Monica Part5 free porn video

When you add it all up and take a look at it, a lot of life - my life, anyway - is fairly boring. When you're a k**, a lot of your free time is taken up by school and doing or avoiding homework. When you're an adult, most of your time is taken up by just work. And then there's also a ton of hours when you have to sleep, plus a helluva lot of time doing things you'd rather not: Taxes, commuting, going to the DMV, doing a private search online to find out if being attracted to a close relative is a sign of neurological disorder...

Anyway, the point is, I'm still surprised by how extreme the interesting parts of my life have been compared to the boring parts. And by "interesting," yes, I mean the parts that involve me having mind-blowing sex. I am a fairly normal person, on average. I don't drink too much, I don't really do d**gs, I like the work that I do, but the work that I do generally involves me sitting quietly in a room with a calculator. It's not very glamorous. And yet, despite my rather boring life, this story ends in a threesome. That still surprises me. It surprised me at the time, and looking back on it now I can scarcely believe it happened. Or, for that matter, what happened afterward.

Please understand that this is not me bragging. This is me trying to make sense of the weird journey my life has taken. Weird, but not altogether unpleasant.

* * *

By the time I got my Master's, I was already working for a major architectural firm in the city. They subsidized a few ancillary classes I would later take in LEED design, but for the most part I was out of school and in the career I'd always dreamed of. And because I was that lucky, I could afford a place downtown.

I asked Stephanie to move in with me, and she took her time giving me an answer. I understood the reluctance. It was a confusing step, given our arrangement.

The two of us had decided several months ago that we liked each other enough to pursue a semi-serious relationship. However, Stephanie did not believe in monogamy. To an outsider, this would seem strange, considering how we acted with each other. Ostensibly, Stephanie and I were a good couple - I would go so far as to say we were a great couple. We went out for romantic nights on the town, sometimes we stayed in to watch movies on the couch, our jobs were very different and thus very interesting to each other (she worked as a consultant for a few peacekeeping, politicking and fundraising organizations while zeroing in on an overseas position she'd been eyeing since graduation), and we hardly ever fought. Also, the sex was phenomenal.

Yet despite all this harmony, for the most part we lived separate lives. We shared a passionate dedication to our work, but that meant our relationship would always come second. Stephanie had been frustrated with boyfriends in her past who couldn't stand that, being relegated to second, third, tenth or eleventh on her list of things to do. That's why, by the time she reached graduate school, she'd given up on relationships. She'd also given up on hooking up, except when her stress level absolutely necessitated a thorough fucking (she was not impressed with the crop of studs she'd mowed down across our campus, and most of them, she said, were way too clingy). But then there was me. I, too, had little time to devote to a real relationship, but I could be flexible.

There is something to be said for having someone to rely on, for comfort, for sex, and for emotional release. But I had secrets, and Steph had secrets, and neither one of us was in a place to share them. There would always be a line we didn't cross; at the same time, she was able to rely on me and I, gratefully, could rely on her. So when we dated, it always felt fresh. Oftentimes that was because we wouldn't see each other for a week at a time. We didn't probe too deeply. But many nights, even if we'd spent the day apart, we did sleep in the same bed.

So Stephanie was torn when I asked her to move in. We had an open relationship, and she liked that freedom - needed it, in fact. But she also, begrudingly, was fond of me.

"It won't work," she said as she was toweling her hair that morning. The steam from the shower was still floating around the room and I, as always, was mesmerized by the muscles in her long, lithe legs. I traced a few water droplets that clung to her buttock. She swiped my hand away. "Listen, Johnny."

"I'm listening," I said.

"Well what do you think is going to happen?"

I couldn't really say. And what I haven't said, yet, is why I was the way I was, why I was fine with an open relationship, why I wasn't more possessive of Stephanie. It was because I still had deep feelings for Monica. Deep, uncomplicated feelings. I wanted her, and that was wrong.

What I thought, being with Stephanie, was that I could live a (somewhat) normal life. I didn't need her to love me, but I did need to try and move past this longing. It had been a year since I'd graduated, a handful of summers since that day in Venice when she asked me to take her, hundreds of nights since we'd first fucked, and a thousand kisses later.

I could be with Stephanie because Stephanie didn't need me to give her more of myself than I could. She didn't want me to. That's why our relationship, in a sense, worked.

"I think we're going to move in together," I said.

She finished drying her hair and blew her bangs out of her face. She looked at me in that shrewd, no-bullshit way. "We have to have rules."

"Of course."

"No fucking other people in the apartment."

"Right."

Her shrewd look grew even shrewder. She squinted at me. "Who else are you fucking right now?"

"No one," I said. It was the truth.

"I don't want to get married, John. Ever."

"I just said move in together."

"I know." She pulled her bra off the nightstand, started to put it on, and then stopped. "Does this still work for you?"

I grabbed her and threw her down on the bed. I watched her breasts bounce with a hungry smile. "Oh, it works."

"Uh-uh," she said. "I just showered." She tried to get up and I pushed her back down. She bounced, tried to get up. I jumped on her, loving the clean smell of her, loving the struggle. I buried my nose in her neck and forced myself between her legs. She grabbed me, stroked me, and dug her heels into my tailbone. "I can say no," she said.

"You won't," I said. I rubbed my shaft against her moistening pussy lips. Up and down. And then I guided the head against slit.

"How do you know?" she grunted as I pushed.

"It works for you too."

"Your cock works," she groaned, rolling her head against the mattress. The walls of her vagina closed around me.

"Do it for a year, see if you like it." I thrust, pinning her against the bed.

"I like it," she groaned. "I like it." She tried to push her way off the mattress and I pushed her down again, hard, the way she liked it. "Fuck," she gasped. "Harder."

I fucked her harder, tightening my fingers in her hair and driving myself all the way down to the hilt. She screamed and bucked against me, telling me a stream of dirty things. "I'll do it," she murmured into my ear as I came in her. "But you're going to be sorry," she said.

I squeezed her ass. An appreciative moan slipped from her lips. "Now get off," she said, "I have to clean up all over again..."

