I brought up the email site and typed in a name and password no one could guess were mine. There was a message waiting, from her.
It opened, "My Beloved Claire,"
I smiled. She was such a hopeless romantic. It was always "beloved" this and "angel" that. But still -- I didn't mind. I was indeed her beloved, and she mine.
The message continued, "Not much time to write. The plans have changed. I will be in town this weekend, just Saturday, then on to Singapore for three months. This is a huge client, and I can't say no. I must see you two on Saturday. I think I will die otherwise."
As I said, hopeless romantic.
It concluded, "Love Vanessa.
"P.S. Kiss your sister for me."
She always concluded that way. I mean, after a hundred messages, should it not go without saying? For her, however, it was no mere formality. I went to Emily's room to give her Vanessa's kiss.
Emily was now fourteen. To look at, she and I could not be more different. She had cropped brown hair and was wearing red soccer shorts and a sky-blue t-shirt. There was a long red scratch, this time on her left elbow, but on any other day it might be a shoulder or a knee. She lay face down on her bed listening to her iPod. I could hear it blaring, even through the tiny headphones. Her room was not at all girly. The walls were azure blue. There were posters of soccer and tennis stars, all of them attractive, both women and men.
I crept in, closing the door behind me. I saw myself in Emily's mirror, wearing a white cotton blouse under a black jumper dress. My hair was black, shoulder length, and curled into ringlets. I smiled, staring back at myself with icy blue eyes. I was now sixteen.
I snuck up behind her and plucked out the earbuds. She flipped over. I gave her Vanessa's kiss, and a few of my own. Her lips were soft.
She smiled, wrapped her arms around my neck, and returned the kisses. Then she said, "We have to be careful. Mom is home, and Mirielle is prowling around."
"I know," I whispered, "I just got an email from Vanessa. She's coming to town, Saturday."
"Yes!" That was loud. Her eyes got wide, and she covered her mouth with her hands.
I smiled. She was such an eager girl.
"I assume she'll get the motel room, but we have to keep the day clear. I don't think mom has anything planned."
Her arms were still around my neck, and she leaned up and kissed me again. So enthusiastic. I looked at the closed door. We didn't have locks; mother didn't believe in them.
Soft lips. A mouth wrapped around mine. Her tongue. My hand went to her ass, pressing the fabric in. I found that spot and wiggled my finger. She tensed up. She stretched out, catlike, and rolled over onto her tummy.
I looked at the door again. Was it worth the chance? We'd gotten away with this for two years, and not by being stupid.
Her ass, in front of me, in her soft cotton shorts. I thought of biting into a juicy peach. I decided, just this once, to take the chance.
The shorts were stretchy enough. I grabbed them around the crotch area and pulled them up between her cheeks. I tugged on them a bit. She rocked her hips. I kissed her there, around the edges of the fabric. I breathed deeply. I ran my tongue up and down.
"Please take off the shorts."
I pulled them down and off. I spread her cheeks again. I gazed at her little pinkish asshole, perfectly round. I licked.
"Mmmmm. You always make my butthole feel so good."
"I love it. I wish I could climb inside and squirm around, just nestle in there. Do you mind my little fetish?"
I kissed it. She gasped.
Of course she didn't. About this thing, she and I were of one mind.
I licked more, pressing my tongue, tasting her. I could spend forever that way, as long as it took. However, mother was home, and Mirielle was prowling about, so I lowered my tongue and licked her pussy. That would take less time. I sucked it. I slipped my tongue inside. Then to her ass again, where I truly longed to be. A finger in her pussy, a gentle pumping motion, and an eager tongue, brought her home. She came hard, gasping and thrashing about.
There was a knock on the door.
Our mother's voice!
No time to grab her shorts, Emily rolled over and pulled the sheets over her. I stood up and away from the bed, wiping my face on my sleeve. I'm sure my mouth still smelled of pussy and ass.
We stared at the door handle. It didn't turn.
"Girls," she said again through the door, "Lunch is ready. Please come down."
"OK mom, we'll be right down," I called out.
We heard footsteps recede down the stairs.
