Humilated by My Twin Sister Ch. 02byted_marx38©
(This is Part 2. It's best to read Part I first, but not critical.)
Many months, almost a year, had passed since Jen whispered "Now we're even" in my ear. This had come immediately after she forced me to submit to her stroking me to orgasm one afternoon, as her revenge for catching me spying on her naked body through a crack in her bedroom doorframe.
We were now in our first year in college -- different schools -- and home for Thanksgiving. It was our first face-to-face encounter since the end of the summer, and for the first time we discussed what happened, and as you'll see, even MORE happened between us when we subsequently saw each other a second time over Christmas.
But let me first describe how this sexual humiliation incident that afternoon several months before had affected me as well as our sibling relationship. I'd gone to bed that night angry and confused, and the encounter -– if that's the word -- proceeded to bother me throughout the year.
Part of me now truly hated her. She'd always been the "preferred" twin, the star, the can-do-no-wrong one. To the contrary, despite my athletic prowess, I was – and it's difficult to admit this – considered somewhat of an insecure person of relatively nonsubstantial magnitude, I guess. Honestly that's why she was able to blackmail me so efficiently that day, just an extension of her perceived overall superiority over me, carried out to perfection despite her own obvious insecurities that had reared their head at times. Like the way she'd blushed the night she'd hugged me after my championship wrestling victory some time prior.
As an outcropping of bitterness over how she'd parlayed this supremacy into such a gross violation of me, I couldn't much look at her any longer and at times truly disliked every aspect of her existence.
But at night I'd often stay awake until two AM fantasizing over the incident and dreaming of having it occur all over again while masturbating, the smell of her, the touch of her, her hair, her everything. I never did look through that crack in the door frame again, though; in fact, I couldn't even look AT it.
My conversations with Jen over the past months had been minimal, only touching on truly functional stuff. "When will you be home? I guess I can pick you up." Stuff like that.
This was an abrupt departure from the dialog we'd previously enjoyed. About six weeks after the incident she'd confronted me about this. We were in the kitchen alone before school eating our cereal, our parents had both already left for work, and my responses to Jen's attempts at conversation had been one syllable at most.
I guess she'd finally had enough. "Okay," she said, letting her spoon drop to her bowl with a loud clank. "Out with it."
"Out with what?"
"I'm sick of you cold-shouldering me and never looking at me when you speak. What's the deal?"
I sat stunned for a moment and then felt the rage build from within me. "What's the deal?" I asked, almost trembling, a true pent-up release building. "Um, gee, Jen, do you remember anything odd happening lately between us?"
She looked at me blankly, apparently seeing my rage, and she blushed, a bit shocked, then looked down saying nothing, just shaking her head. Finally she said softly, looking down at her cereal bowl, "You asked for it."
This did it for me. "FUCK YOU!" I screamed as I jumped up from my chair. "You're a incredibly manipulative self-centered fucking whore and you know it!"
After that, we lived in a barely functional cohabitation mode at best for the rest of the schoolyear and summer, barely speaking at all. Despite my conviction that she was a mostly cold-hearted and evil person, however, she on occasion showed evidence of truly feeling bad for how much she had damaged me.
Subtle stuff – like doing my laundry for me and leaving a note on the folded pile saying "Love Jen". Or a pat on my shoulder accompanied by a shy, caring smile for no apparent reason.
That shy smile I'll characterize as part of her "caring look". She'd long had this way of looking at me that meant that she cared about me. I can't really describe it better than that, but the look was one of her big blue eyes framed by an adoring, compassionate type of smile that warmed me greatly.
Then there was the birthday card, that she placed on my pillow, in which she wrote "Despite our awkward moments, I'll always care about you. Truly sorry, it was my mistake. Love Jen."
All this touched me but not quite enough, and I never even acknowledged any of it, never saying a word about even the card. Being twins we had the same birthday of course, and I never had even bothered getting her a card, let alone writing anything equally personal in it.
In the interim, I'd done some digging with mutual friends and found out a few things about Jen. Turns out she had been no virgin back on the pivotal night, despite my assumption, which explained why she knew how to stroke me so expertly. She'd done this and everything else with a guy named "Nathan" who I'd best describe as a short-term fuck buddy of hers, a guy who'd apparently offered a ready escape from the strict Christian upbringing that had been forced upon both of us from birth. She and Nathan never got emotionally intimate from what I heard and for whatever reason, their arrangement had only lasted a few months.
