It Runs in the Family

Ooh-la-la, it seemed like I was about to get lucky. Or maybe "lucky" was the wrong word, it looked as if I might get laid. How lucky would that be? I was sitting in a bar with a handsome man, he was much younger than me and I knew him but I haven't seen him or even talked with him in years. He just ordered us a second round of gold tequila because with the first one, I taught him how to do a body shot. Something about the surroundings, maybe the lighthearted atmosphere of alcohol that loosens inhibitions and the seeming anonymity of spending time with people who laugh and joke with you, but then go home to the separate lives leaving you as an afterthought. I had been trying hard to downplay and escape my past reputation but my private impulses had always led to immediate fun, though the "morning after" was mostly a disaster. But I just couldn't resist in playing the game.

With trepidation, he allowed me to add a touch of spice to the simple act of taking a drink that caught the attention of all the regulars. With the "training wheels" that accompany a shot of cactus juice, my mind instantly recalled some flirty little ritual that could double as foreplay, even though I had sworn to be on my best behavior. He barely knew me or my intentions, but like all men, he allowed a pretty woman to slide closer to him and whisper sweet nothings in his ear. I seductively rubbed the sticky juice of the lime wedge along his thick neck and sprinkled a little salt onto the oily residue, then I slowly licked the coarse grains and opened my lips to suck the remainder, almost leaving a hickey-mark and left him squirming on his barstool as all the guys in the room hooted and cheered at his good fortune. He didn't even know where to place his hands as I latched onto his neck like a sensual vampire. That should have served as enough of an ice-breaker but I never did know when to stop.

I just couldn't help myself from leaning one trembling palm on his upper thigh as I softly licked his nervous neck and watched for his reaction. Other than the expected flinch, he remained steady while my fingers slid farther towards his crotch and I felt the sudden lump in his jeans grow thicker and more solid. I didn't do anything more as we were in a crowd of people who recognized him and were attentive to every detail. With a satisfied grin, my hand slipped back into my lap and I lightly kissed him on the nose, not daring to engage any longer. Plus, I may have been pushing the limits of our friendship. He looked surprised but entirely pleased by his new-found knowledge of drinking etiquette. It now fell to him, to answer my shocking advance. I was a bit nervous at how he would perceive my boldness and my heart was thumping in my chest. He hesitated for a second taking stock of the room, but then proceeded to take his turn.

I leaned back and permitted him to repeat the gesture on my body at a sight of his choosing, determining for a minute who might appear to be dominant. I could see that most of the guys were not used to seeing him with such a forward woman and being a stranger, they all wondered about my sudden appearance in their tiny lair. He smirked a boyish smile but his eyebrows arched as he studied my expression. I could readily see that he wouldn't allow himself to be cowed but there's a fine line to pressing a point with a woman and ofcourse the patrons were ever-present. And there was more to the story that we didn't let on.

With the overly-juvenile crowd egging him on, he carefully folded down the frilly upper hem of my sheer top and picked-out the slight impression formed at the top of my cleavage for his sampling, (as I casually eased my C-cups together by pressing my arms against my ribs.) I was wearing a low-cut blouse that showed plenty decolletage. He clamped the acidic, green chunk between his teeth and approached the slim contours of my neckline.

His aim was true and he drew a cold, tackey outline leaving traces of dewy pulp while he bit down on it, then he discarded the rest. The crowd applauded while he drizzled citrus oil down between my tits causing my perky nipples to sprout from beneath the thin, cotton bra. Then with a slight glance upward to receive my quick nod of reassurance, he sprinkled salt crystals along my flesh as if applying the perfect topping to his rich dessert. The translucent shapes caught the light and flickered on my plump globes like glitter on a stripper's chest. Spectators gathered around, almost looking down the front of my breezy shirt.

