One In The Same
Brian Francis Ferguson
All Rights Reserved
...Continued
A pause in the action, and then the room went silent, their fucky-lovemaking as suddenly void of music as if they'd both gone stone deaf. George had stepped up onto the couch, standing on the sofa cushions and ponyed atop Maggie's back, and the sight of this reflected in the mirror she thought looked a little silly until she saw her brother's face stricken with a dangerous ardor and she heard a dreadful resolve in his voice as he told her, repeating several times, that he so dearly loved her, that he was in love with her, and afraid for her brother she answered him as many times that she as well very much loved him, it's alright Georgie, but he seemed inconsolable, saying only I love you, Maggie, I'm so in love with you.
Then, his fingers closing over her wrists, "--but now I'm going to rape you, love, as I said I would; really, awfully fuck your sweet butt like I've always wanted to" and in their reflection she saw him hide his face in her hair, felt his breath steamy at her throat, and watching George's hips rise high toward the ceiling, his marbled pillar bridging their bodies, she barely got out ' ok--' before he broke back into her ass with 180 lb. drives bigger than all the past hour's thrusts as one.
They both heard the microscopic crack of her sphincter and Maggie screamed weakly once as she briefly hurt virgin-again twice in as many hours, her asshole not-quite accommodating her brother's bloodlust. The weight and strength of his split of her spread her stance flat, driving her pussy to the upholstery and stifling her voice in mid-sentence--elementary masculine violence, too rough at this late stage, she thought; last winter she'd slipped and sat down on the ice softer than this--and so as he slammed-home hurtled in & out of her, she told him what women know all men want to hear, oh-no, oh-no, your so big and strong, it's too much, blah-blah.
George listened to Maggie recite the porn-queen script, barreling into her what felt like from across the room, and waited for her to really speak to him. The scary buttfuck he'd promised her wouldn't begin for another ten minutes of these race-engine industrial thrusts--20 inches per cycle, 50 feet per minute--and not until long-after their scheduled hour had expired; when as the oil began to fail and feeling his cock chaff with the building friction, he heard his sister begin to talk less and say more, her face a crimson mask of increasingly contorted grimaces, her wrists twisting within his grip.
"georgie? baby?--it hurts."
"I love you, Maggie" drop-hammering granite and titanic into her astride her hips and from almost a foot overhead.
What was her still silky if frayed rosebud at the agreed-upon end of tonight's romp was, now trespassing well into the 2nd hour, fast becoming a tired crater, her anus beaten loosed and unmoored from it's diamond-tight maidenhood of so many years, her beautiful if common enough behind a home for his dragon in which to behave or breathe flame, in which to delight or damage.
Maggie had felt her asshole cooked. Then dry and burning as it got raw as salt. Now afire. And alighting her behind as bright as a match head--and so soon since his especially thorough orgasm--this searing fuck-bludgeoning of her rectum from above could potentially continue for ... until when? the nightly news? midnight? 1 a.m.?
She began to beg George to stop, spilling tears--please georgie, stop -- then bribe him, offering to suck him off clean, unwashed shit-filthy fresh out of her ass, and swallow every drop of his sperm. She tried somewhat to fight him, squealed ' rape' twice, then bit him, sinking her teeth into his forearm, and thought suddenly she might vomit--throwing-up or pissing herself would certainly stop him, she was as suddenly sure; but she then felt one thin hot trickle that she knew to be neither semen nor lubricant slip down the back of her leg, and she instead just laid her head to one side and began to openly bawl, mournfully giving up.
George didn't go any easier on her, but he sobbed into the back of her neck at the scent of blood, and she wept a little easier. And in the closing moments of their tear they together wrung from themselves the last of the evening's lusts with a Herculean dribble and a tumultuous trickle, George ejaculating again into his sister, and Maggie, in spite of herself, as well cumming with him while the timer to their right blindly blinked zeros at them with mute, digital impassiveness, it's exact signal for them to quit having another hour ago imperceptibly passed unacknowledged.
George managed only another dozen or so chops with his diminishing erection until he could finally remain only still to the hilt inside Maggie, deflating, and she felt her brother at last softening and then doughy inside her before he reluctantly, sloppily, uncorked from her butt and stepped down. Maggie turned around, gingerly, and seated herself upright with her leg tucked under her.
"I need a towel" she whispered, as if to not be overheard by even herself, and he stood and instead gathered his cock into his sister's mouth for her to briefly suck anyway, then gathered her into his arms slightly higher than to her feet to hold her off the floor in his embrace until she conceded to wrap her legs around him and let herself leak. George carried Maggie to his bedroom and dropped her into bed among his giant pillows and sweat-soured sheets and pillowcases, not letting her hide from him. He asked her to not escape him, to not wash off their iniquity, and she told him there was a wedge of cheese in the fridge. He returned from the kitchen after a minute with eats and drinks and smokes, and they talked for a long time: friendly, facetiously chiding--there was a small swollen split at the corner of his lip, lavender fingerprints polka-dotted her buttocks, and they'd both walk funny for a day or two--and when they did sleep, finally and for the first time their bodies enfolded naked in the other's, George especially slept restfully and for more consecutive hours than he had in years.
