Shattered Taboos

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West Coast trip shatters taboos for young Virginia woman.
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sr71plt
sr71plt
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West Coast trip shatters taboos for young Virginia woman

The flight from Richmond to Los Angeles had been a late-arriving one, and, although it wasn't that late in California terms when Stacy picked Charlotte up at LAX international airport, Charlotte had turned down any barhopping and most conversation. All she wanted to do was to sleep the sleep of the dead. They could talk about the wedding, Ian, and Stacy's airline stewardess job in the morning. Luckily, Stacy's apartment was within blocks of LAX, or Charlotte might have gone to sleep in the car, and Stacy would have had to haul her up twenty-two flights on a dolly.

Charlotte was still on Richmond time in the morning, so she woke up in the dark in Stacy's two-bedroom high-rise apartment. It took her several minutes to acclimate herself. She had no recollection of having arrived at the apartment at all, other than registering surprise that Stacy could afford such a snazzy place high up in an apartment tower, with its own extensive terrace overlooking an LAX runway.

Charlotte was fully awake now, though. Looking at the clock, she saw that it barely was 6:00 a.m. She'd put off talking about Stacy's wedding to Ian last evening—and not altogether because she had been dead tired. That they were getting married was still a shock to her. That they'd hooked up again out here California surprised her. Both were party animals and sex shoppers; neither was the faithful kind. She had tried to beg off being Stacy's maid of honor, but Stacy would have none of that. They had been college best friends, certainly, back at Sweet Briar, in Virginia, but Stacy had moved West and had gone into the airline industry as soon as she'd graduated college and Charlotte had gone home to Richmond to work in her father's travel agency. They hadn't really connected much in the two years since then.

The main reason—at least from Charlotte's side—that they hadn't maintained close ties was Ian. Charlotte wasn't sure even now if Stacy knew that Charlotte had gone with—and slept with—Ian before Ian and Stacy got together. Ian had been at the University of Virginia in Charlottesville when he started dating Charlotte. His father was some sort of cigarette manufacturing tycoon. Charlotte was somewhat surprised there still was a fortune to be made in tobacco, but apparently there was in Virginia. Either that or Ian's family had diversified and stashed it away. When Stacy had talked to her on the phone, she made no bones about liking Ian's money.

Charlotte had dated Ian only briefly and that was primarily because of his sexual kink, which Charlotte had grown to accept—and to rise too liking even, at least from Ian—but it was a social taboo Charlotte never quite was comfortable with. Since Ian, Charlotte had gone with other men—she was no prude—and Ian had gone through a succession of coeds before he latched onto Stacy, so there was no reason for resentment all around on that score.

When Stacy went West, so did Ian, and where Stacy became an air hostess, Ian became a pilot in the same airline. So, it probably was inevitable that they would continue hooking up. The marriage announcement had been a surprise, though. Charlotte didn't think of either one of them as the marrying kind.

Charlotte did wonder if Ian still had that kink and if Stacy enjoyed that. And she wondered why Stacy had reached back to her for a wedding attendant. Didn't she have other airline stewardesses as best friends now? But maybe not. Stacy had never gotten along with other women very well. She kept stealing their boyfriends—not intentionally. It was just something Stacy was naturally good at. It was a miracle she and Charlotte had hit it off and that was mainly due to Charlotte's forbearance.

In the end, Charlotte had just decided to grin and bear it. The wedding wasn't to be a large one, and it gave her a short vacation to the West Coast. She assumed that Ian would be cool about what they had once had. It was before Stacy ever knew him.

Charlotte, dressed just in a flimsy nighty, rose from bed and padded out into the bedroom hallway, deciding she had to have juice or something. She hadn't eaten for several hours and she realized that breakfast for Stacy would be past Charlotte's lunchtime. As she remembered, Stacy was a late sleeper. Charlotte didn't really want to think of the experimentation she and Stacy had done at night in the Sweet Briar dorm. However, she distinctly remembered how hard it was to wake Stacy up in time for class the next morning.

But Stacy wasn't sleeping at the moment. The door to the master bedroom was ajar, and Charlotte could hear them. She also could see them, covered to above the waist with a sheet, Stacy on her back underneath him, sheet bulging up where her raised knees would be. He was lying on top of her between her knees. The rise and fall of the sheeting covering his buttocks left no doubt what they were doing—what he was doing to her.

