Sex Stories

by Mary Jaine

  He paused, his eyes hooded, and his face expressionless.

  "And then there was Tommy. Ah yes, Tommy, 'sweet' Tommy, 'rich' Tommy, 'misunderstood' Tommy, spoiled, vicious little dick Tommy. If you remember, last Easter, he abducted you, and threatened to slice you up on a bandsaw because you said 'no' to some four-way action with his mincing, pencil-dick, rich little pansy school-boy friends. I still get a warm glow from the look on his face when he answered the door in his Hugh Hefner robe and I grabbed him by the balls and squeezed. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to hammer a cocktail shaker up someone's arse when you're standing on their face? I think shoving all those ice-cubes and a pint of gin down there and giving him a good shake didn't go down too well, judging by the noises he was making. Still, the ice must have helped take the sting out of it."

  Ollie grinned wistfully at the memory.

  "Poor little Tommy's wandering around now with a size 9 arse, and a size 19 arsehole; that was a good night's work, and one he'll never forget; the way he walks now, he looks like his legs are on backwards..."

  He paused, his faint grin dying away as he rubbed his eyes tiredly.

  "And then, out of all the low-life's you could have chosen to hang with, you picked that prize dickhead, greasy little Khadif, with his knock-off Armani suits and fake Rolexes and that pathetic, tricked-out, low-end 3-Series Beamer; don't bother to deny he was a dealer: everyone in Fulham was buying dodgy meth and rocks from him."

  He sighed and leaned back in his seat.

  "Apparently Khadif wasn't as street-smart as he thought he was, and it was only pure, blind luck you weren't with him the night the Crane brothers caught up with him and had a high-level business discussion about turf; as I remember, all the police ever found were his fingers, most of them, anyway, one of his ears, and some of his teeth, and those were embedded in a tree..."

  He blew out tiredly, his eyes slitted, distant.

  "Iz, do you know how close you came to just disappearing? Sweetie, I can only bail you out so many times. I can't take on people like the Crane mob; I wouldn't even know how to start; if you'd been there when they grabbed Khadif I don't know what..." he trailed off, biting his lip, stopping himself just in time from blurting out just what she really meant to him.

  "Izzy, I keep trying to tell you, but you won't listen, you just keep getting mixed-up with some of the biggest loonies, losers, idiots, dummies, and dopey little chancers. They all end up peeling their faces off the pavement or out of their own arses, and you still don't learn, you just go on to the next one. All the favours you need from me end up with me and my friends unwinding some psycho from you, and someone getting badly hurt. So what, or who, is it this time?"

  Izzy stared at him, her eyes huge as he went through the litany of bad choices she'd made. She could hear the note of disappointment, and a tinge of something else, too, in his voice, and, for the first time, it saddened her as she began to realise what she'd been doing, and what he'd been doing for her, and what it had cost him.

  "Come on, Izzy, it's late, and I was hoping for a little time to myself, if you get my drift?" he murmured, and this time she heard the barely suppressed frustration in his voice.

  "What, Holy Saint Shulagh, Jesus' favourite little sunbeam still holding out, is she?" she grinned acidly, glad to get off the subject of her and her woeful taste in men, and onto Ollie's adventures among the local girls, a subject just as painful and hard to bear.

  Listening to him talk about this girl or that was like peeling scabs for her; every time one of his week-long relationships went south she felt like screaming 'What about me? What's so wrong with me? Look at me, damn you!' but of course she never did, because that would for certain ruin whatever little she had with him.

  So she listened, grinding her teeth, while he talked about the latest girl who should have been her.

  Ollie grinned back ruefully.

  "Yeah, Shulagh Devlin's fucking hard work; we get so far, and then...pffft; nothing, her knees stay welded together, and I have a massive case of...well, I guess you know what I have a case of, so if you don't mind..." he trailed off meaningfully as he jerked his thumb at the door.

  Izzy ignored the hint; instead she sprawled on his bed and looked thoughtfully at him. Ollie tried looking everywhere but at the bed; the sight of his hot sister sprawled on his bed, in her short skirt, with her long, flawless legs crossed behind her, was threatening to give him a hard-on he really didn't want to explain to her...

