Jean’s Wounded Warrior Ch. 03

I kept telling myself we had to stop before we got carried away. Hell, what was I saying? We were already too far down a path that ended with only one possible destination. I wondered how hell could be any warmer than our home.

It didn't help that our mom kept cranking up the thermostat as we kissed our way into winter. We lived in an old clapboard-sided house with little or no insulation. Originally it had two small bedrooms on either side of the only bathroom. The rest of the house consisted of a combined living room and dining room, a tiny kitchen, and a laundry room by the back door. Some years ago, someone had added a third bedroom to help rent the place. The new master bedroom was slightly larger than the other two, but it was cheaply constructed, and the landlord didn't bother to add a second bathroom. The addition was even colder and draftier than the rest of the house. Our mother cranked up the thermostat in the living room to at least 80 degrees so she wouldn't freeze to death in her sleep. The rest of the house became a sauna. The colder and windier the weather got, the more our mother would raise the heat. Jean and I knew to keep our hands off the thermostat under the threat of the pain of death.

As the heart of winter approached, Jean and I dressed like it was summer. As soon as we got home from school, we would change our heavy winter outfits into something lighter. Jean's favorite garb consisted of a pair of short cutoff jeans and a sleeveless peasant blouse. The faded, well-worn jeans had seen better days before my sister cut off the legs to make a pair of sexy short shorts. They had been loose-fitting when new, but after Jean's recent growth spurt, they fit tight across her curvy butt. I usually wore lightweight basketball shorts and a tank top to show off the muscles I developed by spending a couple of hours a day lifting weights in our cool unfinished basement.

By November, the weather was cold and windy. Our mom had cranked the thermostat up even more to counter the cold drafts. Jean and I took to wearing our lightest summer-weight sleepwear when we sat down for our nightly TV sessions that by now were just an excuse to make out. I didn't own any PJs and just stripped down to a clean tank top and my boxers. Jean's favorite PJs were a set of pink, frilly, and translucent baby doll pajamas. The low-rise bottoms looked like boy shorts with an elastic waist and loose short leggings. I saw her white panties through the leg openings more than once. The sleeveless cami top left my sister's belly button and several inches of her taut abdomen exposed. The lightweight fabric was sheer enough that I could quickly tell what color underwear she was wearing.

Our make-out sessions became more heated, but I respected my sister. I promised myself I would keep my hands off her barely concealed charms. My restraint barely lasted a couple of days after she switched to the baby doll PJs.

Our downfall was triggered by a late-night movie that was risqué for the time being. I think the show might have been 'Irma la Douce. ' The name of the movie doesn't matter. It was a comedy about a Parisian prostitute with a heart of gold. A rich but naive young man saves her. Unlike films today, it contained no explicit sex scenes, but the softcore movie held our rapt attention. Instead of making out, we sat enraptured at opposite corners of the couch. One of Jean's bare legs was stretched out on the cushions, and the other was drawn up, bent at the knee. In the slow scenes, I let my eyes run up and down my sister's shapely dancer's legs. I had a lovely view of her panties through the gap in the loose leggings. I counted the curly dark pubic hairs sticking out of the white panties more than once. I thought about Frieda's hairy bush in the sex education movie.

A steamy lap-dancing scene in the movie caught our attention. Jean couldn't stop talking about it after the movie was over, but all I wanted to do was make out. The image of the pretty prostitute in a negligee far less revealing than my sister's PJs had aroused me.

Jean said, "She was a good dancer, but I don't understand why the guy was so thrilled."

"Are you kidding? She was gorgeous and scantily clad. Of course, he was excited. I mean, damn, she was rubbing her crotch against his cock."

My sister looked at me with a puzzled expression. "He was wearing a suit and tie. How could he feel anything?"

It was my turn to be astonished. I realized my innocent sister hadn't seen a male cock since our mother bathed us when we were toddlers. She had no idea how a penis worked.

"Don't worry. I'm sure the man felt plenty."

The days when my sister looked up to me and believed my every word were long gone.

"I don't believe you. Have you ever had a lap dance?"

"Well, no, but I do have a cock. I'm pretty sure I'll feel it when I finally have one. Why else would guys pay for lap dances?"

"I'll bet you a week of doing the dishes that nothing is arousing about a silly lap dance. They only put the scene in because they knew men like you would love to watch the scantily clad actress perform."

"As much as I'd love to have you do dishes for a week, I can't see any way to settle the bet."

Jean snorted in contempt. "There's an easy way to prove it. I'll give you a lap dance, and we'll see if you get aroused."

I said, "I don't think it's a good idea. Besides, how will you know if I'm aroused?"

My sister smirked like I was some kind of idiot. "Easy. You always get a tent in your boxers when we make out."

As usual, my sister ignored me. She walked over to the stereo and dug through a pile of records. She put on a 45 single and rolled her hips as she strutted back. Mick Jagger began singing the Rolling Stones' uncharacteristically sweet song 'Lady Jane,' as my sister straddled my hips. My sister is a good dancer, and she'd carefully watched the prostitute's lap dancing moves. She performed what she had observed in the movie with ease.

My sister didn't have a chance to win the bet. My cock was already at half-mast from sneaking peeks at my baby sister's panties all night. Besides, I wasn't wearing a wool suit, and my sister was scantily dressed. The only things between my cock and my sister's pussy were my boxers, Jean's flimsy baby doll bottoms, and her panties.

