Starla by Starlight

NOTE: This is a sequel to my story Starla's Thighs. But you don't have to read that first if you don't want to. It's porn, not a novel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Would it really be the end of the world if we fucked?" I asked.

Starla replied, in a sleepy drawl, "Could be. God might smite us with an asteroid."

My sister lay nude across my dorm room bed. I sat beside her, lazily rubbing coconut-scented lotion onto her butt. Her pale cheeks glistened like quicksilver in the soft morning light. I'd been laying hands on her for what felt like hours—though who could keep track of time? I'd massaged her entire body, from her pretty head to the tips of her pink wriggling toes. But now, I was all about her butt. My hands glided back and forth, up and down, over her meaty rump, in alternate directions, one hand dipping into the small of her back, the other skimming over a smooth thigh, and then reversing directions, both hands reascending her hump, squeezing down with the heels of my palms, kneading her succulent ass-flesh, over and over in an infinite loop.

We'd reached a sort of zen-like state. We'd been up all night. We were exhausted, but neither of us could sleep. So I meditated on her butt, and Starla soaked up the attention. She practically purred with contentment.

I was horny, in an abstract sense. My dick was hard. But my sister had already given me two incredible orgasms, and I felt no immediate urge for a third. For now, I felt blessed just to have Starla by my side, and to be allowed to run my hands all over her naked body. Still, I was thinking of the future. And in the future, I definitely wanted to fuck my sister. So that's why I brought the subject up.

"I'm not saying never," Starla answered me. "But for now, incest isn't a line I'm ready to cross."

"I understand. But, for me, I feel like we've already trampled way across that line. What we did last night was very, very incestuous. I mean, we had thigh sex. We had oral sex. I came in your mouth, and you came in my face. So, would it honestly be that much more incestuous if we fucked?"

"Technically, vaginal sex is the only thing that counts as incest, not oral sex or thigh sex."

"Well, I dunno about that definition, Starl. But technically, I do really, really want to fuck you, because...well, I really want to fuck you! I want to be inside you. I want to know everything about you."

"We can do things, Jack. We can do lots of things," Starla promised. "Just not, y'know, that one thing. For now, anyways."

"Because of Jesus?"

"No, not because of Jesus. Just because."

"Fair enough. So, what kinds of things did you have in mind?"

"Oral things..."

"Mmm, I like those things. What else?"

"Use your imagination, Jack. The human body has all sorts of nooks and crannies—lots of ways to create some naughty friction."

"You mean like boobie sex?"

Starla turned to smirk at me over her shoulder. "Very funny," she said. "That might be possible if I could magically grow my boobs about three sizes bigger."

"Don't do that!" I protested, with mock horror. "Your boobies are perfect the way they are. They're the cutest little boobies in the world!"

"'Little' being the operative word."

"Little is good. Little is sexy. Just like your sexy little butt," I said, returning my attention to her posterior. Starla's twin cheeks were perfect round hillocks, soft and jiggly on the surface, yet tight and firm below. I gave each of them a squeeze, and then, gently, I spread them apart.

Starla squirmed as her pinkest most delicate flesh was exposed to the air and the morning light. And I guess she noticed my hungry gaze, because she anticipated my next question before it had even fully formed in my brain.

"If you're proposing what I think you're proposing, then no, I wouldn't consider that to be incest."

"Seriously? Does that mean...?"

"It means maybe. It means I'm intrigued by the possibility. A big cock squeezing into such a tight hole—it could be mindblowing! Or it could be excruciating. I don't know."

"You've never tried it before?"

"Nope, I'm a booty virgin," said Starla. "I've taken a finger back there, but no dick."

"Did you enjoy it—the fingering, I mean?"

"Oh, yes, I do enjoy getting my asshole fingered—especially when I'm also getting my pussy licked," said Starla, laughing. "But a penis is a lot bigger than a finger, so I don't know how that will work."

"If you do it properly, it shouldn't hurt," I said. Then I added, "I know how to do it properly."

"Oh? So you're not a booty virgin? You're a booty pirate?"

"Um, well, no, I'm not a booty pirate. I've never done it before in real life. But I've watched an instructional video."

"Porn, you mean?"

"No, not porn. An educational video. It shows you how to do anal sex the right way, so it doesn't hurt."

Starla crinkled her eyebrows at me, skeptically.

