Revelation Ch. 03

My brother had not yet seen the labyrinthine world of a girl's womanhood. I pictured in my mind to ask him later on to tell me how he felt about it, sitting between my legs, holding the waistband of my panties, waiting to see the first pussy of his life. How it made difference that the pussy he was going to see belonged to his sister. I couldn't forget for one second how he had been thrilled by a strand of my pubic hair. It was a matter of pure joy in my heart that it's only a moment my brother was going to see my succulent cunt, the naked flesh of my feminine glory, my aroused clitoris, my trimmed but well-nurtured pubic bush.

Aha, my pussy was profusely leaking honey as I contemplated my brother's pleasure. His cock throbbed frantically. The mighty organ of pleasure became the image of a depraved saint who had gone mad for some forbidden indulgence. As more of my mound was exposed, as more hairs came to his view along with the feminine scent hidden in their roots, my brother's breaths became deeper. At some point he was inhaling as if an angel spread out a big, beautiful rose from heaven for him to relish its scent. Thanks God, I had already taught him how to relish a woman's fragrance.

Robert pulled the satin panties off my hipbone. I raised my ass to foster my brother's endeavor to slide down my panties. The waistband grazed the tip of my clitoris as it stopped on my clitoral hood with a scalding pleasure. The entirety of my red bush came to his view.

"How do you feel now that the whole garden of your sister's pubic hair is revealed before your eyes?" I asked, referring to what he wrote about a strand of my pubic hair in his diary.

No, my brother's eyes did not come out of their sockets. Rather they attained a freezing depth, with which he penetrated my fiery cunt. It was so sweet to see again and again how the hued light reflected by my loins mesmerized my brother. He gazed at my sacred garden of feminine depravity and was lost in its erotic vision.

"Fuck, sis," he exclaimed huskily. "I can't express how beautiful your panoramic loins are. Your pussy, embellished by the fiery thicket, resembles a hot spring under a burgundy flower-hedge, in a dreamland under the setting sun."

Fuck. The word hit all the nerves that ended in my cunt and tits. "Fuck," I said. My profanity was a resonance of my brother's sexy utterance. His appreciation made me a mythical witch of debauchery in our solitary world of incestuous love. I raised my hands above my head as if I was going to raise the roof. In this position my delicate armpits beckoned my brother as my feminine flesh bulged out in two delicate convex pads, upon which golden wisps of my glowing beauty were planted like two thin orchards. Arranging my legs in a circular position, I thrust out my groin, posing my red bush for my brother. My breasts tossed on their own volley. It transpired that my globes of pleasure would fly off my feminine chest and lodge on my brother's palms so that he could have the pleasure of squeezing the silky flesh.

"Look at me, Lover," I said. "Drink in your sister's beauty. I feel sexy when you ogle my naked body. My wet pussy is for you. My tits are for you to squeeze and suck. When you are tired of fucking me, I will hold you motherly in my arms. I will massage your masculine skin with my soft pubic hair. My armpits are for you to play with when you are tired of the rest of my body. You must learn to value the three gardens in three delicate parts of a woman's body. Except for these three places, the rest of a woman's body is silky-smooth without any hair. We shave if there grows any hair in any other part of our body. We do it to satisfy a man's need for a hot body. A woman's body without any hair except in these three places is very, very hot, because you like it hot, hot and silky against your touch."

"I understand, Sis," my brother said, as my profanity sank in his twisted mind. He was watching me like a hawk.

"Anja," he called out my name. "You have opened my eyes, my wicked sister. I would not have known so much feminine charms had I read all the literature of classical world. I don't believe there is a second woman in the world who could demonstrate her beauty in a better way. From now on, you are not only my sister; you are my Goddess of Love."

As if he was consumed by a swoon, Robert fell in the circle I made with my legs to show him my charms. His nose got buried in my wet vulva. My toes supported his belly while his jet black hair touched my pubic hair. The state of my arousal was veiled by the purity of my brother's worship of my feminine being. To say that Robert imitated my fall on his cock some time back would belie my brother's sublime feels. I had fallen on my brother's cock with mostly my carnal desire. But my brother's worship was dedicated to pure beauty of a woman and was thus far more sublime than my carnal prostration.

