Chapter 2

When I got home everything felt different. It was like the whole world had changed. Tasha was coming out of the laundry room and I slid by her, headed for my room. I wanted to lie down and remember every second of what had happened, before it faded.

I had done this a thousand times – slide by my sister in the hallway – but this time I bumped into her. She snarled at me, as usual, and then put a hand out on my chest, to push me against the wall. She sniffed, and looked at me.

“Where have you been?” she asked.

Now, this is hard to explain, but her voice sounded different, and it was different in a way that made something inside me go “Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!” So I lied. It was an instinctive lie.

“Nowhere,” I said. “Why? Are you suddenly my mother?”

She sniffed again and blinked. She frowned, and said, “You smell like...” Then she shook her head. “Nawww. No way. Never mind. Watch where you’re going next time.”

What she had smelled on me was Mrs. Pastrianni’s ... sex. And she might have gotten the faint whiff of semen. I know that when I got to my room my underwear had a big wet spot on the front where I had continued to leak after my latest blow job. I was standing there in awe that I had actually had two blow jobs when Tasha banged open the door and stomped in. I was naked from the waist down and when she came in I whirled to face her. I felt my dick swing out and then slap on my hip, before settling between my legs. I also saw her eyes watch this happen and then get as big as saucers.

“Bobby!” she squeaked.

Again, her voice sounded different. She didn’t say anything else. Then it hit me that my sister could see my dick and both of my hands whipped over my dong to cover it up.

“What?” I yelled.

“Where...” she swallowed. “What...” she licked her lips. Then it was like she was back and the same old Tasha, again. “When the fuck did you grow that thing?” She pointed at my hands. “And why are you half naked?”

What had happened with Mrs. Pastrianni had given me a shot of “It’s time to grow up, Bobby” and so I answered her differently than I might have a day earlier.

“I’m half naked because I’m in my room ... where it’s private. And I didn’t think you’d be interested in keeping track of how and when I grew up.”

My attitude surprised her. She’s always been able to terrorize me, and has happily done so. She grinned.

“You were gonna beat off! You were getting ready to beat off!”

What I said next was pure fiction, but it turned out to be a good thing to say.

“Actually, I already beat off in the woods behind the house. Some of it got on my pants and I’m changing them. Happy, now?”

She was shocked. Never in a million years did she expect me to be so bold. But it supplied an answer to her brain that explained what she had sniffed, and which she just couldn’t put out of her mind. That’s why she had barged in. She was going to interrogate me and find out why I smelled like ... sex. Now, she thought she knew.

“My, my, my,” she said. “My little brother is actually growing up. Let me see that thing again.”

“No fucking way,” I snarled. “What are you, some kind of pervert?”

“No. I only got a brief glimpse but it looks like that picture Jason put online wasn’t photo-shopped after all.”

I blinked.

“You know about that picture?”

“Everybody in school knows about it,” she snorted. “I’ve had five or six girls come up to me and ask me if it was true.”

“What did you tell them?” I asked, still covering my cock.

“I told them I don’t look at your dick, Stupid,” she said. “And I didn’t. Move your hands. I want to see.”

“You don’t look at my dick, remember?” I pointed out.

“I didn’t until I found out it actually looks like what everybody thinks all black dicks look like.” She blinked. “Which they do not, by the way. Come on. Let me see it. I have to know if it’s real or not.”

“Why?”

“Because people believe the stupidest things, like all black guys have a schlong that hangs to their knees. I’ve seen a few and none of the ones I saw come even close to what I think you’re hiding behind those hands.”

“This feels kind of pervy,” I said.

“I don’t want to suck it!” she snapped. “I only want to see it!”

Now that was interesting. She said that in a way that I knew meant she had, in fact, sucked at least one cock. With some dismay I felt my own peter react to the concept of Tasha’s mouth sucking on some guy’s penis.

Again, boldness made me stupid.

“So, how many have you sucked?” I asked.

I still wish I could have gotten a picture of the look on her face when I said that. Then she recovered.

“How many have you sucked, little brother?” She looked triumphant. “Yeah! You tell me how many you’ve sucked and I’ll tell you how many I’ve sucked. Hah!”

“None!” I said, instantly. “Now it’s your turn.”

