Charlie and Mindy Bk. 03 Ch. 04

This is the fourth chapter of seven in Book 3 of the Charlie and Mindy tetralogy, which is a story of forbidden love between a brother and a sister.

This book stands on its own, but it refers to events that took place in Books 1 and 2. You may therefore want to read Book 1 and Book 2 before reading this book.

I value your comments and your feedback. I try to reply to comments.

—CarlusMagnus

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The flight home was deadly. There was no direct flight, and we'd had to change planes at O'Hare. That meant four hours on the ground in an airport, most of which, the weekend before Christmas, was a mixture of the worst elements of a zoo with those of an insane asylum.

We managed to find a part of the airport where no flights were scheduled for the next few hours; the waiting area there was almost abandoned. There were still too many people around for us to get naked—let alone Do the Nasty, but we got in some very good snuggling and groping. We discovered a principle: People will go out of their way to give lovers some privacy if they can see from some little distance what those lovers are up to. Not because they're being kind, of course—because they're embarrassed. We probably should have been embarrassed, too. But we weren't.

We got home early that evening and tried to settle in. It took a while.

That was because being at home gave us mixed feelings. Both of us were now used to being on our own, able to make our own decisions about what we would do and when. Mom and Dad hadn't had much opportunity to live with us as grown-ups (well—almost grown-ups), and they still wanted to parent us.

We didn't have much trouble with that when it meant they wanted to do things for us, but it was a different story when it meant that they wanted to tell us what to do. And, as young (almost) adults who had never experienced responsibility for someone else, we didn't even see that having them do things for us and having them tell us what to do were really just different sides of the same coin. But I am sure that Mom and Dad were well aware of it—and found it exasperating.

We knew that they loved us, though, and we loved them. The four of us managed to smooth over the rough spots with only a few harsh words—which were quickly forgotten. Mindy and I had to remember that neither of us could give a lover's support to the other—or expect it from the other—during any of those rough patches. Our…unusual…brother-sister relationship added an extra dimension to the stresses and strains we had in common with other almost grown-up offspring who spend most of their time away from their parents' home.

We did slip easily back into our routine of the last weeks before school had started. Mom and Dad would leave for work around seven-thirty each morning, and the one of us who awoke first after they left would climb, naked, into bed with the other for our morning exercises. Then we'd shower together and get breakfast.

During the first few days we were home, we spent much of our time preparing for Christmas. The holiday itself wouldn't be the Big Deal that it had been when we were little and still believed in Santa Claus. But the season and our preparations for it evoked memories for all four of us—memories of a little boy and a little girl getting up too early, so excited they could barely stand it, wanting to go into the living room to see what Santa had brought, and being told, gently but firmly, that three-thirty in the morning is much too early.

For me, there was also the memory of the three Christmas seasons when I, the big brother, had been in on the secret, but Mindy had still believed. I still remember the discussion Mom and Dad had with me about the grown-up responsibility that came with knowing the Santa secret.

They had gauged me correctly; they pointed out that, grown up as I had become, it was now my job (along with theirs) to protect my little sister and her faith in Santa. Once they'd put it in terms of protecting my little sister—who was, even then, the most precious thing in my life—all the torments of Hell couldn't have forced me to betray the secret to her.

As she and I lay in each other's arms, naked in her bed after a superb session of love-making on the morning of the day before Christmas, I told her about that little boy's determination to keep the Christmas secret from his still-believing little sister.

"That little boy did a good job," she said, smiling. "I didn't give up on Santa until I was twelve—and I didn't really want to then!

"You were such a sucker for taking care of me," she went on, "weren't you?" Her head moved a bit from my shoulder to deliver a kiss to my neck. "I wonder what other mileage Mom and Dad got out of that."

"I'm still a sucker for taking care of you," I said, and I took her chin in my hand and raised her lips to mine.

When the kiss ended, she looked me in the eyes. "It was so wonderful to know that my big brother was always looking out for me. It made me feel so important and so loved. I wish you could have known how good that felt."

I kissed her again. "I do know how good it feels. I have a grown-up little sister who's always looking out for me.

