Straitlaced Secrets

Fucking A.
That is amazing.

Stand up 69.

Laura laid on her stomach with a dated copy of Vogue spread out in front of her. The smouldering heat of her room was too hot to bear as the mild summer quickly approached. Spread out on the carpet of the downstairs living room, she idly snapped her gum as she flipped through the shiny, crumbling pages of the magazine.

The creaky fan whirled against her hair and dress, as tendrils of caramel blonde curls flew around her face, occasionally getting caught in her gum. Every so often, the fan would push up the back of her short, ruffled summer dress, exposing the expanse of tanned skin. Her feet were bare, saved for a single white sock she didn’t bother to remove.

The front door creaked open as she heard the soft tap of her stepbrother’s sneakers enter the house. Laura flipped the page, the pulse in her chest increasing in pace.

Ever since the tennis incident, she had made sure to avoid Jonathan as much as possible. But want and shame tainted her relationship with her stepbrother. It was wrong. So wrong. Things like this weren’t suppose to happen.

“Laura? You home?”

“Jonathan? Is that you?” She bite her tongue. Of course it was him, stupid. “Mom said to clean your room, and that there are a couple of sandwiches in the fridge if you’re hungry. Hope you don’t mind that I stole some of your cheese. She also said that there are some strawberries too. I saved half of them for you. They are a little bit sour, but you can try putting some sugar on them. It helps. I’ve tried it.”

Laura didn’t realize she was rambling until she felt the carpet sink beside her. Heart pounding, her eyes barely focused on the pages in front of her. He smelt of sandalwood and the sun.

“You should lower the fan. It’s blowing up your dress, and I can see your pink panties.”

She felt herself flush before feeling a brush of air on back of her thighs. Jonathan had pulled the fabric back over her butt. She could hear his heavy breathing, his fingers lingering on her skin, as if to prolong the encounter. His hand gently skimmed her thigh and impulsively, Laura felt herself push against him, just slightly before she realized what she was doing.

They both froze.

“Laura?”

She didn’t respond. Moments passed until she felt his hand slowly move up her thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. His fingers skimmed the soft flesh as it pushed up into the skirt, bunching the fabric above her waist. She didn’t stop him.

Laura’s hand slipped to grab onto the carpet, her fingers sinking into the soft fibers of the floor covering.

Jonathan couldn’t believe what he was doing. She was his little sister for god’s sake. Well, stepsister to be exact. But when he saw her lying the floor with her skirt high enough to reveal the hills of soft, tanned cheeks, he couldn’t ignore the tightening feeling underneath the crotch of his baseball pants.

He swallowed when he saw the sweet little delta between the V of her thighs. No, he couldn’t do this. He had to stop. Just as he was about to pull his hand away, he heard a soft plea in Laura’s voice.

“Jonathan…? Don’t stop… ple-ease…”

Fueled by the boiling rush in his blood, Jonathan hesitantly pressed into the crotch of her panties, coaxing a quiet sigh from his stepsister’s lips. Slowly he slid a finger underneath the soft elastic of the panties, feeling the damp heat on her skin.

He had never done this before. He was by no means a virgin, if you counted the fumbling of teenage sex in the backseat of his father’s car two and a half months ago.

It felt hot and wet, but not unpleasant. Jonathan felt her slightly part her thighs, allowing him easier access to that wet core beneath her panties. Fascination, curiosity and arousal beckoned him to further explore the mysterious territory of womanly parts. His fingers continued to prod and slide into her before gliding over a hard nub.

Immediately he felt Laura gasp, pushing herself against his hand.

He did it again.

She moaned.

Hesitantly, he began to rub on that same area again, his fingers slipping and sliding against that sensitive zone between her legs.

Laura pushed up on her knees, her hips hovering above the carpet as she moved along his hand, pushing and grinding. His motions quickened until he felt her thighs begin to quiver.

“Kids!”

They both froze before Jonathan jumped away. Laura turned to pull back down her skirt. Avoiding eye contact with one another, both of their cheeks were flushed, their minds in complete disarray by what had just happened.

As Jonathan’s father walked into the living room, Jonathan felt stepsister’s gaze on his pants. Looking down he saw a large bulge underneath the cotton fabric. Quickly, he turned around, desperately trying to conceal his erection from his father.

“Hey Brian, what are you doing home so early? You got in the same time as Jonathan,” Laura said before turning back to the magazine, attempting to conceal thumping in her chest as she nonchalantly continued to turn the pages.

“Uh, hey dad. Food’s in the fridge. Mom did the laundry, and I have to clean my room. I’ll be down for dinner.” Jonathan managed to shuffle out of the living room before glancing back at Laura. Their gazes locked for a moment before he quickly rushed out the door.

Brian scratched his head. “I swear that boy gets crazier everyday. Did you do something to him?”

Laura gave him a blank stare. “No. Nothing at all.” Her gaze returned back to the magazine.

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Lift and plunge. Lift and plunge.
Are you still following along?
No?
Let’s do it again.
Lift and plunge. Lift and plunge.
I think you’ve got the hang of it.

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Coeur de Pirate - Ava

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Tension.

Sexual Tension.
It fills the room, cloys the air, muddles the mind, and leaves you breathless.
There’s so much of it that you can’t even slice it with a sword, or fire a bullet through it.

All of it. Most of it.
It’s the frayed clothing on the ground, and the salty taste of each others skin. That quivering flesh underneath warm fingertips.
Hear the gasps, the muffled moans, and feel the sharp bite of nails as you scratch and suck your way to that unwavering nirvana.

You can plunge, thrust, pound, and fuck. And it all feels so good. Perspiration and dampness coat every inch of skin, making the slide and slip so much more better.

She gasps and grinds, as he groans, gnashing his teeth together against the thunderous waves of bliss. How do you explain this feeling of pure… pleasurable perfection?
It’s better than cotton candy, Shakespeare, straight A’s, cocaine, angel dust, freedom, Jimmy Hendrix, Woodstock, first man on the moon, Bill Gate’s wealth, heroin, chocolate, vanilla milkshakes, sunsets, mint chocolate ice cream, maple syrup, McDonald hamburgers, marshmallow flush, Marlon Brando, childhood playgrounds, limousines, Jack Daniels, Tequila, Tim Burton, Marilyn Monroe, silver, gold, diamonds, black forest gateau, T.S. Elliot, the Mona Lisa, Sistine Chapel, Da Vinci, summer nights, Mozart, Beethoven, Ambrose, sunflowers, shooting stars, comets…  

It’s purely raw, explosive pleasure. This euphoric journey, unwavering in its strength when you reach that boiling point of no return.

It can take you a thousand miles, millions of miles, circling the earth in perpetual motion.

It bridges that gap between the moon and land. The eclipse that blinds you in feverish heat as you stroke, touch, and scratch one another.

Toes curl, muscles bunch, and your vocal chords become strained.
You’ve hit it.
Slam. Crush. Smash. Crash.

You’ve hit that metal gong. And you feel the vibrations that radiate throughout the entire room, enveloping it in a whirlwind of pleasure. It shoots straight to your head, down to your toes. Nerves that bounce and shake like guitar strings.
It’s that single beat of bliss that run into waves down the entire length of your body.

It’s Sexually. Heated. Tension.
It can withstand blade of a knife, slicing into butter.

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Makes me wet.

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