"What'ya reading? said my sister.
"The Flowers of Evil,"
"Your Lit 202, I suppose. Read me a little"
"Not exactly assigned, however." I read:
Close swarming, like a million writhing worms,
A demon nation riots in our brains.
"I feel that swarm, sometimes," Jill said. "But what are the 'flowers of evil'?
"'Evil' or 'disgusting' things that have their peculiar fascination and beauty."
"Baudelaire wrote, "The unique and supreme pleasure of making love lies in the certitude of doing evil." His sexual imagery was very striking:
Thus, one night, I'd like,
When the hour of pleasure sounds,
To crawl, like a coward, silently
Toward the treasures of your person.
To punish your joyful flesh,
To bruise your pardoned breast,
And carve in your astonished flank
A wide and hollow wound,
And delicious sweetness,
Through those lips, new formed,
Brighter and more lovely,
To inject you, my Sister, with my Blood.
I had piqued her curiosity. "punish your joyful flesh," she mused. I had no doubt she understood it, though she had not quite finished high school. She wanted to know about people, their unusual experiences, though she'd had a lot more, I'm sure, than the average 18 year old.
She came over to the chair where I was sitting and knelt beside it. She looked up, her eyes curious, framed in three shades of purple eye shadow;
"How is joyful flesh to be punished?" Her face was beautiful, open, highlighted by her striking, somewhat 'goth' makeup that led most people she encountered to inquire, "Are you a drama student?" In fact, she'd had a fine role in an amateur production of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. She interrupted my fascination, "How do we do it?"
"There are certain sexual practices.... " I said trailing off, hinting..
I noticed her breasts resting on the arm of the chair; firm, now, the size of oranges standing out on her fine-boned chest and slender body. More than one fellow senior had incurred her withering remarks by asking "Are they real?"
"I inflate them," she'd say, and as the person nodded, she'd add, "with the air that rushes through your head." Again she broke into my thoughts, "Go on." Seeing the direction of my gaze, she smiled.
"Do you know what 'transgression' is?" I asked.
"Of course. It's breaking the rules or laws, the kind of things you'll learn to do in law school." She arched an eyebrow.
"Touché," I said, "and it is also going beyond the limits, for instance, of decency. This writer believes transgression is necessary for the artist and for any person who really lives. He lived with a prostitute, Jeanne Duval."
"I would not just break a rule just to be breaking it."
"True," I said. "But when you go beyond the bounds, indulge the most unusual forms of sensuality, you become hyper-aroused. People will consider what you do, depraved and dangerous."
Knowing of her sexual activities, I asked her, "Did you ever break the rules with a boyfriend?"
"Well, Dan did a lot of speeding. One time he drove 110 miles per hour, to scare me. I didn't notice at the time, but Mom sure did when I got home; I'd wet my pants. 'What's that?' she asked. 'Just a spill,' I said and went off to change."
"OK," I said. "But for 'sex'; ever done it in a weird, possibly forbidden place?"
"Oh yes. Once up in the higher balconies of the theater where we weren't supposed to go. The guy just laid me back, lifted the front of my skirt, pulled my panties aside, and we fucked."
"Then we arranged our clothes, stood up and walked out, casual as you please."
"Did the public location arouse you?"
"Yes; my heart was already pounding when we entered the balcony. And I came like never before."
"Even a minor transgression can heighten the senses."
"Well, Mom didn't think it was so minor. I had to walk past her, in the hall, coming in, and I tried to be casual. You remember."
"Mom exploded when she saw a big wet spot on the back of your skirt: She just lost it. 'You're peddling that cunt of yours!' She has the mouth of a sailor, doesn't she? Though she tries to carry herself with the dignity of a model. I don't blame you for not speaking to her for a week."
Jill wanted to return to the topic at hand. "But doesn't the thrill always decay?"
"Well, desire has to be first let out, then attended."
Our discussion proceeded.
"Did you know that Byron, the poet, had sex with his sister--well, half-sister?"
She started. I could see she was thinking.
"OK, Garth, let's quit horsing around. You want to fuck me?"
"Well," I responded, sounding noncommittal.
"If you're thinking of fucking me, it ain't going to happen."
"OK." But I sensed a flicker in my cock. "Well, what is possible?"
"Hmmm... " she hesitated.
She had picked up my reaction.
"I just don't want that huge cock shoved in my cute little quim." Ironically coy. I was flattered. She was considering other possibilities.
Then, she blurted out, "OK, here's your opportunity. You may suck my pussy. And make me cum. Is sucking off your sister transgressive enough?"
"Yes; but judge for yourself--after the experiment."
