tagMatureWhat My Brother Left Me Ch. 02

What My Brother Left Me Ch. 02


(Thanks to Shawhollow for the edit)

*Loneliness is a disease of the mind and the heart*


(Right where we left off)

"Mmmm...bedroom," I mumble between Marisol's displays of affection as we roll all over the Man Cave's carpeted floor.

"Sofa," she moans because I've finally maneuvered off her flimsy shirt and won the war with her bra and its frightening capacity to keep her mammary mammaries contained, allowing a stiff nipple the size of the first digit on my pinky into my mouth. "It folds out."

"I don't have condoms on me," I warn her.

"That's okay; I want to get pregnant," she murmurs. In almost any other situation that would flat-line my cock but I swear I could screw this babe naked on a glacier I'm so hot for her.

"Damn," she moans in sympathy to my urges, "you really are raring to go."

"Sorry," I mumble as I work my tongue down her belly and push her tight-ass jeans down. I swear she must paint these things on.

"Not complaining," she muses happily. "It is wonderful to have a young man wanting me this much. It has been so long." What; was my brother blind, deaf, numb and dumb? As an afterthought I give the swell of her belly beneath her navel a good lick -- she tastes fine too.

She is more than content to let me sniff, lick and touch her body while she gives out passive encouragement. She brings out my aggression and eats it up with sensual sighs and giggles that inspire me further. I smother her right leg with kisses all the way down to the top of her foot and then suck on each toe which brings out murmurs of arousal I have only read about before now.

I expand upon what little 'game' I have and remember my brother bragging about some of the babes he's 'banged' over the years to piece together my own burgeoning style. I push Marisol's right leg up, starting my kisses at the heel and working back down her calf to her knee. I have stumbled upon something that drives her wild. Watching her react is like being front row - center seat at the birth of a hurricane.

I take several tantalizing licks along the back of Marisol's knee and she rewards me with her back painfully arched, her breasts expanding and jiggling around with a glistening sheen of sweat acting like icing on the cake. I push her leg farther back as I work toward the buttocks. Marisol is proving to be exceptionally flexible yet again; she takes her ankle and pulls it even with her ear while teasing me with heavy-lidded eyes.

"Pound me baby, pound me," she taunts me as her chest heaves. Primal sexual instincts dispel this ruse, focusing my desire on burning her up with foreplay before finishing her off with penetrations. She's not Claudia who is constant and continuous reward. Marisol is going to be a struggle to propel her to every orgasm. This would be a daunting task if she didn't have so many wonderful facets to energize.

"Yeah baby...I'm ready; do it," she moans louder. I take a bite of her thigh right above the curve of her ass. "Ieee!" she yelps. "That hurts," Marisol moans again. I spank her for good measure.

"Bad Girl," I tease her back, "Don't make Papi angry." That was a joke but Marisol's reaction is anything but; she squeals and squirts a small stream of fluid.

I've got something here; now if I can only remember what Papi means...Father...the guy who tosses snitches and men who touch his daughters into a crate with snakes. Marisol has a Daddy fetish; apparently in a big way. I want to kiss her right butt cheek then take a clue from the book of Claudia and probe her anus with my tongue.

Right off the bat I can tell a serious difference; Marisol's region feels oily smooth and tastes a bit soapy and cleansed. I wrack my mind for what this means. While I'm working that through, Marisol hooks up her left leg and places it in symmetry with the right; pinned back with her hands holding her ankles to her ears. A Plus-sized super gymnast; there are so many questions I want to ask but I'm busy right now.

I move my tongue to the base of her cunt and...hmmm...tastes like cane sugar with a hint of coco-butter -- very exotic and worth diving straight into. I put a finger to her sphincter and it slips in without much resistance so I pull back and insert a second finger along with the first. That's a snugger fit and she appreciates my invasion by rotating her ass playfully.

"Ooohhh...play with me Papi," Marisol moans, "play with La Niña." Kinky; a bit weird for me, at twenty-two, to be going through with a forty year old woman but I'm thinking taboo fantasy, not incest. I take aim and spank her left buttocks hard enough to cause tremors across her butt and thigh.

"Mala Niña," I say gruffly with my best Spanish accent. I hope I'm saying 'bad little girl' but Spanish was a language requirement, not a vocation. It does the job for Marisol though; she's wiggling and undulating all over the place while I go back to delving into her cunt and probing two fingers into anus.

