The Book of Ruth: Before Ruth

We had been talking of art and culture between tokes.

"LACMA just had a major show of Pedro Coronel and Diego Rivera. I'm blown away by the ways they use line and color to imprint patterns into the subconscious."

"They're building on centuries of Mexican graphic traditions, guy. You can see those designs reflected in paintings and inlays all over the country."

Lucia's jet-black eyes scanned across the tilted townscape below us, then burnt into my vision again. I mentally traced her visage, engraved into my memory.

"And I see the countenances of Aztec goddesses reflected in your face, Lucia."

Lucia blushed, looked down, and then looked up into my eyes again. She unconsciously swept her long black hair back over her left shoulder. Her lips pursed slightly.

"You know I am no goddess. And, as tall and handsome as you may be, you are no god either. Do not blaspheme."

"No, we may not be divine nor supernatural. But maybe I can take you to heaven?"

Lucia laughed. "Oh, is that what you call it now? How about if we just go to bed?"

Jill and Carlos had already adjourned to a lounge divan and were clenched together playing tongue-tag. I took Lucia's hand and led her to my bedroom.

Lucia neither wore nor needed a bra under the embroidered white blouse I slipped over her head as she raised her arms. I lifted my own arms and she peeled the red Rolling Stones "big tongue" tee off my torso and bent to lick my nipples.

I twitched. She grinned. I grinned back and leaned in to kiss small circles around her dark wide aueroles. I dry-rubbed her thick nipples with just the edges of my lips -- no tongue, no sucking, no pressure, just teasing as we stood close.

And then: the bite! (And not a bribe, heh heh.) Lucia jumped. I grinned, and bit the other, then started slow deep sucking, while finger-tweaking the first, and fingering her alluring slippery slit through her thin pink panties.

"Oh, mijo, baby, that's so good, oh yeah, right like that..."

We fell together onto the bed, me still sucking and tweaking and fingering, Lucia still moaning and shivering.

My right hand pressed against her pubes. She pushed and writhed against me. I pressed harder and further. One finger slid into her slickened slot, then two.

My second finger did the trick. Lucia thrashed and flailed her arms and legs. Her moans were loud and continuous when my thumb went brushing her clit.

I slid Lucia's soaked panties down and off her legs with my unoccupied left hand. I left my right hand in her pussy and replaced my thumb with my tongue. My left hand reached for her right breast.

Lucia had never stopped moaning. I sucked hard, then bit down on her clit, and she screamed hoarsely, and flowed, and convulsed, and passed out briefly.

Lucia opened her eyes, and saw me, and grabbed my hair, and pulled me to her with her legs spread wide, muttering incoherently. I took this as an invitation.

I rolled atop her. I looked deep into the infinite dark wells of her eyes and slid my questing cock completely into her wet welcoming womb.

"Oh shit," we murmured in unison.

I fucked her. I fucked her good, and thoroughly. No slow romanticism, no tender mercies, just continuous hard pounding, pistoning, until my balls boiled, and her vaginal muscles rippled, and spasm'd, and grabbed me, and milked me dry.

I bellowed. Mill-races of molten metal fountained down my urethra. I yelled again.

Lucia's arms and legs were wrapped around me, holding me close, refusing to release me, and I don't blame her. I may have passed out briefly also.

We recovered. We passed the rest of the night more deliberately, in slow serene lovemaking. We grew together. We shared each other.

The following nights were pleasant for all of us too, in couplings and triplings and quadruplings. Maybe I'll write about the experiences someday. Just be aware that we all shared, all fucked and sucked and slurped, all came often, all had fun.

-----

Daytimes, we checked with nearby artisans and ateliers, and metal and gemstone suppliers, and dealers in carvings and other crafts. Jill passed out her new designs and assigned new commissions. We loaded up on products to take back home.

The carvings and other craftworks were bulky and not intrinsically valuable, so we had them crated, then shipped north with a commercial carrier.

The silver and gems were another story. We had many kilograms of these valuables this trip. We wrapped them up *quite* carefully and loaded them into secure stashes inside the car.

I admired the stealthy handiwork.

"Hey sis, this is pretty nifty. Who modified this as a smuggling car?"

"My old VW Beetle isn't as innocent she looks. Cute, huh? The previous owner moved stuff a bit more sensitive than silver, jade and amber. One of his customers was dissatisfied, and his widow needed money fast, so I got a real good deal on this."

"But you've had this wee beastie for a couple years now."

"Yeah, I bought it just so I could make these runs a bit safer. And it'll be even safer when I have the Bug mill replaced with a blown Porsche engine."

