My Unconventional Life

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Chapter Four

It was our little secret. Or at least I thought of it that way. Actually, though, he never hid it from anybody. More than once he did the exact same thing while my mother was right there. I know she knew he was doing it. But I also think she knew, as did I, that he would only go as far as it was right to go.

I know that sounds funny. Most people would have said it wasn't right for him to go anywhere at all. Heck, most people would have said it was wrong for us to be nudists together.

I've thought about this a lot. I think he did things to me for multiple reasons. He wanted to, of course. That's obvious. But I think he knew I wanted him to as well. And the things he did to me really did give me the kind of experience that would amount to control later on in my life. I was never surprised by what some guy did to me ... because Uncle Bob had already done it, and I knew what to expect. Whether that was his intent or not, who knows? For all I know he was just having fun trying to see how much I'd let him get away with.

Of course I had no idea how far I wanted him to go. I just loved how he made me feel. And it wasn't only the physical feeling of being touched by a man I loved, and who I knew loved me. I loved it that he got erections for me. It didn't mean anything was going to happen. It just meant that he thought I was pretty, or sexy or something, and whatever it was, I wanted to be that. What was "right" about what he did to me was that he bolstered my self confidence, and all it involved was touching me for less than five seconds with a slippery finger.

Of course, by the end of summer, both Brinn and Shannon saw what happened when I asked Uncle Bob to put sun block on me. The interesting thing about that wasn't that Shannon decided she wanted him to put sun block on her too ... just like he did for me. No, the interesting thing about that was that, somewhere along the way, Brinn had developed an interest in girls. And of course the girls he had the easiest access to - and who were usually nude to boot - were his sisters.

What was interesting about all that was that one day, when only Brinn and I were swimming, and we got out of the pool together to warm up a bit, he asked, "You want me to put some sun block on you?"

He should have added "like Uncle Bob does" to that question, but he didn't. Of course I found out pretty quickly that that's what he actually meant.

And I have to tell you, the first time my brother felt me up - because that's exactly what he did - all I did was compare his technique to that of my Uncle. Uncle Bob was good. In fact, Uncle Bob was very good. He could bring me to the panting edge of something I had yet to discover, and that was an orgasm. I'd never had one yet, but I didn't know what I was missing, so I didn't care. What Uncle Bob did felt really good, and that was good enough for me.

With Brinn, it was very different, though. The hard part is explaining that difference. His hands were smaller, of course, but they still felt really good stroking my skin. And he didn't push as hard, because I don't think he was trying to massage me like Uncle Bob always did. I think he just wanted to touch me and see what it felt like. But that didn't matter, really. I loved the way Uncle Bob massaged me, but I also liked the way Brinn's hands slid all over me.

And when I turned over, and he played with my breasts, it was so delightful. I don't think anybody could play with my breasts and it not feel good. Assuming it was somebody I wanted to touch them, anyway.

But the big difference was when he put his fingers on my sex.

Uncle Bob just teased me a little bit down there. He didn't even rub me proper, really. He just touched, and then only for a few seconds. Brinn didn't do it that way. His objection over touching Shannon "where she peed" had mysteriously vanished. He rubbed me inexpertly, to be sure, but he rubbed me for a lot longer. There was never any danger of an orgasm happening, but it felt good, and I let him keep going.

"You feel so weird," he finally said.

"Girls are built different than boys," I said.

"Well duh," he said.

"You want me to touch you?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "Do you want to?"

"Actually, I do," I said, surprised myself that I suddenly wanted to stroke him.

"I'm already hard," he said, backing away from me.

"Well then, let's go somewhere where Mom won't accidentally see us and get freaked out," I said.

Again, I need to impress on you that we weren't hiding from Mom because we thought we were doing something wrong. We just knew she didn't like to see him masturbate.

So we went behind some pine trees that had been planted to make a wind break, and I sank down on my knees and reached up to grasp Brinn's penis while he stood in front of me. The sun was hot, and the sun block smelled good, and suddenly it was a lot of fun to stroke a hard penis.

"You've gotten bigger," I observed.

"That's not all that's changed," he said. "Stuff comes out of it now."

"Really?" I remembered that white stuff that Uncle Bob had squirted on Mom's belly that day.

"Yeah, and it feels so much better now than it used to. It used to kind of hurt. I guess is still hurts, but when the stuff shoots out, it's really soothing and it feels fantastic."

