P is for Poppetbyrockandroller©
"Where are we going?" you ask.
"I thought we'd try someplace a little different this time." You tingle in anticipation, because you hadn't expected this. You'd had lots of sexy dates with your big brother, but there never seemed to be enough of them. So you'd already had about all the longing that you could stand, waiting for today to come. And now that we're together, it seems that I'm not going to throw you on the your bed and ravish your body from top to bottom. You almost whimper in mixed disappointment and thirst.
I open the door of the car for you and receive a kiss as my reward for being a gentleman. You've dressed for our tryst in a bright blouse and a pretty skirt that just comes to your knees, because you know how much I love to look at your legs. You are wearing a pair of flats with no socks, the better to kick them off and get down to lovemaking as quickly as possible. As I drive I am pleased that you're reacting as I had hoped, talking nonstop to cover the little bit of nervousness which my changing our plans has introduced in you. I glance over at you and smile. My eyes drink in all of you: your curvy figure, sweet red lips, lovely legs. You are so pretty.
I chuckle as the word pops into my head. Pretty. How very apropos. It fits into the plans I've made for us today so well.
"What?" you ask.
I hadn't planned on sharing my theme for the day until later. But I decide that if I'm careful not to give away too much I can let you in on the secret now. "Did you ever notice how important the letter 'P' is to you and me? Do you remember, Poppet?"
You smile with the memory of the first time I called you by our secret name. The first time that we had slept together. You luxuriate in the warm flush that happens every time I call you 'Poppet,' for it surely means that you're about to make love to your big brother.
"I mean, it may have taken a while for me to realize it. But most guys would look at their little sister forever without realizing just how perfect she is. And that's you. Perfect. My perfect little Poppet. There are so many 'P' words that describe you. Provocative. Petite. Pretty."
"And penetrable," you say suggestively, which makes me laugh.
"Psycho!" you say, and we both laugh even harder. You're proud of how you've come up with a word that fits and is such an obscure 'P.'
We come to a red light, and I stop the car and lean close to you.
"Pretty," I say, punctuating my word with a quick kiss on your delectable lips.
"Paramour." My voice a little softer and my kiss a little longer.
"Perfect." I whisper the word with such conviction that you simply can't doubt my sincerity, however misguided you think I am. It's not every girl who is so worshipped by her big brother. This time the kiss is long and sweet, our lips barely touching as if too much contact right now would lead us where we cannot go while sitting in traffic at a red light.
You are flustered by how our kisses always manage to turn your legs to jelly, even when we're sitting down. Damn. It won't do to let me know how secretly proud you are that I feel like I do about you. Or how easily I can make your body respond. Your mind races, looking for a suitably witty rejoinder. Trying hard not to be too embarrassed at my puppy dog devotion, you finally come up with one. But you can't look at me as I start to drive again, and you seem to have lost most of your voice. You whisper to your lap.
I smile, knowing that I've won this round at least.
I drive to a little restaurant which you'd never noticed before. It's dark and quiet inside, full of romantic nooks and tables built for two. A bright red rose in a crystal vase sits on the crisp linen in the center of each table. There is no question - this place caters to romantics and lovers. You can't believe that there is such a classy restaurant in this tiny town and you didn't know about it.
A smiling waitress with a knowing look in her eye leads us to a table in the back corner. As we walk through the place you notice that the other diners are few and far between – and all of them are couples with eyes only for each other. You realize that this cozy restaurant probably does most of their trade at dinnertime, which explains the lack of diners now. When we reach our table the waitress says with a smile, "I'll fetch your order right away," and quietly leaves.
I pull out your chair. Using that oh-so-feminine motion you tuck your skirt under your legs as you sit down. Your eyes glance to my zipper, longing for what you apparently are going to have to wait for. You're surprised and a little proud, because you see that I'm already hard for you.
True to her word our waitress returns with a silver tray. She gives you a wink as she places bowls of strawberries, cream and sugar on the table. A bucket of ice with a bottle of opened champagne magically appears.
"Shall I pour, sir?" our waitress asks.