Charlotte just shrugged and continued on down the corridor. It was no surprise that the two of them had sex before marriage. They'd probably been having sex for more than two years. The surprise was that they were going to risk a marriage. She moved on into the kitchen, where she was pleased to see that coffee had been put on a timer and was already perked. Filling a cup, she decided to go out onto the terrace and watch the sunrise light up the LAX runway.

In the sliding glass door to the terrace, she was caught up short and almost spilled her coffee in shock.

"Hello, Char," Ian said. "Welcome to California."

He was sitting at a patio table, dressed only in dark-blue silk sleeping shorts. He was in magnificent shape. And he was a blond. Charlotte's first, nonsensical thought, was that she should have remembered that. The hair of the man fucking Stacy in the master bedroom was auburn, and whereas Ian's build was on the thin side, the man covering Stacy's body was athletic and broad backed.

"Ian," was all she could think of saying.

"Come sit with me for the sunrise," Ian said, patting a patio chair next to him. "I see you managed to find the coffee."

She went out on the terrace and sat, still not able to think of anything to say.

"It was good of you to come. Stacy so much wanted you here—and, no, I've never told her you and I had been together once. I assume you never told her either. But then, knowing Stacy, she probably knew and didn't care."

"No, I didn't tell her," Charlotte answered.

"Do you hold a grudge—for either of us?"

"No, of course not. You and I had drifted apart before you met Stacy. You didn't meet her through me."

"Protecting her from me, were you?"

"No, of course not."

"So, it wasn't traumatic for you? Have you done it that way with another man since me."

"No," Charlotte answered softly.

"I've missed you—that way. Have you . . .?"

He let that float in the air, and Charlotte didn't answer. She didn't quite know what to answer. It had been a taboo kink. But she had grown to enjoy it. And maybe to miss it too. Just maybe. She'd tried not to think about it—to try to appreciate each lover she'd had since Ian from what that lover brought to the bed—which never was that. Instead, she changed the subject.

"Why are you marrying Stacy, Ian—now, after more than two years? I didn't think of either of you as the marrying kind. And Stacy seems so . . ."

"Selfish? Self-obsessed?" Ian said, with a slight smile on his lips.

"I was going to say self-contained, but, yes, that's sort of true. The truth is that I think it's true of both of you. I hope you aren't mad that I've said it."

"Mad? No, not at all. It's true. Even now, sitting here with you and with Stacy in the other room, with Sean, I'm thinking of fucking you. Because I would enjoy it. I'm not really thinking of what you'd want."

Charlotte looked away, not wanting to look at him, and not wanting to admit even to herself that she'd been thinking of the same thing. His body was beautiful—still. And just in those sleeping shorts. And she could tell that he had hardened up.

"Stacy is fun at parties, and she's a good conversationalist. She doesn't make demands, and I've never known her to be jealous. And she makes good money. We both do. It will be a comfortable life. And our airline schedules will give both of us space . . . for others. We both know we each have others." He turned a meaningful look on Charlotte. "Stacy truly wouldn't mind, Charlotte. She just wouldn't want it said out loud."

She knew what he was saying. She steeled herself against responding to it. Her body wanted to respond, though. "Does she make enough to cover this apartment?" Charlotte couldn't help but ask.

"No, of course not," Ian answered. "I give her some money for it. So do other men. This is California."

"So, you're marrying her because she is comfortable and easy?" Charlotte asked. She didn't have to put the doubt in her voice. It was a given as well as the two knew each other. "Or are you marrying her because she's pregnant?"

"Yes, she's pregnant."

"Is it yours?"

"It doesn't matter. I suppose it could be."

"Are you sure? You know, in all the time we were together—"

"I'm not that selfish—at least anymore—Charlotte. I take care of Stacy's needs. But I have needs too. I just need to have a child at this point in time."

"Because you want to be a father?"

He didn't answer immediately, but then, with a sigh, he did. "My parents want to be grandparents. My father wants it so bad that he's tied up my allowance on that happening."

"Ah, yes, I guess that makes sense." I didn't condemn Ian for his self-absorption. He was honest about it. And he had been a terrific lover.

"I'm missed you, Charlotte."

"Yes, you have said that."

"Come, let's go over and stand at the rail and watch the sunrise reflecting off the airport runways."

