Natalie Fills In

My goodness, but it's fun to write about Natalie Cross! I've done other stories with the scheming Natalie, though I haven't published most of them because they're too dark. But I'm submitting this on a dare, in a category I've never really thought about, and as part of the Valentine's Contest no less! Make sure you read all the excellent entries and vote on your favorites.

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"Man, I'm wicked bored." I batted aimlessly at the buttons on the sleek little black remote, forcing the TV through the same seven hundred goddamn channels I'd been shuffling through over the past five hours or so. "Bored as fuck," I added unnecessarily.

A spiteful glance from the other end of the couch, my sister doing her nails, her eyes rolling like ball bearings. She paused a moment, those big dark eyes of hers boring into me. Christ, she sure can use those eyes. "All the porn starts on channel 528," she pointed out with her usual razor-snipped voice.

Please. What, did she think I didn't know that? She'd only moved back in a couple weeks ago; I'd never left. I wondered, not for the first time, whether Mom and Dad knew I'd been accessing the porn. Times had changed; long gone were the nudie magazine stashes when I was a kid, then the secret DVD freeze-frames of the sex scenes from The Name of the Rose, where Christian Slater is getting fucked by that weird Italian peasant bitch. I'd gotten lots of enjoyment out of that as a kid; it was one of the only movies Dad had with a sex scene. I should be able to get my whacking material from the internet, of course, but these days I can't afford a decent data plan for my phone, and my tablet came from work. Too risky.

So, yeah. Back to Dad's TV. The more things change... I was sitting these days in the same room, jerking it to my Dad's fucking TV, just like middle school. A different TV, obviously: newer, bigger, with a sharper picture. But in a way, I was still that same pimple-ridden kid, still splattering myself in his den.

That precise little voice came back from the other end of the couch: Natalie wasn't done talking, apparently. "I'm glad he went for the 70-inch, instead of the 65. Pornstar dicks look hot in HD." She hadn't looked up from her nails, and I sighed. It was a very, very Natalie-esque comment. "Bigger's always better," she mused.

"You're a sick little bitch, Natalie." I didn't mean it as an insult, though, not really. Natalie Cross is many things, but above all she's honest. You know exactly what you get with her, no bullshit. I tried to be the same way around her; it seemed safest. She could be dangerous if she got pissed at you.

"What?" She shrugged, bony shoulders under her long thin shirt. "Size matters, brother dear, no matter what the girls are always telling you."

"Fuck you," I advised, but again I didn't mean it. She was annoying, but I'll admit it was kind of weirdly fun to have her around again. If nothing else, it gave my parents another target for their pitiful little whiny moans, the ones that went like this: Oh, Bart, why don't you get a decent job? Why can't you move out and get a place of your own? Why can't you go back to college? Shit. Like it wasn't bad enough they'd saddled me with a name like Bartholomew; now they were bitching about my life choices?

It all rang a little hollow, since they never did kick me out. I knew my parents were pussies when they let me stay there, rent-free, for years. Now I had Natalie to deflect some of the disappointment, and in spades too: twenty-two, and now out of a job for fucking her boss' husband. Again; she'd done the same thing before, down at Stacey's Hairworks, but Mom and Dad didn't know about that one. They just knew she'd left there, and that the place had been firebombed a week later. The cops had been around. The parentals had to assume she'd done it, but they weren't going to stand up to her either. They'd been skittish around her ever since the DUI, what, three years ago? So yeah, I was living large now that Natalie was around to soak up all the parental shame.

But there was something else. Natalie and I, we've always been similar. Not that I've thrown Molotov cocktails through a hair-salon window while coked out of my skull, mind, but I'm talking about a deeper level. We sort of see the world the same way. She's like a female version of me, which only freaks me out because our sister Nicole is so different.

"I overheard Mom and Dad the other day," Nat was saying. It would have sounded casual, but she never did anything casually. She was sitting now with her slender legs drawn up beneath her whiplike body, studying her nails, and even in faded tights and an old shirt she still had that same drab, lazy sexiness she'd always had. It wasn't something I'd ever been able to ignore. Sure, she was my sister, but ever since she'd turned eighteen all my friends had spent all their time telling me they wanted to fuck her. So I'd kind of had to face reality: Natalie was a sexpot. She scowled at some brushmarks she'd left on her thumbnail. "They're pissed about your love life."

