The Power To Revenge: Hot Sister

"Ngggghhhh!" Lauren squealed with urgent pleasure. "Nggggghhhhhh!"

These noises only managed to drive Jessica's tormenting hands further as once more she dug her sharp nails into her girlfriend's black panties, kneading the flesh underneath like dough till it rolled up between her hands in tender clumps. Finally Lauren's tongue pushed up against Jessica's as they drew back from their kiss. For a moment they just stared each at other—panting loud and unevenly through their mouths—as if both had come up for air.

"Do you know how much that hurt?" asked Lauren rubbing her sore butt.

"No," cooed Jessica. "But I'm sure it hurt plenty."

"You're such a bitch," Lauren complained with a playful grin.

Jessica shook her head, the motion causing her cute nose to rub up against Lauren's. "You're the bitch. In fact, you're my bitch."

"No way!" Lauren retorted. There was a strange glint in her eye, one of anger and perhaps wrath, leading John to suspect that the proud and narcissistic core that made up his sister's very being had been insulted. Lauren next words confirmed this: "As long as we're together I'm always the one in charge, got it?"

"Wanna bet?" grinned Jessica. "Let's just see who can make who cum first."

"You're on!" Lauren declared.

Again the sensuous blondes joined mouths and kissed, harder this time and moaning deep into their throats. As they made out they held one another by the cheeks, fingers gliding up and down the silken flesh, teasing, tickling, and stroking. This went on for a minute till Lauren parted her vibrant pink lips from Jessica's—and that was when John saw something to delight his eyes: a single thread of saliva, with the ceiling light glittering and dancing across it, connected the tip of his sister's tongue to her lover's.

Beautiful, he thought. Just fuckin' beautiful.

With their noses now squashed the two girls began a tonguing contest, agile mouthpieces swirling together in a vigorous ballet of lust and dripping with spit. But this wasn't just a game; this was war. Lauren grabbed her girlfriend's shoulders and pushed her down forcibly into the mattress, bending her face lower and running her tongue slowly up Jessica's throat.

"Ahh!" Jessica moaned, tilting her head back into the pillow. Her face was a study in arousal, the eyes closed and forehead knitted with desire. "Mmmhhhhhh....so nice and wet....Lick me—oooohhhhhh!—bathe me in your spit....."

And that's just what Lauren did. Her velveteen tongue, bright pink and oozing with juices, continued drifting up her lover's throat before flicking off the chin, leaving a radiant track of saliva as a memento of her labour.

John could only stare open-mouthed. He had thus far watched these erotic proceedings with a burning sensation in his chest, desire building inside of his loins moment by moment at the sight of two beautiful lesbians kissing, licking, and making out, but when he saw the vision of his gorgeous sister bathe her darling nymph in spit he grabbed his cock with both hands and tugged like a madman. Nothing turned him on like the spectacle of lesbians licking each other.

And Lauren was far from done: as soon as her tongue had grazed off Jessica's chin she began lavishing her mouthpiece all over her beloved's face, eliciting constant gasps of pleasure throughout the short interval.

"Yesss!" cried Jessica. "Oh fuck yes! This is so nasty!"

Even nastier was when Lauren abruptly ceased her oral ministrations and bent her head back; a loud, guttural noise followed deep in the caverns of her gullet as if she were clearing her throat. Immediately afterward her bright pink lips opened wide, pouring out a thick and translucent river of spit from her mouth, dropping ribbon after ribbon, rope after rope of glimmering saliva onto her girlfriend's right cheek. The sheer quantity of it was incredible, gushing forth in a continuous stream before tapering off, though a few silver ropes—linking the edges of Lauren's pink tongue to the mess of slop on her lover's face—still remained before abruptly snapping.

Jessica winced in disgust as she felt the gelatinous fluid creeping down her chin. Before she could protest, however, Lauren's tongue began taking short, frenzied licks of the thick ooze in a wild display of sapphic desire, spreading the drool all over Jessica's lush-skinned face. At other times she'd slow things down by raking the dribbling instrument across Jessica's cherry lips or placing soft little kisses on her beloved's forehead.

The gorgeous blonde's face was now smeared in juices, with rivulets of slime running down her cheeks. John stroked harder as he beheld a ribbon of goo trickling down the contours of Jessica's nose; he could even see her eyebrows swathed in the thick liquid.