"No, thank you," I say. She gives you another sly wink before she leaves, as if she knows something that you don't. It must be that everyone here likes lovers, you think. You surmise that I must have made all the arrangements in advance, so that our date wouldn't be undermined by such mundane details as ordering food. Nope – all of our attention can be for each other.
I ceremoniously pour us each a glass of the bubbly wine, and then reach for your hands under the table.
I gaze in your dark eyes. The smile and the promise and the lust written there are as readable as they can only be for siblings. A self-deprecating remark rises to your lips, but before you can give it voice you feel me snap the handcuffs over your delicate wrists. The thought dies on your lips as a rush of warmth spreads through your liquid center and your face turns pink. So that's what it's to be – handcuffed. That's OK, you tell yourself - you've worn handcuffs before and (God willing!) you'll do it again. Of course, before it was in the privacy of a bedroom and not out in public. Either way, though, there's no denying the effect that it has on you - the swelling of your nether lips, the catch in your breath.
Your mind races, trying to sort out your feelings of lust and surprise. It's amazing how desirable the cold metal makes you feel. You wonder again why you're so kinky, but the thought gets pushed away as you succumb to the moment. I move my chair around the table so that I can be next to you. You keep your hands in your lap, hidden from sight of any passersby. Suddenly you come up with just the right word to describe how you feel, and you whisper it to me as a question.
I laugh as I choose a strawberry and swirl it in the cream. I dip it ceremoniously in the fine baker's sugar, coating it with extra sweetness. I hold it to your lips and they part gently, like they do when you're about to take me in your mouth
"For my pampered Poppet. My prisoner," I whisper.
"In public!" you say brightly, before your lips close over the succulent fruit.
"You know I'm jealous of this little piece of red fruit that gets to be a part of you in a way that I never will," I say. You feel yourself blush again. Was any sister ever so lucky? As soon as you swallow I bring another strawberry to your mouth. It's sweet, and the cream and sugar enhance its flavor even more. You savor the taste almost as much as the pampering. You are warm and secure and cared-for, in spite of the handcuffs which are chafing your wrists and having their usual effect on your pussy.
I feed you the berries one at a time, pausing to give you sips of the champagne from the delicate crystal flute. The bubbles tickle your nose. The combination of the two flavors is an elegant treat. Occasionally I eat a berry and drink some champagne, too. You've never felt so indulged, so wanton and wanting. But the handcuffs are still a distraction - you want to be free so that you can caress the growing desire between your legs. It's almost unbearable. And if I'm not going to do anything about it, then you should get to, right? The champagne bubbles mix exotically with the aroma of the berries and you feel lightheaded. Damn it, you want to be fucked.
A drop of the red juice escapes your lips, and before you can lick it clean yourself I lean forward, flick my tongue out and capture the errant droplet. My lips can't be this close to yours without taking a kiss, and our tongues dance together as we make each other dizzy in a way that the champagne never will. I make a note to myself to drown you in berries someday so that I can lick them off of you, because they are surely a thousand times sweeter once you have touched them.
Finally the bowl is empty, and I dab your lips dry with the soft linen napkin. You feel spoiled and pampered and oh-so-very sexy. Your thoughts are mixed with regret and anticipation. All gone? Is it time for my fucking now? Can we go and find a bed? You are consumed by your desires, teased by my teasing, and you don't see how you can possibly wait any longer.
I help you to your feet and you're surprised that I haven't brought anything to drape over the handcuffs to hide them from anyone who might see. You think we're going to leave. But then you see a strange light appear in my eyes. You know that look - it's one hundred percent lust. But as much as you like to see me looking at you that way, you're a little afraid to see it here in a public place.
You're grateful and your body relaxes a little when I take your arm to lead you away. Better to satisfy lust back at a motel, or even in the car. But then I gently turn you around to face your chair. I gently put one hand on your tummy and the other on your back. Suddenly I push hard, forcing you to bend over at the waist. You stumble but manage to catch yourself with your cuffed hands on the back of the chair. What is this?
You are so embarrassed. You're bent over in a highly suggestive position. No. 'Suggestive' isn't the right word at all. You're a girl waiting for a fuck. And the handcuffs! Before nobody could see them. Now anybody that walks by can see your shame, see the kinds of things that turn you on, the things that you will do for your big brother. You feel flushed and pink, and not just your face. Your ass is poking out into the restaurant, and you are grateful to see that there is nobody near us.
