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If you haven’t read episodes 1 – 3, you should, before you read this offering.
Daddy had just fucked me – again. It was wonderful. We had made love (and that’s exactly what it was!) enough by now that it didn’t cause me any pain, whatsoever, except for a slight soreness afterward. Yes, it was good; it was wonderful; it was exhausting; it made me want to just lay there as if I was coming down from a drug-induced haze (I’m just guessing about this, as I have never done drugs).
But no! Jeff, my big brother, was home. He was getting out of his car and would be in the house within seconds. Daddy and I were naked in Daddy’s bed! Think! I grabbed the tee-shirt that I had brought, realized that I didn’t have time to even put my panties or anything else on, and dashed upstairs to my room. There, I hurriedly put on the rest of my clothes and combed my disheveled hair. I still looked like I had been in bed, but I could claim I had just had a nap.
I heard the front door swing open. “Dad? Pammy?” Jeff yelled.
The door slammed shut and I heard Dad say, “Jeff, son! I didn’t know you were coming in.”
I thought about running down and jumping into Jeff’s arms, but then I remembered that I was pissed off at him. More than pissed off. Disappointed. Hurt. Humiliated. You see, my Mom had gotten killed on my 18th birthday. Of course we were all devastated, but I actually feared that my father might do himself harm because of his deep grief. He wouldn’t eat or talk to us and was in a very deep depression. I had asked Jeff to stay home from college for a semester, but he had adamantly refused.
There’s more to the story. Jeff and I were “close”. No, we had not had sexual intercourse, but we had played every game that naughty siblings play during our teen years. I knew Jeff loved me in a way that brothers and sisters are not supposed to love each other. I felt the same way, I must admit. So, when Jeff refused to stay and help me deal with our father, I played the sex card. I offered my virginity to him. And he refused.
I was fine with him refusing to fuck me. I didn’t think I was ready for that yet and I had always been taught to save myself for marriage. But if he really loved me, if he was the kind of man that I assumed he was, he should have been willing to stay and help his little sister and his father in our time of deepest grief. I was hurt, and I hadn’t gotten over it.
We had barely even spoken in the several months since Mom’s passing. He texted me now and then and even emailed me sometimes. He had apologized, but had used the same selfish explanations as to why he couldn’t sit out one semester of college. He now had a girlfriend. They had visited us once and she had slept in my room with me. I assumed they were having sex, but I didn’t know for sure. Still, my brother would never have presumed that it was okay for his girlfriend to stay in his room in our parents’ home. We were not raised that way.
Jeff was a nerd. Mom had told me, way back, that he was probably on the autism spectrum a little bit. Maybe he was; I don’t know. It wasn’t something we ever discussed. He was often in his own world and if he were busy with something he was so focused that he was unaware of anything going on around him. Math was his thing and it was his major in college. My mother was a math teacher, and my dad was also good at math, so it kinda ran in the family. I had also decided that I wanted to become a math teacher, to honor my mother and because I liked it. But Jeff blew me away. What I could do on paper and a calculator, he could often do in his head. He had a hard time explaining how he got an answer. I was good at explaining, which is why I was going to be a great teacher – like my mom.
Jeff was also very nice looking. He wasn’t a heavily muscled athlete, but was tall and slender with a handsome face, brown hair, brown eyes, and an attractive smile. In that regard, he looks a lot like me. I am kinda tall, also with brown hair and eyes, but I have 34C breasts, which he does not – (lol). My hair is down to my shoulders; his is short and he keeps it mussed up, as if he just got out of bed.
I walked down the stairs toward the sound of he and Dad talking. When I caught sight of them, I noticed several things at once. Dad was happy; Jeff had suitcases; no girlfriend with him; and he looked so good to me. Not sexually good – let’s not get ahead of ourselves. This was my brother. I had always loved him and looked up to him and we had always gotten along with each other and trusted each other. I felt that void. It hit me hard. It made me flash back to those horrid days after Mom died and the heartbreak and heartache that I felt when Jeff refused to stay home. I remembered the humiliation of offering myself to him and being rejected.
“Jeff, what are you doing here?” I asked, sounding more cold than I intended.
“I guess I forgot to tell you guys that I decided to take the summer semester off. I remember now that bostancı escort bayan I had told you I wasn’t gonna. Are you not excited to see me, Sis?”