  "You'll never get anywhere with Unshaggable Shulagh, you do know that, right? She's saving herself for her wedding night; you'd have been better-off taking-on her big sister; the way Bridie Devlin puts it about, they're going to bury her in a Y-shaped coffin. From what I hear, Shulagh's on the new Catholic contraceptive pill; you don't swallow it; you just hold it tightly between your knees. She's stupid, too; I heard her mother tried to put her on the regular pill but every time she stood up, it fell out..."

  Ollie grinned even as he grimaced.

  "Unfair, Izzy, even from you, and Bridie Devlin? No thanks, the girl's a walking clap-laboratory; she's had every STI known to man, and a few specials she cooked up all by herself; the girl glows in the dark from all those STI's fighting each other. I'd rather lick road-kill..."

  He rubbed his temples tiredly as he grinned.

  "I think I'll concentrate my efforts on wearing Shulagh down, it just needs a little more finesse..."

  Izzy grinned at him, and once again Ollie's hidden self noted just how lovely she was when she let her guard down and her habitual, guarded, wary expression around him disappeared. This evening, however, her guard seemed to be even lower than ever, and he wondered about that.

  "You do realise that if you want to fuck her, you're going to need a permission slip from the Vatican, and a written promise that baby Jesus will forgive her afterwards, signed by God in triplicate? Just saying..."

  Ollie grinned at that.

  "Yeah, I heard that; right now you can't pry her knees apart with a pair of tow-trucks! Who am I kidding? She's never going to give it up; I can see her headstone, eighty years from now; the inscription reads 'Shulagh Devlin: Returned Unopened'..."

  Ollie smiled, his good humour restored.

  "So tell me, Izzy, now that you've skilfully changed the subject and got my undivided attention, who or what exactly is this problem of yours that only I can help you with?"

  Izzy rolled onto her back, gathering her thoughts as she stared at the ceiling.

  "Ollie, my problem is Mum. She won't get off my back, she never lets up for even a second, and she won't see anything my way; if I say the sky's blue, she'll say it's something else, then ground me for arguing with her. I can't do anything right, and I'm done with all that shit. It comes down to two choices; move out, now, or fix it so she stays off me permanently. I can't move out; Dad has to pay my fees for uni, but he won't pay for a flat, and I have too many classes and lectures at odd times to get a steady job, so that leaves option two; we fix Mum."

  Ollie looked at her in alarm.

  "Iz, I hope to fuck you're not suggesting I...hurt Mum, because you can get the fuck out right now...!"

  Izzy waved him down.

  "No, no, no, you idiot! Just shut up and listen. The way I see it, she's frustrated; she misses Dad, she needs what she had before, and she's not getting it; my room's above their bedroom, and I used to hear them go at it hammer and tongs every night, sometimes all night. I think that's what she's missing and that's what she needs; she goes on dates, she never says what happened, but she always comes home early, in a really foul mood, with a face like a freshly smacked arse, and just lays into me. She's had five years of no wild-thing, and enough's enough. Ollie, I think our mother needs to be ridden like a short-legged fairground donkey: hard and often. She needs to be fucked senseless, and that's where you come in..."

  Ollie stared at her in disbelief, unable to believe his sister had said what she'd just said.

  "Iz, are you seriously su
ggesting I...with Mum...for real? Are you out of your fucking mind? Mum? Get the fuck out of here, I've never heard anything so...!

  Izzy cut him off.

  "Look, either you do it, or I get one of those knuckle-dragging, mental dwarves you hang around with to do it. Did you know, when you're not around, all they talk about is how much of a MILF she is? They go on about how they'd like to fuck her, what they'd do to her, how often, blah-blah-blah, but frankly, if they tried to wipe their arses, nine times out of ten they'd miss, so that leaves you, and I can't believe I'm saying this out loud, the brains of the outfit!" That last dig was purely reflexive, and she regretted it as soon as it was uttered, but Ollie never even noticed it; his attention was elsewhere...

  He sat back with a dazed expression on his face, but, Izzy noted, his gaze fixed on her smooth, rounded, unblemished thighs and barely concealed panties under her short skirt.

  She grinned slyly as she leaned back and crossed her legs, the soft, silky whisper of skin brushing against skin almost deafening him.