In the main room, their smells remained awake and all over; the camera could record only the still for the next hour, then ran out of tape.
*****
Maggie sat straddling her brother, wearing only one of his dress shirts and twirling her bikini panties around her index finger, watching him wake up. It was the following afternoon and she was hungry. Stirring from sleep, trying to roll onto his side between her thighs, George opened his eyes and confusedly wondered if this all hadn't already happened before exchanging morning breath with his sister when she kissed him.
"Meet me at my place, love; we're going out" she said, and got off of him to leave for her own apartment.
George showed up forty-five minutes later, freshly showered and groomed, and Maggie wide-open answered the door two raps into the first knocks, her hair still half-damp since her shower, and of course conspicuously too-late closing her robe, the game still afoot. Smiling, she watched his eyes while he held her gaze for the ten seconds he could effect before his sight irresistibly swept her exposure and, having won another point, she casually covered up.
"Grab a beer, have a seat (yours, my maggie-luv, he thought)" she said, "I'm almost ready (for you again, georgie-sweets; we're just gettin' started)" and she left him in the doorway to go finish dressing, closing her bedroom door behind her. Maggie bought fussy beers that could not be just twisted open and in lieu of a bottle-opener he cleanly clipped off the cap of his beer from a protruding brick from the fireplace (sharp; hot; her).
She re-emerged obsolete-chic, dressed in a fitted black turtleneck sweater, a short plaid skirt, and knee-high boots; George was dressed to not kill, conservative-blah this side of invisible. Maggie left a kiss print on his throat as they departed, her mark, corvette red, that he'd wear loud and pristine for the rest of the day. They had rented a limousine and rode miles out of town to one of the city's surrounding hamlets, the whole way keeping the partition between them closed and having tipped the driver well up-front to mind his own damn business. They held hands while idly strolling the narrow streets and window-shopping, their waning folk-rock recognition for once welcome, and talked of movies, music, the weather, the store-front displays, lively speaking of anything except last night, thinking only of it. She knew with a smile every time he stole a glance at her backside and he thought all the while, with great satisfaction, of the scar of last night's sex, the evidence of his presence, curtained under her skirt and tucked neatly between her cheeks. Without discussion they'd decided on the same bistro, the same heavy food, and as they ate she was pleased that rather than having cooked the meal she had at least figured considerably into his improved appetite. During a pause in their chat, she caught and held his eyes between bites and made a slow show of adjusting her seat, shifting her weight from one womanly-broad bun to the other.
"Ouch" she grinned, "--nice work, stud" but he didn't blanch. He instead reached into his jacket and brought out the tarnished, low-gold band he'd given to her when they were kids but had secreted from her some time ago. Checkmate. Gin. Game, Set, Match. He took her left hand and placed the ring over her third finger, incanting softly "With this ring, I do thee wed ..." It had been re-sized, fit perfectly, and was still junk. Maggie got teary. George said they'd shop for one worth a small mortgage tomorrow, and she told him to shut up, I want this one.
They both felt far more comfortable for now not really mentioning last night but for eye contact between them and its promise of the sex they knew they would someway do with each other, brother and sister, tonight and in subsequent nights, their perversity for now still clandestine even in the light of day and among normal people: regular guys and gals and other decent folk, and, paradoxically in spite of the sex-shop two blocks down the street in the other direction that they didn't know was there--striping, raw-hide leather whips, drop cloths, locking fur-lined steel handcuffs, and rubber masks and gags Since 1981-- they assumed themselves for as long as they were anywhere but home to be the whole goddamn world's sole freak show. And relishing their deceit of all humanity, they paid their bill and stole away from the restaurant and into the limo that they had unnecessarily had parked hidden in back, slowly climbing over-around-and-again-over each other sealed within the confines of the backseat, the car doors closed about them and the gravel parking lot crunching under the tires as the limousine lumbered onto the asphalt road, wrestling gently, their quiet play novel given that they both knew, fully clothed and this time well in advance of the act, that sex between them tonight would happen as legitimate lovers would anticipate, this moment unbeknownst to either of them as an unnerving celebration of the twenty hour anniversary of when George was first infinitely inside Maggie and she was trying to catch her breath so she could then spend the ensuing forty seconds piteously suppressing a cry to him to stop, it still doesn't fit.
Facing him, Maggie sat saddled in George's lap and they smooched while the Cadillac rode them home through the rain. "I owe you a blow when we get back" she told him, "and later we'll make love properly; but don't gag me, I'll swallow" and she then happily belched a hot fume of wine & garlic in his face.