I was having fun rubbing him, because he was very appreciative, and he made these noises and leaned this way and that way, and it made me feel good that I was doing a good job. He asked me to speed up at one point, and I did. Then, without warning, his stuff splattered all over my face and chest and shoulders. There was a lot of it, but it didn't really bother me because it was hot. I don't know why I expected it to be cold. Actually I didn't expect him to squirt on me at all, but when it happened that's what I thought of. I thought of the fact that it was hot, rather than cold. I guess I just thought white stuff would be cold.

But the biggest part about that was that when he spurted, some of it got in my mouth. I didn't even realize it until I closed my mouth and tasted something different. It was bitter, with a hint of salt. But it wasn't bad bitter. It was just different. In fact, I decided it was kind of good. I looked down at my breasts, which were splattered with the stuff, and scooped up some on my forefinger. I tasted that, and it tasted exactly the same way.

"What are you doing?" he panted.

"Tasting it," I said.

"Why?" he gasped.

"Some of it got in my mouth when you squirted. It's not bad."

"You're crazy!" he sighed.

"Maybe," I said. "But it tastes pretty good. I never knew I liked bitter before."

"Bitter?"

"Yeah. It tastes kind of bitter."

"You are crazy," he said.

But he smiled.

If you're a twin, or triplet or any part of a multiple birth, then you know there is no stronger, more intimate bond. I'd be willing to argue that that bond is even stronger than a marriage bond. Or can be. Left alone, triplets will do anything with each other, assuming they think of doing it in the first place. We didn't kiss each other with deep, tongue-filled kisses, but the only reason was we hadn't thought of it. We saw Uncle Bob and Mom kiss that way, but it just never occurred to us to try it, so we didn't. And it was that way with everything else sexual too.

Now, I know Brinn had been masturbating in front of us, and had asked us to help him sometimes, but believe it or not, that wasn't really sexual. Not then. All he was doing was something that felt good. He didn't think of it as something sexual, and neither did we. Nor did we girls think that rubbing our bump was simulating having sex. It was just something that felt good.

And when Uncle Bob slid his finger between our pussy lips while he put sun block on us, it wasn't sexual for us either. Make no mistake, it was sexual for him, but we didn't think of it that way. In one sense, rubbing the sexual organs is as normal as night and day. Watch a very young child and you'll see them masturbate. They don't know they're doing it, but hands push and pull between the legs without anyone teaching them to do that. In fact, the only reason it stops (for a while) is that some adult gets all serious and says, "Stop doing that!" Adults, in fact, teach children not to masturbate, even though nature says, "Go ahead. Feels good, doesn't it?"

But at some point, an awareness builds in the mind that leads to the suspicion that there is more going on there than merely feeling good. Sometimes it is the fact that some adult yelled "Stop that!" Kids learn early that that adults are buzz killers. Sometimes there's a good reason to kill the buzz, but sometimes there isn't, and when that's the case, it usually means adults want to do something, but don't want to let kids do it. Again, sometimes there are good reasons. But looked at on its most basic level, young people tend to think, "If you can do it ... I should be able to do it."

And once you do begin to think about things in terms of sexuality ... there's no going back.

And, as you can imagine, we triplets couldn't keep anything secret from each other.

I don't know if it was the way Brinn and I cuddled that night, when we went to bed, or just what it was, but Shannon noticed it.

"What happened?" she asked.

We went through five minutes of denials that anything happened, even though we both knew exactly what she was talking about. I had made Brinn's penis squirt, and that was the elephant in the room. Finally I got tired of messing with her.

"Actually, you wouldn't be interested in it anyway," I said.

"Interested in what?"

"You know how he loves to rub his thing?" I asked.

"Penis," she said, correcting my vernacular automatically. We had been taught to call a spade a spade, as opposed to calling it a goddam shovel, so to speak.

"Penis," I said, not willing to argue the point.

"Yes."

"Well I played with it today. And stuff shot out of it and I tasted it."

You'd have thought Shannon had flipped back the covers and found a dead body in our bed. I had to put my hand over her mouth to quiet her down. While I was doing it I wondered why I was doing it. I wondered why I was trying to keep it a secret from the adults.

That's when I realized the difference between simply doing something that felt good, and doing something sexual. And I was thirteen years old!

If you actually know any thirteen-year-olds, and think they are clueless about things sexual, you are deluding yourself. It's complicated, but trust me that thirteen year old kids know plenty about sex. They may have a few things wrong, but basically, in this day and age, it's completely normal for a child that age to know exactly how to make a baby.

