Ron Taylor - Hot for brother

"God that was good!" she said finally, unclamping her mouth. "But it's always good," she added with a pert smile, pushing gently at his chest, ion stepped back and took her waist, helping her down from the dishwasher. She went into his arms as soon as her feet were on the floor. Jon reached low, catching the bare sweaty cheeks of her ass, and he lifted her against him. Their loins rubbed and touched, and both their bellies were sticky from the cum that had seeped from Rachel's pussy. The soft stub of his dick scraped wetly on her belly, tickling through her pubic hair. His fingers slid joyously on the moist flesh of her buttocks, caressing, kneading, and she stroked him in reply.

"Oh, my God," she said, laughing self-consciously. "The kids… the neighbors… let me go, you sex fiend! I have to get dressed! Decent housewives don't run around naked in the middle of the day. And they certainly don't get fucked on top the dishwasher." She nuzzled him with her moist lips. "Don't you get enough in bed?"

"I never get enough of you," he replied, very serious-faced, helping her pick up the clothes he'd stripped from her. The kitchen smelled of sex, despite the antiseptic air-conditioning, and Rachel inhaled deeply of that scent, loving it. Her thighs were still juicy from the male fluid dribbling into their upper curves from her cuntal gash, and she stood up for a moment, working her legs together so she might bask in the pleasant abundance of his cum.

"Ah, Lord!" she said in satisfaction, one hand rubbing her tummy just above the triangular patch of reddish-brown hair. "I needed that."

She was a compactly built woman, about five-three, with a sturdy, well-proportioned body. Her tits were full, round, brown-nippled and, at thirty-eight, just beginning to sag. That was nature, and she couldn't do anything about it. Jon didn't seem to mind anyway. Her thighs were firm, as was her stomach, and her ass was wide but womanly-wide rather than fat-wide. Unlike most short, busty women, Rachel had, a definite waistline which flared out into caressable hips and further down, to pleasantly long, athletic legs.

Auburn-haired, above and below, brown-eyed, straight-nosed, red-mouthed, firm-chinned, nicely bodied, she supposed she was an attractive woman for thirty-eight. But the only person whose opinion mattered at all stood a few feet away, and he'd just shown her now much she still attracted him. For Rachel Messenger, nothing else counted. She eased her tits into the cups of her white bra, turned for Jon to fasten her up, and she didn't resist or chide when he slid his hands around for yet another caress of her breasts.

"Don't start anything you're not prepared to finish," she warned finally, as his fingers roved up and down her titty curves, tickling around the lace edges of the bra, then across the cups to tease the nipples lurking on the other side of that thin wall of cotton. The possibility of another fuck tingled in Rachel's tits and God knew she could dig it, but there were so many things still to be done before they caught the evening plane. "Enough!" she laughed, dancing away from him as she buttoned her slacks.

Rachel eyed him over her shoulder. God, she loved him! Tall, six feet and a fraction, and well built, they played tennis a couple of times a week, which kept both of them in fine trim – his hair was a little darker than hers – basically the same shade but just beginning to frost with gray here and there. She found the silver streaks attractive as hell and she loved to run her fingers through his marvelous head of hair every chance she got. Especially while screwing. It was fine to touch him any time, but during sex was far and away the best. At forty, Jon hadn't even begun to cross the hill, sexually, and their love life was fantastic. Let it, she prayed, be that way always!

"Where are the twins?" he asked. "Shouldn't they be here, helping you get things together?"

"Oh, that's not that much, to do. I washed the dishes, so they'll have something to eat from – though I doubt if they'll even bother eating, as busy as they generally are. Alex is helping one of his friends overhaul a motorcycle, and Amy had a date for tennis this afternoon. With that Carver boy from school. Really, darling – I'm nearly finished. All I have to do is take a bath, fix my face, and slip into my traveling outfit."

"I like your face just the way it is," Jon informed her. "And why don't we take a bath together? You could soap my back and I could…"

"I know exactly what you have in mind," giggled Rachel, "and we'll probably miss the plane, if you get started on what you're thinking about."

He smiled, acknowledging the truth. "Ah," he said, shaking his head. "Motorcycles… tennis dates… they're growing up, aren't they? It seems like only yesterday they were babies and you had one on each knee…"

Rachel closed her eyes remembering. It did seem like only yesterday. Where had the years gotten away to? The kids were eighteen now, and that meant that it was almost eighteen years since – no, she mustn't think about that. Now, now. She opened the curtains, allowing sunlight to flood the kitchen once again, and she looked out the window. Suburban tract houses, all of them built from the same blueprint, varying only in color. And in whether the two-car garage was placed on the right or left side of the house. And above it all, the azure canopy of southern California sky, white clouds seeming to hang motionless, the sun a constant yellow blaze. Day in, day out. Winter, summer.

God, sometimes she missed the snow, the rain, and the change of seasons. In Pennsylvania the sky was blue in summer, deep, and rich blue, turning by degrees to gray as summer deepened to fall and fall to winter. She remembered the heavy overhang of snow clouds, the blizzards that fell occasionally, two or three feet of snow blanketing everything. The Susquehanna coated with a thin sheeting of ice when the temperature dropped far below zero. And the magnificent unfolding of leaves, the bluing of the gray sky, as spring returned again. She hadn't seen a real winter, spring or fall in eighteen years. Only the monotonous year-round California summer. Turning to Jon, tears once more misting her eyes, she said softly, "Do you ever have any regrets?"

He moved to her side quickly, his arm gripping her quivering shoulders. Rachel felt his strength and love flow into her and she drew courage from him, and assurance. "Of course not," he said, kissing the nape of her neck. "What has there ever been to regret?"

This was a mood, that sometimes struck her, most often in the fading of sexual afterglow. Rachel's heart felt very heavy in her bosom. "What about the twins?" she challenged. "Some day they're going to ask questions. God, I'm surprised they haven't already! The Carver boy – Amy's been dating him for weeks. His mother belongs to the DAR and the Mayflower Society. Suppose… just suppose… that Amy marries him, and Mrs. Carter invites her – well, can you see our daughter investigating the family tree to find out if she qualifies? Can you see…"

"I see Amy as a perfectly normal eighteen-year old girl, and that's plenty of seeing for the present. For Christ's sake, Rachel, you're trying to marry her off already! Let's keep her as a child for just a little while. Okay? Besides… we've worked out our genealogy, haven't we? Your discovery as a foundling on the steps of an orphanage, foster homes, the whole bit. So let's not worry about things that will probably never happen anyway."

Normal? Rachel thought. Normal? Were her children really normal? They appeared to be, and of course they hadn't been born with two heads for any other deformities, and they weren't subject to fits of madness or epilepsy, so perhaps they were as normal as any other eighteen-year-olds in captivity. But their parents? No, no, no, no, no! she told herself. Listen to ion. He's right. Don't even think about what might or might not happen. Enjoy the happiness, the love, the affection, now. While it's here, strong, sweet, tactile. She leaned against him, enjoying the presence of his body behind tiers, the reassuring touch of his hands, the gentle kisses he planted on her neck and shoulders. "Yes," she said. "Of course. I'm so glad you're here, to keep me safe and sane and satisfied. Without you… without you… oh, let me go! I have to take a shower and get dressed, if we're going to catch that plane."