My name is Claire. I am 15 years old, almost 16. Today is Saturday, October 6, 2018.
This is a story about incest. More importantly, it is an account of my weeks-long struggle last month to have sex with my brother, David. He is almost 17.
The account is straightforward (though somewhat convoluted), and ends the moment he and I couple our first time in the early morning hours of Sunday morning, September 16th. It occurs in my dad’s pup tent, as you might discern from the title. I include a short epilogue at the end, but that’s it. I only want to tell my story of pursuing David, and his pursuit of me.
The account begins in the tent, Saturday night of Labor Day Weekend, the official end of our summer vacation. I stretched and playfully batted the side of the tent, your typical green canvas two-person camper with a ridgepole down the middle. Flaps at one end, available online or in any sporting goods store anywhere. It was nominally waterproof, though neither David nor I wanted to put that claim to the test. The forecast was for overcast skies and overnight temps in the low 70’s, which was fine with David and me. The problem was Dad.
“Be careful with that lantern, kids. Even though it’s impossible to catch anything on fire with it, your mom hates the idea of you having it out here. You know how she is about fire.”
“I know how she is about everything,” David grumbled irritably. I laughed, which drew a reproving glare.
Mom is 43 years old, a true soccer mom with the cutest little figure. Every boy in the neighborhood adores her. (Girls, along with their moms, not so much.) I don’t care, but David is at once intimidated, and protective of her. God help the kid who says anything disrespectful to or around David.
“You should join us, Dad,” I said. David wanted to swift-kick me in the rear end, but Dad only grinned and rolled his eyes.
“Some other time, kids. I’m sure you’d rather me out here pestering you than your mom, though.”
“Six of one, half-dozen of the other,” David muttered, eyeing me reproachfully. Mom would hen-peck Dad all night long, sending him out to check every half hour until we finally went to sleep. Every time she got up to go pee, or started awake from a dream of her little one being raped, sodomized and murdered in the back yard. David hated her sometimes; I just took her in stride.
“Remember, no later than midnight, kids. Not a second later. Twelve-oh-one a.m., and Mom’ll be out here like a lioness. You don’t want that.”
Mom took no prisoners; that we all knew.
We had use of Dad’s heavy-duty extension cord to power our iPads, and we played each other until after 11 o’clock, when Dad suggested we start to wind things down. Mom stood just inside the sliding patio door, arms folded tightly across her chest. Was she tapping her foot? I bet she was. I tried to imagine the kind of trouble she worried about us getting into—besides me being raped, sodomized and murdered. Did she expect a meteor impact to wipe us out? Insurgents to kidnap us for ransom? How about a direction she would never consider: her own children.
Busy with my bedroll, I just answered: “Yeah?”
“Keep your voice down, okay?”
Now I did look around, curious. By unspoken agreement we had not talked—or even mentioned this subject--in nearly two years. I was about to be floored.
“You want to do something tonight?” He shook his head. “Forget that. Thoroughly stupid and tactless, sorry.”
The florescent light in my eyes made it hard to see. Was he blushing? Clueless, I asked, “What are you talking about, David?”
He was blushing now for sure. His expression was tortured. “Do I have to spell it out for you? The tent, overnight, alone?”
My jaw dropped. “You’re kidding me!”
He shook his head, though with a fair amount of restraint in the movement.
Flabbergasted, I cried, “No!” and then, “David!” and then “Do you want to?”
We didn’t of course. The risk of being caught was simply too great. But we talked about it, a relief after so long.
“What changed your mind?” I asked.
“What changed yours?”
“You did!” I said immediately, which made him uncomfortable. “I’m just surprised, is all. I thought that possibility was over forever.”
“So did I,” he muttered. “But I’ve been thinking about it lately.”
I never stopped thinking about it, but I didn’t say that.
“Does it scare you?”
“Of course it does,” I said.
“But you’re willing to anyway?” he questioned.
“I’ve always been willing, David. Since you know when.”
He shifted uncomfortably. “What if Mom and Dad find out?”
“They’ll kill us,” I said. “They always would have killed us, so it’s not like we’re risking anything new.” I laughed. “We’re too old to spank now.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” he grunted.