I shrugged, stabbing viciously at the remote. "I'm pissed about my love life." I was, too. I finally had a girlfriend, a really good one, one that could help me get ahead, but what was the use? It was Valentine's Day, and she was someplace else, while I sat here on a couch with my sister. I frowned. "What did they say?"

She smiled thinly at me. It's hard to say why my friends still thought she was such a smokeshow. I mean, she's pretty and all, but she'd been a lot hotter a few years ago. "Something about how she's so cute, and sweet, and how she smells really nice." She paused. "I don't want to meet her, if all that shit's true. She sounds uninteresting."

"She's going to be a doctor," I marveled. I still couldn't believe I was dating a medical student.

Natalie scowled. "Is she Indian or Chinese?"

"Jesus, you racist bitch." She was laughing, that mocking laugh that seemed to be her default response to just about everything. "No wonder people don't like you." A hockey game fizzled into life onscreen. "Ah. Excellent." Not really; the score was 6-2. This game would hold my interest for three minutes, maybe four. I sighed and threw the remote across the couch at Natalie. "Here. You drive." As an afterthought, I added, "She's Korean. Or Japanese." I really didn't know. But she was cute, and sweet, and she smelled nice, and she could afford to buy me dinner. No good in bed, though.

"Wow. She's like a one-woman United Nations." Natalie looked down at the remote as if it had offended her. "I just did my nails, moron. I can't touch that thing for another five minutes, at least." She tossed her head sideways toward the TV. "Seriously, just put on porn. You're going to do it later, anyway."

I lolled my head back, amused. "They're right upstairs, Nat."

"Come on. They're old." She settled into the cushion, her hands raised carefully. "They'll be asleep by now. Besides, you're twenty-five. They know you're not a virgin." She blinked. "Don't they?"

I smirked at her, more than a little nastily. "We're not all like you, Nat. We don't all whore ourselves around the neighborhood, getting fired and shit." She stuck her tongue out at me, an old old gesture of hers, and then went for an even older one as she curled four fingers carefully, leaving just the middle one up in the air. "Cute."

"Fuck you." She sniffed. "I guess they might think you're a virgin, after all," she mused. "I mean, it's Valentine's and your woman's not putting out for you? What's up with that shit?"

Now it was my turn. "Fuck you, too. I'm not the only one sitting here watching hockey and waiting for some privacy so I can whack it." She knew I did it; sex wasn't the kind of thing Natalie and I were squeamish about. That's why we kept Nicole around, so that we could shock her. Natalie sniffed and tossed her short dark hair.

"Don't fool yourself. If I wanted to get off, I'd get off. And I don't give a shit who's in the room, either." I glanced over, sure she was telling the truth. Natalie had an unfortunate history of public sex, though I'd never really seen any of it. People still told the story of that Halloween party where she'd ended up with one of the guests upstairs, getting loudly banged. I hadn't noticed, of course; I'd had two of her friends bouncing on my cock that night. But she'd tried to suck his dick in the living room first, according to my boy Jeff, and plenty of people had seen that.

So I had no doubt she meant what she said. But she needed to be mocked; it was my brotherly duty. "Dream on, Nat. Although, if you ask nicely, I'd be happy to leave so that you can do your business.

She looked at me squarely with a funny smirk, and then she blew casually on her nails. She buffed them against the shirt where it crossed her tits. "Well," she said quietly, elaborate in her carelessness, "since my nails are dry now..." She looked over at me then with a curiously dead expression in her eyes, the usual Natalie look of challenge mixed with indifference, and then she threw one foot up over the back of the couch with the other one planted on Mom's beige carpet. With her legs splayed out that way, she settled her head against the armrest and reached languidly down to push a finger and her tights into her overused little crevice of a pussy.

She didn't even have to look. She knew precisely where it would be, the little pervert.

I raised an eyebrow. This kind of thing was vintage Natalie; she'd always enjoyed using her body to get a rise out of people, and I was no exception. I'd lost count of the number of times she'd flashed her skinny bare ass at me, often accompanied by two middle fingers and, sometimes, by a friend or two. I usually just came back with a one-liner, though she'd never tried this particular move before. She stared me down, her finger lazy as it pushed into her, and I made myself look for effect, a long pause while I thought of the right response.

Ah. I had it.

"Natalie," I drawled, raising my eyes back to hers, "you could at least have worn panties, you dirty little skank."