I couldn't hold my tears. I couldn't think of another man capable of so much passion. I wouldn't have wondered if someday my brother would try to eat my raw flesh thinking me a blossomed gardenia or enter my poor pussy with his head to see with his eyes what was inside his sister's womb. I wept profusely, following the path of each big drop of my tears, falling on my brother's hair, while his head remained prostrate, dabbing his Aryan nose into my feminine core.

Robert raised his head with utmost humiliation. I couldn't believe that he had really gone into a trance during his prostration of half-an-hour or so. He blushed like a seven years old boy who had committed a serious wrong. But he also observed my crying face and noted how much his adoration affected me. He'd surely regain his confident self very soon, but I couldn't stand his mortified countenance. I jumped onto him and smashed his face against my breasts. My eyes poured down tears. I couldn't help rubbing my tear-soaked cheeks against his. I kissed his face inch by inch, millimeter by millimeter, leaving my sisterly saliva all over his face, as if my hot saliva was the most congenial soap to wash my brother's ignominy. I forgot that his neck and his hair was exerting pressure of arousal on my breasts. I forgot the rest of the world. I lapped my own saliva on my brother's cheeks and forehead, eyes and chin, lips and nose, in an attempt to suck the millions of traces of humiliation marked on his countenance.

We laughed heartily, looking into each other's eyes. "You are a very tender woman, Anja," Robert said with his former confidence. "No other woman can excel better than you in showering a man with tenderness. I can't imagine how lucky I am to have you as my sister."

"No less fortunate am I to have you as my brother" I said.

"Sis, you know the story of phoenix, the mythical bird, the pet of Sun God. It is clad in feathers of red and gold, the color of the rising sun. It lives one thousand years. It has a melodious voice that becomes mournful before death. When it feels that death is approaching, it builds itself a pyre of wild cinnamon and dies in the flames. From its ashes arises a new phoenix, which tenderly encases its parent's remains in an egg of myrrh and flows with them to the Egyptian city of Heliopolis, where it puts them on the Altar of the Sun. The ashes bring a dead man back to life."

Robert told the fable in on breath. "Yes Bro," I said. "I know the legend. But why do you mention it.?"

Robert looked askance. His emerald eyes sparkled.

"Can you pose like that again, Sis?" he exclaimed. "In the position in which you arranged yourself and cast spell on me with those fiery hedges under your arms and the fiery bush between your legs."

I was hypnotized by Robert's pleading. I raised my heads upon my head as if I was going to raise the roof. The red wisp in my armpits and my pubic bush again beckoned him.

"Yes, this is the perfect pose," my brother said. "Just look at your breasts. They are full of life. They're so big, yet they don't bend their heads. Look at your nipples. They are like two long ripe grapes. Your breasts make 150 degrees angles with your body. There is not a second site on this whole world as beautiful as your breasts. They are the perfect image of two F16 fighter planes, side by side, ready to fly to the first whistle."

I frowned at my mesmerized brother, not leaving my pose. I was enjoying his adoration. But I wished he had compared my breasts with something live. I, nevertheless, liked the imagery. The planes described at least the firmness of my breasts, specially the angles they made with my belly, perfectly.

"Forgive me, Sis. I am a brainless child. Your breasts can't be compared with anything live or dead of this world. They are heavenly. They are two erect crowns on the holy chest of a libertine goddess."

"But, Brother," I interrupted. "Did you need to make me pose like this to tell me how you like my tits?"

My brother regained his sense and resumed the story of phoenix.

"Yes, Sis. I must tell you why I told you about the phoenix. If you hadn't posed like this raising your arms, which have the regal look of our Nordic ancestry, I would've never known that the wisps under a blonde woman's arms and her pubic hair form such a mesmerizing trio of bonfire. When you posed like this, your charms blocked my normal senses. I saw you turned into a phoenix. But this phoenix was not a mere bird, but a mythical goddess of feminine beauty. The pyre set fire under your arms, between your legs. The flames flared, they began to consume you. The scent of your sex that you have been emanating for a long time turned into the sweet smell of myrrh, of burning cinnamon. That sweet smell consumed my senses as the trio-fire consumed your body. I could stand it no more as the three fires converged toward your breasts, those voluptuous breasts, which at that moment invoked those fucking F16 planes, but would soon be consumed by the mythical fire of my reverie. The phoenix regains its life. But it seemed that my sister would never regain hers. I wanted to worship my sister, before angels take her to heaven. As I fell in prostrate, the more that sweet smell whiffed my nasal canal, the more my nose searched for it. This is how my nose dabbed into that holy flower when I swooned over you."

