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She gave me a wicked grin, and we drank. She smirked and whispered:

“You said you did it four times one day. We did that.”

“But more isn’t better: the difference between a gourmand and a gourmet.”

“Hmmm! But if a gourmet discovered a whole platter of something that is really good, wouldn’t he want to indulge himself by finishing it all off?”

She grinned again at her clever response, and I had to, too. I replied that we could always get more rubbers. She nodded with a smile, and we finished our meal talking about other things. As we left the restaurant, since we had been whispering, I put my arm around her waist to suggest to any guests that we had been whispering like a young couple would. Her smile could have convinced them even more, especially when she pursed her lips.

We were a young couple, just happening also to be siblings. As we got in the car, one of us suggested that we needed more beer. I bought another two six packs.

That night we didn’t do anything, but in the morning we did, after a discussion of possibilities, while she was holding my cock. We fucked, my acquiescing to her insistence that we had to use our supply of rubbers. I didn’t come twice.

After breakfast, she insisted that I call home. That was relatively easy, since Martha, the Norwegian au pair, answered and said that our mother was somewhere playing bridge. On the deck that forenoon, my sister said that she wanted to suck my cock again. What could be easier to agree to?! And after lunch – I could have expected it – she hopped her ass up on the cleared table and lay back, spreading her thighs, presenting her pussy, and telling me that it was my turn.

That was easy, too. She was surprised when I pressed her thighs back further, rolling her hips up, and licked her asshole, but she liked that too. Of course, my tongue soon returned to her clitoris and a short time later she came. I was then surprised when she demanded: “Get a rubber.” My aroused cock wasn’t surprised. I hurried off and returned, putting it on, seeing her fingers keeping her pussy aroused. Had she already – previously – noticed that the table was the right height for my cock to slip straight into her slippery pussy? It was tight, of course, but she only responded with relieved sounding moan, as my cock went in with one thrust, my hips jarring her body on the table, when they hit hers.

They hit hers many times more. She stopped rubbing for a few seconds, but then her fingers returned to her clitoris, a little to my surprise, but who was I to question what felt most arousing for her? If that made her pussy clutch my cock better, it was also good for me. If the knob of her candle felt good, my larger knob should feel even better. Her candle couldn’t know how good it felt my cock! Fucking pure, I thought and grasped her breasts for something to hold to fuck her harder and faster.

Before I came, she did, with loud, desperate sounds, as her body spasmed and her pussy juice flushed out on the top of my cock, then running down warm on my tight sack. My throbbing, thrusting cock spurted, until her hand turned and urged me to stop fucking. Her body jerked again, and my cock throbbed, while I heard a couple more pulsing moans. I had been grunting, now gasping and moaning with her.

God, it had been so good again! I let go of her breasts, seeing the white marks from my fingers return to the sunburned pink of her other skin. Her pussy clutched my cock again, and I caught her legs as they dropped down. She seemed to have passed out. “Le petit mort,” I wondered. I didn’t speak French, but had heard the expression.

Several seconds later, she took a deeper breath, sighing, and then her eyes opened. It was a moment or two before they found mine. She gave me a tired smile and murmured:

“Also shouldn’t know it can be like that.”

“Too late.”

“Um-hmm. Still there.”

Her pussy squeezed my softening cock, and she grinned, remarking with chuckle:

“I did that.”

“Do it again.”

She did, and then again, and it slipped out, along with more of her moisture. We heard it dripping on the floor and both snorted silently. I helped her sit up and then took off the rubber and jostled my loose sack. She took the rubber from me, holding it up and looking at it with a grin, then murmuring: “I can do that too.”

She flipped the full end in her mouth and grinned, pulling it slowly out between her closed lips. I could imagined they were gathering my semen in a soft little balloon. More than enough to fill the reservoir? Not really, I saw, as the end slipped from between her lips. She looked at me with another grin and said:

“I taste good.”

“You do.”

“You do too.”

She chuckled and put the open end in her mouth and held the other end higher, sliding my semen down to her mouth with two fingers. She smirked, moving her jaw to emphasize that she was tasting it. She let the rubber slip out and pursed her lips, leaning forward. Our lips met, and I opened my mouth and let her tongue give me a sample of the slippery liquid, and then we bursa suriyeli escort escort kissed until its flavor was diluted by our saliva.

