Birthday Present For My Sister Ch. 03

"Oh damn! We should have bought more rubbers."

"Can this evening, in the restaurant."

"Maybe too late."

"Stop thinking about it; have to stop sometime."

"But not yet."

Her hand reached over and found my cock, and she murmured in a pleading tone:

"Just one more time, before I can't."

"Not without."

"Then any other way."

I wasn't going to argue with her, because I knew it would be useless, and - well - she was almost holding me by my balls. She rolled towards me, changing hands, and then her fingers were gathering them up in my very loose sack. How often had they done that in the last few days?

"Not out here," I murmured, and we went back in the house.

Could she suck my cock any better than she had before? I doubted it, but it seemed like she was trying to. Kneeling on the floor next to my bed, twice, she let my tight sack relax and then sucked each of my balls. She hadn't done that before, and I wasn't wanting her to do it a third time, when my sack was just a tight ball in her hand. I just wanted to come in her mouth, wanted relief from my so extended arousal after having been almost brought to the edge twice by her now so experienced sucking and licking.

She also wanted me to. I knew how much she loved to feel my semen spurt in her mouth and to taste it; she had told me. With deep moans and then a gasp and grunt, I came, spurting again and again. She moaned, almost biting my cock when she had to swallow what had hit the back of her throat, but that only confirmed that I had come so good.

But it all hadn't landed there; she was swilling it around the head of my cock in her mouth and then rose up and dove down over me. I knew what to expect. Our mouths met, and she shared it with me. What better way to confirm that she had done it so good!

Then I was on my knees between her thighs - until she drew them up towards her shoulders. Could I, how could I give her as much pleasure? Not just her pussy but also her asshole - twitching asshole - was licked several times before between moans and chuckles she muttered: "stop teasing me."

I did, with two fingers in her pussy, sucking and nibbling on her clitoris, vaguely think that her last time would be like her first time with me. It was better for her, because she now had so much experience? I wished that I could have lapped up all her love juice, but my fingers were in the way, and there was more of it than that first time, my hand drenched. When she had gasped and moaned a couple of times, her pussy squeezing my fingers a couple of times more, she insisted: "Fuck me!"

It didn't surprise me; she had said it the night before and when we had done this before, like on the table. I forgot about our not having a rubber. My cock wanted to, I wanted to. Did I even think about her arguments why it would be all right?

I rose up on my knees, and my fingers slipped out, and my cock plunged into her so wet pussy. She gave a relieved sounding moan, and her pussy squeezed my cock. I suddenly thought of a firm handclasp between old friends.

Multiple orgasms?! It seemed like it; her pussy immediately as aroused as it had been on my fingers, flooding my cock after a few hard thrusts. Then I was less aware of her gasps and moans, so much more aware of the renewed arousal of my cock, as my hips slapped against hers. I had been right, it felt so much better without a rubber. For her too?

I wasn't thinking about not having a rubber, just that it was feeling so fucking good. I couldn't have come in her pussy as much as I did in her mouth, but it still felt like I had, and when I did, she moaned as though she felt it, like she had when it was in her mouth.

Only after I had come, when our eyes met again as we were recovering, did I remember that we didn't have a rubber, that I had shot my semen - all those little tadpoles - straight in her pussy. Dear sister, she managed to give me a slight smile and murmured: "It will be all right."

I nodded, hoping so, then withdrawing my cock, and hoping that the mixture of our liquids that oozed out of her pussy could include everything my cock had put in it. She drew me down for a kiss, repeating her assurance that it would be all right.

We took a shower, a very subdued shower, despite washing each other almost like we had evenings before we went to bed and had made love. Yes, that was the expression that came to my mind. After we had dried ourselves, she murmured that she better use a tampon, and I left her alone in the bathroom. I got dressed again. When she passed my door, she noticed and also put back on her clothes - not her bra.

We had lunch with a beer, and then agreed to take a walk on the beach. That turned out to have been a very good idea. Saturday afternoon, there were more people on Fire Island, and we ran into a couple who were friends of our parents who also had a house. That not only distracted us from how we had spent the week, but also gave us something to tell our parents.

After we were going back to our house, she suddenly glanced at me and asked:

"Will they tell them that I wasn't wearing a bra?"

"Hmm! He won't!"

"But her?"

"Hmm? Maybe she says something to him about it, and he tells her that it's none of her business, that all young girls don't."

"And she asks him how he knows?"

We both almost laughed out loud. I suggested:

"If she does, just insist that you were. Their daughter doesn't have much to show."

