Sisters, by Any Other Names

"Hey," she said, putting up her hands, "I think this one's mostly on the universe. But I have to tell you something, and you're not gonna like it."

"Again with the buildup."

"Sorry," she said. "That's still basic bitch. It got coopted like thirty years ago."

"Huh," I said. She was right: I was a little disappointed, and couldn't even pinpoint why.

"Still hot as fuck," Sam said. "Still Max, not Maxine. Plus, the universe says we should do it, so let's do it!"

Smart phones, for all the shit I give them, can be life-savers. I'd distinctly remembered the character from the game wearing one of those grungy, faux-schoolgirl plaid skirts, but it turned out she'd been wearing ripped-up black jeans. The red plaid was the shirt -- the outermost one, anyway. There seemed to be two shirts underneath it: one a little loose, and a tighter one with better coverage beneath that.

"Less is more," Sam said as we got moving again. "Let's get the red plaid one and the black jeans, plus the belt. Oh, and we can't forget those boots! For the tee underneath, let's go loose and ratty, and let's get it thick with both of our scents before she wears it. We can forget the inner layer. I wanna see skin -- maybe even her nips pushing out if we can get her to go braless."

"And you're thinking of all of this just now?" I asked incredulously.

"Uh, yeah," she replied. "This is fashion one-oh-one, with some kink mixed in of course."

"Of course."

"You know, I think this could really work for her... though I'm not so sure about the hair color."

"It definitely doesn't work with her tan," I said. "If she lightened up, though, I could see the platinum-blonde working a lot better."

"With the clothes, silly."

"Ah. Right. Yeah, maybe not."

"Well," she said, "it's not just about the color. It's also about the cut. And then the third 'C' of hair isn't 'clothes.' It's 'face.'"

She smiled at her own joke. I just rolled my eyes.

We had to hit three other stores to assemble the outfit. We fell into a driven silence, offering up only the occasional grunt or comment about possible matches for one piece or another. At the final checkout line -- the shoe store -- Sam finally said something a little more substantive.

"Hey," she said, offering her credit card to an utterly-disinterested cashier, "do you think I look like her? Like Max, from the video game?"

I'd just looked at half a dozen pictures from the game online, so I felt qualified to answer. "You know," I said, "if I squint, I can almost see it. Wrong eye color. Her hair's more feathery, I guess? The bangs are this too-perfect block on her forehead. You've got that whole 'hide my face from the world' nineties grunge thing happening - though you do actually wash your hair, which I most definitely appreciate. She's also way too innocent -- the eyes, the nose, the lips and chin. You look sharper -- like you've always got a plan, and you're almost always happy about it."

"Well, I do always have a plan," she said, "so maybe I'd look more like her if I stopped having plans."

"Is that even possible?"

"Not really," she said with a smile.

We began our arduous trek back to her car with hundreds of dollars' worth of stuff in way too many bags. I was carrying most of them. We all have our relationship roles.

"Any reason why you asked?" I asked.

"Well, you thought of her," she said, "so I wondered if maybe you had a type and didn't even know it."

"Huh," I said. "Maybe so."

"She's hot," Sam said. "Lot of hotties in that game, actually, if you can 'squint' past the lower-budget angularity and blockiness. Max was definitely up there. I would've done everything to her."

"Well," I said, "I would've done everything to both of you at the same time."

I said it because I knew it'd make her happy. It did.

Since we were already out, we sucked it up and ran a whole bunch of other errands. By the time we got home, we were exhausted. We managed to run some laundry and then put everything away, but other than that, the day was mostly shot.

We were lounging in bed about an hour before we usually went to sleep; Sam was snuggled into me, and I was absentmindedly stroking her hair. I wasn't sure if sex was on the table. We were both tired from the shopping blitz, and I imagined that Sam was still recovering from the previous night's marathon session. Nevertheless, Sam was down to just her panties, and I was in pajama bottoms. We both enjoyed having our partners be naked, or close to it, whenever possible. I think that makes me a fairly typical man, but I know from experience that it's less common for women to enjoy being naked around the house. Sam's atypical in a lot of ways; prior to her insane confession the previous day, I would've told you that that made me the luckiest guy in the world.

"So," I said, breaking the silence, "do you want to get married?"

