The Patch: Paloma & Her Sister

"It's too much work, Pigeon. They work you too hard. At least take these tortillas to keep you from starving."

The tortillas had a little bean and chicken rolled up in them, frijoles con pollo, and Paloma hugged Isabel, grateful to be reprieved.

Now Paloma came downstairs from a long bath in Isabel's bathroom, the only room with a tub, and gleefully exclaimed when she saw what Isabel was watching.

"Mi Corazõn! My favorite. I love this show. It's so. Such a soap opera."

Isabel patted the seat next to her, and Paloma, dressed only a short pink terrycloth robe, snuggled next to her sister.

The girls were at Ramona's house and were safe. Isabel knew Ramona's mother well, and she allowed no boy to visit. Ramona's mother absolutely forbid any kind of alcohol or drug. So the girls were safe.

Both Isabel and Paloma could put their minds at rest.

XII

Jessica, la pelirroja, caught up to her after class one day.

"So," she asked,"how's everything going? I don't see you sneaking a smoke any more. Does that mean? Are you wearing it?"

Jessica leered at her, eagerly, expectantly, excitedly.

Jessica's excitement put Paloma off somehow, but she smiled and nodded.

"The past week now," she said. "Me and my sister both."

She didn't know why she added that last part. Surely none of this was any of the coed's business.

Jessica bit her lip.

"That's so cool. I just know it's going to work for you. And for her. You'll never want to smoke again."

Then Jessica turned around and trotted off, Paloma watching the swing of her wide round ass encased in tight pink leggings like a second skin.

Biggest dyke on campus, she thought. Almost indifferently.

***

At night Paloma would sleep in the guest bedroom, down the hall from the two sisters. At first she didn't notice the smell, but after the third night she realized she couldn't take it anymore.

In the morning she asked her sister about it.

"Hm? Smell? I didn't notice anything."

Paloma insisted.

"I can't sleep up there. I'll just throw some pillows on the couch. I'll be fine. That room. It's just so. Stuffy. Or something."

That was on Thursday.

Now, as Paloma yawned against Isabel's shoulder, the two of them engrossed in the schemes of La Mujer Salvaje, she wondered how much longer her sister was going to stay up.

Sor Juana's term was reaching its limit. Soon she'd give birth to the child la bruja insisted would be a girl. Agents of the Iglesia del Nilo had gone through the nearby village, terrorizing the population of paisanos and campesinos, but no one gave up the location of the wild woman's choza.

The show ended on a cliffhanger; it always did.

At that moment Camila and Angela burst through the door, shouting at each other. But it was normal shouting, and both girls were quite sober.

They quickly vanished into their rooms.

When Isabel stood up, Paloma yawned, stretched and fluffed her pillows.

Isabel stretched her arm out, holding her hand out for her sister to take.

"You don't have to sleep on the couch, Pigeon. Sleep in my bed tonight. It's been so empty without."

She didn't need to finish the thought. Paloma didn't want to hear his name either. Too much anger and sadness had filled their hearts lately. Too much anger, regret, and shame.

"Are you sure, chula?"

It was their abuela's favorite word, and Paloma rarely used it.

"I'm sure."

Paloma trundled sleepily after her sister, holding her robe around her. She was so tired. So sleepy.

She dropped her robe as soon as she reached Isabel's bed and crawled beneath the covers.

Isabel noticed her boobs hanging freely.

"Do you need a shirt?" she asked. But Paloma was already snoring.

XIII

Paloma woke, momentarily confused, her arms wrapped around her sister, whose back was turned toward Paloma's chest. Paloma felt the warm skin of her sister's body on her tits, and she looked down puzzled. Realizing she had fallen asleep without bothering to put on a shirt, she slowly extricated herself from her sororal embrace. Isabel shifted, pushing her body against Paloma's and holding Paloma's palm smashed against her own breasts.

"Mm," she said. "Don't go yet, cariño. You feel so good, and it's been so long. I've missed you."

Paloma smiled to herself sadly and kissed her sister's bare shoulder softly.

"I'm sorry, honey. I've got to get ready. You'll just have to keep on waiting."

Fully awake now, Isabel shot up, clutching the blanket to her chest, leaving Paloma to face her sister topless.

"Oh my god. I'm so embarrassed. I thought."

Paloma glanced away and saw the picture frame on the night table turned over, face down.

She didn't say anything.

