Showering in Lisbon with Hailee Stinfeld
- 2 years ago
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Showering With SisterChapter 6 free porn video
I’d been in my room, somehow feeling sorry for myself about half the time and wanting to beat off the other half, when she knocked on my door. She didn’t wait for me to tell her to come in and opened the door. She closed it for some reason and stood beside it, leaning against the wall.
“Are you mad at me?” she asked.
“What? Me? No,” I said.
She was dressed in nice shorts and a blouse, like she planned on going to the mall or something.
“I was worried,” she said.
“I can understand that,” I replied.
She looked confused.
“I shouldn’t have done that. I hope I didn’t hurt you.” I’d been worrying about that for the last half hour. I was too gutless to go find out if she was huddled in the corner of her room, crying.
“Hurt me? No. Why would you think that?”
Now I was confused. Everybody said it hurt the first time.
“So you’re not mad?” I asked, hopefully.
“Mad? Of course not. I’m glad it happened. I loved it.”
I sat up.
“You did?” I can’t describe the feeling of relief that flooded through me. It was almost as good as cumming.
“Yes, Bobby,” she said, patiently.
“Wow,” I said. I felt weak all over.
“But then you didn’t come see me or come out of your room and I got worried that you were mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you. I just felt like I did something wrong and was afraid to face you.”
“Bobby, we didn’t plan for that to happen. It just did.”
“Yeah, but I think maybe I did something to make it happen.”
“It doesn’t matter. When it did I liked it. Then I loved it. I’m not sorry it happened. Not even a little bit.”
“But you were supposed to save that for the man you fall in love with and marry,” I said. That was the mantra our parents mumbled more or less regularly.
“Bobby, I do love you,” she said, patiently. She didn’t have to say anything about the marriage part. That part was obvious.
Some part of me knew that we loved each other, especially lately, but our history had been rocky for a lot longer than we’d been getting along. Her easy, casual expression of what she now felt kind of took me by surprise.
“I’m glad,” I said. “I really didn’t want you mad at me.”
“You need to read some of Mom’s romance books,” said my sister.
“What?” The change of subject had generated more surprise.
“You’re not very romantic.”
“Of course not. You’re my sister.”
Isn’t it amazing how us guys can stick our feet in our mouths so easily?
My ability to say stupid things aside, Jennifer adapted to the fact that I’d shoved my penis in her, and that she had enjoyed the whole experience. I also have to say she did not turn into some kind of cock slut overnight. There was a complicated dynamic between us that made things kind of wobbly over the next few days. I chose that word “wobbly” on purpose. I’ll try to explain.
For the rest of that day we had relatively little to do with each other. It wasn’t that we avoided one another. We just existed in the house apart. Jennifer liked to do picture puzzles, the kind with 5,000 pieces or more, and the kind that drove me crazy, like a pile of coins on a table, or stacks of brownies, cake and pastries, with jars of M&Ms and bowls of Starbursts. Stuff like that. She decided to do a new one Mom bought for her that was an undersea shot (lots and lots of blue) of a reef with about a zillion brightly colored fish swimming around.
I tried to play a video game, but my mind wasn’t on it. I knew I’d fucked up for a whole passel of reasons. First off, I’d fucked my sister and whether she liked it or not it was still wrong. Then there was the whole foot-in-mouth thing. But most of all was that I felt bad because I realized I had only thought about myself after it happened and hadn’t given Jenn her due. I mean here was a girl who’d lost her virginity, which is one of the big three in a girl’s life. There’s that, and then getting married, and then having a baby. You do all three of those with a man, presumably the man you love and want to be with forever, and I’d robbed her of doing that with losing her virginity.
True, she didn’t seem to be upset about it, at least not until I put my foot in my mouth. But she wasn’t mad at me, exactly. She just ignored me. I wasn’t sophisticated enough to realize that the vast majority of fifteen-year-old girls don’t think any guy will actually want to marry them. Sure, they want to get married some day ... they just don’t believe it will happen. I guess it has to do with self-doubt and a lack of experience or something.
And she didn’t bark at me. I got one of the remaining brownies and took it to her at the table, where she was sorting pieces by shape. She took it, bit it, laid the rest down, and said, “Thanks,” but didn’t look at me.
That’s when I tried to play Warcraft, Excalibur.
Then I tried to read.
Then I went and stood next to the table and said, “I’m sorry.”
She said, “I know,” not as acknowledgement of my apology, but more in line with, “Yes, you’re one of the sorriest people I know.”
So I went outside and mowed the lawn, even though I could have stretched it a few more days. Dad would be happy. I thought that was ironic. Dad would be happy about the lawn, but would have no idea that the reason I made him happy about the lawn was because I’d fucked his daughter.
It was hot out and we had a push mower, so when I was done I needed a shower.
I didn’t tell Jenn I was going to go take one.
She let me stew all day and then, later that night after our parents were in bed, she came through my door without knocking and stood by the bed.
“I’m not mad at you,” she said, softly.
“Good,” I said, with maybe too much eagerness.
“Night,” she said, and turned and left.
I gazed at her panty-covered ass, feeling forlorn because it was obvious that, while she wasn’t mad at me, I was also not being favored.
Then, the next morning, after Mom left, she came to my room again (I’d slept late because I’d read until four in the morning) and attacked me, tickling and poking and pulling.
“You stink. You need a shower,” she said.
My riposte of, “If you weren’t invading my personal space you wouldn’t know that!” did not roll off my lips. That’s because she was naked.
