FamtasyWorld Pt. 01

"Let me think about it," Carl told the representative. "But what do I do in the meantime?"

"How would you handle a similar situation in real life?" Hard to imagine complimenting Becca's tits in real life. That is why he came here. "Have you tried apologizing? Our companions are remarkably forgiving."

#

The sound of the shower running greeted him when he returned. He bought another bottle of the pink wine his sister drank back in the 80s as an alibi, despite how ridiculous that sounded. He stuck that bottle in the fridge with the others.

The bathroom was this house's most curious feature. 2 bedrooms, 1 bath, and that bathroom had 3 doors. Located between the bedrooms, each had a private door, a third door opening into the hallway. The door in his bedroom was ajar, open about 2 inches, but all he could see inside was a steam-fogged mirror. Becca must have heard him, because she called out, "I wondered where you were."

"Another liquor store run."

"Already?" The door opened and Becca stepped into his room with a pink towel wrapped around her body, rolled under between her left breast and armpit to hold it up. A small towel, leaving a slight gap an inch wide on her hip forming a long V shape. Inside that V exposed a sliver of skin up to her waist. She brushed wet hair using two hands, teasing it. When wet, it turned almost brown, remarkably like the real thing.

"Look, Becca, I'm sorry about what I said before."

Head tilted back, she ran the brush through, fingers following the brush fluffing out the wet locks between them. "Oh, don't worry about that. Just promise me something."

"Anything," he said, meaning it.

"Don't get all weird on me, OK?"

Some adjustment may be necessary, he thought. "Sorry. I shouldn't think of you like that."

"You really don't get it, do you." Apparently not. She stopped brushing. "It's sweet that you appreciate me, especially my little bitty titties. I wish more guys agreed with you. But, I like your tits? Really? I'm your sister—don't talk to me like I am a stripper!"

"Point taken."

"I really shouldn't tell you this, but it is really cute that you like my boobies." With that, she spun toward the bathroom door. As she did, the towel fell free, sliding open. One hand caught it, holding it tight across her chest, but it didn't matter, because she had turned toward the bathroom, and it fell away across her back. He only got a glimpse for less than a second as she stepped into the bathroom, but her flawless ass flexed with each step. For a second before she slammed the door shut behind her, she turned toward him, mouth wide in an O and eyes equally side.

Embarrassed laughter penetrated the closed door

#

They ate a late dinner out on the porch watching the sun set. Romantic yet totally innocent. Becca wore shorts and a strapless top held up with an elastic band around her chest that made her tits point straight at him the whole meal. They drank her pink wine, talking until well after dark, laughing. Carl completely forgot where he was or that this was not a normal dinner with his sister.

At least until he moved to a lounge chair. She came and plopped down on the side, back to him. A few minutes later, she said gruffly, "Slide over." She wedged herself next to him. There wasn't sufficient room for his shoulders, although there may have been if he weighed what he had in '87, so he put his arm around her shoulders. She fluffed her hair from between his arm and the chair, then relaxed her bare neck on his arm.

"It's nice, isn't it?"

"Sure is," he answered.

"You are so warm," she said, snuggling up against his body.

"Are you cold?"

"Not now." The skin of her bare shoulders felt sinfully soft. Stars filled the night sky. Somewhere far off the coast, lightning lit up the horizon. They sipped wine from glasses resting on either arm of the chair.

When Carl woke up, the lightning had disappeared and the stars were in a new position. Becca had rolled onto her side, one knee bent across his legs, her face and one palm resting on his chest. She stirred; he must have awakened her when he woke. "We fell asleep."

"Mmm."

"We should go inside," he said, feeling a chill.

"Mm-mmm." Her palm pressed against his chest.

"It will get cold. Come on."

Limp as a rag doll, Becca refused to move, so he lifted her in his arms and carried her, arms limply holding on around his neck. As he lowered her onto her bed, she continued holding on, forcing him to bend from the waist, his face inches from her bare neck.

"Stay with me."

"What?"