I helped her off the table. When her feet hit the floor, she remarked:

“Oh! I’m still leaking,” and reached down and held her pussy lips together.

We hurried to the bathroom. While she was leaking on the toilet, I suggested:

“I like that, but don’t do that with the rubber the first time with a guy and not before he knows that you already have tasted it with him.”

“I guess not; could surprise him.”

“And make him know that you had more experience than he thought you did, than he wanted to think you have.”

“Hmm? Like that? Yeah, I guess so.”

“Guys like to think they have more experience, don’t mind girls’ being adventurous, but not before they are.”

“Yeah, I guess. Hm-hmm! Could only tell you that she had told me all about it.”

“Even if you did, he might not believe it.”

“I sure hope he does then, have more experience.”

We chuckled, and I went in the washbasin with her standing, watching, and then we both washed. We still had most of the afternoon before us and agreed to go down on the beach. As we were getting ready, she snickered and said:

“One evening, we have to go skinny dipping.”

“So you can tell the girls on the trip that you have?”

“Oh, that’s a good idea! Tell them a boy and I dared to do it.”

“And – or, so – they will ask if that was all you did.”

“Even better! Have to think about how it could have happened.”

In this jocular mood, we applied lotion to each other and went down on the beach with our towels. After we had swum in the mild waves, we sat down facing the sun. She grinned and said:

“Tell me about the body surfing that time.”

“Early Monday morning, knowing the newly weds did really appreciate my company, very few people on the beach, but nice waves. Was she already trying body surf? Yeah, but couldn’t as good as I could. I guess she was watching me more than I was her. Oh, I was. We both caught a good wave, and when she stood up, her bikini top had slipped around. You know, one with just two strings and two triangles.”

“Hm-hmm! Just slipped around, or had she helped it?”

“Hmm? Never thought of that. Whatever, she was in no hurry to put it back in place and knew I was looking. Yeah, maybe she helped it, now that you suggest it; makes sense in light of what happened.”

“Your first time.”

“Um-hmm, but I’m not going to tell you all about that.”



“I need a bikini like that.”

“So you can do that?”

“Now you’re suggesting it. No, I was just thinking that it would take minimal space in my suitcase and probably be more like what girls in France wear.”

“Especially if you forgot to pack the top.”

“No one would believe that.”


We exchanged smiles. It was being nice to just talk. Then she said:

“Skinny dipping. I know it’s not allowed here, but we have to try it. Others probably do.”

“Probably. A few years ago, I wondered about couples that wanted to swim in the dark.”

“Now we know. We want to, too.”

“Who said that I did?”

“You will, if I do. You have to, promised that you wouldn’t let me go on the beach alone, much less swim alone – buddy system.”

“Shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”

“Nice big brother!”

“And when you tell the girls, who was your buddy for skinny dipping?

“Thanks for reminding me. Do we want to be just innocent?”

“With me? Too late.”

“Not with you, of course.”

“Depends on how much you want tell them: everything they would like to imagine could happen; or just that you had dared to, maybe nothing more, maybe a nude kiss, maybe a little more, but you got scared – almost discovered – or couldn’t do everything? Hm-hmm! Because nude bathers don’t have a place to keep a rubber.”

“Oh, you’re full of good ideas!”

“Or, very risky, you do everything, and maybe are still scared that you won’t have your period.”

“Too scary. Know a couple of girls who were counting days, and more days.”

“Wouldn’t want that, could ruin the first couple of weeks of your trip. So who is the guy?”

“Tall, dark and handsome.”

“Older? You want a guy with experience.”

“Yeah, why not. Old enough to be out here alone.”

“Not a father figure?”

“Oh no, max thirty-five.”

“Thinking of anyone special?”

“Hmmm? Maybe a younger version of Uncle Simon.”

“Tall, dark and handsome? And you’ve thought about him?”

“When he told me that he wanted to kiss me, when I was fifteen.”

“Did he, did you?”

“Wanted to, could have been my real first kiss, but we didn’t.”

“Sorry about that. Now I know how he should look, but what’s got to happen first, so that you can go skinny dipping with him?”

“Hmmm? If nothing happened, he could be younger, just daring to do it together.”

