Chapter 16

Folly and Holly, the 14-year-old Bailey twins were ripe little girls who had sexually matured before they left the fifth grade. They started wearing training bras and using tampons in the 6th grade, the year their mother died of cancer, and were everyone’s wet dreams through middle school, emerging with jugs the size and shape of softballs on bodies barely five feet tall and weighing less than a hundred pounds.

They had fought off the neighborhood boys, as well as a few horny relatives, and entered ninth grade bubbling with enthusiasm, still virgins despite a few close calls at the beach that summer, especially after they appeared in their new string bikinis. Their father had paddled their bottoms when he saw them coming back into the rented house, giggling at each other about the auto accident they had caused by hurrying down the steps from the boardwalk, their big jugs bobbling wildly and three college boys galloping along behind them.

“Give me those suits right now,” he had demanded after he spanked them both. The girls, buttocks stinging, looked at each other and then untied their bows and handed their growling father the scraps of black material that had barely covered their vulvas and areoles, leaving their ample buttocks and most of their large breasts completely bare. Young men had flocked about them under their umbrella and chased them into the surf several times, their swimsuits bulging.

The girls’ father stuck the suits in the pocket of his shorts and looked at his pouting daughters, shaking his head. “Damn shame your mother died. Guess this is all my fault. Girls, please, please, please don’t do anything like this again. I’ll take a belt to you, I swear I will.”

They stood before him, hands clasped at their privates, forearms squeezing out their globular melons, trying to look contrite. “You don’t want us to have any fun,” Holly said, sticking out her lower lip and wiggling her still-boyish hips.

“It’s not fair,” Folly said. “Lots of girls wear suits like those.”

“Do lots of girls have jugs like yours?” he asked, feeling himself becoming aroused by the sight of them. Their groins were nearly hairless and what pubic hair they had had been severely trimmed to a few golden curls and their slits were tight-lipped and pale.

“Guess not,” Folly said, shifting her feet and bobbling her boobs distractingly.

“Not our fault,” said her sister, reaching up to cup one of her soft mammalaries and lifting it gently. “They just grew.” Both girls were able to suck their own nipples and, from time to time, sucked each other’s when they had trouble getting to sleep.

“Go on and get dressed and we’ll go get some crab cakes,” said their father, trying not to watch the fully globular breast bobble when the little girl released it or their hard asses sway as they departed, up on their toes. While the girls picked out cut-off t-shirts and tiny white shorts, their aching father jerked off in the bathroom, his fist in his mouth.

But now it was September, and they had quickly become JV cheerleaders and had learned to do wonderful backflips and acrobatic splits and to wear heavy sports bras, size 38D, that barely contained their globes. Their sweaters were size 40s, the biggest ones the school had, after the cheerleader sponsor had measured their incredible chests at 39 inches expanded and their waists at only 23 and hips at 35, most of that packed into nearly round but neatly dimpled buttocks.

Their father would not allow them to date but did let them go to school dances after football games, picking them up himself at 10 pm or having a female family friend do it. Both girls had done a good bit of making out that summer and found they truly enjoyed boys’ hands and mouths on nearly very part of them, including under their shirts and in their panties. They had handled a few young cocks and masturbated themselves to orgasms almost daily, often watching each other climax, and had been sorely tempted to pleasure each other. But they had never poked anything very far into their tight little vaginas and both had fully intact maidenheads which they said they planned to save for their wedding nights.

Tommy first saw them at a post-game party in the gym, watched them dance, flirting with boy and after boy, and decided her had to have them.

“Fresh meat,” one of his pals said.

“Prime,” said Tommy, his mind working hard as her admired their voluptuous bodies. He had already laid two of the JV cheerleaders, one during the summer at the pool and the other the previous weekend, but he did not know any of the younger girls very well. He hoped the girl he had left blubbering and bleeding last Saturday night wouldn’t talk about what he had done to her or how many times he had done it.

The Bailey girls made Tommy’s task easier by inviting classmates to come to their house after school and play in their basement rec room where there was an arcade-style PacMan, a foosball table, a pool table with a ping-pong top that stood against the wall and several comfortable chairs and sofas as well as a refrigerator stocked with softdrinks and usually a case or more of Mr. Bailey’s favorite beer on the bottom shelf. He had made a sign that said “DON’T TOUCH” for that supply.