The four of us sat around the kitchen table eating cold turkey sandwiches and chips. Mother sat at the end, tall and imperious with her classroom manner. She was holding up well for a woman her age, a shade past forty. Today she was wearing gray form fitting slacks and a loose white blouse, unbuttoned to show cleavage. Her hair was brown, Emily's shade, but she wore it long. She had my icy blue eyes -- or I had hers. It was obvious she clung to what sex appeal she had left, but it worked.
Mirielle, on the other hand, was an ice cold beauty, alluring, dangerous. She was twenty-two or twenty-three, with long sandy blonde hair and deep brown eyes. Her mouth was pouty and she had colored her lips a deep sangria red. Her little black pencil skirt stopped six inches above her knees and showed just enough thigh to make a girl quiver. Her red blouse, like mother's, showed cleavage. Her heeled boots, black leather, went almost to her knees.
She was one of mother's TA's, and had been spending a lot of time at our house the past few months. The story went that she had been born in France, but had come to America as a young girl. Majoring in French Literature, under mother's tutelage, was sort of a cultural homecoming for her -- I guess. Emily and I suspected there was more going on.
"So, how are you girls today?" she asked, her voiced clipped, with a slight continental flair. I thought it sounded a bit fake, but could forgive her for it.
"So, were you having fun playing up stairs?"
"Playing. Did you have fun?"
"Yeah, I guess."
I didn't like the way she was looking at us. It was too intense. Did she know?
Mother interrupted. "Girls, Mirielle and I have an announcement to make. I think it's very important."
Here it comes, I thought. She will tell us she's a lesbian. She will expect us to be shocked and confused. After all, we have such innocent minds. I sat, feeling quite pleasant, waiting for the news.
"We've rented a cabin in the Catskills for the weekend and the four of us are going up. We have a lot to talk about."
Mirielle sat smiling. "Brenda and I are looking so forward to spending time with you."
"Brenda" she called her, my mother. A few weeks ago it was, "Ms. Sommers."
Emily looked panicked. "I can't go!"
"Why not, dear?" mother asked.
"I ... uh ... have a school project."
She was a terrible liar. Mother would check on that, call her teachers to have the project delayed. When there was no project, she would wonder at the lie. Suspicions would arise. We'd get caught.
"No sweetie," I said, "That project isn't due until two weeks from now. You're confused."
I gave her a hard look. "Trust me", it said. I would find a way out of this, but it had to be subtle.
"That's settled then," mother went on, "We'll leave Friday after you two get out of school. I've already canceled my afternoon appointments."
Mirielle gave me a long, knowing smile.
I thought of my dear Vanessa. I thought of her eyes. Her mouth. Her tongue! I swore I would find a way out of this.
Later, while I lay in bed, Mirielle came in. She closed the door behind her.
"Brenda went out for a bit," she said.
She walked to the center of the room. She looked at my stuff.
"You have a good sense of color. Perhaps you should be an artist."
She was full of shit. My room was done up in black, white, and lavender. It was lovely enough, but nothing mind blowing. I lay back, my arms behind my head, and watched her.
She watched me back. I knew that look. She had beautiful eyes.
"So you're fucking my mother."
"Hmm. So you're fucking your sister."
The game was on!
"How did you find out?"
"I was listening at the door before Brenda called you for lunch."
Damn! I swore to myself, just then, that I would feel no regret.
"Perhaps we're were just playing at it."
She smiled. "I'm not stupid. I know what I heard."
"So, you know. What now?"
"I want you."
Of course she did. They all did.
"Blackmail then? It won't work. Emily and I will just deny it. We will seem hurt and confused. Mother will believe us, and decide you're insane."
"You could pull that off, but could Emily? You saw her performance in the kitchen. She's terrible under pressure."
"I'll coach her. Mother just won't want to believe it."
"Perhaps you're right. Perhaps not."
She smiled at me. I waited.
"But blackmail is so -- coarse -- horrible. Let's agree there will be no blackmail. I won't tell her."
"OK. I'm fine with that. Now what?"
"I still want you. What must I do to get you?"
She gazed at me. Such simple words she said, but I could feel the effect of her presence. She was beautiful. Her deep brown eyes. Such a hot body. And that pencil skirt! Fuck!
.... There is more of this story ...