Author's Note: The story you are about to read is fiction. In real life, intelligent people use condoms.
From 'Annie Get Your Gun': "Folks are dumb where I come from; they ain't had any learnin'. Still they're happy as can be, doin' what comes natur'lly!"
The folks here aren't dumb; they're just poor, unsophisticated country folk.
Constance Morton's damp fingers poised in mid-air. In another three inches, those fingers would come into contact with a living, breathing cock, J.T.'s cock, the cock she was about to touch, her first cock in years. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to remember the feel and at the same time trying to forget it. But she wouldn't forget it, not ever. Damn it, not ever! She had fallen asleep as her husband had slid his sticky member from her mouth, the last drops of his cum pooling on her tongue while the bulk of his discharge oozed from her vaginal lips onto the bed linens. She had awakened the following morning in an empty bed, empty except for the carefully printed note reciting that her husband would not ever again return, that he had packed and moved out to live with his tit-less bitch of a secretary.
Connie allowed her fingers to continue. J.T.'s cock, already beginning to swell in anticipation of her touch, stiffened at the actuality. She knew how to handle the situation. She had learned it in high school, from her best friend, the day after she had surrendered her previously virginal pussy to the pleadings and pressing hardness of a boy she thought that she loved. Two stiff fingers, a solid slap with them across an erect shaft, and the hard-on would go away.
But was that what she wanted? Did she want to slap that cock, to chase away his delightful tumescence? No and no; she would have preferred to use her tongue to flick away that little drop of pre-cum pooling at his piss slit, that little male signal that he needed to release the pent-up sperm gurgling in his balls. Alas, it was not meant to be, not just then, not with J.T.'s 'delicate condition.'
And, though Connie's panties were soaking wet from memories and from imagination and anticipation, certainly not with Kathy watching.
Thirty minutes earlier
"Holy shit, I'd love to suck on those tits. I'd like to shove my cock between those babies and shoot my cum all over her face."
Thus spake Josh. He was Jefferson Tecumseh Morton's best friend and a quintessential bull shit artist. The same age as J.T., thirteen, though taller and heavier, Josh had never so much as kissed a girl, much less even grabbed a cheap feel on a chastely clad breast. The two of them had been standing in front of J.T.'s home, yakking, as all boys did at that age, about sports, school and girls, though not in that order. The object of Josh's lust, Kathy Morton, had just turned the corner and was walking in their direction. As she had turned, those tits had protruded in luscious profile. Her nipples were discernable even at that distance, suggesting that the virginal Kathy did indeed sometimes have lewd and lascivious thoughts.
And in fact Kathy was having those thoughts at that very moment. She was remembering the previous afternoon, late, when she and Timmy Jorgenson had been kissing behind the school. Kathy had allowed Timmy's hands free rein over her breasts, though she had insisted that he keep them outside her sweater. That time had been the first, but she knew that she would allow it again — and again. She had known what that hard thing was as Timmy had pressed his body against hers. She hadn't touched it, didn't plan to do so for any boy for some time, yet when they parted, she knew what had caused the dampness in her panties. But back to J.T. and Josh.
J.T. was torn between jealousy and anger. Jealousy because he too, like Josh, would have loved to do all sorts of sexual things with the lovely Kathy's three girlish openings, mouth, pussy and asshole. And do those things he did, but it must be said, only in the fantasies of his masturbation. For it was only in his fantasies that J.T. had any more experience than did Josh. But J.T. was also angry, more angry than jealous, for the lovely Kathy, aged fifteen and in her first year of high school, was his big sister.
"Hey Josh, watch your mouth, that's my sister," J.T. snarled at his friend.
"Fuck you," replied Josh, not at all happy with being the recipient of a snarl. "I'll bet your sister puts out for the whole football team."
Faced with that insult to the Morton family, J.T. did the only thing he could think of. He turned toward Josh, took one step backward and kicked Josh as hard as he could ... in the balls. Realizing quickly the folly of his action, in physically attacking his much larger friend, J.T. turned and began to run, zig-zagging like a shoplifter at a flea market.