The girls rode the school bus and Tommy was surprised some of the boys had not hauled them to the wide backseat and screwed them until their eyes crossed. Their school dress verged on teenaged-slut, a fact of which their father was unaware but one all their teachers well knew.

One rainy Wednesday when there was no practice, Tommy followed the bus and knocked on their basement door a few minutes after they got home. From his previous scouting, he knew he had about three hours. Tommy had debated drugging the girls but decided to try to charm them out of their cherries first. That was always more fun if you ignored the tears and the begging, which Tommy always did.

Folly, still in her school clothes including a lacy half-bra and a deeply gored skirt, let him in and shook his hand, smiling up at the senior who towered above her. “Mike told me you guys entertained,” he said with his best smile. “Hope you don’t mind.” Tommy had arranged for a couple of his friends to hang around and discourage other visitors that day. He promised them seconds if they would wait an hour or so.

Folly nodded and urged him to come in out of the rain. “Sure, get yourself a Coke while I change. Holly’ll be right down. You any good at ping pong?”

“The best,” said Tommy with a laugh. “World champion.”

Folly scampered away, excited because she knew who Tommy was even though she had no idea of his reputation among the girls at school. If she had known that Ellen, the 9th grader he had screwed last Saturday was still sore and spotting, she might not have gushed out to her sister that a football hero was in their cellar drinking a Coke. “A senior,” she gushed, “and he’s so big and so cute.”

Holly came hurrying down the basement steps, and she and Tommy exchanged names and smiles. After wearing the heavy bra her coach demanded all day, the girl was braless under her short, spaghetti-strapped top and was wearing an old pair of jeans that fit like skin and some slides. Her nipples hardened when Tommy shook her hand and smiled at her.

Together, they lifted the Ping-Pong tabletop onto the pool table, set up he net and by the time the other twin came bouncing down the steps, were well into their first game.

“I’m beating him, 16-11,” cried Holly right after one of Tommy’s overhand smashes missed the end of the table.

“I get the winner,” Folly said eagerly, her nipples poking out the thin cloth of her tight-fitting t-shirt which left her stomach bare. She wore a tiny, flared shirt and her new Adidas. Tommy glanced at her and lost another point on Holly’s spun serve.

“Hey, no fair,” he yelled. “I was distracted by boobs.”

“I’m goin’ to beat your ears off,” crowed Holly.

“Bet you won’t,” said Tommy.

“How much?” asked the girl, serving again.

“A kiss,” the boy said bravely, hitting a forehand winner.

“Make it ten,” said the girl, sticking out her tongue.

“You’re on,” Tommy said, enjoying the challenge. He won nine of the next ten points and triumphed 21-18, throwing his paddle in the air and cheering himself. Holly put down her paddle, trotted around the table and jumped up into Tommy’s arms, planting her mouth on his and wrapping her legs around his waist. Tommy kissed her and stumbled to the nearest sofa. By the fifth kiss, his right hand was filled with her oversized breast and by the eighth she was panting and her pussy was wet as their tongues dueled and his fingers undid the brass button at her waist.

“Come on, my turn,” Folly said loudly, “that’s got to be ten.”

Tommy laid the girl flat on the sofa and kissed her, rocking her head from side to side as her rubbed his bulging groin into her aching pubis.

“Same bet?” he asked Folly after leaving her sister moaning and writhing, her mouth bruised and her vagina spasming. He tossed back his bleached hair and smiled at the buxom twin who licked her lips and nodded, her nipples stone hard and rubbing on her thin shirt.

Tommy almost won 11-0 but missed one smash and had to finish the game, defeating the wide-eyed girl 21-3. By then Holly was sitting up, blinking and watching the action with a smile. Tommy and her sister came and sat beside her and kissed tenderly and quickly five times, just tiny little smacks as they held hands and then Tommy ravaged her mouth, tongued her deeply, mauled both her big breasts and pushed her t-shirt up on her shoulders so he could get kisses nine and ten from her nipples which he left hard and well nibbled.

“Another game?” he asked Holly after he pulled down her sister’s shirt and let her sink back moaning with desire, both hands in her groin.

“Uh uh, you’re too good. We’ll play hockey, two of us against you,” she said, licking her lips and feeling a bit of fear.

“What’s the winner get?” he asked with a smile, reaching out his fingers to tickle the underside of her right boob.

Holly gulped and nodded. Nobody had ever beaten the girls as foosball. “Oral,” she said bravely, “oral sex for the winner, or winners. You have to lick both of us.”