A Fortune Teller Xmas

A Fortune Teller Xmas

by de Vere

Like Thanksgiving, this Christmas during a pandemic may be different from your typical family celebration. Rather than a large family gathering offering you a smorgasbord of sisters, mothers, cousins, nieces, mothers-in-law, sisters-in-law, nephews' girlfriends and the other usual sights and delights, you may be alone or with a small group with no one to swap body fluids with. To those of you, we wish you a Happy Christmas, and give you this story to allow you to imagine and dream of who you wish to find under your tree.

This time, I was pissed.

My car jerked to a stop in the Fortune Teller's driveway as the anti-lock brakes kept me from sliding on the wet concrete. Almost a month had passed since we were last there, when my sister Ginnie and I were here at Thanksgiving. A long, painful month. She tried to stop me, but sometimes I don't listen to advice. The old crone was sitting alone at her table when we burst through the front door. Well, I burst in, my sister following in my wake.

"I thought that might be you," she said, barely looking up from the playing cards she had laid out on the table in what looked like an unusual form of Solitaire. "Well, come in, come in. Don't let all the cold air in here."

"I apologize for my brother in advance," Ginnie said. "He's not acting rationally."

"The Star and the Hermit. Please sit and tell me what is causing your anger."

"When we were here, you warned us of danger, but it was so vague—how were we supposed to be able to avoid our fate with such scant information?"

"If memory serves, you drew The Tower and the Judgment cards. I suppose you received your judgment."

"I broke my pecker!" I suppose my face was red; Ginnie's sure was, but purely out of embarrassment.

The fortune teller chuckled. "Broke your pecker? I never knew that was possible."

"That's what the doctor called it," I said.

Ginnie explained, "Technically, it is a rupture of some tissues inside his...thing."

"I broke my arm as a kid, and let me tell you, that was nothing compared to a fractured penis. Not to mention the awful purple color it was. Still hasn't completely faded."

"So, that was your judgment."

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to explain to your wife how you broke your dick? And Blonde Einstein here admitted she did it without bothering to research that the only way to fracture a penis is when it is hard? And about the only way to break it is during sex?"

"So, your wife suspects the truth?"

"She went to the library and researched it. The only thing that saved my ass is the books say it usually occurs during intercourse or masturbation."

"Vaginal intercourse," Ginnie said. "That's what the book said. Kellie made a copy."

Maybe she didn't want the only person who knew the full extent of our incestuous love to think she took it up the ass. To tell the truth, I'm not sure many people would think worse of a woman who has been screwing her brother for years if they decided to try anal, but then again, it wasn't my ass she was worried about. I glared at her, and she shut the hell up. "If you hadn't admitted breaking it, at least I could have told her I got carried away jerking off down in the basement."

"Did your wife leave you?"

"No. I think she believes the truth, but deep down, she is willing to tell herself that my sister accidentally kicked he in the groin while playing around, and ignore why I had a hard on when she was kicking me. She probably assumes I was trying to rape my sister, which is worse."

"He wasn't raping me," she said, and I glared at her again. "What? You weren't! My brother is not a rapist."

"Did you notice how she looks at Hermoine since we've been back?"

The fortune teller asked, "Hermoine?"

"That's her—our daughter. We call her Minnie No one knows who the father is."

"They pretty much do now," Ginnie said.

"Well, that is The Judgment the cards warned you about. Sounds like it could have been worse. Why are you angry?"

"This whole thing is basically your fault. You pretty much told us to screw."

"I only told you what the cards said—nothing more, nothing less."

"Well, what do we do now? How do we unfuck this situation?"

"Sounds like what has been done cannot be changed. But," she swept the cards into her hand and, in a quick move, turned them so they formed a deck, "perhaps these cards will help."

"Playing cards?"

"Cartomancy. Don't worry, I won't charge you. Sounds like you have paid a rather painful price already. These cards, though: sometimes they say things the Tarot cannot say." She began dealing, and I felt better getting that off my chest. She dealt the cards into three stacks. "Past, present and future," she explained.

And so, we got another reading. "The good news is, your troubles are in the past. For the short term, at least. For now, I see happiness and I see..." She chuckled softly.

"What? You see what?"

"I see the two of you are going to have a very merry Christmas."