"While you're so generously ingesting my seed--fruitlessly spent up your butt or down your throat--when do you mean to get pregnant?" George said and Maggie looked at him for a long moment, silently, now her truths indefensible. She curled up beside him, laying her head in his lap, and George petted her, massages segueing into molestations--rubbing her shoulder so as to squeeze her breast, stroking her hip so as to pat her fanny--caressing and copping feels, the two of them quietly listening to the wet road-noise humming up through the floorboards.
"When did you know?" she asked after a time, thumping his knee with her fist.
"You were too good last night--so much, so suddenly. I'd have done anything for you anyway--and will; indebting me to you with what I've always wanted from you was ambrosia. Banging your ass is a bribe I'll be glad to exact from you regularly and frequently from now on."
"I'll be healed in a few days; feel free."
"Not always, but another time you'll have to genuinely fight me; we'll be arguing and mad at each other, and when we're most loud and insulting and pissed-off, you'll at that moment have to guess as to whether we'll reason out our differences--or I force you over something and we listen to the crack of a paddle on your bare ass for a half-hour and I ass-rape you between your stung buns for an hour after that--and afterwards agree to disagree with you. Between feedings, of course, or even before you're too pregnant."
"I'll bear that in mind tonight while you're cumming in my mouth" and she gently closed her teeth over his thumb.
They arrived in front of their building and the driver assisted Maggie out of the car as if she were a queen. George tipped him half-again more and he gave George his card and an assurance that he could be available again as ordered .
Hand in hand, at Maggie's door George started to continue upstairs to his apartment, pulling her along. "I've got drink and smokes" she said, pulling him back. "As for the other, I'm still sore, and you've still other work to do. C'mere."
Her apartment smelled clean and fresh, and given the discrepancy he could only conclude that his place stunk. George imagined making Maggie cry out in his own bed, her face in his unwashed sheets, before this time next week and he hardened. She told him to make himself comfortable as she left him in the main room, so he stripped naked and went to the refrigerator for a beer. He this time looked for a bottle opener and after a swig of brew he snooped for something slick and yet reasonably fit for oral consumption. He decided against vegetable oil in favor of either maple syrup or Cool Whip; Maggie had been stark naked from the bathroom some thirty seconds before and had been watching George smear his erection with the whipped cream, swirling the tip of his cock in the plastic tub, and giggling she indicated he follow her into her bedroom.
She turned on the stereo, and following her into her room George turned it back off. A bell in the back of her mind rang with the feeble, imprecise alarm of a wind-up clock, and listening to it weakly un-spring, she reminded herself that given their origins, better her brother tonight--whatever he had in mind--than those hill-country pigs when she was twelve--their uncles, after their father of course, if they hadn't together run--and she stood hundreds of miles and a million dollars away at the head of her high, giant bed, facing George in the failing light.
"I'd have done you unadorned, ba--" she started to say before he suddenly kissed her with a passionate strength that surprised and dazed her enough for her to only somewhat register that he'd said that he was in love with her and that this wasn't going to be what she had expected. He turned her facing from him as gracefully as if they were dancers and, lowering himself the length of his erection, he slipped the tip of his cock between her buttocks for the second time in as many days and stood up through her newly compliant back-pocket--forgiving, subordinate yield born of last night's carnage--as easily as if it had always belonged there, embracing Maggie from behind and lifting her to just off her toes by the base of his meat at her anus.
Maggie gasped and kicked and when the crown of her head crashed back against his cheekbone, George tasted a drop of his sister's tear splash into his mouth.
"Georgie...we have other business" she sniffled, still tender.
He lowered her so she stood flat-footed again but still held her close. She'd stopped clawing at him.
"I want you to suck me off, Maggie, like in the videos you know I'm so fond of; right after it's been deep up your ass" he whispered to her, and pumped her twice long and slowly for emphasis.
"This isn't the scary buttfuck you promised me?" stalling, delaying the fellatio; maybe he'll finish this way and I'll make him wash, she thought.
George thrust twice more, lifting Maggie off her heels. He let her back to her feet and stood behind her, motionless inside her, for a full minute, soaking himself in her implicit filth, she knew.
When he spoke he thrilled and defeated her in one fell swoop. "My cock's up your ass, Maggie, and then it's going to be in your mouth and you're going to suck it and taste yourself and then I'm going to cum in your mouth and then you'll taste me, my sperm, your own brother's semen, and then swallow it--all of it. Ready?"
"Yes, baby, I will--but, really Georgie, I'm serious; you force me...you choke me, I chew. Careful?"