His sharp gaze never left my misty eyes as he moved closer into my heaving bust. Then his flat tongue darted out and caressed my jittery flesh and he tenderly kissed the heaving gap formed by my swaying breasts. A shock of electricity jolted through my anatomy sending shivers down my spine and causing an unexpected thunderbolt to erupt in my cunt. The sudden and visible rush of my warm skin being excited by his raspy, wet tongue was equally matched by the fiery heat in my pussy signaling the engorgement of my tender clit, yearning to be so orally massaged. I couldn't help but to shake with passion but fortunately for all involved, they only saw the ripples of gooseflesh and assumed it was from the body shot. I hid the secret information from everyone else, (though I'm not sure about him,) that he had just delivered the finest orgasm I'd had, in about three years. And in a sign that I wasn't the only playful partner, his right hand cupped the side of my left breast and the fingers gently but noticeably, kneaded and squeezed the pliant melon. he planted a quick, soft kiss on the pointy tips of both of my boobs before calling an end to his groping.

Only then; after loitering for an instant, did he re-emerge with blushing cheeks to the accompanying crescendo of the admiring throng and with a wary concern of what my reaction would be, we toasted each other and downed our shots. In the bar's mirror, I saw that both of our faces had a warm blush that was from more than just alcohol. Then he innocently brushed his warm, salty lips against my smiling cheek and I gave him a warm, generous hug. The heat generated from our bodies rubbing together for a mere instant was mesmerizing. He could not have helped but to notice that intentional or not, a spark flew between us and things had taken a new and abrupt twist. The laughter quieted down and talking restarted. We returned to our beers and resumed our conversation about old times and people who are no longer with us. That was when my mind drifted a bit, wondering if I was being unintentionally propositioned or rather, if I was the wanton seductress.

I also promptly fashioned the erotic image in my brain of how he might look naked and if he would just take me into the bathroom for a quick blowjob or hustle me out to his car where we would find a secluded spot in the park and he would fuck me over the leather seats. Honestly, after all these years I had no idea what he was thinking. I am eleven years older than him and have seen most of the tricks that a man could pull. Back when I was his age, (twenty-three,) men used every maneuver from jewels to "Roofies" to get me into bed, now it appears that I might be trying to tempt him into quelling the pressure in my pussy.

It had been quite some time since anything more than my painted nails or a bulbous dildo had tickled the straining nub of my clitoris. And even longer that the touch was from anyone that I really liked. Most men wear their intentions on their sleeves and I was not the girl that I used to be. Sex had almost stopped being for pleasure and had begun to be a means to an end. No one had excited or tempted me in ages and I actually had been avoiding the situation because my impulses always led me into trouble.

And now, I was inches away and maybe one more 80-proof suggestion from whispering in his ear that I was his for the asking. He was always a cute kid but he was now devilishly handsome and he had grown much more mature and certain of himself. He didn't try to impress me with a fancy restaurant or ask if I wanted to go somewhere that we could be alone. This was his local bar and all eyes turned when we walked in. We had a pitcher of beer and tossed a game of darts, then settled at the bar to reminisce. This was a form of seduction that made me hot. There was only one thing holding me back. He was my brother!

My father was the first to seduce me, that was years ago and I must admit that I didn't exactly turn him away. Everything that he showed me was exciting and illicit. My virginity was nothing of value to me, but the prizes that could be elicited from knowing how to tease a man made that information invaluable. There was nothing about the man that was sexy or more than just tolerable. The first time could have been termed "rape" and was certainly incestuous, but I did keep asking for more and I only turned him down when the danger seemed too extreme.

Ofcourse, I understood that it was highly taboo and that nobody could ever find out. I was eighteen and aware enough to know better, my father was a pig but I can make no excuses for my conduct. It got to the point that I crawled into his bed after mom left for work or I would suck his cock in the car right outside of the mall, then he would hand me money for new shoes or concert tickets. This was an education and job-training that I used to my "advantage" in years to come.

When my mother discovered our little secret she had a massive heart attack. Her deathbed confession revealed our activity. Before finishing high school, I was labeled a slut. My brother Benny was in grade school and never heard the truth until recently when our father (he, who must not be named,) died. I ran off with literally, a traveling salesman who left me broke and at the mercy of older men. This legacy was all that I had to rely on when life's travails settled in on me. I learned to manipulate men and to take what I could get away with. On the other hand, my body and soul hardened over the course of this journey and I knew what "good folks" were saying about me. I wanted desperately to change or return to a simpler way, but was that ever possible? The advanced education I received left me bitter and vulnerable. One thing that I discovered was that I would never be able to have children, if anyone would even want me to the mother of their child.