Unlike with Jen, that same Christian upbringing to this day left me quite the virgin and truly awkward around girls. I could do the prom-type dating thing but despite –- or maybe partly because of -- my lone real erotic episode at Jen's hand, the act of progressing toward anything sexual on these dates just wasn't going to happen for me.
So yes, I went to college as a virgin and, sad to say, came home for Thanksgiving in November STILL a virgin. College life had introduced me to bars and booze and I was loosening up around girls but still, nothing had ever happened in terms of a girlfriend or having sex.
Jen came home from college for the first time that weekend as well. Aside from the daytime required family things, both of us stayed out separately 'til all hours with our respective friends, catching up on new stories and reliving the old.
On the Saturday, as the visit home neared an end for both of us, we'd both ended up in the house at a decent hour – one AM or so – our parents in bed. I crept up the stairs quietly and noticed the light on in Jen's room, and ducked into mine without saying anything.
I sat on my bed with my back to me door and jumped when I heard Jen say softly "So, are you drunk again tonight?"
"Not really" I said, keeping my back to her. "Just a couple tonight, need to sober up a bit."
I felt her softly step over and sit on my bed next to me. "Me too", she said. A moment or so of silence ensued and finally she said "Ben, I really miss you."
"Just stop it."
"I put it in your birthday card. It was a mistake and what happened was my fault. I'm sorry."
I didn't answer but let out a huge sigh. I really didn't want to have this conversation but knew I couldn't avoid it forever. Finally I turned toward her, looked directly in her eyes and asked, "Why'd you do it then?"
"I don't know, it was just fucked up, just a mess back then."
"Yeah, you're right, it WAS fucked up. A mess. Yep, a mess, that's a good way to put it."
She looked down and said nothing. Her blond hair looked delightful as it flowed down along her white sweater, and as she sat across from me on my bed, I couldn't fight the urge to look her up and down and all over, despite my long-standing anger.
"You don't really even talk to me, Ben."
"No," I said, "you're right. I don't."
Then I looked to her face and saw that it was now covered in tears, and she returned my gaze for a mere second -- the caring look -- but she then looked down again, sobbing out loud.
Finally she got up without saying a word, closed my door behind her and then shut hers.
With that, I took off my clothes and crawled into my bed, grabbed Sports Illustrated and prepared to read myself to sleep. I took this little display as indicative of final apologetic desparation on her part, maybe a place from where we could move forward, but for now, finally, I claimed a victory for myself and nothing more. My passive-aggressiveness had worn her down and made her very sad and I felt damn good about that.
So the next day, the final one of our visit home, I figured the message was clear, the retribution notable, and I therefore returned to being the nice guy after we finished with the morning church services. We talked, really talked, choppy and awkward at first but more conversational as the day went on.
The circumstances helped as Sunday afternoon was always God Day in our family, as weird family and even stranger family friends gathered for a day of worship at someone's house, and since this time it was our family's turn to host, Jen and I escaped to her room and found comfort in one another's conversation and company, just like old times.
By the end of the afternoon it was almost as if nothing had happened. We talked about so many things and she even mentioned her brief sexual relationship with Nathan.
"You probably know about Nathan and me."
"Oh, let's just say I heard a few things."
"That was a mess, like a lot of things in my life I guess", she said.
And that was it. We of course didn't discuss our little episode at all that afternoon, this was a friendly chat and the nasty stuff didn't belong. We got on well that afternoon.
So then off we went after that, back to our respective colleges, and over the next few weeks before Christmas break we exchanged a few emails and even talked on the phone once, rekindling that brother-sister type relationship we'd long enjoyed.
And we ended up back home for Christmas break and did the same thing all over again, out with friends, boozing it up, this time our social circles intertwining a bit more readily.
Again toward the end of the break we ended up at home one night, our parents in bed, just the two of us alone, sitting on my bed, me a little buzzed but not too much as the festivities were really winding down now and the return to school and studies loomed ahead. Jen was a bit more buzzed, drunk I'd say; she'd been doing some sort of shot contest with her friends while I'd merely had a few beers.
