One In The Same

Maggie laid her face to the side of the pillow and so luxuriated in her restraints that he had to re-secure her ankles, and he watched her muscles again tense, smooth tensility running from her calves up her thighs and over her buttocks through her back and shoulders. He kissed the nape of her neck and liberally re-greased her anus, doping the blued, still-oily wreckage of her rectum's crushed virginity and her hole twitched at the touch. George fell to his knees behind Maggie and kissed both of her buns – cool, soft and smooth, as tenderly as if each were an infant's forehead, especially smooching the teeth-prints he'd left in her a dozen years ago when they were each last innocent of the other's body and first, if obliviously, wild for the other's sex – and licked her anus in and around like lapping the icing off a donut, tonguing her asshole, her eye-wide-open then emitting a methane puff of exhaust in his face (he heard her above him smile to herself) and he burrowed further, inhaling from her furrow, tasting crude and breathing-in her rich, rural soil.

"I'm gonna mark you again, Maggie" and so she rolled the meat of her buttocks off the chair's seat and into his mouth, and George slowly sank his teeth into the most outward fleshy aspect of Maggie's left ass-cheek, leaving a neat set of bite marks opposite the perfect scars he'd left on her right that had years ago healed into faint indentations that only a doctor could get close enough to question and only a lover would recognize. "Bite me, Georgie" she whispered to him without the least hint of humor or venom, " – mark me again" while her rump quivered in his jaws. He un-punctured his teeth from her, having forever precluded her modeling of a thong bikini, or otherwise have to explain those perfect bite marks to all who already silently suspected almost worse than their own sick thoughts regarding themselves to the extent that no one ever said anything (unthinkable; as clouds passing behind the sun, as wanton a suggestion that the Olsen Twins are queer for each other) of her own brother's taste for her that she knew she'd never really deny if asked, nor even deny she loved and courted. He kissed away his boo-boo of her with the greedy covetousness of an animal.

§§§

Maggie had held the gun that they'd brought down with them, and George had carried the guitar, a twelve-string – their valuables in lieu of provisions. They lay wrapped together in army surplus overcoats, hidden from yesterday and tomorrow both for that one first night without a roof over them, bordering somewhere that wasn't home, breathing no louder than cooing to one another required; thirteen, and a small cannon resting armed, un-hammered, between them.

They survived well, though: $300 dollars a night, cash money, for three hours Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights – no questions asked, and the occasional complementary case of cheap beer that back-when would last them a month – performing at roadhouses where roughnecks cashed their checks and college kids went slumming with their allowances.

Maggie couldn't really beat-up her brother anymore after they were fifteen but she didn't stop trying until one night when they were sixteen. They'd all their lives slept together under a common blanket, and still for years after George had stolen them away from off the mountains a long time ago – a Saturday night or two before any of their uncles, and maybe even their own father, might have her – and as children had clung to each other in the same bed in any lonely motor inn that would admit them.

They'd begin sleep every night appropriately enough, lying away from the center of the bed, but awake the next morning generally together in the middle – sprawled at odds and tangled in each other's limbs and hair, dried drool adhering their lips, their noses touching – and in the interim, for the hours of their most still, unconscious dream state, fit close and flush as spoons but for the ten minutes, 2 or 3 times a week, somewhere in the early, quietest part of the dark, when Maggie would dimly awaken and become drowsily aware of George bumping at her backside. His wet dreams hadn't involved her until they were fourteen and he was waking up hard against his sister's newly nubile booty with what felt like a croquet mallet down the front of his underwear, and tugging his bulge out stiff through his briefs, he'd rub and nudge his wand bare against the soft weave stretched taut across Maggie's beautifully broadening girly butt. For the first months she'd just wait him out, pretending to sleep through it until his loamy wet-heat happened and they could both sleep again, her inseams gluey and his drying stain starching her panty's seat and padded cotton crotch (he wet the bed, she'd chide, for the three days each month she was bitchy and off-limits to any more than 'goodnight ' and a handshake). But used to it and hidden from him alongside his front, she'd begun to participate: snaking her forefinger through the lower leghole of her panties and discreetly twiddling herself off with her brother, cumming her tidy orgasms – cute, as she thought of them, pretty chirps of pleasure unlike the racking, tacky messes her brother's dick sicked-up and left coagulating between them – that were no more than squeezing her thighs and arching as if stretching in her sleep while George polluted her.