“No,” she said, looking worried. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Well, it’s what you said,” I reminded her. “You said if I told you how many dicks I had sucked, you would tell me how many you have sucked. Well, I answered your question. I have sucked zero cocks. Zero is a real number because it’s an integer. I learned that in math. So ... your turn.”

Tasha did not like being hoisted by her own petard. I literally thought that sentence and marveled that I actually remembered something from my English Lit class the previous year. I knew it was Shakespeare, but I couldn’t remember the name of the play it came from.

“I’m not telling you that, you little prick!” she snapped.

Bold seemed to have not just seeped into me as Mrs. Pastrianni made me a man, it seemed to have become a deluge. I moved my hands and lifted my dick, laying it on both hands and pointing it at her.

“I don’t have a little prick,” I said. “Was the last one you sucked this big?”

Well, it all sounded good in my head, and now that I’ve written it, it doesn’t look bad on paper, but Tasha was not impressed. Nor was she having any of that sass coming from her punk little brother. So she did what Tasha always did. She got physical. We had both grown up “wrestling” with our father, who always won and tickled us as “punishment” for “trying to beat him up.” He still did that with me, though the tickling part had gone away. He hadn’t wrestled with Tasha since she grew boobs. She had cried one time because they were tender and they got squashed in their wrestling match and Mom made them stop doing that.

Her boobs didn’t hurt anymore, though, and she was only too willing to wrestle with me, which wasn’t fair. She’d been going to Judo classes since she was ten or eleven and I had not. So she could almost always take me down and lie on top of me, dominating me and calling me twerp.

It was different this time, for both of us. First of all, I was half naked, which had never happened before when anybody wrestled. Second, when she got me down I grabbed one of her boobs and squeezed it. Then I squeezed it again, to notify her that it hadn’t been an accident. Do not ask me why I did this. I had noticed my sister as a female, before. She was cute, but she knew it, which degrades a girl’s cuteness. I had noticed she had boobs, but I hadn’t stared at them, or anything. She was interesting enough I’d been foolish enough to try to peek up her dress, to my everlasting shame. It was interesting because the boob in my hand felt really spongy and big. She had a bra on, which made it feel firmer than I expected it to be (and firmer than it really was), though I didn’t understand that, in that moment.

It had the desired result, though. She squealed and let go of me, which gave me the chance to wriggle around and get her in a bear hug. All I was trying to do was avoid being pinned again. If I could do that it became a stalemate. She was bigger than me, but I was stronger than her, if that makes any sense.

Anyway, I had her in a bear hug and that boob I had squeezed was now pressed against my chest. Our heads were beside each other, but in that particular grip we couldn’t pull back and look at each other. If you did that you had to let go a little bit and that defeated the purpose. So there we were, cheek-to-cheek and I was hyper aware of her tits pressing against me, when she said, very clearly, “Get off of me, Bobby. You’re pressing your dick against my pussy.”

She didn’t yell it, and she didn’t sound mad, exactly. Again, her voice sounded different. It had a timbre I had never heard in her voice before. I would hear that timbre again one day, and learn that it meant she was full of passion.

So this tone of voice didn’t sound dangerous and I let her go. She was lying on her back, and her legs were spread. My hands had been clasped behind her, and now they felt the pain of both of our weights on them. I clambered up and stood there, looking down at her. She stared back up at me, except she wasn’t staring at my face. I looked down and there it was ... a full-grown Bobby boner. I had gotten hard while we wrestled and didn’t even know it. That’s why she could feel it. It had actually been pressing against the vee in her jeans, right against her pussy.

“Shit,” I said, and tried to cover my dong again. It being hard made it a lot more difficult to hide.

She sat up and reached to grip my wrists. I wasn’t expecting it, and she overpowered me, pulling my hands away from my cock, which now sat, bobbing up and down, only a foot from her face.

“Good grief, Bobby,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Stop!” she said. “Just shut up.”

It felt very odd, standing there with my shirt on and my boner pointing at my sister’s face. She was sitting in what looked like an unnatural position, with her legs straight out and on either side of my feet, and her arms out from her body, holding my wrists to keep my hands away from my penis.

“Wow,” she said. “It’s incredible.”

“Why?” I panted. When had I gotten out of breath?

“Jason took that picture in the locker room,” she said. “You were there. You must have seen what the other guys looked like.” She looked up at my face and then back at my dick. “They did not look like this, Bobby.”