I had planned on taking you back to a motel after our sensual brunch. But being this close to you has been a trial for me too. You are so damned sexy. And I don't want to wait even one more minute for at least a look at your delectable bottom.
You feel me take your skirt and slowly lift it up. You can't believe it! There are a lot of things that you're willing to try, but this? No way. It would be embarrassing enough to appear in public bent over with your panties showing. You might even be able to convince yourself that it was no different than showing up in a bikini. But today would be much much worse. This morning when you were getting dressed you decided that you wouldn't wear any panties, to tease me and to let us get to the fucking even quicker. But you're not going to allow me to expose your naked bottom to the world, however cute I think it is. You start to stand up.
Immediately my hand shoves your head back down so that your forehead is on the back of the chair.
"No, no, Poppet," I say. You struggle against my hand tangled your hair, but it's no use - the position you're in gives you no leverage and you have to stay bent over the chair with your ass prominently displayed. You are fuming, but at the same time you're more excited than you've ever been. How badly I must want to see your ass if I'm willing to do this to you in public.
You struggle as you feel me flip the skirt up and lay it on your back, exposing your bare bottom to the cool air and the sight of anyone who cares to look. The handcuffs, the pampering and the thoughts of imminent fucking have already made you swollen and needy, and now the wet spot between your legs turns to pudding. You feel yourself climb onto the bottom rung of the orgasm ladder and you know that it won't be long before you climb all the way to the top, with or without my help.
My hips jerk in an involuntary thrust as I caress your tiny ass. The soft light of the restaurant shines off your alabaster bottom - all round and taut and waiting to be plundered. Plundered - another P! That settles it. It's like a sign from the fates telling me not to wait. I look around. Aside from the faraway noises from the kitchen, we are by ourselves.
"No, Poppet," I whisper in a strong voice that won't carry but tells you how serious I am. I struggle to hold you in place while I explain.
"Today you've been pampered. And Prisoned. But now you dare to stand bent over in public in a shameless display, showing off your bare bottom to anybody who cares to look. That's the kind of behavior that always makes big brother mad."
It's so unfair that you can't believe it. You'd give your bottom to me if I wanted it, but it wasn't your idea to show it off to the entire restaurant. Hadn't you been fighting to stand back up and let your skirt drop? Damn these handcuffs! Maybe you just aren't fighting hard enough to convince me. You struggle harder, but you are literally in no position to fight back. The chair threatens to turn over with your exertions, but you catch it so that it won't make a loud noise and draw attention to the pretty girl with her bare bottom and her handcuffs. Why oh why do you always give in to your big brothers ideas?
"This is for your own damned good, Poppet. You're going to be Punished." You hear the capital letter, and you know that you're about to be hurt.
I keep one hand tangled in the hair that I love so much, holding you in place. Your breathing becomes ragged, a mixture of sexual need and anticipation of impending pain. You hear the unmistakable sounds of a belt sliding out of pants loops. There's no way that you're going to stand for this, even if your hands are cuffed. You push against my hand in your hair, trying to lever yourself upright, but it's no use. You fleetingly think of calling for help, but realize that that's no good. You can't. You won't. What's the matter with you? You may need this, but not like this. Not pampered and punished in public.
You don't even have time for a wry laugh to yourself when I strike your bottom hard with the doubled strip of leather. It hurts! The pain is like a shock of ice water - all of the air explodes out of your lungs and you don't even have enough breathe left to mewl like a kitten. The distinctive sound of leather slapping bare skin reverberates through the tiny restaurant, but no one comes to see what is being done to you. The pain is cathartic, almost like an orgasm. You're not surprised that your pussy starts gushing, dripping down your bare legs almost as if you were wetting yourself. You jump halfway up the orgasm ladder. Resistance leaves you as the little girl inside once again gets what she wants so badly from her big brother. Again and again I spank your lovely rear end, leaving little red lines the color of ripe strawberries.