“You’re too old to spank,” I corrected. Mom was entirely capable of spanking me, if she got mad enough.
“I wish we could now,” I said softly. “It’s been so long, David.”
This had him really on edge. David had never been comfortable with this; not like me. But David was smarter than me.
Monday, Mom and Dad were home, so naughty behavior was out of the question. We helped complete the addition Dad had put on over the summer, doing finish work inside the room. We installed an acoustical ceiling and a ceiling fan. It was Mom’s new home office for nights and weekends—Dad’s was upstairs, in the spare bedroom. It was fine, until Dad dropped a hand grenade on our plans for Tuesday.
“Kids, I’m taking vacation this week. Mom wants this office finished, and I’m about sick to death of it. The only way to get it done, is to get it done,” he said resolutely. I eyed David in distress. A whole week? “You guys can chip in after school, if you want to.”
“Sure, Dad,” we said in unison. What a horrid idea.
David was particularly put out. Two years to make the decision and work up the courage to bring it up to me, and Dad bombs our plans? It was so unfair. I took it more equitably than David, though. I’d waited two years with no expectation of ever having David again.
I wondered if Mom, with her infallible mom-radar, hadn’t figured something out from our behavior. Mom is ultra sharp when it came to questionable behavior; she put a stop to us the first time, after all, and David was a mess.
“What?” he snapped. This was just after one o’clock, and Dad was inside. Mom had run to McDonald’s. I had salad, and David had his Big Mac meal.
“Please stop acting like Mom said no to the Stone’s concert.” David was a huge retro-fan, and had tickets to the upcoming concert in October. I could care less about the Stones.
“Whaddya mean?” he said sullenly.
“I mean--” I wiped my lips because he kept eyeing the right corner of my mouth. “Put bluntly, in terms I know you can understand: Dad being home this week shouldn’t mean squat to you. Mom already has her suspicious face on. So please cut it out.”
He gave me a flinty-eyed stare, scowling.
“You are!” I protested. “Another week won’t kill us! Besides,” I said, grinning impishly. “There’s always text and FaceTime.”
His expression brightened at that.
That night, we kept filth to a minimum in our text session. I initiated the session at 10 p.m., and we spent until 11:30 telling each other secrets, and discussing things you should never mention in a text message.
Tuesday night we communicated via FaceTime, and I spent 20 minutes with my shirt off, letting him savor my black bra. He deserved something for his patience, I thought. He kept after me the entire time, but I declined to flash my bare boobs for him. I chose to save that for later.
Wednesday morning, on the walk to the bus stop, I broke my silence about Mom and her radar. He stopped dead in his tracks.
“Are you saying she knows?” He was aghast.
“I don’t know,” I admitted truthfully. “She’s 43, and I’m only 15, David. Who do you think is smarter?”
He gulped, loudly. “That’s just great, Claire. That’s just fucking great.”
“Keep you voice down,” I whispered. “We don’t know anything yet. Not for sure. It could just be coincidence.”
“Coincidence my ass,” he grumbled. His expression tightened. “That means we can expect something else next week? Mom taking a leave of absence to explore her inner self, maybe? Dad putting in the pool he keeps talking about? What’s to keep Mom from deciding we need quality Mom time in the afternoon?”
This of course, meant me, her flightless chick. I eyed him, wounded.
“What?” he said as I walked away with clenched teeth. “Claire, wait! I didn’t mean anything by that!”
“Not meaning it, doesn’t make it any better,” I growled.
I am 5’6” tall, weigh 125 lbs, and have bright blue eyes and blonde hair. I have a flawless complexion, and breasts big enough to generate looks all day long at school--and everywhere else. I am also unlovely. And ungainly. And inept--especially around boys.
“Claire, wait a minute!”
“It’s okay,” I said, regaining my composure. “I’m just ... it’s been hard on me too, the last couple of days, David.”
I was a virgin. I had never dated. Three boys had kissed me, and all wanted my boobs, using my mouth to get there. Aidan Marsh wanted me to go all the way one night--he’s the only boy to ever bare my breasts and suck my nipples—and I was aroused, intimidated, and put off in equal measure. He wanted to fuck me, and have nothing to do with me afterward. I wanted to be more than a pair of boobs and a fuck. What saved me from Aidan was throwing up on him that night.
