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Sex, Spies, and My Sister

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Big Dicks

Notice: All ye censors, perverts, and oddballs – no one under 18 years of age did anything sexual to anyone in this story. They didn’t in the original version either, but apparently there were ways to read between the lines and think that they did.


A little about us before I get on with this story: we are twins, Cinnamon and I. We were born late in the spring, so by the time we were getting out of high school, we were well over 18. Such is the way things were. My name is Dave. Why our parents came up with the name Cinnamon for my sister is anyone’s guess, but they, my parents, always said it was just a “cute” name. I was always grateful they didn’t come up with some “cute” dumb-ass name for me! Had she been anything but as good-looking as she was, she might have taken a lot of grief over it, and in fact, I’m sure she took a ribbing about her name to some extent; you know how kids are in school.

In our senior year, we both had dates both got laid. How do I know she did? Ha! She was dumb enough to get caught stark naked with her boyfriend-of-the-moment (also in the buff) between her legs in her bedroom one day not too long before we graduated from high school. Yes, all were over eighteen by then, so it was perfectly legal – except in the eyes of our parents, I came home one day, figured out what was going on, and spent a few minutes watching them through the door that they hadn’t bothered to close all the way. I assume the passion was too great and they had thrown caution to the wind – not one of their better ideas – and just jumped on each other without locking the door, let alone actually making sure it was even closed.

The door was hinged on the right, and as you went into her bedroom her bed was on the wall to the immediate left. So, without it being very far open at all, I had what might be called a ringside seat. I got a little engrossed in watching, being the voyeur that I am, and before I realized they were home, and before I could warn Cinnamon and her dearly beloved, our parents showed up at her door. Talk about your parents going ballistic and coitus interruptus! Nothing will screw up a nice passionate fuck like your mommy and daddy showing up as your boyfriend is slipping you the bone and you are both at the point where he about to unload some of his hot creamy genetic material into your hot wet, and about to start throbbing, little pussy. I guess they thought she was an innocent little virgin. Wrong! I was pretty sure, beyond any reasonable doubt as lawyers like to say, she wasn’t, but this fun little incident put to rest any doubt I might have had.

Anyway, our parents were blaming the boyfriend (yea, like Cinnamon had nothing to do with it) – who was hopping around trying to get his pants and shirt on at the same time. Cinnamon was in there somewhere trying just as desperately to get her clothes back on. I thought the yelling and screaming was hysterical; I was laughing my ass off. Meanwhile, Cinnamon and her hapless boyfriend (who now wasn’t the least bit hard) were trying desperately to get dressed and he, of course, was trying to get out of the house as fast as possible. By the time it was all over, my sides hurt from laughing. My parents turned to me and told me it wasn’t funny, which did nothing but set me off again. No, it wasn’t funny, it was hysterical! I never did understand what all the ruckus was about; they were both over eighteen.

Okay, so now we leap ahead a few years. After I graduated from high school I joined the Navy. I was under the fey impression that there would be a girl in every port. While I had heard of something called a “home port,” where a ship spends much of its time, I never thought of the impact of that on my sex life. These “home ports” are also in what are often called “navy towns.” Unfortunately, the girls in those navy towns knew better than to date sailors. Sailors are on ships and the ships go to sea – the girl doesn’t get to see said sailor when the ship is at sea. For some unknown reason, they really took exception to that. If a girl married a sailor and his ship took off for a cruise of the western Pacific (or the eastern Atlantic for that matter), she became known as a West Pac Widow (in the Atlantic they were probably called something else obviously, but I was in the Pacific fleet). What the West Pac Widows did for entertainment for the six months or so while her sailor was at sea is a whole nuther story – but then so are the shenanigans the sailors did in those foreign ports. And as for the other ports we visited, we were never there long enough to even think about starting a relationship with a girl beyond a one-night stand. I mean really, what’s she supposed to do, be true to you and wait for you to come back in six months – for another day or two? I did my four years, had no regrets, got out, and started college.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Cinnamon got though four years of college, got a bachelor’s in political science, which I figured was about useless unless you want to be a politician, in which case a degree fake taxi porno in graft would be more appropriate, and got a job working at some place where she couldn’t exactly describe the job and couldn’t talk about what she did there. Now that sounds real political sciencey doesn’t it? Then as it turns out, the place is owned by some government agency that everyone seemed to think didn’t exist (more political science I’m sure). Don’t get me wrong, she seemed to like the job just fine – she just couldn’t talk about it and disappeared every now and then on “business trips” to parts unknown for a few days. For some reason, she was always just one step from poverty. I really had to wonder what this company paid her or what the attraction was for the lack of a paycheck to keep her there – either that or she was more of a miser than anyone I had ever met or even heard of. Most people manage to turn a profit on a business trip – not her. “Hide the hat” was apparently a foreign concept. There were days when I thought her trips were “pro bono publico” – seriously!