After a couple of my sister's hip rolls, I begged her to stop.

"Robbie, I'm sorry. Am I doing it wrong?"

"No, you're doing just fine. I just need to straighten out my cock, so you don't break it in two."

My sister giggled as I shoved my hand down the top of my boxers. She stared as I adjusted my cock to lay across my abdomen. I managed to do it without flashing my junk. When my sister resumed her erotic dance, her pussy was riding up and down the bottom of my erection. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the most intense stimulation I'd ever experienced.

Jean gasped, and her body jerked after dragging her pussy across my rapidly hardening cock several times. She paused with her hands on my shoulders, and I heard my sister's deep moan.

I quickly replied. "Don't stop now, sis."

"Oh God, I can't believe it. You're so hard already, and it feels so good rubbing against you. I thought lap dancing was all about the guy's pleasure. I didn't expect it to feel so good. Every time I slid up your cock, you bump against the top of my slit, and a jolt of electricity slams into my pussy."

Jean's hands cupped my face, and her lips found mine as she resumed moving her hips in time with the slow beat. Our tongues danced along with our sweaty bodies. My hands pulled on her hips, increasing the pressure on my raging cock. I smiled when the record player repeated the sweet song. My arousal just kept climbing.

I should have warned her of my impending orgasm, but I got carried away. My innocent sister had no way of knowing what would happen, even if she wasn't wholly focused on her own pleasure. Just to make the situation more embarrassing, my sister's enthusiastic grinding on my cock had freed it from its confines. All six and a half inches of my erection had wormed its way out of the front opening of my boxers and slithered its way through the loose leg hole of my sister's pajama bottoms. There was nothing between my cock and my sister's pussy except her thin cotton panties.

Jean jumped back after the first few spurts of my semen wet her panties. She looked down to locate the source of the warm fluids. Her hop backward exposed my cock, which was still twitching and spurting cum on her pajama bottoms and thighs. The first time my sister saw a man's cock, it was mine, and it was fully erect and cumming like a demented fire hose.

Jean grabbed ahold of my cock and directed the final spurts onto my boxers. Jean sat on my thighs for several minutes, stunned, as she stared at my deflating cock, wondering what other surprises it held. She held my attention as she moved my cock around to examine it from all sides. My sister stared into the opening in my boxers for a moment and tilted her head to one side. She frowned before jerking my cock up towards my head. She caught me by surprise when her other hand plunged through the opening of my boxers and pulled my balls out. I groaned with the increased stimulation as she rolled them around in her warm hand.

"What are these hairy things?"

I was panting as I replied. "It's my ball sack. It holds my gonads. They're what make the semen."

"Semen?"

"Semen, cum, baby batter, whatever. It's the white stuff soaking your panties. Semen contains sperm cells which help make a baby if it gets to a woman's egg."

My cock responded to her touch by becoming hard again. My sister's eyes were locked on my stiffening cock as she played with it like it was a new toy. Her hand slid up and down my shaft almost by instinct.

Jean had a wild expression as she looked into my eyes.

"Why is it doing that?"

"You mean getting hard? It's called an erection. You were grinding your pussy on my erection before I came. "

"Oh dear God, is it going to do it again?"

"Probably, if you keep stroking it."

"Well, I'm not sticking around to find out. It's ugly and disgusting."

Jean jumped up and ran to her bedroom. A few minutes later, I heard the shower running. I watched the evening news give the basketball scores. Once again, Cornell choked in the second half. The coach claimed the team was rebuilding.

My mind wasn't on sports. I knew enough about sex to realize cumming on my sister's panties wasn't a good idea. It wasn't as risky as shooting my seed deep into her vagina, but it wasn't entirely safe either. Fortunately, Jean's lap dance occurred only a few days before her period. It seemed we wouldn't be producing any inbred bastards this month.

Nothing much happened for a week. Jean was her usual moody self. Jean calmly announced that her flow was a little heavier than usual at a rare dinner with the three of us. Our mom said she had cramps and was staying in for the evening. Oh, the joys of living with two women with their periods in sync.

I was pleasantly surprised a week later when Jean announced she wanted to practice lap dancing again. Her only condition was that I had to let her know if I was about to spew semen. Over the following weeks, my sister became an expert at lap dancing while I got blue balls nightly. She also became very good at reading my state of arousal. She would bring me close before stopping her dance. Once I was under control, she would resume grinding on my cock. When the test pattern came on the TV, I would make a bee-line for my bedroom where I could jack off without condemnation. I was setting new personal records in the masturbation department.

#

Robert said, "Steve, I'm sorry to leave you hanging, but I must go to lunch before group therapy."

Before he could hang up, I shouted, "Robert, can I call you tomorrow at the same time?"

"Yeah, sure, if you want. It was nice talking to you. Goodbye."

After my brother-in-law hung up, I sat thinking about everything he had told me. Some of it rang true, but most of it sounded like pure fantasy. I knew from experience that growing up with cute sisters resulted in endless opportunities for sexual fantasies. Of course, I respected my sisters and never acted on those daydreams. My upbringing made it difficult to believe Jean's childhood had been different. Besides, I knew Jean was a devout Christian when I met her. Now, I understood Jean's warning that Robert had difficulty separating reality from fiction. Nevertheless, I found Robert's stories exciting. I laughed when I realized that I eagerly awaited tomorrow's phone call. Who knew you could have phone sex with your brother-in-law?