I felt her shrug. "Maybe someday -- and yes, to you, if to anybody. That wasn't the point."

I could never catch her off guard -- not mentally, anyway. She knew I'd brought it up because of her slavery rant.

"I was just trying to tell you how much I loved you," she said, "and that I get a little frustrated sometimes that you're not as secure as I am about our relationship. I would do pretty much anything to get you there."

I leaned over and kissed her forehead.

"Okay, that's not fair," she fake-complained as she smiled. "You can't do that and make me all happy and stupid if we're having a real conversation."

"Sorry," I fake-apologized. "Should I spank you to balance things out?"

She squirmed next to me. It felt good. "That'll just make me horny."

"Geez, I just can't win!"

"Well, relationships are hard work," she joked. "I mean it, though, Will. Is there anything I could do?"

I kissed her again and gathered her petite body close to mine. "You shouldn't have to," I sighed. "It's just a lot, baby. You caught me off guard. Things are moving really fast, too. You just spent almost a thousand dollars on this grand scheme of yours, and you know that it makes me uncomfortable when you spend money so casually."

"You know what?" she said. "You're right. I do know that, and I should've been more sensitive. I'm sorry, Will -- and not sexy-spanking sorry. Really sorry. I know I'm getting carried away, but the thing is, for me, this is, like... phase four. It's getting near the end. I dragged you into something that was brewing before we were even together, and that's shitty. I couldn't let it go, though. I couldn't give up -- and ever since we got serious, I knew I wanted you to be our man. You're a great guy, and, I'm sorry, but that's part of the reason why I was so into you so quickly. I imagined the three of us together, and it worked. You fit in there perfectly, in my head."

"Wow," is all I could say.

"I know," she said. She sounded truly remorseful. "I was actually about to break. I was going to start looking for somebody who'd be into it right away, up front. Fetish clubs, weird websites, whatever. I probably would've found a hundred weirdos and then just given up out of disgust. But then you walked into the library, walked right up to me, asked for that book for your assignment, and... I sat up and said 'wow.'"

"Roger Ransom," I said, remembering the context. "Something about economics and slavery in early America. Can't forget a strong Stan Lee name like that, though. It was actually weird how many of those alliterative names popped up in academia. Made it all seem a little fake."

Sam sighed and slipped her hand into my pajamas. She found my balls and started stroking them lightly.

"Really?" I asked. "That?"

She shrugged again. "What can I say? I like an educated man. I like books'n'stuff."

"Don't say, 'And stuff,'" I lectured her.

"Just say, 'They're doing anal,'" she replied, finishing the movie quote. "I also like that you remember little details about when we first met. It makes me feel like it's burned into your brain. That makes me feel special."

"It is, because you are."

"I'm still a little worn out," she said, "but I think we should get some relief. We can't be too horny tomorrow. We have to walk a tightrope."

"Swap kisses?" I offered. It was our code for a mostly oral session.

She smiled and nodded into my chest. "Yeah. That's good. You want me to put it in?"

"Always."

I shucked my bottoms off and tossed them on the ground; it sucked having to look for them under the covers after we were done. I got my favorite prostate massager and some lube out of the nightstand and handed them to Sam. She'd already shed her low-cut bikinis and gotten up on her knees.

"Okay, big, boy," she said. "Assume the position for me."

I got myself settled on all fours -- face down, ass up. Sam's first touches on my ass were electric; not being able to see her made me feel vulnerable, and that was a nice change from our usual dynamic. Over the previous two years, we'd built up a lot of sexual trust. I wasn't nervous or afraid; being at her mercy was exciting and naughty, and I embraced the contradiction that I also felt safe.

"Mmmm," she said behind me. Her soft touches got more intense, and soon she was massaging both of my ass cheeks.

"Mmmm," I agreed.

Even though I knew what was going to happen, I still got a thrill when it did. Her hot breath, then her lips, then her tongue on my asshole filled my body with delightful confusion. It still sent the signal that someone else being back there was dangerous, but that was just another kind of thrill, and a brief one. After that, it didn't know whether to relax or to get horny. Sam tipped the scales by giving my dangling balls a few tiny licks now and then, but otherwise she ignored my package. She didn't want me too frustrated, because kiss-swapping involved her cumming first.

