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My Sister Jean and I, Chapter Seven
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
A continuation of BillyG's awakening with his sister Jean. The
ride home continues.
Please Note: This story is mostly true and deals with brother-sister
incest, watersports (previous chapters) and currently, approaches
anal sex. If this offends you, why the solution is obvious.
Chapter 7 - Jean's Backside
Those of you have read the previous chapters of BillyG's Sister know
of my sometimes-loving and always-warm connection with my sibling as
well as the progressive obsession I had with her as a sexual being.
The story of that obsession started in our early teen years and
initially lurched along with fits and stops. Several of the "fits"
have been described in this forum and were marked by the usual
fascination with her underwear - her panties to be specific - as
well as my unflagging interest in her female body. Not surprisingly
- given our circumstances and perhaps some inborn genetic kink of my
own - my earliest sexual turn-on with Jean happened in the arena of
bathroom games . . . watersports if you will. Much of this story
centers on that.
Jean and I, all these years later, remain well-adjusted, healthy
people who have both the capacity of receiving as well as giving
love. Our sexuality and our sex lives are free-spirited and usually
lighthearted. We continue to have separate but connected lives and
while we no longer have an intensely-linked sexual connection, we
remain deliciously aware of our origins and our historic sexual
involvement. We continue to surprise and delight each other as
adults.
I've shared with her these posts. While she agrees in the main with
the story, she, of course, sees the other side of the tale. Often
the emotions and conflicts are different for her than they were for
me. In recognition of the possibility of "another story", I've
encouraged her to post her own versions, but so far, she's declined.
(If nothing else, I remain patient in these things.)
In our last episode, Jean and I had really come clean with each
other. Even though we'd previously had glancing sexual encounters,
they'd been wrapped tightly in denial and were characterized as
extraordinarily intense moments followed by baffling and frustrating
periods of non-acknowledgment.
The long ride home from our camping trip - after Jean had peed in
front of me on the hiking trail and then later had peed through her
panties onto my lap - marked a major departure from our previous
behaviors. We'd both confessed our thoughts and previous sexual
behavior, including those we secretly regarded as kinky if not
downright bizarre - our fascination with peeing.
How freeing it was to discover in her the same kinkiness. You see, I
loved my sister as a warm and kind person who possessed those
estimable traits of honesty and caring and living in the present.
Two years older than me, Jean had always been a role-model for the
principles of living. So, if she had the same sexual interests at
me, I reasoned, it must be okay. As it turned out, the external
validation given to me then helped me in the more important internal
validation I was to develop as a young man.
The heat of the moment, coupled with our growing trust in each other,
enabled us to surrender to our affection and our lust. Confessing,
as I did - that I wanted her to pee on me - Jean just laughed and
went for it with her customary enthusiasm and verve. Then, as she
was straddling my lap, her body pressed against mine, my face between
her breasts and her pee leaking into my lap . . . I blurted out a
truth that surprised both of us. I told her that I wanted to fuck
her.
Holding her arms about my head, pulling me to her warm breasts, she
remained quiet for a little while and then murmured softly, "Billy,
I've never done it, and as much as I think I want to right now . . .
I'm not ready."
Her refusal didn't surprise me. My asking is what surprised me. I
didn't respond. She hadn't expected me to.
"And if I were ready, Billy . . . I'm not at all sure that I should
be thinking about doing it with *you*. Our fooling around - the
stuff we've done - that's enough for me now. I love you a lot and I
don't want to do anything I'll really regret."
Then, as if to check-in with me, she leaned back and looked into my
eyes, "Does that make sense?"
Embarrassed at my impetuous outbreak, I mumbled, "Yeah . . . I guess
so . . . sure." And then with a little more feeling, I added, "I
wasn't really *asking* you to . . . to do it, Jean . . I was just
telling you how I felt, that's all."
