A Christmas Carnal

"Make love with me, Josh, and remember it? Make it our own special secret time... the Christmas blizzard of Twenty-Thirteen? I haven't felt this alive in a very long time... I don't want to let it go."

I had to admit, she was preaching to the choir. I felt the same desperate need to connect with her, to share pleasure with no hint of duplicity or falsehood. No using the other one for our own pleasure and not worrying about what the other one got out of it. What I couldn't get past was the idea that she was my sister.

"I'm not asking you to marry me, Josh," she went on when I didn't answer. "I'm just asking you to love me."

"Jesus, Sharon! I do love you! More than anyone else on this planet! You've got to know that!..."

She knew exactly where to poke. I couldn't keep it in. I couldn't lie... not to her and not to myself. I wanted her and she wanted me, and the only ones who would know about it were her and me. And maybe God, but I'd worry about Him later. It became blindingly clear to me that she and I needed each other, and maybe... just maybe... some good, some healing, could come out of this.

I caved. I gave up. Or rather, I decided that lovemaking with my sister would be the right thing to do. I rolled up on my side, looming over her, and smiled down on her.

"So what turns you on the most?" I asked and I could not have predicted her response.

"Halle-fucking-lujah!" she cried out and threw her arms around my neck, drawing me down into a fierce kiss. I swear, she was trying to meld every square inch of her front into every square inch of mine.

The gentle necking and petting that had led up to this had us both primed and beneath me, my sister was quickly shedding her thin veneer of civilization and turning into raw animal lust personified. She pulled me onto her, squishing her tits with my chest, running her hands and fingers and nails up and down my back until I was tingling so hard I thought I'd explode.

She wrapped her strong, lithe legs around my thighs and pulled me in, aiming me towards her most intimate of recesses. When I balked, unsure of myself, she dug her heels in and pulled harder.

"Fuck me, Josh! Please!" she cried out. "Screw the foreplay... we'll go back and get it later. Please... please!... please fuck me. I need you so bad, and I'm so ready... please!..."

"Are you sure?" I managed to ask. I was barely keeping my desire in check.

"I've never been more sure in my life!" she told me vehemently. "Give me your goddamn cock!"

So I plunged in. She was right. She was sopping and hot and welcoming and absolutely wonderful to all of my senses, physical, emotional, spiritual, all at the same time. Something I'd never felt before.

"Oh, God, YES!!!" she moaned as I buried myself to the hilt in her hot cunt. "Yes... yes... yes!..."

I felt little electric tingles shooting through my body at her touch. Everywhere she ran her hands, from my hair to my ass, she had me humming. I lifted up onto my knees and elbows, taking a little of my weight from her, and started a gentle rocking. Every stroke was excruciating Heaven.

"Not this year," she mumbled beneath me in ragged pants. "Not ever."

"Huh?" She had me very confused.

"I'm never losing you again, Josh. Never. You're mine and you're going to be mine and we will be for each other. No more heartache..."

I got slammed with the realization of what was going through her head. And honestly, a whole lot of the same was going through mine. I wasn't losing her again. We'd lost too much. Family, friends, love. Too much. I wasn't walking out on her again and I knew she wouldn't leave me. That one moment, coupled together as lovers for the ages, sealed it. I knew why I'd never made love before. You had to share love before you could make it.

And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. Beatles. More music in my life. More truth. And beneath me I held the most beautiful woman in the world. The most marvelous of lovers.

And we haven't even gotten to oral, yet, I laughed to myself. We clung to each other like survivors to a life raft and I realized just how appropriate that analogy was. We were survivors and we were each other's life raft. And it was finally okay to be alive.

The first rush of passion eased up and we still clung to each other, but more gently now, exploring how each other felt, coupled so deeply. I found a stroke that seemed to hit all the right places and was overjoyed to hear her begin to moan.

"Oh, God, yes, Josh... oh, yes!... right there!... right there!... oh, you're a marvelous fuck... Oh, God, I have so needed you... I have so... OH MY GOD YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE ME..."

"OH! FUCK! CUMMINGGGGGGG!!!" I was so happy to feel her go over, I started laughing. She was clenching hard on me with her pussy, and her belly was scrunching up, and she kept moaning over and over as the waves of orgasm crashed through her.

When the aftershocks finally died down enough, she hit me.

Well, actually, just sort of weakly punched my arm.