Small towns in West Texas do not sport the lush, manicured back yards of Beverly Hills, green grass surrounding blue pool water. Instead they are left untended, growing scrub and whatnot, an eyesore to one and all. Dressed for the heat in loose shorts, J.T. zigged when he should have zagged, tripping and knocking down a beehive. At the time, the worker bees were busy — as bees — stowing honey into their geometrically perfect containers. At the same time, the drones were doing their exercises, getting ready to be fucked to death by the queen bee.
Both groups were, as the expression goes, really pissed off. Responding at they had been genetically trained, they attacked J.T., the worker bees finding fertile territory for their stingers around his thighs and groin while the stinger-free drones cheered them on. Have you ever been stung multiple times around your sexual organs? It is an experience devoutly to be avoided, an experience that J.T. was unable to avoid. Seeing this, the pursuing Josh turned and ran the other way, his participation in this little story having ended in pain and frustration.
Screaming his way home, J.T. was fortunate to find that Connie was at home, not yet departed for the super box store at which she toiled, the place that paid shit, barely enough to keep the household going. She saw the last of the bees flying away and realized the problem. And being out in the boondocks, with no walk-in clinics anywhere near, she had had to learn the solution. She tore off his shorts and began to scrape away the stingers. She had to suppress a smile as she saw that some of those stingers were in J.T.'s cock and balls. Connie knew that ice would help the swelling but the stings covered too large an area for an ice pack. Likewise it was too large an area for that old staple, a slice of onion. And with more than one slice, they'd both be in tears.
All she had in the way of ibuprofen was some Motrin. Connie yelled to Kathy to get the bottle and bring it in the J.T.'s room with a glass of water. Though writhing in pain, or at least serious discomfort, J.T. cringed at the idea of taking something that he knew was for women to take during their periods, or, in boy talk, when they had the rag on, but he didn't have the energy to argue. But damn, that was one thing that he would never tell his friends.
Kathy stopped when she came through the door. Her eyes focused on her kid brother's naked groin. It was her first ever real cock. What most surprised her was that the little shriveled up thing between J.T.'s legs was nothing like the monstrous hard cocks that she had seen on her friend Nancy's brother's porn.DVDs. Oh shit, they had been sooooo hot!
"Quit gawking, Kathy. If you ever become a nurse, the way you've been talking about it, you'll see a lot more than that, and a lot worse. Now give me that stuff and go mix up a paste with baking soda and some water."
Once Kathy brought in the paste, Connie began to apply it to J.T.'s legs and thighs. It was then that she moved up to the only cock in the house, in the scene which began this narration. As she felt her son's cock harden, Connie realized that Kathy was watching. Intently! Oh well, she thought, her daughter was fifteen, had long since heard THE LECTURE, and knew that cocks get hard, with or without a reason. Connie's fingers spread the soothing balm all around, as unemotionally and professionally as possible. It was like, 'I'm his mother, it's ok.' Suddenly Kathy spoke.
"Do you need some help, Mom?"
Uh oh, Connie realized. This scene had progressed beyond the coldly clinical teaching moment for a would-be registered nurse. Rather, it was a loud warning signal for The Lecture, Part Five or Six. Kathy wanted to get her hands on her younger brother's private parts, and not likely for para-medical purposes. How much experience did her 15 year old daughter have? Was she still a virgin? Had one of the boys at school, or even more than one, gotten his hands on her extremely ripe breasts? Had she fondled a cock, or worse, had she ever taken one into her mouth? Or into her... ? Connie couldn't bring herself to even think that word.
Yes, it was definitely time for more mother-daughter communication, only not in front of Kathy's younger brother. But Connie had to leave for work, and someone would have to reapply the baking soda in a few hours. And there were no other someones around. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
"Not now," she said in an off-hand tone, "but he'll need this done in a few hours. Let him sleep, but if her wakes up in pain, you'll have to reapply this stuff."
Connie wasn't finished speaking, but she hesitated, trying to think of the right words to say what had to be said.
