Maryon Swelt - He seduced his little sister

"Oooooohhhhhh, that tickles. But it's nice," she said, wriggling her whole body. "How about you?" And bending her head she peeled back his foreskin and breathed warm sweet air about his quivering tip.

"Mmmmmmhhhhhmmmmhhhh!" he hummed by way of reply, feeling ready to spurt.

Maryon could see a drop of milky liquid in the end of the hole in his… cock, and it didn't look like… like bathroom water either – but maybe boys were different from girls in that way, too. Concerned, tidy, she rubbed her chubby palm across the red-lined tip to clean it up.

"Owowowowowhhhh gggrrrhhh," said her brother immediately and, lifting her with both hands, roiled her off him and turned onto his side, his back toward her, his knees up against his chest.

"What's the matter, Mike, did I hurt you? I'm sorry," she began. But he shook his head. "It's okay, Sis, just leave me alone for a while, huh?"

On hands and knees she continued to look at him, wondering, until he spoke again.

"It's okay, Sis," he said. "Look, uh… I'll tell you what. You'd like to play some more, eh?"

She nodded then, realizing he couldn't see her, said: "Oh, sure, Mike. Now?"

"No-non-no-non-no," he said, in a quiet voice. "But, tell you what, you run along now, and take your clothes with you, and put 'em away, and get everything cleaned up, eh? So that Mom and Dad don't know you've been fuc… messing about today. And, tonight, if you can keep awake, you come along… quietly, mind you, to my room here, and I'll let you play some more. If you're a good girl, that is, and don't mess about any more. Would you like that?"

"Oh, yes, Mike," she said, catching at his arm. "But…"

"Look, you've got a clock in your room, don't you? Well, wait until one o'clock, huh, and then come here. But be quiet! They'll be drinking, tonight being Saturday, and they'll sleep sound, you know? So, okay?"

"Yes, Mike. And thank you for letting me play." She delivered a swift, shy, juicy kiss on his exposed cheek, slid off the bed, picked up her dress and panties, and ran naked back to her room next door.

Mike, using an old sock, finished what she'd started, then lay back on the bed, panting, exhausted.

The Swelt children had long since been allowed the privilege of locking their doors for privacy, the right extended to them in a weak moment after Michael, one fine Sunday morning, at the age of six, having walked into his parents' room when Burt had been humping his wife under the bedsheets, had been thereafter locked out. Lois had long since given up the practice of looking in on her offspring before retiring and, as long as everything within was quiet, and the lights out, neither parent ever bothered to check.

This night Maryon, keyed up with excitement all day, found it easy to stay awake until the prescribed time, reading by flashlight under the covers, listening to the sounds of her parents moving about, of Mike going to his room – there was no click of his lock! – and, much later, of Lois and Burt going about the house locking up, putting out the lights, visiting the bathroom and, finally, going off to their own room at the far end of the corridor around the L of the house, beyond the guest room and bathrooms.

Finally the place was silent, creepy-quiet, for she'd never before stayed awake this length of time. She read on and on, every few minutes checking the clock which shone white in the bright moonlight. At last! One o'clock! She put out her flashlight, slid out of bed onto the cold floor, considered her slippers and decided against them, glided to the door, feeling a sudden chill through the thin pink flannel of her ankle-length nightgown, cautiously opened the door, closed it quietly behind her, and trotted noiselessly down the passage to her brother's door in the dark. She didn't knock, knowing it to be unlocked, and pushed it open. There was no sound from within, so she as quietly closed it behind her and tiptoed over to the bed, being careful not to stumble over the untidy heaps on the floor, seen clearly by the shafts of light streaming through the uncurtained windows from the full moon. Shivering with cold, she climbed up onto the bed and bent her lips close to Mike's ear.

"Mike! Oh, Mike. It's me!" she whispered. Impatiently she put her hand on his neck to shake him, and he came awake with a jerk.

"Whaaaaaaa…?" Her fingers were cold and the shock of them on his skin startled him, but he quickly remembered the assignation and took in the situation. He'd three-quarters thought she'd go to sleep, and wasn't too concerned whether she came to him or not… he had several ambivalent views about the whole thing. But here she was, his luscious little sister Maryon, eager and willing, it seemed. He put his arms about her and gave her a kiss on her nose, for being so good, and felt her trembling with cold… and what else?

"Hey, you'd better slide in here," he said, pulling down the sheets and blankets for her.

"Brrrhhh!" she murmured softly, pulling up her knees and driving her trim little body down beside him, her pink nightgown riding up about her legs. "Why, you've got no clothes on!" she added, discovering this.

"Aw, pjs are sissy," he scoffed, pulling her against him, sliding an arm about her shoulders so that she was flat to his body, as yet unaroused.

"D'you… think this is sissy, Mike?" she anxiously asked, shrugging inside the pink flannel.

"Well, you're a girl," he said. "But, heck, why wear clothes to bed? You want to go to the bathroom, you put on a robe."

"All right," she said, feeling warm and cozy here in this soft nest. "I'll take this off. I'm not a sissy, either!"

Propping himself up on one elbow, he watched, amused by her little-girl determination, as she struggled with the garment. She sat up and reached down to the hem and began to pull it up over her long, slim thighs, but had trouble getting it under her butt. She wriggled for a few moments, her face defiant and angry with herself, and then he laughed.

"Hold it, Sis," he whispered. "I'll give you a hand."

Making a kind of cave of the bedclothes over his back, he knelt over her, straddling, tugging down her ankles and tipping her on to her back. Putting his hands behind her knees, he slid them slowly up the backs of her silky thighs, riding the thin stuff of the gown up with his wrists. His fingers reached the soft but clearly-defined indentations at the top of her legs and then he was cupping the hard, firm balls of her young ass, lifting her, watching as, at the front, the fine down above her pubic mound came into view, cresting her slender white legs. He moved his hands slightly around so that he could splay his long thumbs up over the fragile-looking bones of her hips, taut against the fair skin of her smoothly-curved belly, then continued to push upward, Maryon easing her body up to aid him, her wide blue eyes shining, her full lips moist.

She let him move her like a limp rag doll, thrilling, she knew not quite why, to his touch, to the silence, to the strange white moonlight, to the look on his intent face, to the sound of his hoarse breathing, to something dangerously exciting within her own self.

As the slowly upward-moving hem pulled over her stiff little pink nipples, she saw him lick his lips and then, dear brother, he bent his head and licked the twin hard towers so that once again she felt a weird, shocking current shoot along the wires of herself, to her… cunt, to her toes, to the corners of her eyes. Across the bundle of nightgown beneath her chin she couldn't see his lower body, hidden as it was in the cave of bedclothes, but suddenly she felt his loose bag of hot flesh – his balls! – brush against her thigh, and another delightful shiver went through her. She curled her toes and closed her eyes, flushing as his soft flesh crept up her belly as he, leaning forward, raised her shoulders, straightened her arms above her head across the pillow, and pulled the pink nightgown up and over her head.