That moment of discomfort - the fear of having gone too far -
passed quickly. Laughing, Jean climbed off my lap and then stood
there awkwardly, slightly bent, legs apart and looking down at the
wet patch than defined her bottom and part way down her bare legs.
Pinching the edge of her shorts between her thumb and index finger,
pinky out, she pulled the material away from her hip and shook her
leg as she said, "Ech . . . doing it was a lot more fun than sitting
in it."
Then, pointing at my wet lap, she giggled. Now Jean laughs, she
chortles, she occasionally guffaws but she doesn't giggle . . . or at
least until now. A giggle, a little girlish giggle is the best
description of the sounds she made as she pointed to my soaked
jeans.
We both dug into our packs and slipped into some dry shorts. Ever
watchful, I noticed that Jean didn't bother with underpants. I was
acutely aware that my soft-spoken, conservative sister was climbing
into the 4X4 wearing only a thin T-shirt and hip-hugger shorts . . .
already pulled up into the crack of her butt.
"Nice butt, sis!"
Looking back at me she smiled, "Glad you like it, bro. I got these
shorts with you in mind, but I didn't think I'd ever wear em."
She stood there, one foot inside the Scout, like mounting a horse,
the step-up was so high. The crotch of her shorts were pulled into
her ass cheeks. Posing for a moment, looking over her shoulder at
me, she grinned that devilish grin that told me all was
not-as-it-appeared on the surface.
My head tilted, as if to appraise her better, I added, "You know sis,
your hips and butt may be your best feature."
Pulling her foot back down, Jean stood up straight. Or nearly
straight - she'd stuck her behind out a little at my provocative
observation. Still looking over her shoulder, she slowly bent her
arms at the elbows and hooked her thumbs into the tops of her shorts
at the hips. She posed that way for a long few seconds, palms toward
me and fingers splayed. She looked at me as if to say, "So, do you
want to see more?"
My obvious answer was a broad grin as I vigorously nodded my head.
Jean slowly pushed the hip-huggers down, revealing by inches the
mounds of her ass cheeks. She continued until her arms were straight
and the waist of her shorts cut across the mid part of her buttocks,
displaying the top part of the her ass crack. With her thumbs, still
stuck into her shorts and her fingers spread out - as if she were
signaling someone behind her - she remained posed . . . bent over
just slightly, her arms and hands framing her slim waist and the
womanly flair of her hips.
The sun was high and in front of her, making a soft halo of her hair
and casting deep shadows around her ass. Two dimples I'd never seen
before, accented the shadows.
Certainly, most delicious was her ass. I'd not really noticed
before, but she'd obviously been sun bathing wearing a thong bikini,
for there was a narrow, white band high across her hips and
buttocks, with an inverted triangle of white ending in the top of her
ass crack. Her cheeks were tan as were her back and hips. The
small, untanned belt of white that ended as it dipped between her
cheeks served to accent the saucy prominence of her butt.
"I hoped you were an ass man, Billy. I kinda like my own butt."
Then, fishing for a compliment, she asked, "Do you like it? Do you
think it's sexy?"
Then, marching in place, she pulled the tight shorts over her hips,
wriggling to seat them properly before she jumped into the Scout,
yelling, "Hey, dude! Let's get truckin' . . . let's haul *ass*!"
She slid down in the seat, dissolving in gales of laugher at her own
pun. "Haul ass . . . oh, I'm terrible." More laughter.
Jean's laughter is so infectious that I found myself laughing along
with her, thinking, "Boy, this is fun and I'm not even sure what I'm
laughing about."
Adjusting my own shorts, I settled again into the driver's seat. I
checked her shorts and found that she'd buttoned only the lower
buttons, leaving the soft curve of her belly uncovered.
Back on the road, still relatively deserted, we sat silently for a
little while, making eye contact frequently and smiling. We both
knew that there had occurred yet another major shift in our
relationship and were content to let things unfold.
Swinging onto a larger and busier highway, now out of the mountains,
I broke the silence this time and asked, "So, woman, what're *you*
thinking this time?" reminding her of her own gambit.
