Michael Smith - Siblings

Her attentions brought me up out of the deeps into that fuzzy region where sleep and wakefulness are confused, where you can imagine you're awake while actually dreaming that you imagine you're awake. And in the night, external stimuli in such a state can make you highly suggestible.

So I half-dreamed that a soft, slender hand was grasping the shaft of my cock and moving slowly up and down. Then it paused and a thumb passed curiously several times over its head, measuring its contours and the opening at the tip. My cock twitched several times at the provocation; I felt it and thought drowsily that this was a very sexy dream.

Then the hand moved to the base of the column and I felt her fingers sliding through and untangling my pubic hair – for my half-awake mind knew whose hand it was, dream or no dream. Her touch was gentle but determined. She worked her way around to my balls, and it is a measure of my trust in my sister that I didn't even flinch. I needn't have worried anyway. My scrotum was relaxed and loose in the warmth beneath the covers, and she carefully scooped up the whole of it and seemed to weigh it in her hand, manipulating my balls gently within their sac.

I heard her take a breath as she seemed to come to a decision, and I was awake enough now to peer through my eyelashes. The touch of Alex's hand disappeared for a few seconds and I saw it emerge from under the covers and pause before her mouth. She cupped her palm and quietly filled it with spit, and the hand disappeared again from sight. An instant later I felt it, warm and wet now, curled again around the shaft of my cock. I wondered absently if she knew anything at all about technique.

Her hand moved up and down, slowly and gently at first, and she interrupted her rhythm every few strokes to rub her palm over the head of my cock. The pace gradually increased and she squeezed a little more tightly now and then. Maybe it was instinctive for her, too, but she definitely knew what she was doing. It felt wonderful: When you masturbate yourself it's difficult for your hand to come up with any surprises.

I remained quiet but I was wide awake now and beginning to breath more rapidly. No point pretending to be asleep. I heard a moan of pure pleasure come from deep in my own throat and Alex glanced up quickly at my face. My arm was still around her and I squeezed her shoulder and shifted toward her a bit and onto my hip. My left hand slipped around and under her armpit to stroke her breast. I smiled and nodded and she grinned back at me.

Now that I was awake, my sister wanted to see what was happening, so she halted her exertions for an instant and threw back the covers. My cock reached even more resolutely toward the ceiling. It was just all too much for me and within another minute I could feel my climax rapidly approaching. From the expression of concentration on her face I knew she didn't realize what was about to occur.

"I'm almost there," I murmured hoarsely.

Either she didn't hear or she didn't understand. I didn't want to frighten or disgust her, but I sure didn't want her to stop, either. A distant corner of my mind tried desperately to think how to have it both ways, and then it was too late.

I gasped as I began to spasm and I would have rolled over flat on my back, but Alex's grip on me prevented it. Several large gobs of semen exploded in rapid succession from my cock as if from a machine gun. One landed on her wrist, remaining connected to the tip of my cock by a long white thread. Another hit her on the collarbone and began to ooze down across her breast. A third shot spread in its trajectory and landed on her chin and across her lower lip.

Christ, I thought in dismay, she'll be so repelled she won't ever touch me again. When I hesitantly looked at her face, though, I saw no disgust – just startlement and surprise. She touched her little finger to the milky blob on her chin and withdrew it, as though testing its sticky consistency. Then she curled her tongue out and down and scooped most of the semen off her lip and into her mouth, like a kitten lapping milk. For a moment, she had a faraway look as she tasted my essence, and then swallowed it.

I realized that was what I really*wanted* her to do. I wanted her to swallow my come. And then: WHY would I want a girl to do something like that? It's an old, old puzzle. Certainly, the great majority of men enjoy being the subject of skillful oral sex (no surprise there). But every guy with whom I've ever discussed this puzzle in the philosophy of sex admits to even greater erotic pleasure when the woman not only allows him to come in her mouth but swallows his load as well, and without making a face or a fuss.

Alex just smiled and said "No taste! Just a little salty."

Then she leaned across my chest, smearing the wad on her breast across me – I could feel the stickiness – and kissed me firmly on the mouth. I welcomed her tongue when she poked it between my lips, as I had many times before, but this time Alex was playing one of her erotic little jokes. She hadn't swallowed it all, and I tasted the salty flavor of my own semen.

Chapter 5:

[…from chapter 5…]

("The Early Days")

My sister and I always followed our own rules in our increasing physical involvement – which mostly meant my being patient and sticking to an unwritten, probably unknown schedule that she could deal with. Unfortunately, because she had become used to my gentle patience and my willingness to work around her occasional nervousness, Alex seemed to expect the same from all the boys she went out with.

It was her fifth or sixth date, I think, when her optimistic assumptions got her into trouble. It was one of those rare Friday nights when Alex had a date but I didn't. I'd had a bad head cold for several days, missing school and staying home in bed to enjoy my misery. The cold was about gone by Friday, but I was still recovering and not feeling great, and my makeup homework was stacked up on my desk, so I stayed home.

Alex was out at a movie with Allen Somebody from one of her classes, a guy I didn't know except that he played basketball on the junior varsity squad. About 10:30 that night the phone rang and since I knew Mother was already asleep I put down "Oliver Twist" and answered it. On the other end was Alex, sounding very tense and upset.

"Michael? I'm so glad it's you! I'm in trouble. I mean, I'm not hurt or anything – but I'm stranded and could you*please* come and get me? I'm by myself and it's pretty dark here and it's making me nervous."

She told me the intersection where her pay phone was located; I recognized it and remembered that there was a convenience store nearby. I told her to go into the store and stay there, and I'd come as soon as possible.

I was still in my jeans, so I hauled on a tee-shirt, grabbed my loafers and my wallet, and trotted quietly downstairs. I hopped on my moped, coasted down the driveway, popped the starter, and took off.

What in the world could have happened? Alex sounded like she was on the verge of tears, not so much from fright as from anger, and she had her control clamped down tightly. She had said she wasn't hurt. Had she been in a wreck? If so, where was her date? I would have been embarrassed for myself had I slipped into a state of panic – but I admitted that my anxiety level was increasing.

Alex saw me pull up to the curb in front of the store and came out to meet me. She looked all right, composed and smiling. But as she got closer and saw the concern on my face, the smile crumpled and she threw her arms around my neck and pressed her face against my shoulder, nearly knocking me off the motorbike. She wasn't very coherent; all I could make out was "That son of a bitch!"

I stroked her hair and held her for a few moments. "Alex, are you sure you're okay? You're not hurt?"