And I know this may be difficult to understand, but we were actually the exception to that norm. I mean I started this whole narrative by saying our childhood was unconventional, and all this time you've been thinking it was the sexual things in our life that made it that way. But, in reality, we were actually sheltered more than most other kids, because we were never taught that being naked was bad, or that touching each other was bad, or that adults having sex right in front of us was bad. All that stuff was just part of our normal life. And it didn't have sexual overtones to us kids, because it was just part of loving each other. It was just how people acted.

If we had lived in town, where nobody ran around naked, and we were over at friend's houses a lot, we would have learned other things. But that's not how things turned out for us. At the same time we had had the talk. And we did know Mom and Uncle Bob were having sex, even if they were only practicing to make babies. That last sentence illustrates why I said two paragraphs ago that it is complicated. We still thought, at that point in time, that the adults were only practicing. We had a lot of information/truth ... but not all of it.

So Brinn and I had made the jump from harmless fun ... to something a lot more complicated and important than that. I think that's probably what Shannon picked up on.

Anyway, when she finally calmed down, then she wanted details. It was easier just to show her than tell her, so that's what we did.

Believe it or not, Shannon made more noise than either Brinn or I did, and all she did was watch. But I suspect one reason she was such a drama queen was because she was able to empathize with others so much. And she had tried to get me to rub her bump. So when Brinn and I laid down together, and I started slowly stroking him, and he slid his fingers between my labia and started rubbing my bump in the little circles I'd taught him to do, I spread my legs to give him some room, and then added something to the whole exercise.

I kissed him.

Don't ask me why I did that. Maybe it was simply instinct. But I kissed him, and I did it the same way we had all seen Mom and Uncle Bob kiss each other for almost a decade. He was surprised at first. I could tell. But when I pushed my tongue at his stiff lips, they relaxed and the next thing I knew we were swapping spit like experts. I have a suspicion that French kissing is part of evolution or something, because it was instinctive for us. I have, since then, talked to women who told stories (usually horror stories) of learning to kiss, or of teaching some boy to kiss, but there was none of that for Brinn and me.

And it added to the exercise in a way that was both astonishing and exponential.

His fingers on my bump (I hadn't learned the word "clitoris" yet) felt so good that I couldn't keep my hips still. And I think it affected my grip on his penis, because he started kind of grunting into my mouth in time with my strokes.

"You guys!" gasped Shannon, who wasn't prepared for any of this. Then there was a lot of "What are you doing?" and she was crawling over us to get a better look. Which, by the way, was also stimulating for some reason. Her skin, sliding over ours was almost electric. Brinn and I actually talked about that the next day. Anyway, I felt fantastic and he squirted all over the place. It got all over me, and him and the bed. And just one bit of it got on Shannon. When we broke apart from that one, long, amazing kiss, she was sitting on her calves, staring at her arm, where a little stripe of semen maybe a quarter inch wide and a couple inches long sat.

Her eyes were really big, and her mouth was open. I could tell she was holding her breath, and I suddenly imagined she was waiting, expecting that semen to burn through her arm or something. And I didn't want her to scream, which it looked like she was primed to do.

So I leaned over and licked it off her arm.

Brinn was the one who had to put his hand over her mouth this time.

She calmed down pretty fast, actually. She got back into that sitting-on-her-calves position, and rotated her stare from her arm, to Brinn, to me. She was breathing fast, but not exactly panting. I was rubbing my bump, but wasn't aware I was doing it. Brinn, being a boy, had gotten to the end really fast. And that had left me high and dry, though I wasn't educated enough to think of it in those terms. So, having been interrupted by his penis spurting, I think I had unconsciously taken over. I still hadn't had an orgasm, and still didn't know something like that was even possible. I knew the word, of course, but I also knew the word "quark" and it didn't have any real meaning for me either.

I did not, in fact, realize I was doing that until Shannon's gaze dropped to the hand in my crotch.

"What did it feel like?" she asked, suddenly.

I thought she was talking about his penis, and started to describe that.

"No," she said, stopping me. "What did it feel like when he rubbed you?"

Good, old, practical Shannon. She went from being freaked out, to trying to figure out how to make things better for herself.

And, within ten minutes, Brinn was showing her what I'd taught him.

By September of that year, it was getting cool, but we kids still kept going out to the pool, because that's where we put on sun block.