George unhooked from his sister's ass and when he sat at the edge of her bed she spun around and strode toward the bathroom. Maggie was in possession of a blued, snub-nose, five-shot .357 magnum--and a box of hollow-point rounds--that he knew she knew how to, and had before, fired, egregiously so, one time years ago when they were kids in defense of themselves, after money for which they'd performed, for food and a room, had been denied them and their mere survival was in question. She fisted her medicine cabinet and scattered everything but what she walked away with, and circling back she curtsied in her closet for some other items and flung the lot of her gatherings at his face as she walked back through the bedroom into the kitchen: the crass tube of lube, an equally vulgar butt-plug--a D-cell, 9 volt quaker, unchristened--and a wooden ping-pong paddle and two pairs of novelty handcuffs variously bounced and clanged off George's forehead into his lap. Maggie dragged a narrow, straight-back chair into the bedroom and propped it firmly to the foot of her bed. She straddled it backwards and folded her arms over the chair back, resting her chin, not shooting him.
"Tonight won't be so easy for either of us, huh Georgie?--especially me, I gather" she told him while locking each of her own wrists around the chair back to the iron rungs of the footboard, either cuffs' trigger within a fingertip's touch of the other, and gripping the bars as if jailed. "' Gimme, gimme, gim-meh the honky-tonk blues-- awlright' " she sang to him and let him unclip then clap the free ends of the handcuff clasps each one rung farther apart and out of her reach. He put a pillow between her head and the chair back and tied Maggie's ankles to the chair's forelegs with neckties she'd stolen from him, dumb ones she knew he'd just as soon not wear anyway.
Maggie laid her face to the side of the pillow and so luxuriated in her restraints that he had to re-secure her ankles, and he watched her muscles again tense, smooth tensility running from her calves up her thighs and over her buttocks through her back and shoulders. He kissed the nape of her neck and liberally re-greased her anus, doping the blued, still-oily wreckage of her rectum's crushed virginity and her hole twitched at the touch. George fell to his knees behind Maggie and kissed both of her buns--cool, soft and smooth, as tenderly as if each were an infant's forehead, especially smooching the teeth-prints he'd left in her a dozen years ago when they were each last innocent of the other's body and first, if obliviously, wild for the other's sex--and licked her anus in and around like lapping the icing off a donut, tonguing her asshole, her eye-wide-open then emitting a methane puff of exhaust in his face (he heard her above him smile to herself) and he burrowed further, inhaling from her furrow, tasting crude and breathing-in her rich, rural soil.
"I'm gonna mark you again, Maggie" and so she rolled the meat of her buttocks off the chair's seat and into his mouth, and George slowly sank his teeth into the most outward fleshy aspect of Maggie's left ass-cheek, leaving a neat set of bite marks opposite the perfect scars he'd left on her right that had years ago healed into faint indentations that only a doctor could get close enough to question and only a lover would recognize. "Bite me, Georgie" she whispered to him without the least hint of humor or venom, "--mark me again" while her rump quivered in his jaws. He un-punctured his teeth from her, having forever precluded her modeling of a thong bikini, or otherwise have to explain those perfect bite marks to all who already silently suspected almost worse than their own sick thoughts regarding themselves to the extent that no one ever said anything (unthinkable; as clouds passing behind the sun, as wanton a suggestion that the Olsen Twins are queer for each other) of her own brother's taste for her that she knew she'd never really deny if asked, nor even deny she loved and courted. He kissed away his boo-boo of her with the greedy covetousness of an animal.
*****
Maggie had held the gun that they'd brought down with them, and George had carried the guitar, a twelve-string--their valuables in lieu of provisions. They lay wrapped together in army surplus overcoats, hidden from yesterday and tomorrow both for that one first night without a roof over them, bordering somewhere that wasn't home, breathing no louder than cooing to one another required; thirteen, and a small cannon resting armed, un-hammered, between them.
They survived well, though: $300 dollars a night, cash money, for three hours Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights--no questions asked, and the occasional complementary case of cheap beer that back-when would last them a month--performing at roadhouses where roughnecks cashed their checks and college kids went slumming with their allowances.
Maggie couldn't really beat-up her brother anymore after they were fifteen but she didn't stop trying until one night when they were sixteen. They'd all their lives slept together under a common blanket, and still for years after George had stolen them away from off the mountains a long time ago--a Saturday night or two before any of their uncles, and maybe even their own father, might have her--and as children had clung to each other in the same bed in any lonely motor inn that would admit them.
