tagIncest/TabooHow Long Could You Resist?

How Long Could You Resist?


How long could you take it? In retrospect, I think I held out longer than most could.

Growing up on a ranch in the early sixties was tough. It was a lot of hard work, long hours . . . and it didn't help that our dad was raising my sister and I by himself. Our mother died of cancer when I was fourteen. That wasn't easy, but we made it through.

The other thing about growing up on a ranch was learning about the birds and bees early on, and coming to understand that sex was a part of life. In fact, it was a huge part of life—the animals, I mean. Watching a bull or a stud horse in action was nothing unusual. And helping cows and mares give birth just came with the territory.

My sister, Fran, who was younger than me by a year, was a late bloomer. By the time she was fifteen, her breasts were little more than nubs. "I'll never get boobs." She'd pout while looking down at herself. Of course, I'd laugh at her, but not out loud. I didn't want to make her feel any worse than she did already.

If you think boys can become obsessed with boobs, you haven't met my sister. At least once a month, she'd come to me, stick out her chest and ask, "Well, do you see any change yet?" When I'd just shrug, she'd pout and say "Nah, me either."

By the time she turned sixteen though, she had developed some boobs, even though they weren't much. "Guess what?" She'd ask me as if she was going to share some exciting secret.


She poked out her chest proudly and her eyes lit up, "I'm getting boobs."

"Getting is the right word."

That wouldn't dampen her spirits though, "Oh, do you think they're going to get even bigger?"

"Judging by mom, I'd say that's a distinct possibility." Our mom had very large and shapely breasts.

"God! I can't wait."

* * *

It wasn't always about boobs though. My sister had always been very open and plain spoken about sexual matters, too much so for a teenage boy to have to listen to. "My god, look at the dong on that horse." She'd say with a giggle when one of our studs would drop is dong to piss. "My God! Imagine what that's going to feel like to our mares." Needless to say, she kept me hornier than a stallion with three mares in heat. I jacked off so much, my dick had blisters on it.

Fran wasn't a supermodel. She didn't have a face to die for, but she had a smile that could melt stone, and eyes that could make the stars blush. And by eighteen, she had grown a very nice chest full of 34 DDs. I noticed—despite my best efforts not to.

Hell, how could I not notice? She never wore a bra on the ranch. She said she hated wearing them, that she loved feeling her boobs sway and bounce. She most often wore tube tops, or halters that left little to the imagination. She caught me staring all the time, and each and every time, she'd poke out her chest and grin from ear to ear.

* * *

When sisters walk in on their brothers while they're jacking off, they should get as embarrassed as their busted brothers, apologize, and then exit quickly—not Fran. The afternoon she walked in on me, she giggled and said, "Don't stop on my account."

I quickly pulled a pillow over my crotch, "Sis! Get the hell out of here . . . and close the door on your way out."

But instead of leaving, she walked right over to the edge of my bed. "I just wanted to know what you want for supper."

"I don't care. Just leave . . . please."

"Is that a Penthouse or a Playboy?" She asked as she leaned over and twisted her head for a better view of the centerfold I'd been using for inspiration.

"Fran! I'm going to beat your ass if you don't get out of here."

She giggled, "No you won't. That would require you getting up . . . and losing the pillow.

I almost lost it when I saw my sister grabbed her boobs. And then she said in a sexy voice, "Now, about supper . . . how would you like me to fix some nice, plump, juicy boneless breasts . . . of chicken?" And she laughed and walked out without waiting for me to respond.

I was embarrassed enough to slit my own throat right there and then.

* * *

On Friday, I drug my tired self in after a long day of mending fences. Dad was gone to auction for the weekend. As I was walking up the stairs, Fran called after me, "Better hurry and clean up. Supper is almost ready."

I was too tired to eat, but I felt a little revived after my shower, so I pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and headed downstairs. My sister was just putting the food on the table. She'd fixed my favorite, steak with baked beans and Mexican corn.

When I saw her pull the tea pitcher out of the fridge, I stopped her. "I think I'd rather have a beer." I wasn't just having a beer because our dad was away. He didn't care if we drank beer, as long we did it at home. He always kept a good supply on hand.