"OK, let's get on with it. But I will be requiring something of you in return," she added. "OK. Name it."
"I'll let you know."
"Get out of the chair," she said.
She removed her jeans and panties and sat down. I couldn't believe it. The pussy I hadn't seen since we were kids was showing there in full bloom, covered by her dark moss. "This is so cold-blooded," she said, opening her legs. "It's awesome."
"That adds to the evil." She got the point. She rotated her hips up. The black thatch beckoned me.
"Stroke my pussy!"
When her eyes closed I kissed down over her belly, past her sex and onto her inner thighs. It felt strange and artificial, at first, but I continued these caresses until she became relaxed and mellow. Her pussy began to give off that earthy odor mixed with her lily of the valley perfume, and I reached to insert two of my fingers into her wet entrance.
When the hips began their rhythm, I lowered my lips to her slickened ones, below, and inhaled deeply. I slid my tongue from her cunt tunnel up to her clit, sucking, swirling around it then returning below. As she pressed her pussy against my face, I knew she was losing herself in her lust. With tongue and right-hand fingers I thrust into her while my other fingers flicked and stroked her clit. She started thrashing and began to come. She moaned and grasped my head then grabbed at my fingers to pull them in deeper. At each stroke on her clit I heard a loud groan and felt her flood, the involuntary twitching of cunt on my face and around my fingers.
Though her thighs were clasped over my ears, I heard her cry out "Suck me Garth omigod, ahhh." She bucked and thrashed for a long while before easing off. Finally I felt her thighs relax a bit; I heard her first question. "How do you like eating your little sister's pussy?" I just licked my lips.
And so she began as my partner; together we hatched schemes for 'evil' things we could think of. We had an occasional repeat of lunching at the "Y," and that seemed as far as she was comfortable. She herself came up with some good ideas, and she reported her experiments to me.
One day the idea came to her:
"We could fuck Mom."
"Wow!. ... I'm not sure I can arrange it, though."
"Well, I will start," said Jill. "I think I know a way in."
I thought of Mom and felt a little bit sorry for her, till I remembered Dad. He'd brought me and my sister up, from the time I was four and she was two, until our early teens. "Your Mom just had to go," he always said, "but she will come back."
I was 14, sitting on the front steps admiring a sleek looking redhead of 30 something, when she turned up our walkway. "Hi, Garth" she said, in a friendly way. She seemed so familiar. Then I noticed the compact little bum I'd looked up at when I was four. "Mom," I said, "Come in and see Dad." Dad seemed so happy to see her. They began to chat, and I noticed what I hadn't at four. Her pants were so tight that her sex was clearly divided by the centre seam of the crotch. I learned, however, she was very tasteful in dress at work, and I'm sure it was that ass of hers that led the boss, at various big corporations, to make her his 'special assistant.'
"Jill, how will you get to her?"
"She has her weak moments. It's silly, but did you notice that after a big lottery, like the NY State, if she doesn't win a nickel, she's depressed. And she takes more than a couple stiff drinks."
"She's hard to figure," I said.
I'd never learned the full story of why she'd left, or come back, but one night I overheard Dad saying something like "Did you get it out of your system?" I wondered what "it" was. Jill and I were just civil, at first, then we got to like her, but still didn't exactly look on her as a parent. It was probably her desire to be loved that led her to mostly give up on 'minding' us, but she tried to show Dad that she loved and cared for us. But always we remembered our Dad, not Mom, getting up a night, in our childhood emergencies.
"With your help, I think I can get to her."
"You sound so detached," said Jill, "I feel a bit like that." When Mom came back, trying to make amends, we half played at being her devoted 'teens'. But when Dad suddenly died of a heart attack a 3 years ago, we backed off, withdrew to ourselves, and she was smart enough not to try to 'parent' us. Except for a few incidents with Jill.
"I hadn't realized she was actually depressed at those times."
"I asked her, 'what's the matter?' one time," said Jill. "She said, "' I used to be with 'money' all the time. Now I have to pin my hopes on a fucking lottery.'"
"With her looks, I'm sure some of the 'money' took a big interest in her, at age 25."
Jill's analysis of Mom's vulnerabilities sounded correct, and so we bided our time. In a couple weeks, it was the state lottery night, 12 million dollars at stake, and thousands of prizes. I took care to be out at the time of the announcements; I slipped in late in the evening. Jill filled me in, the next day.
Mom heard the announcements on TV, and Jill heard her say, "Oh shit, not again," and pour herself a drink. Jill walked in and sat down next to her. "That's a bummer, Mom." Jill snuggled up. "But I love you just the same." Mom brightened a little. Neither my sister or I said such things very often.