"And when we were little, I thought it was so wonderful to have a little sister to look out for; it made me feel so important and so grown up. I wish you could have known how good that felt."

She nibbled on my cheek, raised her head and looked at me. "I do know. I have a grown-up big brother to look after now.

"Big Brother and Little Sister," she whispered as she again laid her head on my shoulder.

"Best friends and lovers," I replied.

And then, together, holding each other close, "Now and always."

"I love you so much," she added.

And I completed our ritual: "I love you even more."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Christmas arrived on a Friday. We got up at a reasonable hour (considerably after three-thirty) and opened the presents the four of us had all given each other. And, it turned out, Santa had left some unexpected presents for Mindy and for me. I made a mental note to myself that there should be unexpected presents from Santa for Mom and Dad the following year.

We all gathered in the kitchen, after a late breakfast, to prepare the Christmas turkey dinner—which we sat down to eat at around three in the afternoon. Dad had found some very good white wine to accompany the bird, and it flowed reasonably freely. Then we sat around, full and groggy, for most of the rest of the evening. We had a snack just before bed-time—which was late, there being no work for Mom and Dad until Monday.

The hardest part of that long weekend for Mindy and me was keeping our hands off of each other. On Saturday evening—around eight o'clock and in Mom and Dad's presence—Mindy challenged me to a Monopoly game. We went down to the basement rec room, spent 10 or 15 minutes setting up the game, and started playing.

We'd often played Monopoly with each other before I'd left for college a year-and-a-half earlier. We both hated to lose; we were pretty evenly matched; and the length of our games was something of a family legend. Thus, when Mom and Dad came down around eleven o'clock to tell us that they wanted to say "Good night" because they were going to bed, neither was the least bit surprised to find us sitting cross-legged across the board from each other on the floor in the middle of the rec room, still playing our hearts out. Nor did they expect us to finish and come upstairs any time soon.

That was just what we had planned. The rec room was the one place in the house where Mom and Dad wouldn't be able to hear us from their room—no matter what we might get up to.

About twenty minutes after we heard Mom and Dad go up the stairs to the second floor, Mindy landed on Connecticut Avenue—which I owned, and where I'd put a hotel. "That is going to cost you!" I said. "Big time!" The rent was $600.

She had only about $450 on hand—not enough to pay it, so she started looking through her deeds to see what she could sell or mortgage.

"Oh," I said, "not money. I want your shoes and your socks."

She saw immediately where this was going, smiled wickedly at me as she took them off, and said as she handed them to me, "Two can play at that game, Buster. And it's your turn to roll."

I rolled, landed on a "Chance", drew a card, and went Directly to Jail without passing "GO", without collecting $200, and—most importantly—safe for the moment. I smiled at her—and got a glare in return—as I handed her the dice.

She rolled—and got a five, which landed her on Virginia Avenue. That was another of my properties, where, as luck would have it, I had another hotel.

The rent there was $900. I'm not really sure why we even bothered to check, because we knew that it would be higher than the rent where she'd been and that she didn't have any more cash than she'd had on her previous turn.

"My shirt?" she asked, beginning to unbutton it. She was fuming a bit at the unfairness of it all.

"Your shirt," I confirmed, holding out my hand in expectation.

She shrugged out of her shirt and handed it to me. I was pleased to see that, as always, she wasn't wearing a bra. Her wonderful little boobs stood proudly out from her chest, the nipples hardening in the slight chill of the basement room—or maybe in anticipation of what we knew was…ummm…coming, in the near future. I admired the view, and I couldn't help but notice the similarity between her nipples and the snake-eyes I'd rolled a few turns ago. But I was careful not to say anything about that similarity, lest she say that what I was admiring constituted a double and freed me from jail.

She smiled back at my leer and handed me the dice, saying, "Roll me a nice pair of fours." That would land me on Tennessee Avenue—where the rent for staying at her hotel was $950. She knew, as well as I did, that I had about $500 in cash.

I rolled, and got a five and a three. "Oh, shucks," I said, insincerely. "That would put me right where you want me—but I'm in jail, and it doesn't get me out." I picked up the dice and handed them back to her—continuing to eye her boobs as I did so. My cock was growing.