"No Papi estará bien," she pants heavily. She releases her ankles but the legs stay in place which allows her to start squeezing and twisting her engorged nipples. I think she said 'no daddy' but I forget what the rest means. Marisol finds the role-play to be erotic and that's good enough for me. In both ways, Marisol is looser than Claudia -- those must be some toys she's been playing with.

I push a third finger into her butthole (that earns me a squeal) and start off with two fingers into her twat (which elicits a guttural utterance I've never heard a human make before). She still isn't swirling toward a climax so I search for another point of stimulation and it bumps me in the nose; her clitoris. It is somewhat understated within the folds of her labia but once I find it, I make it my bitch, my victim, the source of all my aggression. Bingo!

Marisol sings out in a voluminous litany of Spanish prayers, curses or both. It is beautiful to hear and carries on for some time. Her legs rise to the full vertical but don't fall down on me as I keep working her over -- no; I'm having no mercy on her right now.

"Work it Carlos," she purrs down at me, "Keep it up Lover. You are -- oh -- yessss - very attentive."

"Yum, you are very delicious," I respond. She giggles then rocks her upper body forward, grabbing her buttocks in each hand and opening them wide.

I take that to be a visual invitation to fuck either hole at this point, bypassing the normal verbal request. I get up on my hands and knees and rush over her until we can kiss and my cock dips down to her welcoming cunt. I lower and spread my legs as my cock parts Marisol's labia and is propelled into her depths.

Marisol exhales deeply as her vaginal walls are stimulated by the pulsating veins on my shaft as it penetrates deep. I'm no expert but Marisol's pussy feels like a sexual partner that can go all night long and welcome you back for before, during and after breakfast -- smooth, silky and unquenchably wet. Our hands start to play across each other's bodies once I become comfortable letting Marisol carry my entire weight; she is that strong.

My slow gently gentle strokes aren't enough for Marisol; she starts biting my shoulders and pulling me in harder and faster with her arms around my hips and her legs pressing down on my ass. Even then there is no thunderous orgasm. I'm not in sucky shape but I'm not a marathon runner either and I'd have to be one to break Marisol's sexual barriers down.

Thankfully, Marisol is used to this problem. As my torso and face flush red, and my breathing becomes labored and erratic, Marisol flips me over and begins riding me with celerity in a fluid, low-impact style.

"Phenomenal," I pant.

"What?" she smiles down at me. She is totally feeling superior and pleased with herself.

"I said you are phenomenal and..." I search for something to add, "If you don't agree to do this with me again I'm chaining you to my bed and keeping you as my sex slave." And I probably went way too kinky-far with that one.

Marisol blushes furiously, drops her torso down until her nipples are burning tracks of pleasure across my chest.

"I promise we'll do it again and again until you become bored with me, Señor Verde," she moans pathetically. "I'll do whatever, and I mean WHATEVER, you want. Please don't chain me down and use me over and over again as your sex slave."

By the time we finish that little interplay Marisol is starting to go off. I snake a hand around to her ass cleft, probe for her bunghole and ram three fingers in with as much force and speed as I can leverage. She screams out to Heaven, all the Saints and more than a few fallen Angels -- all in Spanish yet again. Her vagina feels like it is petting my cock in a totally pleasing and unexpected manner.

I begin fountaining my seed, splashing it all over her womb and expanding the crescendo of Marisol's proclamation of ecstasy by a good thirty seconds. She doesn't crash boneless onto me; this is not her way. Her climax leaves her at a lower energy level but in full control of her resources. She languidly settles down on my chest.

I have a variety of things to blame for my resurrection and none have to do with my relative youth. Her boobs pancaking out like semi-squashed melons on either side of my chest could be to blame, as could the streaks of sweat on her temples, forehead, and neck that are nectar for the tasting, the sheer intoxicating aroma of her sex, the smell of wine upon her breath which makes me wonder how drunk she was when she came over, that dazzling white smile, or the warmth of the caress my hands feel on her backside.

I grip her scrumptious posterior tightly to my desperately rebounding cock. Three ejaculations in three hours...I couldn't do that when I was eighteen and right now I can only do it with a resounding amount of pain.

"Not already bored with me?" Marisol pouts/gloats because I know she's ready to go this very moment.

I release each butt cheek but only to haul off and smack them hard and then grip tighter.