"Remember, he's your brother." Connie saw Kathy's blush, and tried to push out of her mind the thought that she was too young to be a grandmother.
Kathy knew that she was blushing, and forced herself not to look down at her own crotch, lest she draw her mother's attention to what Kathy was sure was a soaking front of her jeans, the result of the combination of her previous thoughts about Timmy and the current view of a naked J.T.
Well, duh, she thought, I know fucking-A well who he is, Mother. I know what the word incest means, but I've never seen a live cock before and I've never had my hand on one. I don't give a flying fuck if J.T. is my brother; right now he's just someone with an exposed cock, she thought. Kathy didn't normally talk like that, nor even think like that, but she didn't plan to be the last virgin in West Central Regional High School. If it had to be J.T. rather than Timmy or someone else, so be it. But it would happen before the school year resumed, of that she was determined.
And when she looked up past her mother and saw her face and her breasts in the mirror, she knew that she could easily make it happen.
Connie, working a night shift to take advantage of the pay differential, left the house as soon as J.T. fell into a tossing and turning sleep. Kathy kept looking in on him, wondering, no, not wondering, actually hoping that he would need more of his mother's home remedy. Thus she reacted quickly when she heard her brother's moan. She ran to his door and looked in. J.T. was still asleep, but a second moan told Kathy that he was experiencing continuing pain.
Gently she pulled down the sheet off of his naked body. His cock, flaccid and down to two inches tops, lay against his left leg. Kathy stared at that thing, fascinated by the sight of the actual maleness, one of the body parts that separated male from female. And of course, the same part that also joins them together in lust, and sometimes in love. She had her chance; would she take it? She knew that she must.
Trying hard not to wake J.T., Kathy dipped her fingers into Mom's concoction and spread it softly on his thighs and the surrounding area. That was her weak attempt at easing her conscience, at delaying what would ordinarily be a forbidden touch, the earth-moving, boundary-crossing touch that she continued to refuse to grant to Timmy Jorgenson. She dipped again, and barely touched her brother's man-sac, hoping out of love that it would help ease J.T.'s pain. And then there was no avoiding what Kathy had not truly been trying to avoid.
She could feel her heart pounding as her sticky fingers reached for the final untreated area. She knew, as every girl at age fifteen had long since learned in the gutter, that it would grow at her touch. She dreaded that reaction, and at the same time she craved it even more. Her head told her that the cock before her belonged to her little brother, yet her heart screamed out that she was about to caress the maleness of Timmy Jorgenson.
Would it be like this in nursing school? Would she become aroused each time that she had to see or touch a man for purely medical reasons? She smiled inwardly at the thought of becoming the favorite nurse in any hospital that might employ her. Gently she reached out to apply the soothing mixture to J.T.'s cock. At the first touch, it began to swell as blood rushed into it. Her hand jumped as if it had been burned on a hot stove. Was J.T. awake, feigning sleep? Or was a penis supposed to enlarge at a touch even without conscious sexual thoughts? Maybe she should look it up, she thought, and then realized that her research might simply become an aid to her masturbation.
She remembered that her task was to ease her brother's pain and she went back to work. Yet as she smoothed the balm along his cock, Kathy's fingers became as if possessed, moving in ways that she did not intend. Without asking her brain for permission, her fingers wrapped around J.T.'s cock, slowly stroking it as a lover at foreplay. She could feel her panties dampening as the expanding cock pressed against her palm. And she was excited, again imagining Timmy's pleadings.
Enough, enough. This was forbidden. Kathy looked at her brother's face and satisfied herself that J.T. was still asleep. Reluctantly, she lifted her hand and covered her brother's groin was a sheet. She ran back to her own room, knowing that she had no choice but to get herself off immediately.
She made herself topless before even throwing back her covers, and then shucked her jeans. Her panties were visibly damp. Analyzing, always analyzing, Kathy decided that she could strip off her panties and lay uncovered without fear of discovery. She was in heat as she lay back on her bed. If Timmy at that moment had been there, he would have gotten anything he wanted from her. Anything! But alas, she was alone, forced to satisfy herself with only her fingers. Which of course was all she ever used anyway. Except for that one time with the cucumber, which had left her still a sexual virgin but no longer with the physical proof.