"Are you going to unbuckle your pants now, or wait until you land on one of my red properties around the corner and have to?" I asked politely.

She glared at me again. I smiled sweetly. Insincerely, but sweetly. She rolled the dice. Her tits jiggled as she did so, and I appreciated that. My cock twitched a little.

The dice turned up eleven, which landed her on the B & O Railroad—one of her own properties, and safely past my red ones. But she would have to run the gauntlet of my expensive green properties on her next turn.

She handed me the dice. "You can roll those fours this time," she said with a nasty smile.

I smiled innocently and rolled the dice. I got a one and a seven. "Oh, drat!" I said as insincerely as I could manage. "I'm still in jail."

"You could pay the fifty bucks and get out," she suggested—with little hope in her voice.

"Oh, I can't afford that much," I said sweetly—as I picked up the dice and handed them to her. "Be careful not to land on one of the green properties. They're high-rent."

She rolled; her boobs bounced again; and she got another eleven. That landed her safely past my most expensive rental properties and on a "Chance." She pulled a card; it read "You have been elected chairman of the board—pay each player $50."

I held out my hand and received my $50. I must say she paid it with poor grace. Poor grace, but nice boobs. I had a full-fledged boner, now, which my Levis didn't quite conceal.

"Oh, good!" I said brightly as she handed me the dice. "Now I can afford to get out of jail!"

I rolled the dice; they turned up a four and a six. I paid the $50 and moved—landing safely on the "Free Parking" square. I heard her mutter "Damn!" as I moved.

But she looked at the tent in my pants as she spoke.

"Here you go," I said, handing her the dice and continuing to enjoy the sight of her wonderful little tits.

She rolled, and got a total of six—which took her past "GO" and earned her $200—while landing her on a "Community Chest" space. She drew the top card. "Pay Hospital Fees of $100," it said. She put the money in the bank. (We shared the banking chores.) Then she handed me the dice.

"It's about time for your luck to run out, Bub," she said. As she looked again at the lump in my pants.

I got an eleven, which landed me on Pacific Avenue—one of my own properties that she'd just managed to skip. I had only four houses there, so the rent would have been $1100 if she'd landed on it. As the owner, of course, I didn't have to pay. I smiled engagingly at her, and she glared back at me. I handed her the dice and enjoyed her bare boobs some more.

She rolled again, and got a four and a five. Her bare little boobs bounced again, to my delight, as she counted out nine steps. She wound up on St. Charles Place—where I had four houses and the rent was $625. Even with the $100 she'd netted from her previous move, she still didn't have enough.

"Levis," I said, implacably.

Resignedly, she stood up, unbuckled her belt, undid the waist button, unzipped, stepped out of her jeans, and handed them to me. She had left only a little pair of pale blue cotton bikini panties. Except for their color, they were just like the pink pair she'd once taken off and given me to carry around in my pocket for the day.

And, just like those pink panties, these revealed—indeed, accentuated—more than they concealed. She sat down, cross-legged again, revealing her intimate shapes. The growing patch of her moisture on that blue scrap of cloth was almost translucent; she was getting turned on, too. My hard-on throbbed as I adored the sight of her not-quite-hidden pussy.

She picked up the dice and handed them to me, smiling sweetly as she did so. I was puzzled at her change in attitude. And then I realized what my position was. There I was on Pacific Avenue, and I needed to get past Park Place and Boardwalk—only a few spaces ahead. She owned them, and she had built hotels on both.

"Roll 'em," she commanded.

I did, and got a three and a five. Confidently, I counted out the spaces and landed on "GO." I breathed an inward sigh of relief and reached for my $200.

"Hold it right there, you big dirty cheat!" she said, sounding rather exasperated. "Do you really think you can get away with that?"

I looked up at her, innocently. "Hunh?"

"Count that out again…" she ordered. "And do it right this time!"

Patiently, but with an air of hurt, I put my finger on Pacific Avenue and moved it to the next square—North Carolina Avenue. "One," I said. I moved it then to the succeeding square, Community Chest, and said "Two." And so on to Pennsylvania Avenue ("Three"), the Short Line ("Four"), Chance ("Five"), Park Place ("Six"). Then, finally seeing the inevitable, I thought Uh-oh! to myself. I moved on to Luxury Tax ("Seven") and Boardwalk ("Eight").