Rain had started falling again, so we sprinted to the car and slammed ourselves in at the same time. She asked, "What did you think?"

"I dunno. What do you think about it?"

"I liked the Tarot cards better. This time it felt like she made the whole thing up. So, here's my question: is it really still purple?"

"A little," I answered and started to turn the key. We left her car at the mall. Because Kellie suspected, she told me in no uncertain terms that I was to spend exactly zero time alone with my sister. So, this morning she drove down to the big mall in the city an hour or so before I drove to the local mall. After she bought a few gifts in bags from stores they don't have at our mall, she stored all that in her trunk and met me in the parking garage at our local mall at the set time. I suspected Kellie had installed a tracer on my phone, so I stayed close to the route. Luckily, this stop was on one of the roads to the mall, even if not the most direct route. Now, we needed to get back to the mall so Ginnie could get her car—easy enough to explain as a forgotten present I went back to buy.

"What's the hurry? We haven't had a second together since you arrived last night."

"Seriously? She'll kill us if she suspects anything."

"Does it still hurt?"

"Not really. I still haven't tried to use it."

"Is it really still purple?"

"Yeah. Disgusting."

"Maybe if I kiss it, it will feel better."

No doubt. Much better. But I knew her, and I knew us, and I really wasn't sure the damn thing even worked anymore. Let alone how last time she blew me in the car, we got iced in and had to walk home, a fact that took some explaining even before I broke my dick inside her. Her fingers started fumbling with my pants. "No, we shouldn't."

"Of course we

shouldn't

," she grinned. "But after what I did to you, I owe you that—and a lot more. She had my pants open by then, my protests only for form. She was right, I never raped my sister and never would, but Ginnie had no such qualms. My consent was always implied and freely given, even when I said no. I lifted up my ass so she could pull my jeans down to my ankles.

When her lips touched my dick, I was still soft and terrified. Would it hurt to get hard? Does it even still inflate? About three tender little kisses and a lick to the tip later, it began to puff up. And not only did it not hurt, but at the first signs of life she took me into her mouth, and it felt amazing!

In seconds I was fully functional, hard as a rock and deep in my sister's mouth as her head bobbed between me and the steering wheel. If there is one thing on earth that can make me feel better, it is Ginnie's mouth. I probably haven't been blown by enough women to have a firm grasp the extent of her technical prowess, but she was head and shoulders above any other woman in my experience. So to speak. If someone tried to insult me with the taunt I heard so many times as a kid, "Your sister really sucks," now I would either turn red as a beet or burst out laughing in agreement.

Ginnie's lips are the softest thing I have felt, other than her other lips. But what makes her blow jobs so fantastic is she really does suck. I mean, the contrast between those soft, pink lips and the firm, forceful suction inside her mouth is beyond explanation. Not to mention her enthusiasm. Although that day, careful of the cock she recently broke, she moved more lovingly than exuberantly. I almost enjoyed it more that way. Almost.

A figure appeared in the house's front window. The fortune teller watched from 20 feet away. Backlit as she was, I could not see her face, but I smiled at her. Knowing she was watching made me come almost instantly, and I shot a month-load built up since Thanksgiving into my sister's mouth, which she hungrily sucked down, spasm after ecstatic spasm. I'm sure the old woman heard me moaning and sighing all the way inside. "Ginnie! Oh, Ginnie!"

The Battle of the Sweaters commenced that afternoon.

The women folk were baking about five different varieties of Christmas cookies.

My sister has small breasts with puffy, pink nipples that are so perfectly centered they look like a painting by one of the masters. They are sheer perfection. Once we got home, she changed into a red cashmere sweater so tight it looked like she must have bought one size too small then dried it in the dryer. It's not that her nipples poked visibly through the knit but were so prominent they were impossible not to see from across the room.

Kellie is a more voluptuous woman, and her boobs are much larger. Cs, and they dangle and sway magnificently. After taking one look at my sister's tits in her sweater, my wife scowled, went up to the guest room and returned a few minutes later wearing a Christmas green sweater also made of cashmere. It would have been tight if she had A-cups. Her nipples protruded like someone stuck their pinkie finger through the weave, and with every step she stomped her feet like she saw a cockroach, fully aware how it made her boobs bounce.