“You are not the lump you think you are, Claire.”
I looked at him fiercely and sped up. “Thanks a lot!”
“You’re not!” he insisted. “I never understood how you see yourself, Claire.”
“In the mirror,” I said stiffly. “Same way everyone else does, only mirror-image. I’m just as ugly one way or the other, David, face it!”
We reached the bus stop and that ended discussion. He fumed, eyeing me furiously. I sat beside Stacey Lever, making him sit alone in the back. We drew looks, and not a few smirks.
After school, I rode the bus home, calmed from my morning fit. I felt sad, rather than sullen. I hate being the butt of jokes. Why couldn’t I be pretty?
David wisely stayed clear of the morning’s touchy subject matter. Instead, he returned to his feeling of paranoia.
“There’s no way they’d bug our rooms, right? No way they would do that,” he muttered. I stared ahead at the house, looming on the left, two blocks away. If that horrible suggestion was true, I thought, we were really sunk. You couldn’t silence bugs without Mom and Dad knowing we’d found and disabled them. I winced, thinking of what had transpired electronically between our two bedrooms Monday and Tuesday nights. Were they monitoring our iPads? Would Mom do that? The idea made me almost turn around and head in the opposite direction.
“If there are bugs... ?” I worried.
“Leave them alone,” he agreed, “until we have an afternoon to look around. Don’t do anything that might make Mom more suspicious.”
Easy to say, I thought sourly. Not looking would be like not scratching a mosquito bite on the back of your calf--impossible.
Despite all, we had a good week helping Dad with the addition. David did, at least. He was incredibly agile swinging a hammer, wielding a paint roller, or hanging drywall. Tool belt slung around his waist, a cocky grin on his face, his muscles rippling beneath his t-shirt as he worked; I had great talent for mashing my thumb, dropping boards on my toes, and getting splinters in my fingers. Also turning around and running into things like doors, desks, and David. Twice I ripped out the seat of my jeans, squatting to pick something up. Skinny jeans and squatting repeatedly don’t mix.
“Should we, you know, bring up camping again tomorrow night?” I asked.
He looked at me, doubtful. “Let’s not push our luck, Claire.”
“We’d actually be able to talk,” I reminded him, brushing his hand clandestinely. “And do other things.” I could imagine taking his hand, walking like we did as kids, back when holding hands was permissible. He was weighing possibilities, I saw. We hadn’t so much as kissed since Saturday night. I found that realization just astounding. We wanted to fuck our brains out, and were afraid of the slightest untoward touch?
The weekend proved unbearable. We didn’t camp out, didn’t see much of each other at all. I hung out with Julie, Jen, and Cee Cee, my only three friends, while David spent Saturday finishing the addition with Dad. Sunday he hung out with his friends.
Paranoia kept us off text or FaceTime until Monday afternoon. David promised to inspect our iPads immediately after school. I couldn’t fathom how he knew so much, or how he could be so popular, knowing the things he did. I was toadstool dumb, and unpopular despite that.
David walked me to the bus stop Monday morning as usual. “Buck up, Claire. Dad went to work today. That’s reason to run around naked right there!”
“Halleluiah!” I whispered sarcastically. He meant me, of course, doing the running around naked. I got a little jolt, imagining actually doing that for him today. My underarms immediately itched, my face grew warm, and my gait got even more pigeon toed than normal.
“We’re tearing our rooms apart this afternoon,” he said. “I want to know if we’re fucked.”
I bunched my eyebrows. “Why not just--” I lowered my voice to a barely audible whisper, making David lean close. “What about the family room?”
He thought about that. “That’s not a bad idea, Claire. What if they have that bugged too, though?”
I looked at him questioningly.
“We play X-Box in the family room. She’d be covering the bases, right?”
“What do we do then?”
“We search all three!”
Which we did, every square inch of our bedrooms, and the family room downstairs: if a microphone existed—or a webcam--it was so well concealed that three hours searching failed to turn it up.
“Fuck!” David grumbled. He flopped down on the couch and then snapped off “Fuck!” again.