"Stay." She only needed to ask twice. Carl pulled back the covers and slid her in place. Eyes still closed, Becca undid her shorts and wiggled out of them. Underneath she wore boyshorts, those sexy, lacy panties so popular in the 80s that left the bottom of ass cheeks dangling out. When he tried to get in alongside, her lids cracked open and her hand waved at his lower half. "You, too. Don't be poking me with that belt buckle during the night."

Obediently, he dropped trou, turning his back to conceal the bulging in the front of his boxers and slid in beside her. Immediately, she returned to the position she had on the lounge chair, leg draped over his inches below the pitched tent. From her breathing, she fell right back to sleep. Perhaps an hour later, he did, too.

Movement woke him. It was still dark, sometime deep in the night. Becca lay on her side, back to him, firm, round ass pressed against his side. Carl rolled to spoon her, and she took his hand in both of hers and pressed it to her chest between her breasts. Her breathing pattern different then, still awake. He felt for a heartbeat and, remarkably, found one. His thumb and pinkie rested on soft breasts. He pulled her against him, and she arched her back so her bottom nestled against his stiff hard-on.

He allowed his fingertips to close over the elastic holding up her top and slid it slowly down.

"Naughty boy," she whispered in the dark.

"Are you a naughty girl?"

"You are going to make me one, aren't you?"

"Only if you want me to." The elastic shuddered as one breast popped free, again a second later as the second one slipped above the tight band. She inhaled deeply, as did he. It felt so real, yet dreamlike. Her breast felt warm and firm and possessing that seemingly contradictory softness young breasts have. What you'd expect in an 18-year-old. "How do you like it now?"

"It is perfect." Her nipple stiffened between his fingers, and her bottom moved with the rhythm of his squeezed to press pleasurably against his aching rod.

This whole thing must be a fraud, he thought, and he a mark, because this woman in his hands, this warm, breathing flesh he squeezed and felt, could not be an android, a sex robot. How they found a woman so close, nearly identical to portray his sister he knew not. Enough moonlight came in through the windows to allow him to see her, and in that light, she was Becca. Not close, but the real girl from thirty years ago, unchanged since then.

He rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him, allowing him to fill each hand with a breast. Again she arched her back, moaning lightly with pleasure. Funny how small breasts always feel larger in your hand. Hair fell across his face, still fragrant from her afternoon shampoo.

Whether a sex robot, an actress pretending to be an android portraying his sister, or the real Becca somehow transported three decades into the future to spend this week with him, did it matter at all? Would he act any differently regardless of which was the woman lying on top of him, whose breasts he kneaded with trembling hands?

Eventually he slid her off him to kiss those tits he liked so much, sucking on them, rolling the nipples around his tongue, which she seemed to enjoy, her palms pressing the back of his head into her as encouragement. Then he moved down, kissing across her stomach from side to side, moving further down until he arrived at her boyshorts. Even in this light, they looked amazing on her taught hips. He slid the panties down over her thighs and discarded it beside them. He gazed in wonder between those thighs, breathing in her aroma, running fingertips through fur trimmed only enough to wear a bikini.

Ever since, he could not explain why he went down on what may be a sex robot. Perhaps he simply needed to see, to feel intimately, to taste how real she was. But he did kiss her silky lips, he licked her warm, steamy insides, attacked her tiny button with the skill gathered from decades of experience. Every bit a woman, she looked, felt and tasted real as any other woman, and responded with the enthusiasm of the most thrilled in his past. Perhaps a little more enthusiasm.

But Carl did not pay to pleasure an android.

When her moaning and writhing finished, she did not wait for him to beg. Becca always had been good about returning a favor, and if he ever did anything for him, during all of her life, she always eagerly repaid all debts.

Lovely, soft lips kissed his cock, which she pulled from the boxer's fly in her hurry to please him. Her tongue nearly drove him mad even before she took him into the tight warmth of her mouth. She took him fully and deeply, her lips enveloping him down to the root, as he melted into the mattress. The day's torment, the taboo, the insanity of it made him come too quickly, but not deriving him of the full pleasure she gave. She sucked him dry, literally milking the last drops from him with her slender fingers, devoured by those pale lips, the light enough to see her eyes looking up at him the entire time.

