Jess was a Bitch Ch. 09

"I believe that, too, that it's not just passion I mean." James shakes his head and takes a large drink of his wine. "But how? It's her brother for Christ's sake and she's his sister. Brothers don't fall in love with sisters. That's as nearly universal as anything in human nature."

"I disagree. I'll agree with you if you make it, 'as nearly universal as anything in human societies' but not 'human nature'. Perhaps, Jess and Jon are only unusual in their bravery in acknowledging their love, not giving in to what society says is acceptable."

James starts shaking his head before Travis finishes speaking. "Too pat, my friend. I could claim being 'brave' as an excuse for anything from bestiality to pedophilia."

"Oh, give me a break, James! You're too fucking intelligent to drag out simplistic drivel like that crap. If the parties involved are sentient, capable of understanding what they are getting involved in, and, AND, are equally free to say 'no' without repercussions, then one could argue their relationship is entirely their own business."

"Okay, okay, Travis. I take your point. Settle down."

"Sorry but I've heard that lame-ass argument, in various guises so many times that it gets on my tit."

James laughs. "I haven't heard that one in a long time."

"What? 'Get on my tit'? My dad used to say it."

"Ouch, way to slip the stiletto between the ribs of an old fart. Why don't you give me a paper cut and squirt some lemon juice in it?"

"Princess Bride, great movie but spare me. You aren't old. You're certainly younger than my dad."

"Is he an attorney?"

"No, he's a marine diesel mechanic. It's what he did in the Navy and he stuck with it when he got out."

"You have any brothers or sisters?"

"One of each, both older. Chris, my brother, thinks I'm a degenerate and hasn't spoke to me in years, not because of the way Caitlin and I manage our marriage but because I'm a 'fucking queer'. Sally, my sister, is busy with her own family. We don't see her much. I don't mind. Her asshole husband can't quit slobbering over Caitlin. Sally, knows it, too and it drives her crazy."

"I'm sorry."

Travis shrugs. "Me too, I guess. I'm eight years younger than Sally and eleven years younger than Chris. Our mom died when I was a teenager. I was never very close to Chris. Sally was sort of a surrogate mom, until she had her own kids to look after." He shrugs again and drains his wine glass. "It's all good." He pours another glass of wine for himself and then pours what's left of the bottle into James'. "What about you?"

"Sister, a couple years younger, Sara. My parents were Fleetwood Mac fans. She teaches English Literature at a small college back East. Never married, no kids. Gloria is an only child so Jess and Jon have no cousins. Pity," he says with a rueful smile. "Fucking your cousin barely twitches the scandal needle."

Travis offers a noncommittal grunt by way of reply.

***

Jon sits on the floor between Jess' legs. She's brushing his hair. Jess had scanned the beach when they returned but didn't see her parents. The curtain was pulled on the patio door of their room and they weren't on the patio. She had closed the patio door to her own room and pulled the curtain. Sunlight streamed around the edges giving the room an almost twilight murkiness. They'd showered off the sunscreen and sand. Jess had taken long minutes shampooing Jon's hair. He sat now, bare butt atop a folded towel, legs crossed with his arms draped over Jess' legs as she brushes his hair. He isn't sure how long she's been brushing his hair but it's been far longer than needed, if the goal was simply brushing his hair that is. He's hard. She doesn't need to touch him for that, thinking about her, the sound of her voice, or especially her laugh, the smell of her shampoo, any of these will do. The warmth of her legs pressed against his sides and the feel of her fingers, following the brush through his hair is more than enough.

