Charlie and Mindy Bk. 03 Ch. 01

I moaned, unable for the moment to form words. When I could think again, I grinned and said, "God! That's a lot! Do you know how much I love you?"

She grinned back at me, knowing what was coming (and what was going to come in a few more minutes).

"How much?" she asked.

"Even more," I replied, as I bumped my own hips—bouncing her upward as I drove my cock momentarily deeper into her. Now we were grinning at each other. I felt her contract around me several times, and I throbbed within her.

"That's quite a bit," she allowed when the sensations had subsided to the point where we could be rational again—sort of. "But I love you even more than that!"

She bumped her hips twice. The friction of her sheath sliding along my rod caused more, and more intense, internal commotion in both of us. We pulsed, moaned, and clasped each other more tightly.

We subsided again, after a somewhat longer interval than before—an interval we filled with sighs and moans. We softened our grips on each other and looked again into the other's eyes.

I said, "That's really a lot! But I love you this much!" And I pumped my hips three times, pistoning in and out of her.

Her arms tightened again, pulling our upper bodies together, and I heard her sharp intake of breath. And then her hips were moving again and my own wouldn't stop. Our mutual desire had overcome us, now; neither of us could think of anything but what we were doing together—and the driving necessity of bringing ourselves to conclusion. She raised the upper part of her body away from me in order to gain more leverage with her hips. Still cupping her ass, I alternately pulled her toward me and pushed her away from me. Frantically we drove me into her and out, into her and out, into her and out, in sharp rhythm—at once stimulating and answering the uncontrollable need we'd each aroused in the other.

I felt Nature's elemental forces gathering in my groin again, wrapping themselves into an ever-tightening knot. We pounded ourselves against each other, withdrew, pounded again. And then, at long last, but still too soon, the knot blew itself to smithereens and I shouted, "I'm coming! I'm coming!" My cum boiled into my little sister's depths as I clutched her to myself and tried to force my cock as deeply into her as possible.

Dimly I heard her exhorting me, "Come for me, Charlie! Come for me! Come in me!" and then her tone changed, and she rammed herself back at me and shouted, "I'm coming, too! I'm coming, too!" as her own detonation began. My muscles locked in my final spasm, and I was aware, barely, that she had collapsed onto me in her own ecstasy.

When I regained awareness, she was lying limply on me, my cock still embedded in her. We were breathing deeply, trying to repay the oxygen debt we'd built up while coming. Our hips—still thinking and acting for themselves—were rocking gently against each other. Our motions caused my still-hard cock to slide slowly in and out, in and out of her sheath, now very well lubricated by the mixture of juices we'd produced. She was still lost in the world to which her climax had sent her, though her spasms were diminishing. I brought my arms, which had fallen limply beside me, up around her, to hold her little female body gently but firmly against my own larger male body.

In a minute or two, I felt her lips nibbling my neck, where her head had come to rest when she'd collapsed. I stroked her back and sides, and I felt her hands stroking me. Our hips, still on automatic pilot, continued their gentle rocking. We lay there a while, hands exploring gently, hips rocking leisurely, having achieved a temporary equilibrium. The motion kept my cock interested enough that it didn't shrink—as it often did right after I'd come.

And then her nibbles strengthened, and I felt the pace of her hips quicken. As she raised her head to look at me, I strengthened the action of my hands on her body, and I whispered, "Going to try for another one?"

"Mmmm-hmmm." She hummed her affirmative response. And then she said, "You feel so good in me. Does it bother you that I can come more than you?"

"Never," I said. "I love making you come—and then holding you and watching you when it happens."

She'd put her hands back on the mattress and raised herself up to arm's length again. She pumped strongly then, and I reciprocated. But I was still pretty sensitive myself, and I stayed just slightly out of sync with her strokes so that they wouldn't be too long. It seemed to me that she liked feeling my cock move inside her, but that she was concentrating mostly on rubbing her clit on my pubic bone.

I stroked her here, tickled her there. My cock enjoyed this, but it wasn't taking the deep personal interest it had taken a few minutes earlier. Free now, of my own overwhelming need, I watched her expression as we pumped. When she'd started this second round, she'd worn a smile of mild pleasure. As her stroking intensified, the smile disappeared, and an expression of deep concentration appeared.

