Helping Sis Pick A Dress

by Lubrican

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

Chapter Five

Having sex with my sister was oddly less rushed, or even maybe almost clinical, once my fear of embarrassment had passed, or been washed away by hormones or whatever. She rolled onto her back again, lifting her head and feeling around with her hands to make sure the towel was where she wanted it, and I got between thighs she spread apart for me. I stared at the mouth of her pussy, and learned something important. A menstruating vagina doesn't look any different from one that isn't menstruating. I'm sure that if I'd stared for hours, I'd have seen some evidence, but I didn't stare for hours. While I was doing that, she bunched up a pillow and propped it under her head.

I bent over and put my hands beside her breasts, in her arm pits. My penis pointed at her face. She tried to reach, but my wrist was in the way and I had to lift one hand so she could get her arm inside it. I was too far down and she could only reach the tip with her fingers, so I moved up a little. She bent it down, aiming it somehow, and I watched at the tip slowly approached her puffy pussy lips. Then I watched as it nosed between those lips, pushing them aside like a running back might push aside two cheerleaders who were on the field for some reason and were in his way.

"Go slowly," she said.

I thought she was worried it would hurt, but later she told me she just wanted to watch it go in her. We both did that, watching as it slowly disappeared inside her, like a hiker caught in quicksand.

Then there was nothing to see anymore, as my scraggly brown pubes meshed with her lustrous blond ones. Did I mention Cathy was blond? Her head hair was lighter than her pubic hair, but I think that was just because her head hair was exposed to a lot of sunlight.

Nobody was paying attention to pubic hair after that, though, because my pubic bone gently kissed hers, and since her clit was in the way, it got a little smooshed. She gave an audible sigh that even the village idiot would have known meant she was happy, and that tripped some instinct in me to press harder. I'm pretty sure I was only trying to get deeper in her, but all it actually did was crush her clit harder. Plus I moved upwards a little, which meant that my skin rubbed her clit while it was being crushed.

"Oh fuck yes," she groaned.

And I spurted.

Just like that, with no warning of any kind, I lost it and my balls tried to climb out of their sack and shoot through my penis into her body.

"Nooo," I whined. It couldn't be over that fast! The world just wasn't fair! I was being punished. I didn't think about why the cosmos might be punishing me, but I knew it was.

Then, as Mother Nature encouraged me to seed my lover properly, she caused me to pull out a couple of inches and slam back in as my penis produced its second stream of ejaculate. That was followed by another little out and back in, and I realized I wasn't getting soft. I was soft-er, but not soft. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, I started fucking her with short strokes. Her legs came up to wrap around me and I looked at her face. Her eyes were closed and she was biting her lip, grimacing like it hurt, but I knew it didn't hurt.

I am convinced to this day that my premature ejaculation was responsible for the fact that I continued to make love with my sister, on a more or less regular basis for years, afterwards. That's because, once I came (and didn't go completely soft) I was clear-headed enough to pay attention to her, and try to manipulate things such that she would forgive me for popping off two seconds after I got in her.

In other words, I experimented with how to fuck a woman in ways that are intended to produce orgasms for her. I had heard the term "multiple orgasm" and knew it applied to the female, and not the male, so basically, I thought, "We'll just see about that."

I wiggled, and moved, and rubbed. I came out a lot, and came out a little. And, completely by accident, I learned that, if I went in deep and moved my lower body in big circles, it drove her bananas. I watched her have two orgasms that way before her hands came to my chest and pushed.

"I can't breathe!" she gasped.

I stopped, but didn't pull out of her. I didn't know for sure, but I thought I was a little harder.

I didn't ask her if she wanted me to stop. I just gave her time to catch her breath. I couldn't quite reach her nipples with my mouth, unless I withdrew, and I didn't want to withdraw. Then a radical, brilliant idea popped into my mind.

I talked to her about it.

"I want to suck your nipples some more, but I'd have to take it out to do that. Can I put it back in later?"

She nodded her head frantically.

"Promise?" I could be both brilliant and an idiot in the space of ten seconds.

She pushed on my shoulders and I slid out of her. My cock felt cold and lonely, all of a sudden.

I sucked, playing with the texture of her nipples, which were very firm. I don't know if a shrink would say I missed my mother's nipples, or what, but I really loved sucking Cathy's. I always have, ever since then. Sometimes, if she's sleepy, that's all I do, real gently.

Her fingers played with my hair while I was doing this, and then her heels bounced against my butt, which was up in the air and I took that as a suggestion that I get back in her.