She kept pushing into herself with every appearance of boredom. She wasn't getting off at all, but of course that wasn't the point. She was just trying to shock me. No way, bitch. She made a face. "Yeah, well. Mom says I have to do my own laundry, but fuck that." She shrugged. Her other hand, I noticed, was perched casually over her knee. "No clean underwear just means I'll have to get my tights dirty, that's all."

"Jesus." I looked disgustedly back at the TV. 7-2 now. "As far as you're shoving that shit in there? It wouldn't matter." I smirked, glancing over. "Not that you can probably even feel it, the amount of guys who've taken their turn."

"Oooh." She rolled her eyes in mock offense. "Look who's talking, the guy who can't even get laid on Valentine's Day." She frowned and squinted at me. "Are you hard?"

"Yeah," I sighed. "Like I'm going to get a hard-on to the sight of my sister masturbating. Through her clothes."

She smiled smugly. "Maybe it's those greasy sweatpants you're wearing. It always looks like you just came in them."

"Whatever." I decided I'd ignore her. She'd stop eventually. Mom always told us that if we wanted something to stop, we should just ignore it. That might not work with bad hockey games, I reflected sourly (a five-on-three power play; it would be 7-3 any time now), but it should work when your sister is trying to use her vagina to distract you.

Sure enough. Her phone twitched with some sort of incoming message from one of her ripe little friends, and with a creepy little smile I caught out of the corner of my eye she took her finger out of her snatch and went for her phone, leaving her tights to work their way out of her. The whole thing was nasty.

The game ended with a fight, which was at least mildly exciting; I finished off my soda and slumped lower in the couch, bored once more and brooding over my absent girlfriend. Natalie glanced up from her phone. "So, like, what does she see in you?"

I thought about a snarky comeback, but in the end I figured it wouldn't hurt to be honest. "No fucking clue, actually." I adjusted myself; thinking about Jessica had firmed me up nicely. She had a tight little pussy, that Jessica. Suddenly, I snapped my fingers. "Vietnamese!" I called out in triumph. "She's Vietnamese!"

Natalie blinked once at me before she slowly put her phone down. "You want me to applaud because you know your girltoy's ethnicity?" She picked her nose with the same finger that had been in her pussy. She emerged with a lumpy green wad of snot. "Here's your prize, dickhead."

I ignored her. "Honestly? She plays the piano, and I work in a piano factory. It might be just that simple."

She stared at me in disbelief. "Wait. So, this Oriental cooze of yours is dating you for a break on a fucking piano?"

I shrugged. It appeared so, actually. "Maybe she's just attracted to my sparkling personality." We exchanged a glance, and then a laugh, the two of us quite amused. "No, I think you're right. She wants the discount." Jessica was, in fact, a first-rate piano player. I was trying for a sales position, and until I got it I wasn't really in a position to do her any favors; in the meantime, they had me doing QC, mostly because I was not skilled at any other aspect of piano-making. I spent my days sitting in the roomful of stinky, newly-finished baby grands, tapping at keys to make sure they made noises. I couldn't play, myself. "She wants that sweet Bart Cross discount. And his big, fat, motherfucking dick, baby!" I slapped at my balls.

Natalie merely kept staring. "I think that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard from anyone." She thought about it, then nodded. "Ever."

I nodded. She was probably right. "No, really," I said mildly. "She does enjoy fucking me."

She tossed her short hair. "Well, we all make mistakes," she tossed in sweetly. Then Natalie lowered the boom. "She just doesn't enjoy fucking you on Valentine's Day. Right?"

I flipped her off. "You're not exactly wading in dick tonight either, Nat," I grumbled.

She shrugged. "I'm just not that hungry," she said cryptically. She fiddled with her phone again, then glanced at the TV. A sideline reporter, a confection of silicone and makeup, was interviewing whichever husky Canadian had scored the last goal. Natalie made a face. "Dude, enough already." She extended a dainty little foot and nudged me beneath the ribs. "Channel 528."

"Okay! Jesus!" The remote was smooth and comfortable in my hand, but my dick wasn't. I reached for my crotch and adjusted again. These boxers really were at the end of their rope, I reflected. Some of them get like that: you wash them too often and the little opening in the front gets all stretched out, and next thing you know they're pinching your balls. Natalie noticed.

"Buddy. Just wait." She snickered. "You can jack yourself once the porn comes on."

"If only you women knew what it was like to have to deal with a scrotum," I shook my head. She rolled her eyes in disbelief.