They'd begin sleep every night appropriately enough, lying away from the center of the bed, but awake the next morning generally together in the middle--sprawled at odds and tangled in each other's limbs and hair, dried drool adhering their lips, their noses touching--and in the interim, for the hours of their most still, unconscious dream state, fit close and flush as spoons but for the ten minutes, 2 or 3 times a week, somewhere in the early, quietest part of the dark, when Maggie would dimly awaken and become drowsily aware of George bumping at her backside. His wet dreams hadn't involved her until they were fourteen and he was waking up hard against his sister's newly nubile booty with what felt like a croquet mallet down the front of his underwear, and tugging his bulge out stiff through his briefs, he'd rub and nudge his wand bare against the soft weave stretched taut across Maggie's beautifully broadening girly butt. For the first months she'd just wait him out, pretending to sleep through it until his loamy wet-heat happened and they could both sleep again, her inseams gluey and his drying stain starching her panty's seat and padded cotton crotch (he wet the bed, she'd chide, for the three days each month she was bitchy and off-limits to any more than ' goodnight ' and a handshake). But used to it and hidden from him alongside his front, she'd begun to participate: snaking her forefinger through the lower leghole of her panties and discreetly twiddling herself off with her brother, cumming her tidy orgasms--cute, as she thought of them, pretty chirps of pleasure unlike the racking, tacky messes her brother's dick sicked-up and left coagulating between them--that were no more than squeezing her thighs and arching as if stretching in her sleep while George polluted her.
She'd have missed it if it had stopped; hell, they had always been rubbing uglies and discovering new touchy-feely handfuls of each other while growing up--hair-pulling and more hair-pulling begat breast-grabbing begat ball-squeezing then break! until the next time either needed an advantage over the other (and one morning just last week she'd awakened with her nose in his fly, rolling off without his knowing)--but this use and indulgence, somnambulate or not, they both knew, crossed some line beyond what either could fake as anything but adult: unclean and as good as only being blessedly bad can feel, particularly the night they knew he wanted to wear her and their pretending ended; when he reached under her head and held her across the chest at her bosom, and clamped his left hand atop her hipbone--strapped into him, for driving power--and rocking her back and forth onto him, he began jabbing at her some harder with rude, rutting prods perpendicular to her crescent and crevice both: haphazardly, vainly, knocking at her cracks upper and lower behind her sheathed in a film of undergarment that blocked the direct access into Maggie that he suddenly had to have--in turns squashing her breast and buns and riding her with jarring gouges at her backside that were now no mere masturbatory amusement and sought to rip past her underpants and barge into her body. She reached back for his hand and squeezed as he was finishing on her, then unbelted from him and got out of bed as though an unrelated thought had just occurred to her: is the door locked? were the blinds drawn?
"What's this?" she said, nervously, not asking, standing in the dark and brushing at her seat bottom over the wet spot, as if she'd been out-cold all those times before.
"Come back to bed, Maggie" not answering, he said, mortified, re-packaging himself, "--I'm sorry (i got caught and it's back to beating-off by myself over lingerie ads; but i do so dearly love you)."
"(i'm not ready) Be nice" she said, cowed, and climbed close again under the covers with him, and the next day turned the room's air unit down to sixty on her way out the door to buy them each a pair of heavy flannel pajamas and a family-size quart bottle of cocoanut oil. George was in a pawnshop across the street buying her a promise ring.
From then on for the next year, every third or fourth night, she'd emerge from the bathroom cupping a pool of the bath oil in her hands and clap over his lap while he was in bed watching monster movies, and they'd as well do battle. Wearing the small cheap diamond these nights--on her right hand and still not letting him lay her--Maggie always won in the beginning: sitting on his chest with her ass in his face and farting up his nose when she could manage, pinning him beneath her and watching TV while oily jacking-off her brother and trying not to be fascinated with his penis any more than what it took to relieve them both of his middle-night emissions ("Leak now, Georgie, or forever hold your piece!"). He stayed happily trapped under her while her bejeweled right fist pumped him and as he outgrew her hand, but his discharge still just a pubescent sploog, a dribble she'd smear back down his dick and then go wash her hands of before she'd crawl under the covers with him so they could both sleep. By the time they were fifteen, he knew to just lay there quietly those nights, shirtless, while she jacked him off through his pajama fly and he'd lazily squeeze her buns through her pajama bottoms, and she subsequently found herself not trying to pass gas in her dumb brother's face, now disinterested in the joke. Maggie had begun wearing a designated tee shirt as George's drips grew to become greater geysers, leaping out at and all over her front, and in their sixteenth year, globs of her brother's spunk were getting caught in her hair; when one night his whole load was dripping off her face and from the end of her nose, she from then on lay at his side to masturbate him. After months of this--handling him, and for the past year having watched and felt him get longer and stronger, all over and in every sense--as thick as her wrist, and wiry hair even, in places where he was once as smooth as she--and aware he had been, for more time than she was willing to admit