sandy cut me off.

"Maybe when we're not both hung over," she suggested.

I nodded. That sounded good. Of the very short list of noises that could possibly sound good when one has a pounding hangover, that was - at that moment - right at the top of my list.

*****

There wasn't a breakfast table for us that day. I was well after eleven o'clock before we went down. Dane was gone already but Mum was there, looking strangely cheerful and... glowing a bit. If we hadn't connected the dots last night, I gotta say, that would have confused the remaining fuck out of us, that bit of fuck we hadn't already fucked out.

"Morning girls," she said in that sing-song voice we hadn't heard for way too long.

"Only just," Sandy scowled. "Where were you last night, hmm? You had us worried all night, young lady."

Mum just laughed and headed to the stove. Sandy and I sat down at the table, the assumption that Mum was going to cook already proven right; she even had breakfast stuff ready - eggs, strips of bacon, that kind of thing.

"We heard Dane with someone last night when we got back in," I said, eyes going wide when I realised what I'd just said. Mum had her back to us by then but we both saw her freeze. Not long, just a moment, but it was there.

"Really?" she asked.

"You didn't hear?" Sandy asked, feigning surprise. "She must've been enjoying it. He was giving it to her pretty hard -"

"Sandy," our mother scolded, carefully choosing not to turn around. "Saying such things at the table."

"So... you didn't hear?" I pressed, echoing Sandy's question.

Mum shook her head. "No, I got in very early this morning. I spent the night at Linda's."

Sandy and I exchanged a glance. Normally the lie would have cut pretty deep but I think both of us understood the need for it. 'This isn't the time,' that lie seemed to say. If Sandy and I were still coming to grips with what we'd done it wasn't hard to imagine how much worse it must have been for her. For both of them.

So instead of pushing things Sandy had a flash of, quite frankly, brilliance.

"Ohhh, Linda," she said, her tone dripping with innuendo. In YOUR end-o. "Yeah, we saw some of that action..."

"It's not what you think," Mum said, spinning around. Her face was aflame, scarlet and shame-stricken. "We're not... I mean it wasn't..."

"Mum. MUM!" I waved a hand to get her attention. My other hand was holding Sandy's on the table; the two of us holding hands was nothing new in the house. "It's okay. She's nice, we like her. And it's your body. So if you're playing about with her or you're not, either way is fine with us."

"As long as you don't want us to call her 'Dad'," Sandy put in, her tone quite neutral.

"Ewww," I agreed.

Mum sat down shaking. Sandy looked at me, worried now, but after a few moments Mum smiled an uncertain smile and nodded. She sat there for a while, taking our free hands in hers, and we waited as she worked out exactly what it was she was going to say.

"Thank you," she said after a long, long pause, "for understanding."

I keep going back to that moment and wondering if she'd guessed that we already knew she was lying. If she was thanking us for not pushing, rather than the whole Linda thing (which, we knew anyway, was largely a non-event). I think that maybe she suspected.

The rest of the morning was actually fairly normal, even if Mum was pretty, um, distracted. We left not long after the brunch she cooked us and made our way out. Hangovers had mostly abated so we took off and gave her some space. The idea was that we'd go somewhere and talk about what had happened but we didn't. We just wasted the day talking about shit that doesn't matter and enjoying the sunshine.

And if we sat a little closer than we normally would, if our hands lingered over each other for comfort more than normal, well.

It's not like anyone noticed.

I think.

- (Not) The End