Blondie's Kinky Cruise

This story continues my sexy blonde spouse's sibling and interracial sexual saga. As it opens, we are returning to Mobile after spending a very libidinous Christmas week in Baton Rouge where she had sex with her handicapped brother in my presence for the first of many times to come. Woven into it is another episode in her continuing (and ultimately preferred) sexual adventures with black men.

As we headed east toward Mobile on the day following Christmas, Blondie was curled up against the passenger door dozing, exhausted from the cumulative effects of almost a week of incredibly excessive sexual activity on her middle-aged body. Undeniably, she'd had sex with her older, oversexed, brother multiple times daily since the previous Friday evening when we'd arrived in Baton Rouge.

Their last time had ended just three hours earlier, after he'd come to our hotel, randy as ever, eager to give his beautiful sexpot sister a memorable going-away present, one that had lasted almost an hour. As usual, he'd remained hard after coming in her the first time, so despite my desire to get started home, she'd let him continue until she brought him to a second but much weaker climax following another half hour of intense incestual intercourse.

She'd sent him away Christmas night after a single but lengthy bout of copulation, telling him he'd have to sleep in his own apartment. She was too worn down to accommodate him again for another overnight stay, knowing he would almost certainly want more sex during the night and again early in the morning, his usual oversexed agenda. She'd not had a good night's sleep since we'd arrived, so after giving him a nice long ride, she'd sent him home with the promise of more sex in the morning before we left town.

He'd arrived while we were still in bed, causing Blondie to groan as she rose and padded into the bathroom to pee. As I let him in the room, she called out for him to get undressed and into bed, she'd join him momentarily. When she emerged, she'd brushed her hair and teeth, applied a generous coat of high-gloss, red lipstick and slipped on a pair of high-heels which she knew he liked her to wear when they fucked. She slid back into bed and without a single word of greeting they began kissing heatedly, their passion of the previous night immediately reignited. Within minutes he was between her legs, inside her body and pounding away in his inimitable fashion.

I'd ordered a pot of coffee from room service then sat back and watched their smoking-hot sibling sex show a final time. I'd watched them fuck so many times the past week that it had lost some of its edge for me—but not for them—they fucked every time like it was their first. Perhaps it was true that incest is best—their frenzied lovemaking would certainly make it appear so.

Watching them go at it so passionately, I had considered what Blondie had previously told me that she believed her brother's hypersexuality was due to the drugs he takes for the brain damage growing out of his almost fatal encounter with childhood meningitis. Unquestionably, Bert had a supercharged libido and could sexually outperform any man I'd ever watched her with, but I also wondered if some of his sexual drive might not be genetic, Cajun, hot-bloodedness, since his sister had similarly long possessed it.

Now as we passed through St. Tammany Parish, north of Lake Ponchartrain, my exhausted mate sat up, stretching languidly and sighed, "Wow, I just zoned out—how long was I asleep?" When I informed her about an hour, she chuckled, "God, I'm gonna sleep all weekend, not even get outta bed."

Taking a sip of bottled water she threw me a sidelong glance, asking nonchalantly,

"Know what Bertie asked me while we were fuckin'?" When I shook my head she continued, "When he could come see me—not if, but when—cocky bastard."

Gazing south toward the huge lake, she mused, "He thinks just 'cause I like fuckin' him so much that he's got me back under his control again like he used to, an' I'll do anything he wants."

"And does he? What did you tell him about coming to visit?" I replied.

"No, he does not! Look, sure I like fuckin' him—that's obvious—but it's not like it used to be. I can get all the good sex I want nowadays. He's not the only big cock available to me like he used to be."

With a leering wink she purred, "As you well know, cher, I have several others available with a phone call."

"Even so, after seein' the way we fucked this week, you hafta know I'm gonna invite Bertie to come see me occasionally, okay?"

"You're not goin' to have a problem are you, cher?" she hesitantly asked.

She sat there eyeing me inscrutably several seconds before leaning across the console and placing her hand in my crotch. She began squeezing gently, inquiring coquettishly,

"What I'm real interested in knowin' is that if we are plannin' to let this little affaire de famille continue, if you'd be okay with him comin' over to stay with me sometimes when you're outta town on business, sugar?"