"Don't you laugh at me, Joshua Caleb Maier!" she tried to lecture me.

"I'm not laughing at you, Sher," I told her, continuing a gentle fucking. "I'm delighting in you getting off like the Fourth of July."

"Yeah, well, there is that..." she muttered as she started to grind her hips back into me. "How come you didn't get off?"

"Well, ma'am..." I told her in a faux-Western drawl. "I make it a point to be sure my partner is satisfied before I take my own pleasure, ma'am."

"And to think, you're not married..." she shook her head. "Hard to believe."

"Sex isn't the only thing that goes into a marriage," I told her, and I was serious.

"No shit," was her answer. "Well, I like how you're going into me."

"Then it's time to go for another," I announced, picking up the stroking and looking for that sweet spot.

"Oh, God, really?" she moaned. "You're just gonna... Oh, Fuck! You ARE!!!" She descended into guttural moans and mewls, her breath getting ragged again, her hips thrashing against me.

I wasn't having an easy time holding back. Sher felt better than any woman I'd been intimate with, and every fiber of my being wanted to empty my balls into her hot, wet, pulsing cunny. But I wanted her sated first, and I was going to do anything and everything I could to make sure of it.

From the feel of it, I figured my rather flared glans was bumping across and between her cervix and her G-spot. Her moaning kept getting louder and more lascivious as she writhed and eventually, we hit the jackpot. Just like before, she started getting vocal.

"Oh, God, yes!... Oh, yes!... right there!... right there!... oh, fuck... oh, fuck, you're going to... oh, fuck! Oh! Fuck! Cumming!!!... Again!!! OH! FUCK!!!" She grew quiet as she came so hard her eyes started to roll back into her head. Not a lot, but enough to be unsettling.

She only calmed down a little before she told me, "Cum in me, Josh... please... fill me..."

"Sher, I'm not snipped," I told her, the sudden twinge of conscience smacking me upside the head.

"Don't worry, baby, I'm protected," she murmured as she drew me into another deep kiss.

I was so ready to blow, I wasn't going to argue. I let myself go and build up, and I felt my balls damn near in my throat and my ass puckered tighter than a snare drum so quickly that it surprised me. It surprised me even more when I started to get tunnel vision and then that glorious feeling when you're going over, and there's no way to stop it, and every nerve in your body is on fire and you want it!

I felt my seed pulsing into her in jet after jet... I have no idea how much or how long I came. Just that it seemed like forever. I came so hard I was damn near blacking out. She had me wrapped up tight in her arms and legs and I sure as hell wasn't going anywhere. I kept stroking as long as I could and I think she got off a couple more times, but I really wasn't paying much attention. I was more focused on the absolutely exquisite feelings washing through me.

It went way beyond the physical. The cliché is my heart was aching, but at that moment, it wasn't cliché. I was literally so keyed up with emotion that my entire body was on fire with it. In fact, I think I was starting to cry. I kept going until my legs began shaking and threatening to cramp. So I slowed down and started to fall to the side, intending to stay wrapped up with my lovely sister. She intended more.

As I fell to the side, she twisted somehow and ended up with me on the bottom, her astride me and the two of us still coupled. She kept on rocking, gently this time. She looked down at me and whatever she saw, her eyes started to leak, too.

She lay down on my chest and quietly shook as I felt her tears on my already wet cheek. I don't give a damn how "unmanly" it's supposed to be to cry. Right then I had more emotion bottled up and ready to burst than I ever remembered since I shut it all down after my brother was killed. I guess Sharon felt the same. We lay there, coupled together, fucking and crying with each other for God knows how long.

My cock must have had a mind of its own, because sheathed in her warm, moist depths, my erection didn't go down. When the tears finally abated, we were still coupled, still in each other's arms and still very full of love for each other.

"Thanks, Josh..." she started to say but I interrupted her.

"If you say 'I needed that' I am going to..." I warned her. "I'm going to..."

"Going to what?" she teased me. "Eat me until I can't cum anymore? Ha!... I needed that!"

"Okay, you're in big trouble, lady," I growled at her. "As soon as I'm able, you are going to get a severe tongue-lashing."

"Oooh..." she smiled. "Being lashed by a tongue... how wonderful!"

"Be still, wench," I remonstrated. "I have to figure out how to make everything work again."

Her laugh was gentle music to my ears and a soothing balm to my soul.

