Sandy Stephan - Sister's incest secrets

And now, sitting in the train and dozing slightly, it occurred to me that I'd hit upon the most important principle of lovemaking. At least among women. The year had gone by fairly quickly, what with school work and regular meetings of the club. Ann and I had grown very close, often stealing away to make love together. She was so sensitive to my needs, psychic almost Whatever need arose she immediately satisfied it Hours spend in the woods surrounding the school, just the two of us lying in the thick grass, either making passionate love or just embracing to hear the other's breathing.

I'd even managed to forget about Bob for a time. Ann gave me everything I needed. Of course I didn't forget Bob, not completely. Apart from the deep attachment we shared, there was also that nagging, throbbing memory of his cock inside me, moving up like a boa constrictor crawling into its home. When ever I thought of it something happened way down deep inside of me. If it hadn't been for that memory I might well have been swayed by Ann and the other club members to forget about men altogether.

Or had I been swayed unknowingly? The thought made me sit bolt upright, eyes wide open suddenly. It was possible. After all, Bob had been clumsy that night, insensitive you might say. It was alright then because I didn't know any better, but now…? Well, perhaps he'd been getting in a little practice himself. I certainly hoped so.

I noticed that the blanket had slipped off my knees and lay on the floor. The hand had reflexively strayed between my legs to apply pressure to my yearning box was still there, pressing hard. With a flush of embarrassment, I looked around to see if anyone had noticed. No one had. They were all nodding along with the motion of the train or buried in newspapers. I pulled the blanket back up… but I couldn't quite take my hand away from my crotch. My journey down memory lane had stirred me more than I'd bargained for. There was a faintly damp patch at the juncture of my jeans legs. And when I felt inside my underpants I found they were sopping wet.

It was such a nice cozy feeling to be sitting on that train, fondling my pussy in public so to speak, that I couldn't resist following through. The tip of my index finger located my clitoris and began the familiar motion, round and round, up and down, round and round again, gently at first, harder as my lust rose. My clitoris had grown somewhat in the past year, I reflected. And how could it not have? All the massaging and sucking and other forms of exercise had even made my tits grow.

It was dusk outside, dark enough for my reflection to be mirrored in the windows. I sat upright to get a profile view of myself. Yes, they had grown. They pushed out and up against my blouse, with pert little impressions where my nipples were. Two man-sized handfuls, I thought. As for the rest of me… well Ann had told me about that. She was forever telling me how beautiful she thought I was. I took all that with a grain of salt but it pleased me nonetheless. She liked to play with my long, dark brown hair and to outline my lips with her finger. She said my lips were eminently kiss-able. I thought they were just full. The darkness outside accentuated my cheekbones. They made me look kind of haughty, particularly with my hair drawn back. Ann said I looked aristocratic. Be that as it may, I certainly looked a great deal more aloof than I felt. A lot smarter, too. My eyes tend to slope a little towards my nose, which gives me a look of great cleverness. Still, that's better than looking dumb like Ann. Her big eyes seemed to indicate that she was forever in the grip of astonishment And that was far from the truth.

I sighed, not a little satisfied with my self-appraisal. Bob would surely like what he saw. One year had made a big difference in me. What about him? Eighteen years old, a second year college student already… it was quite possible that he had forgotten me! Girls liked Bob. He was a champion swimmer, an ace student and awfully good looking. Almost too good looking for a man.

At that point I felt like getting out of the train and pushing it just to get home more quickly. I hate suspense in any form. To pass the time more easily I fingered my pussy with more gusto, working my way into tiny, sharp climaxes. They popped like a string of firecrackers, particularly when I undid my jeans and stuck my hand right into my panties. Fingering and manipulating, masturbating at full pelt, and no longer caring if someone saw me, I managed to exhaust myself to the point at which I simply fell asleep.

It was late in the evening when the train pulled into the Morristown station. The family were the only people on the platform. Bob was the first to board the train, bounding along the aisle to sweep me up into his arms and kiss me with a loud smack. “Hi, sis!” he said, radiating college cheer for the sake of Dad, who came in hot on his heels. “How's my favorite sister doing!”

“Just fine. Hi, Daddy,” I said, kissing my father on the proffered cheek.

“Hello, Kathy. Help your sister with her bags, Bob, and let's get going. It's getting awfully late.”

That was Dad all over. People should be in bed by a certain hour. That was the law of nature. People shouldn't waste too much time on emotional displays. That was uncouth. If he wasn't my father I'd be inclined to describe him as a prig. Bob gave me a wink and grabbed my bags. Elaine and Nora stood outside with Mum and for a few moments I was surrounded by kissing, hugging relatives. Then it was over. Dad took charge of his clan and herded us into the station wagon.

At home Mum spent an inordinate amount of time bustling about in the kitchen. She emerged finally with cake and coffee, but I could tell she was very ill at ease. Dad, too, seemed to be preoccupied with something he didn't even want to think about. I knew what the problem was, of course. Finding Bob and me in bed together was the worst thing that had ever happened to them. Mum and Dad had led extremely regular lives. He was the vice-president; at a large insurance company, she was the dutiful wife, the kind who attends charity affairs with a zeal and acts as the hostess at a moment's notice.

It often seemed to me as though neither of them had ever explored life beyond the boundaries of convention. I could imagine Dad saying “Thank you” to Mum after he'd screwed her. Their sex life had to be conducted with the utmost of decorum. None of us kids had ever heard them at it, nor had we ever seen either of them wholly or partially naked.

Because they maintained such rigid standards, their children had led pretty sheltered lives-and reacted against this in their own fashion. Bob, I noticed, had let his hair grow well beyond Dad's standards of decency. At nineteen, Nora looked every inch the radical college student, with her hair long and straight, wearing only blue jeans and army shirts, and given to excessive smoking. Dad loathed her for this but deep in the back of his mind he figured she'd grow out of it one day and marry an insurance man just like himself. Elaine, on the other hand, was rapidly turning into a mystery woman. She dressed with a great deal of elegance and simplicity, choosing only those clothes that complemented her long, snaky body, keeping her hair close cropped to accentuate her long neck and small head, and saying very little to anyone.

And then there was Mum, the full-bosomed, ample-hipped one hundred percent woman who had never been taught the meaning of sex. I watched her as she moved around the room, fussing over her brood, serving Dad who occupied his throne with regal disdain, and I saw the emptiness in her life for the first time. She had all the equipment and it must be a perpetual puzzle to her why she had it. Those full breasts had never been sucked and handled like mine had. And those full, firm thighs had never been relished and ravaged. At the tender age of sixteen I felt as though I was already more experienced than my mother would ever be.