The roll of eight had put me on Boardwalk, and not on "GO." I'd screwed up the count the first time. The rent for Boardwalk (with a hotel!) is $2000, so there was no way she was ever going to believe that I hadn't miscounted on purpose.

"Oops!" I said in a very small voice. "I miscounted."

"Miscounted, my ass! But no harm done." She was smiling maliciously. "Pay me. $2000."

"Ummm, I don't have $2000," I admitted—as if she didn't already know that.

"Then just give me all of your clothes," she said, the malicious smile deepening into a vicious grin.

"All of my clothes? I only took one article of clothing in place of a single rent."

"Yes, you did." she said, "But those were low-rent properties. And those hotels! Not where decent people would stay at all. Flop-houses, really. This is a high class hotel, so you can give me all your clothes or admit that you've lost the game."

I took off my shoes and socks and handed them to her. Next, my shirt. Then I stood up, undid my pants, dropped them, and handed them to her. I stood there in my boxers (which my boner tented outrageously) and said "I really think you're being greedy."

"Don't be obsidian," she returned, reminding me unpleasantly of that time I'd written "obsidian" on an exam when I'd meant "obstinate." I'd guessed she wasn't going to let me forget that one, and it appeared that I'd been right about that.

She was still grinning viciously. "Think of it as a fine for trying to cheat. But I'll tell you what: I'll give you some change."

As I lowered my boxers, she stood up. And, as I reached out to hand them to her, she drew down her little bikini panties and stepped out of them. She took my boxers and handed me her panties. We stood there, bare-assed, and looked each other up and down. Her gaze focused on my boner and she smiled—hungrily now.

A few seconds later, I stepped over the board toward my sweet little sister.

"Screw the Monopoly game," I said.

I tossed the panties aside and wrapped my arms around her, as she tossed my boxers aside and wrapped her arms around me.

"Don't screw the Monopoly game," she said, looking up at me. "Screw me!"

There was a hungry look on her face. We pressed our naked bodies against each other, and I felt her marvelous little tits against me as I bent down and kissed her. Her mouth opened at the touch of my lips, and my tongue intertwined with hers. We moaned into each other's mouths, and, as our kiss deepened, she rubbed her belly against my shaft—which was now trapped between us.

When the kiss ended, she looked up at me and said, "Strip Monopoly. That's a good one. I wouldn't have thought of that."

"I know," I said. "Before long, you would just have dived over the game board and ripped my clothes off without any reason."

"Ohh…" she said. She was smiling again, "There would have been a reason. It's rubbing against my belly right now."

And she wiggled out of my arms and sank slowly to her knees—making sure that she rubbed her body against my cock as she did. Once she had gotten far enough down, she took my crown into her mouth and looked up at me. My little sister's deep blue eyes smiled at me as she placed a hand on each of my ass-cheeks and pulled me toward herself until she had deep-throated her big brother's cock.

I said something witty—something like "Oh, shit! That feels so good!"

She held me there, my entire length embedded in her hot, wet mouth, for half a minute. If she hadn't had to release me then to breathe, my knees would have given out and sent me tumbling to the floor.

As it was, I wasn't thinking about anything but my cock when she slid her mouth back off of it. Then she wrapped her right hand around it, and, taking advantage of the slippery saliva she'd left behind, stroked up and down several times until she'd brought me almost to the brink.

But she stopped short, looked up at me, and smiled. She stood, and, taking my right hand in her left, she led me across the room to a throw rug—where she lay down. "C'm'ere, tenant!" she growled as she pulled me down beside her. "It's time you made the real rent payment."

We lay on our sides facing each other. My arm went under her head to give it some support; while my other hand explored those little tits I admired so much.

Her nipples were hard, hard, almost like pebbles to my touch, and she moaned her pleasure as I rolled each in its turn between thumb and forefinger. I brought my mouth to a nipple and sucked it in, where I could roll my tongue around it and flick it back and forth.