To make things worse, she had married the king of the dipshits and got divorced a little after I started college. Neither one of them was worth a plug nickel, so that made the divorce a lot easier. I could never figure it out; why do girls who look like Cinnamon marry guys who have the looks and IQ of Elmer Fudd? Fortunately for her, she didn’t have any kids. Having rug rats always makes for messy divorces. So, what does she do? Moves in with me! Yea, just what I needed. I’m trying (not terribly successfully) to put the moves on a few college girls and I have a sister for a roomie. It was, however, good timing as my male roomie had just moved out to move in with his girlfriend – at least I would get some sleep; Christ was that little bitch ever a moaner! More than one person in that apartment complex had complained about the noise that little minx made when she was getting laid – talk about building you man’s ego! She had a set of lungs on her, and I don’t mean the tits, though they were quite an impressive pair too – and real too. Or so my buddy said – I never got to check that out in person.

Back to my sister; at least she was able to kick in a few bucks for the rent. Okay, she wasn’t thrilled at being there either, but it was better than being at home and she couldn’t afford a place of her own. At least she could cook and we ate well. That beat the hell out of those frozen meals I had been burning for myself and a lot cheaper than either eating out or getting food to go. There were advantages to having her around, though a live in girlfriend would have been better. I just wasn’t doing so well in the girlfriend department.

One Wednesday evening after a date that had gone about like they usually do, I was sprawled on the couch and on the phone complaining to my ex-roomie that I was getting horny as hell and that yet another date hadn’t had any interest in putting out. Yes, I had a long history of dates that didn’t feel like going to bed with me. Oh, one did now and then, but the statistics were heavily skewed toward the “not tonight” bunch. Not that I went on dates just for sex – I didn’t – but it would have been nice if now and then I could find a girl who was a horny as I was. Unbeknownst to me, my sister had overheard the entire conversation – at least my end of it.

“How was the date Davey? Get any?” she asked casually and with a bit of smirk after I got off the phone. She was walking back and forth in front of the coffee table and sipping on a Coke. She still had on the tight fitting dark green dress that she had worn to work. She must have really turned a few heads at work. Never mind those kids who used to jack off thinking about touching her hot little body when we were in high school, these days those guys in the office must be jacking off thinking about her and what she would be like in bed – or more like it, bent over their desks.

Looking at her for a few seconds, I realized there was scant difference between her body and looks and that lovely little thing – who wouldn’t put out – I had dated earlier this evening. “Lovely, and I didn’t. She got me hot as hell, danced with me like she was in heat, talk about dirty dancing, and at the end of the evening, all I got was a kiss good night.” I didn’t want to sound like this lovely date owed me anything in that regard, so I didn’t mention that she didn’t drink cheap stuff, and I damn near had to take out a loan to feed her. Nothing remotely close to fast food passed over her lips – ever. We had to go to a “real” restaurant, the kind where you had to have reservations (called in hours, and preferably days, ahead of time) and where a hostess with a stick up her ass tells you “James will seat you shortly.” I should also point out that James seemed to have a stick up his ass too.

“Well, that’s more than a handshake,” she said with a giggle.

Yea, but if she had done that hand shaking thing a little lower, it would be called a hand job, and that would family stroke porno sure have been better than the kiss I did get, I thought. “Not by much, and come to think of it, maybe that was just the final tease.” I was beginning to think she was rubbing it in, but what was the point? Maybe she had gotten laid tonight, but as far as I knew, she had never left the apartment and hadn’t had anyone in here either.