"I learned how to give oral sex the same way, and I've never gotten any complaints about that!" I boasted.

"OK. So, according to your educational video, what's the proper way to have anal sex?"

"I could show you..."

"Whoa! Hold your horses, bro. I said maybe we could experiment with the buttsex at some point, but I didn't mean right this minute. I meant sometime in the future—maybe the distant future. Maybe never. I need to think on it awhile first, to prepare my mind and my anus."

"Well, I didn't mean I was gonna stick it in," I said. "I was just gonna show you the steps leading up to the...buttsex. Because, y'know, it's better to show than to tell."

"Alright," said Starla. "Show me."

"Well first off, there isn't an exact formula, because that would be boring," I explained. "But let's imagine we're in France."

"Wait, why are we in France?"

"Because I'm about to tell you a fantasy scenario."

"Why do we need to go all the way to Europe to have anal sex?"

"We don't. But this is a fantasy, so why not?"

"OK, but let's make it French Polynesia."

"Is there still such a thing?"

"I think so," she said. "Tahiti?"

"OK, we're in Tahiti. And we've been snorkeling all day with the dolphins, and frolicking on the beach, and sipping fruity alcoholic beverages, and now its nighttime and we're back in our hut. The hut is lit by candles. A tropical breeze blows through the windows. And we kiss—soft innocent kisses at first, and then deeper and wetter kisses, and then we start to caress. I undress you, and you're naked, and I lay you down on a big soft bed."

"With a canopy?"

"Yes, a canopy made out of lace. And I give you a massage. With my strong hands, I massage your entire body, from your scalp to the tips of your cute little toes. I rub all the kinks out of your muscles, all the stress melts away, and you feel limp and loose all over, like a warm plate of noodles."

"And then you eat me?"

"Well, that's one scenario—a good scenario! But in this scenario, I'm massaging your butt."

"Kind of like you're doing right now?" Starla asked.

"Mmhmm, just like that," I said, gripping her buttocks like juicy melons, wrapping my fingers around the outer curves of her cheeks, and letting my thumbs come to rest on the rim of her crack, a little uphill from her asshole.

"Ooh," she said. "You're making me horny. Do you mind if I masturbate?"

I didn't mind at all.

Starla arched her back, shifting some of her weight up onto her knees so she could reach under herself. She parted her thighs, which parted her cheeks, leaving her pretty pink anus in full view, winking up at me. But I didn't touch it.

Instead, I slid my left hand all the way up her back, to her neck. With a fingertip, I traced invisible calligraphy all up and down her spine, as I watched her elbow jiggle rhythmically off to her side and listened to the sheets rustle beneath her swirling knuckles.

Then, slowly, I dragged my right hand down, positioning two fingers directly above Starla's asshole—not touching it, but teetering on the precipice of her crack. I left them there, motionless, to let her feel the proximity, the electricity, and to let her want the completion of the touching.

But I didn't want her to focus too much on my right hand. I didn't want her to feel threatened by impending penetration and possibly tighten up. So, to distract her, with my left hand, I drew more and more elaborate ghosts on her back.

My goal was to let her feel like she was in control. I'd leave my fingers right where they were, reassuringly close by her asshole, but not pushing to violate her. If she wanted them inside her, she'd have to seek them out on her own.

Starla's hips went to work, rotating counter to the swirling of her fingers, and humping subtly up and down. I told her how sexy she looked, and I bent to kiss her in the small of her back, one kiss for each of her Venus dimples, and another at the very tip-top of her crack.

Now, her butthole was thrusting perceptibly in the direction of my fingers. As I'd hoped, her ass was hungry and looking to be touched. But I played keep-away for a while longer. I pressed my cheek to the hollow of her back and blew softly down her crack. Then I allowed her to make contact.

With the softest possible touch, my fingertips brushed over the delicate crinkles radiating from her most private of holes. I circled it round and round in a slowly tightening spiral until I landed at last on her bullseye. Starla made the final push. My two fingers, slick with coconut oil, easily bottomed out inside her, all in one smooth motion.

"Ggguhhh!" groaned Starla.

Impaled on my fingers, Starla squirmed erratically. Her legs thrashed side-to-side like she was trying to crawl on a slick sheet of ice, kicking the blankets to the floor, unfitting my fitted sheet, and exposing the bare blue mattress. I slithered my tongue down into her coconut-flavored crack and licked her up and down as I pumped my fingers inside her. Her anal canal clenched me like a tight sleeve of hot rubber. Beneath her, her hand was a flurry on her clit.

