A Stepbrotha Like No OtherI was nineteen when it started. My daddy had cheated on my mamma while she was on her deathbed in the hospital and continued weeks after the funeral. So, after he moved in his amoral gf within the year, I didn't give a hoot how I misbehaved. Partly I craved his attetion; partly I wanted to be punished.
One Friday morning that summer, my daddy and stepmother announced to me and Larry (not my stepbrother's real name) that they were going to take advantage of some Atlantic City comps and "gamble and gobble" the entire weekend. They trusted us because we were good "kids" with solid part-time jobs at the local supermarket. I worked in the deli; Larry, produce. We rode home from work three times a week, and he often had teased me about my cantaloupe booty and eggplant ****. I was kind of shy but made him laugh saying "the deli's salamis had nothin' on him." I figured he was all talk because he was white and I black, and all the photos of his old girlfriends indicated he liked vanilla ice cream, not chocolate. And my quarter Irish, one-eighth French genetics didn't show in my deep caramel skin pigmentation.
The Saturday morning sun shone through the kitchen blinds and on my butter-brown face and arms as I stretched over a silver sink full of dishes. My daddy was old-fashioned -- no dishwasher and no "nukers." Just thinking about my father, about his profound sense of responsibility and his brute strength as he fixed anything that broke around or outside our house, gave me warm feelings within my belly. I felt a tingle growing in my boy shorts, just below my curly landing *****, but the guilt switched my thoughts to my hunger for crisp cereal in cold milk.
Minutes later I was pouring some Kix into a fiestaware bowl when Larry came up behind me whispering "Hiya, sis" with his warm morning breath. Corn puffs went teetering over the speckled counter's edge, and he dropped down to the avocado-green linoleum to retrieve the cereal.
"Ugh, why don'tcha go wash up, man," I told him before squatting to help him clean up the mess.
"Gee, thanks, beautiful," he said, eyeing my braless breasts in my pink tank top.
"Yah," I shot back, watching his green eyes explore my white cotton shorts and then trail down to my spread brown thighs. "And I'm not beautiful," I added, trying unsuccessfully to yank down the edges of my shorts.
After helping me to my feet, I wiggled my gold-thonged toes in relief that Larry's inappropriate flirtation was over. But it was just beginning.
Larry clasped my twenty-six-inch waist and said, "Ah now, sis. Don't fight the feeling. You know you really want my milk."
I squirmed a bit in his firm grasp but didn't wriggle free. "I prefer this milk," and started pouring some into the neglected corn puffs. That's when Larry got his kicks.
He bent down on one knee and nibble both of mine as I cooed my consent. I stopped stirring the cereal and turned fully to Larry's bobbing head as he licked my right thigh. I unbuttoned, unzipped and pulled down my shorts while my stepbrother wiped his ruddy forehead with his hairy hand.
Before my shorts could reach my sandals, Larry's rough teeth was ripping the white lace of my boy shorts. I moaned at the heat of his thick, slimy tongue wiggling against my dark pink, sticky petals. It was as if my c*** was his world and its secret cove his oyster. As he licked and grunted voraciously, I moaned. I was thirsty for milk, he for cream. And he found it while hunting on sore dungareed knees for my throbbing pearl.
My bucking hips in his wide, squeezing hot palm urged him to suck harder. "Drink me," I commanded him in a dusky voice that sounded ten years wiser.
Larry obeyed and I felt my channel contracting. Secretions flowed downward, making me feel like I needed to pee. Instead, I squirted on his chin and received the gift of his tongue up inside the source of my liquid. Screaming, "Yes, yes, right there!" I pounded my mound into his forehead and tugged at his wet, stringy dark brown hair. I smelled our blended musk as he licked and sucked away at my engorged outer lips, which mirrored the thick ones on my face.
He stopped briefly to glance up at me panting out my lust and to ask, "Do you trust me, Kerry?"
"Y-y-y-yah, Larry. Why?" I inquired, wishing after glimpsing his exposed beercan c*** jutting upward that I hadn't. "Ummm ... " It was too late for me to back out.
My horny, handsome stepbrother said, "Spoken like a loyal sibling," and then, "Turn around."
"Whoaaa!" I yelled, hindered slightly by the shackles of my now *** stained shorts. I nearly spun around because my *** and his precum had made a viscous little puddle on the floor, having flooded the linoleum's shallow grooves. My mangled lace panties lay near the stove, the crotch near the fridge -- but it would take days for it to cool off because its slick fabric was absorbed in the memory of Larry's brutal, delicious pleasuring.
Once I found my balance, I stepped out of my shorts. Larry had stood up and was waiting with the sink nozzle in hand. He turned on the hot and cold knobs while pulling my naked behind against his scorching one. Between my shrieks of mock terror, I felt the warm tap water spray my tank top translucent. My nipples already had stiffened when Larry had been eating me out, but now, with the jets aimed at them, they were as hard as the brass valves on a saxophone.
"Girl, just let me love you," he sang into my ear, releasing the nozzle and thrusting d*** to slit. His song transformed into a salacious rant that overpowered my high-pitched cries of pleasure. He kept on thrusting and thrusting until my dam burst on his burning head. It took three more ******* from me to douse his fire -- that's how much stamina my stud of a stepbrother had.
Larry was eighteen that summer, and today, just as many years later, he remains my only reliable booty call. He's happily divorced and the proud father of two tween boys. Unbeknownst to our parents, one of those sons is mine, and Larry not only pays child support but dotes on him when he visits weekly. We know that marriage between us would be impossible, but we haven't ruled out making another "swirl" baby. For now, it's sure fun practicing every week when my daddy and his mommy are thinking that he's just a caring stepbrother checking on his stepsister.
LatteNegre 36-40, F 1 Response 1 Jan 27, 2013