Benny worked in manual labor, building his body and getting tanned from the summers under the sun. He managed the upkeep of the house and took care of our father until his passing. He tried to get word to me about the funeral, but my many changes of address and lack of communication proved difficult. When I finally got the message and having nothing more than a battered suitcase, a potted plant and alot of bills, I hopped on a bus and rode for two-thousand miles until I found myself sitting on the porch steps of our old home staring at a "for sale" sign and contemplating the future. My name is Elizabeth and the future was not looking bright.

Seemingly out of happenstance, a nice new convertible pulled to the curb and my baby brother appeared. Spying the older woman on the steps and reaching into the past for a name to match the vaguely familiar face that he noticed, we both broke into wide smiles and I jumped into his arms. He led me to the car saying that he just needed to set the alarm and leave a note for the sales agent, then he drove us to his new apartment. He filled me in on the larger details of the past seven years and was gracious and welcoming to my return. The trip to his new place was cathartic. It was a typical bachelor set-up with clothes scattered about and half-eaten Chinese food containers. We called for a pizza and I took a long, hot shower, then we drove to the bar to talk over some drinks.

My life had been a shambles and it was nice to be "home," atleast in familiar territory. It was almost as if my little brother had been waiting for me. If Benny knew of my past-especially where our father was concerned- he didn't mention it. The people who knew me or even remembered me were probably scattered, or atleast not hanging-out at Benny's local tavern. And his friends might not remember that he had an older sister since Benny never brought it up. When we entered the bar I noticed that his friends called him Ben. He introduced me as Beth. And they seemed surprised that he had a woman with him, which they joked about. He introduced me to many people but never mentioned our relation and I merely responded as a newcomer and an old acquaintance. When asked, I replied that I formerly lived in the area or that I knew his family. Most of the customers were more interested in my outfit.

At his apartment, after saying that he would take me out for drinks and a bite, I informed Benny that I had little money and no nice clothes. He put me at ease when he said everything would be casual and it was his treat. I changed into denim shorts and a pink, lacy blouse- nearly the extent of my wardrobe. My bare legs slipped into cloth, open-toed sandals with a slight heel. Our family all had light brown hair, mine was sun-streaked with blonde highlights, that tonight I wore brushed to the middle of my back. I have a round face with pouty lips- men used to remark that I was born to give blowjobs, (that was after they had already received one.) My eyes were a shade of hazel, and with the natural tone of my skin, I wore very slight make-up. I was once considered quite pretty, even by other women, but the intervening years and my self-loathing took the starch out of my sails. Lines and curves appeared in areas of my body that weren't so flattering.

In my blouse, the 34Cs wobbled nicely though constrained by a sheer bra. When released, they had a hefty feel and a firm bounce. The bouncy, firm tits weren't quite as perky as in my teens and tended to succumb to gravity, but no man resisted kneading and suckling on them. They were often employed to get me waitressing jobs or Happy Hour drinks. With the right support and in good light, I made money without trying too hard. I carried a little extra weight around my belly and across my jiggly ass, but for a woman in her mid-thirties who hasn't lived the charmed life, I think I still looked good. And I could tell by the stares and whistles in the bar, that most of the men agreed. I was planning, (hoping) for a chance to start over, and wanted to be seen as a good girl so I didn't want to dress like a hooker, especially on the first night back and infront of my brother. But with my build and limited choice of clothes, risks had to be taken.

Benny was about eight inches taller than me at 6'3" (even in my heels.) His dark hair and tanned torso looked buff in tight polo shirt and jeans. He wore western boots, so on this night he dwarfed me. But in the bar he was carefree and attentive, wanting to have fun with me but also occasionally asking probing questions. After the second round of shots, we were challenged to another game of darts. (I'm sure that our two opponents only wanted another look at me.) We played a few games and drank a few more shots, becoming goofier and more unsteady as the night drew to a close. With each good toss, we playfully patted each other's butt and when saluting the next tequila, we exchanged sex-filled toasts. It was Friday night so Benny didn't mind being drunk and we only had a few blocks to drive. When we got back to his place, he brewed coffee and then we needed to think about sleeping arrangements.