I groaned when she stopped rimming me; I never wanted it to end.

"Shhhhh," she said. "It's okay. Here comes the lube."

It was cold on her fingertip, which gave me another thrill. She massaged my asshole expertly, amping up the pressure but refusing to penetrate. She added more lube before she did, and I was more than ready for it. I grunted in appreciation as her slim, dexterous finger slid in as far as it could go -- which, in the grand scheme, wasn't very far. For a full-on prostate massage, she basically had to fist me.

"That's my good boy," she said, rubbing my lower back. "Relax and enjoy it. The toy's coming next; are you ready?"

I nodded as best I could, then remembered to make some noise, too. She liked it when I did.

She slowly withdrew her finger, letting me squeeze around it so it felt like I was pushing it out. The head of the massager was bigger and blunter, but I knew I could take it without issue. She wiggled it around, getting my hole to twitch a few times, then pushed in as it recovered from the effort. The toy was big enough to trigger those strange instincts for a brief moment: intruder alert; what the hell's going on? Are we pooping? They were drowned out quickly by my greedy prostate. Behind me, Sam was making small adjustments, getting the outside parts where she knew they needed to be. The tiny shifts were warming up both of my rings; I was getting a little bit dumb-horny. She could tell from how my breathing changed.

"Good boy," she said again. "Go ahead and squeeze. See if it's in the right place."

I tightened my muscles and felt the teasing ache deep inside. I did it a few more times while Sam tickled my balls with the tip of her finger.

"That is so hot," she said. "I love knowing it's inside you while you're licking me."

I got up from all fours and turned to find her. She was stark naked, brows-down smooth, and her nipples were fully erect. I wanted so badly to fuck her, and she knew it. Her whole body responded, and I could see her fighting the urge to just let me do it.

"Easy now, big boy," she said. "You still need to be a good boy for me. If you can control yourself, you can kiss me before we start. Can you?"

I took few breaths, shut my eyes, and forced myself to stop flexing my muscles down there. I nodded at her, then opened my eyes again.

"Okay," she said, a note of coy skepticism lingering in her tone.

I moved in and wrapped myself around her. I gave her the usual series of kisses -- forehead, cheeks, and lips -- before our mouths joined together again for the real deal. Her arms and hands welcomed and warned at the same time. Mine slipped down to her ass, and she let me squeeze her there once before she started pushing.

"Plenty of time for that once you're in position, baby," she said. "Let me get the pillows sorted."

It only took her a moment, but it was a tense one. She tried her best not to face fully away from me; the playful implication was that I'd mount her like a horny mutt if she gave me the chance.

"Anything extra?" I asked.

"Just one in the ass when I'm close, baby," she said. "Gonna give the holes a little rest."

I let her get situated on her back -- complete with a pillow under her butt, which was going to help me as much as it helped her - then took in the sight. She knew I was looking, but pretended not to notice. She ran her hands over her body, starting near her exposed and presented pussy and tracing up towards her tiny breasts. That was their final destination; she started with light touches all over them, though I knew she'd be working her nipples hard by the time she was ready to cum.

Sam was silky-smooth everywhere. I knew that took more effort than just the laser treatments she'd gotten, and I appreciated whatever science and magic kept it so. Whenever I was worshiping her body, my tongue would just glide across her creamy skin. I couldn't call it a sensual or sexual experience for me, but it was just one of those things; I knew my pussy-eating sessions were easier and more pleasant than if she'd been hairy or shaved, and that made me feel good -- more eager, certainly. I couldn't picture myself eating a hairy ass, but I was happy to dine on Sam's denuded one for hours. The visual worked for me, too. It made me feel like she'd completely exposed herself to me -- hiding nothing, offering everything. That was quite the contrast to how her beautiful, clever face made me feel sometimes, hiding behind those bangs and planning not-even-god-knew-what.

I also recognized my own hypocrisy. I was up Maxine's ass, so to speak, for trying too hard and being too put together. Sam and I were both committed to the idea of letting go and lazing around. Meanwhile, a pinnacle of effort -- and cost - to be feminine and submissive really turned me on. Like the old saying goes: when a man says he wants a nerdy girl, what he means is that he wants a supermodel who looks good in glasses and casual clothes. Sam was that for me. She even wore the glasses for me sometimes.