knowing, letting her win -- Maggie was frustrated with him for reasons neither of them were old enough to know anything about, and fisting her palm oily over her twin brother's cock, teasing him for being so disproportionate (when her tits didn't really fit on her own frame, let alone pressed under the old shirt she wore) George swirled his tongue inside Maggie's ear, and instead of playing away from him--in the throes of ovulation, herself especially horney--she spent the first nicest five minutes of her brother's love life bruising his lower throat with a hickey. When she wouldn't let him sex her neck in return, for appearance's sake, he strong-armed her around and over the bed's edge, hooked down her pajama bottoms, and bit her caboose, her cool, sixteen-year-old's buttermilk booty; she yelled at him, laughing, without really trying to stop him, not even when she felt his penis recklessly poking around behind her, and she let him pull her shirt up her back and over her head and off. Maggie threw the crusty shirt aside off the foot of the bed and rolled over to slap George's face for letting him make her naked; but they instead just looked at each other for a long time after what a laugh was worth while the 10 p.m. news droned on in the background. George began kissing Maggie, a salivating series of honest passions and their first that wasn't just a smoochy excuse to belch in the other's face--cupping one of her bare breasts in his hand and for the first time in his life putting his tongue in her mouth as a gesture of affection rather than to bother her--and Maggie as sloppily kissed him back, their first as lovers and their eyes wide open throughout, he searching hers for permission and she, his, for signs of intent. She then quietly rolled back over with her face in the bed sheets, topless and with her pajama bottoms still bunched around her knees. George tripped out of his own pajama pants and mindlessly, too-quickly jammed his bone forward slick between Maggie's buns and through her butt's clenched-fist virginity. He stood from his knees to his heels, anchored inside his sister and hearing her plead with him in hushed shouts that he was in the wrong hole, it's too big, georgie, you're in the wrong hole, and he'd never heard her--guttural--so need him to summarily do--or stop doing--anything before with such choked urgency. Maggie clawed at the bed mattress for the first several seconds, even throwing herself deeper onto him to buck him off, before she reached back with both hands to push him out of her body. He grabbed her wrists and brought them around toward her head, only to have her cooperatively pull their hands together beneath her between her breasts as if they were in tandem prayer to ensure as well he stayed inside. He squatted flat-footed over her hips and, pile-driving his weight from his feet 45 degrees down into her, George began inexpertly cannonballing up his twin sister's ass twice as fast as time is generally measured and Maggie barked hoarse-voice cries of shock--yelps, ' ah-ah-ah' --at each of his 180 or so punches up her can in only the minute and a half they fucked before he abruptly stopped deep, blew her full wet-cement molten inside her, and fell out. Maggie bolted to her feet from him, clutching at her back crack and hurrying toward the bathroom. He heard her lock the door behind her and turn the bathtub spigots on full. She didn't reappear until after the late-movie had begun, tied into a heavy bathrobe, shielded within two pair of panties, and wearing a tampon two weeks in advance of her period, tucked-up inside her in the wrong hole."I bleed often enough without any help from you" she said with weepy, forced cheer, climbing back into bed with her brother as he lay huddled, bewilderedly apologizing to her, and rolling over into her embrace, he nosed open the front of her robe and suckled from her tit and she let him. Eight years would pass before either of them would again take a serious run at the other; she kept the ring on her person, but didn't wear it anymore.
*****
The cartoon grease had numbed her anus and Maggie didn't know it wasn't George's cock again inside her until the base of the conical butt-plug popped past her rectum and her ring snapped closed over it. She couldn't reach it and she couldn't excrete it, her wrists comfy-cuff shackled to the footboard of her own bed one-too-many rungs apart, the easy-releases just beyond her fingertips. She gripped the wrought-iron bars, listening to her brother move around behind her. George then flicked-on the switch.
The toy rattled loud, louder, even snuffled up Maggie's ass, than either of them thought discreet, and they both startled, laughing at the racket. George kissed the back of her neck, patted her right butt cheek, and left the room, leaving her to the device.
For the first few minutes, Maggie bumped and ground her pelvis in some rhythm of her own in lieu of music in time to the toy's buzz in her butt; by the fourth minute she was trying to pry the footboard's bars free of their welds and her pussy had hopelessly stained the chair's upholstery. After the fifth minute Maggie had already cum once and was calling over her shoulder to George to fuck her ass, we'll get me pregnant tomorrow, just buttfuck me now, georgie, fuck me, please fuck my ass georgie, she begged her brother while he waited in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer. She heard him rummage through a drawer and run the ice machine and thought she had no whiskey.
George listened to Maggie groan, wail, then outright beg him for two minutes more before he returned to her with a small bowl of shaved ice and stood behind her over the sweaty, panting neediness that used to be his sister's willfulness. He crossed his left arm over her chest, holding her steady to him, her right breast in his cold palm, and he made clear to her what he wanted. She didn't try to see the small oar he held in his right hand.
"You'll suck my cock, Maggie" of course you will, love.
"No; make me" yes, of coarse I will georgie, egging, begging him on.