I remembered, then, how much she liked having me knead her boobs after she'd come, and I found them, began to work on them. Her jaw went slack, her eyes closed, and she moaned. Somehow, she found the strength to say "God, yes, Charlie! That's feels so good! Keep doing that!"

Gently, I continued to massage her tits, tweaking her nipples every now and then, as she pumped on my cock—almost furiously now. The expression on her face was one of a woman in a trance, unknowing and uncaring about what was going on outside of herself.

And then her face twisted and the rhythm of her stroking became erratic. With a groan, she plunged herself down to bury my cock as deeply as it would go, forcing her clit tightly against me. All, it seemed, of her muscles contracted at once; her moaning intensified to a muted shriek. Her channel clutched mercilessly at the invader buried within it; that felt almost as good as my own orgasm a few minutes earlier had.

That spasm lasted for several seconds, and then she collapsed again onto me. For another minute or two she alternated between lying limply upon me on the one hand, and twitching and writhing on the other. At each spasm, her inner muscles squeezed my cock again. I responded by holding her closely to me. She had gone again where I couldn't follow. It certainly seemed like she was enjoying the journey. And she certainly was taking me for a wonderful ride—even if I couldn't complete the trip with her.

She lay there upon me, my cock still embedded within her, as her storm passed. Gradually, over several minutes, she returned to herself and to me. Her breathing, which had almost stopped when she'd come, and which had come in great gasps after she'd collapsed, returned to normal. She stroked my body, and her lips nibbled my neck again.

Stroking her little body as she lay on me, I said, "I think somebody just came!"

"That was one of the best I've ever had, Charlie!" she said, her head still resting on my chest. "Maybe even the best. You're such a good lover."

"You're the good lover, Little Sister," I replied, using, for at least the thousandth time, my pet name for her. "You're such a wonderful woman."

And as I spoke, guilt, remorse, and doubt assailed me, and something black and ugly—something I hadn't even known was there—began to rise within me.

She was unaware of the turmoil that had begun in my mind, and she squeezed herself to me, wriggling her hips to implant my cock as deeply as possible inside her.

"You're such a wonderful man," she said.

The dark wave that had risen within me broke, and in my misery I said, "God, Mindy! What are we doing? What kind of a creep am I to do this with my own little sister?"

She planted a hand on the mattress beside me and rose up onto her arm. Her other hand came to my chin, where it forced me to look directly at her. She smiled at me; it was her best, her gentlest, her most loving smile. "You're not a creep, Charlie." She caressed my cheek before she went on, "And neither am I."

My cock was still hard, still deeply buried in her pussy—my little sister's pussy—and, doubts, remorse, guilt notwithstanding, I loved feeling it there.

"How can you say I'm not?" I asked. "I'm the older one. I seduced you! I've been using you for months now. You, the little girl I loved to take care of when we were children! The little girl who always trusted her big brother to protect her! I've conned you into an incestuous relationship!"

My eyes stung; tears were forming and, Fundamental Code of Manly Behavior or not, I was going to cry. Through my tears, I could see tears forming in Mindy's eyes, too. I realized then, too late, that in calling myself a creep for what the two of us were doing I had also called her a creep.

She continued to caress me, stroking my cheek and my ear. A tear rolled down her cheek. My own tears made her image blurry.

"Let's talk about it, Charlie. We have to get it out in the open before it festers and poisons our love.

"I am your little sister, and I was the little girl you protected. There's no way around that. There shouldn't be any way around that, either, because it's part of who we are. And I do love you the way a sister should love a brother.

"But we've grown up now. You're not that little boy, and I'm not that little girl. We've talked about taking care of each other; and now we know that I need to take care of you as much as you need to take care of me. I'm still the little sister you can find joy in taking care of, but now I'm also the little sister who can find joy in taking care of you.

"I'm still the little sister who trusted her big brother. And I still trust you." Her touch on my cheek continued, gentle, loving.

