Ron Taylor - The family lays together

Samantha Shepherd kicked off her shoes at the foot of the stairs. She rubbed the toes of one foot, wishing she had the nerve to wear sneakers to work instead of high heels, but at thirty-six she felt too old to be a rebel again. The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed six-thirty, reminding her that she was running a trifle late. As usual, she thought, climbing the stairs in stocking feet.

She went into her bedroom, unbuttoning her blouse as she went and dropping it onto the bed. She reached for the hook of her bra. Her tits were midway between B and C-cup and it was always hard finding a bra that fit properly. This one was a shade tight, and she'd be happy to be rid of it. Samantha was standing in front of her mirror, the straps, sliding down her shoulders, the cups falling loose from her tits, when she saw the face in the mirror.

She turned, holding the flimsy pink bra in place, with one hand.

"Hi, Sammi. No one was home, so I let myself in." Ice clinked in the glass he held. "And fixed a drink. One for you? Looks like you've had a hard day."

"Hello, Steven," she said, tilting her head to one side. "What are you doing here, if I may ask?"

He smiled, took a sip of his drink – Scotch and soda; Samantha could smell it all the way across the room. "I may be coming back here for a lengthy stay. I'm in interviewing for the anchor job on WMLB. But don't let me interrupt. Get on with whatever you were doing."

Samantha tossed back her shoulder-length chestnuts hair. Her blue-green eyes flashed.

"I was taking off my clothes, in case you hadn't noticed. But I imagine you did. You never missed anything like that. Well, I suppose we don't have any secrets, do we?"

She dropped the bra, baring her full, firm, pink-nippled tits. At thirty-six, she had a pair of 38's that stood up like a teenager's, not to mention a slender twenty-two inch waist, round thirty-eight inch ass, and legs that seemed to make up three-fourths of her five-nine height. She unfastened her skirt, stepped out of it, and placed it on the bed, nude except for pink panties, garter belt and stockings.

"So?" she asked, standing with arms akimbo and facing him. "Not bad for the ravages of time, huh?"

Steven nodded, lifting his glass in a here's-to-you gesture.

"Well, excuse me, I have to take a shower," she said, turning and going into the adjoining bathroom. She turned on the water and was sitting on the commode, removing her stockings, when she looked up to see him standing in the bathroom door, coolly eyeing her.

"Okay. A little privacy, if you don't mind." Samantha leaned forward, tits spilling forth invitingly, and pushed at the door, but it only moved a short distance, blocked by his body. "Stevennn!"

"I always liked you best when you were wet," he replied. "But this getup may run a really close second. You never used to wear garter belts. If those were black stockings, I might even have a hard-on." He looked down, then back at Samantha. "Damned if I don't have one, as it is."

"When did you ever not have one?"

"Never when I was around you." He came into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. "Where's Maria?"

"She has a date," Samantha replied. "No, she's really not too young. She and her friend – his name is Jake – went to the library to study, after school, and then to the movies. They'll be home by nine. House rules. But don't get any ideas. Damn you, Steven, do you think you can just fucking came around me every two or three years and expect me to spread my legs and make room for your big, hard cock?"

He was on his knees facing her. He put his hands on her upper thighs and looked up. "Of course I can. Can't I, Sammi?"

"You son of a bitch," she whispered, just before her arms wrapped around his head and she pulled him up to her mouth for a hot welcoming kiss. His hands captured her full, round tits and he squeezed them passionately, until the nipples stood up long and hard between his fingers.

His crotch brushed her ankle, then slid up her calf, and she felt the bursting stiffness of his cock grown rigid inside his pants. Abruptly, Sammi drew her head back from his. She turned her face aside as his own dropped and his lips attacked the nipples he had been fondling. He closed his mouth on one, sucking it hard, and she repressed a sigh of pleasure, biting her lip to keep from crying out in sudden joy. He moved to the other tit, sucked it up too, and she made a soft whimpering noise.

He stood up finally, all six-two of him, and the bulge in his pants was at her eye level. "It's yours. Feel it."

And he brought her hand up, placed it on the swollen, concealed cock.

"Go ahead," he said, guiding her fingers to his zipper.

She pulled, then reached inside, through the opening of his shorts, taking a fistful of his rigid cock. Her finger touched the big vein on the bottom as she felt his aroused pulsation. Slowly she began to pull his cock into the light, her eyes turned upward to his face. He was smiling, a shit-eating smile if she'd ever seen one, and she hated hers if for what she was doing, but by that time his prick was out.

She leaned toward it, her tongue already extending. Her tongue grazed the red, bloated head, slid around and around, licking till it was covered with her drool. She tilted his prick upward, licked the underside, traced the big veiny bulge that ran down the underside, all the way down to where the staff emerged from his unzipped trousers. Sammi's lips affixed themselves to the side and she slurped her way back to the crown, this time allowing it to slide fully into her mouth.

She closed her lips and sucked longingly at him for a few minutes, remembering the first time she had ever had his cock in her mouth, and all the times since then, too. He lay fat and thick upon her tongue, and nestled in her warm oral wetness. And why shouldn't it be so? She looked up at his face and saw it in the reflection of her own. The same chestnut hair, the same greenish-blue eyes, the same smooth, well chiseled features. He was, for Christ's sake, her twin brother, and they had been lovers since their teens.

She released him, leaned back, wiping her trembling lips. He was undoing his belt; she could read in his eyes what was on his mind.

"No," Sammi insisted, standing up. "I have to take a shower. The water's running already."

She'd forgotten about the water. Steam was coming out of the top of the shower compartment. Sammi unhooked her garter belt, dropped it, and turned her back to remove her panties. It was a mistake. She was half bent over when she felt the blunt knob of his cock pressing between her legs.

"Stop, Goddamn it!" she shouted, but he was atop her, his upper body lying on hers, keeping her folded over, his hands full of her firm tits, his cock slithering between her legs and penetrating her cunt without any guidance whatever. It knows the way by now, she thought bitterly as he thrust deeply into her cunt. She had to brace herself on the shower door to keep from plopping onto the floor.

"You still love it, Sammy," he was whispering into her ear. "I know I do."

His cock moved rhythmically in her pussy. She'd have sworn, two minutes ago, that she was too dry for penetration, but the squishy sound of his cock fucking her proved her wrong. She was oozing juices from the walls of her cuntal sheath, and his prick bathed itself in the liquid while he explored her sweet, snug depths.

"You're breaking my back," she protested. "At least let me turn off the Goddamn water."

Reluctantly, his cock pulled back, and it emerged from her pussy. She stood up, touching herself, feeling the sticky dew that coated her lips and seeing the sheen off of it on the stiff prong of her brother's cock. But instead of turning off the water, she jumped into the shower, puffing the door closed behind her. He pounded lustily – she could see his distorted image through the frosted glass, and she stuck her tongue out, wiggling it in the air.