  "Mum used to go at it like the night express with Dad, but he's gone, so we need someone to fill the void, so to speak, and while Moxie's built like a bull, he's hung like a hamster; either all that stuff about black guys is just not true, or the steroid abuse has finally got to him. The rest of your mates are all talk; I know the desperate skankzillas they've been with, so I know they're all single-shot, one-and-done spazzes; Mum would suck 'em dry and spit out the bones, which leaves you, matey-boy. Let's face it, Ollie; Mum's been doing without for five years now. Think about it; five whole years. I think she's about ready to fuck doorknobs, and much as I hate the idea, if you do it, and do it right you'll get further than you ever did with Holy Saint Shulagh, Fulham's very own Vestal Virgin, I guarantee it."

  Ollie just shook his head, 'No' written all over his face as he stared in shock at his sister, while another part of his mind entirely noted just how hot she looked right now as she laid out her preposterous plan

  "So you're saying you'd never even contemplate taking Mum for a ride in the bed-sled?" she insisted, pushing him to say what she wanted to hear.

  Ollie's eyes bulged.

  "Too fucking right, you're out of your tiny mind, Iz, what the hell have you been smoking..?!"

  Izzy smiled triumphantly.

  "So, you say never, ever, no chance, not even a glimmer of a chance, not even with those big tits and all that yummy-Mummy hotness begging for, nay, demanding, a good, hard, old-fashioned hot-prodding, you're saying a definite no, that's what you're saying right now, hand on heart, yes?"

  Ollie nodded dumbly. Still smiling, Izzy marched over to the computer, jiggled the mouse to take it out of Sleep-mode, clicked on the 'miscellaneous' folder, then clicked again on one of the Mother/Son porn clips. As the screen lit up with an older woman, almost a perfect double of their mother, enthusiastically fucking a much younger man with a freakishly large penis, Izzy pointed dramatically at the screen.

  "So, Ollie, if you've never, ever thought about it before, what's this?"

  Ollie gulped, flushing beet-red as his guilty fantasies played on screen, telling Izzy all she needed to know. He slumped back in his chair, guilt, embarrassment, defeat, and...something else flickering across his face.

  "Look, Iz, I didn't...that's not...that's not Mum, it's just some porn-star woman who coincidentally, and purely by chance, happens to look like her..." he blustered, trailing off as he listened to just how weak and implausible his excuses sounded. Izzy grinned happily, that slight edge of malice still there in her grin.

  "So, big brother, let's negotiate; you do as I ask, and let's face it, deep down in that grimy little coal-shed you call a soul, this is something you'd give your right arm for. You get to do nasty things to our hottie Mum, I burst in and find her busily bouncing on the bedsnake with you, go "Ah-haaa, gotcha, you dirty cow!" and voilà, I get that frustrated bitch off my back forever; who loses? After all, it's not like I'm going to tell anyone, although she won't know that! Think about it; Mum gets to feed that thing of yours into her juice-box, and I've seen your cock, by the way, congratulations, she'll be begging for more; you get your end away, repeatedly, you can forget late-night Snickers Bars and wanking over Shulagh Devlin, and I get some fucking peace and normality at last!"

  Her eyes narrowed threateningly.

  "The alternative, brother dearest, is I show her that video. Don't worry, I already have a copy. Then we'll see how long Prince Ollie gets to swan around in this house like Ollie the untouchable! Do we have a deal?"

  Ollie's eyes narrowed too, real anger simmering inside him at his sister's threats, and Izzy quailed at the sight, at what he must be thinking of her, but stood firm.

  "If you dare..." he managed to get out before she cut him off.

  "Oh yes, I very much dare! Let's just call Mum in here and see what she says, shall we?" she taunted, motioning towards the closed door. Ollie stood his ground, but when her hand was actually on the doorknob, his nerve failed him.

  Mumfff..." she managed to get out before he clapped a hand over her mouth and pulled her away from the door.

  "You'd do it, you'd actually shop me to Mum?" he growled, and Izzy grinned triumphantly

  "In a mouse's heartbeat, honey-bun! Never call my bluff, Ollie-baby. You know I have no morals and very little shame when it comes to getting what I want!"

  Ollie glared at her, his face reddening, then ducked his head as he turned away.

  "Okay, you win, you little...you win! Just siddown for a minute, I've got to think about this!"