They stood at the rail, but not side by side. Ian stood close behind Charlotte. At first his hands gripped the rail on either side of her, giving her a trapped feeling that she didn't really mind. Then he brought his arms in to embrace her, covering her breasts, first on the outside of her flimsy-material nighty, and then inside, covering her breasts, flesh on flesh, squeezing them and lightly pinching her nipples. He was close in behind her and she could feel the need and heat of him against the small of her back.

It wasn't what she wanted intellectually, but it was what she was yearning for emotionally and physically. All the time she was being badgered by Stacy to come out for the wedding, it wasn't Stacy Charlotte had been thinking of. It had been Ian. And how much she missed the special loving he gave.

It helped that Stacy was in her bedroom, being fucked by another man.

The patio table was nearby. Ian had been eating his breakfast there. Toast, and jam . . . and butter. Buttered fingers moved down her belly and into her folds, working her clit and her cunt, as Charlotte murmured for him to stop but made no move to pull away from him. Instead she turned her face to his for a deep kiss.

She gasped and groaned as the buttered fingers moved to behind her—pressing in between her mounds, her nighty bottoms now down around her knees, his sleeping shorts puddled on the stone floor of the terrace.

She shuddered and moaned deeply as she felt the bulb of his cock press at her anal entrance and then, slowly but relentlessly, invade her. She began to pant in short, ragged breaths, as he pumped her in the ass, one hand squeezing one of her breasts, the other one thrumming her clit and fingerfucking her. Fucking her ass and fingering her clit and cunt to an explosion.

She collapsed in his arms, and he pulled out of her; emitted a low, guttural laugh; whispered, "I knew you still wanted it"; and left her there at the rail. The colors of the sunrise were brilliant, and, with a low sob, Charlotte concentrated on those. When the lighting display was over, she went back, trembling, and sat at the patio table. Her coffee was cold. She drank it anyway.

Entering the apartment, there was nothing she wanted to do more than make it back, alone, to her bedroom and to the bathroom attached to it—to shower and try to compose herself.

It obviously had been a mistake to come. And she'd known all along it would be.

She didn't make it back to the guest bedroom in one journey, though. The door to the master bedroom was even more open now than when she'd last passed it, and the level of the sighs and groans and moans had risen as well. The man Ian had called Sean was still fucking Stacy missionary style, but the sheets were pulled down now. And Ian was crouched over the back of Sean and was fucking him in the ass.

After a brief observation of this—she had no inclination to turn away—Charlotte padded to the guest bedroom and to the shower. She didn't lock her door and was almost disappointed to find herself alone in the bedroom when she came out of the bathroom.

* * * *

Charlotte was stunned. "Excuse me? What did you say?"

"I said I wanted you to meet my brother, Sean," Stacy said. She and a priest met Charlotte at the front door to the wedding chapel. She'd been there for some time preparing for the rehearsal, with a waterfront restaurant dinner to follow, and Charlotte had been given a ride to the chapel by Ian. "Sean's an Episcopal priest. He's going to be performing the ceremony."

"Hello," the priest said in a smooth baritone. "Stacy has told me a lot about you. So has Ian. I feel like I already know you."

The voice was mesmerizing, the face was movie-star handsome, the body was athletic muscular. Not at all what Charlotte would expect of an Episcopal priest. But then she would not have expected to see a priest fucking his sister and being fucked by his future brother-in-law either, and this, without a doubt, was the auburn-haired hunk Charlotte had seen in Stacy's bed that morning. In his silky black shirt and trousers and the white priest's collar, though, Charlotte didn't think it was a joke that he was being introduced as an Episcopal minister. If so, it was one elaborate joke.

The way he'd said he'd been told about her and had been looking forward to meeting her, though, made her tremble. What might be a benign countenance to others was his eyes undressing her and humping her in terms of what she'd seen earlier.

And some part of her body wanted that.

She barely heard the instruction he was giving on what would happen when they all sat in the pews at the front of the chapel and went over the ceremony. It was a good thing she'd been through this several times. Strangely enough, framed by what she'd seen that morning between sister and brother, Charlotte's thoughts had gone to her own two brothers, one a year and a half older than she was and one two years younger. Could she see herself lying under either one of them. They both were handsome and athletic—and she knew they were sexually active.