* * *

"So, two years after grad school, that's where we are, in an open relationship, living together downtown, with sworn promises to each other that we will always be clean and clear about our other affairs." I finished rinsing the dish and set it in my mother's drying rack. Sitting on the counter, my sister twirled her finger through her blonde curls and rolled her eyes. I tried my best not to stare at where her shorts rode up her meaty ass, or at her thighs (thicker than Steph's, but in the best, softest way) as she lifted herself up with just her arms and languidly crossed them at the knee. She caught me looking, and smirked.

"What does 'clean and clear' mean?"

"It means we regularly get ourselves checked out - inspected, as it were - and use protection if we have sex with someone else."

"Obviously," said Monica. "But the 'clear' part? You tell each other who else you're fucking?"

"No," I said. "I suppose what I mean is that we're clear on the rules. We don't talk about that."

Monica squinted at me. "Who else are you fucking?"

"No one," I said. It was the truth.

"And who's she fucking?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Don't care."

Monica leaned down (she knew I knew she wasn't wearing a bra, and the way her breasts rolled under her loose, gray top was a thing of beauty). "How can you not care?"

I sighed. "I just don't, Moni. That's how it works."

"You're lying," she said.

That was sort of true. I was a little possessive of Stephanie, who I still considered my girlfriend, in a macho, self-defeating way. "Well," I said, "I suppose I do care. But I don't care about that as much as I care about other things."

"What other things?"

I dried my hands on the dish towel. I avoided her bright, almost green eyes for as long as I could, until she touched my chin with her fingertips, and pulled me close, and kissed me softly on the mouth. We stayed like that longer than was prudent (my mother was in the next room on the phone with our uncle), but it was a sweet little kiss.

I watched her eyes open when I pulled away. The lashes caught the light; they fairly sparkled.

"How's Ralph?" I said.

She socked me in the shoulder. "Way to kill the mood. And his name is Ray."

"You still seeing him?"

"No," she said. "Not really." She hopped down from the counter and pulled me with her into the living room. "I'm not going to say what I'm thinking, but you already know what I'm thinking."

"'If you have permission to fuck who you want, why don't you fuck me?'"

Monica let go of my fingers and spun against the couch. She tucked her hands behind her back, dug her fingers into the armrest, and gave me a big, stupid wink as she hunched in her shoulders and treated me to a deep, delicious look down her ample cleavage. She wiggled her hips and grinned. "You're so smart, big bro." Then she took a few quick steps forward and slapped me. "But I don't sound that bubbly."

"Sometimes when I fucked you in the ass your voice got pretty damn bubbly."

She turned a little red and quickly glanced down the hall. Our mother was still talking, oblivious. She sighed, and gave me a sidelong glare. "So?"

It was my turn to sigh, and I went back to the fridge for a beer. Since our father passed away the year before, my sister and I did our best to visit our mother on the weekends that we could spare. Sometimes it was just me, sometimes it was just her, but sometimes it was both of us. And, I'm sad to say, the times my mother was on the phone were those few occasions we had to both see and talk to each other freely. I tried not to see Monica outside the house if I could help it.

I had to. I couldn't help myself otherwise.

I handed Monica a beer and we sat on the couch together. "I'm trying to live a normal life," I said.

"I don't want a normal life," she said. "Or no. Forget that. Who said it can't be normal?"

"Just about everybody, Moni."

She made a rude noise and set her beer on the table. She took mine and set it next to hers. Then she grabbed the back of the couch and threw her leg over my hips. She straddled me. "Mon!" I started.

"Shut up," she said, her manicured finger against my lips. She pushed her chest against my face, rubbing her crotch into mine. "I want this, and I'm not afraid to tell you that. You haven't let me talk about this for a year, but I'm tired of pretending I don't want you."

"It would break mom's heart," I said simply.

"So mom doesn't have to know," she said, still gently rubbing against me. "Stephanie doesn't have to know either."

Sure, she was right. But it wasn't how I wanted it. I wanted to live my life and have Monica, and not have to worry about keeping secrets. That's what I wanted.

And, somehow, Monica knew this, knew all of this without me saying it. Her face softened from its tranquil fury to gentle understanding. "We don't know anybody in the Valley," she said. "Not too many people, anyway. You wouldn't have to leave your job."

"You've really been thinking about this," I said.

She sighed, then she swung her leg away and sat down next to me. She gave a bigger, more dramatic sigh, and pushed her head into my shoulder. "I was really horny when this all started, and now? It's like I'm a nun. Except when I see you. When I see you, I remember everything we've done, everything you said to me, how you never judged me, how giving you were, what you let me do... I've tried, Johnny. I've really tried putting it behind me. Maybe I could if you really didn't want this. But I know you do."

I put my hand on her shoulder. She laid her hand over mine. There wasn't much more to say on the subject. I'd put off that conversation for a year, and nothing had changed.

Monica wasn't desperate. She never called me in the middle of the night to come over to her place across town (though often I dreamed she did). She'd given me my space ever since I told her I was dating Stephanie two years ago. We saw each other on those weekends, perhaps once in a while when Steph and I would meet up with whatever guy she was dating at the time. But she didn't push it. If I was going to try to live a non-i****tuous life, she would too.

But Monica knew what she wanted; she always had. And she was honest about it, which I couldn't really say of myself.

I did my best not to think about it, and had it been up to me, I probably would have spent the rest of my life "not thinking about it." But then I found myself hosting a dinner party at a very inconvenient time, and the life I knew went right out the window.

* * *

Brodie Nash was an old friend of mine from high school. He also happened to be filthy rich - by virtue of his father being exponentially richer - and as fate would have it, his father had entrusted him with "revitalizing" a historic building in downtown. It was the first real job Brodie was entrusted with after dropping out of school. Now that Brodie was married (to Elaine Bringham, also from money, also very Catholic), it was the opinion of his combined families that he should do something with his life. Thus far, the most Brodie had managed to do with his life was get Elaine pregnant and star in a very entertaining viral video about how not to drive while intoxicated. The downtown revitalization was an attempt to rebuild the Nash/Bringham image, and Brodie's father was very insistent it go off without a hitch.

I mention all of this because it was my personal connection to Brodie that may have influenced his decision to contract my firm for the project. I rarely worked the public relations side of things, but my firm was understandably adamant that I work this one to the hilt.

