Covidiots Pt. 02

Covidiots Part 2

A Confession

By

de Vere

The story continues...

In case you missed Part 1, since I got laid off from my day job, I have been self-isolating with my sister down in a small city on the Gulf Coast of Florida. She has a lung condition which, under normal circumstances is minor, but now risks her life. She works out of her home office. I won't use her real name, but will call her Red, the color of her hair. How can I describe her, in case you skipped the 1^st part? MILF is probably the best word. In her early 50s, but if you saw her, I doubt anyone would guess she is a day over 40. Divorced, thin, sexy, with bright green eyes and pale skin covered with freckles.

I am a few years older. About a month into our lockdown, for only the second time in our lives, I kissed my sister.

It is hard to say which one of us enjoyed it more. Very hard. Probably me, but I would not put money on that. That is where I left off, but that is not where the story ended. Far from it, in fact. Let's pick up where I left off, the day after we got a little drunk and made out like a couple of horny highschoolers...

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Morning came, and I wondered how weird it would be. I had coffee brewing when she came into the kitchen. She held her phone up. "Check this out!"

Squiggly lines across the chart meant nothing without context. "What am I looking at?"

"My FitBit from last night." Scrolling from early evening, her heart and breathing rates rose and fell in little peaks and valleys starting about 6:00. Suddenly, a little after 10:00, the Himalayas rose up into a series of high, jagged peaks. After a half hour, the mountains trailed down through foothills into a valley before rising again in a short, steady burst of a couple of minutes. After that, it settled down into slow, rolling waves.

I pointed. "Is that when we...?"

"Sure is. My heart rate was 120-150."

"Is that good or bad?"

"I am not sure. I only got this a year ago and haven't made out with anyone since."

"Looks like someone enjoyed it," I said, glad that she found a way to bring it up.

"I was not the only one," she said, eyes sparking with her private joke as she poured a cup of coffee and grabbed a piece of crumb cake to drop onto a plate. Crumbs must have stuck to her fingers, which she licked off. "I must compliment you."

"About what?"

"At your age you don't need Viagra." Then she winked at me while sipping her coffee, picked up her coffee cake, and started toward her office. "9:00 Zoom meeting. Thanks for the coffee.

I had to get out of there, so I went fishing on a bridge over the causeway, just past the sign that read, NO FISHING. No one bothered me while I pulled enough Sheepshead for dinner tonight and a couple more. The image of the tight top she wore that morning returned again and again, too. Did she aim the camera so the guys at work could see how she looks without a bra, or were those nipples straining against the fabric only for me?

Eventually, the memories of kissing Red and her tits faded until I only thought about her six or seven times a minute. Thank god for drive-in liquor stores. A bottle of white and another of rosé, her choice, and a fifth of Jamison. Later, I took a few swigs from the little bottle before cleaning the fish around back. Then another swig or two before hiding the bottle in my pocket and heading inside.

Poking my head inside her office, she looked up wearing her headset in the middle of a call to wave, and nodded when I mouthed, dinner?

Over dinner of the baked fish topped with chopped tomatoes, green pepper and onion doused with lime juice, I kept waiting for her to look down at her food, to sneak peeks at her boobs. She chose rosé. If not for the table, she would have been impressed I still did not need Viagra, but got it under control had the tent put away by the time we finished. We talked about fishing and work and anything but the night before.

Because I cooked, she insisted on washing dishes, so I watched her ass while pretending to keep her company. I swear to god, no one on earth would believe that ass belongs to a woman over 50. We took a walk after dinner, and the way her boobs jiggled with every step nearly caused me to walk with an erection. I tried to focus on other sights.

"Are we going to talk about it?"

We had just returned when she asked. I answered, "We should. We're still cooped up together. Just the two of us."

"Did you like kissing your sister?"

"Do you have any doubt?" She felt it herself. "Did you?"

Instead of answering, she sipped on her wine, then said, "At least we are both screwed up."

"It was only a kiss." Not quite true. A little groping thrown in.

"Only a kiss? According to FitBit, we went at it for 37 minutes." Another sip of wine, then almost a chug. "Do you know how long it's been?"

"Since what?"