One of Starla's fingers poked into her pussy. Only a thin pink membrane separated hers from mine. Together, we played a fuck-duet on her insides, our fingers falling into a quickening two-step rhythm.

Then, with no warning, Starla cried out. She suddenly cracked like a tectonic plate. I felt her vagina pulse. From the epicenter deep in her pussy, the tremors radiated rapidly out to the far extremities of her fingers and toes. Somehow, her whole body leaped up off the mattress. When she crashed down, she was thrashing and writhing and biting the pillow.

"Holy moly!" she exclaimed.

"Wow!" I said. "You're very anal-orgasmic, aren't you?"

"Th-that...does...seem...to...to be...the case," she muttered. After a long breathless pause, she added, "It's strange...but that seems to hit my spot!"

"I've read that some women really get off on anal play. I guess you're one of them."

"I guess I am!"

"That was awesome," I said, extracting my fingers from Starla's ass. "But I never got to finish my demonstration...y'know, of how to do anal sex properly."

"Oh, lordy!" cried Starla. "I couldn't even think of having a dick near me now! I need a minute."

Just then, a wretched beeping tore from of my alarm clock. I scrambled to turn it off because it hurt my brain.

"Oh, shit, is it ten o'clock already? I've got to go," said Starla.

I didn't want her to go. I asked her to stay. But it was Sunday morning and she'd promised a friend she'd accompany her to mass at St. Brendan's, downtown.

"You're not seriously going to go to mass, are you? After the night we had?"

"You should come with me."

There was no way. I had a ton of schoolwork to do that day, and I needed to try to get at least a little sleep in first. Plus, I was pretty sure I'd stopped believing in God. So I politely declined. I tried again to get Starla to stay, but already had her pants on. Damn.

We had a problem, though. "We can't let anyone see you leaving my room," I warned her.

"Why not? It's ten o'clock. I'm legal."

It was true. Women were allowed in my dormitory between the hours of ten a.m. and ten p.m., but strictly forbidden after hours (this was a Jesuit university). And Starla and I had already had a close call the night before. In our passion, we'd made a bit too much noise, and someone had heard us and tattled to Brother Steve, my RA. Steve came pounding at my door around 4:30 in the morning, demanding to know if I had a female in the room. I managed to talk him away, told him I'd been watching porn with the volume too high. He let me off with a warning, but I don't think he believed my story. So, ten a.m. or not, we couldn't let anyone see Starla coming out of my room, because it could get back to Brother Steve, and then he'd know I was lying. And that would make him very angry, and I would be in big trouble.

On top of which, there was the little issue of Starla being my sister. While Steve himself had never met Starla and wouldn't recognize her as my sister, there were plenty of guys on my floor who did know her. And once word got around, it wouldn't take Einstein to put that incestuous equation together.

"You're going to have to sneak out. Let me get dressed and I'll make sure the coast is clear," I told her.

Starla followed my gaze down to my still painfully erect cock. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'll make it up to you tonight."

"What's tonight?"

"You're going to come spend the night with me in the city. My roommate's been staying over at her boyfriend's lately, so we should have the apartment to ourselves. We can make as much noise as we want without worrying about that pesky Brother Steve. Sound good?"

I nodded eagerly. We agreed to meet at her place at ten p.m.

"But do me a favor," she said. "I want you to keep your hand out of your pants today, so you'll have plenty of energy for me tonight."

That was going to be difficult. I had a serious case of blue balls, and wasn't sure if I could stand another twelve hours without release. But I nodded in agreement, anyway, as I eased my shorts up gingerly over my aching erection.

When I checked the hallway outside my room, the coast was far from clear. Matt Moody was standing outside the lounge, talking to somebody inside. Ethan Lambe and Ian Shattuck were sitting at the table at the far end of the hall, drinking coffee and staring at their smart phones. And Benny Longstreth came waddling out of the kitchen carrying a big steaming pot full of something.

Again, I appealed for Starla to stay. But she had an idea.