* * * * *

Sunday Morning

By the time my phone rang, I had done my best to reduce Sharon to jelly, she had done the same to me, and we had fallen asleep a couple of times in each other's arms, only to wake up and go at it again. We didn't seem to be able to get enough of each other, and each time we made love, more of the hurt and isolation was stripped away.

It was somewhere around 7am and I woke to the incessant bleating of my mobile. I fell out of bed enough to reach my pants and took a bleary look at the Caller ID.

Paul Randall. I had no fucking clue who Paul Randall was or why he'd be calling me on a Sunday morning. Normally I'd just let it go to voicemail but some kind of foreboding told me to answer it.

"Hello?" I managed. Fairly civil for waking up hung-over, sore everywhere and blissfully happy.

"My name is Paul Randall, sir," the voice on the other end said. "I am trying to reach either Sharon or Joshua Maier."

Sir? Obviously he didn't know me.

"You got Josh. God awful early on a Sunday morning."

I heard him turn and say something to someone else and then the phone changed hands because the next voice was Miriam's.

"Josh! Thank God!"

"Miriam?"

"Yes. We're stuck, maybe twenty miles south of the farm. We're running out of gas, my phone's dead so Paul let me use his and I'm praying you can get us out of here or get the police or somebody because we are going to be frozen meat-sicles pretty soon..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I tried to break in to her tirade. "Ease up. I'm awake."

Sharon sat up behind me. "What the fuck?" she asked, also in the same state I was in, apparently.

"It's Miriam," I told her. "She's in trouble somewhere south of here. Give me a minute to make sense of this."

"Okay, I'm making coffee," she told me and headed for the bathroom.

"Okay, Miriam, I'm back. Now start that over. What the fuck?"

"I'll give you the whole thing later, but right now a guy-friend named Paul and a gal-friend named Ashley and I are off in a field somewhere, half buried in snow. We were trying to make it to the farm when you weren't at your apartment and we got nailed by the blizzard. My phone is dead, Paul's got maybe half an hour on his and Ashley's turned hers off so she's got about three hours. We need somebody to come rescue us. By Paul's GPS, we're about twenty miles south of you. I don't know if the plows have gone by or not. We can't see the road."

"Okay, if Paul's GPS is working, text the coordinates to my phone. Your rescue call has been received. Sharon and I will figure out how to get you rescued. Put Paul's phone on battery saver and leave your other friend's off. I'll call this number when we know what we're doing. Oh, and text me the other number. In case Paul's dies and you have to use hers. Got it?"

"Got it, you wonderful Big Brother!" she told me and right then I felt pretty proud of myself. I was going to be the White Knight to the rescue once again.

"Okay, I love you, Miriam," I told her. "I'll call you back. Bye."

We rang off, I hit the head and then went looking for Sharon. I found her in the kitchen as advertised with a pot of coffee almost done brewing.

"I've got to get one of those single-shot coffeemakers," she told me as I entered. "So, what's up?"

I told her and it was her opinion, based on looking out the window, that her F350, its winch and some miscellaneous tools could retrieve Miriam and friends, long before the police could do anything about it, and if the pickup wasn't enough, she could always get out the big Deere with the front-loader bucket. She was also of the opinion that calling the police and reporting the incident and what we intended to do about it was a good idea. I agreed.

She made the calls, to the police and to Miriam, while I got dressed. We ended up breaking out the tractor anyway, to clear the drive. It was still snowing and we already had drifts up to three feet. With the drive to the highway clear, we decided to take the pickup. The plows had been down one lane of the road -- going the wrong direction, but who cared?

Sharon was a lot better dressed for the cold than I was, so she informed me that when we got there, she'd do the outside work with the winch and I'd run the inside, where it was a hell of a lot warmer. I wasn't going to argue with her.

Using the GPS coordinates, we found them about thirty yards off the highway in the remains of a cornfield. They were in Miriam's SUV, so they must have driven all the way out from California. They were ecstatic to see us and particularly to see Sharon, hauling the winch cable over to their car. Somebody started to get out and Sharon yelled at them. I couldn't hear exactly what she said, but the result was Miriam and party stayed in their car. Sharon came back to the truck and climbed in.

"Okay, they're hooked up," she told me. "They know to keep it in neutral til we get them straightened out. Take up the winch til they're pointed at us, then back out towards the road. Give me the girl's number. The guy's phone just died."