"Relax, Mom, lie back and I'll massage your neck. But do you want another drink?" Mom took one and laid herself out, on her back, on the sofa. Jill was at the end and began to massage her neck.
"M.m.," said Mom. Jill moved to her face after a while, and then to her shoulders. Mom was just relaxing. From Mom's shoulders, Jill went to the sides of her chest. Mom's breasts were not large, but now, in her thirties, they hung toward her sides when she was lying down. Jill brushed them, as if by accident. Mom didn't move. Jill proceeded to the breasts themselves, and tried to defuse the situation. "Mom, these are so firm. ...I always admired them. And they're still gorgeous at your ripe age." Teasing. Mom smiled and let the caresses proceed. Jill brushed the nipples and then began squeezing them lightly. Again, she acted casual. "These are awesome nipples, Mom. I know they attract a lot of attention." As Jill twisted them, Mom moaned a little.
"Jill, you're my daughter," said Mom, stirring herself. She put her hands on top of Jill's to keep them from moving. "Of course, Mom" said Jill. "But it's not like I have the hots for you. I just admire your body and think you look really sexy. OK?" Mom was quiet. It dawned on Jill that Mom's hands had just stopped hers, not removed them. Jill pressed against Mom's nipples, her hands under Mom's. Mom pressed too.
They progressed quickly. Jill got her to remove her sweater and bra, and Jill began applying lotion. Mom took another drink and surrendered herself, her breasts, to Jill's tender ministrations. Mom was squirming. Jill wasn't sure how to proceed. She didn't want to freak out Mom by just going for her pussy. "Let yourself go, Mom," she said. She took Mom's hand and placed it on her crotch, over the pants. Mom began gently to stroke herself as Jill massaged her breasts. "I hope you don't think I do this all the time," Mom said. "It's a release, Mom, I understand." Mom unzipped and stroked herself through her panties, and Jill saw a wet spot. She turned down the lights. "Just pretend I'm not here," she said. "Relax yourself." Bold in the darker room, Mom sighed and slipped fingers under her panties.
Jill shifted position, so she was beside Mom. She stroked Mom's breasts with one hand and gently rested her hands on Mom's, below, feeling Mom's fingers madly at work. She pressed down, and Mom moaned as the fingers were forced into her. Jill smelled success. She also heard--though Mom did not--the small sound of me entering the apartment. She knew I would be in the darkened foyer, watching.
I saw Jill's hand on Mom's, bobbing. Jill pulled down her panties and slipped her hand toward Mom's pussy and slid her fingers in. Both their hands glistened with the juices of Mom's dripping cunt. Since Mom's hips swung up even more fully into the fingers, Jill began slipping in two of hers, alongside Mom's two. Jill seemed to get into the spirit of it and applied her lips to Mom's large nipples. Mom began thrashing in her lust, approaching climax. Knowing she was out of it, I moved from the foyer into the end on the living room, standing silently. Jill began talking to bring Mom over the edge. "Come. Let yourself come," she said. "Fuck these fingers. Fuck 'em hard."
She wanted Mom to focus on the fingers, and Mom probably didn't even realize that Jill moved her other hand down to frig her clit and shoved three of the fingers from the other hand into Mom's gaping hole. I silently slipped up on them and took over Mom's breasts. I felt the hard nubs in my fingers. I pressed into the firm flesh and felt my cock harden. Mom's climax was imminent, and it was all I could do not to press my cock, in my pants, against her. All at once, Mom cried out, "God, Jill, I'm cumming. Omigod. Fuck me." I saw a spurt of juices, and Jill shoving as deep as she could. A look of triumph on her face. She realized the power she had, to make a body totally convulse.
Mom had a smile on her face, and she began to come out of it. I had quickly exited, unnoticed. "Mom, I love you," I heard Jill saying, as I quietly closed the door to my bedroom.
Jill and I pow-wowed the next morning. Jill was happy. "I was right," she said. "We've found the way in. So to speak." She winked. "And incidentally, I don't think I'm going to be hearing from her again about my morals and my cunt."
"I don't think you will, either. You were great, Jill. Did you get off too?"
"Oh yes," she said. "I thought it was too much to ask Mom to frig me. But after I was alone, I dialed up the big "O" on my li'l telephone."
"Did the transgression excite you?"
"Yep, it was a real violation of decency. My cunt was just dripping. As you said, the greater the evil, the greater the volume of fluid."