He jumped up. “Dad went back to work today!”
“If Mom was trying to catch us, and thought we suspected what she was up to, she wouldn’t be dumb enough to hide a webcam or a microphone today, where we could find it, would she?”
I was incredulous at the suggestion. “You mean wait until tomorrow to put it in?” I threw up my hands. “No, David! That’s ridiculous!”
Ridiculous or not, Tuesday afternoon we repeated the process and found absolutely nothing again.
“Are you satisfied?” I demanded. I was getting a very bad feeling about this.
“Maybe she’s counting on paranoia to keep us from doing anything again.”
I stared at him, drop-jawed. “You’re not serious!”
“She’s devious enough to think like that,” he argued.
I laughed, which got me an angry look. “You’re the paranoid one, David! Dad taking off last week was just coincidence and we’re wasting time searching for bugs that don’t exist!”
“Maybe,” he grunted unhappily. “But we’re doing it again tomorrow, just to be safe.”
“I have an orthodontist appointment Thursday afternoon!” I complained. “And Friday’s the after-school assembly! We won’t get home until like, 4:30!”
“So?” he said obstinately.
I wanted to punch his nose. Instead, I kicked the chair, crying, “Whatever, David!” and stormed upstairs to my bedroom.
Wednesday afternoon we searched again. Thursday afternoon I got my braces adjusted, and Friday was the assembly. We stepped off the bus just before 4:30 and headed toward the house.
“I am not doing it again!” I said furiously.
He made a frustrated sound and flicked his right hand, accidentally or not whacking my left boob. I stopped and waited for an apology.
“What?” he demanded.
I teared I was so angry. “This is so fucking stupid! You looked again yesterday, didn’t you, David?”
He shrugged, cutting his eyes away.
“Did you find anything, David?”
He shook his head, grudgingly.
“Know what I think?” I stomped away, teeth grinding audibly. He quickly caught up.
“It’s not that, Claire! Not what you’re thinking.”
I spat: “It sure seems that way to me, David Carver!”
He grabbed my arm and spun me around. “I promise you I’m not!” His eyes opened wide and he shot looks around clandestinely. “You are not going to cry! Jesus Christ, Claire! You do that, and I’m walking away.” He stepped back and threw another quick glance around. “Don’t you fucking cry on me, Claire Lynne!” His face went red with mortification.
I tried to calm. I dropped to one knee and tied my shoelaces as cover. I felt every eye in the neighbor was turned on me. Fucking busybodies, I fumed. I couldn’t believe how close I’d just come to loosing it and bursting into tears. Finally, I stood, some measure of calm restored. David looked crestfallen.
“I swear to you, sis. I was not putting you off, consciously or unconsciously.” He sighed. “OK, maybe I was, unconsciously. I don’t know. It’s been...”
“Stressful?” I suggested angrily.
I wanted to punch him, shrug off my backpack and smash him with it, screaming. He was stressed?
I leaned in close and said to him fiercely: “It’ll be me, sucking your cock, David! I’ll be the one spreading my legs and letting you put your cock in me and fuck me silly. It won’t be your asshole getting buggered when you put me on my knees and do what you say you want to do to me, will it? If anyone is stressed here, David, it’s me!”
I stormed off again, tears overrunning my eyelids and streaming down my cheeks.
“Claire, wait up!”
“Fuck you, David Carver!”
“I can’t believe you said that shit to me, Claire...” He began to laugh.
“You are in danger of never getting anything from me but grief for the rest of your fucking life!” I hissed.
“Monday for sure,” he said firmly. “No more paranoia, no more bullshit. OK, Claire?”
“I’m not waiting that long!”
“We are doing it, tomorrow night, in the tent. Or we never do it at all, David Carver!”
Saturday, September 15, 2018
“This is so fucking stupid,” he complained, for perhaps the 40th time. I held the third stake while he set it with his heel.
“It’ll be fine,” I assured him.
It would not be fine, and we both knew it. Mom would have Dad out here driving us crazy all night long. Again. David laughed.
“I’m glad you think this is funny!”
“It is,” he assured me. “I had a talk with Mom today.”
I jerked up. “What?”