She'd have missed it if it had stopped; hell, they had always been rubbing uglies and discovering new touchy-feely handfuls of each other while growing up – hair-pulling and more hair-pulling begat breast-grabbing begat ball-squeezing then break! until the next time either needed an advantage over the other (and one morning just last week she'd awakened with her nose in his fly, rolling off without his knowing) – but this use and indulgence, somnambulate or not, they both knew, crossed some line beyond what either could fake as anything but adult: unclean and as good as only being blessedly bad can feel, particularly the night they knew he wanted to wear her and their pretending ended; when he reached under her head and held her across the chest at her bosom, and clamped his left hand atop her hipbone – strapped into him, for driving power – and rocking her back and forth onto him, he began jabbing at her some harder with rude, rutting prods perpendicular to her crescent and crevice both: haphazardly, vainly, knocking at her cracks upper and lower behind her sheathed in a film of undergarment that blocked the direct access into Maggie that he suddenly had to have – in turns squashing her breast and buns and riding her with jarring gouges at her backside that were now no mere masturbatory amusement and sought to rip past her underpants and barge into her body. She reached back for his hand and squeezed as he was finishing on her, then unbelted from him and got out of bed as though an unrelated thought had just occurred to her: is the door locked? were the blinds drawn?

"What's this?" she said, nervously, not asking, standing in the dark and brushing at her seat bottom over the wet spot, as if she'd been out-cold all those times before.

"Come back to bed, Maggie" not answering, he said, mortified, re-packaging himself, " – I'm sorry (i got caught and it's back to beating-off by myself over lingerie ads; but i do so dearly love you)."

"(i'm not ready) Be nice" she said, cowed, and climbed close again under the covers with him, and the next day turned the room's air unit down to sixty on her way out the door to buy them each a pair of heavy flannel pajamas and a family-size quart bottle of cocoanut oil. George was in a pawnshop across the street buying her a promise ring.

