The Mammoth Book of Threesomes and Moresomes
Page 28
When I woke the moon had dropped to the east and there were long shadows in the hall. One of the horde of relatives had spilled something foul in the downstairs kitchen. I cleaned up, nibbled at an excellent curry from the day before, and tried to get excited about reading an antique monograph on ownership and origination. There was plenty more beer in the back of the fridge, and there isn’t really a wrong time for beer. Time passed.
Our house has only been in the family since the sixties, but it was built long before the advent of indoor plumbing. The master bathroom is an opulent afterthought, with marble and tile hiding the odd angles, copper pipe girdled to the inside wall, and custom brass mermaid fittings that Mom found at some estate sale. An inset tub opposite the window allows an unbroken view of the disrepair behind our house, dilapidated outbuildings and unploughed fields matching the neighbours’ equally decrepit acreage. I had spent my first few days back alone, wandering the broken stone half-walls at the property edge during the daytime and soaking by candlelight in that huge, stained porcelain tub every night. Up to my neck in makeshift decadence while overlooking ruin, it was a good vantage point from which to remember the drama, trauma and comedy of growing up in Abercrombie. The luxury of that room was now usurped by relatives, so I tiptoed back up to the second-floor toilet, which is carved into a slant-ceilinged cupboard next to CeeCee’s room and as narrow as the master bathroom is wide. I slipped in just as a lithe shape grabbed the door.
Dad’s plaid bathrobe was tied loosely at her waist, flapping open as she pulled the door closed. I recognized my sister’s panties: gauzy pink silk that shouldn’t still have been intact. Flooded with shame, I remembered sneaking those and additional handfuls of her underwear from the laundry hamper, making off with them to this very bathroom. Smelling them, touching them, touching myself as I inhaled her scent, bringing them redolent and sticky back to the laundry room on days when it was my turn to do the household wash. Even if I hadn’t been exponentially increasing the wear on them, they should have long ago been outgrown and discarded. CeeCee goes through clothes like most people go through Kleenex. She would be thirty in days, and I first jerked off in those panties when the two-year gap between us felt like aeons, when she and I were snarling teens who barely spoke to each other at school. Nobody keeps underwear for seventeen years!
“I guess she was right.”
“I beg your pardon? Sorry, you’re welcome to use the bathroom, I can wait . . .”
“She must have been right about you and her underwear. You look like you’re witness to the ghost of puberties past. See something you like?”
Izzy untied the robe. Her areolae were large and light brown, puckered with the chill. Her hips were wide, straining thin fabric. She reached into the pockets and drew out threadbare brassieres, more small panties, all of them familiar. I must have made some incoherent sound.
“Don’t stress, honey. It’s OK. It’s OK if you’re the kind of depraved twistoid who gets off on his little sister’s smalls. I won’t tell anybody.” She snickered. “Apparently it’s still working for you.”
Physically trapped, confronted with my own unforgivable behaviour and full of beer past my bladder’s capacity, I should not at that moment have been painfully, pointedly tumescent, but there it was. My erection was aimed through my long underwear, across the bathroom and directly at my sister’s gorgeous girlfriend’s snatch.
I blame the beer. I’ve never been exactly a model of restraint and impulse control. I’ve never been one who tries to resolve social awkwardness by grabbing for somebody, either, but that’s just what I did. I could feel my movements as if they were instructions to a faulty robot waldo: I flexed my shoulders and stepped forwards, reaching for the nearly naked woman before me. Izzy smiled and let my weight pull me past her, tugging my forearms to the left as she nudged my hips off balance. Her bare left foot did something subtle and sweeping and she caught my shoulders, effortlessly taking my weight so I didn’t hit the bathroom floor too hard.
“Careful, big boy.”
Standing over me, relaxed and apparently unfazed, Izzy tested the resilience of a flowered cotton bra. It tore, as did the cotton panties she tried next.
“Take those off.” She gestured to the long underwear tented around my slightly diminished stiffy. “Off!”