"Not much of an argument."

"Father will take his side."

"Like he did with my bikini?"

"Something like that. At least, now you know that they might say something."

"Hmm?!"

We continued our walk, apparently tacitly agreeing to spend our time on the beach until we could go to dinner. We joked about our observing other girls and women, whether we thought or could see that they were or weren't wearing bras. Eventually, we returned to our house and had another beer while changing into clothing appropriate for the restaurant, a better one than before.

It was a silent drive there. She slid closer to me and put her hand on my thigh, but we just exchanged smiles. When the waiter asked if we wanted wine, we nodded at each other and had a glass of house wine, and another one, before we finished our nice meal. We made conversation by telling each other what we had done during the week. Of course, not what we had actually had done, but as though we were enjoying recalling what we could have been doing, what we could tell our parents.

After I paid the bill, she whispered that she had to use the toilet, and then I did too. Before we had to part, she whispered that I should replenish my supply of rubbers. I did. When we met again, I nodded, and she smiled slightly, remarking softly:

"Not for me, for us, but since we used them all."

"For us, not that I was thinking we would need them."

"Nor me."

holding hands, we returned to the car. I opened the door for her. She was sitting close to the driver's seat when I got in. She put her hand on my thigh again, but murmured:

"I'm pretty sure we can't."

"Just as well, even if we could; time to start trying to forget."

"Not forget, never."

"Um-hmm, never."

We drove back in silence. We didn't need another beer, but the last two cans had to be finished. We drank them out on the deck, watching the moon rise, hardly speaking, just our hands touching on the railing. I was worrying about our having done it without a rubber -- worrying again. She must have been thinking about it too; she murmured again: "It will be all right."

I nodded, then suddenly realized that worry had pushed thoughts about our incestuous relationship further back in my mind. But now they were in front again: so we had done it, but would it stay a secret? Would we again? I had promised her that we would, when she had the pill, but that was about doing it without a rubber. We had done that now, fulfilling my promise? Would she have a problem with her missing tan-lines, not the hint of ones on her shoulders? I murmured:

"Tan-lines, shoulders?"

"We didn't swim as much as we were saying in the restaurant, just reading a lot."

"You brought a book?"

"We have some here."

"Read them all."

"I know, brought one."

"Hmm, what?"

"Hm-hmm! Lady Chatterley."

"Really?!"

"Um-hmm. Good thing you asked; can take it back for me, shelf in the den, over head high, to the left, left of a book for brides. Have to find it. Has an inscription to Mother from her mother."

"Hmm? Really. Read it?"

"Not nearly as helpful as what our sister told me. Hm-hmm! A warning not to be surprised how big it is."

We chuckled and were silent again, sipping our beer. Then I asked:

"Were you going to let me see you reading it to suggest something?"

"I would have brought my rubbers if I had had that in mind."

We were silent again, my thoughts returning to what we had done - just in general, not in detail. We finished our beers and returned to the house. As we were undressing in our rooms, she came to my door, still in her underwear, and asked if she should make up her bed.

"Only if you want to," I replied, appreciating her tactful suggestion.

"Not really."

"I didn't want you to."

She smiled and unhooked her bra, as she turned back to her room. I went to the bathroom, thinking that she might prefer to be alone, if she wanted to change her tampon. I returned to my room with my shorts in my hand. When she saw me, she smiled with a nod and slipped her panties down, stepping out of them on the way to the bathroom.

She returned in the dark and slipped into bed with me, immediately turning her back to me. I wasn't sure if I should hold her closer, just putting my hand on her hip, but she drew it up to her breast, murmuring:

"I wanted to sleep like this just one more time."

"I did too."

"It's been so good. Thank you for everything."

"It has been, very good, too good."

"Um-hmm, all those times I said I shouldn't know it could be that good."

"And they were, very good, too good, also for me."

"Mmmmm, that's nice, for both of us, too good."

"Um-hmmm."

"'To Sleep, perchance to dream ...'?"

"'Aye, there's the rub,'" I completed the line from Hamlet, and unconsciously my fingers rubbed her nipple.

"Hmm! Don't do that. Hamlet wasn't talking about that."

"I know, just couldn't help it. Better just to dream."

"Hope I have some good ones about you this summer."

"And about you."

"Don't forget them and tell me when I come back."

"You too."

"I want to kiss you good night."

She rolled back against me, and we kissed, really just a goodnight kiss. She rolled forward again, and we got comfortable, wishing each other goodnight. It was probably good that we had finished the beer; with just fond thoughts, I quickly fell asleep.