I was rock hard again and this time neither of us watched. She just reached, aimed and I sank home like I had been made to be there. She was really slippery and hot, which meant there wasn’t a lot of friction. I played with long strokes, but I had to hold myself up on stiff arms to do that and pretty soon my back complained. I lay down on her body, which felt like I was crushing her, but she lifted her head to kiss me, so I figured she'd tell me if it got to be too much.

With her breasts crushed against my chest, I could move a little, like they were tiny mattresses or something. What that did was move me in and out in her, but only a couple of inches. It just felt good. Nothing was urgent, on either her part or mine. We just enjoyed being in intimate contact like that.

"You want to cum again?" I finally whispered.

"Can I?" she asked.

I interpreted that as "May I?" when what she actually meant was, "Is it possible?"

I stiffened my arms, but left my loins crushed to hers, and started doing circles again. She was off to the races, and the noises she made spoke to my balls, which announced that, with a little more effort and time, they'd be willing to supply another dose of happy juice. It took longer, this time, maybe five or six minutes, long enough for me to begin to feel irritation where my pubes were being pressed into my tender skin down there. Then her hands gripped my hips and urged me to go faster. Those hand stayed there to guide me and she took deeper and deeper breaths until she got all tense and groaned like she was dying.

I wasn't quite there, and I knew it would take too long to get me there, but I wanted to cum again, so I pulled out and did a one-arm pushup while I jacked on my cock. It felt sticky, but I didn't care. With my hand on it, I was able to get there within thirty seconds, but about the time I spurted, my arm gave out and I fell back down on top of her. My cock spit aimlessly on her abdomen and made a mess, but her hands on my back, made it clear she didn't care.

Sex can be messy business. It's perhaps slightly more messy during menstruation, but if you get up and take a shower after sex anyway, there's no difference if you do it after menstrual sex. That sticky sensation I felt was her blood. It turns out that menstrual blood is different from normal blood, due to its composition and its physical properties. I won't go into what those properties are, because it makes some people uncomfortable. The point is that, from the male perspective, menstrual sex doesn't feel any different than non menstrual sex. No difference at all. If you want the female perspective, talk to your own partner about it. The only thing that might be different is that you need to shower after menstrual sex. But then you should clean up after normal sex, too. It's just good hygiene.

In our case, we took a shower together, got squeaky clean, and then I watched as she put a tampon in. Walls that would normally have been there had tumbled down and there was very little after that that was "private" between us. I'm sure it's not like that with other people, but it was with us. Maybe the fact that we had lived together our entire lives had something to do with it. I don't know.

I started getting supper ready while she washed the towel, which was all that needed washing. We were eating chicken nuggets and tater tots when the front door opened and our father stomped in.

"I'm home!" he yelled out. Cathy and I stared at each other and our eyes said it all. If he'd gotten home an hour earlier, Armageddon would have commenced.

His nose led him to the kitchen.

"We didn't know you were coming," said Cathy, as she hugged him.

"I got a load that let me stop by here on the way," he said. "I texted your mother."

"She didn't tell us," said Cathy. "You hungry? We ate it all, but we can make more."

"What's wrong with you?" asked our father, looking at me. "You look like you saw a ghost."

I hadn't seen a ghost. What I'd seen was in my imagination, and it was the man standing in front of us, on top of our mother, making Cathy and me. I'd never envisioned that before. My new status as 'sexually active' had changed my outlook on other things, and this was the first evidence of that. I pushed that out of my mind.

"I'm just tired," I said.

"Lazy, you mean," he said, but he smiled. "It looks like you should have mowed the lawn days ago."

"I've been mowing everybody else's," I defended.

There was more banter, and then talk as we caught up. He went to take a shower while Cathy heated up more chicken nuggets and tater tots. I opened a can of spinach, because I knew he liked that.

He ate and then took a nap until Mom got home. She was always tired, but having Dad there gave her a shot of energy. Cathy and I left them alone and an hour later we could hear them 'catching up' in the bedroom. It wasn't loud. I'm quite sure we'd heard it in the past and ignored it, but now we knew what it meant.

"That was close," said Cathy, now that we were alone and they were too busy to interrupt us.

"Too close," I said.

She came up to me and pushed me against the wall, kissing me passionately. When she pulled back, her eyes were wide.

"Why does almost getting caught make me so horny?" she gasped.

So, let me recap. My sister asked me to help her be sexy for her dates. In the process she got naked for me as if it were normal to do that. I got a boner for her. When she found out about the boner, she wanted to see it. I groped her and fingered her pussy and we started kissing. I ended up on top of her, in her, spurting her full of incestuous brother goo. She liked that. Finally, when we almost got caught doing it again ... it made her horny!