“Of course I am,” I managed and gave him a hug. He felt so good. I loved him so much – at that moment in the very best, non-sexual, way. But I was still hurt. He had to know that.
Over the course of the next few hours, he informed us that he had broken up with his girlfriend and that had made him homesick for us. He said he missed getting to hang out and watch sports on TV with us, going down to the Dairy Freeze to get an ice cream cone, and going to church with us. That was one thing we had always done together. Jeff nor I had ever given our parents any grief about church attendance. They expected it and we did it. We knew right from wrong, but we also had mastered the fine art of rationalization.
Dad and Jeff went to the Supermarket to get some steaks to grill (the parable of the Prodigal Son and the killing of the fatted calf crossed my mind). I washed clothes. We had clothes from the beach that needed laundering and Jeff had brought a laundry bag full. I just washed it all. No need of being a stick in the mud.
Dad grilled the steaks while Jeff and I prepared baked potatoes and a garden salad. We didn’t talk much. We made small talk, but it wasn’t like it used to be. It made me sad. I wanted to cry. The meal, however, was delicious. Afterward, we watched the Braves beat the Dodgers, so it was an extremely nice evening.
Then it was bed time. I, of course, had planned on sleeping with Daddy. Now I couldn’t – for the whole summer?? That was a major disappointment. I was afraid that Daddy would revert to “guilt mode” and put a stop to it for good. I knew he must still have major qualms about having sex with his own daughter. I would be lying if I said I didn’t. I most certainly knew that it was wrong; maybe that was what made it so delicious? But the experimental sexual experiences with Jeff during my teen years had taught me to rationalize.
I half expected (feared?) that Jeff might knock on my bedroom door, as he had so many times. What would I do? I was quite sure that I would deny him if he made any sexual advances, no matter how “innocent”. I didn’t even feel like talking to him. My pain was real. It made me want to cry, and I did. Silently. The knock never came that night. I was glad.
The next day, Sunday, we attended church, went out to eat with some family friends, then headed home. Dad said the lawn had to be mowed, which had become my job, but Jeff volunteered to do it. Daddy did the weed-eating and some more yard work. I put away our clothes from vacation and put Jeff’s things in his room.
I was in a funk. Jeff was ruining my summer, already. He refused me when I needed him; now he was in the way. I was afraid that he was going to ruin my new-found, yet illicit, relationship with Daddy. And what was he going to do all day, every day? Was he getting a job? Or was he going to hang around at home? I was due to start my tutoring job in a week, but in the intervening time, were we going to be left alone at home? I just didn’t have that many things to do to waste time. I don’t particularly care for shopping; most of my friends were busy; if I were going swimming, it would be at home in our own pool. Maybe he would just sit in his room and read or maybe he would go visit his own friends. I just knew that I didn’t want to be around him any more than I had to be. Back before Mom’s death, every moment we could be together was precious – how things had changed.
Monday morning Dad left for work before I even got out of bed. I didn’t even set an alarm. I felt depressed and just hoped I would sleep all day, until he got home that afternoon. It wasn’t to be. When 8 AM came, I found myself tossing and turning and feeling useless. When did I start feeling like I was supposed to be useful?
Jeff and I had always shared a bathroom upstairs. Our bedrooms were separated by a large, open, hallway. The bathroom was between our bedrooms, at the very back of the house. There were two doors – one to each bedroom. There were, of course, locks on both sides of both doors. Little did our parents know how few times we actually used those locks!
When I could stay in bed no longer, I shuffled to the bathroom, dressed in my customary tee shirt and panties. Upon opening the door, I realized that Jeff was in the shower.
“Hurry up, Jeff! I have to pee!” I yelled.
He poked his head out, laughing. “Pee, then. You never cared before.”
Good point, but still. I hesitated, but decided that I wasn’t going to allow him to inconvenience me. As I sat down, Jeff shut the water off and pulled back the shower curtain to grab his towel. Shit! Obviously my eyes looked where they shouldn’t – to his half-erect penis. Oh my!