Isabel watched her sister get out of bed, her boobs swaying. She leaned over to pick up her bathrobe, showing her full ass to Isabel, the lacy strip of her green panties caught in the crack between her two ass cheeks. Paloma slipped on the robe and dug her panties from her ass crack.

But Isabel's mind swirled with the image of her sister's mound hanging between her thighs, just below the concealed asshole, her puffy labia extended past the narrow strip of green satin. It all looked so animalistic, so mammalian. Isabel caught her breath at the idea of her sister being a fully sexual creature, and for a moment she understood Enrique's attraction.

"Tía Panoche," she whistled after her.

Paloma whirled around, shocked by the epiteph.

"I'm sorry?"

Isabel fell back on the mattress and laughed.

"Auntie Pussy, Auntie Pussy, Auntie Puss."

Paloma shrugged her shoulders and left the room.

"You're so weird."

***

Without discussion, without even mentioning it, Paloma started sleeping in Isabel's bed every night. Isabel, visibly comforted by the presence of someone else in her bed, regained much of her old spirits. She went through the bills, called Jorge for updates on the business, and began reasserting control over her deceased husband's operations. Paloma, encouraged by her sister's revival, also showed a new bounce in her step, something the red-headed Jessica picked up on.

She seemed to be everywhere, winking at the instructor whenever they passed in the hall, bumping into her in restrooms, standing behind her in line at the campus coffee shop. They even started taking breaks together between classes, and Paloma found herself enjoying the red-head's attention, enjoyed being around younger women, proud that she could still be sought after, that she hadn't aged out of student enthusiasm.

She made sure to wear a loose top at night.

That direct contact of her sister's skin on her bare tits just felt so.

And anyway.

It was just so.

Weird.

She found herself staring at the girls on campus more and more, female students, female instructors, watching how the moved, talked, gestured, noticing the sway of their bottoms as they walked, the smoothness of their bare thighs and calves, the natural good round softness of their faces, so unlike a man's rugged and brute features.

Which was funny when she thought about it.

She used to love that about men.

She never looked at them now, and when they did make their presence known (unavoidable when you had to teach them or work with them), her mood bristled with a sense of annoyance and even something close to.

Disgust.

She used to always flirt with them.

Used to.

Just last week wasn't it?

It seemed like forever ago.

But her sex drive was still zilch. Nada.

Nothing.

Still, she could see why Jessica got so turned on by women.

They were quite lovely.

I'm mean, if you were into that sort of thing.

***

The girls took to Paloma sleeping in their mother's bed with the same concern they greeted news of a new sub for social studies. Not much.

If anything, they understood. Their mother had been so lonely lately, and they knew that the sister's had been fighting until very recently, and it just seemed sort of natural.

Neither Palamo nor Isabel seemed embarrassed, so that meant their was nothing to be embarrassed about. Because parents were worse than teenagers at hiding, well, things that needed to be hidden.

Mostly they just didn't think about it.

Ramona's new friend Sarah was just so awesome.

It was Thursday night when Camila and Angela begged to be able to spend the night at Ramona's house.

"Is Ramona's mom going to be there?"

"Yeah."

"Promise? Do I have to call her?"

But Angela and Camila both bore Isabel's scrutiny, and the mother didn't bother to make the call.

So Isabel and Paloma were alone that night, alone for the season finale of Mi Corazón."

A little over two weeks had passed since they both started wearing the pink patches, a little over two weeks of putting the little pink patch on each other, raising the shirts up to let the other put the patch on their back, then not putting on a shirt until the other put a patch on their soft skin, somewhere below the neck.

Lately, Isabel had started biting her bottom lip whenever she felt Paloma's soft hand smoothing the patch against her bare back.

Lately, Paloma started to feel a little.

Turned on?

It had been so long, why not?

So long since she'd felt anything, any kind of arousal at all.

That morning, when the first premonition of hot arousal hit her, she brushed it off, and it quickly passed.

Isabel's fingers so gently, so tenderly stroking, almost caressing that sensitive area between her shoulder blade and neck. Paloma could feel Isabel's warm breath nuzzling her naked shoulder, brushing her naked skin like fine silk. And when it was over, Paloma felt, for the first time in weeks, moisture and warmth growing between her thighs.

"I need to get laid," she thought at the time.

"What's that?" asked Isabel who didn't quite catch what Paloma had said.

"Nothing. Just muttering."