From then on for the next year, every third or fourth night, she'd emerge from the bathroom cupping a pool of the bath oil in her hands and clap over his lap while he was in bed watching monster movies, and they'd as well do battle. Wearing the small cheap diamond these nights – on her right hand and still not letting him lay her – Maggie always won in the beginning: sitting on his chest with her ass in his face and farting up his nose when she could manage, pinning him beneath her and watching TV while oily jacking-off her brother and trying not to be fascinated with his penis any more than what it took to relieve them both of his middle-night emissions ("Leak now, Georgie, or forever hold your piece!"). He stayed happily trapped under her while her bejeweled right fist pumped him and as he outgrew her hand, but his discharge still just a pubescent sploog, a dribble she'd smear back down his dick and then go wash her hands of before she'd crawl under the covers with him so they could both sleep. By the time they were fifteen, he knew to just lay there quietly those nights, shirtless, while she jacked him off through his pajama fly and he'd lazily squeeze her buns through her pajama bottoms, and she subsequently found herself not trying to pass gas in her dumb brother's face, now disinterested in the joke. Maggie had begun wearing a designated tee shirt as George's drips grew to become greater geysers, leaping out at and all over her front, and in their sixteenth year, globs of her brother's spunk were getting caught in her hair; when one night his whole load was dripping off her face and from the end of her nose, she from then on lay at his side to masturbate him. After months of this – handling him, and for the past year having watched and felt him get longer and stronger, all over and in every sense – as thick as her wrist, and wiry hair even, in places where he was once as smooth as she – and aware he had been, for more time than she was willing to admit knowing, letting her win – Maggie was frustrated with him for reasons neither of them were old enough to know anything about, and fisting her palm oily over her twin brother's cock, teasing him for being so disproportionate (when her tits didn't really fit on her own frame, let alone pressed under the old shirt she wore) George swirled his tongue inside Maggie's ear, and instead of playing away from him – in the throes of ovulation, herself especially horney – she spent the first nicest five minutes of her brother's love life bruising his lower throat with a hickey. When she wouldn't let him sex her neck in return, for appearance's sake, he strong-armed her around and over the bed's edge, hooked down her pajama bottoms, and bit her caboose, her cool, sixteen-year-old's buttermilk booty; she yelled at him, laughing, without really trying to stop him, not even when she felt his penis recklessly poking around behind her, and she let him pull her shirt up her back and over her head and off. Maggie threw the crusty shirt aside off the foot of the bed and rolled over to slap George's face for letting him make her naked; but they instead just looked at each other for a long time after what a laugh was worth while the 10 p.m. news droned on in the background. George began kissing Maggie, a salivating series of honest passions and their first that wasn't just a smoochy excuse to belch in the other's face – cupping one of her bare breasts in his hand and for the first time in his life putting his tongue in her mouth as a gesture of affection rather than to bother her – and Maggie as sloppily kissed him back, their first as lovers and their eyes wide open throughout, he searching hers for permission and she, his, for signs of intent. She then quietly rolled back over with her face in the bedsheets, topless and with her pajama bottoms still bunched around her knees. George tripped out of his own pajama pants and mindlessly, too-quickly jammed his bone forward slick between Maggie's buns and through her butt's clenched-fist virginity. He stood from his knees to his heels, anchored inside his sister and hearing her plead with him in hushed shouts that he was in the wrong hole, it's too big, georgie, you're in the wrong hole, and he'd never heard her – guttural – so need him to summarily do – or stop doing – anything before with such choked urgency. Maggie clawed at the bed mattress for the first several seconds, even throwing herself deeper onto him to buck him off, before she reached back with both hands to push him out of her body. He grabbed her wrists and brought them around toward her head, only to have her cooperatively pull their hands together beneath her between her breasts as if they were in tandem prayer to ensure as well he stayed inside. He squatted flat-footed over her hips and, pile-driving his weight from his feet 45 degrees down into her, George began inexpertly cannonballing up his twin sister's ass twice as fast as time is generally measured and Maggie barked hoarse-voice cries of shock – yelps, 'ah-ah-ah' – at each of his 180 or so punches up her can in only the minute and a half they fucked before he abruptly stopped deep, blew her full wet-cement molten inside her, and fell out. Maggie bolted to her feet from him, clutching at her back crack and hurrying toward the bathroom. He heard her lock the door behind her and turn the bathtub spigots on full. She didn't reappear until after the late-movie had begun, tied into a heavy bathrobe, shielded within two pair of panties, and wearing a tampon two weeks in advance of her period, tucked-up inside her in the wrong hole.

"I bleed often enough without any help from you" she said with weepy, forced cheer, climbing back into bed with her brother as he lay huddled, bewilderedly apologizing to her, and rolling over into her embrace, he nosed open the front of her robe and suckled from her tit and she let him. Eight years would pass before either of them would again take a serious run at the other; she kept the ring on her person, but didn't wear it anymore.

§§§

The cartoon grease had numbed her anus and Maggie didn't know it wasn't George's cock again inside her until the base of the conical butt-plug popped past her rectum and her ring snapped closed over it. She couldn't reach it and she couldn't excrete it, her wrists comfy-cuff shackled to the footboard of her own bed one-too-many rungs apart, the easy-releases just beyond her fingertips. She gripped the wrought-iron bars, listening to her brother move around behind her. George then flicked-on the switch.

The toy rattled loud, louder, even snuffled up Maggie's ass, than either of them thought discreet, and they both startled, laughing at the racket. George kissed the back of her neck, patted her right butt cheek, and left the room, leaving her to the device.

For the first few minutes, Maggie bumped and ground her pelvis in some rhythm of her own in lieu of music in time to the toy's buzz in her butt; by the fourth minute she was trying to pry the footboard's bars free of their welds and her pussy had hopelessly stained the chair's upholstery. After the fifth minute Maggie had already cum once and was calling over her shoulder to George to fuck her ass, we'll get me pregnant tomorrow, just buttfuck me now, georgie, fuck me, please fuck my ass georgie, she begged her brother while he waited in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer. She heard him rummage through a drawer and run the ice machine and thought she had no whiskey.

George listened to Maggie groan, wail, then outright beg him for two minutes more before he returned to her with a small bowl of shaved ice and stood behind her over the sweaty, panting neediness that used to be his sister's willfulness. He crossed his left arm over her chest, holding her steady to him, her right breast in his cold palm, and he made clear to her what he wanted. She didn't try to see the small oar he held in his right hand.

