THIS IS A TRUE STORY
I’ve never been what you would call a ‘praying man’. Not once in my twenty five years have I felt the allure of the church that my mother frequents, so pointlessly comforting herself with the thought that there is a savior for her, listening to her ridiculous confessions. Not once have I dropped before Christ and begged for his mercy. Not once have I fallen to my knees.
‘Can we switch now?’ muffles Trinity, as she removes my throbbing cock from her lips. I glance at her, a string of congealed pre-seminal fluid and saliva running from her pink bottom lip to the head of my aching member. Her soft palm rests on my swollen balls, fingers delicately placed at the bottom of my shaft as she hopefully pleads with her eyebrows. I marvel momentarily at how beautiful she is, how naturally and effortlessly gorgeous. Even today, her thirty-first birthday.
‘No,’ I whisper as her expression sours, complaining about her jaw aching; it had been an hour after all. I ignore it, instead focusing on the movie playing a few feet away. The pixelation is grainy. ‘Just a little longer.’
Trinity surrenders to my will, her mouth enveloping my cock with some reluctance. Her gaping lips allow the entire shaft to disappear inside, her chin glistening with spit. But the strokes, the way she presses her tongue from the base of my cock, slurping up the shaft in spirals and focusing on the throbbing flesh directly beneath the hole from which she is cleaning my precum with tender flicks: I wonder, does she truly enjoy this?
I had been six years old when my father had died in our hometown of Dijon, France. The memories of his death, the funeral, and the aftermath, are all sketchy. In fact, the detailed imprints of him on my mind are just as vague.
As an American in the Army, my father was stationed in England. Following the end of his service, he decided to travel through Europe and fly out of whichever country bored him.
He didn’t get very far. My mother had been working as a waitress in a small restaurant in Eastern France.
‘He said he actually thought I was Bridgette Bardot, and wouldn’t take no for an answer.’
The details are literally as brief as that; my mother has never gone into more, except that my father came from a small American town with no ties except his parents that were preoccupied with their own small-town lives. So he never made it back home, and lived out his limited days in Dijon.
Romance, I presume, was much more fleeting back then. It was France, after all. The ridiculous attitude of the French toward women and love, which is no doubt some sort of sick and creamy self-fulfilling prophecy, is just as idiotic as the American attitude of self-importance and drama; masters of the world; the American Dream. And it seems that a combination of the two pathetic attitudes can create more than just a tasteless vomit-and-asshole flavored pie. It resulted in my beautiful, intelligent older sisters, Trinity, six years older and Isis, nine years older. And a slightly unhinged boy: me.
As the eldest, Isis picked up and held together the many fragments of the three lives that had shattered on my father’s death. It had been Isis that dropped out of high school to work to pay the rent and bills whilst my mother wallowed in self-pity; it had been Isis that protected me from bullies as I showed the first signs of blurring the lines of normality; it had been Isis that wrenched the belt free from my mother’s hand when she beat me with it frequently; it had been Isis that made no time for a boyfriend or social occasions in order to ensure that her family were healthy. And it had been Isis that contacted our grandparents in America, surrendering reluctantly to the fact that supporting a family was too exhausting and too maturing for a teenager.
One the morning we left for America, everything had been rushed. People can never just be prepared. The walls had been completely bare, every minute memory of a lifetime swept clean from the very foundations of the building. That memory is so distinct, because I vividly remember my eldest sister rushing about the tiny apartment in her bra. It was the first time I had seen one – and in fact the true form of a woman – and even though I was one of the people she was querying readiness with, my eyes were transfixed on the ample flesh almost spilling out of her bra as she dashed from room to room. It was black, with feeble support, and laced patterns embossed along the front, gaps in it teasing any spectators with fleshy brown nipples growing harder by the cool minute. I later found out that she wore a 38D. Trinity grew into a 38 DD. My mother was a 38E.
‘Mama, Trinity?’ she had called to nobody in particular. And then in French: ‘The taxi is on its way.’
Her beautiful blond hair, almost as long as my mother’s, shimmered radiantly against the sun glaring through the window. I had watched her soft, goose-pimpled back as she stood before the mirror applying basic cosmetics such as foundation and lipstick. She was the spitting Halkalı Escort image of my mother, a young Bridgette Bardot my father might have said. I gawped at her long sexy legs shrouded in thick leggings, presumably for comfort during the flight, and wondered what was causing my fixation. I don’t recall noticing a pantyline, but I probably wouldn’t have known. God, I wish I could revisit that memory in person and pay her ass more attention, if only to see whether she had been wearing any panties at all.