I was just going to cuff you and feed you here. Pampered prisoner. I figured that that would be enough of a tease to really turn you on. Then I was going to take you to a motel and have my way with you. To the car if it turned out that I couldn't wait. But things seem to have gotten out of hand. The mixed submission and lust in your eyes as I fed you forced me to play my hand early and not wait to see you bent over. Then, once you were in that position that I love so much, I simply had to lift your skirt. I had no more resistance to unwrapping you than a child has with his first present on Christmas morning. I wanted to see your naked legs. But then somehow your ass was naked too. I have needs of my own, Poppet. The need to possess you, to give to you. You are so damned sexy and you need my strong hands so much that I can't resist giving you what you desire. For your 'shameless display.' And so I hurt you and love you and mark you as mine.
And now I have to have you all the way. I must have your ass. Now. Right now. I put the belt on the table so that I can unzip my pants and take myself out. It feels so good to be free of the confining underwear, to be so close to you. I can smell your excitement mixed with the lingering scent of the strawberries and champagne. My mouth waters. I reach to the table and grab the container of cool white cream. I pour it on the crack of your ass and watch as it drools down towards your secret place.
You gasp in surprise at the cool liquid splashes on your bottom. It's such a counterpoint to the heat that's pulsating from between your legs that you're shoved all the way up to the top rung of the ladder. You're almost ready to cum, and I haven't touched you anyplace except in your hair and your mind. You're resigned now - all rational thought driven from your head. A pliable doll with no awareness of its own except the desire to be used. To be penetrated.
I watch the white liquid splash on your ass and slip down your legs. I wish that I had that much cum to give you - that I could drown you in it. I pour a little cream over my swollen cock and put the container back on the table. I refresh my grip and pull tightly on your soft locks as I line myself up on your little brown hole. I push deep inside you.
The mélange of physical and emotional sensations steal away your breath as well as your mind. There is the chafing of the cuffs and the cool air conditioning on your bare legs. My hand pulling your hair so hard that it hurts and you can't move away as your puckered asshole is violated. The cool cream running down your legs. The stinging and burning of your ass where the leather has left its mark. The feeling of being so damned filled.
Your teeming emotions are too many to be sorted in any rational way, and indeed, you do not have time for them. The tears that spring to your eyes are infused with all kinds of emotions. Anger. Fulfillment. Pain and joy. Lust. Embarrassment. Humiliation and contentment. Satisfaction. And love. Let's not forget love.
But it's your pussy that is somehow the focus of all of your feelings and physical sensations - the nexus that encompasses all of it and gives you the reward that you crave so very much. I gasp as you start to cum. The suspense of waiting all these days for me to use you finally, finally vanishes as you take me inside you. The cock buried deep in your ass drives you over the top of the ladder and you fall off the other side. You moan softly, cumming with a powerful rumble from deep inside you, your bare legs trembling.
I pound your asshole, whipping the cream into a froth. The pleasure of taking you like this is too much, and I grasp your hips as I fill your hole. The warm white sperm spurts out of me and into you, drooling from your ass and mixing with the cold white cream. It's all you can do to stand, and you're grateful for the support of the chair as your legs lose their strength and threaten to tumble you to the floor. You are amazed that you can cum so hard from being penetrated in the hole that most women never even use this way. But you love it – the mixed feelings of submission and handcuffs and an ass filled by your big brother combine to push you over the top yet again.
It feels like forever. It feels like a nanosecond. Each spurt takes a little longer to spew from me, and I slow my pumping, matching the strokes to the jets, using the soft sensations of your little hole to milk every drop of cum from me. Finally I am empty. I fall against your back – spooning while we're still standing and joined.
You feel my weight on your back, and you don't know how your legs manage to support us both. Even in this awkward position you love the cuddle, the afterglow of our fucking. You can't stifle a moan of disappointment that we can't stay this way as I slide out of your slippery little hole and stand up. I tug hard on your hair, pulling you upright. Your skirt falls back into place, and the aftershocks of your orgasm shake your body as I turn you around and mash my lips against yours. We are both too breathless for our kiss to linger, but the promise that it holds binds us forever. I nibble your delicious neck as you catch your breath. The insides of your thighs are chilly under your skirt, the cream and my sperm and your juices mixing together as they all run down from your worn asshole and soaking pussy.