“I confronted Mom this afternoon and told her to back off. We’re too old to have her surveiling us like 3-year-old’s, I told her. We didn’t camp out last weekend for exactly that reason, I told her. Christ! I’m only two years away from college, Mom!”
Stunned, I numbly positioned the last stake, which he drove in carefully with his heel. I stood and brushed my hands on my shorts.
“She admitted a lot had to do with us getting older and her being freaked about that.”
“You could have told me you planned to do that,” I said, appalled. “When the hell did you?”
“When you were in the shower,” he said. “I hope you shaved, by the way.”
I turned purple with mortification and pounded his arm with my fist.
“You hit like a girl, girl.”
I wished for a 2x4 to brain him with. I’m sure Dad had one left over somewhere. He didn’t even rub his biceps where I had hit him, probably to embarrass me even more.
“You better hope I do other things like a girl!” I hissed, pushing hair behind my ear, an age-old reaction to being embarrassed.
“Oh, I’m sure you will, Claire. Explosively too!”
I flushed bright red. He laughed and gave me a hug. “No one heard me, sis.”
He laughed, glanced quickly around, and pecked me on the cheek. “I have a little surprise for you later on,” he confided.
I eyed him mistrustfully. I was horribly overheated, and my mush-brain was running too slow. What he didn’t know--and what I wasn’t about to tell him--was that I was two weeks into my cycle, and ovulating this weekend. While David undertook his talk with Mom this afternoon, I had shaved more than my legs and underarms. I understood what being in heat was about.
I changed the subject. “She agreed then, to back off?”
He shrugged, being realistic. “We’ll have to wait and see what happens, sis.”
By 11 p.m., it was obvious some ground had been gained. Dad visited us only once, and only to deliver an update on the weather. A line of thunderstorms would pass farther to the west than originally forecast, and the severe thunderstorm advisory was lifted. The worst we could expect was a light drizzle on the tent. We all sighed in relief at that.
We played an insanely stupid game of Strip Spin The Bottle. I wore a sleeveless blue and white check shirt, unbuttoned all the way, with my shorts unzipped: as far as I was willing to take things so early. I did spread the front of my shirt wide and let David have a good long look at my bra. It was midnight blue, the sexiest thing I owned, with blue panties to match. The tops of my panties were visible between the sides of my open zipper, and I was incredibly horny. I wanted David to attack me.
The final 10 minutes before lights-out, we whispered about things David wanted to do to me, what I was willing to let him do, and what he could expect to coerce me into. I have never said no to David about anything. Thank God, he didn’t normally use that failing against me. Dad interrupted us just as I thought about unbuttoning again, unhooking my bra and letting David see.
“Lights out, kids.” I got an odd look, David told me later, over my mis-buttoned shirt. But Dad left us in peace, taking the extension cord which had powered our iPads and the fluorescent light. Rain poured down--so much for the revised forecast—though with no lightning or thunder. Mom offered her tentative permission to continue our sleepover into the morning. The first crack of lightning, however, and the campout was history.
It bothered me, more than I was willing to admit, that Mom had not spoken to me concerning her conversation with David. She and I are unusually close (for a mother and her sophomore daughter, I guess) and I’m always the first to get her opinion on anything--or her flat refusal. Which included what I wanted to do, wear, whom I wanted to see, or where I wanted to go. She and David barely spoke most of the time. This sudden reversal of alliances put me out of sorts. I didn’t like it. It eventually affected my mood.
“What’s going on? Are you upset at me about something?”
“No,” I lied sulkily. The growing intensity of the rain assaulting the tent didn’t improve things. I wouldn’t put up with getting wet if it leaked. David could use his hand tonight.
“I asked her not to, if that’s what you’re in a snit about suddenly,” he said.
“What?” I clumsily pushed up on an elbow.
“I told her all this mother-henning was driving you crazy. You were afraid to talk to her because you didn’t want to hurt her feelings. I know how close you two are lately.” He grinned at the emphasis on “close.” He knew how downtrodden I felt, Mom vetoing everything I wanted to do. She even ... well, never mind that. It’s too personal.
I glared at him.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, laughing. “You weren’t going to do it.”
I huffed indignantly.