Hearing my brother, I became so hot that my pussy secretion increased manifold. The incense of my secretion provoked the swoon and it dragged his nose to the source of the heady aroma that invoked the sweet smell of the mythical myrrh. I had been daydreaming as Robert told me about his trance. Robert was an unparalleled romantic boy. Only he could swoon over a woman like that. I was so thrilled by his infatuation that again and again I felt I was the most fortunate woman on heaven and earth. But the infatuation scared me even the more. What would I do when the infatuation died out? He made me a queen. What if he treated me like a cheap whore someday? But until then, I consoled myself, I would let him fuck me like the queen that he had turned me into. Taken by my feminine instinct, I asked Robert to come close so that I could comfort him.

Robert lied on my lap. I held him with my arms. His hair felt good on my pubic hair. I held him in a tight embrace, just to demonstrate that I was not the mythical phoenix but the very sister of his, his chaperon, and I was not going to leave him, not for this world or that. I recalled a dozen women, of factual and fictional world: Cleopatra, Josephine, Juliet, Anna Karenina, Wallis Simpson, Eleanor, Marie Curie, Sita, Nefertiti, Layla, Penelope, Jane Eyre, Scarlett O'Hara, Guinevere. I couldn't believe that any of the women had loved her man as much as I loved my brother in my arms, especially when I got him as my lover. I also knew that my brother, at least that moment, loved me more than a Majnu, a Romeo, a Napoleon, or a King Edward VIII had loved his woman.

I had no doubt that my brother's first fuck would be my life's best fuck. I had never had an opportunity to be so tender to a man, and to be fucked with so much love. My body was aroused again; in fact, I was more aroused than ever. But I needed to comfort my brother first.

"Lover," I said, tightening my grip around him, "instead of a consuming fire, you can think of the trio embellishments of my body as three cooling shrubberies. You can compare my organization with a hot desert. But a desert without oases is arid, is tasteless. So we aesthetic women favor to adorn the desert with cool oases, by nurturing the thickets that grow on our pubic mound and on our armpits, so that you men can enjoy some semblance of greenery in a hot, weary wasteland. Unlike you boys, who thirst for a hot feminine body, we women thirst for a hairy male body, as desert-woman thirsts for greenery. That's why you don't need to shave the hair on your chest, thighs, and arms. My sexy brother, you are cute and rejuvenating for me with all this black hair on your chest and thighs. They made you hundred times sexier than my mechanical lover William, who has only a little grove on his chest. Now, my darling brother, tell me you will never be scared of my armpit-hedges or my pubic bush. They are breezing oases for you, not bonfires."

My cunt secreted copiously as my talks to enwrap my brother with tenderness soared. Wetness ran down my thighs and touched the hot flesh of my naked ass. If my pussy had secreted at this rate, my body would've soon been drained of hydration.

"Rob," I urged, when he was comforted enough to fuck me. "Bring water for me before you start fucking me. I want to be all slippery and slimy for you, Honey."

My brother got up reluctantly. His eyes didn't lose contact of my red bush as long as it was possible as he left the room. I felt like a horny queen as I waited -- stark naked and radiating the aroma of sex -- for my brother to bring me water from the kitchen. I was waiting for his cock to touch my pussy lips. My labia unfurled as if they were on tenterhooks. I had a killing temptation to touch them but my desire to have the touch of my brother's cock on them was more intense. It came over me that never again would I be able to masturbate, now that I had my brother's cock to fuck me every time I was horny.

When he entered the room with a glass of water, the first thing Robert searched for was my pubic thatch. My girlish instinct took over and I closed my legs and hid my dripping labia. But I was supposed to do the opposite. I took the glass from my brother and drank its content leisurely, looking at my brother and smiling wickedly with my eyes. Now it was the ultimate time for me to show my brother my cunt. Having taken by the whirlwind of passion, I had failed to offer my brother a glimpse of the drenched pussy.

"Little brother, you want to see what is between your sister's legs? What a pity you haven't seen it yet although you have dipped your nose into it."

I teased him and splayed my legs slowly, taking my time, so that it impacted upon my virgin brother and he remembered his life's first pussy for a long time.