But she didn't. She didn't need to get laid. The thought of a man between her legs, fucking her clumsily, rudely, thoughtlessly just held no appeal.

And strange as it may sound, she really couldn't think of an alternative.

Now the two of them were snuggled into each other, Paloma once again a her short pink terrycloth after a long stint in Isabel's bath, and topless, covered only by the loose belt of her robe. Isabel wore a long tee shirt over her panties, but neither woman wore a bra in the house.

***

Last week, the show had ended just as black-robed agentes de l'Iglesia del Nilo burst down the door to the bruja's cabin, breaking it from its hinges, just as Sor Juana began her labor. Tonight the show picked up where it left off.

Paloma huddled closer to Isabel, alarmed.

Her bathrobe fell open, slightly. The side of left breast was fully exposed almost to her nipple. Isabel caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of her eye. She tried to look away, but she soon found herself staring deep with her sister's cleavage, as if seeing for the first time how lovely, how wonderful, how beautiful her sister's bosom was.

Isabel's breath grew shorter, more ragged; the beat of her heart quickened. She tried to look away and thought she did, but her eyes remained glued to the bronzed, smooth lines of Paloma's breasts. Just then she realized that her dry lips had parted, and that she was licking her bottom lip. She forced her eyes to the television.

The pink patch below her neck burned a little, sending a warm thrill throughout her body.

She wanted to touch it, maybe even to peel it off, but the burning sensation felt good. Necessary. Real.

She'd leave it on.

It was good to leave the pink patch on.

The bruja's cabin was empty; los agentes had been deceived.

They rushed into an unused shack, loose papers fluttered in the wind made by the breaking of the door, cobwebs hung from corners, what furniture stood in the cabana was broken and covered in dust. Broken crockery was strewn on the dirt floor, and a green snake slithered through a hole in the far wall, leaving the agentes to stare with confused expressions at the derelict space surrounding them.

Meanwhile, in what looked like the bruja's cabana, La Mujer Salvaje hovered over a reclined Sor Juana, her belly extended, clearly in the anguish of el parto. Sor Juana lay on her back, her nude body gleamed with the sweat of labor, her face was pulled and contorted in pain. Her thighs were parted and her knees were bent, and one of the bruja's four ayudantes, topless but wearing a long, beaded skirt, knelt at the foot of the bed, preparing for the babe's exit from the safety of the maternal womb.

Three other ayudantes, topless like the woman caressing Sor Juana's thighs with ointments and tinctures, stood at the side othe bed, swaying and chanting, running their hands over the woman in the middle shaking a sort of maraca fashioned from a big dried and hollowed gourd. A white powder or dust flew from the maraca thing as the ayudante shook it, and the two ayudantes on either side of the woman, as if drugged, utterly enrapt in their groans and chants, kissed and fondled the shaker of the maraca.

Typically, Isabel would have turned the television off at this part. Even Paloma, feminist as she was, disliked this sort of thing, preferring to speed through the show (streaming) or rolling her eyes during broadcast.

Now, however, the sisters stared transfixed to the screen, unable to take their eyes off the sensual animality of the strange ayudantes and the hot sexuality of the wild woman, the witch, bending over Sister Juana, caressing her cheeks, her brow, her swollen tits, whispering into her ear, brushing her lips against the pregnant woman's earlobes, so tenderly, so soft, so magical.

Sister.

Juana was a sister.

And the ayudantes called themselves sisters in earlier episodes.

The pink patch just below Paloma's neck grew hot, a sweet burning on her spine that sent waves of warm pleasure over her skin and through her body, muscle and bone.

Women were so sexy.

She hadn't really noticed that before.

Not really.

But they were.

So sexy.

Like that pelirroja, that Jessica.

God, she was hot.

Caliente.

The biggest dyke on campus.

Paloma scooted closer to Isabel, her lower robe parted, exposing her legs, and Isabel placed her hand on her sister's thigh, her body flinching at the searing contact of her palm on Paloma's naked flesh. With each passing second, Isabel felt a new, bizarre surge of arousal, an onslaught of lust and desire she rarely experienced in her life.

No.

Never.

She'd never experienced anything like this before.

It all happened so suddenly, so fast, so muy rápido, so hot, so caliente. She could smell Paloma's female sexuality, the heat of her body, and she knew even as the lust, the desire burned through her, that it was a woman turning her on. Because it was a woman.

So sexy.

So hot.