Sam knew she was teasing and tempting me; I knew she knew. I fought the urge to mount her, plus a different urge to take over for her delicate hands and fingers with my mouth. I wanted all of her, in every way, all at once.

"Be a good boy," she said one more time.

I focused intently on her pussy, trying to push every other desire out of my mind. I loved her pussy; I loved eating it. I didn't need to psych myself up or close my eyes and think of England. The problem was that the rest of her was just as tempting and delicious -- and, of course, that my cock wanted to be inside of her, even though it wasn't close to hard yet. Still, I was making a mountain out of a molehill. There was never any real danger that I'd go off script and ravish her. I shuffled between her legs, sank down until I was mostly prone, found her tight little ass cheeks with my hands, and drank in both the sight and the smell of her up close.

Sam was spicy; it was the fake cinnamon they used in chewing gums and dentists' toothpastes, combined with something earthier as an undertone -- the hint of a smoked blend you'd use in ethnic cooking. Her thin juices were copious, giving her lower lips a sheen reminiscent of our silky, silicone lube. I lapped there first, very close to her asshole, while beginning my deep massage of her butt. Then I kissed her inner thighs -- gently at first, but ramping up until I was almost biting them. Sam went from frustrated to submissive; she could never stay dominant when I got forceful. I didn't abuse the switch-flip, though. I gave her thigh a few parting licks and swept my tongue back to her pussy. As I licked and lapped and crept ever-closer to her clit, I also started squeezing my own rear muscles with abandon, teasing my asshole and prostate with the clever massager parked inside of me.

Sam's clit, and its hood, were both just as petite as she was. Calling it a pearl would have been deceptive; it was more like a BB pellet. I knew I was lucky she was so receptive. Otherwise, I would've been one of those losers who couldn't make their woman cum because he literally couldn't find the damn thing.

Ironically, its small size also made my job easier. As Sam got closer and closer to climax -- her thin juices pouring out of her and conveniently coating her asshole -- I knew I could just start lashing in the general area of her clit without worrying about overloading her, and that's exactly what I did. It worked out great for both of us; she got off on the idea of me orally assaulting her -- getting crazy and trying to literally eat her. When her climax was imminent, I knew. Her ragged breathing was loud enough to hear, and it made her entire upper body ebb and flow like an increasingly quick and violent tide. I took one hand off her ass and clumsily rolled my middle finger all around her opening, picking up all the juices I could. My other hand went from roughly massaging her butt to violently claiming ownership.

The final moment before her orgasm was a chicken-and-egg question for the ages. I feasted on her pussy and clit, yanked her whole body into my mouth with my leverage on her ass, and wiggled my finger around her asshole for just an instant before sliding it deep inside of her red-hot rear passage. Her climactic noises were a voiceless, hyperactive dog panting through a seizure. I locked my mouth around her clit hood and sucked, pushing my tongue forcefully into the spot just between it and her vaginal opening. My top teeth threatened to graze her most sensitive spots, but stayed just far enough away. About halfway through, she finally found her voice. It was a tempest of expression: surprise, outrage, frustration, ecstasy, relief, and the violent urge to do anything in her power to keep the storm going as long as possible. I knew she'd just destroyed her own nipples, too, and that thought made my cock twitch even more than my own relentless self-teasing had.

She finally grabbed at my hair and fought to detach me from her overloaded sex. I resisted for a second or two, because that's how she liked it. Once she succeeded, she pushed my face back into her thigh. I kissed it hard, and she gyrated through her cooldown. I could sense her other hand near her pussy; she was taunting herself with her own fingers, as though the hypersensitive organ belonged to someone else and she was playfully asserting dominance after having made them cum. I wondered if she was thinking of Maxine.

Sam stopped pushing on my head, but still held onto it. Again, she pretended she didn't trust me not to mount her. I kept teasing myself by squeezing my muscles, knowing it'd make my eventual release all the more satisfying. I let her squeeze and push my finger out of her ass at her own pace. Finally, she let go of my hair and awkwardly rolled off her pillows. I got up on my knees, too, and just looked at her. Her post-orgasm face wasn't sexy, per se, but it made me feel like a million bucks. She grinned like a scheming bunny who'd just gotten everything it had ever wanted, and I knew I was the one who'd given it all to her.