I remembered back to the first time I tasted beer. I was fifteen, and dad and I had just finished a long hard day of chasing down cattle to doctor them for pink eye. After washing up, he grabbed two beers out of the fridge and handed me one. "Son, there's nothing better than a nice cold beer after a hard day's work."

"Hey, what about me?" Fran scolded.

Dad looked a bit shocked. "Oh, you've had a hard day too, huh?"

"If you'd take the time to look around, you wouldn't have to ask." And then she listed off all the things she'd done that day—things like washing the sheets, waxing the dining room floor, feeding the orphan calf, "Oh, and cooking your damn breakfast and supper."

Dad just chuckled and said, "Pardon me, little filly. Go on, help yourself." So she did.

* * *

After supper, Fran suggested I go find us something to watch on television while she did the dishes. With only three channels, and only two of those that came in clearly, there wasn't much to choose from, so I ended up watching Gunsmoke.

When my sister came into the living room, she handed me another beer. I knew she didn't much care for Gunsmoke, but there wasn't anything else on that I cared to watch.

When she sat down and popped the top on a can of beer, she asked "Well, is this it?"

"It's all that's on, sorry."

"No, silly. I mean is this the episode when Matt Dillon is finally going to try to get into Miss Kitty's panties?"

I spit beer all over my bare legs. When I could, I scolded her, "You know that's never going to happen . . . not on TV anyway."

She laughed, "You're right about that." And then after fifteen minutes of silence, she said "Todd?"


"When you're show is over, there's something I need to talk to you about, okay?"

I could tell by her tone that it was something serious, so I told her "I'm not really into it. What's on your mind?"

Before answering, she got up and turned off the TV, then went into the kitchen. She came back a few seconds later with a fresh beer for each of us. When she bent to set my beer on the coffee table, I got quite an eyeful of her awesome cleavage. I'm sure it didn't escape her notice, but she ignored it. That convinced me that, whatever was on her mind, it was indeed serious—at least to her.

She sat on the other end of the couch and turned to face me. "The other evening when I walked in on you in your bedroom . . ."

My face instantly began to flush, "Yeah, you were being a brat, so what about it?"

"I'm . . . it's your dong. Is it normal for a boy's dong to be curved like that, I mean if a puss is straight and your dong is curved, how do you get it in?"

It was lucky that I hadn't just taken a sip of beer, else it would have come flying out of my mouth and nose. It wasn't her using words like 'puss' and 'dong'. That's what we called animal's pussies and dicks on the ranch. But I had no idea that she'd gotten such a good look at my hard cock. I thought I'd covered up before she had.

Right then, I had two problems. First, I'd never seen another boy's or man's cock hard, so I didn't know if it was normal. I just knew that my slender seven inch one did curve—dramatically. And secondly, I didn't know the answer to her other question either. I had no idea how sex would work with a curved cock. Her question made sense, but I just didn't have the answer, so I said, "I have no idea."

"About which, it being normal, or how you get it in?"

"About either. I just don't know."

"But you and Lee Anne . . . how did you get it into her puss?"

Now I was really stunned. My sister thought that I had fucked my former girlfriend, Lee Ann Bradley. I hadn't, so I told her "We never got that far."

It was her turn to appear shocked. "Never? Not in two years? Not even once?"

"No, not even once." And then I avoided looking at her by taking my beer from the table, opening it, and then taking a long swig.

"So you're . . . you're a virgin just like me. Wow! I thought you two were doing the deed. Hell, everyone at school thinks so too."

"Well, don't blame me for what others think. I never led them to believe that. She never let me do more than feel her up through her clothes."

"What a prude! I can't imagine going with a boy for two years and not doing it with him. Hell, I'd be letting him inside my top within a couple of months—maybe after a couple of dates if I really like him."

"I'll bet you would too."

"Shit! I'll probably be in a bigger hurry to do it than he will."

"Don't count on that, unless you're talking minutes instead of days, weeks, or months."

"Yeah, mom told me that boys think about sex all the time. That's why they have to jack off so often—mind you, she was talking once or twice a day—not four or five times a day like you do—at least you do on Sunday. I don't know how many times you do it when you're away from the house."

My mind slid right past the embarrassment of my sister knowing how much I jack off, and moved on to "You talked to mom about stuff like that?"