“Not much bursa ucuz escort fun to tell about. But you’re not going to have a story about how you and an older man did everything. A girl wouldn’t tell others about that.”

“How do you know, but you’re right. So he has to be about my age, …”

“Is this going to be the start of something that your trip upsets?”

“Don’t make it so complicated. Then I would have to explain later to a couple of friends why nothing further happened.”

“He went off to college, got drafted, told you that it was ‘just infatuation’, but you still did it, everything?”

She looked at me with slightly quizzical expression and said:

“Sounds a little like us.”

“Not ‘just infatuation.’

“No, but maybe it would be, if we weren’t you and me.”

“But we are.”

We smiled, our hands touching, and were silent, watching a few waves ripple up on the beach.

“But like that,” she then said: “a guy in college. We agree to just wait to see what happens after my trip.”

“And how do you meet?”

“Don’t know. Maybe he’s a cousin, one who has spent vacations here since we were kids, so no one thinks anything about his being here with me, and then it happens.”

“Skinny dipping first?”

She glanced over at me with a slight smile, nodding slightly, and whispered just above the sounds of the shore:

“Before I dared to go topless.”

“But maybe suggested the skinny dipping.”

“Or he did. Hmm? Probably him, but I was wanting to.”

“Nice cousin, to help you do what you wanted to.”


Our hands touched again, and we were silent for a few more waves – and a few more. Then we quietly agreed to go back to the house, and quietly agreed to shower together.

Even though we washed each other as completely as before, we exchanged pleasant hums when our fingers were everywhere but not trying to arouse each other. While we were drying ourselves, she remarked quietly:

“That was nice, all afternoon.”

“I thought so too, very nice.”

We smiled and agreed that it was time for another beer and went to the kitchen. As we had our first sips, smiling at each other, I thought about how easy being nude together had become; how wearing clothes made it enticing, erotic to see a bare breast or completely nude woman.

“Nice, being naked again,” she murmured.

I nodded, liking that her remark seemed to complement my thought, and that her nipples had not popped out in connection with what she had said or my seeing them. Of course, we were going to sleep with each other again, but not because being nude/naked had to be arousing.

It was earlier than before to start preparing dinner, but we did, choosing a more ambitious suggestion from our mother’s list, joking about her seeming to have thought that we would have more experience in the course of the week. We were still just finding ingredients, when the phone rang.

We looked at each other, her nipples suddenly erect. She smiled wryly and nodded for me to answer. I did:

“Hi Mother.” … Yes, we’re fine, just cooking. … No, we haven’t argued about anything. We’re both behaving ourselves.”

My sister gave me a wide-eyed look with aroused nipples.

“Yes, we were on the beach today, swimming. … Of course, both of us together. Not many people around. … We’re trying a meal you planned for later in the week. … Oh? We should do the meatloaf first. … Ground beef. … Sure, thanks. Glad you called before anything was on the stove. … You want to talk to her?”

My sister’s nipples popped out again as she frowned, wiping her forearm over them.

“Yes, we’re doing all the chores. … I’ll tell her, and love to Father too.”

My sister looked relieved as I hung up and passed on our parents’ greetings and then explained that the ground beef should be cooked before it stayed in the refrigerator longer. We revised our plans and made the meatloaf, agreeing not to forget the chores for opening the house for the summer.

Since it had to bake, we had to wait for the oven to heat and then for it to bake. Boiling potatoes and a frozen vegetable would be no problem. Her recipe for meatloaf was very detailed. We did then argue – grinning. I wanted more salt, knowing that I always wanted more, when I ate meatloaf at home. She thought we should stick with Mother’s recipe. Then I remembered a saying our German grandmother used, something about a cook’s using too much salt when he was in love.

She acquiesced with a grin, only asking who was the cock. I added more salt. It wasn’t too much, as she agreed an hour later.

When the meatloaf was in the oven, with a second beer we put on enough to go out on the deck. Her “enough” was my shirt, mine, just my Bermudas. Standing at the railing, looking out at the ocean and the sun, lowering in the west, she put her arm around my bare waist. I put my arm around her. Nice, just a couple of siblings enjoying being close and sharing sips of beer.

I was bursa üniversiteli escort thinking that even if nothing had happened, if she hadn’t said she was going to go topless and everything else, after three days alone together, we could still have been standing like that in all our clothes. We had another sip, exchanging mild smiles. “Nice,” she murmured. I nodded, and we had another small sip.