Did you notice there how in the beginning there was one word emphasized, per sentence, and as things got farther and farther into this insane ... behavior ... more and more got emphasized, until whole sentences were in italics!

That's what my life did. Everything was normal, and slowly, very slowly, things got more and more weird (emphasized) until my whole days were weird!

I didn't know what to do. I mean for most seventeen-year-old guys, their day during a summer vacation involves goofing off (video games, comic books, etc), maybe doing some kind of chores, hanging out with friends, eating, and beating off. He might beat off twice in a day, if there's some kind of special stimulus. So if you call beating off weird (emphasized) then maybe he's weird ten minutes a day. It usually only takes three minutes, but you have to get ready, like picking out a magazine picture to stare at, or pull up some porn on the computer or whatever. It takes way longer to get ready than it does to jerk and shoot.

What most seventeen-year-old guys don't do on a routine basis is see their hot sister naked and then fuck her.

In other words, this behavior isn't routinely discussed in the locker room, where tips and advice about girls are routinely passed out.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to avoid responsibility for what happened. I admit I had a great time while I was rolling around on top of my sister. I came hard and I loved putting every single spurt deep in her belly. And I'd rather see her naked than any model in a magazine or porn site.

It was the afterwards part I had trouble dealing with. I think that's because I actually knew what making love with Cathy was like. Before that happened, all I had was my imagination and some fantasies to dwell on. But now I knew what it was like and didn't need my imagination cluttered up with that.

But what that did was leave my imagination with plenty of room to visualize all the things that could go wrong in this scenario. I don't have to list them. I'm sure you can imagine them, too.

Basically, I was pretty much a wreck. It turns out that being pretty much a wreck affects your whole life. After almost getting caught by our dad, I went to my friend Peter's house to hang out and maybe shoot some hoops. He was playing a video game, so I picked up the other controller and joined in. I got killed every thirty seconds because all I could think about was not talking to Peter about fucking my sister. I told him I didn't feel good, and left and just walking down the street all I could think about was Cathy, with her friends, blabbing about this and that and her saying something like, "You should let your brother fuck you. I love it when Bobby sticks his cock in me!"

I knew she wouldn't do that, but I felt like that woman in The Scarlet Letter, which they made us read in school last year. I didn't have a big red A sewed to my shirt, but it felt like anybody who looked at me would know instantly that I was an incestuous pervert.

I was a complete wreck for a whole week ... but nobody called me out. Then another week went by and our secret was still a secret. Two weeks later mom started talking about school clothes for the coming school year and didn't give any indication of any kind that she thought something was going on. Basically, it took a month for me to realize that, if we were careful about it, nobody was going to find out I was an incestuous pervert.

And what did Cathy do during this month? She tormented me. That's what she did. She loved pushing me up against the wall and kissing me. She was fond of grabbing my basket and whispering, "Are you hard for me?" Sometimes all she did was reach out and touch me, dragging a couple of her fingertips across my hip, or shoulder. Towards the end of that month, she said things like, "It's almost time," or "I can't wait for my friend to visit." Her "friend" was what she called her period.

Basically, Cathy was unrepentant and even more perverted than I was.

The problem with using the rhythm method of birth control, including menstrual sex, is that it is very restrictive in terms of when you can have sex. In theory, there are only ten days per month when people using the rhythm method need to abstain from sex. It should be impossible to get pregnant if the woman hasn't ovulated, and will not ovulate within five to seven days of intercourse. So, in theory, if you add a couple of buffer days, before ovulation, you should be fine.

The problem is, it has to be the right ten days. That's because that even though an egg doesn't stay in the reproductive tract very long, sperm do. There are only one or two days where an egg is able to be fertilized, but sperm can live inside the female for up to seven days. And that means if you donate some sperm before she ovulates, it can be sitting in the reproductive tract, waiting for an egg to come down the tube.

So it's all tied to her ovulation. And there's no "cha-ching" that tells a woman she's ovulating, or about to ovulate, or has recently ovulated. Sure, if you use a thermometer, and a calendar, and history, and looking at the color and stretchiness of cervical mucus, you can make some educated guesses as to when it's going to happen, or is happening, but that takes a lot of time and energy and commitment, and I'm here to tell you, teenagers aren't really known for putting in that kind of work. Not for this, at least.

No, teenagers make a lot of assumptions and guesses, and make a lot of important decisions based on emotion and hope.

I guess this is a long-winded way of explaining why people who use the rhythm method feel like it won't hurt anything to fudge a little, sometimes, on that ten day spread.