"How'd you like that?" asked Lauren.

Jessica continued taking deep breaths, her cheeks flushed and throat panting for air. "'mazing," she gasped. "Just amazing."

Lauren smiled, laying a gentle hand on her lover's creamy stomach and watching it pump furiously up and down. "Never thought I'd do something so nasty did you?" Jessica shook her head. "Of course not," she continued, "because I'm the queen of this relationship. I'm your fucking queen, got it?" Jessica gave a smiling nod. "That's right; I'm the one in charge, and don't you ever, ever forget it!"

John was astonished as to how much of a control-freak his sister was, and this was proven by her next actions....

Lauren decided to reposition her body by lying flat on top of her best friend, taking Jessica's wrists in each hand and violently spreading them over her head; then, bending down, Lauren kissed Jessica on the lips, a wet, sensuous kiss which resounded with a moist jingle.

"Mmmhhhhhh!" the girls moaned into each others' mouths.

Now sitting astride her lover's stomach, Lauren gripped Jessica's bare shoulders and began grinding her crotch back and forth. At the same time Jessica took hold of her lover's narrow hips and ran her hands up and down their tight contours, stroking the naked flesh with the tips of her fingers and causing Lauren's humping to grow quicker and more frantic. In fact, Lauren's black panties were now gliding across Jessica's snug abdomen with an almost violent frenzy, leaving glistening streaks across the warm-coloured skin.

Both girls squealed with excitement, their passions building to an urgent and decisive climax. Jessica had her golden hair thrown back into the comfort of a white pillow, the muscles of her neck stretched tight and her crimson mouth, bright with lip-gloss, open and panting heavily. At the same time she began rubbing her silken thighs together in a desperate attempt to provoke orgasm.

"Need—to—cum!" Jessica cried. "Need—to—cum—bad!"

"Almost there!" Lauren wailed, her voice shrill and her face creased with desire. "We're almost there baby!"

She was positively grinding her crotch into Jessica's washboard abdomen, feeling the lips of her twat spread open and rub with savage fury against her girlfriend's stomach. In fact, Lauren's entire expression was twisted by lust, her golden blonde hair bouncing with every motion of her athletic hips, her lush thighs clamped tightly around her lover's waist, her full and creamy breasts (squeezed together into a lacy black bra) heaving up and down with each delirious gyration of her crotch—and all the while her eyes were pressed close as she shrieked in pleasure, holding Jessica by the shoulders for support and to facilitate her movements.

Both girls were so close to cumming.

And they weren't the only ones. John was fisting his cock almost hunched over on the floor and was just seconds away from orgasm. That familiar sensation in his balls was becoming more and more pronounced; the bulbous head of his cock dripped and glittered with precum; the veins on his shaft throbbed like mad, and of its own accord his left hand moved out and rested against the wall to his sister's room while the other feverishly pumped his member.

Any second now, he thought. Any second now!

Just then John heard the garage door open. He darted his eyes into his sister's room—the two girls yelped and sat up on the bed. Through some great stroke of luck John managed to escape being spotted, ducking against the wall and breathing a sigh of relief.

"It's my mom!" Lauren squealed. "She's home already!"

"We gotta put our clothes back on!" replied Jessica, a quiver of fear in her voice. As they scrambled to redress themselves John zipped up and scurried downstairs as quietly as possible. Grabbing his schoolbag, he took the rear door into the backyard, opened the wooden gate, and looped around to the front.

There was his mother's car on the driveway. John pressed himself against the wall as she drove inside and shut the garage door. Then, walking to the front entrance he stood there a minute collecting his thoughts and slowing his heart-rate before finally ringing the bell. For an instant John couldn't help but feel disappointed at the recent turn of events: he had been so close to cumming, and cumming hard.

Mrs. Bernard opened the door. "ello sweetie," she said in a lovely French accent. "I jus' got home too."

"Hey Mom." And with those words John stepped into the house and closed the door behind him. "Let me help you with the gro—"

At that moment Lauren and Jessica came bounding down the stairs, looking flushed with their hair a bit frizzled and clothes rather unkempt.

"Oh, 'ello Jessica dear," said Mrs. Bernard upon seeing her daughter's friend. "When did you come 'ere?"

Jessica was breathing hard. "Half an hour ago, Mrs. Bernard....Great to see you again; sorry; gotta get home." She picked up her schoolbag, said bye to all (even John) and left.