We began to discuss to the next phase. Jill was pretty sure she could get Mom worked up again, and we talked about my just sneaking in and impaling the aroused cunt. "It won't work," said Jill, "I'm sure she could deal with something like that." I proposed that we might 'get to' Mom, play with her mind because of what she'd done. Jill doubted it. "Even if we had the last session on film, I'd look like the seductress. ... I like your idea, though," she added, "I just have to take her further. She has to be drawn in and feel responsible, not merely seduced. For instance, when you 'discover' us, I want her face buried in my pussy. That's a little harder to explain."
In the next two weeks, Jill was with Mom a couple more times, massaging her, then bringing her to orgasm. We wanted Mom to become accustomed. At the next lottery night, Jill arranged to be home with Mom. Mom lost. Jill encouraged her to have a couple drinks and things proceeded pretty much like before. When Mom's sweater and bra came off, Jill especially admired her breasts. Stroking them, she said, "I'm sort of self conscious about mine. They don't hang like a woman's ... like some of my friends' do. And I'm so embarrassed about these nipples that always stick out."
Mom looked sympathetic. "They're fine."
"Please have a look, Mom, and tell me if I'm weird, OK?" Mom nodded and Jill removed her top and bra. Those oranges did not droop at all; their tips perked up, but Mom probably didn't figure it was Jill's arousal that caused it.
"Jill, your breasts are sexy, very attractive."
Jill looked reassured, moved closer, and began stroking Mom's again. Mom lay face up on the couch and Jill knelt on the floor and pressed her breasts against Mom. "Do you like them?" she said, with a tremor in her voice. She was fingering Mom's nipples; her own ripe breast, just inches from Mom's face. Jill kept up with her left hand, but with her right, she offered the breast to Mom's mouth. Mom looked at Jill, and probably to re-assure her, started sucking the dark nipple. Jill closed her eyes, genuinely aroused.
"OH Mom, I love you." This time, as things heated up, Mom needed no encouragement to loosen her pants and start fingering herself. Jill interrupted her kissing and hugging and took off her own pants and panties. "I feel so good with you, Mom," she said. "I know it's not like you have the hots for me." While Mom continued masturbating, Jill stroked her own breasts. "You're gorgeous," she said. "But Mom, some of the girls tease me about my pussy."
"Well, it's the thick curly black thatch. They call be "Brillo."
"You must not listen to that."
They began their lovemaking again, and Jill moved Mom's hand into her dark curls; Mom began stroking Jill, as if to say. "It's fine."
"Oh that feels good Mom; but do you think it's too bushy?"
"Of course not," said Mom, and did not resist Jill's pushing against her hand. "Mom I know you really love me," Jill said, kissing her again on the breasts. Mom's hand was pushed toward Jill's wet slit. Jill gently ground her hips and felt Mom caressing her, first outside, then just inside her pussy. They were both getting hot, and Jill squeezed onto the sofa next to Mom. They kissed and their hands probed each other's pussies.
Jill was quite flushed, but she pulled back a little; "Mom, there's something I can't ask anybody."
"Does my pussy, all wet, have a funny smell? My last two boyfriends always crinkled their noses if I pushed their heads toward there."
"They don't know anything," said Mom. She raised her fingers to her nose and inhaled. "That's so sexy, that musk."
"So what is there about me? said Jill, as she thrust a couple of fingers deep in Mom. Mom closed her eyes. Jill suddenly rose, and placed a leg across Mom's chest. She crouched down and brought her pussy just an inch about Mom's mouth. She turned her head, as if embarrassed. Probably to reassure her, Mom raised her head and kissed Jill's cunt; Jill lowered herself and reached behind to stimulate Mom's breasts. Mom started licking her and soon Jill was moaning. Mom reacted to Jill's passion; I heard, "Fuck my tongue, my Baby." Then Jill said, "Mom I love you," while she bore down on Mom's face.
That was my signal to creep in, and I did, in time to see Mom deeply inside of Jill's pussy lips, and Jill riding her thrust-out tongue. I knelt, at Mom's waist, and Mom had no view. I touched the Mom's dripping lips gently and Mom rolled her hips. I gradually introduced three fingers and used my thumb on her clit. This swollen pussy that I'd seen pressed into her jeans just seemed to devour my hand. I smelled her musk and heard her moan. Jill was grinding her pussy into Mom's face when Mom's body began bucking in climax, her cunt spasming around my fingers. I heard Jill say, "Mom, I'm coming; I love you," and then Mom's body stiffened and convulsed in orgasm. I withdrew my fingers and went and sat on a chair nearby where I could still smell the reeking sexual aromas. Jill got off Mom's face, which was shining in Jill's juices. (next part 2)