Izzy seemed mildly surprised that I hadn’t immediately, unquestioningly obeyed her. I was too shocked by the whole pattern of events not to obey. I wriggled out of the long johns and the hardwood floor was cool against my back. “What did you just do there? I’m sorry. I mean, what happened?”
Izzy ignored my questions. She bent closer. “Put your hands together up beside the cold water pipe.”
I complied. Far too easily, she used another familiar twist of silk to bind my wrists above my head.
Far too fast, I found my ankles secured with old bras to the radiator and the sink. Izzy immobilized me with the same smiling ease a flight attendant brings to their safety spiel. I was waiting for her to point out emergency flotation devices and air masks, but instead she knelt directly over my face. I nearly passed out from a sudden mixture of joy and shame-tinged desire. I could feel the blood streaming into my cock, feel it pulsing with each heartbeat. “What are you doing? Where did you get these?”
“On eBay. Where else? What does it look like I’m doing, pervert?”
It looked like she was putting her hand slowly down the front of the too-tight panties, taking her time, relishing my response. She was going to wake up the rest of the house if she kept talking so loudly. I saw her expression change as her fingers found sensitive tissue. I bucked against the air behind her. I felt the way I had after I got my first piercing, or when they pulled me out of what was left of my first car. Floaty. Unreal. A little out of synch with the outside world. She opened her eyes and stared me down, laughing. Her breasts did amazing things when she laughed. She stood again.
“Breathe, Graham. Inhale. You’ll pass out otherwise.”
From the robe pocket she tugged a piece of fabric that wasn’t actually underwear – a red silk scarf. It, too, had been a regular part of CeeCee’s wardrobe, and it, too, had been the target of my adolescent onanism. Once.
How had she known?
“I can explain!” I sounded like an idiot.
“No you can’t, and you shouldn’t try. This morning’s theme is going to be ‘honesty’. Can you handle that?”
I nodded.
“Speak up, Graham.”
Izzy gave orders with a gentle, certain authority I had never encountered before.
“What? Ummm . . . sure. I can handle honesty.”
“Excellent. I knew you could. Raise your head.”
The praise made me glow. Why should I care what this stranger thought? Why would I let her do this to me? Obediently, I raised my head and let her tie the scarf around my eyes, doubled over itself and wrapped twice around my skull. The world went dark. My cock bobbed stiffly and my bladder ached.
Izzy laughed quietly again. “Your reaction is very gratifying, Graham. Are you ready to be honest?”
“Yes.”
“I like honesty, Graham. I’ll reward honesty. Would you like to be rewarded?”
Her voice was close, now. She smelled of lube and lavender.
“Yes, please.”
“Were you watching my body this morning, Graham?”
“Yes.”
Izzy knelt at my waist, the heat of her cunt bright and sudden on my pelvic bone. I bucked reflexively.
“Be still! Were you thinking about touching me?”
“Yes.”
Izzy’s nails stroked the skin just outside of my nipples on either side. I fought to control my movements.
“Good little boy!”
I stilled my reaction and stored away a little piece of anger to use on her later. I let my face show calm and contentment.
“Sorry!” Her apology was instantaneous. “I gather that’s not a good word combination. I’m sorry, Graham. No i
nsult intended.”
I wondered who had trained her. I wondered if she had a weapon. Without any obvious external movements, I tested my bonds. Solid. Tight. With her astride me, I couldn’t even muster leverage to tug at them. Five minutes too late, I realized how completely Izzy had me.
“Really, Graham, I’m sorry.”
Her lips were tender on my nipple, and her crotch pressed harder on my hip. She stayed that way, kissing softly, as my body gradually relaxed. Belatedly, I realized that she was taking much of her own weight on the outside leg. I wasn’t used to any of this, least of all the experience of a stranger’s gentle consideration while utterly powerless on my own bathroom floor. I wanted to cry again.
“It’s OK, honey.”
She kept saying that. It wasn’t. She was wrong.
“When you wanted to touch me, what part of my body did you want to touch?”
“Ah . . . everything!”
“Honesty, Graham. Remember?”