"I haven't been with a guy since about a year before my last divorce. Separate beds that last year." Some quick mental math, almost five years. "Do you suppose it is just that we are around each other all day, every day?"

"Can I see your FitBit again?" She handed it over, and I scrolled to the 10 p.m. mountain range, then pointed to the peak ten minutes later. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Oh, shit! I hoped you wouldn't notice that."

"It's pretty obvious," I said, trying to keep a straight face. "Don't be embarrassed. I was doing the same thing across the house at the same time."

Blush spilled from her face to her neck faster than if she dumped her entire glass of wine down the front of her. "Jesus, we are screwed up."

"Were you thinking of me?"

She nodded. "Were you thinking about me?"

"Look, we're locked down here together, making as much fun out of it as we can. I'm a man and you're a woman. A very sexy woman. Of course I was thinking about you. It's natural, and that was a pretty amazing kiss."

"It was, wasn't it?" We laughed in relief, unburdened like we were. Free. Honest.

"Listen, we can chalk last night up to a little fun. Blowing off some steam. It doesn't have to be weird. We can go back to how we were."

"Can we?" The look on her face told that she knew I was lying to myself.

"Is that what you want?"

"What are the options?" Her face actually glowed, red as the hair falling in curls down to her shoulders. But she smiled. Like she had already decided.

"Five years is a long time. You must be horny as hell."

"Ya think?"

"I can help with that."

"Do you want to fuck me?"

Honestly, I never thought I would hear those words come from my sister's lips. It actually shocked me to hear it from her. She did not expect my answer. "I want to make you come. To feel it from a man. Doesn't matter to me how you want me to do it. Whatever you want, I will. Keep my pants on, if you want. This is only about you."

The sincerity must have shown on my face. This time, she smiled differently. A long pause as she drank her wine; I drank mine, too. Waiting. Finally, she answered. "Don't you dare fuck me. Not tonight. That will be too much too soon."

"Remember me telling you I would do anything for you?" That promise, made after our parents died, meant literally. It was in the back of my mind then, just like not doing this. Never really expected this, though. Instead, I thought that promise meant not to say anything about my secret attraction to her.

"Maybe you should keep your pants on. Just to prove to me you weren't lying."

"I wasn't lying."

I barely remember going to her bedroom, only that I chased her, and she screamed and laughed the whole way. She stopped facing away from me, desiring me to hold both breasts probably almost as much as I wanted that. Her head fell back on my shoulder, and she turned to kiss me over her shoulder. Her tongue attacked mine with vicious hunger. That beautiful, round, ridiculously firm butt pressed into me as I hardened. It was a sensory overload unlike anything I have ever experienced in my life. We stayed like that for a long time, afraid to move, enjoying every sensation. I wanted my sister as desperately as she wanted her brother. I let one hand slide down slowly, caressing her flat stomach.

She took my hand squeezing her boob in hers, squeezing as I squeezed her. I followed her rhythm. Suddenly, she let go of my hand and peeled her shirt over her head. This couldn't really be happening—could it?

The skin on her back tight for a woman her age, shoulder blades popping out as she moved. A peek of side boob, then she tossed the blouse onto her chair and lowered her arms, waiting for me. I cupped both breasts, just as she wanted, then twirled one nipple between thumb and finger. Oh, she loved that. "Are they sensitive?"

"Very."

"I want to see them." Over the years, I caught the occasional peek. I acted the same as with any woman: I looked when she bent over, or wearing a bikini or PJs. Over the last few weeks, I probably saw nipple three times. Four. But only a glimpse, a second or two at most. I wished to see if my eyes had deceived me. She turned holding them in a handbra. It must have been a little uncomfortable to reveal herself to her brother like that. But, she did, and I said the only word that popped into my head. "They're beautiful."

They truly are. Astonishingly firm, still high. The kind that lives fondly in your memory, no matter who's they are. Thirty-year-old women would kill to have such pert boobies. Yet, that was far from the most beautiful part. Staring unabashed, I inhaled deeply. Blessed with that milky skin only redheads have, at first it looked like her nipples consisted only of the large bright pink points that have strained her tops. But, seeing them now fully and in the harsh overhead light, I realized I was mistaken. Her areolas are huge, no less than two inches across, but of the lightest pink imaginable. One shade from the milky skin of the rest of her chest. I was awestruck. Her eyes looked terrified.