“At least you had a date and therefore a chance at sex. I work in a large office and the only ones that have been hitting on me since the divorce are the real creeps. The ones I wouldn’t mind taking to bed don’t seem to be interested in me no matter how much I try to seem interested in them.”

I guess she didn’t get laid tonight. “You work in a pretty strange office with some pretty strange people. Try going in naked some day,” I suggested a little sarcastically, not being in a particularly good mood. It had been an expensive date and in the end I hadn’t gotten laid and I was horny as hell. Now I had my sister rubbing it in and telling me how little she was getting. If she wanted to get laid, all she had to do was walk into an expensive bar and have some fairly well off dude take her home that same evening. It doesn’t work the other way around. Actually I tried that once. A little later I found out that it was a lesbian bar and the guys in there – weren’t guys. That explains why I got absolutely nowhere with anyone there.

“Be serious.”

I said, “Maybe they’re all gay,” not being all that thrilled about talking about her problems.

“No, I know who’s gay in that building.”


“Oh, like that’s so hard to tell!”

“I wouldn’t be too sure, some of them look pretty straight. Then there’s the bi ones.”

“Well, in that case, these ‘gay’ ones manage to hit on a few of the other single women in the office and a few of the married ones too. If there are bi ones there, I don’t know about them.”

“The bi ones are the ones that will hit in anything that’s breathing. You problem is that you just can’t seem to get any straight men to hit on you.”

“Right. Or the bi ones for that matter.”

“You’d go for a bi guy? Very surprising! I never would have guessed. He gets a little from you then a little from Brucie. But, if Brucie was bi, then maybe you could go and get a little from him too!” I couldn’t help it; I started laughing.

“Not likely! Not if I knew anyway. Just what I need, a guy that goes to bed with me when goes home to Bruce for a little more.”

“Maybe Brucie does him!” I said and started laughing.

“Ewwwwww…that’s gross!”

“I said you could go and do Brucie too,” I said, getting in one last little dig.

“Oh shut up!”

“Too bad we can’t just simplify things and screw each other. That would solve both of our problems,” I said. She had her sexual problems and I had mine. I was getting tired of being reminded that neither of us had anything going in that lovely little part of our lives. I started thinking about my date and wondering what she would look like sans that tight fitting little black dress she had on this evening; just her in her undies and a little demi bra. They were probably both black – yea, that’s the ticket – that petite little body in nothing but dark thigh-high stockings, black thong panties, and a skimpy little black demi bra. Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember feeling a bra strap across her back, and I did have my hand there a few times, and there were no visible panty lines. Maybe there was nothing on under that dress. Oh yea! I was getting an erection just letting my mind wander over what had to be a great little body. I had wanted to get my hands on her naked little body so badly. I had really thought I was going to get in her pants this evening too. Maybe she would turn out to be a real moaner like that hot little number my ex-roomie had. I could use a little moaner like that right about now; I could use a girl that wanted a little hot sex right about now. This wasn’t our first date, or even our second, so what was she holding out for? Right about now I would like to get my hands on my erection since my date had managed to get me horny as hell, but my sister was still pacing around in the room. I was thinking of adjourning to my bedroom and taking the situation in hand when she started to speak again.

“I suppose we could,” Cinnamon said softly.

“Huh? Could what?” I said startled. I snapped out of my daydream. She couldn’t mean doing the dirty deed with her – which was the last thing I remembered talking to her about, not that it was necessarily the last thing she had been talking about; I must have missed something. Men always get accused of not listening to women when they talk; maybe this was one of those times.

“Fuck” she said.

“Fuck?” I asked again, just to be sure I was hearing correctly.

“Yea. You know what fucking is; it’s similar to screwing. The horizontal mambo? Makin’ bacon? Just a little animal sex to take the female agent porno edge off. It’s not like we have to be in love or something,” she said, starting to pace back and forth in front of the coffee table. “Oh I love you, but as a brother. Well, you know. Anyway, what would it hurt? You’re horny, I’m horny, and we know each other. You slip me the old salami, I get off on it, you get off inside me, and everyone’s happy. We have both cured the hornies. It’s not like you have to buy me an expensive dinner and take me out to a movie and it’s not like I have to feel like I have to put out because you did.” She stopped and looked at me waiting for a response.