So she pulled me to the bathroom and she got us into the shower and she hugged me and kissed me and rubbed up against me and fondled my prick and then dug the tip of it between her labia and masturbated herself to what I think might have been a teensy little orgasm. Then she hugged me some more, with her face in my chest, and murmured, “I love this so much, Bobby.”
Talk about running hot and cold. Geesh!
My joystick, however, ignored all that and was most happy to play the game. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. That’s what joysticks are for - playing the game.
By now she was really good at jerking me off and she could do it in pretty much any position. So standing in the shower was no problem for her. She didn’t tell me she was jerking me off, but it was obvious she was trying to get me to shoot.
And when I warned her it was about to happen, she leaned back and shoved the tip right in the mouth of her honey pot and painted her lips with my sperm.
The same thing happened the next day.
The day after that, I guess she’d decided she wanted to feel what it was like if it was intentional. That’s probably the wrong word. Each time she’d done it in the shower it had been intentional. This time, though, she did it before we took a shower.
What happened was that I’d worked at MacDuff’s that morning and when I got home I fixed a sandwich. I was sitting at the table eating it when she came to get me.
“Come with me,” she said.
Not even for a second did I think, “Who made you boss?”
“Shower time?” I asked, expectantly.
“Not yet,” she said.
So I went with her and she led me to her room. She was wearing another tank top. She loved tank tops. She whipped it up over her head to reveal her creamy breasts and then pushed down her shorts and stood in only panties.
“Get undressed,” she said.
I didn’t understand. I was sweaty, not dripping, but sweaty, and we usually got undressed in the bathroom. But she’d said, “Not yet,” concerning the shower.
“Well?” she said, staring at me.
So I got undressed. I think my confusion was responsible for the fact that I was as soft as soft could be when I bared my cock.
She pushed her panties down and lay down on the bed. She spread her legs apart.
Even a dunce like me could figure out what that meant and my brain went a little fuzzy. We hadn’t talked about what had happened that day, which now seemed like it had been forever ago. We’d taken showers and necked and all that stuff, but hadn’t talked about any of it.
I swear what popped into my mind at that second was, “Now who’s not being very romantic?!”
Then something kind of complicated happened inside my brain. I thought about how this was my little sister, and how my parents expected me to take care of her. And I stayed soft!
I sat down on the bed and she said, “What are you doing?”
“Let’s talk about this,” I said.
“No, I don’t want to talk about it,” she replied.
“And that’s the problem,” I said. “Look. Like you said, the first time it was an accident. I mean my body kind of did things on purpose, but I didn’t intend to do them. And you didn’t, either. I’m not saying that absolves us of all blame, but it was unintentional.”
“Not when I jumped up and put my legs around you,” she argued.
“What you’re doing right now is completely different,” I said, ignoring her.
“I know that,” she said. Her mouth took on that signature pouting look. “I want to see how it feels when I can think about it.”
“Don’t you think that’s kind of ... clinical?” I suggested.
“What’s wrong with you?” she said, her voice rising. “Don’t boys want to fuck any girl they can?”
“No,” I said, suddenly understanding something with the kind of clarity that can be blinding. I’d never thought about that possibility before. I’d always assumed that if I got a chance to get some, I’d jump at that chance. But this situation just felt all wrong. It wasn’t because she was my sister. It was because it wasn’t natural for a girl to just lie back and say, “Okay, you can stick it in me, now.” What flashed into my mind was that that was probably what prostitutes did. They just lay back and said, “Okay, go for it.” Then they might say, “Don’t take too long because I have another customer waiting.”
That just wasn’t a sexy thought. And even my prick knew that.
What Jennifer and I had done before had been filled with passion and happiness and, yes, some fear, maybe even a little terror, but it had all been done out of honest attraction to each other and the love we felt for one another.
“What do you mean no?” she asked. The edge was gone from her voice. I think she was actually interested. “Everybody says guys will jump any girl’s bones they can.”
“Maybe that’s true for some guys, but not me,” I said.
“I know you’ve tried to get girls to do that,” she said.
“I wanted to, but I understand some things now that I didn’t then,” I said.
“Like what?”
“You know I love you,” I said.
“Don’t you go into that I’m your sister crap, Bobby!” she snapped.
“Would you let me talk?” I asked.
There was a pause, but then she said, “Okay.”
“I thought of some of this just a few seconds ago, so be patient with me,” I said.
“Okay,” she said, a little peevishly.
“Here we are. We’re both naked,” I said. “But do you really want to have sex right now? I mean do you feel like having sex right now?”
“Why do you think I brought you here?” she asked.
“Are you horny?” I asked.
Long pause.
“Are you really fired up to the point that you don’t want to control what happens?”
Another long pause.
“See, I think you decided to do something, instead of letting something happen that you want to happen. You’re forcing things.”
“But you wanted to last time,” she said, sounding upset.
“Look, I’m not going to lie to you. I want to ... um ... fuck is such a nasty word ... I want to ... put it in you again. I mean I know I will want to, even though I know I shouldn’t want that and I shouldn’t do that, I know I’m going to want to. But if it happens again don’t you think it should be more... (I tensed up) romantic?”
She blinked.
“You want to make love instead of having sex,” she said.
Wow. I realized she’d hit the nail right on the head. Some macho part of me resented the fact that I knew she was right. I think that macho part of me just wanted to fuck something. But this was my sister and I did love her. As fucked up as our relationship was, or would be in other people’s eyes, I loved her and I didn’t want to treat her like an object.
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