Which is why I shouldn't have been surprised when Brodie called me one afternoon to ask if I'd mind hosting a small dinner party for he and his wife and the project manager. But I was surprised, so I asked if this particular dinner hadn't already been planned by one of our PR people at the home of my company's CEO.

"Yeah," said Brodie, his voice trailing off the receiver. "But he's a tool. You're cool. So let's have a few drinks and get my wife off my back for a few hours."

To which I said, "Sure, Brodie. Anything for you."

Now I had a problem. I - as most of my friends and family will tell you - am a terrible cook. As far as take-out goes, I had that covered, but my boss (who called me into his office immediately after I hung up the phone) made me promise to treat Brodie to something home cooked. In other words, "make an effort, and make him see the effort."

Had Steph been with me, she might have known what to do. My ostensible girlfriend was not much of a cook either, but she at least knew how these things were supposed to go (she was very good at the whole networking game). But Steph was up in NorCal working with OxFam or the Red Cross and wasn't supposed to be back until tomorrow.

In his office, my boss gave me a helpless grimace. "You think you can get him to sign tonight?" All we needed was one final signature and we were set. I'd been working on the plans for the ground floor refurbishment for the past week, but I had no idea who on the Nash side had actually seen them. Moreover, that wasn't my job. Me and my department were the brains; the rest of the company was for greasing palms and signing papers.

"Absolutely," I said.

"I know Stephanie's out tonight. You know someone who can cook?"

"I...do," I said.

"What?" His forehead was actually wet with perspiration (Mr. Thompson was a nervous man in general, but this project was worth more money than a quarter of our projects last year). "Why you say it like that, Johnny? He a lousy cook?"

"No, she's..." Hoo boy. "She's really fucking good."

"Oh!" Mr. Thompson wiped his forehead. "Thank Christ for that. Little bit of the culinary spark in her?"

"She did a few years as a line supervisor and a caterer at the Hilton."

"Holy shit!" said Mr. Thompson. "Yeah! Grab 'er! Get 'er! That's perfect."

"Yeah, but-" I started.

"But nothing!"

"...'kay."

He gave me the rest of the day off to get ready. I had about four hours.

I took a deep breath in the parking lot, leaned against my car, and dialed Monica's number. "Hey," I said when she picked up.

"Hi," she said.

"I need to ask you...for a favor."

I heard movement, shuffling, and then tried not to imagine her grinning into the receiver. "Oh really..."

"Yeah," I said. "I have about three hours to make dinner for a client. It's not really something I do, but-"

"Is it for Brodie?"

"Yeah," I said.

She laughed.

"Don't laugh."

She laughed some more. It was like tinkling bells being blown up her nose. I loved that laugh.

"It's not funny," I said.

"He's such a prick. He probably thinks you guys are gonna hang out and talk about old times."

"Yeah, well, if I'm lucky. Look, I just need to make something for him and his wife and maybe one or two other people-"

"And you-"

"And me, I guess. I wouldn't have bothered you but you actually know how to do this."

"I do," she said, as if realizing this for the first time. "What about your happy little homemaker?"

"Steph's busy."

"Uh-huh," she said. "So you need your amazing little sister to swoop in and save the day."

"Yes, Mon. But look, no funny business."

"Oh no," she said. "Certainly not." I heard her moving around and then the sound of her writing. "I remember what Brodie likes. I can make a fancy stir fry with some wine and some other appetizer things. Oh, and the favor you owe me is in addition to what this is going to cost."

"I'll reimburse you," I said.

"Yep," she said. "No sweat. I'll pick this stuff up and be at your place in an hour. That's two hours to cook...should be fine. Don't worry, Johnny."

"Thanks, sis."

She hung up, and for almost an hour I was sure everything would be fine.

* * *

As soon as I opened the door, I realized everything would not be fine. Monica had all of the ingredients ready and waiting in several grocery bags that lined the hallway behind her, and she was standing amidst them with a sweet and very helpful smile on her face. That, of course, was not the problem. The problem was that my sister was wearing an outfit that did not so much suggest French Maid as scream it in the dirtiest French possible.

My sister, all five foot nothing of her, was propped up in shiny black stiletto heels that made her well-proportioned legs look like two sticks of edible dynamite. Those legs were encased in sheer black stockings that led up to a black and white skirt that might have been classy if it was several (and then several more) inches longer. Her ample chest was pushed together and nearly bursting out of the tight, buttoned top (her cleavage could have swallowed the Spanish Armada), and her lips were a brighter shade of blood. She batted her big, beautiful eyes at me and affixed her little maid's cap. She pushed it to a rakish angle and swept back one leg. "Well? What do you think?"

"I..." I said. This was not good.

"It's a little tight," she admitted, turning around and wiggling her butt at me. The floofy white ribbon on the back, whatever it's called, ruffled provocatively. "But do you think Brodie will like it?"

"I think his wife's going to have a heart attack."

"Oh good!" she said, clapping her hands together. "That's one less plate to make. Here, now you take this." She shoved a bag into my arms and clacked past me into the apartment. "Man, your place is clean," she said. She inspected the kitchen, checking the drawers for her tools, scoped out every cupboard, and then put her hands on her hips and nodded, the little cap falling over her eyes. "Yep, I can work with this. Bring me my things, slave."

Grumbling, I started to cart in the bags. "You're the one dressed like a..." She ignored me and emptied each bag onto the counter, organizing the ingredients into orderly rows.

"Dressed to impress," she said. "And you should do the same. Go find something in your smarty pants closet and get business casual. And stay out of my kitchen if you know what's good for you."

I brought in the last of the bags and frowned. Despite the outrageous outfit, she was all business, and I watched her methodically begin to cut and separate and set pots to boil. I was relieved. Maybe she was taking this seriously.

Twenty minutes later, she dropped the first pan, startling me from my closet and bringing me back into the kitchen. Thankfully, it was empty of food, but she was standing over the pan as if it had tried to bite her. "What happened?" I said.

"Oh, I just seemed to have dropped it," she said. "Clumsy me." She bent over to get it, and as she did so the skirt rode up her curvaceous ass, exposing her completely. She wasn't wearing anything underneath. My sister's supple, pink pussy lips gleamed under the kitchen lights.

I swallowed hard.