She's wet. He can feel it. Jess is sitting on the edge of the bed. She's not rubbing herself against his bare back but she is pressed against him. Even if she weren't, he smells her. He can't describe her scent; he appreciates the beauty of words but he cannot manipulate them as he can chalk and paint. He wonders for a moment how he would paint her smell. It's as real to him as anything else about her. He sees pink, a very soft, very faint pink. He considers, as the brush leaves his hair and her fingers begin to trace the line of his collarbone, if he thinks of pink because she's a woman. He decides, that's not the reason. She smells pink to him; that's the reason. Diaphanous pink, lovely as it is in his mind, cannot capture her complexity. Purple dances with the pink, while blue and the smallest smidge of vivid red eddies around the edges. A smudge of yellow. White. He opens himself to the image, not realizing he's holding his breath, not noticing Jess' fingers are still. He allows the image to be subsumed by his imagination. When he knows he has it, knows that it has surrendered to him, he allows himself to breathe.

***

Caitlin takes a minute to examine the sleeping woman's arm and shoulder. She doesn't touch it, she wants to let Gloria sleep, but she studies it carefully. She nods, satisfied and stands. Her husband and James are sitting quietly by the table, both facing the ocean, both naked. She can't recall if James still had his suit on when she went to take her nap.

"Hi, sleepy head," Travis whispers, as if afraid she might still be asleep, as she leans over for his kiss.

"Hi, babe." She glances at the empty wine bottle. "Should I open another?"

"I'm good, Caitlin, thank you." She nods at James and then looks at her husband. "Only, if you wants some, sweetheart. I'm taking a little break and sticking to water."

Caitlin yawns as she nods. "What time is it?"

"Not sure, probably between four and five."

Caitlin pushes past the gauzy panels that billow in and out of the open French doors. She returns with four bottles of water. "Twenty past four," she tells the two men as she sets the bottles down. She picks one back up, adjusts the towel on the chair beside her husband and sits. She twists the top off the bottle and downs half of it in one long gulp.

"She drinks like a sailor, too." Travis tells James with a grin.

Caitlin lowers the bottle, raises her eyes at her husband and then, smiling faintly, emits a long, rumbling, sonorous belch. When it tails off into silence, she gives her laughing husband a curt nod and polishes off the rest of the water. After lowering the bottle, she turns to James. "Excuse me," she purrs.

"Um, not at all, most impressive."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you," a sleepy voice rasps behind them. They turn and watch Gloria, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

"Oh my God, did that wake you?" Caitlin gasps.

"No, Mrs. Doctor lady. I was awake. I was awake when you got up awhile ago. I was just too lazy to move yet." She lowers her hands from her eyes. "Although, if I had been asleep, you might have woke me. As is often the case, I must agree with James, most impressive."

Caitlin is blushing a deep red. Travis nudges her with his knee. "Serves you right, show off."

Gloria yawns again as she slips out of her suit; when in Rome. James pulls a chair over beside him, draped with a towel. The sun has moved far enough across the sky so that they can sit in the shade and look at the ocean. Gloria represses a smile as she imagines how the four of them, naked as jay birds except for their sunglasses, must look. "Caitlin?" She asks without looking at the young woman.

"Hmm?"

"A medical question, sorry dear, you must hate people doing that. Do you think a good plastic surgeon could fix my boobs?"

Caitlin leans forward to stare past the men. "Fix 'em? What's wrong with them?"

"Their hideous. Look."

"Gloria, I have looked, and in something less than a professional manner. You have beautiful breasts."

"Their monstrous. I hate them."

"I think they're perfectly lovely but if you don't, I'm sure you can find someone to help you out. I can ask around if you like. If anyone would know it would be my mother."

"Gloria, please do not ask Travis to rate your breasts, dear."

"Hush, James." She reaches over and entwines her fingers with his.

"Well, for what it's worth I see nothing wrong with your breasts, Gloria."

"Thank you, Travis."