In the morning, we postponed our showers till after breakfast and the last housecleaning. Clothed, we made breakfast and ate, hardly speaking. It seemed that she felt the way I did, that I didn't want to refer to all we had done, but couldn't get it out of my mind enough to think of anything else to talk about. After we had cleaned up in the kitchen, agreeing that it would be like Mother expected to find it, she suggested that I do the laundry, while she started the housecleaning.

It was, of course, a good idea for us to be apart for a little while. As I drove off with the laundry and our last garbage, it occurred to me that we had been in sight of each other - mostly nude - the whole week, and when our eyes had been closed - at night or during the day - we had always been in physical contact, not the first night, but after that, and "physical contact" was just a mild expression for how we had been.

At the laundromat, waiting, I felt a little ashamed of myself for looking at the couple of young women who came in, as though I were being unfaithful to my sister. It was worse, when one of them smiled and spoke to me, asking if I was going to do laundry the following week, a veiled question if I was going to be around during the week. Whatever she could have been hinting at, I could tell that I wouldn't be. Did she look slightly disappointed? She offered to help me fold our sheets. I let her. When she discovered that I had four sheets, she smiled slightly.

I escaped and drove back. My sister had been very busy and told me what she had left for me to do. We then gave the place a last inspection and agreed to take separate showers. Since I had to give the bathroom a final wipe, she went first. Then I had mine and shaved. Still naked, I began to clean, very surprised when I heard her speak:

"Oh, of course. I have something on. Hm-hmm! When I found a few curly hairs, I went back and checked where else they could be. Found some more."

"Good thing that you did then," I replied with my back still to her.

"Um-hmm. I'll go away, didn't really want to see you like this again."

She did, as I thought: maybe it would all work out, if she could say that. She didn't see me return to my room to get dressed. When we saw each other again, we both just smirked slightly, and waited for our parents to arrive.

It did work out. They arrived and greeted us, Mother again saying something about hoping we had gotten along together. She always said that, since when we were younger we sometimes hadn't. Father said something about our tans and got a frown from Mother when he asked:

"In your bikini?"

"Of course, how'd you guess?" my sister replied with the impish smile she saved for him, but getting another frown from her mother, then adding:

"But I won't wear it when you're both out here."

He feigned a disappointed scowl, but nodded. Mother nodded approvingly. I thought that my sister had won that round, more confident that she could handle any other questions about our week together.

They had brought more food, and Mother started making lunch, my sister immediately offering to help. That was also good, since she hadn't always volunteered to do anything around the house.

We had lunch and spent the rest of the day like we always had. With our parents there, we got out deckchairs to sit in the sun, in our clothes. I was going to return to our apartment in the city to start my job the next day, and Mother explained that Martha, the Norwegian au pair, would cook dinner. My sister said that I could make breakfast, praising my omelettes. I replied that she had cooked well, herself. She was less pleased, when Mother suggested that she could cook dinner for us, offering just to help.

Since there could be a lot of traffic back to the City Sunday evening, the two of them went off to prepare an early dinner. My father and I sat in the sun, not having much to say, but we were accustomed to that. I asked about the business dinner, and he told that they couldn't have not gone: business associates, etc. He asked how we had spent our time, and I remembered our conversation in the restaurant and her tanned shoulders, and said that we had spent most of the time just sunning, venturing to add that she was looking forward to her trip to Europe. That was good, letting him tell about her itinerary and his first trip to Europe.

When we were called to dinner, we talked more about her trip, a nice, fairly safe subject, except for mine and probably her recollections of what we had discussed about it. Then it was time for me to finish packing. While I was, I heard her say that she wanted to thank me for my birthday present. She came in my room, smiling, and handed me "Lady Chatterley," as she said loud enough for our parents to hear:

"Thank you so much for coming out here with me. It was better than I had even hoped."

"For me too," I agreed so that they could hear, adding: "My pleasure."

She whispered: "It's all right, started. God that was good! Thank you," and then louder:

"Good luck with your summer job."

"Thank you, and with your trip."

She pursed her lips, and I did, and she returned to the table. With my bag, I joined them and wished them a nice week together and good weather, shaking hands with my parents as usual, and then with my sister, getting a nice smile. My father had smiled, but also given me a sterner look. Then I was off.

Before my sister goes to Europe, more happens, a lot more for each of us - with Martha. But first, as a little interlude, later that summer I have an interesting conversation with our older sister.