I threw her upon the bed as much to lift her worry as to watch them jiggle when she landed, and she squealed and giggled like a schoolgirl. I suckled one nipple like the hungriest infant while milking the other with my free hand. It felt like a dream, the ones that wake me panting and awake in my own body fluids, but dreams do not have such tactile sensation, or the musk that rose from her body. She sighed and both hands pushed my head into her with a rhythm that I followed once more.

Nibble, suck, lick, circle. Repeat.

I moved to the other one, this time lightly licking a circle starting at the pallid outer ring of tiny bumps marking that tremendous areola, spiraling inward until my tongue wrapped around the edge of that pert nipple. I teased her that way until she again pushed my head to feed upon her, and I sucked on that gloriously protruding nipple, too. Her thighs wrapped around my ribs, squeezing as she grinded against my chest and made sighing noises brothers rarely hear their sisters make. Low, soft and seductive sounds.

Her husbands were terribly unlucky to not still have this body to themselves. Why that thought occurred to me I have no idea. Those sounds and her perfect breasts were driving me mad, I guess. I finally pulled myself away, kissing her upper chest, her neck, finally to her lips while our hips ground each other.

I asked, "What do you want?"

"What do you want to do?"

I don't need to tell you. I wanted to tear her pants off and bury my head between those milky thighs of hers. I wanted to see what every man desires to see of every redhead.

Looking back, I dated a disproportionate number of gingers during my life. Married one, once. At that moment, I understood why. Suckling on those glorious breasts, I realized how long I fantasized about this very moment, substituting women who looked as much like her as I could find. Only one of those women had breasts that compared to these, and honestly, my sister's were better, even though that redhead was 15 years younger at the time. Red's frame is so small that her Bs looked big on her. I had moved back down to kiss hers again, but stopped only for a second.

I was so flustered by the time I kissed down her stomach to her shorts that I struggled to undo them. She laughed at my frustration, and I watched how that wiggled her boobs again. Fucking snaps! Finally figured that out, and nearly ruined her zipper tugging them down, almost taking her panties with them. Those panties! Bright pink, virtually identical color to the pert point of her nipples, lacy and much too sexy to wear to a Zoom conference. Had she been planning this since morning? Not surprisingly, they were already moist.

She started to push the panties off; not allowing that, I pulled them down.

I don't remember when is the first time I wondered if she had a firebush. Probably assumed it all along, even before I understood, because her eyebrows were actually lighter than the curls on her head. By now, I've been with enough redheads to know the moment I look into their face. You can just tell. I've never been wrong, never unpleasantly surprised.

My sister's bush glowed like burnished gold. Even better, she didn't trim—not that she needed to. Like her eyebrows, she didn't have much. Bush might be an overstatement. Little more than a full landing strip, fading wider to the full triangle most women have, but her edges tapered out almost imperceptibly. I let my fingers run through them, knowing how it teased her.

I suppose few men taste their sisters. Not in this way. Or to smell their intimate scent. I savored the sights and aroma, hand caressing up and down the inside of one thigh, the way a connoisseur swirls and looks and sniffs before taking a that first sip of red wine. The fact that it drove her wild made it more fun. Truth is, I didn't know how. Do you lick your sister gently, with the tenderness a sister deserves? Or do you attack her with the passion and hunger you really feel for her? I ran one finger across her pink folds light enough to barely move them, and she moaned again. Pleaded. "I want you."

"I want you too, Red."

And I tasted her. At first lying alongside her, face resting on her thigh. Gentle and lovingly. One hand kneading a boob. Then I slid to the floor, on my knees, pulling her legs over my shoulders and dragging her forward until her ass nearly hung off the mattress. Her soft moans turned into exuberant screams and cries. Wisps of light red hair tickled my nose as I attacked her, drinking her juices, licking her clit.

Diving deep inside of her. I saw the mounds of her breasts topped with a cherry rising and falling irregularly, and watched as she bit her lip. She was screaming for god at that point, and once I thought I heard her about to say my name but checked herself and said something that may have been intended as words. I plunged a finger inside along with my tongue, then a second and that made her grind her hips forcefully into my face.

