Looking For Trouble Ch 03

This is the third chapter of five in a story of eighteen-year-old, mixed-sex twins, who find themselves engaging each other in some inappropriate activities. I recommend that you read the earlier chapters before reading this one, so that you'll know what's going on.

*****

I got home from work on Monday to find my twin sister, Brielle, waiting for me again—DVD in hand. "Dad has a funeral this afternoon. He won't be home until suppertime. We didn't finish this on Friday," she said. Smiling naughtily, she asked, "Do you think we should now?" And she stepped up against me.

I put my arms around her, and she put hers around my neck. But before she could reach up to kiss me, she made a face of distress. "Eww! You stink!" she said. "And it isn't just sweat. What is that?"

It had been another hot day, and I

was

stinky—and she was right: not just with sweat. "We had a farmer come in with a truck this afternoon. He wanted a ton of bagged sheep shit. The other guys saw him coming and knew what he was after, so they found ways to be busy. I had to load twenty-five eighty-pound sacks of sheep shit into his truck all by myself while the son of a bitch leaned against a wall and watched me."

"If it's in sacks, how…"

She didn't finish the question; instead she wrinkled her nose and stepped back.

"The packer puts it through an oven that dries it out and sterilizes it, but when it gets wet it still smells like…, well…, like

sheep shit.

They use thin plastic bags, and a few of them always break when you handle them. So it trickled down inside my shirt when I carried them on my shoulder. And I was hot and sweaty."

She stepped a little farther back and said, "Shower time. Get your ass in there, and then we can watch the video."

I got my ass in there.

I was just finishing up the shower and about to turn off the water when the curtain slid back and Brielle stepped into the tub with me—naked, as anyone who gets into a shower should be. She stepped up against me, front to front, and, smiling, said, "I thought you might need some help."

"That was very thoughtful of you," I answered as I took her soft, feminine body into my arms. She put her arms around my neck and reached up to kiss me. Her boobs pressed against me, and I felt my cock stiffen against her belly. Evidently, she felt that, too, because she wiggled her hips—causing it to stiffen even more. She didn't seem to mind the water that flowed over both of us while we kissed.

When the kiss ended, she stepped back and reached for my cock. As she grasped it, she said, gleefully, "You're hard!" She stroked me a bit before she went on, "I thought that might happen. So I brought something with me."

I reached down to run my fingers along her furrow. "Oh?" I said. "What's that?"

"You'll have to get out of the shower to see," she said, mysteriously. "Are you done?"

"Yeah," I replied. "I was just about to turn the water off when you so rudely interrupted me."

She pulled away and stepped out of the tub. "Come see," was all she had to say.

I turned the water off and stepped out, dripping, onto the bathmat beside the tub. Brielle, also dripping, was standing on the mat, too, so it was pleasantly crowded. "See what?" I asked.

Still looking at me, she reached around the partition between tub and sink. I couldn't see what she was doing, but she seemed to be trying to find something. It took only seconds before she found what she'd left on the sink and brought it back around the partition so that I could see that it was the tube of KY Jelly we'd used on Friday. She held it out for my approval, and said, "I thought maybe we'd want to use this, just like we did on Friday. But water washes it away, so it won't work in the shower."

Taking it from her hand, I bent to kiss her again, saying, "You're just Little Miss Thoughtful this afternoon."

"I try hard," she replied.

"I think you're about to try something hard," I answered, leering.

"Yes," she said, leering back at me. Then she turned to face away from me and dropped to her hands and knees on the bathmat—presenting her pussy and her rear orifice. "I sure hope I am! And I hope you'll want to eat something hot."

"Sounds like a deal to me." I replied as I dropped to my own knees behind her. "We can finish that video some other time."

Seconds later, as I looked at her secret glories, I said, "God, you're so beautiful down here!" And, without thinking, I moved forward until the tip of my cock parted her outer lips. Slowly, I slid it up and down against inner lips and clit, enjoying the feel of her feminine heat and moisture.

She groaned her pleasure, but then, she said, "Don't, Brian! Not in there! Don't put it in me there! We shouldn't… We

can't

do that with each other." There was an element of urgency in her voice. But she didn't pull away. She looked back over her shoulder into my eyes, and she went on, "I want to just as much as you do… But we

can't!

You

know

that!"

Almost sobbing, I replied, "I do know. But I want you!" I kept on sliding myself, up down, up, down, along her slippery crevice—feeling the hot caresses that her wet inner lips delivered.

"Please, Brian," she implored. "Please don't!" She was pulling away, now, but half-heartedly, and I hardly had to exert any effort maintain our contact. I kept sliding—up and down, up and down. I could hear how wet she was.

"I know, Brielle," I said. "I won't. But I want to so much. Maybe… Maybe just the head?"