"You'll suck my cock, Maggie" of course you will, love.

"No; make me" yes, of coarse I will georgie, egging, begging him on.

Spank; as he'd wanted and she'd expected. George had brought the paddle's sandpaper surface down flat on Maggie's right bun; it got her attention, stinging more so than she had thought it would, but she kissed his forearm instead of chewing off a bite.

The toy still hummed Maggie's anus, less so however, as the batteries began to run down.

Spank, again. A pink sunburn partially eclipsing her right white moon, and the long ago love-bite grinned back at him from its center in a kind of smiley-face from their adolescence that stood out against the blush solar backdrop.

"I'll get you pregnant, Maggie" George said, "and you'll have our babies; but first you'll suck my cock when I bring it to your mouth, fresh out of your ass, and you'll swallow my cum when I spunk."

Spank, "Say you'll suck my cock clean, Maggie" and another spank, "...and drink my sperm."

Three more spanks in quick succession (sharp; hot; him) and Maggie agreed to her brother's demands, verbatim. George pressed a handful of the crushed ice to her moon glow, handling, cooling her cheek, melting the ice-shavings over her fevered buttock, and then plucked the plug from her anus and spread her buttocks; he stepped up inside her as easily as boarding an elevator, re-inserting his cock completely back up her ass and thrusting three times hard, holding the third stroke stuck far up inside her for a full minute – marinating, she knew – then another several, slower, thorough pumps, and he backed out. He unshackled her wrists and unknotted the ties at her ankles, eased Maggie off of the chair standing, and took the seat facing her; she started to re-secure herself around him to the bed rungs, but he drew her by her waist to him and kissed her womb, then tugged at her hips for her to kneel before him, freed and of her own volition, while his cock was still ripe with her lower bowels. She knelt close into his lap, sitting on her heels, her mouth hesitating at his tip, and he cradled her head in his hands, careful to not pull. She brushed his point across her lips, painting her mouth with a trace of seminal gloss and the discolored goo she knew to be the tainted white George had used to facilitate this unorthodox seasoning of her next feed, and she thought again that far better this – preferable, even righteous – than her uncles or her father had the boy and girl not stolen away one night forever, and reaching around his waist, holding on to his buttocks, Maggie then took the bulbous head and first four inches of her brother's cock into her mouth and began sucking hard as if she intended to pull his semen directly from his testicles well in advance of his ejaculation: like trying to drink a particularly thick milkshake through a huge but peculiarly narrow straw, failing to forget that this moment's mouthful had just moments before been parked up her shitter.

George felt his sister suck his fat cock, pulling, as if she meant to uproot him – as much vacuum as motion, using the entire inside surface of her mouth and her lips and tongue to draw strong and hard, jawing and swallowing on him with slow, untiring sucks – looking on his sister's pretty blonde head bobbing dutifully deeper between his thighs as she became better acquainted with her brother's big dick touching the back of her throat: servicing him, a slurping, slobbering oral wash of his penis clean of her own bowel's residual cream-sweetened mucus, her breath steamy, sweating his stem, and her palate soft and her tongue lolling and circling, her lips pursing over him in an ever-varying embouchure – her mouth was animated around his cock with motions all its own from the bounce of her face between his legs and he looked on while she blew him and dusk devolved day into dark; seeing, feeling Maggie blow him, his sister, his twin sister, tasting his beef thick-twitching and feverish in her mouth, and inhaling through her nostrils the musk his loins generated in a fume right under her nose so pungent he was sure she was tasting that also.

George kept his hands on Maggie's head in some form or another the entire time – stroking her scalp or cupping her face in his palms, hanging her hair behind her ears so as to better see his fuck of her sweet face – and in the last moments, when he felt his reservoirs roiling on the verge of another unique sexual reckoning with his own sister, she felt him firmly ease her head and mouthful of him back to no more than two inches – but no less; her face immobilized by him at the base of her skull and with a hard half-pound of penis throbbing in her mouth, she resisted the urge to clutch at his wrists and instead dug her nails into his ass-flesh. She rolled her eyes up to meet his and they looked into each other's souls as his fingers tightened behind her neck and his every muscle tensed.