A few seconds later, her entire body began to shake in waves. She screamed over and over, which even her thighs clasped against my ears like a vise failed to muffle. So that is Red's orgasm sound.

I enjoyed that sound. And she tasted delicious. That bronze mound continued grinding up against my nose, and I did not care if she sandpapered the skin from my nostrils. I continued even though my tongue already had begun weakening from the vigor of my attack. From cheek to cheek to chin, her juices covered my face. I stopped only long enough to ask, "Got a second one in you?"

"Yes!" She shouted her answer as she reached for my ears, thrusting my face back between her legs. It was fun, but I didn't need the encouragement. I had begun to figure out what lit her up, so I ran my tongue around her in circles, back and forth, then up and down. But what set her off was sucking. So I sucked hard as I sucked those gigantic pink erasers a while ago, tongue flicking the whole time.

By then, my poor tongue felt numb, but there was no way I was giving in before she did. I think she somehow was holding out, although I am not sure how. More a suspicion that she enjoyed those eyes she knew so well looking over her crimson patch to watch her breasts and the expressions on her face. I reached up to take one of those breasts, squeezing firmly, tickling a nipple, and that was too much for her.

This time, it started as a quiver I felt in her thighs and then her hips. She thrust her pelvis in waves of pleasure and screamed her lungs out. Screamed my name. Several times.

Afterward, she licked herself off my face. Her tongue tickled my nose. I still had my pants on, and she had two orgasms under her belt. I felt pretty sure my hard-on was permanent. "How long until you need to go to the ER about this thing?"

"That's only if you take a pill. This is natural."

"Some people would say it is unnatural."

"Most people, probably. Well, at least guys who have not seen what you look like. Or how you smile. Or how fun you are to hang out with."

"Sounds like you are still trying to get in my pants." We laughed at that. Harder than we should, one of those where you just start winding down and the other person snorts and you both fall out again. Laughed until my stomach hurt. God, how I love watching her boobs giggle like jello in an earthquake. "What still puzzles me is if you are still waiting for me to—you know."

"I told you, I got what I wanted."

"What, pray tell, is that?"

"I made you feel good. And, I found out what you sound like when you come."

"You think you made me feel good?"

"Didn't I?"

"I can count on one hand the number of times someone has given me two orgasms in one night. Usually I don't seem to have the right programming for that. Or else they give up and worry about themselves. Heck, I have more ex-husbands than double orgasms."

"We can go for three," I volunteered helpfully.

"Nope. Tonight it's two-fer," she said. "Two for one, that is."

With that, she began rubbing me. More like caressing, her fingers trailing behind up, then back down my shaft.

"You like that, don't you?"

"Very much," I answered. She pulled the zipper slowly, then reached inside.

"And this?"

"Getting warmer."

"I'm way past warm," she said, and who could disagree.

"You don't owe me anything," I said in mock objection.

She answered by unbuttoning my shorts. "We both decided this before tonight. After last night, it was only a matter of when."

Not me. It actually surprised me that she pulled down my shorts. If we did nothing more than making out like we had last night, the memory of those deep, passionate kisses and her boobs would have kept me happily jacking off for years. I'd seen, touched and tasted enough to entertain myself alone in my room for the rest of my life. I needed nothing more.

But I sure as hell was not stopping her.

There she lay, playing with my rock-hard cock, fingers running up and down, looking at it from a foot away. Tracing patterns across the taut skin and around the helmet. "Swear you didn't take a pill?"

"Never needed one. Certainly not tonight."

"It might have creeped me out if you took one tonight. Before. Even worse if you had popped one last night."

"It is impossible to imagine any man needing Viagra with your sexy body around." I smacked her tush, just barely in reach.

"I can't believe I am telling you this, but I absolutely hate blow jobs. Hate them! They are just so—eww!" With eyes closed, she waved her hands like jazz hands for emphasis.

"You don't need to do anything. Hell, I will just go back to my room and entertain myself for the rest of the night and be completely satisfied." That was true. And she knew it.

Her hand stroked me again, this time fingers loosely wrapped around my shaft as those jade eyes stared up at me from beside my hip. "No, this is something I want to do. I need to do—for me."