She wasn't terribly drunken, just kind of loose, and we thus were able to talk and laugh and discuss so much, but not the episode that had caused the lengthy emotional detachment from one another.
"I'm glad we're back together like this, really talking again," she said at one point.
"Me too, Jenny," I said, smiling broadly.
She liked that, I could tell. She blushed a bit, looking away, and I took the opportunity to look her over and I liked what I saw. She was sitting right there before me, and her blond hair again flowed nicely over a very tight pink sweater that highlighted her medium-sized breasts, the sweater covering the top of her red miniskirt, her legs crossed, feet bare. I gazed back up at her and she was staring at me with those piercing blue eyes and all I could think was, "I'm so BUSTED!"
"So Ben," she said, "have you ever been laid?"
"What?" I said, stunned.
"Don't worry," she laughed, "I'm just curious."
"Well, no, now that you ask," I said.
"You'd be surprised at how many people are virgins in their freshman year," she said, "I read some study about it in class the other day."
"Hmm," I said. "So there are other poor lonely bastards like me out there afterall."
She laughed but didn't say anything for a moment. Finally she said, "We've never really, really talked about what happened between us."
I couldn't believe this. "No," I said, "we haven't. Maybe we shouldn't. You were the one who said we would never discuss it, you know."
"Do you ever think about it?"
"You told me NOT to think about it."
She laughed. "Do you?"
"Yeah, I do. How could I not? You made me squirt all over your hand for Christ sake."
She smiled at first but then looked away, frowning.
"Let me guess," I said, "you probably NEVER think about it, do you?"
"Yeah. I do too."
We sat silently for a moment and then our eyes met and she had a bit of twinkle. Finally she said, "This is really weird I guess, but did you ever wonder why I knew how to do it so well?"
"Jesus, Jen, do we really have to talk about this?"
"Do you ever wonder though? C'mon, I'm just curious," she said playfully.
"Yeah, I used to," I said, "but then I heard about you and Nathan and sorta figured it out."
"It's actually more than you might expect," she said. "Nathan used to be um, a little quick to come you see –"
"Jen, I really don't need to hear about this kinda stuff."
"No really, just listen to me. So I'd heard that if you get a guy right up to where he's going to bust and then back off, and make him sit still until he's almost limp, he'll last forever when you then get down to really doing it." She was laughing as she talked, spitting the words out between chuckles. "And then it's better for both of you!"
"Jen," I said, laughing politely but feeling icky, "why in the hell are you telling me this crap?"
"So you'll know why I knew how to do that," she said. "See, I used to do that with my hand with him and then he'd get right about to come so I'd stop and we'd sit there until he calmed down, and MAN did he ever hate that part of it, but then when we –"
"Okay, okay I get it. Good Jesus." It appeared the shots had really gotten to her.
"Well Christ don't get mad! I just thought you might be curious."
We sat in awkward silence, and I thought about the couple of times I'd been interrupted while in the middle of whacking off, and how hard it was to finish the job upon resumption, and therefore realized how right this theory of hers actually was. And then she started rambling again.
"That reminds me, there's this game called 'Thirty', ever heard of it?"
"No, Jen", I said, "never heard of some game called 'Thirty'. What the hell is it?"
"Well the guy and the girl make this bet you might say. If she can make him come in thirty strokes, she wins. If she can't, she loses and he gets to screw her!"
"Charming", I said.
"Yeah, it's cool, I've never played it but I saw it in some movie. The girl does everything to make him come, like counting slowly in his ear like this – " she leaned toward me and whispered softly in my ear, "seven, eight, nine" and then backed away and continued on without stopping, "Real sexy like, like that."
"Jen," I said laughing, "you're so bad!"
"Well, what are you talking about? You like hearing about this stuff too, I know you do!"
I smiled at her and we held a long gaze at each other, and then she laughed, looking a bit embarrassed.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing" she said, laughing and blushing.
"Nothing my ass, what's so flipping funny?"
She didn't answer at first and then said, "Do you really want me to ask you?"
"Ask me what?"