With Cathy and me, it started when she assumed her friend was going to visit in five days. That meant she had finished ovulating, which meant it was safe for us to do the nasty. And I, being a weak-ass male, caved instantly when she said it was safe for us to play. And play we did. I was almost at the end of that month of paranoia, but that didn't stop me from climbing on top of her and frantically rutting in her. I always made sure she had an orgasm before I squirted in her. I wanted her to be happy and want more of this. But I never even thought of pulling out of her.

For three days, while Mom was either at work or school, we acted like newlyweds. Then Dad called and said he would be home in three hours. He got there and parked his tractor on the street. He didn't have to go pick up a load for three days, which pleased our mom a lot. It put the kibosh on our honeymoon, though, because he was home all day and wanted to do stuff with us.

And that was fine. We loved him and doing stuff with him was great, but it also meant we couldn’t engage in our latest favorite pastime.

Cathy's friend arrived right in the middle of his stay, which meant she was still flowing when he left. Having read up on the rhythm method on the internet, we now knew that there were easily five days after she stopped flowing when it was safe to have sex, so the honeymoon resumed. We had menstrual sex for three days, and then didn't need to use a towel anymore for five days after that.  It made it even easier to decide to get frisky ... so we did.

The average day went like this. I usually woke up first (which meant ten in the morning), and was in the kitchen eating breakfast when Cathy would stroll in wearing only panties and a T shirt. She knew that would get me going. She'd eat breakfast and stretch, or bend over or something like that, showing me her body. We both knew what was about to happen, and there were no words. She'd take my hand and lead me to her bedroom and get naked and lie down and spread her legs and just wait. I was always fired up, and our lovemaking in the morning was fast and kind of violent.

After lunch she'd say she needed my help choosing a dress for Friday night. You might think that meant that by Friday night she had chosen five dresses to wear, but we didn't actually choose any dresses. It was code. We didn't need a code, but she liked doing it and I was a weak-ass male who went along with anything that would get him sex. She'd get naked, hold one up against her body and then toss it on her chair and tell me it was fine. Then we'd make love a lot slower, sometimes spending an hour or more in bed before I spurted. Sometimes, if either of us was hornier than usual, we'd throw in another session during the afternoon.

The evenings were generally sex-free, sometimes because Mom was there, and sometimes because we didn't want to chance a parent coming home without warning. The exception to that was Friday nights. After a date, and after Mom (and eventually Dad) had gone to bed, she'd come to my room and we'd have sex on my bed. Those were usually short and sweet, with her having one orgasm and me shooting my troublesome sperm deep inside her.

Then there would be some days of abstinence while we waited for her troublesome fertility to come and go.

It turns out ten days is a long time to go without sex when you're used to having it at least twice a day. If it sounds like all we thought about was sex ... well ... maybe you're right.

Then school started and our 'routine', if you will, was disrupted. We went from having sex two or three times a day, to having sex every two or three days.

Now, you mix being constantly horny, with not being able to get passionate with your lover, mixed with school and homework and extracurricular activities, and what you get are two teenagers who are both distracted and a lot more willing to take chances.

I guess what I'm saying is that we didn't pay as close attention to which ten days were safe.

I remember the first time I was rocking on top of her, and she'd had an orgasm she had to muffle with a pillow over her face, and her hands were helping me move as she reached for a second cum, and in the middle of all that she panted, "We might be pushing it. You need to pull out when you cum."

The rhythm method is roughly 85% successful in preventing pregnancy, according to people who are supposed to know these things. Interestingly, withdrawal, or pulling out, is also roughly 85% successful as birth control. The problem is you have to pull out before you start ejaculating, and you have to shoot far away from the vagina. Just about everybody who recommends withdrawal as birth control encourage you to also use a condom. This is confusing to teens, because condoms are supposedly 98% successful, which means you're using something that makes you 98% good to go, but if you pull out while wearing it, you're suddenly only 85% good to go.

A quick note on condoms. They suck. Nobody likes them. Ask around. You'll see. Cathy and I tried them twice, and we both hated them.

So there I was, on the verge of using the pull-out method of birth control with a girl I had shot off in a whole bunch of times, all of which were fantastic cums. My little buddy, who was sliding around inside her hot, squeezing pussy, wasn't at all interested in abandoning said hot, squeezing pussy. I was conflicted, and I know I was conflicted because part of my brain said, "Okay. Pull out. I can do that," but when it actually came time, meaning I could feel semen rushing through my cock, my brain said, "Push, Bobby, push!"

Basically, I got one spurt inside her, one in her open pussy mouth, and one on her pretty, blond pubes.