Kathy's left hand went to her nipples, aroused for the occasion just as her brother's cock had become aroused, though of course to a different size. For a fleeting second she recalled porn videos where the whores, huge-titted whores, had sucked their own nipples, yet those scenes had given her no excitement, nothing like the thrill of her own fingers on naked milk spouts. Her other hand went down to her womanhood, the damp tunnel — had it been only a month since that cucumber had torn away the barrier — and slid two fingers into her warmth. Her thumb stayed outside her body, to flick back and forth her recently discovered little man in the boat.
It didn't take long, what with the mellow memories of Timmy's hands and what she would soon allow him to do, coupled with the immediately recent memory of the sensation of blood flowing into her kid brother's bee-stung appendage. She had to roll herself three-quarters over to push her mouth onto her pillow, lest the sounds of her throbbing orgasm wake the boy who had inspired it.
It took a while for Kathy to fall asleep, her room stifling without air conditioning in the Texas heat. As she tossed and turned, her mind drifted to the imagination of Timmy Jorgenson and what she would do for him, and he for her. Then, to her surprise, it drifted to J.T. and what she had felt as she touched him, how disappointed she had felt when she decided to release his cock from her grip before she had made his boy-cream spurt out the way it did on those DVDs. But sleep she finally did, fitfully, until...
"Mom? Mom? Kathy? Kathy? Anybody? It hurts."
It was still dark. Kathy jumped from her bed and ran toward J.T.'s room, stopping after three steps when she realized that she was naked. Fuck it, she thought, he needs me, I'll just leave the light off, he won't seen anything. She ran to his bedside, knelt and comforted him, assuring him that she would prepare more of Mom's concoction and be right back. Her pussy was dry then, she had gone from stroking a cock mode to big sister wannabe nurse.
Not needing any light, she swiftly spread the baking soda all over the 'safe' areas. Once she finally began to work on his crinkled nut sac, Kathy heard J.T. inhale audibly. The sound continued as she moved on to her brother's sex tool. Though she spread gently, there was no way to stop his swelling. Like a car commercial where they advertise that the car can go from zero to sixty in so many seconds,, so too did J.T.'s cock go from flaccid to erect and throbbing in what seemed like the blink of an eye.
And that would have been the end of it had not Kathy's libido overridden her brain. J.T. moaned as his sister slowly began to stroke his hardness. The moan turned to a gasp as he reached out in the darkness and touched her bare breast.
"Holy shit, Kathy, you're naked," he said, stating the obvious.
"Be quiet," she whispered.
His fingers squeezed the new sensation of bare tit as Kathy taught herself how to masturbate a boy. Would Timmy feel like this, she wondered, and then put the thought out of her mind, enjoying instead the touch and reaction of her own brother. To J.T., it was the most exciting moment of his life, and he felt that he was mere seconds away from exploding his cum all over Kathy's hand and arm and wherever else it might spurt.
Neither one of them would likely ever forget the sound of the tires on Mom's beat up old pickup truck spinning on their gravel driveway. Time stopped, with Kathy's hand in mid-stroke and J.T.'s in mid-feather of an engorged nipple. In the slight light of a slowly approaching dawn, two shocked faces stared at each other. Kathy moved first, jumping up, yanking the sheet over J.T.'s groin and running for her room. J.T. rolled onto his side, pushing his face into his pillow to keep from sobbing in frustration. He could finish himself off quickly, but he had no handy tissue to catch his cum and surely didn't want to leave a large damp spot on his sheet.
An hour later, brother and sister 'woke' from their feigned sleep and greeted Connie. The chit-chat was routine, yet strained from both children, still horny from their interrupted assignation. Connie thought that she noticed some unusual behavior, even carried it one step further to analyze the source, but then pushed it out of her mind as a conclusion that her mind preferred to avoid. Unfortunately, the troubling thoughts kept pushing back into the forefront.