I tried not to look. Jeff started drying himself and I managed to avert my eyes and escape back into my bedroom, closing ümraniye escort the bathroom door behind me. “Fuck!” I thought. “This is the last thing I need now. To start that stuff again.” My body was already reacting, though. I could feel how wet I was already getting. My breasts were already tingling. Oh course I still found him attractive. Of course I still remembered all the wonderful times we had together, “experimenting”. I had rarely ever even felt nervous with him, because I trusted him totally. He had never done anything that I asked him not to do.
What if he came in my bedroom? What if he started flirting with me? How strong was I? And now that I wasn’t a virgin anymore – well, I had to stop thinking about it. I got dressed in running shorts, a sports bra, and a tee-shirt. Maybe I would go for a run and get my mind off my brother’s penis and what I wanted to do with it. I went downstairs to make coffee.
Jeff was soon downstairs, in the kitchen, where I sat at the table sipping my first cup of coffee. He looked through the refrigerator, found some eggs and bacon and, to my surprise, set about the task of cooking breakfast. He was dressed in loose-fitting shorts and a tee-shirt that said “NERDS RULE”. Barefoot. He looked good.
“Um, are you actually cooking breakfast?” I asked, incredulously.
“Yes. One egg or two?”
“One is fine. Two strips of bacon,” I stated. “And some buttered toast. Peach jelly,” I added.
He looked at me and grinned. “So who usually cooks around here?”
“We kinda take it time about,” I replied. “Dad is a much better cook than me, but when he’s working, I try to do most of the cooking. After all, I’m the woman of the house,” I added, flatly.
The grin fell from his face. I thought, for a moment, that he was going to cry, but he turned back to the stove.
We ate in silence. I did tell him that the food tasted good and thanked him for cooking. We finished, he gathered the dishes, and loaded them into the dishwasher.
As he did so, I went into the living room with my coffee and turned the TV on. Jeff soon joined me. He picked up the remote and hit the mute button. “Pammy. I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what to say to you. There’s nothing that will ever make this up to you.” And with that, he began to sob. Great tears rolled down his face as he searched frantically for a tissue. He tried to say more, and failed.
This, of course, made me start weeping, too. We both sat there crying, our bodies heaving with great sobs. I know that Jeff must have wept like this when Mom died, but I didn’t remember it. In my mind, he hadn’t cared that much. He was so selfish that his college stuff was more important than me, than Daddy, than grieving for our mother. Now I saw that I was wrong. Jeff may have been selfish, but he wasn’t heartless. He cared.
“Pammy,” he sobbed, “I was selfish. I didn’t think I was, at that time, but now I know I was.” He dabbed at his eyes, but his voice still broke when he talked. “I wish I had…” he sobbed again and made such an utterly hopeless, mournful sound that it startled me. “Pammy. I don’t want you to hate me!” he moaned.
I crossed to him, instinctively. I sat on the couch next to him and put my arms around him, my own sobs making my body shudder. “I know you don’t hate me, Jeff. I know you love me. I have missed you so bad. You don’t even know.”
Suddenly his arms were around me and we were kissing – like we used to. Un-abandoned and unashamed. Tongues intertwined, our tears running down our faces and falling to the floor. We muttered “I love you”‘s and “I missed you”‘s as we continued to kiss as if we were starved for each other. I suppose we were.
Jeff began to kiss my neck. FUCK!! The image of his naked body in the shower, earlier, flashed through my mind. FUCK!! My body was totally responding to him, as it always had, even though my mind was telling me to ‘fucking stop right now’.
When he put his hand on my breast, I found strength. I pushed his hand away, but continued to kiss him. He tried again, as if perhaps, in my eagerness to pull his hand tighter to me, I had accidentally pushed it away. I grasped his hand, this time, and held it. “Please, Jeff, no. Just kiss me. I need to know that you love me.”
He complied. We were soon laying on the couch, still kissing, still whispering sweetly to each other. I could feel, very distinctly, his erection, through the running shorts. Oh, I wanted it! I wanted to suck him again. I wanted to give him so much pleasure. And my body wanted more than that. I knew that something was different, now that I was no longer a virgin. Before, knowing that there was a point at which I would not go, I was satisfied. Now, could I be satisfied without going all the way? What was I even thinking? Was I contemplating doing something with Jeff other than kissing and holding each other? No! We couldn’t. I loved Jeff, but he had not been there for me when I needed him. He had rejected escort kartal me. I could not have a sexual relationship with both he and my father!