As she turned around to hurry me, she mistook my curiosity for cuteness.
‘Come here, you,’ she smiled as her bouncing breasts hopped toward me, continuing in sultry French vernacular. ‘Give big sister a hug and wait outside, okay?’
As she pulled me into her tits, I felt an electrifying sensation run through my brain. Not my body, but my brain. As the juicy, soft mounds suffocated my entire face, for a brief moment – the briefest – I pouted my lips and kissed Isis’s cleavage. My lips against them felt like Kodak heaven – I never wanted to release such a caress from my mind.
She strode away hollering in French to my mother and sister, but I stood touching the lips that had just pressed against Isis’s big natural tits, embedding the memory into the deepest corner of my brain so that I could revisit it over and over during the long flight across the Atlantic.
I was ten years old.
The television is loud and I stare at it, watching the same run of entertainment I had seen a million times over the years. The woman submits, and the man controls, and that is the essence of it.
‘Baby Brother?’ Trinity whines; I’m focusing too much energy on the television and none on her, the warmth of her labia hovering in my face.
‘Oh,’ I reply, genuinely startled. ‘I’m sorry.’
An aerial view would show Trinity’s beautifully long body carefully positioned over mine, her hair covering the devouring of my cock from view. It would also show two globes of perfectly formed ass splayed above my face with only my nose and forehead visible.
The bobbing of her head stops as she waits, my cock between her lips. Her lightly browned, puckered asshole sits directly an inch from my nose, the neat creases of her pink pussy glistening with her secretions.
I slowly lean forward, my nose nudging her asshole, and run my tongue gently from its opening, down to her clit and then back. Feeling her shudder at my teasing as her lips return to vacuum my cock, I dive into her gushing cunt with my tongue. Her frantic sucking ends for a second as a muffled groan escapes her.
‘Oh God,’ she moans, her head flicking upwards.
‘God, fuck me!’ the woman on television demands.
Trinity spills juices on and over my tongue, covering my entire chin, but the harder she sucks, the deeper my tongue goes. I bring a hand to spank her beautifully firm ass cheek whilst the other rubs one of her soft breasts. She rubs her mound up and down my face quicker than I can lap, smearing it with her juices, ensuring that my cock doesn’t leave her lips.
I spank her with both hands now, only causing her to gyrate harder, the nub of her rubbery clit finding the tip of my tongue as her labia run up the tip of my nose and around my mouth.
‘You taste amazing,’ I muffle.
‘Pineapple,’ she replies, her tongue licking each of my balls with careful attention. Her hands clutch each one as she runs her flat tongue back up to the head of my shaft and slurps on the head as though it were a popsicle.
I move back slightly, sliding two fingers inside the meaty puffiness of her labia, losing the tips. Pushing hard, I slide them inward, my entire fingers engulfed by her pussy, curling them into the fuzzy patch within.
She quivers from head to toe, and the sensation on my cock is wonderful as she shoves the entire shaft in her mouth, her throat twitching as she swallows the head and keeps it there. The throbbing against her impressive gag reflex causes me to jut my fingers more aggressively. My tongue finds her now moist asshole, and caresses each line and wrinkle. Trinity sucks faster, intermittently impaling her entire face on my cock to feel it pulsate at the back of her neck.
As my fingers continue to massage her g-spot faster than she gulps my member, I spank the ass whose hole has now given a little for my tongue to enter. The tip receives a hint of pineapple from her tiny tight rectum, and I probe further to get a better taste.
‘Ah!’ she exclaims, resting her head on my thigh, my cock against her face as she twitches in pleasure.
One of her hands reaches back and begins furiously rubbing her clit as my fingers inside her match the pace. With each of her moans comes another loving kiss on my thigh and any other area her lips can find as she swims in delight. Her free hand pins the base of my cock to allow it to inflate and throb against the outside of her lower cheek.
As my tongue continues almost a quarter into her scented asshole, her hips begin to give and her Halkalı Escort Bayan face turns positions to press its forehead into my thigh. I slap her harder and her rear rises, one hand still wrapped around my cock, the other still working her clit.