“Your ass. Your thighs.” I tensed again.
“Thank you.”
Izzy slid a tiny bit lower and more towards the centre of my body. The change was dramatic. Her weight was an unbearable pressure on my bladder and her rear was an unbearable teasing near-friction against the tip of my cock.
I tried to flex my abs to take her weight, and then to twist away.
“Still!”
“Bitch!”
“Yes, Graham. Your cock is very hard, Graham.”
I was silent. The house creaked.
“May I mark you, Graham?”
“Yes.”
I felt her teeth at my neck, at my nipple. I heard her breath, felt her hot cunt shift on me again. I went way inside to a wordless, hungry place and stayed there. I went way outside to fantasies that nobody should have, and stayed there too. Her bites were cruel. Her tongue teased. I needed to piss. I needed to come. The combination was fucking with my brain in delicious, wrong ways. I needed to scream. I whispered, “Please.”
“Please what, Graham Edward Gryn?”
“Please . . . give me more.”
“More questions? Certainly.”
I groaned quietly. She raked her nails along my chest, brushed my balls with her fingertips and left her hand lingering by the underside of my bobbing cock.
“Do you masturbate?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“I have lovers.”
“Where?”
“In America.”
Her hand drifted away.
“Chicago, and just outside Chicago. Three women. They know about each other, but don’t know each other.”
“Thank you.” Her hand was back, stroking my cock with a feather touch. “Have you ever been to a prostitute, Graham?”
“Once.”
Her hand paused.
“A few times. Once that was good.”
She chuckled. It wasn’t an unpleasant chuckle. “What made it good, Graham? In detail.”
She squeezed, once, bending low and grazing my chest with her nipples.
“She was beautiful, and funny, and she got really wet. She . . . spread and let me watch while she played with herself.”
“Nice.” Izzy’s hands were insistent, varied, attentive.
“She, um she had really pretty tits. Like yours. She told me about her fantasies, and listened to mine. She sucked me long and sloppy, with lots of slobbering and no condom.”
“Did you come in her mouth?”
“No.”
“Did you fuck?”
“Yes.”
“Did you come in her pussy?’’
“No.”
“In her ass?”
“No.”
“In her face?”
“No.”
“Did you come on her pretty tits, Graham?”
“No.”
Her hand slowed, teased. “Tell me.”
“We fucked for a long time. We were in the kitchen at a place I was renting, and it was a Saturday morning. I made us a pot of coffee, and we drank it naked while she sat on my cock. She took two sugars and one cream. She kept her glasses on.”
“You like girls with glasses?”
“Yes!”
I felt her turn around, felt her adjust her knees beside my shoulders. Izzy’s hands were both on me now, slow and steady. Her pussy was over my face. I strained up towards her.
“Did you come, Graham?”
“Yyyes. I did. I came in my hand.”
“Yes?”
“We fucked for a long time, and she let me suck on her titties, and then she fingered her ass while I watched, and she asked me if there was anything else I wanted.”
“And?”
“And . . . I said there was. I asked her to lie on the kitchen table on her back.”
“Yeah?”
I felt fabric brush across my lips. Her pussy smelled like water tastes after a day of dehydration.
“I asked her to play with herself again while I licked her asshole.”
“You what?!”
“I rimmed her while she wanked, and then, when she was ready . . . she peed. She pissed all over my face, and I came in my hand licking her butt hole and drinking her piss. And I liked it.”
“I bet you did! Dirty, dirty, fucker. Nasty perverted man. Thank you for telling me that, Graham.” Her hand held my cock at the base, and I could feel her breath on me. “I bet you wish I’d let you do that, Graham.”
I said nothing.
“I bet you wish you could let go, too, don’t you?”
Her lips were wet and warm and suddenly around the tip of my dick. I nearly passed out. The sensation was gone just as suddenly. Slicked, her hands moved more urgently, pumping my cock.
I groaned again. “Please!”
The house creaked alarmingly. Something, probably her tongue, reached out and joined her hand, twirling big, wet circles around the head . . . then it stopped again.