She murmured mischievously, "Let frère et soeur (brother and sister) play mari et femme (husband and wife) while hubby's away, hmm?"

Feeling the stiffening in my slacks, she leaned further over, crooning breathily in my ear,

"Feels like somebody kinda likes the idea of doin' somethin' kinky like that."

"Look, I know you like listenin' on the phone when you're outta town an' I've got some guy in bed, so think how excitin' it'd be to listen in while I fuck my brother...hearin' everything we're doin', sweetie...talkin' to you while we're fuckin?"

"Je parie que tu aimerais ça, n'est-ce pas? (I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you) cher?"

She gave my dick a playful squeeze, "I know for sure your brother-in-law would absolutely love that—talkin' to you on the phone while he's fuckin' your wife in your bed."

"He'd totally get off on somethin' like that, je te promets chérie (I promise you, honey) 'cause he's fiercely jealous of you. You married me an' took me away from him, an' you've been successful, makin' good money an' travelin', havin' a much better life than he does."

"The only way he outdoes you, cher, is in bed—has a bigger cock an' is a much hotter fuck as even you will probably concede." I nodded affirmation of that and she continued,

"It's the only way he can compete with you, makin' your wife want his cock more than yours an' makin' sure you know it. He wants to rub your nose in it—he kept askin' me all this past week if his cock felt better an' if I wanted him more than you—an' of course I told him yes."

Kneading my now fully-hard cock, she teased, "It sure was excitin' when Bertie an' I played house out in Texas an' kept it a secret from you, so imagine how sexy would it be for all three of us if you know we're doin' it...listenin' in an' talkin' to us while we're doin' it."

The practiced little prickteaser, couldn't help taunting, "Think about me layin' there in our bed talkin' to you while Bertie's got that big ol' fat cock pumpin' in an' outta me, layin' that pipe, as he calls it, an' he's makin' me tell you over an' over how good his dick feels an' how much I want it."

She giggled, "It's a cuckold's wet-dream, honey."

Now she taunted, "Admets-le, tu l'aimerais (Admit it, you'll love it), the cocu (cuck) in you will absolutely love it, sweetie pie an' you know fuckin'-a-well you will."

I replied, " You're right, of course, especially about your brother. He bragged to me this week about how you'd come home from our dates and fuck him. Said it was you who invited him to your room as soon as I dropped you off. Told me you'd give him a quickie even if you were tired, but most of the time you'd keep fucking him until he'd come twice, to give yourself more time to come."

Turning to look into her eyes, I said, "Which, he said, you frequently did. That's a bit different scenario than what you previously confessed to me."

She stopped the cock massage and sat there staring ahead a long silent moment, finally sighing,

"Okay, guess I did make it sound like it was all his doin' didn't I?" She paused, then, "An' it wasn't."

When I stayed silent, she continued, "I told you I was under his control an' it's true, I was, but like I've already admitted, I enjoyed fuckin' him, too."

With a chagrined expression, "An' I'd be lyin' if I said I didn't want it. I was his little whore, givin' him pussy any time he asked, every day usually, an' sometimes even more 'n that. An' yeah, when you brought me home, I was usually still horny so I'd go to his room an' invite him to mine."

Sliding back to her side of the seat, she leaned back against the door, looked at me a long moment, then confessed, "Remember I told you I fucked him the week before our wedding..."

I nodded and she continued, "What I didn't tell you was that I fucked him the night before our wedding—in fact, the day ofour wedding 'cause you brought me home after midnight and he was waitin' as usual, with a big ol' sexy grin and a huge hardon which he kept buried in your sweet little bride for more than a coupla very, very excitin' hours."

"He fucked me with more passion than he'd never shown before, tellin' me the whole time that I would always be his, not yours."

She was quiet for a moment, then sighed, "It was the first time he told me he loves me...loves me romantically, not as his sister."

Keeping my eyes fixed on the highway ahead, I asked, "And how did you respond to that?"