In the rush of things Mrs. Bernard was left standing with the grocery bags in her hands when John, the excellent son that he was, took them from her care and walked into the kitchen with her in tow. His mother, Rose, was just as beautiful as her namesake. She was 41 years old but looked about 33, having had all her children at a relatively young age. The first of these was Erika—John's oldest sister—whom she had at the tender age of 17. Next were the twins Lauren and John, both 19, and lastly, Nicole, the clear favourite of the house, who was now 18.

As Mrs. Bernard continued packing groceries into the fridge John got to see her bend over and present her buttocks to his view. He stared for a quick second before looking away, experiencing a momentary flutter in his chest followed by a deep sense of guilt.

How can I look at my own mother like that? he asked himself. She's such a wonderful, caring person, and I'm nothing but a terrible son—a terrible monster of a son....

After Mrs. Bernard finished with the groceries she came over and asked John in her sensuous French accent, "What would you like to 'ave tonight for dinner, my sweetie?"

"Whatever you decide, Mom."

Rose bent forward and kissed her son's forehead; then with a smile that was at once radiant and full of love she went upstairs to fold the laundry. As she climbed the stairs John watched with a certain awe and reverence. From a very young age he had developed an inseparable bond with his mother, clinging to her long dresses and following her all places and reading with her, and many times even falling asleep in her comforting lap. In a few words: John worshiped her.

Though Rose was a housewife she was also a brilliant woman, delighting in ancient literature and historical texts in addition to the plentiful chores which she performed at home. All in all she was well-read and sophisticated, and her intellect was matched only by her physical beauty.

At 5'8 Rose Bernard was a tall woman with a very graceful figure. She had long, cascading hair that was a beautiful dark, dark red, a colour John had never seen before on any other woman; it fell to her hips in gorgeous, dusky waves that shimmered under the light. To compliment her hair Ms. Bernard often wore elegant dresses, like the white one-piece she was adorned in today that ended at her knees. In fact, Mrs. Bernard could wear any colour and she'd look beautiful.

Rose's flesh was a flawless pale hue, the sort of tone relished by the aristocrats of earlier centuries; with jade-tinted eyes, lips of bright red, and delicate shoulders which sloped into her slender arms, Mrs. Bernard was the envy of every woman her age. And when it came to breasts she was more than gifted: Rose's breasts were large, well-rounded, and perfect.

John knew this and it made him proud. In fact, he had admired every detail of his mother's body both from near and afar, and as Rose climbed the last step of the stairway John couldn't help but consider that, though his mother's waist had borne the burden of childbirth three times her stomach was taut and firm, and her hips had the seductive curves of women half her age.

She does play a lot of tennis, John mused. Plus she loves to go for those walks. I guess that helps to keep her in great form.

Now, why did John just consider his mother's body with such a careful eye? One reason was that she really was beautiful. But the greater reason was that ever since childhood John had been attracted to his mother—not in any perverted or depraved manner—but because she was such a warm and kindhearted woman, the total opposite of that cold bitch of a sister.

Walking into the living room John saw Lauren reclined idly on the sofa with her head facing the television. For a moment he just stared at her—half in anger and half in wonder of her body—and remembering the act of lesbianism he had recently witnessed. Lauren still wore that same tight black top which hugged against the full globes of her c-cup breasts; the short pink skirt had now ridden up her lush thighs, revealing the crotch of his sister's dark panties.

Lauren turned her face up and instantly John looked away. "What the hell are you staring at?" she asked with a feral growl. Her mouth was set in a scathing leer.

"Nothing," John answered. "Just thinking about how you treated me at school today." For some reason he couldn't meet Lauren's glare; instead, like a timid mouse he watched his sister from the corners of both eyes.

Lauren let out a hate-filled cackle. "Your fault for trying rat me out."

John held up the back of his left hand, displaying the vivid red blot that marked the skin just under his knuckles, some of which had begun peeling.

"You see this?" he asked heatedly. "Do you have any idea how much this hurt? And the worst part is you did this to me. You—my own sister!"