“Are you a filthy pervert, Graham?”
“Yes.”
I felt the shift of her weight, then I could hear her fingers in her cunt right over my face.
“Are you a sick, depraved fucker, Graham?”
“Yes!”
“Will you do whatever I ask you to?”
I felt the first warm drops on my face before I answered. “Yes! Yes!”
For a while, there was just sound and taste and sensation. Her hand on me kept pumping, slowly, erratically. Izzy’s piss hissed out into the panties through her fingers, on to my face. She made it last: stopping, releasing, grinding against my lips, pausing, then letting it flow again. Her mouth would descend on my cock for a second then she would pull back. As her stream in my face subsided, she leaned forwards again. It took me a while to figure out that the smooth, soft pressure was her sliding my cock between her tits.
“Let it go. Now, Graham. Soak me.”
I heard her hands moving faster and I heard her breathing accelerate again.
“Come on, Graham. Do it.”
I tried. Nothing happened. I relaxed. Nothing happened. I thought about holding her by the hair, kneeling in front of me with her mouth open, and I did it. Izzy shook and was quiet while my piss spurted between her breasts and down between us. Her fingers danced a constant, constantly changing pattern. Relief and pleasure and permission to experience both at once threatened to split my head open. The last few gouts splattered her chest and mine, and I felt her mouth on me again for a brief, tantalizing second.
“Wow. That was good, Graham. So good. Do you want my mouth now?”
“Yes!”
“Do you want me to suck it?”
“Yes, please.”
“Tell me to suck it.”
“Suck it.”
“Say ‘Suck it, slut.’”
“Suck it, slut.”
“Say ‘Suck it, CeeCee.’”
I froze.
“Say it!”
“Suck it!”
“Say it!”
“Say it! Tell me!”
The floor creaked.
“Suck it, CeeCee. Suck the piss out of your brother’s dick. Take it down your throat, little whore, and gag on it. Suck it and don’t stop sucking on it . . . Oh! Cecilie!”
There was a pause while I waited for the world to end.
The house creaked again, loudly. Izzy’s mouth was extraordinary. Her tongue laved the underside of my cock while she took it deep in her throat, and she held that depth for an impossibly long time. She licked and sucked and slobbered and smacked so loudly I was certain she would wake the entire house, and her hand didn’t for a second stop frigging her juicy pussy above my face. Eventually, I felt her do something I’d only heard about people accomplishing with their lips.
“Was that what I think it was?”
“Yeah, some people don’t even notice. Do you mind?”
“Hell no! Does that mean you’re going to sit on it?”
“Beg me.”
“Please, Izzy, put my dick in your beautiful, sweet-smelling pussy? Please?”
“Nicely done, but that’s not what I want to hear after all. Tell me.”
I was so hard in her hand that the band of the condom was biting me.
“Sit on it, girl.”
“Tell me.”
“Sit on it, slut. Fill your pissy slit with my dick. Sit on it, bounce on it, stuff it up your coochie and come on it! Damn it, Izzy!”
“Tell me!”
“Fuck! No.”
Izzy laughed. “If you won’t give it, I’ll just take it. You’ve just forfeit the use of your mouth, Graham.”
The panties were rank and wet. I tried to bite her when she stuffed them in my mouth. Her first slap felt as if it loosened some of my teeth.
On the second slap, I opened my aching jaw and my mouth was full of warm, salty, sodden panties.
She was already sliding down on my cock by the time she took off the blindfold. I was almost disappointed to see her there. The locked door had not opened. There literally wasn’t room to open it. The woman sitting on my cock was not my sister. I had now in spirit broken every trust with CeeCee, but she was safely asleep in her bed, and this tramp, this impostor had not won . . .
“You’re a good brother, Graham. Shoot it. Come for me. Come for me and pretend you’re not thinking about fucking your little baby sister. Come in my wet, wet cunt and pretend you don’t wish it were CeeCee squeezing the jizz out of you. Shoot it, big brother! Shoot it, Graham, come in me. Come in your sister. Come for your sister . . .”