I helpfully asked, "Y'all need some help making the cookies?"

"Sure," my wife and sister said so simultaneously it sounded like they rehearsed it.

I was hard all afternoon. It felt like I was in a comedy film about a horny teenage boy and some hornier teenage girls, except one was my wife and the other my sister. My four favorite tits on full display. The only way it could have been better is if we were spending Christmas at a nudist camp. My mom took one look at them and said, "Oh, you two look so festive in your Christmas sweaters!"

For a minute there, I was worried she'd take off her bra and change into some sweater she wore when she was in high school. The last thing I needed at that point was to be distracted by my Mom's boobs, and just trying to figure out how firm they might be occupied too much of my limited brain capacity already.

Kellie made sure to bump her boobs against me so many times I lost count, when she wasn't stomping on imaginary cockroaches. Ginnie kept her distance, because there were knives in the kitchen, but smiled at me when no one was looking. In all honesty, I cannot say which pair looked better. Thank god Kellie's sister called her, so she took her phone upstairs. Mom was rolling out some dough on the counter, so my sister took the opportunity to go into the living room, me following close behind.

"Jesus, you look incredible," I whispered.

"You like?"

"Love," I said and reached for a tit, but she coyly turned her back to me, giving me side-eye over her shoulder as she spun around. I reached around with both hands, taking one boob in each and pulled her tight little ass against me. Until that moment, I would never have guessed that anything could feel as good as caressing her bare boobs, but the way they felt through soft, silky cashmere stretched tight made me question that.

"Careful—someone might catch us."

At that point, I didn't really care. Her little ass wiggled against my rod as I squeezed her perfect breasts through the most luxurious material I ever touched. "Let them!"

"Your wife has pretty titties."

"Yes, she does."

"Sometimes I wish mine were that big."

"I don't," I answered with complete honesty, lips brushing against her ear. "I was worried breastfeeding Minnie would ruin them, but they are perfect!"

"You didn't get enough in the car?"

"Nobody touched my dick for a month. That was barely enough for the morning, and I'm still a month behind."

She pulled away and turned, eyes on fire, lips turned up into a wicked grin. "Then I know just what to give you for Christmas."

"What are you doing, Mommy?" Hermoine had come in behind us who knows how long ago, or what she had seen.

"Just discussing Christmas presents with your uncle," she said while I tugged my own sweater down far enough to hide my wood before going back to the kitchen.

When Kellie returned, Ginnie kept humming one Christmas song over and over.

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus

.

The person I felt sorry for was my father. Every war causes collateral damage, the innocents harmed by the combatants. I can only imagine how he felt at dinner. Can you imagine trying to eat dinner with your daughter-in-law's nipples poking through a sweater on one side of the table and your daughter's directly across from her? He barely spoke, but his eyes darted back and forth, and the way he rushed off afterward, the moment he finished eating, he must have needed to rub one out.

Mom had changed into a Christmas sweater, but hers fit normally, and she decided against entering the fray by wearing a bra under hers. She went to check to see if Dad was okay and Ginnie read Minnie a story, while Kellie washed dishes. I came up behind. "Need some help?"

"Sure."

I grabbed her boobs exactly as I had my sister's earlier. For comparison purposes. I really have the best of both worlds. My wife's tits are big and soft, yet surprisingly firm for boobs that size. I fingered one nipple through the silky fabric. "You like?"

"It's been hard keeping my hands off you all day."

"What's that pressing against my tail?"

"Good news—it seems to be better."

"Well, help me with these dishes and we'll go find out if it still works." Of course, I did not bother to tell her I'd already completed a successful test run with my sister around lunchtime. It was the quickest I ever washed dishes. Soon as we finished, she bounced upstairs to the bedroom, me tailing her like I did Ginnie earlier. She sat me down on the edge of the bed and, kneeling between my knees, undid my belt and pants and yanked them down.

I don't know about you, but a BJ while the girl is wearing a top seems so impersonal. Besides, her tits are really nice and sway quite seductively on those rare occasions when she sucks my cock, so I peeled off her sweater and watched her boobies bounce when freed from the bottom of the cashmere. She was really sweet about it, taking my fractured rod into her mouth so carefully not to reinjure it, although I suppose she probably still wondered where it had been when it broke.