“You wouldn’t!” he insisted. “And she needed straightening out.”
“Eff you!” I said angrily and lay back down, turning away. He could use his hand, tonight, no matter what. In fact...
“I’m going inside!” I exclaimed, struggling to sit upright and get myself free of the sleeping bag. I gasped, finding David right there, on hands and knees, grinning at me. I recoiled when he attempted to kiss me.
“Get away from me, you pervert! David!”
Grinning wolfishly, he cornered my mouth and put his lips against it. I stared at him defiantly, keeping my lips rigid. He didn’t try to coerce me, though; he just pressed his lips against mine until I quieted.
“It’s too early!” I whispered fiercely.
His grin only got wider. “I’ll wait.”
“You bet you will,” I grumbled, retreating as best I could. He had chased me right into the corner of the tent. “Will you please stop?”
“Not until you kiss me, Claire Lynne.”
“No!” I said determinedly. Then, less unwaveringly, I added, “We’ll get caught.” I retreated again as his lips chased mine, and this time, I did kiss him. I began to melt inside.
Sunday, September 16, 2018
Just before one a.m., I had nearly drifted off to sleep; David, watching the house, shook me lightly.
“What?” I muttered.
“Time for your surprise.”
I eyed him dubiously. What kind of surprise could you hide in a tent? It had to be in his sleeping bag, I decided, though it couldn’t be very big, or I would have seen an outline through the material. I looked and choked on my response.
“David! What the fuck is that?!”
He snorted, shaking with suppressed laughter. In his hand was a dildo. A very large dildo, with a huge scrotal sack as a base, allowing it to stand upright. The shaft had to be 6” long and 1-1/2” thick. I gaped, open-mouthed. And then blushed every shade of red possible.
Indignantly, I hissed: “You put that thing away! Are you insane?” I choked as he obscenely ran the length of the shaft through his circled forefinger and thumb. I grabbed at it, and missed.
“Where did you get that, anyway?” I demanded. My eyes exploded and my jaw dropped at the truth. Stunned, I stared at the house through the side of the tent, mental x-ray vision turned on.
I choked out: “David! What if she finds it missing?”
“Like she’d gonna look tonight,” he guffawed, twirling the dildo clumsily like a baton.
“This is exactly the night she’d looked for it, you idiot!”
He blinked at my fierce expression. Then he glanced toward the house, uncertain. “Shit,” he muttered. “You don’t think... ?”
I grabbed the intimidating thing from his hand. I was hugely embarrassed, my blush raging hot. “What were you thinking?” I demanded.
He shrugged, embarrassed now, also.
“Put it back in your sleeping bag, right now! And pray Mom never discovers you found it, much less brought into this tent, David Carver!”
His face brightened again. “Would you like to, though? Theoretically?”
My face got even hotter. “No!” I hissed angrily.
He gazed at me thoughtfully, knowing that was a lie. It made my humiliation so much worse. I told him to wait when he shrugged and flipped open his sleeping bag.
“I’m not saying yes,” I clarified. “I just want to talk about it.” I shrank back, cringing when he offered the dildo. “I’m not doing anything with that, though,” I warned. The very thought, made me shudder with revulsion.
“It was still in the package,” he said.
“I had to open it, dummy. You wouldn’t believe what a pain that was, doing it without damaging the plastic. I have to reseal it again. Almost as bad as the packing on electronic stuff, you know.” He waited expectantly.
“This is new then?” I asked.
His grin returned, full strength. “I wouldn’t expect you to use...” He laughed. “It was great though, watching your expression when I brought it out.” He laughed again, batting the head of the dildo against his palm. “I probably should have mentioned the new part before, huh?”
“You think!” I hissed, punching at him and missing. “You still shouldn’t have taken it, David.”
He shrugged. “What’s done, is done.”
I eyed the thing worriedly. A shudder of fear and excitement ran down my spine. I glanced at the tent flaps.
“It’s still too early,” he admitted.
“We should have waited for Monday,” I grumbled.
I fought free of my sleeping bag, crawled over, and peeked out. And then giggled when he devilishly poked my rear end with the head. I wagged playfully, grinning over my shoulder at him.