Ah yes, more power. Turbocharged power. Va-va-voom.

Once safely across the USA border, Jill called the trip a success.

--- Jill Lays Out Her Plans ---

We did not go straight back to Santa Monica. We detoured to Jill's base in Bisbee, a picturesque mile-high town with a huge open-pit copper mine. Bisbee sprawls over a steep mountain canyon next to the Arizona-Sonora border. One of the planet's largest deposits of copper was here until puny humans dug away at at.

The mines had shut down a couple decades earlier. Historic abandoned adobe houses and miner's cottages could be bought for pennies. Jill had scooped-up a good one.

Bisbee was ideally located for Jill's business. A half-hour to Tombstone's tourist traps, an hour more to Tucson's shops and its jewelry show, and five minutes to Mexico in case things got hot on the USA side or vice versa. Just in case, yeah?

Over the years, we staged many trips into Mexico from Jill's refurbished hillside adobe. This was our portal to adventure, and a good rest stop.

Today, we lounged naked in big comfy hand-knotted Yucatan hammocks on the adobe's Talavera-tiled front patio. We gazed down over the quaintly decayed urban heart of Bisbee, once the richest town between New Orleans and San Francisco. We chatted and sipped iced mojitos.

"Well, little brother, you've seen how I operate so far. Ready for the next step?"

"Depends on the next step. We're not gonna smuggle anything too illegal, I hope."

"No, what's next is, we expand sales around L.A. with more locations. That means more vendors. Some will be like what we have now at Santa Monica and Venice for the daily beach crowds. Say, sales carts at Malibu, and Redondo, and Newport. I want carts at pedestrian sites every day too, like Olvera Street and on Fairfax.

"And I especially want carts at weekend events and gatherings, like street fairs and festivals and parks, that kinda stuff. I already have some events lined up, with spaces reserved for our goody carts," Jill enthused.

"You really think you'll make money that way? Won't you need lots of employees?"

"Not employees, just part-time contractors. And they'll mostly be students, on their off-time, taking a cut of gross sales, not wages. They've got incentives that way, and we have minimal paperwork and regulations to deal with."

"So where do I fit in here?"

"You'll be running the network, guy. You'll be the teacher, the tough boss, the uncle with a heart, the enforcer, the gritty guru. You be The Man!"

"And you'll be doing what, exactly?"

"Oh, I'll own everything, so I'll just lay back on my silk divan and watch the money roll in while hunky naked slave boys finger-feed me grapes, heh heh."

"You little shit!" I groaned in mock agony.

"Yeah, but I don't stink," she taunted arrogantly.

"Hah! I can smell you from here."

"That's just good honest sweat, kid."

"Oh yeah, sun-tan sweat, with a hint of Coppertone. Hard work, right." I grimaced.

Jill rolled herself over in her web-like hammock. Her splendid twenty-year-old bubble-butt nakedly confronted the blue sky as she cradled her head in her arms, her swollen nipples poking through the hammock's weave.

I got a mean idea. I quietly rolled out of my hammock and grabbed the water hose. I set the spray head to RAIN, aimed at Jill, and pulled the trigger.

"SONOFABITCH MOTHERFUCKER ASSWIPE TURDBURGERS!" Jill yelled as she thrashed in her hammock, trying to free herself from its webby embrace.

"Now you don't stink so bad, sis. You can thank me for this anytime."

Just another day in our lives.

-----

Jill exacted revenge upon me for spraying her, of course.

Not immediately. Not during or after dinner. Not during our evening stroll through town, chatting with other wandering locals. Not when we had a few drinks at funky old St Elmo's Bar, and danced to jukebox tunes, and shouted down Brewery Gulch.

Not even when we showered in the clawfoot bathtub, and rolled into the old metal-frame bed, and 69'd till we leaked from every pore. More than once.

But I awoke in the heart of darkness with a strange feeling. I tried to move. Oops. I seemed to be restrained. Yes, my arms and legs were firmly tied to the bed posts with soft but strong cords. Hmmm.

The dim street light fitering through the room's thin white spun-cotton curtains showed me Jill, naked and beautiful, and grinning demonically, holding... a long white fluffy feather. Uh oh. NOT THE FEATHER, NO! NO! OH GHOD NO!

"Hi there, little brother. Comfy, are we? Relaxed, are we?" Jill's voice was soft and smooth and evil.

I tried to reply but found a gag in my mouth. How did that get there?

Jill's graceful unclad dimly-lit form moved around the bed as she inspected me in the translucent draperies' faint glow. She paused at various cardinal points.