Her expression turned somber and her tone did the same, "It was in her last . . . you know, when she knew she wasn't going to get better. She apologized for having 'the talk' with me so early and that she wouldn't be around to help me through it. We talked a lot in those weeks, and a lot of our talks were about sex. She told me about female masturbation too—that girls need to learn how to do it. She said it was a normal part of growing up and that I shouldn't feel guilty or ashamed for doing it. Just like with you, she said it was normal—no big deal."

I was blown away. I couldn't imagine my mother talking like that—saying things like that.

When I didn't respond, Fran added, "And she said it was okay to have sex before marriage too, as long as I really loved the boy—not just a schoolgirl crush, but if I really, really loved him. She even talked Dr. Thompson into giving me birth control pills when I turned sixteen—just in case I got into a situation and things got carried away."

Again, I was too dumbfounded to respond. It seemed that my little sister knew a lot more about sex than I did. It was about that time that Fran let out a silly giggle. I followed her gaze to my lap and saw that I was hard and tenting my thin gym shorts. Honestly, I'd been so focused on the conversation, I wasn't even aware of it. I quickly pulled a pillow onto my lap and avoided looking at her. I downed the rest of my beer and asked her if she'd get me another.

When I finally glance her way, she was grinning from ear to ear, and then she got a mischievous look on her face. "Nah, it's your turn. I fetched the last one."

I scolded her with my eyes and she finally relented with a loud exhale, "Oh alright. I'll get them, but I don't see what you're so embarrassed about—so you've got a boner—big deal. We've been talking about sex, and you've been staring at my boobs for the last hour, so if you didn't have a boner, I would consider it an insult."

When she returned and handed me a fresh beer, she shocked me once again. "You do know that I wear these tops just to get you horny, right?"


She giggled, "I like knowing that I'm the reason you're up there in your room whacking off. It makes me feel like someone appreciates the way I look."

"But I'm your brother, for Christ's sake."

"I don't dwell on that. I just know that you're a boy, and you like looking at my body. It makes me feel good. And since it makes me feel good, and since it makes you horny, it's a win—win situation. It's the 'no harm, no foul" rule."

"No harm . . . you're one crazy woman."

"Oooooo I like that. I think that's the first time anyone has ever called me a woman."

"It was just a figure of speech. Don't let it go to your head."

"So, have I completed my mission yet? Are you ready to go up to your room and jack off, or do you need more time?"

"Go to hell!"

"Ahhhh don't be that way. You're more hung up than the sheets out on the clothes line. Oh, and by the way, I put your magazines in the drawer in your bedside table. There's no since hiding them under the mattress anymore since I know you have them . . . and what you use them for." And then she punctuated her last statement with a naughty giggle and an exaggerated jack off motion of her hand.

"You're not my little sister. You're the devil."

"Maybe, but I've got great boobs . . . finally."

I rolled my eyes and took another swig of beer. Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse—when I thought I couldn't get any more embarrassed, Fran said, "If you're not ready yet . . . if you need more stimulation, I'll let you see them. I'll even let you touch them if that will help."

* * *

I've always considered myself to be strong, but after three or four beers and the conversation of the last hour, I was helpless—still totally embarrassed, but helpless. I finally managed to steal myself enough to say, "Okay, so I wouldn't mind seeing them."

My younger sister didn't hesitate. She was topless in a flash. I could feel her eyes on me, studying me for a reaction, but I never looked up at her face. My eyes were glued to the first naked pair of tits I'd ever seen in person—and they were too awesome for words. They look heavy and luscious.

After about two minutes, Fran asked, "Ready yet, or do you need to touch them first?"

Her voice was throaty and serious. She wasn't teasing me or making fun of me. She was asking a serious question, and her tone reflected that. When I didn't respond right away, she added, "It's okay if you want to. I don't mind. In fact, I'm curious to see what it feels like when someone else touches them. I touch them all the time, but I don't think it's the same . . . at least I hope it isn't."

At that moment, the fact that she was my sister never entered my mind. I wanted to touch those gorgeous tits more than anything in the world. I slid across the couch, closing the distance between us until I was within range, then I reached out. I was shaking all over, but I managed to put a hand on each of her gorgeous tits.

My sister let out a pleasurable sigh, and after a few seconds, she said, "I knew it. I knew it would be different with someone else doing it. It feels wonderful. Please don't stop. I know you need to go upstairs, but please don't stop yet. Keep doing that for a little while before you go."