"No way in hell am I bored with you," I reply through heaving breath, "but I'm asking for a fifteen minute break so that I don't have a heart attack and die beneath you...happy as I might be."

"You make me feel so very good Carlos Verde," Marisol murmurs. "I think...maybe you appreciate me."

"John didn't?" I know I must sound confused.

"John was fun but then John was here for John," Marisol smiles at me. "I come over, we fuck and I go home. He didn't even drink the damn wine I bought over."

"We didn't drink the wine...yet," I point out.

"Are you going to send me home?" she muses.

"Yes...when does your husband get home?" I inquire.

"Sunday night; he's on a business trip to Argentina until then," Marisol arches an eyebrow.

"Yes, I am sending you home Sunday afternoon then," I wink. It is Tuesday night and I'm being ambitious and burying my grief for my brother at the same time.

"You think you will still be alive by then?" she teases me.

"If not, lock up when you leave," I grin and she kisses me passionately.

"Can I ask for one more favor?" I whisper. Marisol nods. "Whenever we are together, can I cop a feel as long as I'm discreet? You know; a little ass grab, pat or fondle -- rubbing the side of the breast or plucking a nipple -- a kiss or three...that kind of stuff."

"My breasts; aren't they fat and saggy?" Marisol holds one up and licks the nipple. I shake my head in the negative.

"These lips; shouldn't I use collagen to make them fresher and plumper?" she smiles. I kiss her in response. "You like my body? My husband hates it when I wear a bikini; he says I look like a 'salchicha de cerdo regordete'." 'Pudgy pork sausage' is what I think that means -- my Spanish is coming back to me. I dramatically wipe the drool from my lips and cheeks.

"Oh the hell he says. You can wear a bikini on my deck, in my pool or Jacuzzi any time you like. I'd offer to take you sailing but I don't sail, or to a public beach but I don't think I can act gay enough around you not to cause a stir," I confess. "But; bikini -- yes!" She graces me with a sexy giggle.

"He says my butt is massive, chunky and pitted. He hates my thongs," she looks terrible hurt and sad. I slip out from under her, keeping Marisol on her stomach. I rub my hands over her bare cheeks even parting her cleft deftly.

"I think I would have to take part of a USGS study on this matter," I state with mock-seriousness.

"Hey!" she squawks, "Are you saying my ass is as big as a plot of land?"

"Well, it is a government survey and it would take seven to ten years to finish and I would have to do a whole lot of drilling, constantly mapping the slopes and valleys plus tons of hands-on work," I nod studiously.

"Drilling?" she smirks. "Hands-on work...mapping the slopes and valleys," she sighs happily. "Seven to ten years...mmm...longer if you consider protests, legal obstructions and any other matters I can think of." I set myself up on all fours and crawled over Marisol, my knees inside her thighs and my palms resting beyond her shoulders. I let my body float down on top of Marisol's.

"That will require even more drilling," I murmur as my cock comes to rest between her buttocks. Marisol presses her ass upwards. I give way and she keeps at it until her breasts, ass and knees form a compressed triangle.

"Drill me," Marisol moans. Sure my cock hurts but I might die in the next five hundred years and I know I'll regret passing up this opportunity every day for the rest of my life if I don't partake of this fantastic posterior the way she is offering it up to me at this moment in time.

"Ooohhh," she groans as my bulbous head passes her relaxed sphincter and makes steady progress leading my shaft in exploring her rectum. "Ugh, you are very thick," she exhales.

"Yours is the best ass made by God or Man," I whisper in her ear, "and I really, really want you to like this -- what my cock is doing inside of you right now."

"Ah - ah, I'll let you know -- ah - if you do -- ah - something I -- am -- ah - unhappy with," she gasps. Her ass really has some give and cushioning. It is a totally different feel from Claudia; Claudia is steady and consistent while Marisol is different on every stroke, depending on how hard I push and how tight her glutei flex. Both are wonderful but different.

"Fuck -- fuck - fuck," I groan. I want to shoot but my balls aren't cooperating. If they could talk they would remind me this whole '4th round' scheme is not their idea. They've done their job for my genetic future. It is not my testes fault their first two efforts went down a throat and into a rectum after all; such body parts are clearly differentiated by touch alone.