It sure cannot be fair to compare your wife's fellatio skills with your sister's, but when both blow you on the same day, I suppose such comparisons are inevitable. She did it completely differently than Ginnie. When I say my sister sucks, I mean that as the highest form of compliment. You've heard guys say some girl could suck a golf ball through a garden hose—well, I am sure my sister could suck a bowling ball through a straw. I could call her Dyson because of the suction. Kellie is more a head-bobber, with soft lips and a playful tongue. It's not bad, but it was a mistake to blow me only a few hours after Ginnie had.

Oh yeah—Kellie hates the taste of schmoo. I only came in her mouth once, and she spat it out like I launched spiders into her mouth. So, while she gave happy endings, my sister gave much happier endings, lapping it up like I shot her mouth full of white chocolate. I knew not to blow my wad in my wife's mouth, so I have her a heads-up. Literally.

"I'm coming," I said, and she started to finish me off with a hand job, but I had been reminiscing of Ginnie sucking me off in the fortune teller's driveway, so I shot a little quicker than expected. It wasn't exactly a facial. More a direct hit in her right eye. A full load with plenty of velocity behind it, and she instantly dropped my cock and left me hanging to finish myself.

Serves her right for not swallowing

, I thought, but I said "Oh, sorry, hon."

"Jesus! That stings more than I would have expected."

Well, my sister thinks its delicious

. I really need to be careful, because one of these days, I will say out loud what I am thinking. While she went into the bathroom to wash out her eye, I closed my eyes and imagined my sister's nipples poking through cashmere.

The Battle of the Sweaters continued a few minutes later when we watched all our favorite childhood favorites my parents still had on VCR. Charlie Brown and the Grinch and, of course, Rudolph. "I always had a crush on Clarice," I admitted.

Kellie looked at me like I was crazy and she was not a cosplayer. "You're weird."

"I had a crush on Rudolph, too," Ginnie said. She looked like Clarice—blonde, long doe legs, gigantic eyes. Only Clarice did not have puffy nipples poking out of her sweater. My wife sat next to me with her pokies out, too, and I caught my dad looking at them a few times. I have no idea who caught me ogling Ginnie's. Probably everyone. I'm only human.

I fucked my wife like Rudolph humping Clarice that night, only I had to pretend it was Clarice, and had to imagine whether my sister was calling her vibrator Rudolph that night, or using my name.

Christmas Eve church service the next night was totally fucked up.

Kellie wore a bra, which showed amazing restraint on her part and I know disappointed my dad something terrible. Ginnie wore a low-cut top under a Christmas vest with Santa and presents stitched into it that must have been a children's size. It was hard to tell if she had anything under her top, but the tight vest pushed her boobs up magnificently, the way those Tudor era dresses do in movies. She sat next to me, and it wasn't until I glanced over pretending to read off her hymnal when she leaned forward to show me there was nothing underneath.

I'm pretty sure that is the only time I've seen nipple in church, and I'm pretty sure the thoughts going through my head while I watched it will send me to Hell. Her elbow pulled in tight to hold the hymnal bunched up the vest enough to allow me to see, and she jabbed me with her other elbow and smiled before lifting her elbow to hide her nipple from me. Kellie was on my right, so I could not see if I got caught, but if she did notice, she did not let on.

Minnie slept through most of it, because church was way past her bedtime, and afterward, at home, we drank rum flavored with a splash of eggnog and I got all fizzled up. So did my wife and sister, and Kellie started nodding off, so Ginnie knelt under the tree and rearranged presents so I could look down her shirt some more. The fucking Yule Log was in my pants, my parents were right there, and my sister's tits were in full view about sex feet away from me while my wife curled up on the couch.

"What do you suppose is in this one?" She held up a gift-wrapped box a perfect size and shape for a dildo.

"I dunno," I answered. "Salami?"

"That's a pretty big salami," she said as we both started laughing.

I asked, "Who wraps a salami?"

Our mom asked, "What's so funny?"

Ginnie got out through her laughter, "We're just trying to guess what's in these boxes."

I nearly screamed, because she opened her knees a tiny fraction as she said "boxes", and our parents looked so clueless, if anything, it made us laugh harder.