Suddenly I sat up. “We can’t do this, Jeff. All that stuff we did – it was wrong. We were kids. We were experimenting – because we trusted each other and we didn’t know how to do anything. We wanted to learn without being under pressure. It was wonderful. But it’s over. We are adults now.”
Jeff had a look of consternation and disbelief. “What? I mean, yeah, sure, we experimented. But we loved each other. We did those things because it felt good and we cared about each other. What does being an adult have to do with it?”
“But you know what sex is like now. Real sex. Not just experimenting. I’m your sister. It’s wrong,” I said. I couldn’t believe I was saying all these things that I didn’t even believe.
“I did something I wish I hadn’t done, Sis.” He patted the couch and grasped my hand, pulling me down to sit with him. “I had sex. You know what I thought about while we did it?”
“I’m afraid to ask,” I gasped as he stroked my hand and I gazed into his face.
“You already know. You know I was thinking of you, Pam. You’ve always known that there will never be a woman that will mean as much to me as you do, besides the fact that you are the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen.” He said this with so much passion that it melted my heart. Fresh tears rolled down my face. He kissed them away. “I love you, Pammy. You know I have been in love with you, always. You know that I will never love a woman the way I do you.”
I jerked my hand away. “You abandoned me, Jeff. I needed you worse than I ever had or ever will. You humiliated me. You made me beg you. You made me act like a common whore!” I shouted this last part at him, then ran up the stairs and locked my bedroom door.
After a long while I heard him come up the stairs, but he didn’t come to my door. I assumed he went to his room. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, contemplating what had just happened in the last hour. Did I handle it right? Did I have a right to say what I had said to him? Could I stick to what I said? Was I too weak? I certainly did not hate him – in no way. I loved him and I wanted him to know I loved him – as a brother, and only as a brother. I wanted him to know that I forgave him, but I still felt bitterness toward him. We absolutely could not have a physical relationship! What about kissing? Could we still kiss? I had always loved kissing him. We had taught each other. It made me tingle to think about it.
And he was no longer a virgin. He had gone all the way! But how did I have a right to be jealous after what I had done?? But he said he thought about ME when he fucked his girlfriend? Did I buy that? Maybe, but she was a very good looking girl. It didn’t matter. It was still a great compliment. And it made me very horny.
After perhaps half an hour of this daydreaming, I thought it was time to go talk this through with him. We had to get along. We had to be on friendly terms with each other if we were going to live in the same house. We had to get over hurt feelings; we had to love each other, but in the right way.
His bedroom door was open. When I peeked in, he was laying on his bed, shirt off, asleep. How could this be arousing to me? But it was. His hairless chest was well-, but not heavily-, muscled. He didn’t have six-pack abs, but his stomach was flat and coated with a fine matte of hair, like Daddy. I loved the way it looked and the way it felt when I touched or licked it. FUCK! I wanted to kiss him all over, suck his dick, and SO MUCH MORE! But I was going to control myself. I had to.
I tip-toed into his room and lay down next to him and watched him sleep. I loved him so very much. I wished that he were not my brother. I would so love to be his girlfriend and to contemplate marriage with him – to carry and have his babies. The thought made me even wetter. How was I going to stay under the same roof with this beautiful man and not have some kind of physical relationship with him, after all that we had done and all that we had been through? Was my body going to react this way every time I saw him or even thought about him?
His eyes opened. Those beautiful, incredibly intelligent, brown eyes. His long eyelashes made him look boyish, but the stubble on his face was indicative that he was a grown, 21 year old, man. My handsome brother!
He smiled and yawned. “What a pleasant surprise. My favorite person in the whole world,” he said.
“You know that you are, Pammy.” He paused. “I’m sorry about earlier. I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. I wish I had stayed home and sat out a semester, Sis. I should have… And you shouldn’t have had to belittle yourself to try to get me to stay. I wouldn’t have done… that…”
“You wouldn’t have done what?” I giggled.
“You know,” he said as he blushed.
I tried to look puzzled. I frowned. “I haven’t a clue,” I claimed.
“I wouldn’t have stayed just because you offered to… have sex with me.”
I laughed. “You liar. If you had stayed and I offered it, you would have.” I paused and smiled again. “Wouldn’t you?” I asked in a teasing voice.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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