"Ay Papi," Marisol cries out. "Spank me Carlos, spank me!" My rhythm is going so fast and strong by this time I release both hips and start smacking alternating ass cheeks. I have a flashback to one of those old films showing that prick beating the drums while the slaves row their hearts out on the galley. From Marisol's howls she wants to go to straight to ramming speed (funny how that works).

"¿Qué fue lo que confesar hoy niña?" I say and pray I get it right. I think I'm going on about confession; when she doesn't laugh at me I think I am close. I switch up with my hands, using my right to grab my shoulder and deepen my anal plunging. Then with my left, I reach out and start spanking her left breast and nipple. We have a winner! Or more likely a winning combination.

Marisol becomes on one-woman chorus of Iberian feminine carnality. I have to wonder if this house is soundproof. On second thought, the cops aren't beating down the door, so it must be because Marisol is vocal as hell. She also must do palates ten hours a day because I'm about to fall over and she's perfectly poised for yet another round, her ass wantonly presented for my further plundering.

"Hi," I rasp hoarsely. "I'm going to die now. It has been a pleasure getting to know you," then I politely fall over. She appears over me but is anything but mocking; she is blissfully happy.

"Wow," she breathes softly. "I feel like a million bucks. How do I rate against the other ten women?"

I raise a lone finger; not my middle finger. On second thought, I switch up and giver the 'fuck you' finger. She gives me a seductive little eyebrow arches then slowly and deliberately purses her lips and engulfs my finger down to the last knuckle. If this wasn't one of the sexiest yet simple things I've ever seen I'd be crying because my cock really is cramping.

Oh, it really wants to stand tall and proud and my middle finger is lying to my dick, telling that troublesome lump of muscle that a real penis could rise to the occasion one more time.

"Let me get you some wine," Marisol smiles at me once she's let my finger go. She's kind enough to wag her butt in my face as she saunters over on her knees, retrieves the wine bottle, glasses and that thing you open wine with...it has the word 'screw' in it and I'm avoiding anything associated with screwing like the plague at the moment.

Marisol is kind and nurturing with me, helping me to sit up and serving me a little bit of wine. She even waits for my 'approval' of the wine before filling my glass then hers. We sit there, on the floor and backs to the sofa; she nestles up against me, perfectly content and comfortable.

"Okay...what's wrong with you?" I request to know. "Everything about you is perfect, so am I missing something or have I died and gone to heaven?"

"You are a bit sappy but also very romantic," Marisol sighs. She kisses my neck then jawline. A cool glass of wine to my nipple informs me she wants my attention. I look her way and everything indicates she's waiting for a kiss, which I deliver with passion.

"I've occasionally been called temperamental," she concedes.

"Is there any truth to that rumor?" I inquire between deep, rich kisses.

"Well," Marisol demurs, "I once put a sister-in-law through a plate glass window in church. Does that count?"

"Did she have it coming and was it worth it?" seems the natural thing to ask. Marisol blinks, lets her smirk grow into a laugh before she hugs and kisses me.

"You are the first person to ever ask me that," she beams happily. "Yes and yes. The Whore was being all touchy-feely with her 'cousin' in the vestment chamber so I grabbed the bitch by the hair, dragged her down the hall and tossed her into the garden - through the window - the one with the plate glass St. Martin in it."

"Martin - which one is he?" I wonder.

"Martin de Tours; among other things, he's the patron saint of soldiers," she giggles. "As for 'was it worth it'; yes because while he turned out to really be her cousin, they ran off together two years later."

"My second brother, Hernando, is still keeping an eye out for them in case they come back to town. He has a girlfriend now and a one year old son so I don't think he's getting a divorce and I don't think he's going to let her turn his infant son or the boy's mother out in the street..." Marisol explains.

"Why doesn't he simply adopt his son?" I question after a minute of drinking wine and basking in her company.

"Such things are not done," Marisol mopes. "He is a man whose wife ran away -- adoption is not an option."

"Why don't you adopt his son?" I suggest next. "That way he would legally be part of the family." She doesn't get upset or excited but appears more in thought.

"How would that work? I'm not sure my husband would go for it and right now mother and son live with my brother. I'm not sure he would want them out here in the suburbs with me," she points out.

"What if I gave you money - say you were in John's will - and you do the adoption and buy them a house close to your brother," I postulate.

"He maintains his old home but 'watches over' 'your' house with his girlfriend and son. I think legally he can take your maiden name so he gets his father's last name as well," I add.

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