The next time this happened (which was later that day - it was a teacher work day and there was no school) I was better prepared and pulled out before I started cumming. That meant I had to finish with my hand, and my aim was kind of off and I got a lot of it on her pussy lips.

Ten days later she told me to pull out again, but this time she wanted to do the jerking while I came, and her aim was just as bad, if not worse. That's because she was reaching down with me on my hands and knees, between her still-spread thighs.

After that, she made me roll off of her and lie down while she jerked and giggled when I got my stomach all spermy.

It was during winter break that we finally decided to experiment with oral sex. She was right in the middle of her cycle when winter break started. You can do oral any time of the month.

Oral sex is great. We both loved it. I loved it sooner than she did, because I tried it the same night we talked about trying it. Initially, she just lay there and moaned about how good it felt, but she didn't cum. Later, when we had more time, or at least were willing to spend more time doing it, I learned how to nibble and suck her clitty just the right way, and make her go off like a bomb. But when we first started, it was just fun that was also a little frustrating.

When it came for her to put her mouth on me, though, she was less excited. She looked at it, and jacked on it and loved playing with it, but she knew stuff came out of the little slit in the tip, and the idea of getting that stuff in her mouth was scary. Part of that was because in the girls' locker room, the tips and advice dispensed there was about 50/50 on whether it would make you puke or not. She was worried that she would toss her cookies, which isn't very romantic for either partner.

Which brings up romance. Romance, or chemistry, or whatever you want to call it, is a little like rain. It can come fast and furious, leading to gully-washers and floods of passion. That is sometimes called love at first sight, though often it's actually lust at first sight. Or it can drizzle, slowly getting you wet until you're thoroughly drenched and surprised to find yourself that way. People who don't intend to fall in love with each other sometimes get drizzled on, and find themselves in love when they might not want to be.

Cathy and I did not intend to fall in love. That whole concept was foreign to us. We understood brother/sister love - the non perverted kind - and that's all we thought was going on between us. The having sex part was something outside of us, when it started. It was an anomaly, or accident, or something, and at first it didn't even seem real. It was like stubbing your toe on something. You felt it, but you knew the discomfort would go away, sooner or later.

I've heard of friends with benefits, and casual hookups and all that, but I don't understand them. What I mean is that, after learning how to make love to Cathy, I don't think I could do that with some stranger I didn't really care about. It would be like jerking off, except doing it inside the stranger.

Looking into her eyes as she came, or as I came, feeling like everything in the world was perfect, seeing her and knowing that pretty soon she'd slide a hand across my butt or push me against the wall for a kiss ... all those things were what made it worth how hard all this was.

"How hard could it have been?" you ask.

Well, there were roughly sixteen hours each day we weren't sleeping, and fifteen of those hours we couldn't make love for one reason or another. For most of those fifteen hours we wanted to touch each other, or kiss each other, or interact with each other the way all the normal lovers in the world interact. We had to constantly be on guard not to say or do something that would alert a parent, or friend, or acquaintance that "something weird" was going on between us. If she was on a date, I worried that whoever she was with might push too hard, or she might like him too much or she might get roofied and end up getting a different penis in her. I had this irrational fear that if any other guy brought her to orgasm, she wouldn't want me anymore. And obviously, if she got raped, her interest in sex would abate, maybe forever. Mine would, too, for that matter. For something so sensitive and beautiful and intimate to be strangled and killed like that, would be like losing your child to a murderer. I don't know if she worried about me falling in love with some girl I dated or not, but since I worried about her and guys, maybe she worried about me and girls, too.

And then, of course, if we had been careless, there were the seven or eight days each month a lot of those fifteen hours each day were spent worrying that I had made a baby in her, and that our lives were ruined.

I know I made it sound like there were fifteen hours of torture per day, but it wasn't that bad. It's just that there were times when it was bad. There were lots of times when we felt like so much more than brother and sister, but could only interact like a normal brother and sister.

And what made things okay again was her, slapping me gently on the ass as she walked by me.  Or maybe it was me, standing behind her, helping her with her homework and staring down her blouse, and rubbing my dick against the back of her chair, making it obvious I had a boner for her. And there were the times when she pushed me up against the wall in the hallway, and whispered, "I love you!" And the times I pushed deep, getting the tip of my penis as close to the opening of her womb as possible and, as I jetted there, groaned, "I love you so much."

And somehow, we did fall in love ... and wanted what all lovers want, or at least what most lovers want. We wanted to stay together forever, and make a family, and grow old together.

It was knowing we could never do that, that was the hardest part of all.

<< Previous Chapter | Next Chapter >>