"Shit!" she said. She paused for a moment, as she thought about it; I continued to stroke. Then she went on, "I'd like that! It would feel so good. But you have to…" She paused, as the feelings and emotions we were creating in her overcame her for a moment. "…you have to promise that you won't…" She paused again, shuddering. She continued, "…that you won't put any more than the head in me."

"Oh, Brielle," I groaned at her. "Just the head. I promise. But you feel so good against me this way. You make me really want more!"

"Just the head," she said. "No more. I know you want more. So do I. But we

can't!

We

just can't!

Just the head."

I moved forward again to reestablish our contact and placed a hand on her hip, with my other hand I aimed my cock so that my crown pointed at her entrance. "Just the head," I repeated, as much to promise myself as to reassure her. Slowly, carefully, I pushed forward, watching as my rounded crest engaged her outer lips again—just touching her inner ones, but no farther.

We both moaned.

Even more slowly, I guided my shaft forward; I saw that it now parted her inner lips. Seconds later, my head engaged her entrance; I stopped moving and raised my eyes. I felt her heat and moisture on my sensitive crown; my eyes closed in response to the sensation. Barely able to speak—I whispered, "You feel so good!"

She looked back at me, as if hypnotized by her own sensations, and she whispered, "The head isn't quite in me. Just a little more… just a little…"

Slowly, carefully, fighting the instinct to plunge myself into her, I pushed forward. The entrance to her sheath stretched to admit my crown, which slid wholly into her. "Stop," she whispered, shuddering as she did. "The head is in me. It feels so good! But you have to stop there."

I shuddered, too, at the sensation of her channel's clasp. "It's wonderful!" I whispered back, as I moved my guiding hand to her other hip. "You feel better than any girl I've ever been with before."

She smiled back at me over her shoulder, and said, "You feel really good, too. But you're just saying that because you hope you can go farther."

I shuddered again. My cock must've moved a bit in her opening, because she shuddered in response. "I do wish I could," I said. "I

really

want to. But we shouldn't. We can't."

"I want to, too, Brian. I want to so much," she answered me. I could hear the longing, the hunger, in her voice. "But you're right. We just can't."

I wanted to kiss her, but I couldn't, because moving to do so would push me deeper into her. I shuddered again from the sensations the clasp of her entrance brought my cock's head; she shuddered in response.

"I think you should…" she started, and then stopped. She left unsaid what she thought I should. But her meaning was clear, because, as she spoke, she began to move away from that overpowering contact.

Reluctantly, I agreed, "I should pull out, now." She moved forward, slowly, in a feeble effort to disengage—my hips followed of their own accord, seemingly determined to maintain our connection.

I don't think I'd frightened her. But she'd tensed up a little, and I felt her relax at my words. I didn't take my hands from her hips, but holding became caressing as I withdrew. She looked back again, into my eyes, and the shadow of another smile crossed her face. "Get some lube on us," she said, "and we'll put you in my other place."

Seconds later, I'd embedded my cock in her "other place." Its grasp slipped back and forth, back and forth, as I pumped myself in and out until my cum spurted deep into her.

And shortly, after we'd cleaned up, I sent my tongue gliding along her inner lips to her clit, where I brought her to her own culmination.

As we got dressed afterward, we decided that, having found far more rewarding activities, we didn't need to finish that DVD after all.

==||<>||==

The phone rang while Brielle and I were doing the dishes after supper. Mom answered it, and we could hear that it was her cousin, Cheryl.

Cousin Cheryl had never married; she lived by herself in Cape May, New Jersey. She was about fifteen years older than Mom, and, when Mom was a child, they had lived across the street from each other in the same Philadelphia suburb. So Cheryl had spent a good bit of time babysitting Mom—who was now Cheryl's closest living relative.

I knew from the sound of Mom's voice that something was wrong—very wrong. And, when the phone call was over, she took Dad into their room, where they talked quietly. Just as we finished cleaning up the kitchen, they called us into the living room.

"That was my cousin, Cheryl," Mom said. "She had some very bad news. This afternoon, her doctor told her that she has ovarian cancer, and she's going to need surgery. It's scheduled for Friday morning. She's going into the hospital on Thursday afternoon. After the surgery, they'll have to do chemotherapy."

Dad added, "Mom and I have talked it over. Cheryl won't be able to take care of herself right after the surgery and during the chemotherapy. So Mom's going to Cape May to help her."

"Tomorrow, I'll arrange a leave without pay from work," Mom said, "and I'll go to New Jersey on Wednesday morning so I'll be there for her surgery. I'll probably have to stay a few weeks. So Dad will need your help keeping the house under control."

Dad added, "I can't take that much time off, but I can take a week. So I'll find someone to fill my pulpit on Sunday, and I'll go with Mom to do whatever I can. It's a good thing that you two are old enough, now, to take care of yourselves and the house."