Or, should I say, that's where Uncle Bob put sun block on Shannon and me. And by then, his fingers lingered between our puffy labia. He had yet to penetrate either of us, and he rubbed nowhere near long enough. Both of us routinely said, "Don't stop," but he always did. And yes, Mom was there, sometimes. I didn't actually talk to her about it for two more years, at which time I found out that she and Uncle Bob talked about this before he ever did it. Basically, she was sure that, when we turned fourteen, which was her arbitrary age limit to start dating, that we would go out with boys, who would try to touch us and do things with us, and she didn't want all that to be a big surprise. The way she thought about it, she would rather have Uncle Bob expose us to things, than some stranger she knew nothing about.

And she also thought back to when she was a girl, and went to a party, and while a guy was feeding her alcohol in prodigious amounts, did things that were new and felt wonderful. She believed her sexual inexperience had contributed to her rape, because she didn't want the good feelings to stop. So she wanted us to know what things felt like, hoping that would give us some measure of control later on, when we were with boys who wouldn't just stop, like Uncle Bob did. And she was right too, though she never got any feedback on that until years later. So she agonized over whether she was doing the right thing or not, and she watched us closely (though not closely enough to learn what was going on in our bedroom), trying to detect any harm that might be developing. But Shannon and I had Brinn, who benefited from Uncle Bob getting us going. He "finished" what Uncle Bob started, so to speak, even though it wasn't the finish that it could have been.

We still had only partial information, even though we had a lot more than before.

And then it was fall, and winter, which was the one time of year that we tended to wear more clothes. Even so, we had a big wood stove in the house, and it kept things nice and toasty, so the most we wore were sweat pants and a sweat shirt.

And we still sat on Uncle Bob's lap sometimes, unless Mom was already there.

And during that particular winter, I swear Uncle Bob got my nipples to stop being puffy.

I haven't researched it, so I don't have any empirical framework to put this into, but while I sat on his lap that winter, watching a movie or whatever, sometimes he slid his hand up inside my sweat shirt and played with my nipples. It was always a languid, gentle kind of thing, that just felt good. I didn't get all horny or anything, though by then Brinn was rubbing us every night, unless we had our periods. And every night one of us rubbed him. We had started keeping a small towel near the bed to keep him from making such a mess.

And one night, when I took my sweat shirt off to go to bed, I looked in the mirror and the nipple that Uncle Bob had been twirling between his thumb and fingers was actually sticking out! I had a real nipple, sitting on top of a dome-shaped areola.

I looked at Shannon, who was also getting naked for bed. You'd think, what with us being naked so much, that I'd be intimately aware of what her nipples looked like. But that wasn't true. I knew Brinn's penis like the back of my hand, but I hadn't actually paid that much attention to my sister's breasts.

And she had real nipples too!

"Has Uncle Bob been playing with your nipples?" I asked.

"What?" She raised an eyebrow at me.

"Your nipples," I said, patiently. "When you sit on his lap, does he play with them?"

"Sometimes," she said. "Why?"

Don't ask me why, but I thought she was stupid. If she hadn't noticed how our nipples had changed, and made the same connection I had, then I'd just let her be ignorant for a while.

"No reason," I said. "He played with mine tonight, and it felt good."

"It always feels good," she said.

"What feels good?" asked Brinn, walking into the bedroom.

"Having our nipples played with," said Shannon, oblivious as to how important this moment was. I could tell, though, because Brinn looked at my breasts, with my new, real nipples, and licked his lips. I felt that flip flop in my stomach that was there more and more often when Brinn looked at me, and Uncle Bob touched me.

That particular night, it was Shannon's turn to go first, and my turn to rub Brinn. We had figured out that whoever went first, and did not rub him, got a really good rub and some really fine kissing. Then the second one just had a pretty good time while she made him squirt. I don't actually know if he was aware we had talked about this issue and worked out this plan or not. He never asked any questions, and whoever went first got a really good rub. Maybe he did figure it out, but he knew he was going to get serviced, so he didn't care.

Anyway, when he was finished with Shannon, which in those days meant rubbing her until things chafed a bit, he rolled over to me. I reached for his stiff penis, and started to lean in for a luscious kiss, but he put a hand on my chest and said, "Wait." He pushed with that hand, until I rolled onto my back. I had to let go of his penis, and I wondered what was going on.

Then he leaned over and sucked my right nipple, just like he had seen Uncle Bob do to Mom so many times.

I thought I was going to explode into little pieces. It was incredible. I don't even know what kind of noise I made, but it brought Shannon up like she'd been shot out of a cannon.

By then, of course, the thought of something new happening wasn't such a big deal. Again, though, she crawled over us, dragging her soft skin across ours, and I think I came within a hair's breadth of having an orgasm. But then he stopped, and leaned back.