"When we were children, I trusted you just because you were my big brother. Children trust for simple reasons like that. But now that I've grown up, I base my trust on knowing who and what you are. And I choose to trust you."

She stopped for a moment, and looked even more deeply into my eyes before she continued: "I make that choice because I know that you'll never betray me. You're Charlie Magness and you can't betray me; it just isn't in you. And that's one of the reasons I love you so much.

"And I don't just love you as my brother, though. I love you the way a woman loves her man, too. You didn't fool me into that; I decided to love you this way. I want to love you this way. You didn't 'con' me into it. I made a commitment to you with my eyes wide open. And I knew you were my brother when I made it."

We were sobbing, now, but she kept on going. "You didn't seduce me, either. You just told me you remember that night above Island Lake, when you knew you could have me for the taking. But you didn't take me."

She smiled through her tears at the memory, and went on, "You wouldn't because you knew I wasn't ready—and might never be ready. Have you forgotten that already?"

She paused. Knowing that she expected an answer, I shook my head. And I was keenly aware that she was sitting on me with my still-stiff cock embedded in her—and that I loved the feeling and didn't want her to move away.

Seeing my nod, she continued, "If you had taken me that night, it might be fair for you to say that you'd 'used' me or 'seduced' me. But you didn't. Instead, you treated me with love and respect. More love and more respect than I probably deserved after the way I'd made you want me so.

"And later, we were both glad we hadn't Done It then. Because, when I finally did understand what I felt for you, what I needed from you, and what I needed to do for you—no, with you—it made our love whole and healthy.

"And when we made love for the first time, that night at Belford Lake, whose idea was it that we should do it there and then? Who took the lead? You?"

She paused again. Through my tears, I saw that she was looking at me expectantly again. Several tear tracks now marked her cheeks. I shook my head again.

"I know—I've always known—that you love me the way a brother loves his sister. So the only question you have to answer now is this: 'Do you love me the way a man loves his woman?' And—"

She stopped speaking as I started to interrupt her to answer that question. But she put her finger across my lips. She wasn't done.

She went on. "And if you don't love me that way, then I've conned you into something, I've betrayed your trust, I've seduced you, and I've been using you."

She leaned down to kiss me gently on the lips. I had to raise my head so she could reach; our tears mingled with the kiss.

She raised her head again and looked at me. Tears still flowing, she asked me, "So what's the answer to that question?"

I reached for her, took her into my arms, and pulled her back down against me. I was sobbing. And then, through my sobs, I murmured, "Oh, God, yes, Mindy! Yes! Yes! Yes! You're the only woman I want! The only woman I need! I can't live without you! I love you more than I know how to tell you!" I crushed her naked little body against me as I spoke. Her hands slid, palm up, under my shoulders again, and she pulled herself tightly down upon me.

She sobbed against me as I held her. I hadn't realized how wound-up she'd become until I felt the tension slip out of her as she relaxed in my arms. And then I realized that, in spite of what she'd said about trusting me, she'd been terrified—terrified that I might say "No," instead of "Yes."

So I held her, and I caressed her, and I crooned to her while our tears cried themselves out.

And when they had and she again lay quietly against me, I said, "Mindy, I love you so. I'm sorry. I don't know where that came from. Somehow it just came out of nowhere. And I didn't mean to call you a 'creep' and make you cry."

"Oh, Charlie," she said. "That's not why I cried. I cried because I saw how much pain you you were in."

She raised her head. She was smiling now. It was a weak smile, but it was genuine.

"And I know where it came from, even if you don't. I don't know why it happened now, though, instead of some other time. I guess that's just one of those questions there aren't good answers for.

"But it's something I thought would happen sooner or later.

"It's the same thing I had to work out before I was ready to make love with you, Charlie. It's been there, inside you, all along. I've been wondering when, and how, it would come out. You just weren't aware of it, because you're a guy. And guys think with their balls. Which, mostly, I don't complain about too much. Especially in your case!"

And she bumped her hips. My cock, still hard, still buried in her, not knowing anything about the serious matters we'd been discussing, responded with a surge that made my own hips bump back.