“Of course not,” I said. “None of them were hard.”

Now that had seemed like a normal, natural thing to say, in terms of the conversation we were having. But it was neither normal nor natural for me to have gotten stiff while we wrestled, nor for her to gaze at the evidence of my perversion for what seemed like forever.

“This seems kind of pervy, again,” I said.

She looked up at me again.

“That’s because this is pervy,” she said.

“Um ... what’s going on, here?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, staring at my cock again. “This has never happened before.”

“Well, duh,” I said.

She let go of my wrists and I let my hands hang at my sides. It felt even weirder.

She finally stood up and went and sat on the edge of my bed. She put the heels of her hands over her eyes and then removed them.

“I can’t un-see it. I think you have scarred me for life, Bobby.”

“I didn’t do anything!” I complained.

“Put some pants on,” she said.

She put the heels of her hands over her eyes again.

“I’ve seen two, okay? And neither of them looked anything like that,” she said.

“Whose?” I felt a tightness in my chest that I didn’t understand as I picked up the same underwear I had taken off and stepped into it.

“Why do you care?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I answered, truthfully. I couldn’t reach my shorts because they were lying on the bed behind her. So I just stood there, with the front of my briefs looking like there was a stick lodged in them, making them point. “I just do.”

She looked at me.

“So you just want some dirt on me so you can blackmail me later.”

“No, that’s not it,” I said. “When you said that I got this image in my mind of you looking at some guy’s dick and I wanted to hit him.”

“Hit him?” She sounded surprised. “That sounds like you’re jealous.”

“No, not jealous,” I insisted. “It’s just that I don’t know any guys who deserve to ... be with you like that.”

“Wow!” she said. “You sound like Dad, now. Is it just a guy thing or what?”

“I don’t know. I never felt like that before. I never even thought about it before. I never thought about you that way before.”

“What way?”

“I don’t know,” I groaned. “I grabbed you and it’s like everything changed.”

“You mean when you squeezed my boob?”

“Yeah, and after that, when they were pressed against me.”

“And when you were pushing your hard dick against my pussy,” she suggested.

“I wasn’t doing that on purpose,” I said.

“It sure felt like you were. Talk about things getting pervy.”

“I’m sorry?” I don’t know why it came out as a question.

“Are you?” she asked. “It really felt like you were doing it on purpose. I mean I’ve felt guys doing that before.”

“Shit,” I said. “Now I want to hit somebody again.”

“I’m still a virgin, Bobby,” she said, calmly. “You and Daddy don’t have to worry about me. Some day I’ll meet a guy I like enough to do that with, but it won’t be real soon.”

“Good,” I said.

“Says the pervert who has a boner because of his sister.” But she grinned. “Well! This is different. We’ve never talked like this. It’s kind of nice.”

“Sorry about the boner thing,” I said. “Sometimes it gets that way for no reason at all.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” she said. “The weird thing is that it didn’t make me feel icky at all. Maybe it’s because you didn’t try to get me to take my pants off and stick your tongue down my throat and paw my boobs.”

“I did sort of paw your boobs,” I said. “At least one of them.”

“Minor league stuff,” she said, waving her hand in the air.

“It’s that kind of talk that makes me feel upset,” I said. “You sound like you do that kind of thing all the time.”

“Not really,” she said. “It’s different, depending on who the boy you’re out with is. If I go out with a black guy, he’s all over me. White guys are different. They’re more gentle and stop quicker when you tell them to. When you squeezed me it was like a white guy would squeeze me.”

“This isn’t helping, Tasha,” I groaned. I grabbed my dick through my shorts. If anything it was even harder.

“Why did you grab my boob?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I was pinned and I guess I thought that would shock you enough to let me get out of it.”

“Well, it worked,” she said. “Now that I can think about it, I think that’s why I thought you were pressing your cock against my pussy on purpose. That, combined with the squeeze made it seem intentional.”

“I don’t even remember pushing against you ... down there,” I said.

“I do,” she said. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”

“Why? Was it that bad?”

“No. The problem was ... I kind of liked it.”

“So, what’s going to happen, now?” I asked. I had pants on and we were sitting, side by side on the edge of my bed.

“I have no freaking clue,” she said. “I’d suggest we go our own way, but I don’t want to.”

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The Breeding of Jill Pastrianni

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