“Why pretend, when you can have the real thing,” I said in a low, sultry voice. He motioned me to turn around, which I did. I grinned when he pointed at his crotch, and pantomimed a dog licking happily.
“Dream on,” I advised.
He stuck the dildo back inside his bedroll and stretched out atop it.
“We should get some sleep. As long as it’s raining like this...” He made a gesture at the top of the tent, being pummeled by heavy rain. “It’s too dangerous, even thinking about it. Mom’s still awake in there, laying in bed, fretting over us.”
“Or standing at the patio door,” I suggested, “watching it rain.” I almost wished lightning would strike and get it over with. Though not leaking, the canvas did nothing to stop the clammy humidity. It made the tent an uncomfortable place to be.
“I’m going to bed. Wake me when this damned rain stops, or you think it’s safe.” I was itching like crazy inside my clothes and wanted to strip them off. I hate cool, clammy weather.
“Okay, sleeping beauty. I’ll kiss you awake with my magic lips.”
He kissed me awake just after three.
“Wake up, fair maiden. Plan to sleep all night?”
I pushed up on an elbow and eyed the tent flaps, then my watch. “It’s too late, David,” I complained. “Have you looked?”
“I checked it out,” he said quietly. “Everything’s clear. It’s now or never, sis.”
This was so stupid. Three o’clock in the morning, the rain still pouring down—who comes up with these stupid forecasts, anyway?—Mom probably asleep with one eye and both ears open. I was uncomfortable and scared practically to death. We’d get caught doing this tonight. I was certain of it.
He laughed softly.
“You look like a cheerleader who got on the team bus, instead of the one for the other cheerleaders. We don’t have to do this,” he said.
I didn’t have to do this, I mentally corrected. He wasn’t the one whose mouth would open and wrap around a cock, not the one on her back with her legs spread wide, a cock plumbing her vagina. Not the one to get on her hands and knees and let him take her anally, as he had convinced me to do. My insides clenched at the thought of that, and I had to remember to breathe.
How big was he, I suddenly wondered. The question hadn’t arisen and this triggered further anxiety. Never having so much as a finger up me other than my own, being penetrated would hurt. Would I bleed? Most girls I knew had bled their first time, at least a little bit. Some had bled enough to be a real problem. Any blood in this tent would be a huge giveaway. Mom would know exactly what we’d done. God, had David even thought to bring condoms?
“David!” I blurted feverishly.
“Do we have condoms? Please tell me you have condoms!”
“I have condoms,” he acknowledged, laughing. Then more seriously, he inquired of me: “Claire... ? Do you want to do this?”
I fought off developing panic. “Yes,” I said, shaking my head. Then, “I don’t know, David ... I’m scared.”
“I repeat, then: we don’t have to do this.”
Yes, please, let’s not then, I ached to say. Instead, I unzipped my sleeping bag and climbed out.
“Stay right there,” he instructed.
Confused, I remained on my hands and knees, clumsily straddling the centerline, my sleeping bag in disarray. He slipped free of his bedroll, got on his knees and unzipped his shorts. I watched with alarm as he worked himself free and displayed it for me. He was so much bigger than I had expected, even flaccid. My insides cramped and I began to tremble violently. He wasn’t planning on me sucking him immediately, was he? Please don’t do that to me, I thought.
He wagged his penis scandalously.
“Please stop that!” I squeaked. “You look ridiculous, and you’re embarrassing me like crazy. I’m getting back in my sleeping bag if you even think about putting that in my mouth, David Carver!”
He laughed, his erection growing so fast, and so huge. He was 8” long and frighteningly thick and veined. The head was smaller than I expected, not bulbous like most erection’s I saw on the Internet. It outright terrified me, though.
“I have something to tell you!” I blurted.
He raised his eyebrows.
“I’m ovulating! I could get pregnant if we’re not careful. You have to promise not to put yourself in me unprotected, David. I don’t want to get pregnant!”
He dropped to his hands; bringing his face level with mine, and sought out my lips. I kissed him, closing my eyes and turning my head to fully offer my mouth. I began to ignite inside, my heart rate soaring, my blood pressure making my ears ring. Gooseflesh erupted all over my upper body. I moaned and clutched handfuls of bedroll. I writhed, let my teeth part for his tongue, began to French kiss my own brother. He didn’t touch me; we only kissed. Regardless, I was in danger of self-immolating. I wanted to surrender my virginity to him so badly.