"I need to pee," she said, and ran naked into the bathroom, the light silhouetting her form magnificently. He always liked skinny girls. In fact, most of the girls he dated bore a resemblance to her. She was the finest piece of art he ever laid eyes on. He thought he heard pee above the fan noise, but that must be his imagination. Had to be.

He was still hard when he took his turn in the bathroom. It took all his effort to aim. "Maybe skip the T-complex tomorrow," he muttered to himself. Becca waited for him, hiding under the sheets with a Cheshire Cat smile shining in the shadows.

"I hope you saved something for me."

He pulled the sheet aside and lay atop her. "I saved everything for you."

"Good," she said, "because, I probably shouldn't tell you this, but I have been dreaming of this for a long time."

"You have?"

Her head nodded. "Girls have terribly inappropriate thoughts when their hormones start developing and their big brother is running around the house without his shirt on, showering only a thin wall away." It was like she was reading his mind, and had been since he first entered puberty. "Do boys have the same thoughts about their sisters?"

He squeezed a breast as he looked down on her. "I can't speak for all boys, but when they have sisters who are as beautiful as mine, they do."

"Why did we wait so long?"

Indeed, why had they? Carl caught himself several times over the years, just before he said something he might regret. Most recently at her birthday two years before, when her husband passed out drunk two hours into the party. They were both liquored up later in the evening, to that touchy point where they bumped drunkenly against each other and he twirled her hair with his fingers, the same way he did now.

"I want you on top of me," he said.

"I want that, too."

Becca rode him like a bucking bronco rider. Like a woman possessed. It was he that possessed her, and their bodies fit together like two missing puzzle pieces, her yin to his yang. Tight, the way skinny 18-year-olds are, she neither pretended to innocence nor acted whorish. She behaved as though she belonged to him, and he supposed she did. Her hips moved up and down over him in a peculiar rhythm that tickled him in the most delightful way inside her. This time he controlled himself, making it last long as he possible could. Small as they might be, her boobs shook as she finished each downstroke.

He looked and felt for any imperfection, any sign she was anything less than she seemed to be, but found nothing. She was perfect, in every way. Did she see a man in his early 50s under her? Or did she see her 21-year-old brother, with tight muscles and skin and a full head of hair? She leaned forward to offer her boobs to him, shaking them in his face when he tried to kiss one, teasing him as he bared his fangs snapping at her nipples before she shoved one into his hungry mouth.

He came inside her, a towering, powerful explosion that shook him. He tried not to yell, but why the fuck not? He hollered with the pure pleasure of coming inside his sister, an orgasm bridging three decades. One at least that long held back. He held onto her breasts as she moaned, too, and he hoped her orgasm was as real as his was, and just as powerful. He shuddered, lifting his bum off the bed as she moved backward and forward, rather than up and down, her sighs matching his, until she collapsed sweating and spent on his chest. He held her against him, still inside her, never wanting to let go.

#

The only people on the sunny beach was a couple walking by hand in hand. A young Asian girl who looked to be 20 max, in a bikini top and sheer white wrap skirt billowing in the breeze as did her long black hair, like a TV ad. Together they walked casting long shadows in the early morning light. Her lover might be 80 and weighed well over 300 points, at least 3 times the mass of his petite lover.

Becca joined him on the porch carrying a cup of coffee and a towel, wearing both pieces of the black bikini she wore half of the day before. It was one of those strapless bras that were so popular in the eighties, so sexy. She wore them then, too. She slid a lounge chair out into the corner of the porch already in the sun. "What do you want to do today?"

"Anything you want to do," he answered, taking a sip of decadently black coffee.

"We could stay in," she said, reaching behind her back to unhook that strapless bikini bra, revealing those flawless breasts to him.

"Your breasts are beautiful."

She smiled. "Sounds so much nicer when you say it that way."

It was the second day of Carl's vacation, and if it ended that moment, he would have paid far more for this experience than the cost of this trip. But he had six days still to go.

© de Vere Literary, LLC, 2020