"Hey. Dickhead." She waited until I glanced over, then pulled her shirt tight over her titties. "Try putting on a pair of boobs sometime. You can whine and complain once you've walked around for hours in a fucking bra."

"Bitch, please." My thumb was busy on the remote. "You barely even have anything to fill it with." She just sniffed and studied her nails again, but she was paying close enough attention once the TV flickered into a burly black dude nailing some blonde. "Shit." I went to change the channel.

"Wait." She reached over and laid a hand on my arm, her eyes glued to the screen. "See what I was saying? Look how big his cock looks on the screen."

I turned to give Natalie what I thought of as a skeptical glance. Her face was only about a foot away, her mouth slightly open as she watched the couple on the TV. I had the volume way down low, and she leaned forward just a tad. I could see down her shirt. "Nat, I'm not exactly interested in studying black penises in hi-def," I explained, a little amused. I was still staring. I'd been right; she didn't have much titty, but to be fair to her they looked pretty solid. I'd seen her a million times in a bikini and maybe a dozen times topless, for Natalie is anything but shy; she wasn't bad up top. Sexy, anyway, but a lot of that was attitude.

She gave me her own glance, and probably did it better. "Well, I can see why you'd feel insecure," she cracked, with that saucy smirk. The guy looked about a foot long; the chick could barely squeeze it in, despite what looked like many years of experience.

"You just never stop, do you?" It didn't bother me, really; I know how big I am. I've been in locker rooms. I've given plenty of bitches plenty of orgasms; I mean, I'm not stupid. I know they fake it sometimes. But I also know that sometimes they don't, and I get a bunch of return business. I couldn't resist; I adjusted myself again, letting her see me do it. "He's a stuntcock in a movie, Natalie. Real dicks aren't like that, as I'm sure you know."

She bit her lip. "True," she admitted after a few seconds. The guy was really railing the chick now, spitting on her, her mascara smeared all over the place. "Try another channel, Bart."

I did. "Aw, yeah!" I crowed a couple of channels down the line. "Now this, I can get into."

"You wish you could," she muttered. She'd taken her hand off my arm, but she was still close, and leaning forward. A white guy was in a lounge chair with three naked chicks all over him. "You ever done more than one at a time?" she asked curiously.

"Hell yeah. Twice. There was that Halloween party..."

"Ughh." She shuddered. "I don't want to remember that party."

I smiled knowingly; I'd heard the rumors. She'd gotten ripped open, everyone said, and then the guy had left with her friend Meredith Hemmings. Nice little piece, Meredith. Natalie had been completely humiliated, and she didn't like being humiliated. Meredith had paid big-time for that. "I did a couple of chicks that night. Then there was a time at a frat party in college, too, like two of us and three girls." I shrugged. Actually, neither time had been all that great. I prefer one on one. I glanced sideways. "You?"

"Occasionally," she replied absently, and I wasn't too sure what she meant. "Most of the time, one cock is plenty." We watched for awhile, absorbed; it was a really good porn, actually. High production value. None of that cheesy music or soft focus; it was just good, hard fucking. The guy had one of the bitches on her knees now with her rectum wrapped around his cock, and Nat and I squinted critically at the screen.

Unexpectedly, Natalie leaned back against the cushions. "How about this Jessica chick of yours? Is she into three-ways and shit? Anything kinky?"

I frowned. The answer was no, but I wasn't about to let Natalie know that. "Dude, she's an animal. She can suck a mean dick. Loves it in the ass, too." I shivered, still lying. "She'll only fuck raw, too. No glove." Absolutely none of that was true: Jessica Pham gave clumsy head, her little Asian butt was exit-only, and she'd never ever let a condomless penis anywhere near her pussy. "She squirts when she comes, too," I added, and Natalie's expression told me I was laying it on a bit thick. Hell, why not keep it up? "She let me fuck her cousin once, while she watched."

"Boy cousin?" Natalie deadpanned immediately. "Like, in the ass?"

"Nope." I smiled slowly and dreamily. The truth was that I really had met her cousin, a gorgeous specimen if ever there was one, at a family function, which I'd amused myself by thinking of as a Phamily Phunction. "I'll bet I could do her in the ass, though." I was half-hard by now, my hand automatically massaging myself at the thought of destroying Linh-Ngoc Pham's rectum, preferably while Jessica watched. Linh had bigger tits, by far, and more hip. She'd be a squirmer; you can just tell sometimes.