I was flabbergasted. “Huh?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Really? Are you serious?”

She set her Coke down on the coffee table and said, tilting her head to one side, “No, I’m just jabbering away to hear myself. Yes Dave, unless you’d rather not. I am your sister after all. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea. You aren’t supposed to screw your sister after all.” Now she had her arms folder under her boobs.

Maybe she was having second thoughts about that idea. “Oh, I like this idea. I really like the idea. Yea, I’m not supposed to screw my sister – who isn’t supposed to screw her brother either for that matter – but I’m willing to ignore that little taboo.”

“Really?” She as starting to sound excited about the idea again.

“Really.” I didn’t think she had a black demi-bra on or a black thong either, but I was willing to overlook that as well. After all, what she had on, a nice dark green somewhat tight fitting dress, very similar the my date’s little black dress that, come to think of it, was coming off anyway. While she had dark stockings on, I suspected they were the dreaded pantyhose. Thigh-highs would be too much to ask for. I might also mention she had had some pretty nice heels on too that didn’t exactly detract from her appearance. God she had great legs. They went all the way to heaven. The last time I had seen her with little on, before I went into the navy, she had worn some pretty sexy undies, so there was at least some possibilities here. Not that it really matters does it? You don’t really screw a woman with her undies on – unless you are in a porn movie, and I have no I idea why that’s supposed to be sexy. After all, it’s all coming off pretty soon. It’s just eye candy while you see it in place for a few seconds – at least I hoped it was only going to be for a few seconds.

“Just how long have you had the hots for me?” she asked coyly still standing in front of the coffee table. “How long had you wanted to, you know, fuck your own little sister? Your own innocent little sister.”

“Innocent my ass! In case you forgot, I was there when Mom and Dad caught you with what’s-his-face stark naked and between your equally naked legs and giving you his salami. Anyway, long time. Ever since I caught you and what’s-his-face in the sack. About then, I noticed your great tits and really fine ass. After all, you were running around the room buck naked!”

“That was a long time ago. You’ve been looking at your own sister all these years since that stupid incident as a ‘hot piece of ass’?”

“Bingo!” Well, she got that right on the money. As far as I was concerned, she was one hot piece of ass all right, though I had never used the word “hot.” I went for the more subtle terms “great” piece of ass or “fine” piece of ass. She was the prototypical model of what I was looking for in women, and hence that cute little doesn’t-put-out model that I had dated this evening. Yes, I know, you are suppose to look for something like your mother or something, but for me, my sister was it – the quintessential figure of a woman. You might say, with some luck, by screwing my date this evening I was going to screw the woman of my dreams. Now, how often does that happen? Of course it didn’t happen to me tonight either. Uh, not yet anyway, but apparently there was hope.

“My own brother the perv!” She laughed for a second and then asked, “Did you ever, you know, get off thinking about me?” putting on her shy and coy act again.

While I guess I suggested it, not being really serious, she was the one who jumped on it, gave all the reasons, and I’m the perv? What’s with this? It’s always the guy’s fault? “Maybe I did.”

“Maybe? You aren’t sure if you jacked off thinking about your sweet sister? Ha! That means you did, and if you did it once you did it a hundred times.”

I figured a thousand was a closer number, and sweet sister was about it; I was thinking about her sweet tits and sweet little ass as I was stroking it. “Maybe once or twice. Did you ever think about what it would be like to be in bed with me?” I asked, turning the tables. I was pretty sure I was going to get some pretty vague answers.

“I guess so. Okay, I wondered now and then.”

Not as vague as I thought. Loose translation: she was playing the two-finger fiddle and thinking about sex with me just as often as I thought about getting it on with her. Okay, so we were both horny as hell and thought about getting it on with each other. “So you had the hots for me too? Did you ever get yourself off thinking about your brother?” I knew the answer to this one – NO. Girls will never admit to jilling off. Never, never, never.

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