"What do you think?" he asked.

I realized I was panting.

"I'll give you just two hours to stop doing that!" I gasped. I reached for his head, intending to pull it down to my other breast. But he thought I wanted to kiss him, so he rolled half on top of me and welded his lips to mine. He also humped me for the first time. I'm sure it was unconscious, but his penis wanted some stimulation, so his body figured out a way to provide it.

There were two things we learned that night. One was that we girls purely loved having our nipples sucked and the other was ... well ... let me get to that in the right sequence.

What happened was that while he was alternately kissing me and sucking on my nipples some more, while rubbing my bump, and humping me, all at the same time, I managed a few words. Some of them were, "Pleeease don't ever stop loving me like this," and I think I also said, "I'll do anything if you keep sucking my nipples."

He took me at my word. It seems that Brinn had found a website that somehow slipped through the parental controls Uncle Bob had put in place. Those controls were pretty strict, which might seem odd, until you realize that the vast majority of what you see on porn sites is crap, meaning it isn't real ... meaning nobody being displayed actually loves anybody else being displayed. That's a little like using fake food to do a cooking show with. It might look interesting, but it's really a lie. And he didn't want us to form our opinions based on crap. I didn't actually learn this until he asked if he could install parental controls on my computer, so my own children would be protected the same way he protected us.

I told you it was complicated ... didn't I?

Anyway, Brinn saw this site, and he saw one video before something happened and the screen froze and he panicked, thinking he'd gotten a virus or something, and unplugged the computer from the wall. It turned out there was no virus, but he never tried to find that place again.

But what he'd seen was a video of a woman giving a man a blow job.

And I did say, "anything." You can check up above. It's there.

Now, to be honest, when he described to me what he wanted me to do, I didn't think much of the idea. Shannon didn't puke, but she tried to convince us she was going to. He offered to go wash his penis first, which made sense to me, seeing as what all he did with that thing. And it wasn't romantic at all or anything, when he came back and lay down. Part of that was because he was soft. And I think he was soft because he was actually kind of scared. I don't think he actually thought I'd honor my promise, seeing as how it was made in the throes of ecstasy. We made each other promise, by the way, not to demand we honor promises made in the throes of ecstasy in the future. I know it's circular logic, but it worked for us.

Anyway, it was almost clinical when I got over him and grasped his poor, limp penis in my hand. His nut sack had grown by now, and could hold a walnut and a half. Don't ask me why I always thought of actual nuts when I looked at his nut sack, but I did. I still do, for that matter. Brinn, being a boy, got over his nervousness as soon as a girl was playing with his cock, and it stood up proud, just like always. He wasn't circumcised, something neither Shannon or I knew anything about at that point, so it was just natural to watch the head appear when the skin moved back. I made a decision that it would probably feel better (to me) to put my mouth on the hard part, underneath, rather than the soft part that pooched up off the tip.

So I skinned it back, held my breath, and leaned down to slide my lips over the head. The back of the crown, by the way, is shaped such that lips just naturally want to clamp down there. And if you've ever put a Tootsie Roll Pop in your mouth, then you already know that the instinct to suck, and get that sweetness all over the inside of your mouth is instinctive.

I was pleasantly surprised to find out that the tip of his penis actually felt good in my mouth. There was no taste, per se, but the slick feel of that hard skin was really fun to play with, using my tongue. Then he groaned, and it sounded exactly like Uncle Bob had groaned that time we saw him slide his penis deep into our mother. We had heard that groan years ago, but I still remembered it.

And that was when I decided I loved sucking Brinn's penis.

It happened that quickly. I mean within thirty seconds of taking him in my mouth, I was a confirmed, if inexperienced, cocksucker. I'd heard that word before. We all had. It was usually used in conditions that weren't happy. But that's exactly what I branded myself. I was a cocksucker, and I loved it. I might have thought of it as being a Brinn-sucker, but if so, it was just semantics. And I'll be honest. I've been out with a few guys since then, and while I only remember being tempted to let one of them put his penis in me, I thoroughly enjoyed cocksucking the others. In fact, I think the way I determine whether or not to go out with a man is that I get to know him well enough to decide whether or not I'm willing to suck his cock. If I am, I might go out with him. If not, I just don't.

I know it's strange, but I'm a woman, and we get to be strange. Ask any man. We're all strange.