"Don't really care," Lauren replied. "Squeal on me again and I'll crush your other hand." She chuckled, adding: "Oh man, it was so fun the first time; you should've seen the look on your pathetic face. I think you were actually crying. Yep, I remember seeing tears.... "

Once more she was being an arrogant bitch, but whenever Lauren needed help on an assignment or presentation she'd inevitably turn to John (the very same brother she confessed to loathe) and would force his reluctant aid. Though John tried his best to get out of such circumstances he knew "daddy's favourite" would complain and end up getting her way. In fact, the only reason Lauren was passing high-school was because of John and his sisters.

It had always been like that.

"You can be such a bitch," John muttered.

Lauren heard his remark and laughed. "And you're just a fucking loser," she shot back. "Now why don't you go upstairs and masturbate? Or maybe you can't today because of your hand? In that case, I'm really sorry I broke your masturbating hand since we both know how much you love touching yourself." Lauren burst into a shrill laugh, kicking her feet up in the air while doing so. "Tell me, Brother: are you still a virgin?"

John clenched his fists in anger. She'd never say something like that in front of Dad, he thought.

Though Mr. Bernard loved his daughter and constantly gave into her demands it was only to keep her pure, to occupy her mind from boys. The moment he learned she wasn't a virgin...well—Mr. Bernard wasn't above hitting his children.

Lauren kept going on in her insulting manner and as much as John despised his sister at that moment he also felt a spark of lust for her. His eyes focused in on her pink mouth jabbering away, at those soft, glossy lips opening and closing, opening and closing—and an insatiable desire to slide his cock between them devoured him.

I want to kneel over her chest, he thought, and drive my fat prick down her throat. I want her to choke; I want her to gasp; I want her pink lips struggling to accommodate my length.... I'd hold the sides of her little blonde head and thrust into her like mad. She'd be groaning and crying and spluttering and I'd blow a huge load down her gullet before removing my prick...and that's when I'd see a rope of white cum—thick and creamy—attached to her glistening lips....

John snapped out of it. These fantasies were becoming frighteningly regular, and once again he tried to convince himself it was all because he was a horny virgin, a horny virgin who'd do even his own sister for sexual gratification.

"Don't worry," Lauren continued, "I'm sure any day now you'll find some lucky guy to pop your cherry. Or maybe Dinesh already has...."

Lauren proceeded to taunt her brother and instead of retaliating John merely turned around and walked away, cursing under his breath: "Somehow I'm going to get even with that tramp. And when that day comes, there'll be no mercy for her—none!"

By 6:30 the entire family had arrived and dinner got started. The six members of the Bernard clan sat in the middle of the dining room, the light-bulbs above their heads glowing brilliantly and making their plates, spoons, forks and glasses twinkle like stars. John ate his delicious meal, a succulent chicken which his mother had so lovingly prepared, while staring through the parted window curtains. It's gonna rain, he thought. Looks like it'll be a big one, with thunder and lightning and maybe even—

"Snap out of it and pass the salad bowl!"

John reached out and gave it to Nicole.

"Thanks, Big Brother," she said with a pleasant smile.

John laughed, musing on the fact that his younger sister was just about the cutest thing in the world. At eighteen years old, Nicole was a petite 5'2 with a thin, willowy body and small breasts which made her look like a tomboy, an image further enhanced due to the fact that she usually wore jeans and a snug t-shirt.

Like her beautiful mother, Nicole had light, pale-coloured flesh along with dark red hair which ended just above her shoulders: it was quite adorable to see her crimson hair framing her cute face, strands of it tucked behind her little ears or hanging down her cheeks, often bouncing as she skipped down the corridors or hopped down the stairs in girlish delight. As with her brother, Nicole had been very young when the Bernards moved to Canada and thus lost all trace of an accent, though when she spoke it was with a bubbly and high-pitched voice.

John looked across the table at Erika. Twenty-four years old, she had just broken up with a long time boyfriend and seemed to be in an angry mood of late. Then again, she was naturally stern. Erika had perfect manners and a stylish sense of dress but unlike the rest of the family who talked and laughed and looked at each other she would just stare down at her plate and eat. When Erika did choose to talk it was with an accent (the remnants of her French roots) and though her accent wasn't as heavy as her mother's she still had one that was noticeable. This subtle inflection only added a seductive mystique to her character, a mystique which all men found impossible to resist.

In sharp contrast to her younger sisters Erika had glossy black hair which fell straight to mid-back. For some reason she'd wear it in a ponytail, either to compliment her solemn and brooding personality or to better accommodate her work attire.