Spank; as he'd wanted and she'd expected. George had brought the paddle's sandpaper surface down flat on Maggie's right bun; it got her attention, stinging more so than she had thought it would, but she kissed his forearm instead of chewing off a bite.
The toy still hummed Maggie's anus, less so however, as the batteries began to run down.
Spank, again. A pink sunburn partially eclipsing her right white moon, and the long ago love-bite grinned back at him from its center in a kind of smiley-face from their adolescence that stood out against the blush solar backdrop.
"I'll get you pregnant, Maggie" George said, "and you'll have our babies; but first you'll suck my cock when I bring it to your mouth, fresh out of your ass, and you'll swallow my cum when I spunk."
Spank, "Say you'll suck my cock clean, Maggie" and another spank, "...and drink my sperm."
Three more spanks in quick succession (sharp; hot; him) and Maggie agreed to her brother's demands, verbatim. George pressed a handful of the crushed ice to her moon glow, handling, cooling her cheek, melting the ice-shavings over her fevered buttock, and then plucked the plug from her anus and spread her buttocks; he stepped up inside her as easily as boarding an elevator, re-inserting his cock completely back up her ass and thrusting three times hard, holding the third stroke stuck far up inside her for a full minute -- marinating, she knew--then another several, slower, thorough pumps, and he backed out. He unshackled her wrists and unknotted the ties at her ankles, eased Maggie off of the chair standing, and took the seat facing her; she started to re-secure herself around him to the bed rungs, but he drew her by her waist to him and kissed her womb, then tugged at her hips for her to kneel before him, freed and of her own volition, while his cock was still ripe with her lower bowels. She knelt close into his lap, sitting on her heels, her mouth hesitating at his tip, and he cradled her head in his hands, careful to not pull. She brushed his point across her lips, painting her mouth with a trace of seminal gloss and the discolored goo she knew to be the tainted white George had used to facilitate this unorthodox seasoning of her next feed, and she thought again that far better this--preferable, even righteous--than her uncles or her father had the boy and girl not stolen away one night forever, and reaching around his waist, holding on to his buttocks, Maggie then took the bulbous head and first four inches of her brother's cock into her mouth and began sucking hard as if she intended to pull his semen directly from his testicles well in advance of his ejaculation: like trying to drink a particularly thick milkshake through a huge but peculiarly narrow straw, failing to forget that this moment's mouthful had just moments before been parked up her shitter.
George felt his sister suck his fat cock, pulling, as if she meant to uproot him--as much vacuum as motion, using the entire inside surface of her mouth and her lips and tongue to draw strong and hard, jawing and swallowing on him with slow, untiring sucks--looking on his sister's pretty blonde head bobbing dutifully deeper between his thighs as she became better acquainted with her brother's big dick touching the back of her throat: servicing him, a slurping, slobbering oral wash of his penis clean of her own bowel's residual cream-sweetened mucus, her breath steamy, sweating his stem, and her palate soft and her tongue lolling and circling, her lips pursing over him in an ever-varying embouchure--her mouth was animated around his cock with motions all its own from the bounce of her face between his legs and he looked on while she blew him and dusk devolved day into dark; seeing, feeling Maggie blow him, his sister, his twin sister, tasting his beef thick-twitching and feverish in her mouth, and inhaling through her nostrils the musk his loins generated in a fume right under her nose so pungent he was sure she was tasting that also.
George kept his hands on Maggie's head in some form or another the entire time--stroking her scalp or cupping her face in his palms, hanging her hair behind her ears so as to better see his fuck of her sweet face--and in the last moments, when he felt his reservoirs roiling on the verge of another unique sexual reckoning with his own sister, she felt him firmly ease her head and mouthful of him back to no more than two inches--but no less; her face immobilized by him at the base of her skull and with a hard half-pound of penis throbbing in her mouth, she resisted the urge to clutch at his wrists and instead dug her nails into his ass-flesh. She rolled her eyes up to meet his and they looked into each other's souls as his fingers tightened behind her neck and his every muscle tensed.
"Start swallowing, Maggie" panting, George gasped as his orgasm charged up his piss-stalk toward his sister's face, and Maggie felt her brother's cock in her mouth pulse three times in one-second intervals before--' uuuaahh' she heard him heave--on the fourth it disgorged a fibrous, liquid wad of sperm--syrupy brine and pooling over her tongue, then lumpy cream-of-vinegar and filling her mouth--and she momentarily held, then swallowed, each hot glut sequentially as she was fed them--five loads in all, and a sixth shuddering squirt--struggling to taste then eat her brother's acrid ejaculations as they threatened to either drown her or overflow from around her lips.
She milked his softening erection afterward for another while longer -- hungrily, not unlike how he'd nursed from her breasts after their disastrous first fuck years ago--taking larger and larger mouthfuls of his penis as it went flaccid until she could roll it around whole in one fat mouthful.