"Big Brother and Little Sister," she whispered to me. She wore a full-fledged smile now, as she initiated our childhood litany—the ceremony we had developed as children to bind us to each other as loving brother and sister.

"Best friends and lovers," I replied, also whispering. But I couldn't return her smile. Not yet.

"Now and always!" we crooned together.

"I love you so much," she went on. It wasn't part of our original litany, but we had, in unspoken agreement, extended our tradition by adding two last lines—just as we had added "and lovers" to the second line when we'd realized it was appropriate.

"I love you even more," I whispered fervently back. I'd meant it every time I'd said it in the past, but never more than at this moment.

She punctuated our ritual with another hip bump. My own hips responded.

She hummed a little moan. I hummed one back, and bumped my hips again. She bumped back. Incredibly, my cock, which hadn't yet softened after my orgasm a little while earlier, seemed to think it wanted more.

Before long, we were again pounding ourselves against each other. She came first, this time, by a wide margin—but I was so intent on the pleasure she was giving me that I barely noticed. Eventually, I erupted again, and we subsided into each other's arms.

We held each other close for a while. Eventually, she pulled away from me—releasing my finally floppy cock from her pussy's grasp. As she rolled off of me, I looked once more into those deep blue eyes.

"My God!" I said. "You're right! I do think with my balls!"

She chuckled and, throwing her arm across my chest, she drew herself close and snuggled up against me.

"And you make me think with my pussy!"

She folded her leg up so that it lay across my thighs. Her firm little boobs pressed against the side of my chest, and the warm wetness of that wonderful pussy rested against my thigh.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I think so. You've convinced my brain, but I still have to work some things out. I think I can deal with them. We can't be the only brother and sister who've ever fallen in love with each other.

"I just wish sometimes," I continued, "that there were someone we could tell about us. I want to tell people about how much I love you. And how good it feels to know that you love me."

"Sometimes I want that, too," she murmured. "Of course, that's an awful lot like talking about feelings, and I know that people who have balls aren't supposed to do that…"

That, finally, brought a smile to my face. "You got that right!"

"Just remember, Charlie, my love…my only love…there is nothing—nothing at all—that we can't face together." She squeezed me as she said it.

"Nothing," I said as I squeezed her back.

"Nothing," we repeated in unison, holding each other close.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Eventually, we forced ourselves to quit holding each other. She rolled out her side of the bed, and, seconds later, I rolled out from mine. It was almost noon by the time we'd gotten our shower—on account of the fooling around that always seemed to accompany our shared showers—and put some clothes on. We weren't due at Steph's until two, and dinner was planned for an hour-and-a-half later. So I rustled up some bacon, eggs, and toast to keep us from starving to death before then.

It was a little after one when we began getting things together for the trip to Steph and Steve's. We still had the salad to put together and the dressing to make. While Mindy measured out the ingredients for the dressing, I washed, peeled, cut, chopped, sliced, and diced.

I saved the onion for last. I hate dicing onions, because doing so always makes my eyes sting and water. Mindy knows this, and she was lying in wait.

As my tears began to flow, she crooned, in very irritating mock sympathy, "Awww! Is my poor 'ittle man crying? Does he need comforting? Don't cry, itsy-bitsy boy." The baby-talk didn't help.

"Careful, woman!" I muttered. "This 'itsy-bitsy boy' has a big, sharp chef's knife in his hand."

She laughed, moved in behind me and hugged me.

"You are such a dope!" she said. "But you're my dope."

I grumped at her, and then I changed the subject before she could tease me some more about crying.

"Is it going to be just the four of us? You, me, Steph, and Steve?"

"That's what she said," she replied, releasing me and going back to her work on the dressing—almost complete now.

"I thought maybe Buck would be there." Buck was a friend I'd made last year in first-year French; Mindy had met him in the French course we were currently taking.

We'd seen Steph and Buck in the park back in September—occupying what we had come to think of as our park bench while they engaged in a mutual grope session that rivaled any Mindy and I had ever conducted in daylight and in a public place. In fact, it had rivaled any we'd conducted anytime, anywhere, with all of our clothes on. We'd naturally concluded that they were a couple.