Crouched on the floor, Monica looked at me innocently, pan in hand. "Something the matter, Johnny?"

I would not rise to the bait. "N...no."

She bit her lip, coyly putting her finger to her chin. "You look sick."

"'m'not," I said.

She smiled. "Well good. You get back in there and you get yourself dolled up real nice, my big bad business man."

Grumbling, I stalked back to my room and tried to find a tie.

Fifteen minutes later, she dropped the pan again.

I ran out. Once again, nothing was in the pan. Onions and chives were chopped up on the chopping board, various pots were boiling on the stove, and something delicious was already heating up in the oven; everything was perfect, but that damn pan...

"I'm so clumsy," she murmured to herself. And she bent over, again. Her ass - perched on the tops of her thigh-hugging stockings - taunted me, again.

"Please stop doing that," I said.

"Something wrong?" she said to me over her shoulder. She was still bent over.

"No..." I grunted, and turned back to my room. I had barely crossed the threshold when the pan clanged to the floor again. "Okay, that's it!" I growled.

My sister cowered before me as I stalked over to her and grabbed her wrist. "I'm sorry, big brother. The pan's just so slippery!" I all but threw her against the counter, flipped her skirt up over her ass and spanked her with all my might. "Oh, Johnny! That hurts!" I spanked her again, and again, watching her ass turn red and loving the way the springy flesh recoiled from every blow. The tight muscles in her thighs jiggled. "Oh!" she moaned. "Please don't! I'll be better! I promise, master!"

One last crack. My hand left her ass. I watched the puckered lips between her thighs and thought, it would be so easy. My dick hardened in my pants. I growled, and took my hand off her shoulder. "Just stop," I said.

My sister demurely swept her skirt back over her ass, stood to her full height, and meekly adjusted her cap. "Yes, sir..." she said, averting her eyes.

Fifteen minutes later, she dropped the fucking pan again.

This time I bent my sister over the couch and spanked her until she buried her face in the pillows to scream. Then I squeezed each cheek, rolling them in my tight fingers while she moaned for me to stop. "Please, master!" she cried into the pillow. "I'll be good! Just don't spank me again. Oh, please, please!"

"You dirty little slut," I said. "Your master's going to punish you!"

"Please, no!" she moaned, shaking her blonde head into the pillow. "We don't have much time, master! Don't make me do it."

"I'll show you what happens to naughty maids who drop their pans!"

It was ridiculous, it was stupid, but I was going to take her right then and there and damn the consequences. I was pushing against her ass with my crotch, my cock hard and rising behind my slacks, ready to defile my sister, when suddenly there was a knock at the door.

I sprang from my sister's ass and she fell off the armrest with an "oof!" Then she picked herself up and clattered into the kitchen, pulling her tight skirt over her bouncing buttocks as she fled. I coughed, straightened my tie, and tried to will away my erection. "Hello?" I said as I opened the door.

"HEEEYYYY!" Brodie shouted from the other side. His wife, Elaine, nodded at me politely and another man, bespectacled, said "Hello" in turn.

"Uh," I said as Brodie threw his arms around my shoulders. "You're- You're all early? I-" I checked the clock.

"Yeah, well, I got tired of waiting," said Brodie, loosening his already rumpled tie and ushering his wife inside. "John, you've met Elaine."

"How do you do?" I said, taking her hand.

"My, how formal," she said.

"And this is Melvin, the accountant," said Brodie. Brodie pushed the guy ahead of him and the man gave a cough of protest.

"I'm the Financial Director," he said to me as we shook hands.

"Uh," I said.

"Accountant, he's an accountant," said Brodie. By the look of him, Brodie was about three beers or three glasses of wine ahead of me. The red flush in Melvin's cheeks suggested he wasn't far behind Brodie. "So what're we eating?"

"Uh," I said.

"We're starting off with some stuffed mushrooms," said Monica, carrying the tray deftly from the kitchen to the dining table. While we'd been talking, she'd already poured four glasses of wine and set the napkins and utensils down.

"Ho-ly shit," said Brodie. "Is that little Monica? Monica, what the hell're you dressed like that for?"

Monica preened in front of him as she offered him his glass of wine and let him kiss her cheeks. "I thought a special occasion occasioned special accoutrement," she said sweetly.

"You're god damn right you do," he said. "Speaking French and everything..." Brodie shut his gaping mouth as his wife swept around the table to take her glass. "So, uh, what are these things, er, stuffed with?"

Monica gave a theatrical sweep of her hands. "Oh, just a little something I threw together. Pecorino Romano, garlic, parsley, bread crumbs and some fresh mint. Enjoy."

She swept back into the kitchen, Melvin and Brodie watching her every airy step.

Melvin bit into one of the mushrooms. "This is fantastic," he said.

"Yes, they're quite good," said Elaine.

"Uh," I said.

"Sit down, Johnny," said Monica. "I'm just fine in here."

"You, uh, need any help?" asked Brodie.

She wiggled her nose at him. "Tush, tush, Brodie. Stay out of my kitchen."

"Yes, ma'am." He swung back around to me and mouthed "OH MY GOD" as best he could while his wife checked her cellphone.

"Terribly sorry to put you at this inconvenience," said Melvin. "Mr. Thompson had quite a night planned but Brodie was insistent that we-"

Brodie had just about drained his glass of wine already when he pulled it from his lips. "Aw, put a sock in it, Mel. I wanted to see my old buddy here. He doesn't mind, do ya, John?"

"Uh," I said.

Brodie swung his glass towards me, nearly spilling the rest of his wine over the table. "See that? A real friend right there."

The rest of the night was a blur. Monica brought forth more appetizers, which Melvin and Brodie wolfed down and Elaine took small, polite bites out of. All three of them were equally eager to drink, though I think for very different reasons. Elaine seemed perpetually mortified, Melvin sounded like he was on the verge of losing his job, and Brodie, well, Brodie just liked to drink.

I had two glasses of wine that night, drawn out over many, many hours. The others drained three or four bottles between them (and kudos to Monica for even thinking to buy that many). There was some talk of business, but mostly it was Brodie bullshitting and me doing my best to appease him.