  Izzy smirked triumphantly.

  "What's there to think about, Cutie-Pie? Mum's a cow, but she's a hot one; you know you want to peel those tight jeans down and go wubba-wubba-wubba between her tits and the cheeks of her arse, so all I'm saying is, I'm not going to freak if you do. No-one loses, you dope; you scratch my back, and I'll look the other way while you fuck her into a coma!"

  Ollie had been listening with only half an ear, parallel-processing the way he always did when Izzy droned on about her latest fuckup boyfriend, nodding in all the right places without actually absorbing anything she said, and now a devious scheme all of his own began to unfold in his mind. He smiled at his sister, causing her to frown uncertainly; she'd seen that smile before, like the time he'd tossed Greggie down a flight of stairs before laminating him to the pavement...

  "What, what are you plotting now?" she asked, a trifle nervously as that smile reached his eyes, making them gleam happily. Ollie leaned back comfortably, his eyes fixed on hers as he smiled even wider.

  "And what do you think you should sacrifice for making me do this, little girl? After all, you want this to happen, and you really want me to put my back into it, so I think you should make it worth my while!" he murmured, watching the wheels spin in her head.

  Izzy's eyes narrowed as she realised this time he was serious; if she wanted him to do this for her, it was going to cost her, never mind that she'd threatened to tell their mother about his grubby little fantasies.

  The thought gave her a sharp, guilty little frisson, delicious and enticing, but she wasn't going to let him know that. Besides, the way things were right now, he'd probably just get that long-suffering look from their mother, and she'd be back in her mother's sights, only now with no Ollie as a backup plan.

  Perhaps this was finally what it was going to take to get him naked and randy, maybe this was where she found out what he was really thinking about her. Perhaps it was time to finally grasp the nettle and play it by ear from there...

  Izzy slid off the bed and sauntered across the room, hitching her short skirt even higher, watching his eyes as they zeroed-in on her crotch. 'Oh my God...' she told herself, 'will he...?' as she hitched her skirt even higher, the crease and folds of her labia now plainly visible through her wispy, somewhat damp panties. She decided to go for broke; if she wanted him to do this, to do what she really wanted him to, then maybe this was how she reeled him in...

  "Is thi
s what you want, Ollie-Baby?" she cooed, lifting her skirt all the way up so he could see her tiny, wispy panties straining against her smooth mons. Ollie smiled and licked his lips. Izzy trembled as a sudden wave of longing and lust swept through her when he did that.

  '"Izzy Bartlett, you slut! You're tempting your brother, naughty, naughty!"' echoed through her mind as she edged closer to where her tall, well-built, gorgeous big brother sprawled in his computer chair, his eyes crawling all over her, but always returning to her panties, the rapidly swelling bulge in his jeans becoming more and more apparent.

  Izzy stopped, unsure what to do next, only coming closer when Ollie crooked a finger at her, until she was standing between his spread-legs.

  "There, is that what you wanted to see?" she tried to snap at him, but her voice lacked conviction, instead husking sexily, and Ollie grinned again.

  "Not yet, Princess..." and with that, he hooked his fingers in the front of her panties and tugged them down past her crotch. Izzy could only stand still, locked motionless in something akin to shock, but in a good way, as her hot brother yanked her panties down, exposing her naked labia fully to his gaze.

  "That's better!" he smiled, then leaned forward to sniff delicately.

  "Something smells delicious, little sister, mmm!" he commented, smiling again, but this time it was a genuine smile, a real, 'Ollie' smile, not that cynical smirk he'd been wearing earlier.

  Before she could reply, he spun her round, his hands holding and kneading her round, tight little bubble-butt, squeezing and pulling the cheeks apart while she gasped at the sensation of her labia and anus being stretched open to his gaze.

  "Enough, Ollie, please...!" she moaned softly, while at the same time pushing back against him, against his squeezing, kneading hands and probing fingers and thumbs. A separate part of him entirely admired her adorably crinkled, pink little anus, and suddenly he wondered what it would be like to give her a bloody good butt-humping; he filed that away for future consideration...

  "I accept your offer, Iz, I'll do what you ask," he whispered in her ear, "but first... a taste, I think, just a preview of things to come, something to seal the deal..."