"What'll you give me if I tell you?" she countered.
"Probably anything you want . . . but I ain't doin' the dishes for
another week, no matter what you're thinkin'." Then I offered,
"Twenty-five cents?"
"A quarter?! That's all my thoughts are worth to you? Twenty-five
cents! Forget it."
"Okay, okay. A half dollar then, but you've got to do my laundry for
me when we get back."
"I'll clean *your* laundry," she threatened and then added, "Fifty
cents and *you* do the laundry."
Grudgingly and with a little whine I capitulated, "Well-l-l, only if
you hand me the panties you're wearing . . . to wash of course."
"You jerk! You know I'm not wearing any . . . I watched you watching
me. But all right. I'll give you my dirty underpants, you . . . you
pervert!"
Ignoring the insult, I said, "Well, let's get back to the topic."
"What topic?"
"Why, your butt. That's the topic. Remember?"
"Oh yeah. You were saying it's my best feature. Really think so?"
Diplomatically, I responded, "I like *all* of you, but . . .," and
then I paused, waiting for her recognition of my pun, "but".
With a teasing frown she asked, "What do you mean but'? Or is that
butt'?" accenting the tt' of butt.
"In your case, sis, it's butt' or, if you will, ass,'" as I gave
her my best Grouch Marx leer.
She continued to fish. "I can see why guys might like a girl's
breasts, or her legs, because . . . well you know . . . but," and she
laughed at herself, "but what's the big deal with a girl's behind?"
Looking up to the heavens for guidance, I shrugged and said, "Jean, I
don't understand any of this sex-attraction stuff. I've given up
trying to understand it. It's just there. I feel it. I experience
it. That's all. I just accept that I'm a horny guy and I don't even
try to understand it any more. I like your butt . . . No, I *love*
your butt . . . your ass. I like to watch your hips roll and your
cheeks move when you walk. I love the inverted heart shape of your
ass when you bend over. I adore the bottoms of your ass checks when
I see them below your short-shorts. I try to run the back of my hand
across your bottom when I pass behind you, pretending it's
accidental. The back of my hand is acutely aware of the soft dip
between your cheeks."
Following such a strong start, I finished lamely with, "I don't know
. . . I just like em . . . and it gets me horny."
A slight shift and lowering of her voice signaled a serious question.
I listened intently. Actually, I'd come to listen to her with an
intensity that was previously reserved for those times when *I* was
talking.
"I've heard that some girls . . . er, some people do it that way . .
. uh . . . in the . . .you know . . . back there. You ever done it
that way, Billy?"
Ass fucking? Was *my* sister talking about ass fucking? I was
thunderstruck.
"Me? Me? You gotta be kidin' . . . I've never done it *any* way!"
Flustered, she spoke rapidly, correcting herself, "Oh, I didn't mean
. . . I didn't think you had . . . I mean . . . have you ever
*thought* about it . . . about doin' it that way, I mean?
Back there?" she squirmed in her seat, not looking at me. Had she
looked at me, she might have noticed my squirming. Whenever Jean
hits the nail on the head with me, I start to squirm, and she'd hit
this one straight center. Nailed, as it were. Sure I'd thought
about it . . . a lot . . . but I didn't think I *should* be thinking
about such stuff. (I was pushed around by those "shoulds" a lot in
my young life.)
"Uh . . . yeah . . . I've thought about it . . . I mean, I've thought
about a lot of things."
Uncharacteristically, Jean offered, "Me too. Tell me, what did you
think about . . . uh . . . when you thought about doing it back
there?"
Back in my court again. (Well, Billy, get honest. She's making it
easy for you . . . and *you* were the one trying to get her to talk
dirty'.)
"Gee, sis . . . I don't know what to say . . . where to start . . .
but, yeah . . . I've thought about it ever since I saw one a dad's
European dirty magazines. It had lots of pictures of people doin' it
. . . in the butt I mean. Since then, I've thought about it a lot."