His place had two bedrooms but only one bed. The second room held a ping-pong table, pinball machine and the remaining furniture and knickknacks from the old home. His room, along with an exercise machine and a big, fluffy pillow for a big fluffy dog, had one king-size bed. He said that any woman who ever slept overnight would have been expected to fuck him. We both laughed uneasily at that. "It's funny," I recalled, "You used to sleep in my room when we were growing up." I also remembered that my current bedtime attire was a worn-thin tee-shirt and panties. I had been sleeping alone for some time and wasn't any more prepared for visitors than Benny was. He mentioned that he slept naked, with or without guests, so we had another hurdle to ponder.

My sleeping gear was comfortable but see-through, his was non-existent. He tossed me one of his old football jerseys that covered me down to my knees and made me look like an orphan. He rummaged through the drawer for a pair of boxers but his barrel chest and strong shoulders remained uncovered. With a shrug of the shoulders and a kindly wink, we approached the bed from different sides but still managed to meet in the middle. We were too old to attempt staying at far ends and not looking at each other but as siblings we didn't really want to snuggle together. At first, we nervously laid side-by-side talking about the old days and as the alcohol and the late hours took their toll, we gradually slumped into one snoring pile.

I slept off and on, with fitful dreams of our playing darts naked and being back in the old house with mom watching me running from room to room where my brother and father fucked me and I came out naked and dripping with their cum. I was sweating and my throat was dry, I could feel something bounce against me and I was lost in a strange place but with friendly voices offering me shelter. It must have been four or five in the morning when the dog howled for no reason, but I jumped up and screamed, not remembering where I was or who I was with. Benny was used to the dog, but not to a woman screaming in the middle of the night. He leapt to my defense, holding me and smoothing my tussled mass of brunette locks while wiping the sweat from my face.

I instinctively wrapped my arms around him and buried my worried countenance into his comforting chest. I could hear his heart thumping and felt the apprehensive touch of his calloused fingers on my bare skin. I had not been pampered and cuddled for some time and it felt nice and more than a little sensual, to be hugged and caressed like that. He struggled to contain his own emotions but I could sense that Benny was just as conflicted as I was. The obvious bulge in his shorts was tenting the loose fabric and jabbing a tell-tale dent in my ribs. He couldn't keep his hands off of me and no matter what he recited about family and long-lost relations, I could plainly discern from years of experience, that he wanted to get in my pants. My blood pressure and pulse gradually leveled-off and I noticed my disheveled appearance. The jersey was constricting and soaked in perspiration. This was going to be real morality test for the both of us.

My hair was a rat's nest of brown tangles and my face was damp with beads of sweat on my upper lip and running down my neck. I should have had many more important decisions to worry about but my vanity and the nature of the combustion roiling in my uterus seemed to have a mind of its own. Is there really any reason why, if given half a chance, I choose to seduce or surrender to, any man that I find attractive regardless of the impending dire circumstance? I thought about my rumpled appearance and sized-up the impetuosity of his horniness. This calculation has never advanced my interests but almost always gotten me laid. If I'd even had any conscious thought about seducing him, this frightful look would never do. Why could I never see beyond my yearning clit? Besides, he is my brother and though his hair was mussed-up and he looked sleepy-eyed, I could still see the traces of the ten-year-old that I left behind. But my pussy is my driving force, sometimes to the detriment of my well-being.

I ran to the bathroom and freshened my stinky body with soap and water while rinsing my parched mouth with an antiseptic, returning in my own flimsy tee that was dry but practically see-through, though not really caring at the moment. In the mirror, I stole a glance at myself before exiting the bathroom. My breasts jiggled playfully and the pouty nipples were straining to harden. My long hair was brushed and shiny. I was tempted to apply makeup but resisted. The skimpy undies were drenched and almost useless, so I debated just leaving them on the floor, but I thought that was too much.