After another lengthy silence, she whispered, "Told him I loved him, too, the same way, and even though I loved you an' was marryin' you, I'd always love him...but we were gonna have to stop havin' sex."

"And did you?" I asked and when she looked puzzled, I said, "Stop...?"

With a look of guilty resignation, she sighed, "No...we didn't, cher. I wasn't totally honest with you in my recent confessions...I still fucked him occasionally after we got married."

I had to ask, "So have you been fucking him the whole time we've been married?"

She responded, "No, we pretty much stopped after he married Edith," which earned my query,

"Pretty much? What's that mean? How many times did you screw him after he married Edith?"

She heaved a sigh and muttered, "Hell, I don't know...a few...I didn't keep count...when we'd go back home for family get-togethers. 'Bout the only time we got a real chance for anything more than a quickie was when you'd go off with daddy for the day, you know, like huntin' or fishin' an' give us enough time to sneak off somewhere for some serious lovin'."

Blondie's dad and I hadn't gone hunting or fishing together in three years so I asked,

"So you're telling me it had been three years until this week," and she nodded her affirmation.

"You still love him... romantically, as your lover, don't you?" I asked. It was obvious from their passionate lovemaking this past week, when I was sure I'd heard both of them whispering words of endearment in French while overwhelmed with lust.

Yet another long silence, then softly, "Yes, cher, I still love him...suppose I always will."

I closed the conversation with, "Okay, I can live with that—it's to be expected, as good as you are together in bed—let's move on."

And so we did, into the next chapter of this sibling incest saga, spiced up with a bit of interracial zest, a tale which renewed when I flew into Mobile on a Thursday afternoon after spending four days in the Orlando area. My lovely wife met me at our favorite downtown bar not far from the office from which she managed a portfolio of coastal condominium properties. The bar, in the entertainment district, was near a restaurant we liked for its Louisiana-style cooking. Blondie was noticeably upbeat as she surveyed the happy-hour crowd from her barstool, noting the presence of a couple of lawyers whom she'd screwed on multiple occasions.

Following her eyes, I said, "Been a while since either of those guys has been down to the house. You thinking about a party this weekend?"

Blondie's favorite parties consisted of her, her husband and one or more additional males.

"I am, but not with them." Taking a long pull from her vodka tonic, she asked, "You have any problem with Bertie comin' over Saturday?"

I asked, "He call you?" and she smiled impishly, replying,

"Nope...matter of fact, your wife got so horny thinkin' about our Christmas trip, I called him last night...it's been near two months now, you know, cher."

I chuckled, "I suppose he needed some time to consider your invitation, right?" to which she grinned,

"Yeah, right...like about two seconds...he was breathin' real heavy by the time we hung up."

She hesitated, as if deciding whether to say more, then whispered, "After I gave him almost an hour of hot phone sex an' helped him get his nuts off..."

Then after a brief lull, "An' got mine off, too—a coupla times."

Knowing better before I even asked the question, I inquired, "Phone sex? That's new, huh?"

With a guilty snicker, she confessed, "Not really, cher. We've done it a few times when you've been out of town."

My obvious next question was, "And how does he know when I'm not home?"

Her lovely, gold-flecked hazel eyes twinkled over the rim of her glass as she chortled,

"Well he doesn't, so on those days I get horny thinkin' about fuckin' him durin' the day, when I come home in the evenin' I strip down to my panties, open a bottle of wine, plug in one of my little friends (her vibrators) an give big brother a call so we can have ourselves a sexy little long-distance party, cher."

After another brief silence, she continued, "Phone sex with Bertie is much more excitin' than with other men because with that incredible memory he can remember virtually every time we ever fucked with all the juicy details, tu sais ce que je veux dire (you know what I mean)?"

That was likely true—Bert had the unnerving ability to accurately quote, nearly verbatim, years-ago conversations he'd had with you. It probably was a positive side-effect from the neurological damage he'd suffered as a child. I could imagine how hearing long-ago dirty talk from their incestual activities whispered into her ear on the phone, nearly word for word, could have a very sexually stimulating effect on a woman with a vibrator between her legs.

She tittered, "Some of his hottest stuff is remindin' me what we used to do after you'd bring me home from a date when he was tryin' to prove he could fuck me better."

