One In Three Ch. 02

As were her daughters still agape, once it was all done – a careful half-hour later, all three girls having done their ten minutes apiece boring-open their mother's anus as was theirs by their father – air rushed fresh up Maggie's bowels as does weather through an open window and while semen still dribbled from her daughters' rectums, and the four women sat in a huddle at the site of their lovely demolition, all four whispering broken-voice and quietly crying to each other as do women when comforting each other & themselves; or not unlike soldiers having survived a battle – we all pretty much work the same way.

George was suddenly very afraid and within seconds of a panic & bolting from this very dangerous alliance of his women, when they all looked at him at once, seeing his fear – smiling at him and half-laughing through their tears, the women beautifully looking back at each other genuinely happy & relieved and then looking back again at him, sniffling and wiping their noses and laughing some more – and the females in the room let the lone male know he had nothing to fear, this was not about him.

The family recovered together – remaining naked and casually, lovingly switching out among each other in pairs and threesomes as their desires and energies lead them; they ordered Chinese take-out and made dessert of each other where conventional cream & syrup could be found, listening to the crap that was usual television and drinking wine and getting high and speaking of whatever came to mind and the five of them in no hurry for anything in particular, happily content to simply love and make love as their desires and energies lead them further still.

However much George was ever satisfied again, he would never again be among these four women of his whom he so dearly loved without being somewhat prepared to die.

§§§

Maggie had kept just out of reach of her brother's touch, at first playfully, then insisting.

For days after he'd last done the girls she believed she was just letting him rest, renew his juices; at three weeks she knew better but staved him off with promises that this abstinence would make them all the more hungrier for each other, and then nearing a month George knew too she was afraid: crows feet and birth lines – no grown woman, however hot, can be told she's preferable to a teenage girl, let alone three.

He'd finally had enough one evening, untucking her shirt and making plain he would not be put off any longer. He just needed a piece and hers would do, she told him, bringing her shirt back down and trying to step away, refusing him outright; he'd not let go.

"I could call the girls and one would manage to meet with me somewhere" pausing; he had more to say but for one more moment let her continue to think what she was thinking.

" – I was a rite of passage; you they wanted, and so do I" and he tugged her closer.

"Not here" she surrendered, weakly, and leading him toward the bedroom; or rather, out of the den, the light.

As they entered the bedroom, George reached for the low-watt corner lamp they used as backlight.

Maggie gave up. She put her hand atop his, stopping him, not looking at him.

"...please?" she asked quietly, and he let her keep the room dark, the streetlamps outside below their window providing only the dimmest means by which to see. She took the two remaining bottles of Go-Glide from the dresser and held them up for him to choose:

"They're peach and margarita..."

"Neither."

"Okay..." do me dry then; I'll take what I can get. She knew they had coconut oil, but didn't offer it.

Maggie quickly stripped out of her sweatshirt and jeans; she might as well have been alone and in a hurry for a bath. She went over to the bed to peal off her panties, threw her bra aside as if it were dead, and lay face-down on the bed looking out the window at the night – her chest pressed to the mattress and her haunches high in the air, the white moonlight reflecting off her own moons, as if to demonstrate how very cherry she was not. He squared-up to her and quickly did her several times raw in the ass, but she made no noise.

"Is this what you want?" her brother, from behind her, stroking.

"mm-mhuh...; more – " like you did them, she said, his sister, naming names.

He'd not listen to this. George stopped and sat out of her light, next to her and holding her as wide open and kissing and tonguing the gape he'd made. She was beginning to feel worshipped again. He brought the cocoanut oil out of the bedside drawer and pulled Maggie over onto her back. She was meeting his eyes again, watching him trickling streams from her nipples to her knees and drawing circles over her abdomen, her brother anointing his sister with their tradition: cocoanut was their scent for sex, having always reminded them of sweet nakedness, and it went well with sweat.

He massaged the slicks into her pores, in turn lifting her arms to lick & suck her armpits and then her breasts, all the while slowly smoothing his palm over her body and the whole length of her flesh now shiny in the twilight. "This is our thing..." George said, not so much speaking to her, and Maggie not so much able anymore to suppress a smile. They both knew he had won her over and she was now kinda milking it – it was he who was the moody one, but he promised himself he would from now on baby her regularly; his sister had her base lusts, but sex shouldn't always be play-for-play's-sake: it should on occasion be as dead-serious as something so life-affirming warranted – and they weren't exactly alike: she needed to be cherished and he swore he would remember this. Stupid, he thought himself: he was always cherished by her, in all ways, especially giving herself over to him, for anything – no wonder rough fucks were enough.