She was stretched out on top of him—Ian?—on the bed, her back pinned to his chest, his arms around her, his hands squeezing her breasts. Her back was arched and her buttocks drawn up to give his cock a straight angle deep into her anal passage. But it wasn't just the two of them. Her legs were hooked on the shoulders of the man kneeling between her thighs, working her clit and cunt with his mouth, gliding his hands up her belly to meet with the hands of the other man in squeezing her breasts and working her nipples. She was close to an explosion when the man between her thighs moved his hands to her ankles, spread and raised her legs, and, standing and crouching over her torso, thrust deep inside her, splitting her puffy labia, and began to pump. Daniel, her older brother. It couldn't be, but turning her head, her lips being captured by the man under her, the man whose cock was pumping her anal passage, she saw the face of younger brother David. She writhed in pleasure at the intimate attention of her two magnificently equipped brothers.

"As the only female attendant, you will leading the procession, Charlotte. Ian and the best man will already be in place and I will signal . . . Charlotte, are you with us?"

"Yes, of course," Charlotte answered Sean, who was giving her an amused look. She wondered if he could see her blushing. "You, Ian, and Curt, the best man, enter and take up position, and at your direction, I start down the aisle."

"Good," Sean said, amused. "I'm sure you take direction very well."

She blushed deeper. Was she the only one who thought this luscious-looking priest spoke in purposeful double entendres? What exactly had Stacy—and, especially, Ian—said about Charlotte to this brother, a priest, who had fucked his sister and been fucked by his brother-in-law this morning. Had Sean smelled the sex of Charlotte on Ian when Ian had come to the bed?

And what had she been thinking about her own brothers? Why did it not sound new and deeply shocking to her? She had seen their naked bodies before, of course. She saw how well hung and muscular they were. Was she telling herself she'd never thought of them in a sexual way before? She was no prude. She fucked on the first date if she liked the guy.

Well, of course she had. And even now she conjured up in her mind the last image she'd seen of the threesome that morning—Sean thrusting in long, thick stabs inside Stacy, pulling out to the bulb before thrusting again. And Ian on Sean's back, doing the same thing in Ian's anus. Barebacking—yet something else that was a taboo on the East Coast. Would Stacy now be pregnant if she'd remained on the East Coast?

Charlotte looked up. Everyone was looking at her. Sean's look was a knowing smile—like he knew exactly what she'd been thinking.

"Excuse me?" she said. "Did you ask me a question?"

"I was saying it's time for us to take our places for the rehearsal."

"Oh."

The rehearsal went fine, as did the rehearsal dinner afterward other than that embarrassing moment—for Charlotte, at least—when she went down the wrong hallway and spied the best man, Curt, fucking Stacy up against a shadowed, cinderblock wall, Curt's trousers and briefs down around his ankles, Stacy's skirt hiked up, and her knees hugging his hips, Stacy thrusting her pelvis forward to meet the thrusts of his hard cock.

Curt, one of the pilots Ian worked with, was yet another hunk of a man who Charlotte had met within the last twenty-four hours. And he was a very direct one. He'd already propositioned Charlotte with the novel introduction line of, "Ian tells me you take it in the ass and are an A1 lay."

Was this a regional difference between the West Coast and East Coast, Charlotte wondered. Were they all this direct and bald here? It, of course, shocked her and encouraged her to make a beeline to the airport. But it also kept bringing into her mind the commercial phrase, "What plays in Vegas stays in Vegas," and made her wonder if the same "whatever" attitude went all the way to the coast from Vegas. There was a part of her that felt alive in a way she hadn't felt before—and carefree—and honest with her emotions.

Yes, she had wanted Ian to fuck her in the ass again. She'd known that before she came here. Yes she'd like Sean to fuck her—even if he was fucking his sister. That was their problem, not Charlotte's. And, yes, if she knew a bit more about Curt, she'd like him to fuck her too. He was a great looking guy, and even if he was macho forward in his approaches and dropped the F word every third word, she could just ask him to shut up while he was fucking her.

And if she could get past the taboo involved, she could see both of her brothers fucking her. She'd already imagined them taking her together.

She did sort of think that Ian and Stacy were making a mistake going into a wide-open marriage like this—and on the strength of Stacy being pregnant. Charlotte could worry about the child—or children—of such a marriage. The grandparents wanted them. Although it was cynical, Charlotte could understand Ian wanting to get at his family's wealth. But would the grandparents take care of the children Stacy had?

sr71plt
sr71plt
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