"An' he knows for sure he can get me goin' describin' all that hot stuff we did behind your back out in Texas that summer."

She offered, "Maybe I'll call him some time when you are home an' let you listen in to see just how good your sweet-talkin brother-in-law is at makin' your wife climax over the phone, hmm?"

Blondie lewdly whispered, "We should do it while you're fuckin me—oh hell yeah, let him talk to me about that time he fucked me on the couch while you were out in the garage, relive it while you've got your dick in me—mon Dieu, that'll make me come on your cock for sure, honey."

We were both quiet for a moment taking pulls from our drinks when she asked innocently,

"Are you leavin' town again Monday?" and when I nodded affirmatively, she hit me with it,

"So if he comes over Saturday, you have any problem with him stickin' around a few days while you're gone?"

Of course she wanted to fuck him without me around—after all, it was their special sibling-sex relationship that had begun before she ever met me, and while they didn't mind my watching their lovemaking, it was most intense when it was just the two of them. I leveled a look and said,

"What difference would it make if I did have a problem with it? You'd just do it anyway and not share with me."

That brought a smirked, "You're prolly right—I'm really horny for him an' I definitely want to keep him around a while."

Smiling, she winked, "You've seen how good we are together an' I hate to tell you this, cher, but, except for that one night that we invited Charles over a coupla weeks ago, I haven't been screwed that good since we were in Baton Rouge at Christmas."

"So I'm gonna keep my sexy brother around a few days an' you're just gonna have to live with it, sugar. But I promise I'll send his ass packin' to Louisiana before you get home, okay?"

She asked, "When are you comin' home next week: Thursday?" And when I replied it would be Friday, she broke into a merry smile, purring with satisfaction, "Oh parfait—c'est encore mieux (Oh perfect—that's even better)."

Which meant my gorgeous blonde thirty-something wife and her handicapped older brother would have an additional night to fuck like rabbits—almost an entire week. There was no good response to that other than groveling and while I was a willing cuckold I wasn't totally pussy-whipped. In fact, in almost all aspects of our lives other than sex, Blondie tended to defer to my judgment and follow my decisions.

But it had in fact been my discovery of Bert's journal chronicling their youthful sibling affair that had brought about the renewal of their sexual relationship seven weeks earlier, so I could blame no one but myself if things got a bit out of hand. In stirring those long-dormant coals of incestual lust, I'd underestimated the intensity of their sexual feelings. From the outset Blondie had made it abundantly clear that she preferred her brother's bigger cock and more vigorous lovemaking to mine, her older, cuckold/voyeur husband. Now she'd just made it crystal clear she wanted him taking my place in our bed whenever the opportunity arose.

She broke the silence with an unexpected question, "You remember me charterin' that cabin cruiser down at that Dog River marina last October to take that couple from Chicago across the bay on a tour of some of my properties over on the Eastern Shore?"

Blondie managed a portfolio of waterfront condominium properties along the bay as well as down on the gulf. I suddenly remembered why I should remember that charter. When I had called home that evening from wherever I'd been, she'd been all hot and bothered about the charter captain, a good-looking young black guy who had eyeballed her all day, and although she was entertaining clients, she'd still managed to let him know she, too, was interested, with her own surreptitious looks.

Debarking at the end of the cruise, she'd given him a large tip, making sure to get his business card, telling him that she definitely wanted to charter his boat again. Yet somehow, even though Blondie has a well-honed fondness for fucking black men, here several months later, we'd not yet gotten around to following up with this fellow.

As I replied to her question, "Yeah, the nice-looking young black guy who got you all turned on," she handed me the business card and said,

"Give him a call tomorrow—see if he's available Saturday. Cruisin' charters oughtta be awful slow this time a' year, don't you think? "

Looking at her questioningly, I inquired, "And what is this all about?"

She smiled, "The weather's been so warm I was thinkin' it might be a kick to take Bertie out on the bay an' screw him on that sexy boat an' if I could get a piece of black strange at the same time it would be well worth the expense, n'est-ce pas (would it not) sugar?"