Her body trembles as her moans build into a crescendo. My fingers dig deeper, and she bucks against them as her screams echo against the walls, her pussy expelling a clear liquid onto my chest. Unaware of her actions, she presses her entire genitalia onto my face, restricting my oxygen whilst her body convulses. My fingers never leave her pussy and she spasms in joy as the squirting continues for several minutes. Her screams come in quick shallow gasps with each spurt of her liquid; it covers my torso and leaks onto the bed. I look up at the back of her head, glimpsing her face rapidly contorting but not removing any of her beauty, as I slowly retract my fingers, the skin flat from the clamping of her vagina walls. Trinity falls forward onto my chest, all strength leaving her, breathing heavily.
The woman on television continues to moan in quick succession with each pounding of her audibly slippery cunt.
‘I’m okay,’ she pants weakly.
I roll her over and hoist myself off the side of the bed, my cock dangling above her face as she lies spent, wet with her own cum, recovering.
I hadn’t slept a wink on the plane. Isis, Trinity, and my mother had given me the window seat so that I could take in the sights of this beautiful world. In reality, all I could see were clouds. My mind had been filled for five hours with my sister’s beautiful cleavage, and my indistinguishable imprint on it, which would be in my brain for eternity.
I looked at my family in the seats next to me. Isis had ended up wearing a camisole and hooded sweater, her blond hair pulled together with a scrunchie at the back of her head. Trinity was half sprawled across Isis, her head burrowed into the crook between her older sister’s neck and shoulder.
Trinity, though sixteen, was still a teenager. My mother had forbid her wearing anything provocative. But her light olive skin needed barely any help from make up in looking flawless. In years to come I would find a variety of skimpy and sexy underwear in her drawers, delicate and expensive thongs and lace panties with the crotch missing, as well as make up only intended for one purpose. The contraband would have been enough to give my mother a heart attack. Or so I would have thought.
Both of my sisters magnetized the opposite sex, but it was only the older one that found it annoying. Everyone suspected that Isis was a lesbian, a suspicion aggravated by the fact that she would go on to keep a company of only female friends. But Trinity loved the attention. Every time a man spoke to her, she would leave it until the last possible minute to tell him that she was sixteen years old. They were always so surprised, and demanded, with humor, some proof. Looking back, I wonder whether men wanted her to show her identification, or have her drop her panties to reveal how innocent and tight her pussy was. Or had they wanted their cocks in her mouth, just to see how experienced she was?
Had it not been for Isis extracting her at almost every tipping point, many husbands and boyfriends would have lost their relationships because of Trinity’s inappropriate flirting. And of course, two perfectly formed, natural and soft mounds of fleshy cushion hanging from her chest bigger than most grown women did not help in establishing my sister’s age.
They had been hanging in a transparent white vest that day, a solid white bra visible beneath it.
‘Isis?’ I whispered, careful not to wake Trinity, or extract my mother from her alcohol-induced state.
‘Oui, mon cher?’ she whispered, turning her head toward me, a warm smile spread across her face for her baby brother.
‘I need to pee,’ I whispered, embarrassed.
She stroked my cheek with her palm before rolling Trinity onto the other side of her seat. Taking my hand she led me through the seats and down the aisle into the queue for the toilet. For two whole minutes I had been face to face with Isis’s beautifully round buttocks. I did not know why I was so curious them. The curves pressed against the leggings, the flesh curving round and folding to form perfect creases at the tops of her legs. I was literally three of four centimeters from the crack, being able to see every potential imperfection – where her actual ass was concerned, there were none.
I looked a little harder, oblivious to anyone that might presume that a perverted kid was about to be swallowed by his big sister’s meaty behind. Running vertically from the invisible waistband, through the seam between Isis’s crack and around the front to unknown territory that the leggings followed, I saw a very faint, but rather wide strip of darker, moist material. I could only presume at the time that it was the minor formation of sweat, or that she had peed in her clothes. I later learned Escort Halkalı that women tend to secrete juices of heaven when they feel even the slightest bit aroused. Perhaps it was that?
I leaned in to surrender my face to her butt, to sniff it, to discover why Isis had a wet strip between her ass cheeks –
‘Come on,’ she said, stopping me just in time.
Looking back and smiling at me, she beckoned me into the toilet. God, I loved my sister beyond words.