"Ah, just look at those hairy armpits! Good thing you showered recently. Too bad you had sex since then. You smell bad, but not too bad. I wonder what you'll smell like if I do this..."

Jill lightly applied the feather tip to my anxious axilla. (No, do not run for a dictionary. It means armpit.) I writhed in futility, my curses blocked by the gag. I could feel my sweaty reaction. Damn her!

Jill moved around to the bed's opposite side. "And here's another stinky pit. It deserves some attention too."

The feathering was more intense, as were my muffled screams and profuse perspiration and pulsing contortions. The feather drifted down my side. More thrashing.

Jill's ghostly silhouette sashayed to the end of the bed. "Oh, little brother, what big FEET you have!" She cackled softly.

She feather-stroked the soles of my size seventeens. I *know* I strained something as I vainly struggled against the inexorable restraints. Oh shit, hope I don't dislocate my shoulder!

Jill moved to the middle of one side. "Your little-brother SCHLONG isn't so small either. I wonder if it gets any larger? Without other help, I mean."

Oh shit. Here it comes.

Jill insinuated the feather around my groin. I responded stiffly.

"Ooh, it's gruesome," she murmured.

She tickled my testicles. I responded further, involuntarily.

"Ooh, it's grew some more," she whispered.

She oh-so-gently ran the feather up the underside of my cock. I stiffened fully.

"Ah, what a nice little weiner we have here! Or is it a berliner? What is this, a fat sausage or a thin jelly roll? Let's see if it's jelly-filled, shall we?"

Her cock-teasing reached softly torturous intensity. She produced yet another feather, and brushed it tantalizingly along my nearest ribs, then up my side.

This was almost too much. My balls were boiling. I would soon disgrace myself.

But Jill wouldn't allow such wastage.

"Ooh, little brother, you look a little uncomfortable. Maybe I can soothe you a little, relieve your stress -- you'd maybe like that, yes?" Damn, her words were like hot daggers in my brain. But I knew what to expect.

Jill held both feathers in one hand as she crawled into bed with me, straddled my hips facing me, raised her body, and swiftly dropped her wide-open cunt onto my tall-dark-and-handsome cock.

"Oh fuck," she sighed in pleasure.

"Mmmmfffppmm," I groaned into the gag.

Jill moved on me like a kelp frond in a rising tidepool, a slow weightless dance of liquid beauty. She shifted the feathers to hold one in each hand. Uh oh...

She continued to subtly swing and sway atop me as she deployed the feathers, again drifting them up my sides to my axillae, then down to our joined groins.

How did my body react to this? With paryoxisms and contortions and wild thrashing. I would have flopped around like a grounded fish and probably thrown myself from the bed. But I was a prisoner. All my exertions went to only one place: MY COCK!

My hips thrust and trembled. Her hips fought back against me. Two more feather strokes across my navel and nipples, and POW! MONEYSHOT!

I spewed steaming streams of swirling spurling spunk steadily into my controlling sister's willing uterus. The wild waves of wonder were just what Jill wanted and needed -- her cuntal muscles confulsed, grabbed and milked and drained my cresting cock. This gonad abuse seemed to last for hours. Lord have mercy...

Jill collapsed onto me. Her wonderful breasts pressed into my bare chest. Her lungs struggled back to life. Luscious lips brushed my nose. My lips were still gagged.

"Yes, definitely jelly-filled. Real peachy. You're a nice berliner, boy. So firm, so round, so fully-packed. Randy tastes good like a boy-toy should. G'nite now."

Jill remained atop me, and slept, and snored, with my softened dick still caught in her captivating cunt. I eventually slept too. But not comfortably, oh no.

I directed my dreams that night. I dreamt of revenge. Again.

--- Homecoming ---

Jill eventually untied me. We played a few more revenge-game cycles before packing for home a few days later. I decided to skip the tarantula gambit -- who knows how she would have responded? [/me shudders]

We left Bisbee early Thursday morning. I drove the loaded Bug up narrow Tombstone Canyon and through the Time Tunnel under the Mule Mountains, so named because Bisbee is at one end and Real Time is at the other. Bisbee seems to exist in a time warp. KEEP BISBEE WEIRD is the town slogan. But I digress.

We rolled north along the San Pedro Valley across from Fort Huachuca (wha-CHOO-kah) and through the Tombstone theme park. Do not go to Tombstone expecting any real history, folks. It is about as authentic as the Ponderosa Ranch at Lake Tahoe.

We flipped cassettes into the in-dash tape deck, mostly bootlegs and mashups we had bought cheap in Mexico. A compilation of revolutionary songs about Zapata and Villa and other dead heroes. Other compilations of marimba music, rancheros and bandas, Guadalajara punk, Mayan jazz, and Xalapeño hard rock.

