Art Class

We slept, together, something like that.

In the minute it took me to wake and recollect whose bed I was in and in what proximity, Tom too had awoken and was staring at me absently, with a pleased look and a muzzy incompleteness. I kissed him on the lips. In a few instants I felt his penis harden and press against my hip; he shifted position and lay on top of me so that only cloth separated us. We kissed more intensely, tongues swimming, and he squeezed his groin against mine, into me if he could: I enclosed him with my thighs, grabbed his bottom, kneaded him.

The kissing was overwhelming: I bit, I liquefied. To my wild action he suited his own, grazing down to my chest, where he sucked deep and tore up the wet skin with his teeth. I squirmed to give him better access and he pulled the cloth and my breast in different directions to free it: I watched him hungrily as he first planted kisses on my nipple, then enveloped it and tried to pull it from me.

I slid my hand into his pyjama bottoms and roamed over his hairy buttocks, caressing his crack, touching the anus, squeezing a fingernail into it, brushing his perineum and cupping his balls, exerting myself to drag him towards and almost into me. He pushed harder against me as if he was inside, and we made animal noises as we made love together, spared only by that thin and sopping cloth.

Tom let go of my breast with both hand and mouth and went back to my face, which I loved, but I felt a disappointment upwelling in me, and a shock that I felt it, a delicious and dangerous shock. I would have demanded he do the same to my other boob had he stayed longer than that. As yet I didn't know whether this was the end of our experimenting.

With his two hands he took his pyjamas and lowered them. I felt the release of pressure from his body and didn't quite understand at first. Was he getting up because it was morning and we were up to the line we couldn't cross? Until he moved in close towards me once more, the hot flesh of his bare penis scarring its way across my thighs, quenched in my fiery wetness: he pushed the head against my clitoris then down brushing my labia and further down.

With one hand I took him, pulling back his foreskin, guiding him in. He pushed in. My own sweet brother Thomas slid thickly into my vagina, all the way in, so smoothly, so welcomely, and we began the rhythmic thrusting that was to mark our new and secret life and love.

Never perhaps was love-making so exciting, for me so fiery, so confused, so perfect. Those minutes shaped my world, brought me to a new adulthood, overwhelmed my future. I foresaw not one illicit aberration but an eternity of pounding, coming, mewling, fantasies, biting, warmth in arms and sex.

It was over too soon, for me; I could have wished it hours and days long. I watched his face contort and relax as he came, and tried to stay inside me and thrust a little more, and sank on my breast, still in its nightie pulled up to free them both. Now I wanted to know if he would succumb to regret, because if not I wanted him to give me an orgasm with his fingers or tongue, then re-enter me as soon as he could. I was only beginning.

I felt the slickness of Tom's semen on my thighs where he slid down me, smelt it as his body loomed over me, smelt it in his pubic hair against my nose while I tasted it and cleaned him and sucked my own vagina from him. Then he was between my legs licking. The alarm went off. It was late: we had little time. Suddenly our night was over and we had to dress and behave civilized. More urgently he sucked my clitoris; I strained; I came; I exploded into cries.

There was a knock at the door. "Tom, you up?"

"Hilary!" he whispered to me in alarm. In an instant he smelt his body, finding me everywhere, threw me out of bed to examine the sheets: luckily his drinking of our fluids had been complete. I took off my nightie and examined myself for love-bites and smudges, couldn't find any. "You answer it," he implored. "I need a shower."

So I straightened up the bedclothes, beat him to the bathroom to briefly wash my face and hands, and whispered "I love you" as he went into the shower. I dishevelled myself and looked sleepy as I opened the front door. Normally I might kiss Hilary on the cheek but I didn't want her too close, so just said hi and drifted off to the kitchen with an explanation that Tom was showering and had just woken me.

Hilary breezed in, her usual humorous and supercilious self; she was made up and kitted out in office woman garb, which I seldom saw her in: unflattering compared to her casual beauty. We talked. The fact that Tom had seen me modelling hadn't been mentioned last night, only that we'd met up after, so I steered away from that and told her about my music, and she about her senile aunt and her mother's garden. As the tea stewed I went into the bedroom and took off my nightgown.

"Oh sorry," she said, having followed me in. A turning away on my part to hide my nakedness was so obviously futile that I just turned it into a bending gesture to pick up my clothes. I faced her as I had faced my spectators last night, she also having given up averting her glance. Momentarily I thought... yes, I thought of Tom returning and bringing us into a threesome. But no, time pressed, for him at least. My classes didn't begin for a while. So I allowed a moment more's bold talk for her to see me naked, then slipped on my pants and bra.

Tom entered during this, greeted Hilary, and looked away as I covered up my breasts. I looked away as he unwrapped his towel and dressed, but could see Hilary eyeing him fondly. In a minute we were all dressed and civilized, making our way to the kitchen for refreshing tea, Tom smelling all fresh and clean, Hilary all lipstick and efficiency, me all slut and cum and slavering spit where my incestuous lover had soiled me. It was wonderful.