"You have? I mean, you've actually *seen* pictures of it? Wow!
I've only heard about it . . . I've never seen a picture of it. Can
you show me? Gee, I'd give anything to see some pictures."
Jean's enthusiasm once again put me at ease. I'd swung from being
hesitant about revealing one more kink and now here she was, more
open about it than I was . . . and I was swinging back to self
revelation.
"I'll either find dad's, or I'll get some from the dirty-book store,
Jean. Actually, I used to have a bunch, but I traded them for the
peeing magazines that you discovered," and added with chagrin, " . .
. in my most secret hiding place."
"Oh, bitte, bitte, bitte," Jean sing-songed her Germanic entreaty.
Plunging in again, I asked, "Is *your* ass erotic, Jean? I mean,
have you ever touched yourself there . . . er, does it feel good if
you do touch yourself?" (If I could ever learn to finish as strongly
as I start . . .)
Jean stared at me for a long moment. He pale blue eyes glinted. She
ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, wetting them and, as always,
my eyes were drawn to her mouth. Did she have any notion how erotic
her mouth was? I thought not. But this was not some affected look,
not some pretend stance. Jean's interest was intense and real and
right now.
Licking her lips a second time, she started slowly, "When I was a kid
. . . (and that could be any age less than she was that day) . . .
when I was a little girl, I got sick and had a tummy ache. Mom
decided I needed an (ugh) enema.
"Phu-leeze, Mother. I don't need an enema,' I cajoled." (She loved
that word too.) " Well, you know Mom. I was protesting all the way
to the bathroom. God! I thought I'd die of embarrassment. I knew no
one was home but me and Mom and I was still dying. But Mom showed me
no mercy. Over her knees, pajamas down and K-Y to the butt so fast I
couldn't respond. Can you imagine that?" she inquired as it were the
most impossible image in the world.
My fertile - read dirty - mind didn't have any difficulty at all in
imagining that. "Yeah, sis, I can imagine that."
Not even pausing, she continued, "Mom slipped that hard nozzle into
my butt . . . burrr . . . it was cold . . . but you know, it didn't
hurt at all! I just knew it was going to hurt like the dickens and
it didn't hurt at all. That really surprised me."
Now, for the first time since starting this story, she grinned at me
and went on, "No, what really surprised me was that it . . . it felt
good!"
And again she asked the rhetorical question, "Can you imagine that?
I couldn't. I mean, sticking something up your butt . . . how could
*that* feel good . . . but it did, Billy, it did."
"I remember . . ." I started to say but she continued, interrupting
me. (Oh, now I get it. *She* wants to talk.)
"Then, before I could even switch mental tracks, Mom started the warm
water flowing. She had ran the hot water tap in the bathroom until
she got the temperature she wanted and then filled that huge water
bag. Then she added something else from a bottle . . . I don't know
what it was . . . and that's what I got. I could feel the warmth
flowing through me. Mom must have done this when she was a nurse,
cuz every time I started to get a cramp, she seemed to know it and
clamped the tube. I'd rest a few moments, and she'd start it again.
I was embarrassed and frightened and mad . . . all mixed in with the
confusing feelings of liking the warmth and the fullness. I didn't
know what was going on."
Jean took a big breath and then through pursed lips, blew it out
slowly, looking out the window for a moment. I knew enough to keep
quiet.
Turning back to me, she continued, now a little slower. "I don't
know how much she gave me - felt like gallons - but it probably
wasn't . . . anyway . . . when I was all filled up I thought I was
going to lose it and must have whimpered. Mom said, Now hold it.
Hold it in. I'm going to pull out the tube and I want you to lie
down on the rug for a minute . . . just relax, okay?'