Every now and then we switched the radio to a Border Blaster. We did not pick up Wolfman Jack, though.

We reached the interstate and drove through Tucson and Phoenix. A wild and wet monsoon had blown up from the Gulf the day before. Flat desert playas and sandy berms filled inch-deep with water like vast thin mirrors reflected the blue sky and puffy clouds. Eerie saguaro cacti and spiny walking-stick ocotillos sprouted from the low wind-driven wavelets.

We stopped a half-hour from California in Quartzite for lunch: burgers and fries at some sandblown roadside hazard. Well, for Jill, it was maybe dessert, since *I* was her hors d'oerves. Jill had been blowing me for the latter part of the morning. Cream for her coffee, yeah sure. I managed to avoid killing us when I came. Good thing.

WARNING: Letting your sister fellate you while you drive a car without automatic transmission and cruise control may be hazardous to your health. Fun, though!

We picked up another hitchhiker on the California side of the Colorado River in beautiful Blythe. (Here, 'beautiful' means it is less an armpit than Yuma.)

Jim was out of uniform but was definitely military. He did not seem to be armed, though. Whew. He wore traveling denims and carried a small pack.

"Hey, thanks for the ride. You guys headed for the coast maybe?"

Jill was driving now so it was my turn to talk.

"Yeah, we're going from Bisbee to Santa Monica. Where you from?"

"Bisbee, no shit? I left Fort Huachuca this morning. We must have been on the same tracks all day."

"How are things at the fort?"

"Sorry, I can't talk about that. Well, I could, but then I'd have to kill you."

He grinned. I grinned back, and casually reached for the 9mm Ruger in the door pocket. No sudden moves, but I was ready.

Jill was ready too. She'd had full aero-style shoulder-strap systems installed in the Bug. Jim was not even belted in. I quietly locked my seat back into position. Any wrong move by Jim, and Jill would stomp the brakes, hard, and Jim would soon be very very uncomfortable, while we stayed safe and cozy.

Jim made no wrong moves but we found an excuse to drop him in Indio. 'Bye now.

We stopped in San Bernardino ("San Boogalo" to locals) to pee, and for vanilla malt shakes, and to let the rush-hour traffic thin out. Jill blew me again, too. What a great sister! She said it was to keep me calm while driving. Sounds good to me.

We pulled into home fairly late. We caught Mom just before she left for work. Her 11pm-7am dispatch shift was often quiet so she was usually relaxed in the evening. We hugged and kissed her hello. We would see more of her the next day.

Jill and I were rather tired from the long drives and all the excitement (and some heavy-duty sex). We just spooned and crashed that night after a couple of strong Champipple Cocktails -- Champale malt liquor mixed with Ripple wine. Pervy stuff. Too bad we can't get it anymore.

-----

Jill and I got up in time to greet home-from-work Mom and fix a nice breakfast. And to activate the hot-tub. After breakfast, we all dropped our robes and climbed in.

Ah, nice and hot and soothing! We snuggled together, Mom on one side of me, Jill on the other. Jill wrapped her hand around my cock. Mom noticed.

"You kids are having sex together now." It was not a question.

Jill and I nodded.

"You are both adults -- intelligent, caring, responsible, respectful adults. Honorable adults. And discrete."

Yes, we knew discretion. What happened between us, stayed between us.

"I'm so proud of how you have grown, how you live and behave and think. I love you both as my children. Now, as my grown-up children." Mom rubbed our arms.

"We are all adults. And I love you both as adults."

Mom leaned over me and kissed Jill on the mouth, not as a mother kisses a daughter, but as a woman kisses her lover, her hand on Jill's jaw, their tongues working.

And then Mom kissed me the same way. Her hand joined Jill's on my cock.

I nearly fainted -- from exhilaration, not surprise nor shock. I had unconsciously expected this moment. As with my first fuck with Jill, sex with Mom had not been an issue either way. Now we were open to each other, to love each other, as adults, sexually, fully.

This may be a cliché, but Mom looked like an older version of Jill, what Jill would be when she reached her late thirties and stayed in shape. We all kept in shape, often biking or jogging or working-out or skinny-dipping together. And sunbathing -- no tan lines on any of us!

Mom's lips on mine were warm and familiar. Her tongue and mouth tasted and felt much like Jill's. Mom's breasts were a bit larger than Jill's, obviously a bit more experienced, but were still firm and fit, and pressed nicely against me. I had felt that sweet pressure before, but unaccompanied by fondling.