***

The image of what he wants to paint safely tucked away in his head, Jon turns, kneeling now between Jess' legs. He strokes her thighs, eyes unable to settle, moving from her face, her half smile, her breasts, her pussy. He leans over and kisses her belly button, hands pressed against her sides. His lips move ever lower, slowly. He stops, often, to brush his nose over her skin and inhale. With each breath, the vision in his head grows more real. He lets his still damp hair hang down and sways his head back and forth, smiling as goosebumps blossom on her skin. He plants his lips atop her clit and presses them there for a moment before detouring to the tops and insides of her legs. They only have four more days before he leaves but he feels as if time has no meaning, not here, not now. At this moment, he has all the time in the world. He rubs his nose in the crease between her thigh and pussy, kissing, nipping, blowing, inhaling. She rests quietly beneath him, hands cupping her breasts.

He collects her wetness on his outstretched tongue before sucking both sets of her lovely pussy lips into his mouth. His tongue moves up and down her slit, his nose rubbing over her clit. His lips engulf her clit. He pulls at it, tonguing it. He feels her stiffen and hears her soft gasps as she cums. He stops sucking, knowing she's too sensitive for that, but he buries his tongue inside her, pressing his cheeks into her wetness.

Jon stands, stoops, and lifts her with one hand under her butt. Her legs wrap around him. He forces his cock down and tilts his pelvis to enter her. It's an awkward position, only her shoulders and head rest on the bed but they're young and strong. Once he's inside her, and how easy penetrating her has become; her body wraps around him, like it's the only place in the universe he should be. He supports her butt with his hands. When he thrusts, his cock pushes along the front wall of her pussy. He imagines he can feel the swell of her G spot. He makes only small movements, lifting her and lowering her with his hands, letting the head of his cock massage the most sensitive part of her pussy, aside from her clit. Her legs tighten around him.

Jess is biting at the back of one arm, as the second orgasm overwhelms the not-quite-complete first one. The two waves of bliss crash into each other and become amplified. She uses her legs to jerk herself up and down on his maddening prick. She feels liquid gush from her cunt. She thinks she must have wet herself; she's never been a squirter.

He reaches behind him and unlocks her legs, pulling out of her. She cries out, silently against the back of her arm, when his cock leaves her. She wants to scream at him to put it back, fill her pussy again but she can't speak, not daring to pull her mouth away from her arm.

He flips her over. She's kneeling on the bed. Her body is still quivering. His cock is rubbing against the crack of her ass.

"Is it okay, Jess. Should I?"

She nods her head and manages to gasp, "yes" before pulling a pillow close and burying her face in it.

He sticks three fingers in his mouth and wets them. He pushes one finger into her ass and moves it around, then two, then three. He thrusts his cock into her pussy, re-wetting it. He presses the head against her pucker and holds it, letting her push against him. The rim of muscle beneath the head of his cock is so firm, so tight, he doesn't see how this can work. As he's thinking this, something beneath him relaxes and the head of his cock penetrates her most private place. He hears her gasp and doesn't move.

Oh, my god that fucking hurts, Jess thinks, fist clutching at the sheets, but before the thought is fully formed the pain is receding. Jon's cock still feels impossibly large but she takes a deep breath and lets it out as she pushes back. Her orgasm, orgasms, have yet to completely fade and as the pain fades, the feeling of her body contracting and expanding, of every nerve ending singing with pleasure begins to rise again.

He is lost in the feel of her ass sliding over his cock. It's so tight, feels so different from her pussy, that for the first few moments, he does nothing more than stand behind her, hands on her hips, letting her move back and forth on his cock. It's only when she pulls all the way off him and then pushes her ass back over his cock that he awakes from his stupor. He holds her hips and begins to fuck her. She lets him. He doesn't fuck her hard, afraid he'll hurt her. He moves slowly, savoring each sensation, every twitch and tightening of her muscles.

When he cums, it's with his body pressed hard against hers. He's motionless as his body empties itself into hers.

They collapse on the bed, Jon half on, half off her, lying along her side, his cock still in her ass. He presses his face against her side and can't seem to stop kissing her. As he tries, in vain to ease his thirst for her, it dawns on him, they've barely made a sound.