MARIE (3 of 13)
FRIAR DAVE
MARIE
(copyright, the author)
CHAPTER THREE
(MARIE03.STY)
I saw Marty a couple of more times in the next few weeks, and we tried
all sorts of things when we could. I somehow got the feeling Phil
suspected what was going on, but he didn't say anything to me, and if
he said anything to Marty, Marty didn't tell me.
Then my phantom stepbrother came to visit for a week or so. I
purposely bought a new two-piece suit in a size that fit my waist. In
other words, it was far too small for my bust. Then I made sure I was
sunning myself on the picnic table out behind the kitchen window when
he came in from the airport. He didn't even recognize me at first.
Then he just shook his head and looked away from the window, the one
that looks out on the back yard. He was, let's see, 15 then, and damn
-- what a fox! But he always behaved properly toward me -- I could
tell he was a little uncomfortable -- and nothing happened, no matter
how much I tried to provoke it. And I tried.
But my best friend, Lisa, got a terrible crush on him, and the way he
dealt with it was so sweet! He treated her like a regular grownup
person, not like an 11-year-old with a crush, and very gently steered
her away. Hahaha! I remember when she gave him a present -- a bag of
potato chips. He accepted it and thanked her for her thoughtfulness,2
and she jumped up and gave him a little kiss on the cheek and ran
away. He sat there, blushing like mad, and just opened the bag and
offered some to me. I was laughing at Lisa, and he demanded that I
stop.
"Oh, Dan, she's just got a terrible crush on you! It's puppy love!"
He looked me right in the eye and told me he thought she was sweet,
pretty and nice, and then he said: "Besides, Marie, do puppies hurt
less than grown dogs?"
I stopped laughing.
And that was the thing about him: He understood things you already
knew, and he could remind you of them.
Anyhow, by the time Labor Day rolled around -- the last weekend of
summer -- Marty and I were on the splits. All there'd ever really been
between us was sex, and I'd figured out he wasn't the only boy I could
get. He was nice enough, but he was, well -- dull. My eleventh
birthday came and went in August.
The problem was that I loved sex, and I'd gotten used to getting it
pretty much when I wanted it. And I was horny as hell.
On the Friday night of Labor Day weekend, Alexis -- my sister, she's
almost five years older than me -- was out on a date< and Mom and Dad
had taken my two baby brothers with them out to Genoa, to Uncle Van's,
to watch the fireworks show. I knew they'd be late getting back, so I
decided to treat myself to a hot bath and A little Yellow Pages fun --
[That's what I called masturbating. You know: "Let your fingers do the
walking"?]
The only other one in the house was my younger sister, Jeanne. Jeanne
was exactly 11 months younger then me and she was a beauty. She was
less like me than like Alexis -- who's a natural plantinum blonde with
a peaches-and-cream complexion and ripe red lips. Jeanne was sandy
blonde and already had this lovely face and long legs. My phantom
stepbrother used to call her "the fawn," because she was so lithe and
graceful.
[Right, I was sort of the missing link. Grandma used to say there'd
been a nigger in the woodpile where I was concerned, because I was so
swarthy and built completely different. I found out years later that
there was a reason I was different, but Grandma had been way off the
mark...]
Anyhow.
I had drawn a hot, hot bath and filled it with bubble bath, this stuff
I'd gotten for my birthday from some cousin or other. I lay in the tub
and spent some time just savoring the heat of the water and the scent
of the bubble bath and then started fooling around. Pretty soon, I was
all worked up. My fingers weren't just walking; they were dancing and
diving. I was rubbing my clitoris like I wanted to rub it right off,
and when I came I made some kind of noise and sloshed water, because
Jeanne banged on the door and asked was I okay.
I told her I was okay, and she kept wanting to know what I was doing.
Really spoiled it for me. So I got out of the bath and toweled off and
opened the door and stood there naked in front of my little sister.
Jeanne was just wearing a tee-shirt and panties and she looked so
pretty...
"Something private," I said and took my towel down the hall to my
room, still naked.
She followed me.
"I know what you were doing."
"What?"
"Playing with yourself."
From down the hall, I heard the last of the water sucked down the tub
drain.
"That's right, Jeanne." I started to turn away, then changed my mind.
"How did you know?"
"I know you've been doing it for a while, now."
"Do you do it?"
She blushed just a little and shrugged and nodded. "I guess so."
I noticed that beneath her loose tee-shirt, the little nubs of her
nipples were hardening. "What do you think about when you do it?"
"...stuff."
"What stuff?"
"Just ... stuff." She was obviously uncomfortable with this. So I
pursued it.
[Yes, I was being a bitch.]
"What do you think about?" she demanded.
"Doing it with boys."
"Doing wha -- you mean, IT?"
I nodded. "And I like it."
"You've done it with a boy? When? Who? Did it hurt? Did you like it?
What did he do?"
"For one thing, he never made me stand around all wet." I started to
dry myself. She was watching.
"Did they grab your boobs?"
"Sometimes, but I made them stop if they hurt me."
"Did you like it?"
"It can be very nice."
"I wish I had nice boobs like you." She was watching them bounce and
move as I dried myself.
"It's not so much the boobs as the nipples, Jeanne." I stood and
looked down at my breasts, then reached up with one hand and rubbed
the stiff nodule of one nipple. It swelled even more. I pinched it
gently and couldn't help sighing with pleasure. "Definitely, the
nipples," I said. I looked up at her. "You don't have to have big
boobs to enjoy having your nipples kissed and licked...and sucked."
