Lee Schlangen - Little brother_s big thing

Mark was groaning continuously and twisting ferociously. His fingers dragged through the furry pelt that clothed each of my pussy-lips and probed tentatively at the hairless crevice between them. But I knew he was overwhelmingly distracted by the strange, delightful sensations in his dick. And at last my impatience broke its bounds. My hands closed in hard rings over the broadest girth of his hooded cockhead and started working his foreskin back. Terror threaded its way into my thought; maybe he'd never peeled that sheath to expose the tender meat inside! Maybe it wasn't going to be elastic enough to release that one blood-packed knob I wanted so badly to taste – to fondle – to gulp into my throat!

The edge of his hood was like a band of tough wire. It compressed the meat within as I worked it back. Mark wailed, his voice quavering and fearful, and thrust his butt into the air in agony.

"Sis…! Yagghhh…! Eeeiiiye…! Oh jeez, sis…! Love of God, doooonnn't!"

I slipped the recalcitrant sheath back into place and worked it gently back and forth, testing it as it began to stretch and loosen. Dear God! I prayed. Oh, dear God, don't let me hurt him! And don't, please don't let it be so tight I can't get it back! Oh, please, God!

Little by little, the hard band softened and stretched. Little by little, the dark, tortured glans came into view. And I put my mouth to it and bathed it in soothing, healing saliva and caressed the sensitized, blunt, quivering nose with my tongue.

"Mmmmmm…! Ahhahhahhh…! Sis…! That feels…unnnhhh…! Feels weird…! Bad and… and gooooood!"

Back… back more… stre-e-etch…! Now let it relax and slide forward… and cover… Now push-push-push… strip-peel-stretch-wiggle-stretch… And relax… and stretch… and relax… and stretch… and… it's… going… going goooiiinnnggg! It was a silent chant. It was a litany of desire. It was a prayer of lust and need and love for this innocent child who was my brother. And it was a frantic appeal. And, oh, dear God, there it goes! There IT goes!

Taut and shiny, a bright red where the inner surface was being exposed, the stretching, resisting, now-tissue-thin hood slipped back until its tightest rim clamped the shoulder-ridge of his cockhead in its embrace. Mark writhed, his fingers digging into my hot, pulsing pussy-lips with heedless force while he tensed against the unknown.

Knowing I could win – knowing I was the boss over that mindless, stubborn piece of skin – I felt a silly rush of triumph and a determination to flaunt my superiority. Instead of stripping it the rest of the way onto his shaft with a quick, easy pull, I thrust it forward to cover the trembling, dewy cockhead again. Slowly, then, the tiniest fraction of an inch at a time, I worked it back toward the flare. As it went back, I teased and wet it with the tip of my tongue until it glistened with my saliva. I pushed it exactly to the greatest width of his cockhead and stopped it there, licking it all the way around and nibbling at it with my lips, massaging its drum-hard-tautness with the warm, firm softness of my mouth.

Again I worked the foreskin forward and again stripped it to its tightest position, again licking and massaging. And again and again, while the tortured, red-streaked, shiny appearance changed to a bruised, mottled-purple, relaxed look. When it stopped binding at the flaring, riblike shoulders, I finally stroked it past them and smoothed the fatty flesh-rich hood along the unyielding hardness of his shaft. And I lovingly caressed it again with my tongue and took playful bites of the inside-out foreskin with my lips, smearing its still-relaxing undersurface with my spit and lipstick.

Mark's virgin cockhead was now mine. It quivered like firm jelly before my eyes. I held the shaft in my hand, gripping it like I had held ice cream cones as a child, and turned it and waved it so I could study the head. It made me think of a startled, half-frightened kid looking at me. It was hard-packed, young flesh, raw-meat colored and a velvety texture under the wetness. The upper surface – I had to push his cock up to a vertical position to look at that – was bulging and domed at the end. It swept around a full curve and began to flare, swelling out to a wide, thick ridge at the rear. When I lowered his cock toward his belly, where in its stiffness it wanted to lie, the undersurface was up where I could see it. And it was like the whole bulging, meaty knob had been pulled together there and welded, leaving a part of the seam open for a passage. The shoulders dipped in where they came together, and they pulled up toward the tip a little, flattening at the end of his slit. The edges of the slit were rolled-smooth, textureless flaps, almost, that gaped apart when I squeezed his cock and drew together when I relaxed the pressure.

A swelling drop of clear, thin liquid trembled on the slit, bridging the gap and threatening to break and spread over the surface. And I knew it had formed after I'd finished stripping back his foreskin, because my tongue had scoured his cockhead then. I extended my tongue to scoop up the drop. My breath was short and my head buzzed with the excitement of the moment as I flipped the sweet fluid into my mouth and let it spread slowly over the waiting inner membranes. The taste, flat and metallic and faintly musky, made my mouth pucker and my tongue press against the roof of my mouth. My palate seemed to quiver and the joints of my jaws to tighten at the taste. I swallowed reflexively and touched the edges of his slit again. With slow, loving strokes, I lapped at the smooth-curved bulges of his cockhead and polished the rubbery flesh.

Mark was groaning. His flat, young belly was writhing, its muscles twisting and rippling with his reaction to the attentions I was giving his eager, twitching cockhead. His thumbs pried my swelling, sensitized pussy-lips apart and explored their inner, fluted lobes, making my hips jerk and weave in a quick, erratic rhythm. I put my lips to his cockhead, parting them to let part of the smooth, warm cock flesh protrude into the domain of my tongue. And I sucked, drawing on the trembling meat as if it were the tip of a cigarette – or as if I were giving a love bite and would afterward be able to see the splotched, bruised surface I'd pulled the blood to.

The subtle man-taste of that spongy bulb aroused my eagerness and made my self-control crumble. I gobbled at it, gulping it fully into my mouth and settling my lips around the throat of the shaft. The broad dome nudged at the back of my tongue and I squeezed, shaping the pulpy mass to the contours of my palate while I sucked hungrily. With deliberate thrusts of my head, I forced his cock back and forth in my mouth, my lips sliding up and down the first inch of his shaft and the knobby bulb ramming from front to back of the hot, wet cavity. I shivered with delight each time his roundness bumped into the arch of my throat and swallowed continually as his youthful fluids seeped onto my tongue.

Mark seemed to get the idea. Groaning happily, he grabbed me, his hands closing on the fronts of my thighs and brushing against my belly. He pulled back and down until my pussy settled over his mouth, and his tongue began to stroke the soft, puffy bulges along the inner slopes of my parted pussy-lips. I was giddy with delight. His caresses were jerky and uncertain, but they were enthusiastic at the same time. Cautiously, I thrust first one leg back and then the other, moving my knees out from under me and extending them past either side of his head. And I felt rocked by excitement at the feel of his ears and the shorter hairs at the sides of his head where they were impressed on the sweat-moistened inner sides of my thighs.

The only noises in that moonlit sun porch were the wet, slurping ones of greedy tonguing and sucking and the puzzled whimpers of Mark's anxious dog, Gunner. I fondled my little brother's balls with one hand, the swollen young eggs sliding over each other inside their crowded bag and the covering puckered and coarse against my fingers.