And Monica. Even in an outfit like that, Monica was the height of class, joking with Brodie, putting Melvin at ease, commiserating with Elaine. And every now and then she'd look up from the stove and give me a warm, knowing smirk. She put everything together. She was absolutely incredible. I was so hard I could barely stand it. Indeed, if asked, I would not have been able to stand.

This must have been clear to Monica, and I would have been surprised if this was not part of her plan too, because in addition to refilling everyone's glasses like clockwork, I noticed she had somehow, either before or after the guests' arrival, hidden away any extra chairs in the apartment. This meant that, between carrying the food from the kitchen to the table, or pouring the wine, she spent her time sitting in my lap. I'm sure this would have seemed more peculiar to Brodie or Elaine or Melvin, but by the time she mentioned that there weren't any chairs left, both the men were red in the face and liable to laugh at any remark - no matter how comedic it actually was. When she said, "You boys took all the chairs," they laughed, and when she said, "I guess I'll just have to make myself a seat," they laughed, and when she rolled her eyes and plopped herself down in my lap, they laughed.

And while they laughed, she rolled herself right up against my erection.

By that point she'd gotten me so hard that I almost moaned aloud when her fingers surreptitiously reached down to undo my fly. I let her unzip me without protest and tried my damnedest to continue my conversation with Brodie - even as Monica giggled and peeled my boxers open with her deft little fingers. Melvin was squinting into his drink, Elaine was on her phone, and Brodie was guffawing like a donkey as my sister lovingly squeezed my cock just below their eyelines. Then, rearranging herself so that the back of her skirt rode up her ass, she guided me along her naked crack. She was soft. She was heaven.

We grunted in unison as she took me into her tight, wet body, and I had to bite my knuckle to keep from crying out. My cockhead squeezed past her lips and she sealed over me like a glove. Christ, she felt so fucking good.

"Alright, John?" Brodie, drunk as he was, noticed me trying to fit my whole fist into my mouth.

"Hmm? Mm-hmm. Yep. Uh-huh. Yeah. Yes, Brodie. I was just thinking about what you-"

Monica pretended to cough and bounced in my lap. My cock pulsated inside of her.

"Oh Jesus!" I exclaimed. "You- what you said, Bro."

That non-answer was still good enough for Brodie, who nodded and continued to drone on. Monica flashed me a wicked grin over her shoulder and continued to grind down into my lap, rolling her hips against mine.

"I'm going to kill you," I whispered into her ear.

"You love it," she whispered back. She dug her fingers into my thighs and gently bobbed her ass up and down. I had to fight every urge to stand up and bend her over my dinner plate.

"You're a bad little girl," I said.

"So bad," she agreed.

I wanted to spread her legs apart and pull her skirt up over her waist, play with her clit and let her juices dribble down my pants. But I had guests to entertain. "Uhm. Brodie, so you, you had a chance to look over the plans for the - gurk - the Pinehurst Lobby."

"Uhhhh." Brodie searched the recesses of his intoxicated brain. "Yes," he said. "They're pretty good. I signed off on them before I left on Monday."

"You did?" I said, sitting up in my chair. This time it was Monica's turn to make a funny noise. She steadied herself on the table's edge.

"Oooh!" she moaned as my cock drove up against her G spot. "Th-that's good!" she covered. "That's sooo good, isn't it, Johnny?"

I had no idea the plans had already been approved. "Are you sure?" I said. "I thought we were meeting tonight to - ffff - finalize the- the, uh-" With her hands on the table, Monica was using her leverage to squeeze me back and forth inside her. I felt the muscles in her thighs tightening.

"Oh sure, sure," Brodie waved his hand, "but it's a formality. I've got consultants who do all this stuff for me and they always say you're the best. I signed that shit right away. While I'm thinking about it, though, could we put the fountain nearer to the door?"

"I like fountains," said Monica. "I love it when they gush everywhere."

"Very funny," I said, reaching down to pin her to my lap. I needed to concentrate just now and squeezing Moni's clit between my thumb and forefinger was a good way to get her to sit still. She bit her lip and tried not to cross her legs as I massaged it under the table. "Well, Brodie, uh - mmm - if we moved it closer to the doors then we couldn't put in that interactive light display that shows the company's logo. Hgk!"

"Oh right!" said Brodie. He nudged Melvin beside him. "See? He knows what the fuck he's talking about. You forgot about the light thing."

Melvin, his forehead slick, just nodded and had another gulp of wine. "Quite, quite."

"He always knows what the fuck he's doing, doesn't he?" Moni said to me.

"Moni, could we get another refill over here?" Brodie asked.

Monica whipped her hair back to face him and, in a move that was so deft it was almost magical, slid off my cock and slid her dress back down her thighs in one movement. She smiled and clacked around the table, taking his drink and patting his shoulder. "No problem, Mr. Nash."

Brodie chuckled. "See, honey?" he said to Elaine. "That's service with a smile."

Elaine just rolled her eyes. "Better top me off too, Monica. We're taking an uber tonight."

"Coming right up," said Monica cheerfully. She filled Brodie's glass, set it down by his hand, and then refilled Elaine's. When she returned to the kitchen, everyone's eyes were on the table or facing my direction, so no one saw her stick out her tongue and pull her top down to flash me.

Under the table, my exposed cock bobbed with appreciation.

Melvin tried to get into the specifics of the contracting, but no one seemed too interested in that. Brodie was already talking about their next building when Monica returned to the table and sat cross-wise in my lap. My cock slapped against her stocking and she reached down to stroke it. Slowly. Squeezing her way up to the head.

I didn't know how much more of that I could take, but I didn't have to find out. After only another few minutes, Elaine announced that it was high time they all went home. As they arose, Monica deftly transferred a dinner napkin from the table to my lap, dropping it over me as she stood up so that I could (try to) fit my cock back into my pants while she cleared the dishes and played visual interference.

Somehow I managed to get everything tucked away in time to accompany them to the living room. I hoped they just ignored the wet spot around my lap where Moni had squirmed. We said our goodbyes, everyone commenting on how it was so much later than they thought and that Monica was a remarkable cook.

"She sure is," said Brodie as he brought me in for a half-hug. "Your sister looks amazing," he said into my ear. "Is she seeing anyone right now?"

"I'll have to ask her," I said. "But I know you are."

He grinned as he pulled away and we shook hands. "Well, there's married, and then there's married."