“Stop!” I gasped. Breath rasped in and out of my mouth. I groped for his hand, guided it beneath me to my right breast, and helped him cup it. I gripped his hand tightly. “These are yours. All of me is yours, David. Right down to my fillings, if you want them.”
He laughed softly. “I’ll take this, gladly,” he said, pecking my lips. “Also your bra and panties, this blue and white shirt of yours—” He tugged down the neck with his fingertip. “Your shorts, your rear end, your vagina—” He laughed as I choked at the word. “Your clitoris, which I plan to wrap my lips around and drive you absolutely crazy with. Your asshole and rectum, which I absolutely plan to fuck tonight, Claire.” He kissed me furiously, eliciting a helpless moan. “And every other part of you that I can put my mouth to. But first, I want this.”
He straightened, put his hand behind my head, and guided my lips to his cock. Moaning, I closed my eyes and began to suck.
I put my brain in neutral and let my mouth take control. It knew a lot better how to perform oral sex than my brain. Finally able to overcome his unexpected size, I attempted this, and experimented with that, discovered exquisite uses for my lips and tongue, and basically drove David insane. Half a dozen times in just the first ten minutes, he extracted himself to keep from flooding my mouth with sperm. I had him incredibly turned on. Myself, too.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” he croaked. “You’ve never done this to a guy?”
I rolled my eyes and watched his erection, the head ticking up and down with the thud of his heartbeat. The dull illumination thrown off by the nightlight in the corner gave it the appearance of a predatory monster. It appeared to respire, poised to attack. The light gave it a bruised purple cast. I reminded myself that only a moment before, it had subjugated my mouth, and would again shortly.
“This should bother me more than it does,” I panted.
“Sucking your brother?” he asked. “Or just sucking in general?”
My eyes followed the erratic movement of his head. “I’m on my hands and knees, sucking your cock. I can’t imagine anything I could possibly do that is more demeaning to me, or gives you more control over me than this, David. The same with making me take it up my ass, or getting put over your knee and having my bare bottom paddled. It’s all meant to exert control. Guys gotta be in charge.”
“Putting you over my knee? Where did that come from? Jesus, you sound like fucking Nick.”
I laughed. Nick was our cousin in Maryland. He and his sister Kaitlyn were into some Internet spanking thing, so claimed Nick, anyway. Rubbish, considering the mouth it came from, but I kept meaning to query Kaitlyn to see if were true. So yes, that’s where my unexpected spanking comment originated. I’d soon come to regret my stupid mistake.
“Nick and Katie aside, I mean what I said, David. It’s 2018, and sexual-equality-wise, I might as well live in 1918. It’s pathetic what we do for guys. It’s pathetic you expect us to do them just cause you want. Perverse.”
Considering my heart-felt complaints about self-worth, and self-determination, I perversely rocked forward and lovingly kissed the tip of his penis again.
“You’re just worried about not doing a good job,” he quipped.
I punched him on the thigh. “I’m serious, David--Jesus!” And then, because he had me suddenly insecure about my performance, I timidly asked, “Am I? Doing a good job?”
He laughed huskily. “Jesus, Claire! You give the best blowjob imaginable. I don’t even feel compelled to make you deep-throat me. Which is really the way to control a girl, you know.”
I punched him again. “Asshole!”
“Know the difference between jelly and jam? I can’t jelly my cock down your throat!”
I punched him a 3rd time. “You are so gross!”
“What do you and a noodle have in common?”
I guessed the disgusting answer just as he said it. “Don’t you--”
“You both wiggle when I eat you!”
“David!” I cried, double-punching his thigh. “You asshole!” I tried to sit back.
“Can I eat you?” he asked.
Oh my God, I thought I would die. “David!”
He laughed even harder, rubbing my head with both hands. “I’ll spank you first to get you hot. Nick says Kaitlyn loves being spanked.”
“That’s not gonna happen!” I spat.
“You’d like it.”
“I would not!”