Connie was in a quandary. Should she bring up the subject or ignore it? To bring it up would possibly, perhaps likely even, push her two young virgins — oh, how she dearly prayed that they still were — into incestuous behavior. Oh shit, she thought, I'm too young to be a grandmother. Should she introduce them to condoms, or would that just be an open invitation for her two babies to give in to their raging hormones? Or should she just close her eyes and pray? An old sick joke passed into her brain.
If a man from West Texas divorces his wife, is she still his sister?
Connie did what any poor, unsophisticated woman would do; she said nothing.
Kathy and J.T. knew nothing of their mother's mental torment. All they could think about, each in his/her own solitude, was that Connie was scheduled to work that evening. And as a result, they were like little angels all day long, giving Connie nothing to think about, nothing to react about. But when their eyes met, those silent organs spoke volumes, and if Connie was not looking, the corners of their mouths turned up in anticipatory smiles.
J.T. spent a large part of the day in bed, enduring his slowly abating suffering. Connie had to apply the baking soda twice, and she made sure to do so when Kathy was in a different room. Kathy knew what her mother was doing, and deliberately stayed clear, lest her mother get the wrong idea. Wrong idea? Hah! If Mom thought anything about it, it would be the right idea. As she treated her son, Connie again felt the swelling of his penis, saw the tiniest drop of pre-cum oozing out. She was sorely tempted to slap his penis into deflation, but she worried about causing him fresh pain. Remembering her recent thoughts though, even with Kathy in another room, Connie resisted again the temptation to lick away that tiny signal of male lust oozing from his slit.
Once she left for work, once the sound of tire on gravel changed to the hum of tire on dirt, Kathy raced into her brother's room and slid under the sheet next to him. J.T. was naked while Kathy was fully clothed, yet neither of them cared, not at that moment anyway. She reached for his cock, found it fully aroused, harder than the previous evening. Her face hovered over his and descended for a kiss such as she shared with Timmy, a boy-girl kiss, not a sibling kiss. And taking it beyond any previous kiss with her out-of-sight boyfriend, Kathy pressed her tongue against J.T.'s lips, forcing them open. With no experience at all, J.T. knew enough to respond in kind, and their tongues dueled. His hand reached to cup a breast, still encased in blouse and bra yet spongy enough for him to know that he had the right spot.
"Did you pull your pud after Mom interrupted us yesterday" she whispered.
He nodded. "After she fell asleep," he said.
"Did you ever taste it?" she asked.
"Your cum. Did you ever taste your cum?"
She could see J.T.'s face turn bright crimson in the fading twilight, but he never answered her question. Kathy persisted.
"You did, didn't you? Tell me how it tasted," she demanded. "All the girls in school rave about it."
His only response was a shrug.
"I want to taste it," Kathy said. Lewd and crude are the only words to describe the look on her face as she said it.
When J.T. reacted with an equally lewd smile, Kathy continued, "And I want you to taste me too."
J.T.'s brain nearly exploded. He was sure that he had probably seen more porn DVDs than his sister, and he certainly understood what eating pussy meant. But neither he nor any of his pals had even done that wicked thing, or at least admitted to it. All J.T. knew was the story that the guys told to the effect that pussy smells like dead fish, and that was no bargain to contemplate. Oh sure, guys on the videos did it all the time, but that seemed to be the price they paid for getting laid — or blown.
Yes, J.T. knew from what Kathy had said that she was ready to suck his cock until he exploded his cum down her throat, and he knew that he would unquestionably pay the price of eating her pussy in exchange for his first ever orgasm not brought about by his own hand, especially one delivered by his gorgeous and sexy sister. How many times had he peeked, trying to see her in her underwear or naked? Never successfully, but he kept trying. How many times had he sniffed around in her drawers, touching her panties and bras, inhaling her scent from panties in the hamper? More than he could count. Did her pussy smell like those panties? If so, he could live with it. Quite happily!
Not waiting for an answer from her brother, not really expecting one, Kathy stood up and pulled her sweater off over her head. She held her arms out to her side.
"Take off my bra, J.T."