"Absolutely," I said (having no idea what was the right response to that).

"Bye, Moni!" he said, leaning into the doorway to leer at her one last time.

Monica, balanced against the kitchen counter, raised her glass and blew him a kiss. "Bye, Brodie," she chirped.

"Great dinner," he said to me before wincing at the sound of Elaine's voice calling him downstairs. "Comin'! Comin'!" I probably should have helped him down the steps, but he managed to make it most of the way before he fell. "'m'alright!" he yelled up as I shut the door behind me.

A long, low sigh of relief squeezed out of me as I backed against the wall. I loosened my tie. I took a deep breath.

Across the room, Monica set down her drink. "Are you going to yell at me?" she said. Slowly, carefully, she swayed towareds me in her heels.

"No," I said, dr****g the tie over the back of the chair. "I'm just going to fuck you."

When we reached the dinner table, my sister jumped into my arms. Her strong legs wrapped around me as she bit my lips, and I pulled her skirt up over her waist as I slammed her down on the dinner table. "So do it, big brother," she demanded, her hands fumbling with my belt. "I'm calling in that favor you owe me-"

Then my cock was free and it was sliding into her naked softness. Her scream pierced the air of the apartment. "Oh God, I missed that big thing inside me," she gasped. Our hips slammed together as she forced me in deeper and we found our furious rhythm. "Was I a good little housewife?" she purred.

"So good," I said. I popped open her blouse to play with her magnificent tits. I suckled at one, then the other. I missed those pink nipples; I missed the way they tasted.

"Nobody fucks like you, Johnny," she moaned. She was tight and pliant, eager and savage. One of her heels clattered to the floor as she tried to lock her ankles behind me.

"Nobody drives me crazy like you do," I gasped. She made a noise like a wild a****l, and I buried myself inside her. It seemed no matter how hard or how many times I thrust, I would not cum, though every fiber of my body was desperate to flood her womb with my sperm. We went on like that for what could have been minutes or hours, our bodies driven by a desire so fierce it seemed there wasn't a force on Earth that could tear us apart. Neither of us heard the door open or shut, but we both came to when we heard a voice gently cough.

My head whipped across my shoulder as if I'd been caught by a fishing hook. Stephanie stood by the door, her hands folded under her breasts, her purse dangling from her shoulder. Her mouth, pressed into a thin line, twitched into the tightest of smiles when she waved at me. "Ahem," she said again. "Hi."

* * *

I won't get into the sticky details of Moni hopping off the table, me trying to rearrange my clothes into something resembling civility (Monica had torn the shoulders out). The girls didn't say much to each other; Monica went to the bathroom, Stephanie slipped out of her heels and set her purse on the coffee table.

She waited for me to stand by her, near the doorway to our bedroom.

"I'm sorry," I said lamely.

She raised her eyebrows. "You sure? That looked like a lot of fun."

I opened my mouth. I closed my mouth.

Stephanie frowned. "Is that Monica?"

There was no hiding it. "Yeah." I wiped my mouth, realizing her lipstick was all over it.

"You guys are still blood-related, right?"

"Yeah," I said, after a pause.

She crossed her arms again, for the first time looking upset. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Despite the intensity of the situation, or perhaps because of it, I laughed. It was a dark, small, mess of a laugh. "Oh, well," I said. "It's probably because she's my sister." Stephane almost smiled.

"How long?" she said.

I shook my head. "Steph, what does it matter?"

"No, I mean, how long have you been sleeping together? I should probably say fucking. That was definitely fucking you were doing."

Strangely, though these words might have been delivered with venom, Stephanie's tone was more curious than coarse.

Tired of fiddling with my torn button-up, I removed it and sat down on the couch. "It started a few years ago," I said.

Slowly, Stephanie nodded. She sat down in the opposite chair. "And you guys just kept at it?"

"No," I said. "I stopped when we moved in together."

"I always thought there was someone else," she said. "I could feel it. Feel there was part of you elsewhere. But you're saying you haven't?"

"No," I said. Part of me was ashamed, it's true, but part of me was so relieved to finally tell her this - to tell anybody, really. "I didn't think it was right."

"But, John," she said. "We had an... We agreed. It was okay."

I jerked my thumb behind me at the dinner table. "You're okay with that?"

"Well, no," she said. "Coming home to see you fucking your sister like a crazy person is pretty jarring, but...that's not what I'm talking about. I mean, who else are you sleeping with?"

"No one," I said. "Until tonight."

"But you could have. I have."

That was always part of the agreement, but the way she said it... "What do you mean?"

She sighed, rubbing her fingers into her temple. "That's what I came home to tell you. It's...ugh. It's my boss. I've been sleeping with him, off and on, since... Since I got this stupid job." She leaned forward. "He's an asshole, but he can get me this UN gig and...he wants me to go on this embassy trip with him and I came home to tell you I didn't want to lie to you anymore. I can't be with you if I'm fucking him regularly. That's not right."

"Uh-" I wasn't sure how to respond. There were a lot of emotions in the air at the moment (not to mention the unmistakable smell of Moni and me still lingering in the air). "So you came here to break up?" I said.

"Pretty much," she said.

"Why isn't it right?"

"Because I care about you," she said. "Yeah, we have permission to sleep around, but that's...I dunno. I never thought it would work but it kind of has. I think I understand why, now. You love her, don't you?"

I wasn't sure what to say.

She just nodded, her eyes boring into me. "I always knew there was someone. That's why I agreed to all of this. I figured as long as you had someone else you'd be okay with me not being 100 percent monogamous. But it wasn't because you wanted to sleep around, it's because you had someone you couldn't be with."

"It's complicated," I said. "But I always knew how I felt about you."

"Yeah?" she said. She actually smiled. "You do love me a little bit, don't you?"

"Always have," I said. "This has never been easy for me."

"It's been very easy for me," she said. "I always felt like I was taking advantage of you."

"Oh, I didn't mind that," I said.

"I know," she said, and smiled again. She let out a sigh and fell back against the chair cushions. "So you and your sister, huh?"

"Yeah," I said.