George rolled her onto her front and similarly buttered all the length of her other side, particularly relaxing her neck and shoulders, down her back to her waist, curiously skipping over her buns to smooth the backs of her legs; her face turned toward him, she watched him rub her down and thought cute this obvious de-emphasis of his favorite part of her figure; she let him be good to her for a while longer, then pulled a cheek aside inviting him to pour an ounce down her hole – he was being so nice, it's time again; have some cake.

Her brother got behind her again and she drew up onto her hands & knees, this time agreeably and enthused, participatory, and Maggie held ready for the good ramming she knew he at heart wanted to give her.

George instead entered her slowly – gently? this wasn't like him regarding sodomy; by contrast he had been all-downtown with the girls – and pulled her upright so as seating her heavily onto his pole to the hilt and embracing her: no huge strokes and ass-slaps, her brother just had her wholly settle onto his prick to the root lovingly, caressing her breasts and abdomen and softly kissing & whispering to Maggie to not speak, don't move, sweet nothings of how just this was good – just this with her, his so very beautiful sister, was so very good.

And it was all so very lovely for the time; but gradually George was silent also, and it was soon a challenge for them to both be so simply still and quiet.

It was another game, this intercourse left to only squeezes and busses, touching noses over her shoulder and looking closely into each other's eyes – each waiting out the other: 'you go first', wordlessly, addressing the mute motionlessness with fun stubbornness and both thinking this the other's struggle: 'you go first', planted, rather than shoveling at her ditch, neither holding the other in place and left to resist their own tendencies themselves without aid of force or restraint: then ( ...), their smiles waning and their expressions deepening, each recognizing their own lusts in the other's look and discovering it was themselves they were trying to outlast, together –

(they shouldn't be doing this at all, ever, not any of the incest they'd indulged in all their lives and with which made a family – an admission of guilt that made it all the better; Maggie liked treating herself to these thoughts: dirty girl – good heart.)

(and his daughters had been ripe and delicate and tight and George had enjoyed them and felt bad for not having felt bad at all; the girls were good with it, so he could afford this. But Maggie was substantive – she brought her whole being into the bedroom; she got him.)

– holding back a power of nature as does a dam.

A dirty, increasing tickle – breaking sweat and their minds racing with the building effort to do nothing – then a maddening need to screw and ponies straining at the reins; she began to whimper though didn't speak, and he moaned though didn't move, and their looks beseeching and groping the other for words or means they could run with while their lusts suffocated for fuck – his erection twitching and her sphincter throbbing of their own, neither brother nor sister sure whose pulse was which and their flesh stabbing & gripping for more direct action than their wills would allow.

To fall forward would be to invite thrusts, to surrender; Maggie leaned back without rest against her brother and felt him nearer his relief – locked upright, his chest muscles and thighs and abdomen as relentlessly hard as was his cock stiff in her ass; his body hair, even, seemed erect – and in the slow pre-count of his dry spasms, she made damp his balls with her first fluids, then shuddered and let go her own warm orgasm as he quietly dumped a flow of liquid heat into her, a sunshine flood of semen up her butt as easy-going as a summer Sunday afternoon.

Even soft, there was enough of him for a flaccid six inches to sleep snug inside her; they addressed each other now, finally, with words, the two of them still holding close and still still in tandem embrace and whispering each to the one they were so dearly in love with things that needed to be said. After a time, neither having moved from their place at the other, Maggie felt her brother hardening broad again and grow slowly the four remaining inches of his full length back up her bowels, George gently creeping deep back up his sister's bottom again as if being secret.

She leaned forward onto her elbows, her fingers closing over the bed sheets, her white-knuckle grasp a grip of the mattress as if to hold onto the surface of their world no less than her grip of her brother, smiling; he took ahold of her hips as if this fistful of his sister's flesh meant his very life, hearing her smile, smiling as well and glad because of her himself.

§§§

Deep. Smooth.

Then deep then smooth.

Then deep then smooth again.

And again.

Slick. Good. Great. Wet.

Fast. Thick.

Driving.

Hard. Wide.

Driving.

Close. Almost. There. Almost.

There.

Slop. Hot. Fill.

And there.

Soak. Slop. Full.

The End