Was it hers or my hand that first slid down from the other’s waist? I’d like to think that it was hers, but it could just as well have been mine; more likely actually, since it only had to slide down on my shirt, whereas her had to slide over the waistband of my shorts. It did, and mine did – or had already. We chuckled softly without glancing at each other, as our hands rubbed the other’s ass.

It was just so nice that we so easily could do the same thing, wanted to. Our hands rubbed, and she murmured:

“Like this morning; I wanted you to do something, touch me somehow.”

“Um-hmm,” I agreed: I wanted to too. Didn’t think I could just slip my arms around you and hold your breasts.”

“I would have liked that too.”

“Next time.”

“Next time, please.”

I rubbed her ass, enjoying that there was only my shirt between us, better that for her, with the hip pocket of my shorts between her hand and my ass. She must have felt the same way; her hand slid back up to the waistband of my shorts. As her fingers crept under it, I drew in my stomach, and her hand immediately slipped under it, until her hand was where it had been before, now rubbing my bare ass. It wasn’t too tight with her wrist inside the waist band, especially with the distraction of feeling her fingers caressing my ass. My fingers gathered up the shirttail of my shirt and fondled her bare ass in return. “Nice, better,” she murmured.

I nodded, and we drank again. Until the timer for the oven rang, we fondled each other that way, our hands all over each other’s ass, both sides and in between. My hand had it much easier, of course, also because scratching behind her pussy was easier then for her fingers to stretch past my asshole. We both eschewed rubbing there.

We looked out at the darkening horizon, chuckling about what we were doing. My cock was beginning find it interesting. When my finger tip touched the back of her pussy, she hummed and said:

“You’re going to make me all wet.”

“You, me too,”


“You know what I mean.”

We chuckled again, and she shoved her arm further down in my shorts and found the base of my cock behind my balls. I made my cock surge, and she snickered. Then the timer rang. We chuckled and returned to the house with our hands back on cloth.

For a change, we ate without being naked, enjoying a third beer. After agreeing that the meatloaf wasn’t too salty, she smiled and said:

“This is being so nice, so much better than I imagined. That too – of course! – but just being with you, like on the deck, and not because of what we were then doing. But I guess that’s part of it, enjoying that too, of course.”

She smiled again with quizzical expression.”

“I was think so too, out on the deck, that it was being so nice with you. Of course, I guess, it was only natural that we wanted to enjoy that too. Fun. We won’t know how it could have been, if we hadn’t, if we don’t.”

She smiled with a serious expression, nodding, and replied:

“I won’t say it again, until we do.”

“I said so too,” I murmured.

We smiled slightly and finished our meal in silence, just exchanging more mild smiles.

I was wondering what she was thinking, wondering myself if sibling incest was just expressing and loving more than a brother and sister should; that they shouldn’t, not for moral reasons, only because they knew it couldn’t end like maybe with another partner. Sure, of course, it was about not having kids, but was it that much different from having sex with someone else, both knowing that they weren’t expecting to marry, knowing it was really counter to religious and social conventions? That also wasn’t supposed to happen, but it did – plenty! Don’t start to count them! So why not siblings? She had already explained that we knew that better than couples who maybe could think they might.

“A penny for your thoughts,” she remarked softly,

“Hmm? A quarter; too complicated.

“Fifty cents?”

“Six rubbers.”

“Only? I mean, they don’t cost more? [They didn’t back then.]

I shook my head, and we both chuckled.

“Too complicated?” she asked.

“About us, you know the word.”

She nodded with an almost solemn expression, and I murmured:

“Trying to think that it isn’t much different than other couples who know they’re just playing around.”

“It is different, better. They just go their ways; we’re always be the same, maybe not like this, but not going different ways, forgetting each other.”

“We won’t,” I agreed, appreciating her explanation.

We smiled again and cleared the table. While cleaning up in the kitchen, we rubbed each other’s ass again, a couple of times. While she was finishing up, wiping the counter, I did step behind her and hold her breasts. She leaned back against me with a hum. Maybe it was more of a purr; she nuzzled against me, turning her head back with a nod, offering her ear to be kissed. I did, sucking and puffing and tickling with the tip of my tongue.

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