"I guess maybe I can see that. I asked to see my brother's dick one time on a bet. I'd be lying if I said I didn't wonder how far that game of truth or dare could have gone if I didn't have a meet that day..." A mischevious smirk formed on her face. "Hey, since we're breaking up, you want to get a little weird with it?"

"Hm?" I said.

She leaned forward, and I knew what that expression meant. "Would you...um..." She bit her lip. "Would you do it, in front of me? I mean, could I watch?"

"You bet your million dollar ass you can watch." It was Monica. She was standing behind the couch. I jerked to stare at her, dumbfounded. The girls were grinning at each other like a couple of hellcats.

"Well hold on," I said. "I don't know-"

"Oh fuck yes you do," said Monica. "And don't say you can't get it up. I'm sure we both know that's a lie."

"Well-" I started.

Steph stood up to meet Monica at our doorway. "You do look pretty fucking cute, by the way," my now ex-girlfriend said.

Monica didn't wait for another line. She launched herself at Stephanie. The girl had a good couple of inches on her but the kiss landed. Moni went up on her tiptoes and Stephanie, after a surprised squeak, closed her wide eyes and gingerly wrapped her fingers around Monica's blonde curls. I watched their tongues slide languidly out of their soft mouths to play with each others lips.

No, it was not hard getting hard.

Monica took Stephanie's hand and led her into our bedroom. "I've always wanted to try this," she said.

"Is that how this started?" asked Stephanie. "You wanted to fuck your brother?"

Monica crossed her hands over her chest, pulling her blouse and bra up and over her head. Stephanie gave an appreciative ogle at my sister's wobbling breasts. "No," Moni said coyly. "He just promised to help me fulfill a few dirty fantasies."

Stephane grinned at me over her shoulder as she started to wiggle out of her pants. "Yeah, he's good like that."

Monica slid her skirt down her stockinged thighs. Stephanie started to undo her blouse but was already kneeling down where Moni was sitting on the bed. "Mm," said Steph. "You're so wet."

"You want to taste him?" said Monica. She spread her legs. I watched my little sister, naked except for those sheer stockings, sweep Stephanie's hair back as the girl descended on her lap. "Oh, fuck," Monica sighed.

"Mmm," Stephanie hummed into her pussy.

Monica laid back and let Steph eat her out. "Mmmmm..." Her eyes opened, slowly, and found me staring. She shrugged, indicating to me that I should just roll with it, and held out her hands. I unbuckled my pants and slid them down. Then I was on the bed, sliding into Monica's arms and kissing her mouth.

"You've fought this for so long, baby," my sister murmured between my kisses. "You see it's okay, now?"

Steph emerged from between Monica's thick thighs and climbed up next to the two of us. She kissed my forehead, then shifted a lock of my hair to the side. "If you want her, take her," she said. Her mouth was glossy from Monica's pussy, and it glimmered as she reclined against the pillows, her eyes entranced by my dick swinging over Monica's squirming body. My cockhead pushed easily between her beautiful lips and my sister let out an ecstatic cry of fulfillment.

"Your brother just put his dick inside you," Stephanie whispered into Monica's ear. "Do you like that?"

"Mmmmyesss," Monica whispered.

I gripped my sister's thighs tightly and gave her a long, loving plunge. Stephanie watched my glistening cock squeeze inside her, licking her lips as it slowly pulled back out.

Steph couldn't help herself. She took my sister's cheek in her hands and gave her a long, slow kiss on the mouth. Monica returned it, even as her lower body met my every languid thrust. "What does it feel like to have somebody love you that much?" Steph murmured.

"It feels so good," Monica told her. "So warm. Mm. So full."

Stephanie crawled down to where our bodies met. As my cock slid out of my sister, she gently grabbed hold of my cockhead, closed her eyes, and guided it into her own mouth. I groaned as Stephanie lapped at my shaft, her tongue swirling up the vein. She let me thrust a few more times, harder each time, into her mouth, and then she let me pull it free - saliva dangling from her lips. I slid it back into my sister.

Stephanie planted wet kisses up my sister's flexing belly. "Ah," Monica sighed. "Come here."

I didn't hear the conversation, so wrapped up in fucking Monica and watching my naked ex touch herself as they whispered together. But when they parted with another wet kiss, Monica sat up, swung her leg over my sister's face and gently lowered her pussy to her mouth. Then Stephanie was facing me on all fours, her hands planted over Monica's hips, her ass thrust out behind her as my sister hungrily ate her out. She leaned forward and then we were kissing as I fucked Monica.

"She's a little fuck machine," she moaned into my mouth.

"You both are-"

"Is her pussy tight?" she groaned. "Is it so tight, Johnny?"

"Yes," I grunted back, thrusting into Monica harder, her legs clamping down on me.

"Oh fuck," said Steph. "Fuck your sister. Fuck your sister, you fat-dicked pervert."

And then in a clumsy feat of gymnastics, I helped swing Steph off Monica's face, flipped Monica over and mounted her from behind. Moni let out a shivering little shriek as I rammed myself right up inside her, locking my fingers over her hips and riding her right up to my balls. Stephanie gazed at us in hungry wonderment as I fucked my sister doggystyle. Monica grabbed onto the headboard and laughed as it smashed against the wall with every rapid thrust. "Give it to me, big brother," she demanded. "Give it to me!"

Stephanie was fairly panting as the two of us furiously fucked. The place where we slapped against each other was soaking wet, and it sounded wet. I reached forward and grabbed my sister's big tits, squeezing them as they rolled in their pendulous swing. Steph almost fell off the bed as she went to grab her dildo from her underwear drawer. When she returned, she planted it on the mattress and mounted it with gusto. I would have been happy to lend a hand (dick) in this regard, but I had a feeling my sister wanted me all to herself - at least where pussy was concerned. Mouths, that was something else.

"Are you going to cum?" she asked.

"Y-yes," I grunted. "Soon."

"Pull out."

I did as I was told, then let her guide me to the edge of the bed. She took Steph in hand, and the two of them kneeled in front of me, hands on my knees, and kissed their way up my cock. I groaned, the sensation building in my prostate as I watched the two of them kiss the sticky skin of my penis. Steph massaged my balls as Monica stroked me from hilt to crown. Then she guided my cockhead into Steph's mouth. Steph's lips closed over me and gently hummed, reverberating down to the core of my balls. "Oh God," I gasped.