Inside the toilet, she unbuttoned my jeans and helped me aim my prepubescent cock into the toilet as I relieved myself of about a liter of cola. As I finished up and washed my hands, the flush startled me. Looking round, water dripping from my fingers, Isis smiled as she yanked her leggings down, leaving them wrapped around her knees as she squatted above the toilet. The bare flesh, the beautiful skin of her slightly toned thighs transfixed me once again, and I could not stop staring at how perfect they were. I looked slowly from her knees, up her thighs, savoring each moment. And even though her hooded sweater veiled anything else from view, I watched as a thick stream of light yellow piss jetted into the bowl below. I don’t know why I felt so happy, but I wanted to stay in this toilet watching Isis piss for eternity. If she had farted, if she had taken a shit in front of my very eyes, I truly believe that my lasting obsession with her would not have died. My fixation moved from her gushing holy water to her smiling face.
‘Almost done, sweetheart,’ she cooed lovingly in French.
Suddenly, turbulence thrust her backward and me forward into the line of a straight stream of my Isis’s piss. It sprayed onto my jeans and hands, and the pleasure I felt being so close to my sister was immeasurable. Immediately, the bud ejecting the urine closed and she apologized profusely.
‘Wash your hands,’ she said as she quickly replaced her leggings and flushed the toilet.
I turned to the sink and let the water run, but whilst she glimpsed away I wiped her piss on my jeans. I could not bring myself to wash away something that I felt so curious and peaceful about.
Upon returning to my seat, she replaced my seat-belt and took Trinity’s head into her lap. I looked up at her smile, reaching to kiss her on her beautifully soft cheek.
‘Je’taime, darling. Go to sleep.’
I curled into a ball, bringing my hand to my face, sniffing it. The gorgeous smell of Isis’s slightly salted acidity was wonderful. I closed my eyes and stuck my thumb into my mouth. It was still a little damp.
‘Glgg, glgg, glgg.’
Trinity is draped across the bed, her head hanging off of it, my cock choking her throat. I thrust deep her into mouth, and I can feel her delicate palms tapping the bottoms of my thighs as she silently begs for air. I feel the contraction of her throat around the head of my shaft, feel it twist as her body mildly shakes. Then I rapidly stroke in and out before releasing her.
‘Glgg-glgg-glgg-glgg – ahhhhhhh’, she gasps, inhaling as much oxygen as possible whilst I let my cock hang above her face, covering her chin and nose in thick ropes of her own saliva. I straighten up a little, watching spit-cum drip into her eyes. They are rolling into her head as she catches her breath, a sense of ecstasy finally beginning to fill her again.
‘My ass,’ I whisper. ‘Lick it.’
She whimpers, still catching her breath.
‘But – ‘
‘Please,’ I look down at her, threateningly. ‘I’ll show them.’
Surrendering, Trinity reaches up and begins to massage my balls with her tongue. She lets each small flick, each wholesome lick, linger whilst I moan quietly, one hand on the remote control raising the volume on the couple nastily fucking through a crack in the door, the other pulling on Trinity’s wide brown nipple. The pimples on her areola begin to harden as I yank gently on the hardening centre.
‘Annnngh, angh, mmmm,’ she moans. The flat of her tongue warms my balls one by one, special attention paid to each delicate millimeter of my average sack with a low hum. She sucks the skin hanging above my perineum, allowing her teeth to graze the area. It causes my cock to pulse, and she senses this, reaching up to wrap her fingers around the base of my shaft to tug gently, consistently.
‘Oh, Trin,’ I moan, trying desperately to keep my tone neutral.
She continues to tug at my cock, running her fingers from the base to the head and back, just enough pressure to ensure that I don’t ejaculate over one of her tits as it jiggles in a loose circular motion. The soft, rubbery nipple between my thumb and forefinger pins the other one down.
I had seen my sister’s body many times before, especially whilst growing up. But right now, in the heat of euphoric arousal and covered in her juices, I focus on how erotic it is. The soft flesh, hard but not muscular, slim but not skinny; it makes my mouth water. A foot or so away, a thin strip of blond pubic hair, layered trimly around the triangular formation leading to my heaven, glistens as she runs a hand from the invisible slit below it, up to her bellybutton and along the base of my cock. The finger dripping with her own cum teasingly skates along the bottom of my cock, up the head, and eventually the hole.