Maggie then leapt into George's lap, and holding him by the base of his skull, locking her mouth against his, she jammed her tongue between his lips into his mouth and forced him to taste with her his sperm and the latent dirt of her lower intestine.
"I want to watch you... I want to see you do yourself" he confessed, their meld still fresh on his breath.
Maggie danced off his lap and into bed, plopping spread-eagled onto pillows and bedsprings, and awaited her audience of one as he was seated, away, at a distance by the footboard.
"Oooo, baby" she began, stoking her pussy and wetting her lips, showing-off, "--ooo-yeah, Georgie, I love you spunking your cum hot & salty in my mouth, sticky and--".
"Shhh" George smiled, "Just touch yourself, and watch me watch you" he said,
the stimuli arcing as electric ticks and twitches disbursed from her pussy to her face and between her silky jumping inner thighs, half bicycling her legs parted akimbo as if to run to or escape her own hand, in full view of her brother looking in on this party with herself that no one should be privy to--when we cause ourselves revealing noises and motions no one should hear or witness, involuntary bodily occurrences and their accompanying sounds and smells, however necessary, let alone happily, pleasurably indulgent--and sinking into self-consciousness as her fingers sank through her vulva, shy at what was happening to her while she was doing herself, she looked away, closing her thighs tight over her fingers, unable to continue watching George watch her while his cock just there lay there, sated and sleepy.
She looked up again at him when he put his hand to her knee, sitting at her feet, and she rested her hand on his shoulder--he holding her open while she held on, leaning into him, steadied but squirming, inclined to double-over or thrash-about--hide or perform--but not to be just...observed... and her leg parted aside he kissed her mouth, her lips slack, she kissing back as if an afterthought, moving her lips as some read to themselves, while she busied with this new humility, this vulnerable excess.
Her body was a live collage, her nipples candied stones atop cinnamon wafers; her pubic hair trimmed short and sculpted, a mousy off-blond doormat welcoming his face for a visit; drumming at her clitoris, her eyes inky, dilating black, and her smile lost as her concentration narrowed.
George laid her back against the headboard and she drew her heels up to near her butt, her brother's face descending between her legs, and she wished wrong could never be so tortuously right.
George licked Maggie, legato, match-strike spikes and surges of almost-fire desire at her clitoris. Her bun smarted and her anus complained still of last night's pummeling, but her pussy got the apology and she let him atone; nothing'd be exacted of her for the rest of the evening, she knew, but to lay back and enjoy for as long as his mouth worked or she fell asleep, one. Her brother's lips and kisses swam her surface every few minutes round-trip from her crotch across her abdomen undulating to her breasts, tip-nipple pebbled areola, detouring to lift her arms in turn and suck her armpits, drinking in all her smells this evening; licking her neck, ears, and kissing her mouth, his cock dragging heavily between her legs and over her belly like a wet mop, then the return round-trip direct to her vulva and the knob of her clitoris.
She watched her brother's blond scalp nod and turn within the peace-V her thighs made, finding that she wanted to as selfishly pump him full of her as he'd been lately filling her body, and she laced her fingers behind his head, rough-riding him as marvelously hard as he'd been on her ass the other night.
"Oooo, eat my pussy, georgie, fuck me with your mouth, tongue my twat."
When it was time, she pulled hard his nose and mouth inside her and tightened her thighs around his head--her brother smothered in cunt, hers--and she felt her groin go off--rack-rack, shudder--like a pillow-fight burst of down.
*****
But morning for them arrived an hour before sunrise as they wordlessly moved on each other in the dark. He had been listening to her breathing, uneven, betray her wakefulness (as it had when they were kids), and rolling her onto her back she opened her legs. He saddled between her thighs, her limbs easing around him, and posting his arms to either side of her ribs, he slowly bore into her body with the persistent momentum of a braking locomotive, feeling her hymen give way like wet Kleenex, though she flinched at the four-inch mark on his way to the bottom. She had hooked her heels under his buttocks, but couldn't place her hands, wandering the stringy, bunching muscles of his chest and upper back and arms for a hold of him--an eager apprentice unsure of how to assist--then straight-arm planted her palms to his shoulders, pinning herself under him and her breasts floating, flopping atop the lazy waves of their ride while he repeatedly nailed her pelvis to the mattress, drilling her with the unaltered up-down rigidity of an oil rig, reliably mining her well, bringing a single drop of blood to the surface.
It didn't last long and the Earth remained on its axis, her orgasm just a quietly gratifying whoosh of comfort, as subtle as a furnace suddenly alive with warmth, and he as well came inside her as peacefully as a sigh, impregnating his sister, she conceiving.
*****
At noon they were at High Mass at St. Peter's. They'd made bad confessions and were sure the other parishioners knew. Lovers recognize other lovers, and their body language gave them away; but only God remembered them.
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