She wondered if this was how a man felt around a hot woman, a sexy woman, a woman as sexy and beautiful as Paloma, and then she stopped wondering because the very idea of men faded from her mind, her brain raging in the heat of lust for her sister.

Isabel's hand moved up and down Paloma's thigh, wanting so much more, so much more than the touch of her skin but so overwhelmed at even this slight contact.

She could smell Paloma's pussy.

She wanted so much more, but even this slight contact overwhelmed her.

And drove her mad with more desire.

Her hand moved on its own volition up and down Paloma's thigh, delighting in the smooth soft brown skin of her sister, so warm and yielding and muscular. So sexy and poderosa.

***

Paloma trembled at Isabel's touch.

The women, the sisters writhing against each other as La Mujer Salvaje fondled Sor Juana's swollen tits and kissed her on the mouth even in the agony of parto captivated the Spanish instructor. Her eyes flitted from woman to woman, greedily drinking in every exposed inch of their skin, greedily devouring the vision of their dark and engorged nipples, their gleaming bodies and swaying hips, so round, so sexy, the glistening sweat pouring down their smooth and muscular legs, so soft and hard at the same time, like a woman is soft and hard.

The cries coming from the writhing trio sounded aroused and painful, a sexual, erotic version of the plaintive cries coming from Sor Juana as the fourth sister knelt between her legs at the foot of the bed, holding her thighs spread wide, coaxing the child to the world of daylight, de luz.

It was so feminine and erotic, so entirely female, the culmination of the pregnancy, and that thought, the thought of pregnancy turned Paloma on even more, and when Isabel touched her, she flinched, tightened, pressing her thighs together, but she didn't try to evade her sister's hot caresses.

Her sister.

She was too turned on to resist, and she didn't want to. And before she became aware of it, she spread her legs, shifting to give her sister access to her secret parts.

She bent her left leg, lifting her foot to the sofa and turned her pelvis to Isabel.

She loosened the belt of her robe, pulled her robe apart and let it slide from her shoulders as she leaned against her sister, nuzzling her lips against the soft skin of Isabel's neck.

My big sister.

La mayor.

She trailed her lips over Isabel's neck, going just below her jaw line, leading her lips up to Isabel's earlop, and nuzzled and kissed her sister's skin with swift butterflies, lightly touching Isabel.

***

Isabel, la mayor, swelled with winds of lust blowing inside her like a tempest. Her left hand glided across Paloma's thigh, caressing her knee and then moving upward to stroke along her inner thigh. She knew Paloma wanted her now.

The little slut.

The fucking puta.

She threw herself at my husband, and now she's throwing herself at me.

Isabel realized she was shaking as her hand moved closer and closer to her sister's pussy. Heat emanated from her center, and Isabel could feel the warmth of Paloma's body grow. Inch by inch her hand sneaked closer, a little velero blown by a desperate gust, and Paloma was now bucking her hips towards Isabel's hand, her thighs spread so tight Isabel could see her perineal muscles stretched like cables.

Her pussy gleamed with her juice, and Isabel reached her hand out, closing the final distance, to touch her sister's naked cunt.

She's so wet. She's so wet my fingers are covered in her slimy pussy.

Isabel couldn't believe how hot Paloma was. Her pussy practically scalded her fingers as she slid them over the slippery slopes of her vagina, feeling for the first time in her life what another woman's area felt like. Paloma was humping at her now, desperate, making little whines of complaint, but Isabel shook her head.

Trembling with arousal at Paloma's butterfly lips on her neck and ear, she jerked her head away.

"You like that, don't you whore?"

Paloma's brown eyes widened as she stared at her sister in astonishment.

"My husband fucked you, and now you want me to fuck you too, right puta?"

Paloma's eyes were already hooded again, she stared at her sister with unfocused pupils, her need to cum grown so fast and so big, she couldn't even think. The need to be touched by a woman, the need to touch a woman.

"You had his cock and now you want to taste my pussy. You want my pussy, don't you slut, mi hermana lesbica?"

Paloma's mind buckled.

Her world change so suddenly, so quickly, so drastically, she couldn't catch her breath. All her arousal, all her sexuality, her raw libidic need to fuck, so restrained for the past few weeks, came roaring back. With this difference.

She needed a woman.

Somehow she knew she needed a woman, and just being next to her sister drove her crazy with the need to touch her, to taste her, to kiss her, to make love to her. To fuck her.

And to be fucked by her.

Lesbian.