Robert's eyes were glued to whatever was being exposed. Following his mesmerized gaze, I exposed the beginning of the groove at my clitoral base, the long dune of my clitoris, the clitoral hood, and the most sensitive part, the peanut-tip of my aroused clitoris. I distracted my brother waving at him and when he looked at me I shot a hot look back. Soon I smiled coquettishly and splayed my legs a little further. My hued labia, glittered by secretion, gaped like a ripe fruit that had been cracked by a snap with sharp knife.

The look on my brother's face demonstrated how much he liked what he saw. When he had seen my firm breasts, it was romance that was marked on his face. Now I saw in his look the raw desire for my sex. My labia unfurled convulsively. Yet I couldn't help splitting it further with my slender fingers so that my brother could have an unhindered view of my aroused pussy.

"How is it, Lover?" I asked when the site registered on his face.

"A piece of broken peach," my brother said.

I maintained a neat garden on my pubic mound, but I shaved my pussy lips every morning, a habit I had grown since I was 19, which gave me an opportunity not only to nurture my delicate labia but also to maintain the beauty of my pubic hair. My brother had, therefore, not exaggerated when he said that my pussy was a piece of ripe peach.

I knew how he got the idea. He was a keen observer of feminine beauty since his puberty but he had not had the opportunity to see the inner beauty of a woman until I opened my legs for him. With the artful movement of my slender fingers, I showed him the oval curve, the red texture of the outer lips and the light-pink texture of the inner lips, and the luscious flesh inside. Thus my fleshy pussy registered on my brother as a piece of ripe peach. But what boosted my ego that moment was not the beauty of my pussy but the pleasure of showing it to my brother, splitting the tender flesh with my own fingers.

I smeared the bloated lips with oozing honey and my brother licked his lips with his beautiful tongue. As I opened the lips further, the bump at the beginning of the vulva seemed a fragment of pulp in the crack of a severed peach which was crumbling into juices and flowing down. My succulent cunt, with its oozing honey, resembled a gilded juice-machine in the breakfast restaurant of a seven-star hotel.

"This peach of your imagination is for you, baby bro," I said passionately, as my exposed cunt beckoned him. "Look at it well. Memorize it. See, how it is leaking honey, only for you, Baby. If you don't do something very soon; bees, ants, and wasps from forest will enter our house following the scent. They will eat your peach and will not leave even a morsel for you."

No, I had no intention to tempt my brother to eat my pussy. He had got ridden of his inhibition. If I had asked, he would have jumped into it and lapped my juices like a thirsty kitten. But at this stage what I wanted was not my brother's mouth but his virile cock, to claim its rightful share of his sister's mature cunt. The conflagration that my own coquetry had set in my body couldn't have been extinguished if even all the men in our small town came in one after another and gnawed my cunt as if it was a chunk of Amazonian sugarcane. There was something deeply psychological behind my arousal and that arousal could only be satisfied by a night of disgruntled hammering by my brother.

Pushing two pillows under my head, I lied down, splaying my legs so that my pussy was in the right pose for the most craved fuck of my life. I had been drained of the last drop of power to prolong our foreplay. My nipples were bloated so much so that they ached. My pussy had gone mad. What I needed was my brother's cock in my pussy and his mouth on my nipples. "Come, my holy brother. Come to your sister's nest," I issued the inevitable invitation and my brother, who had not sat since he brought me water, took position between my legs. I signaled and he brought his mouth near me, without touching my breasts. I held his neck and gave him a deep, motherly kiss. I would have liked it more if he had lied over to kiss me so that I could've taken his cock in my hands to push it into my womanhood. But I wanted my brother to see with his own eyes how his cock enters his sister's pussy and loses its virginity.

I pushed Robert away gently to my groin. I rose to a semi-lying position with the support of the pillows. "Come to mommy," I spoke, not to my brother but to his cock. I took the ever-raging cock in my right hand. It burned my palm. I poised my brother's erect penis a millimeter off my gashing cunt and gazed into his eyes.

"Honey, do you regret that I'm not a virgin?" I asked.

My brother was visibly shaking by the rage of his arousal. He was so horny that he would have shoved it into even a street whore. But I wanted to make sure that it was okay for him to fuck a girl who had already been fucked many times in her life. "If you have any doubt, we still have time to right the wrong. You are the most handsome boy in this little town. I can easily find a virgin girl for you so that you can have the pleasure of popping her cherry."