Sticky threads of semen and spit ringed Stephanie's lips as Monica pulled me out, and together they kissed my dick, slowly, lovingly. Their tender lips glided up my shaft and met above my shaft, cum dribbling down their chins. "Oh fuck," I gasped. "Oh fuck..." Monica opened her mouth wide and rapidly flicked my cockhead with the tip of her tongue, her eyes locked on mine. As she massaged my shaft, Stephanie bent down, under Monica, and sucked one of my balls into her mouth. I immediately ejaculated into Monica's mouth.

"Yesss," my sister cooed.

"Cum down your sister's throat," said Stephanie.

Monica forced my cock all the way down the back of her throat and my vein pulsated against her tongue. She choked down as much as she could, her eyes tearing, and then she passed it to Stephanie, who slurped at my cockhead, letting the remaining spurts splash her lips as she, too, took a turn deepthroating me.

Together, they cleaned my cock with their tongues. Every fiber of my body was supremely sensitive, but I was too weak to stop them, too ensorcelled by the sight of them at work. My balls, still not quite empty, weakly ejaculated into Stephanie's hair as their tongues lapped at me like hungry kittens.

Me, I blacked out after that.

* * *

I awoke in the bed, Monica curled up against my chest, the bedside clock telling me it was about 2am. The air was wet and fragrant in the aftermath of a recent shower.

Gently, very gently, I slid out from under Monica's cheek and hand. She gave a sleepy groan of protest, but I kissed her hair and tucked a pillow into the place I'd lain (sleeping Monica groaned). I pulled a silk pair of pajama bottoms out of the drawer and slid them on, then I stepped out of the bedroom and softly shut the door behind me.

Stephanie was at the kitchen table, clean, smartly dressed, packing her travel bag. She looked up at the sound of the door clicking, and smiled ever so slightly.

"You want coffee?" she said quietly.

"She sleeps like a log," I said. "You don't have to whisper."

"I always sleep terribly," she said.

"I know." I sat down at the table, running a hand through the stubble on my cheeks. "When do you leave?"

"Now." She smirked. "I mean, obviously. Do you want coffee?"

I shook my head. "I mean overseas. Is the trip this soon?"

"A couple days," she said. She pushed the bag aside and sat down next to me. "I'll come by tomorrow to pick up some other things. I just want to start this now." She sipped at her coffee. "We've got a couple months left on the lease, but the company will cover that. I'll send some movers to put my stuff in storage."

"You don't have to do that," I said. "I can keep it here."

She shook her head. "I don't know how long I'll be over there. I may need to renew my visa if he asks me to stay permanently."

"Your boss," I said. "Is he alright?"

She rolled her eyes. "No," she said. "I told you, he's an asshole. But he's not a troll or anything. He thinks he's good to me."

"And what do you think?"

She licked her lips, not quite ready to meet my gaze. "I think I'm going to miss you."

I coughed appreciatively. "Um, back there-"

She waved her hand, dismissing whatever I was going to say. "That was fun," she said. "I had fun." She chuckled. "Do you know what your problem is, Johnny?"

"I feel like you've pointed out a few of my problems over the years."

"More than a few." She smirked and reached out for my hand. Our fingers locked tightly over the table. "You know exactly what you want. You always know exactly what you want. But you also have this weird obsession with doing 'the right thing.'"

"Well now-" I started.

"Shut up. We didn't have to move in together, but you thought it was the right thing to do - and I realize now part of that is because of this thing you've got going on with your sister, but I also know it's because you thought it would make me happy. And I kind of hate that you were right... But I bet you thought not being with your sister would make her happy, because your relationship isn't 'right.' But you were wrong."

"I still can't believe how cool you're being about this," I said. "You don't think it's weird, me and Mon?"

"I think it's really fucking weird," Steph said, laughing. "But I know you, Johnny. You're not a weird guy. At least you're not a bad guy. You're also nice. And you're kind. I've got skeletons in my closet, too, but your sister loves you and you love her. I dunno if you have a chance in hell, but who gives a shit? As far as skeletons go, I give that a pass."

Her face in that moment. If Monica wasn't in my life, I wouldn't have minded spending the rest of mine with Steph. She squeezed my fingers and smiled.

"You did break the rules, though. No fucking in the apartment."

"And for that I apologize," I said.

She shrugged. "So you owe me one. What now?"

"I dunno," I said. "If everything goes smoothly with Brodie, I may get that raise. That'd be enough to stay here on my own. But maybe I'll move, too."

Stephanie stood up and ran her hand over her bag. "Well. You take care of yourself, Johnny."

I nodded. I couldn't think of a single intelligent thing to say until she was stepping through the front door. "Steph," I said.

"Mm?"

"You give great head."

She left the apartment laughing; it was a clear, hearty laugh, and far too loud for two in the morning.

I put the coffee away and stacked the rest of the dishes in the sink. I shut off the lights, pushed in the chairs, and returned to the bedroom. Monica was waiting there, the sheet pulled up to her breasts. She let it fall as I closed the door, and I was - not for the first time, and not for the last - breathless at her beauty.

"I love it when you give me that look," she said.

I slid into the bed, taking one soft handful of her and kissing her chin. I squeezed. She sighed.

"Everything okay?" she said.

I nodded. "Steph's gone."

"Are you okay?" she said.

I nodded some more.

"Are you okay with me being here?"

I nodded.

"Are you going to stop fighting me?"

I nodded.

"Good." She pushed me down on the mattress with a ferocious strength and rubbed her body against mine. Long, loving undulations against my cock with her magic pussy soon had me stiff and ready, and she guided me into her with a grateful sigh. "Rule number one," she said. "It's not an open relationship. Tonight was fun, but you're mine. I don't want to share you." She bucked her hips and we both let out sore but satisfied moans. "Get it?" she said.

"Got it," I said.

She bent down. Her nipples grazed my chest and our tongues touched. I took her cheek in my hands and rolled her onto her back. "I love you, Moni," I said.

"You better," she said, grinning. Her thighs hugged my hips. I encircled one stiff nipple with my mouth and lightly bit it. She squeaked, and ran her fingers through my hair. "Now come on," she grunted. "Show your sister how boys like to do it downtown."