In any case, it's a good thing I was so quick on the trigger at deciding this wasn't the last time I'd suck Brinn's cock, because he pretty much lost it just as quickly. If it took me thirty seconds to become a confirmed Brinn-sucker, it only took him thirty-five seconds to start filling my mouth with a whole bunch of that bitter, salty and now vaguely sweet stuff his walnut and a half ball sack produced. And not even once did I think about anything except tasting it as much as I could, and swallowing it fast enough that I didn't have to pull my mouth off his penis.

Basically, I sucked him like he was a milk shake and his penis was the straw. He flopped and sobbed like a little girl.

Shannon didn't even realize what was happening until, after I was sure there was nothing else in there and Brinn was whimpering that I was killing him. I pulled my mouth off and swirled what was left of his spend around in my mouth. Then I swallowed it in little gulps. I wasn't aware that, when I opened my mouth between gulps, there were little white strings of stuff going from my top teeth to my bottom teeth. That's what Shannon finally saw, and how she finally figured out what all those little gulps were swallowing.

"Ewwww!" she squealed. "That's just gross!"

"No it's not," I said, with the certainty of a scientist who firmly believes in gravity.

"I'll never do that!" she moaned.

"Damn right," I said. "Because I'll never let you. That's all mine, big sister. All of it. Every drop. You don't even get to touch it from now on until I've swallowed everything he has in him."

"Well that's not fair," she said, rising to the bait immediately. I knew she would.

"I think I'm dead," panted Brinn. His hand went to his penis and felt for it, like he wasn't sure it would still be there.

I put my face over his and said, "I love you. I will always love you, and I'll do that any time you want me to." Then I kissed him.

It was hilarious as he tried to get away from my lips, which I knew still tasted like him. But if it was good enough for me, it should be good enough for him too, so I bore down on him until he finally gave up and kissed me back. I pulled up then, and stared down into his eyes.

"Any time you want," I said, completely serious.

Of course by then Shannon had realized how serious I actually was about this new, amazing, icky, scary thing. Icky and scary to her, anyway. And, being Shannon, she couldn't stand not knowing why I was acting that way, and demanded to know everything. So I tried to explain it, but words don't do justice to taste.

"Isn't it yucky?" she insisted. "I mean it has to be yucky. It comes out of his penis!"

"And eggs come out of a chicken's ass," I said, as that idea popped into my mind.

"Ewww," she groaned again. "I may never eat another egg."

I glanced down at Brinn's penis, which was lying limply on his abdomen. He was still limp and relaxed. I saw a kind of bubble of white caught in that loose skin that stuck out from the tip. I reached, grasped and lifted his penis, milking it with my hand. A big bubble of white resulted.

"Taste it," I said, looking at Shannon.

"No way," she said.

I leaned over and slurped it into my mouth. I used my tongue to spread it all over my lips, making it obvious that I loved the taste.

"Kiss me," I said.

"You're insane," said Shannon, leaning back.

So I bent over and kissed Brinn again, smearing his lips with his sperm. He stiffened and jerked again, but this time he didn't actually try to get away. I sat back up.

"Kiss him then," I said, simply.

She stared at him for a long time. He stared back. I thought she wasn't going to do it, but then she looked at me.

"Do you swear it's not yucky?" she asked.

"Not to me," I said. "I mean it. I'm ready to suck him again right now."

"No," moaned Brinn. "It's still sore from last time."

"Just kiss him," I said. "If it's awful you can go brush your teeth."

She just gave him a little peck at first, and then pulled back to taste it. I'm not sure she got enough, and I suspect she didn't taste anything, because she went back and opened her mouth for a regular French kiss. He put his hands behind her head. I suspect he figured if he was going to have to taste himself, then she was going to have to taste him too. She stiffened, at which point I figured she was actually tasting it, and then struggled a little bit, but his hands held her there and maybe fifteen seconds later she started kissing him back. Then she got passionate and moved her head around a lot. He let her go then. She raised her head long enough to say, "It's not so bad, I guess," and went back for more. She lifted her head again and said, "Rub me?"

It seemed there was more to that video he'd seen, than he'd told us about. True, the woman had sucked the guy. But the guy had sucked her too, just before the screen froze up and Brinn jerked the cord out of the wall.

And, since he had his own sperm on his lips, he didn't figure having us on his lips too could be any worse.

So he offered to go down on Shannon, instead of rubbing her.

It was remarkably like when I sucked him. She was nervous and reluctant at first. She said, "You don't have to do this," at least half a dozen times. But within thirty seconds of him welding his lips to her puffy labia, I had to grab for a pillow to shove over her face, lest Mom and Uncle Bob come running to see who was being killed.

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