I could barely discern her words. I was captivated by what I was doing—by what I was feeling. Her breasts were warm and heavy in my hands. Her nipples were taught and pressing against my palms. I had expected a woman's breasts to feel mushy, but these were firm—not hard—but definitely not mushy.

After a couple of minutes, Fran asked me, "Are you ready yet?"

I didn't want to stop, so I said "No, not quite."

She let out a silly giggle, "Yes you are. You just don't want to stop. Am I right? Be honest."

"Okay, so you're right. Don't rub it in."

"I had no intention of rubbing it in. I'm enjoying it too, but it would feel better if you'd play with my nipples some."

I immediately began playing with her nipples between my fingers. "Like that?" I asked earnestly.

"A little harder. When I play with them, I like to do it a little harder. Pinch them a little and pull on them."

I did as I'd been instructed, and soon, my sister began rolling her head from side to side. And then she tilted her head back and shuddered. I could see and feel her whole body convulsing. "Am I doing it wrong?" I asked her.

She let out a throaty chuckle, "No, Todd, you're doing it too right. I just wet myself. You're doing it oh so right."

I was astonished. I'd heard that women have orgasms too, but I had no idea what they were like. If this was it, I was amazed. It was both sexual and sensual—amazing, and I wanted to see it again and again.

Apparently, my sister's orgasm was over. The only thing I had to judge by was my own, and I knew how sensitive I got after cumming. I assumed it was the same for her, so I released her nipples and sat back.

It took a couple of minutes for her to lift her head up and look at me. "That was amazing. That's the first time I've ever cum without rubbing my puss. I knew having a boy's hands on my tits would be a fantastic feeling, but I never dreamed I could cum from it."

I felt emboldened, and a bit proud. "I'm glad I could oblige."

I half expected her to say something coy or playful or even sarcastic, but she didn't. Instead, she looked me right in the eyes and purred, "You did more than oblige, Todd, you made me cum. Thank you."

"You're welcome." And I slid back to my end of the couch, picked up my beer and drained it.



"It's your turn. I know you need to, so please do it now."

"Do it?" I gulped.

"Please don't go up to your room. Do it here. Do it for me. I really, really want to watch you do it . . . please."

"Jack off?" I asked in what I'm sure was an astonished tone.

She didn't hesitate, the husky tone still in her voice, her eyes just now returning to normal, "Yes, please do it for me."

First, there was no doubt that I needed to, and second, her voice was so . . . pleading, so begging. My little sister was suddenly vulnerable. I'd never seen her vulnerable before. That almost put a damper on my eagerness to cum, but in truth, nothing could have done that.

After at least two full minutes of contemplation, I stood up and started to remove my shorts, but my sister stopped me. "No, please . . . let me do it." And then she proceeded to ease the elastic band of my shorts out far enough from my body to pass over my curved boner. She slid them down my legs, and finally off my feet. I was naked from the waist down.

"It's beautiful . . . it's awesome." She mumbled as she eased back and gawked at my twitching member. "Does it hurt when it's like that?"

I chucked, "No, but it does yearn for attention."

She finally laughed and then said, "Then what are you waiting for? Give it some damned attention."

I had only stoked my throbbing cock ten or twelve times before I began feeling those familiar tingles of cum building in my balls and making its way to my cock. A few seconds later, I grunted loudly and began pumping cum into the air and onto my stomach, balls, thighs, and probably, the couch on either side of me.

* * *

When I could, I turned to look at my sister. Her eyes were still wide with amazement. She returned my stare and finally said, still in that deep husky voice, "That was the most incredible thing I've ever seen in my life. I'll get you a washcloth and towel in a minute, but there's something I need to do first."

"Oh, what's that?"

"Baby, you made me cum, but now I need to really cum . . . cum hard. Please just give me a minute or two."

"Whatever you need, just go for it."

And with that, my sister laid her head back on the arm rest. She put her feet up on the couch and slid her toes under my thigh. Then, she spread her legs wide and began rubbing herself furiously through her panties. And then, she pulled her panties aside, and began plunging her fingers inside her puss. I was mesmerized by the sight before me.

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bySir_Erotica© 38 comments/ 405978 views/ 123 favorites

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