"Okay," she said, "you asked for it." She hesitated for a moment and then said, "So that night, when I made you come, I don't even think you made it to fifteen!"
I didn't even know how to respond and just sat there, a bit shocked.
"You told me to ask," she said.
"Yeah, I suppose I did tell you to ask."
"So did you? Did you make it to fifteen?"
"Christ, I don't know, I wasn't counting," I said.
"Neither was I." We sat silently and then she smirked again and said, "You have to admit that you kinda liked it, though."
"Well, now, just look at the time," I said, "morning will come before we know it."
"I mean, I know it made you mad and was unfair and all."
"Yeah, mad, unfair . . . that's a good way to put it."
"A little bit, kinda a little bit?"
"How many shots did you have tonight?"
"Kinda, sorta, maybe just a wee wee little bit?"
"Look Jen!" I said, a bit pissed, "enough with the goo-goo-gah-gah baby crap. What happened that night really messed with me and I don't feel like kidding around about it."
She stopped smiling. "I know," she said. "Sorry it troubles you so much. I wish I could make it up to you but I guess I can't."
"Yeah, whatever," I said. "Let's just forget it."
"Okay," she said. "I guess I'll never know then."
"Know what?" I asked.
She waited a second and then said, "I'll guess I'll never know if you truly hated every minute of it or if at some point you were sort of enjoying it. It seemed like maybe you did toward the end?"
"Okay," I said finally, "I did. Toward the end. It's a physiological thing, though, so don't be too proud of yourself. Are you happy now?"
With that she put her arms around me and gave me a hug and whispered, "Okay, thanks. I feel better now knowing that you sort of maybe kinda liked it a little wee wee bit. Because I know overall it was hurtful."
"It's okay." I answered. I liked the way she felt as she hugged me like that, so I didn't let go.
"Good," she said, and we sat silently for a bit, still embracing each other. Her body felt absolutely stunning next to mine and I had no plans to let go so long as she didn't flinch.
"Was it hurtful only because I pretty much forced you?" she asked, still embracing me.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, what if it was just me stroking you 'til you came, without all the humiliation and getting back at you and stuff."
"What about it?"
"Would it have been enjoyable or would it have still bothered you?"
"Enjoyable I suppose."
She gave me a tighter hug, and I felt the beginnings of a huge erection as I rubbed up and down her back, feeling her bra strap through her sweater.
"Ben?" she whispered.
"Want me to do it again?"
I didn't answer. Couldn't believe it, just sat there embracing her.
"I'm serious," she said softly, "no screwing around, none of the nonsense. Just me giving you something to enjoy, a gift, maybe make things even more even."
"Jen," I said, finally pushing her away, "I'm not falling for this so quit screwing with me."
She looked at me with a deep stare and said flatly, "I'm not screwing with you."
She had the caring look and I knew what that meant. She wasn't messing around, because she'd never done me wrong, ever, when she wore had that look, even when we were just little kids. And I therefore shook all over.
She clutched me again and held me even tighter, and whispered in my ear, "Yep, I'm serious. This one's just for you."
"Why would you do that?"
She whispered very quietly, "Because maybe you might like it, a lot, if it was just for you this time, no messing around or humiliation or anything. You need to tell me if you want me to."
I held her in silence, trembling so much she could surely feel it, and whispered softly, "Okay."
With that she sat up and helped me remove my shirt, and then reached down and undid the snap on my pants. "Here," she said, "help me."
I shook even more forcibly but the warmth of her body next to me helped soothe my chill. Any last-remaining ill feelings dissolved in a vast wave of untamed lust for her and the thought of her touch happening again, and I reached down and yanked my jeans to my knees, and she and I both peeled down my underwear.
She then removed both my jeans and my underwear completely and I sat there naked as she snuggled up next to me, putting her face right by my now-erect penis. Then, Jenny reached down and started rubbing my thigh and I shook with incredible chills of anticipation.
She looked up at me and smiled and whispered "I'll count so we know if you get all the way to fifteen or beyond this time." Her hand worked its way to my scrotum, and she cupped my balls and held them for a second, smiling up at me and taking in my obvious pleasure with that warm caring smile of hers, and then she quickly surrounded my penis with her palm and fingers.