Carter Sprague - My Sisters And I

She said, “Because I was standing on a chair, looking over the hotel transom last night… and I'm sure it started the night before last.”

I said, just as if she were the oldest instead of the youngest of us, “What have you got in mind for Cousin George?”

“I think we should call a council… just you and me and the rest of the girls. We've all got to be in on it.”

There was no trouble getting Cousin George out of the way. Right after lunch, he and Missie disappeared, and it didn't require a Masters or Johnson to figure out what they were up to. The rest of us adjourned to the beach and had it out. We all felt stiff and uncomfortable in our brief swimsuits after being nude together for so long.

Anita, who had the biggest boobs, felt the constriction the most… at any rate, she was the first to put her arms behind her back, unhook her bra and let her beautiful brown melons tumble out unconfined. Within seconds, the rest of us were naked, our suits tossed carelessly aside, and Jean laid the problem before her older sisters.

She gave us a full account of what had happened in L.A. Dad had taken off with a beautiful society woman and Missie had blown her stack… the result, an early return to the island and a shackup with Cousin George that seemed to be getting out of hand.

“We have no right to punish Missie,” Jean concluded gravely in her little-girl voice. “Dad didn't give her much choice and Cousin George was there and we all know about him in the fucking department.”

Anita's black eyes were shooting sparks. She said, “If he's fucking my mother, we've got to fix him.”

Darlene said, “Any idea how?”

That launched another round of chatter, and it was Francie who came up with the perfect answer. She said, rubbing her pussy thoughtfully, “If we could just get Missie out of the picture tonight.”

“And how do you propose doing that?” Jean inquired.

Anita said, “I know where she keeps her sleeping pills. We could spike her drink after dinner.”

“But Missie doesn't drink after dinner,” Francie objected.

“She'll drink after dinner this evening,” Anita said firmly, “After balling with Cousin George all afternoon, she'll need one.”

“Okay,” I said. “Then what?”

“Then…” Anita tossed back her raven hair… “we girls get you and Cousin George in a fucking contest… and we screw and fuck and suck him until his balls drop off and his cock wilts and he's out of action for a week.”

“Hey!” I said. “What about me? If this contest is on the level, I'll wind up in just as bad shape.”

“Don't worry, darling Jeff.” Anita leaned forward to kiss me, her brown melons brushing my naked chest. “It won't be on the level… and even if it were, you can outfuck Cousin George every night of the week and twice on Sunday.”

“Look!” said Francie, pointing at my dong, which had assumed flagstaff posture as a result of Anita's kiss. “He's ready right now.” She scrambled toward me on her hands and knees, intent on sucking or fucking me off, but little Jean stopped her.

“Not now,” she said. “Not till tonight. We want darling Jeff in shape. Suppose he lost?”

It turned out to be a long, frustrating afternoon, lying there naked on the beach under the caress of the tropical sun with those four lovely sexpots my sisters had turned out to be so suddenly. I could touch, I could feel, I could kiss… but fucking and sucking were out.

Once, around three o'clock, when I felt I couldn't stand it, I swam out to the reef and began to jack off under water… but before I could get in three strokes, a pair of strong, little hands interfered and a thrusting aquatic body like a white seal upended me and gave me a ducking instead of a fucking. I had forgotten how swiftly and far little Francie could swim under water. To drown my frustration, she led me ashore by my dong, while the others sat on the sand and cheered and laughed.

My sisters got the whole evening worked out like a movie scenario. They decided against doping Missie's after-dinner drink as too risky… she might want to go right to bed with Cousin George. So they arranged a casserole meal instead, of chicken mole topped with a local white cheese. We all had our own casseroles with our names on them, so there was no chance of a mix-up.

They dissolved the sleeping pills in Missie's dish, knowing perfectly well that the sauce of chili peppers and chocolate would conceal any telltale taste. I watched them fix the casseroles and saw Anita putting extra spices in all of them, asked her how come.

She came over to where I was sitting and put her forehead against mine and said, “We need all the help we can get for tonight… and hot spices help steam you up… so I'm putting it all in.”

I said, “Watch your language,” and she giggled, and then I said, “Why put all that stuff in Missie's casserole?”

Anita shrugged and said, “Missie won't know the difference once she falls asleep, and it's better they all taste the same.”

My stepsister was a wonderful cook, and the dinner was a huge success… in every way. Right after congratulating her daughter on outdoing herself, Missie's eyes went heavy and she yawned and almost fell asleep at the table. Shaking herself awake, she excused herself, saying, “I don't know why, but I'm sleepy. Perhaps the trip…” She went to the big bedroom alone and all of us except Cousin George exchanged glances. He went on talking about the trip like an idiot and we laughed at his corny jokes like idiots… until he faked a yawn and said, “Jeez, kids, I guess the trip's got me, too.” After which he rose and retired, too.

Darlene had to clap her hand over her mouth to hold back a hoot of laughter. When she recovered, she said, “He thinks Missie went to bed like that as an excuse for them to get to bed together sooner.”

Little Jean, worldly beyond her twelve years, said, “Wonder how he'll react when he tries to wake her up?”

“Let's get the joint cleaned up,” said Anita, rising.

With all of us pitching in, it only took a few minutes to get everything washed, wiped and put away. Then we got the mattresses off our beds and carried them down to the beach, where we made one big pad out of them… with Cousin George's, it worked out fine at six. His bedroom was empty when we peeked in, so we stripped the bed and took his mattress along to complete the rectangle. Then Anita and I went back to get him.

He came stumbling out of Missie's bedroom as we came in, his dong hanging out through the open fly of his shorts and his pimpled face pale with panic. He said, “I can't wake Missie up… I think she's dead!”

Anita said, “That's right, Cousin George… I guess you fucked her to death.”

His eyes went wide and glassy and he swayed where he stood. He said, his mouth opening and closing like the mouth of a goldfish, “But I couldn't of… I haven't fucked her since…” He let it hang as he realized the enormity of his admission.

This was not in the script, but it didn't faze Anita, who planted her feet wide in front of him and said, “Okay, Cousin George, you bastard, if you fucked my mother to death, I'm going to fuck you to death.”

She put on the avenging fury so perfectly that even I was scared. I made like a protector and said, “You wouldn't do a thing like that, Anita.”

“The hell I wouldn't… as soon as I make sure he's not telling another of his lies.”

“So help me…” said George as Anita pushed past him and marched into Missie's bedroom with Cousin George and me trailing along behind.

The bedside lamp was on and Missie was lying there, naked, with the sheet pulled down by her feet. I could not help appreciating the magnificence of her full-blown woman's body as I noted the coral-tipped mounds of her breasts, the low dome of her belly and the thickly furred smaller mound just above the fork of her thighs. Nor could I help wondering how different it must be to fuck a woman like that instead of the kids I'd been screwing around with.