I did and she called, using her truck's Bluetooth connection to her phone, so we could coordinate. It took some maneuvering, but we finally got them out to the highway. That's when the three of them piled into the backseat of Sharon's truck. Miriam was all over us, and the other two were effusively grateful.

After insisting on lots of hugs, Miriam introduced Sharon and me to Paul Randall, a gay male nurse friend of Miriam's and Ashley St. George, a lesbian lawyer and coworker of Miriam's. The short story was, this year Miriam decided to fight her Winter Blues by dragging a couple of friends to Denver to visit me and keep me from killing myself. They'd wanted to surprise me. Getting there and finding me gone surprised them.

So when they found out I was at the farm, they decided to hightail it and try to beat the storm. It's normally a thirteen hour drive, but Miriam figured she could do it in twelve or less. The storm caught up with them, they got caught in a whiteout and went off the road, getting stuck in the field.

"Well, looks like I've got guests for Christmas," Sharon commented. "Because this storm isn't letting up and there's no way you make it back to Denver until it does. So follow us back to the farm and pull into the open garage bay when we get there. We'll get everything else sorted out then. I've got a 5 gallon Jerrycan of gas I'll stick in your car before we leave here."

That was Older Sister taking charge. Everybody else just did what she said. We got back to the farm, got the vehicles put away and everybody's stuff into the house.

"Okay, sleeping arrangements..." Sharon started, then paused. I looked over at her.

"No problem," I told her. "Three guests, three guest bedrooms. I'll move my stuff out of my old room. Miriam, Paul and Ashley can divvy up the rooms however they want."

The look Sharon gave me was pure love and it started melting me. The look Miriam gave me was pure confusion.

"So where are you going to sleep, Josh?" she asked.

"With Sharon," I told her and didn't offer any further explanation. I saw her hear the words. I saw her understand them. I saw her very confused about what I was not saying. Paul and Ashley were inscrutable. Getting the rooms sorted did give me a chance to appraise them, though.

Paul looked like a nice, clean-cut guy, maybe late-twenties, almost my six feet and probably a hundred and sixty pounds lean. Probably exercised every day. Neat blond hair, blue eyes, a nice smile... and gay from what Miriam said. He seemed okay. Not flaming or an overzealous activist or anything.

Ashley... well, it was too bad Ashley was a lesbian. Not for her... for me. Although with Sharon turning my head around, it didn't mean as much. Anyway, Ashley was around five-five or five-six, maybe a hundred and twenty, long red hair, flawless alabaster skin, sparkling green eyes, an hourglass figure with an amazing rack and a really nice smile. And this chick was a lawyer? Totally unfair.

And Miriam? Well, Miriam got all the looks in the family gene pool. Not that Sharon's bad... she isn't. Sharon is beautiful in a mature woman way. Miriam is the beautiful girl. She's a curly haired brunette who wears it in ringlets past her shoulders, fair skin and lush lips she accents with bright lipstick, five-four, a hundred and ten pounds and hazel eyes. I've seen her driver's license. She's also a 34C-24-35. I've done her laundry. Regardless, she's beautiful. She may be twenty-nine, but she looks a lot younger.

* * * * *

Sunday Afternoon

It was well after noon and Sharon made some soup and sandwiches for everybody, then headed out to do chores. I volunteered to go with her. We were putting down hay for the horses when she sprang it on me.

"Josh, are you going to stop fucking me?"

"Um... I don't think so," I stumbled. "I mean, unless you want me to... uh, why do you ask?"

"Well, with Miriam and friends here, I thought you might want to be discreet and that might mean not doing anything with me, because I can be kind of, um... loud..." she told me. "I mean, you could always gag me, I suppose..."

I started laughing. I couldn't help it. She got red and I felt another punch coming.

"Josh, you stop that!" she bristled, now approaching crimson.

"I'm sorry!" I managed to get out. "Sher, you gotta believe me! I'm not laughing at you. I'm delighting in you. And you make me feel so goddamn good I don't know what to do with it!" That seemed to pacify her a bit.

"Do we need to hide what we've got?" I went on. "I mean, if you want to, we will. Personally, I don't give a rat's ass about the others and I'm quite happy to let the world know I'm in love with my sister. But maybe cooler heads need to prevail. Maybe you need to get Miriam on the side and delicately tell her things have gotten a little weird. See how she takes it. Hell, she's been hanging around the Strange Factor for years now. Maybe it won't bother her. Or her friends."