"But if you don't have boobs, they don't pay much attention to you
above the waist."
"Too bad they don't, isn't it? It's really nice... " I rubbed the pad
of my forefinger across the other nipple. "Try it," I said.
She misunderstood.
My baby sister -- not little, cause she was about three inches taller
than me -- reached out and brushed her fingers across my nipple. She
caught me by surprise and so did the sensation of having someone else
touch me like that. In particular, having a woman touch me like that.
My sister, even.
The tingle that went through me was intense; I was afraid I was going
to have an orgasm -- bang, just like that. As it was, my knees got a
little weak.
"You mean like that?"
I nodded. "Or like this -- " I reached out and lightly caught one of
those little pencil-eraser-size bumps under her tee-shirt and squeezed
it, oh, just ever so lightly, between my thumb and forefinger. Her
eyes half-closed and her lips, those lush, pouty young lips, parted
slightly. I dropped the towel. Without releasing her nipple, I did the
same with the other nipple and stepped closer to her, carefully
twisting the swollen little buds. Her breath was shallow, but hot and
sweet on my face. Her lips looked so sweet, I just had to --
So I kissed her, right on the mouth, kissed her the way I liked to be
kissed and apparently, our genes ran true. She gasped and kissed me
back, and after a few moments our tongues met. She brought her hands
up and began caressing and feeling my breasts. I raised her tee-shirt
and found her tits had just begun the slightest of swellings around
the prominent nozzles of her nipples. I licked her little mounds and
then lavished my tongue on her nipples. Her knees kept buckling.
I led her to the bed and pulled her tee-shirt off. "I'm going to show
you how nice it can be, sweet Jeanne." She lay back readily, and I
bent over her, licking and kissing her nipples, her budding breasts,
her throat and her mouth. She kept running her hands all over me, but
never quite touched the place that most craved touching.
It wasn't long before we were laying side-by-side on my bed, kissing
and caressing each other passionately. Finally, when I was on top of
her, I leaned to one side and put my hand between us, on the mound
within her wet panties. I rubbed my fingers carefully around her pudgy
little cunt, and she started bucking her hips up toward me. I pulled
her sodden panties down, exposing her fledgling pussy in all its
perfect, hairless loveliness, and then I rolled to poise on all fours
over her.
"I am going to make you feel wonderful now," I said. "Okay?"
Her eyes were closed in her flushed face, and she merely nodded and
moaned. Then I twisted on the bed and began lapping at my sister.
Yes, I ate her. I loved it. Not just the sweet, fresh taste of her
juices or the slick feel of her naked pussy under my lips and tongue.
That wasn't all of it. For one thing, I loved the way she kept moaning
and moving with pleasure beneath me. For another, I was getting the
chance to lick her in exactly the way I'd wanted to be licked, as I'd
tried -- and failed -- to train Marty to lick me. Best of all, it was
like telling the world, "Fuck you! This is how sweet and good and
beautiful it is at heart -- not the dirty, secret hurtful thing you
make it out to be!"
She came in long, gentle, rolling waves of pleasure, all clenched and
slippery and writhing. She was so beautiful in her innocent passion!
Finally, I lay back with my face wet with her juices. I stretched out
next to her and pulled her face to me. She hesitated -- and then we
tongue-kissed again. Her mouth was soft and sweet and seeking and she
seemed determined to lick all of her own secretions off my mouth. She
sat up and over and began kissing my breasts, pausing the suck my
nipples, and kissed her way down, down, down over my flat belly and
down to my thighs. She kissed the insides of my thighs for a long time
and then --
And then she began licking me. As soon as her tongue touched my cunt
lips, I began cumming, and when she located and locked in on the
fervent bud of my clitoris, the sensation was exquisite. My cunt
clenched wildly. I reached out and pulled her over me, so her legs
were astraddle my head, and then I pulled her precious little cunt
into my mouth and we began sixty-nining. I begged her to put her
finger in me, and she complied hesitantly -- until she comprehended my
response; then she worked that finger around and around happily,
setting off explosions within me like firecrackers on Chinese New
Year.
I didn't even think about what I did next until I was almost doing it
-- and then it was her response that gave me pause. I had one finger
poised at the clamshell-tight lips of her cunt above me, about to
probe within, when she tensed. I remembered how it had hurt me the
first time; I didn't want to do that to my baby sister -- hurt her, I
mean. So I merely traced my finger around her swollen cunt lips while
my worked busily at her clit.
But after a time -- a minute? Five minutes? I dunno -- she raised her
head and wailed, "Dammit, Mar, stop teasing me! Put it inside!"
Whatever you want, baby sister.
I slipped it in carefully, to the first joint, always ready to stop
and withdraw at the first resistance of hymen.
But my finger slid all the way into that unbelievably tight little
cunt, right to the base, and when my sister came this time, she was
like a madwoman -- and she vented it all on my cunt.
The two of us bucked and arched and came, over and over again. When we
could finally stop, I pulled her up to me and we lay in each other's
arms, panting and kissing and hugging and still tingling.
When I could speak, I told her, "I was afraid to put my finger in. The
first time usually hurts."
"I know," she said simply.
I opened my eyes wide and stared at her. Her eyes were wide and clear
and knowing, inches from mine.
She said nothing. After a moment, I understood -- as she'd known I
would. We had something else in common. We held each other tightly for
a long time, quietly comforting and bonded in a shared experience.
[No, I don't want to talk about that. Not now.]
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