And I did . . . or at least, I didn't . . . you know, lose it or
anything. I'd forgotten how silly I must have looked, lying on the
floor with my pj's around my knees and my fanny uncovered. All I
could think of was how full I felt and trying to keep myself clamped
shut . . . so I wouldn't . . . uh . . . dribble?" (She ended with her
interrogative inflection again.) "And behind all that, there was a
funny, sexy feeling."
The direction of this conversation was getting to me. My dick was
stiffening again. Just listening to Jean's story of her enema had me
hot. Thinking of her cute butt and her rosebud asshole, filled with
water . . . well . . . I *told* you I was kinky!
She continued, "The need to have a B.M. got stronger and stronger,
Billy. I told Mom I was going to have an accident' if I couldn't go
soon, so she let me get up and sit on the toilet.
Now, you must know that *no one* - since I was a baby - had stayed
in the room with me when I moved my bowels, but I had to go so bad I
probably wouldn't have stopped if *you* had walked in." (As if I
were the bathroom equivalent of the Queen Mary cruising through.)
Running her hands up the inside of her thighs, she opened and then
closed her legs. She was clearly warming up to this story.
She rushed on, "It was one of the most delicious feelings in the
world, Billy. Just letting myself go and expelling all that water . .
. whew . . . it was like pooping and peeing and even cumming . . .
all at the same time.
I'm sure I got all red in the face . . . from pleasure I know now,
but Mom asked, You okay?' I just couldn't tell her how okay I
really was!"
Now she laughed. "Don't think I'm a closet enema freak, brother
dear. I've only had a few in my life . . . but maybe not as many as
I'd like. Anyway, that was the time when I realized that my behind
was sensitive . . . I mean, like erotic, you know?"
Sensing that she had touched on the main part of the story, I spoke
again and asked, "Well, I can see that it excited you. Did you then
start thinking of . . . butt fuckin'?"
"Billy, most of the time I don't like that word . . . fuck' . . . or
fucking' . . . but when I'm talking with you . . . it has a juicy
edge to it and it's okay. And yes. That's when I started thinking
that if a enema tube felt good, then a finger or even . . . it's hard
to say - even a dick would feel good . . . or even better."
"We're just alike . . .we're two peas in a pod, sis. We both like
peeing and now we're finding out that we *both* like anal things."
She looked at me, one eyebrow arched as if to say, "Oh, is that
right?"
Hurrying to explain, I added, "I haven't had an enema or anything,
but I've wondered about it." Then, not looking at her, I went on,
"Once I took Mom's enema nozzle - do you think it was the same one
she used on you? - I took her nozzle and slipped into my own ass. I
was sitting on the toilet. I had just finished looking at one of
Dad's dirty magazine - I'd sneaked it out again - and I was
wondering how it would feel to me . . . having something up my butt.
So, I got the nozzle, put some K-Y on it and pushed it in my behind .
. .slowly. I don't know what it was . . . maybe just the thought of
it . . . but anyway . . . I got a boner right away. I jacked off,
and like always, I was thinking of you, sis . . . thinking of your
ass while I was doin' it."
There! It was out. Now Jean knew her kid brother ass- fucked
himself with a goddamn enema nozzle and fantasized about her. My
face felt warm and I couldn't look at her.
"Ohhh, Billy . . . that's hot! That really gets me wet . . . hearing
what you did . . . and that you thought of me while you were doin' it
too. Wow! You are somethin'."
Emboldened again and ever pushing, I asked, "So, tell me, my erotic
sister . . . are we going to explore this new wrinkle . . . anal sex
. . . or what?"
I suppose it was idiotically tautological to add, " I'm game. Are
you?"
"God, who knows with you, Billy? Every time I think I've gone just
about as far as I'll ever go . . . with you or anyone, you sorta
nudge me along and before I know it, I'm right in the middle of
something I didn't plan on."
She placed her hand on my arm and added softly, "But Billy, you
*know* I'm not really going to do it with *you* . . .still I'm open
to talk about it with you."
<End of Chapter Seven>
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