She was so petite and so limber (thanks to yoga classes) that she folded up neatly into my laundry basket. Her head stuck up, but I was able to pile some clothes on top of her and hide her completely. The only problem was carrying her. She wasn't heavy—she weighed just a shade over a hundred pounds—but it was difficult to carry a hundred-pound laundry basket and look natural. Plus, I worried the plastic handles would break. But my dorm room was second from the end of the hall, and we only had to travel about fifteen feet to the exit, so we decided to go for it.

We made it out with no problems, though I'm sure I walked a little funny carrying my overweight basket. One of the plastic handles did break, but not until we'd made out into the stairwell. I dropped Starla with an unceremonious thunk. She popped out of the basket, gave me a quick kiss, and then she was gone.

I was alone with my erection. The best thing, I decided, was to take a cold shower. It was unpleasant, but it helped. As I shivered under the chilly water, my penis shrank and shriveled, and the ache in my balls subsided a little.

I heard the shower curtain swish shut in the next stall, the knob creak, and the hiss and the splatter and the steam. Then a voice. It was Izzy Kizlik. "Hey, Jack, I heard someone on the hall got lucky last night. You know anything about that?"

"I know nothing. I heard nothing. I saw nothing."

"Oh? I thought you might've gone to McGeorge's party and picked up some hottie, maybe brought her back for a little boom-boom in the dorm room. No?"

"Nope. I did go to McGeorge's, but it was a sausage fest. Lots of free beer, but girl-wise it was a waste of time. You're lucky you didn't go."

"I guess so. Hey, wasn't your sister Starla there?"

"Yeah, she went for a while, but then she got bored and went home."

"Too bad. Maybe I should've gone and kept her company. Your sister's quite the hottie—no offense."

"Yeah, that's what people say. But, no offense, Izzy, I don't think you're her type."

The conversation with Izzy rattled me. Now I was paranoid that people knew. Maybe someone had seen Starla and me leaving the party together, or sneaking into the dorm. Maybe someone had recognized her voice as she moaned and cried out in my room. I should have never brought her back to Gilhooly House. I should have paid the fifty bucks for a cab and gone to her apartment instead. Fuck.

Despite my worries, I fell asleep quickly, and I fell asleep hard. When I woke up four hours later, most of the day was gone.

I had a lot of work to do. I had to study for a physics exam on Tuesday, and I'd planned to bash out a first draft of a paper for my medieval philosophy class. I grabbed my laptop and my books and headed down to the study lounge on the first floor.

The usual Asian kids were there. None of them lived on my floor, and I didn't know most of their names. But I knew Joe Cho, because we played Frisbee sometimes and had physics together. He came over and talked to me. We talked about physics mostly, but then he asked me, "Hey, what's this I hear about a girl in your room? Is there any truth to that rumor?"

"Jesus, Joe, you're the third person who's asked. No, there's no truth to that rumor. I wish I had a girl in my room, but sadly I did not. I was passed out drunk and alone."

I didn't like all this lying, and I couldn't concentrate on my studying. I had to get away from the dorms. So, after a discreet pause, I picked up my stuff and walked to a Starbucks. I didn't go to the nearest Starbucks, across from campus, but walked to another one in the town center, about a mile and a half away, where few students tended to venture.

By the time I got there, it was dark. I gets dark early in November. I studied physics somewhat successfully, but decided to bag the philosophy paper. It wasn't due till Friday and, although I had a busy week ahead, I'd find time to do it later. Just then, I couldn't make myself think deep thoughts about St. Anselm's Monologion. All I could think about was my sister's divine ass, and how much I wanted to kiss it and lick it and fuck it, should she let me. Oh, how I hoped she would let me!

* * * * *

Nine o'clock. At last. I'd been walking around town aimlessly for the past couple of hours with my dick hard and chafing in my pants, thinking of my sister. I went back to my dorm and took another shower—a hot one, this time. And then it was time to board the train for the city.

I'd get to Starla's place a little early, but I texted her, and she was ready and waiting for me. She wrote that she was wearing a plaid skirt and thigh-high stockings with no panties. To prove it, she sent me an upskirt selfie of her milky thighs and dark bush, which gave me a massive boner on the train. I'm pretty sure the chubby blonde lady across the aisle noticed.

Suddenly, the train went dark. No, not just the train. Everything went pitch black. For a moment, I was completely disoriented. I hadn't been paying close attention, but I thought we were still aboveground, at least a couple of stops back from Haycross, where the train tracks descended into the tunnels. But even if we were in the tunnels, there should have been light.