Brielle and I looked at each other. Then Brielle turned back to Mom and said, "Maybe we should come, too." Cape May is on the coast, where the southern tip of New Jersey juts out into the sea. I was pretty sure that she was angling for a week at the beach.

"No, I don't think you need to," Mom said. "The two of you hardly even know Cheryl—and she's only your cousin once removed. And you both have jobs you might lose if you take that much time off."

Dad had misread Brielle; he thought she was worried about not having parents around. He smiled and said, "You've never had to take care of yourselves for so long before. But you're eighteen, now, and we know that we can trust you while we're gone. We'll lay out the ground rules for you, and you'll be fine."

I tried to put a hesitant note into my voice without overplaying it as I said, "We'll be fine, Dad. You and Mom should do what you need to do." I didn't wish Cheryl any harm, but a week without parents in the house suddenly seemed very attractive. I looked over at Brielle and continued, "And I'll take good care of Brielle." Brielle returned my look with one that might have killed a lesser man.

I'd gauged my uncertainty well. Mom laughed, and said, "More likely, she'll be taking care of you, Brian. But Dad will be back on Thursday of next week, so it'll only be seven days. You'll be fine." And, as she said that, I saw the light dawning in Brielle's eyes. Mom and Dad would be gone—both of them!—for a week. A whole week! This was the first time in our lives that we would be left on our own for more than a few hours. Among other things, we would be able to explore each other's bodies with even more freedom than we had enjoyed so far.

==||<>||=&#

Mom had said that if she could talk her boss into it, she'd come home early on Wednesday to start getting ready to leave the next day. She was hoping, in fact, to be home by ten. So Bree and I couldn't fool around on Wednesday, even though neither Brielle nor I worked that day.

After I went to bed that night, it hadn't been very long before I started thinking about Brielle's body. Naturally, that caused me to have a magnificent boner. I was about to, umm…,

take the matter in hand

when it occurred to me that if Brielle could visit me in the middle of the night for a little relief, I could visit her for a similar reason.

I climbed out of bed, and, as I did, I debated whether to take off my pajamas before heading over to Brielle's room. For some reason I'll never quite understand, I decided not to. I opened the door quietly and stepped out into the hall. I was about to cross the hall to Brielle's room when I realized that the living room light was visible at the end of the hall; it was on. And I'd no sooner noticed that than a shadow appeared silhouetted in the door to the hall. It was Mom, and she could hardly help but see me.

"Are you still up?" she asked softly. There was a note of surprise in her voice. "I thought you'd gone to bed."

In the split second after she spoke, I realized that she hadn't noticed the tent my boner had raised in my pajamas—which were maroon and so appeared indistinctly in the dark hall. Trying to appear natural, I turned away from her, toward the other end of the hall—and the bathroom door.

As I turned, I made the only conceivable reply: "I had, but I have to pee. I thought everybody was in bed."

"Dad needed a clean towel, and I came to get one out of the hall closet," she said—as she opened the closet and reached in.

I figured that, at this point, the more I said, the more likely it was that I'd say something that I shouldn't and, at the best, arouse suspicion. So I said nothing as I moved toward the bathroom.

"Good night," she said. "Dad and I will see you in the morning, before we leave."

"Good night, Mom," I answered as I reached to close the bathroom door behind me. A few seconds later, I heard her footsteps as she left the hall. I waited a minute or so, thanking my lucky stars that I was wearing dark pajamas, and that I hadn't shucked them. I breathed a silent sigh of relief. Then it occurred to me that if Mom had been a few seconds later, she'd have found me in Brielle's doorway instead of my own. Breathing an even deeper sigh of relief, I flushed the toilet so that Mom would hear the noise she expected.

She was gone, as I'd expected, when I left the bathroom. The light in the living room was out, too. But I headed back to my own room, figuring that almost getting caught once during a night was more than enough to make any further adventures that night unwise.

==||<>||==

The next morning, not long after Bree and I had gotten up, Mom and Dad left for the airport. Dad was to be home on Thursday of the following week, but Mom didn't know how long she'd be gone. They left us Mom's car, so that we would be able to do any necessary grocery shopping and run any other needed, but unanticipated, errands.

As was only to be expected, they also left us with a list of things we weren't to do. Having anyone our own age (or in fact, under thirty) in the house was, naturally, at the top of that list. Obtaining alcoholic beverages, or other recreational drugs, was also high on the list—right below consuming such substances. Skipping work was there, of course, as was letting dirty dishes pile up in the kitchen. In addition, I guessed that Dad had recorded the reading on the odometer in Mom's car, and that we could expect to be called to account for any unreasonable changes in that reading.

We didn't have any objections, because, as was also to be expected, getting naked together and fooling around with each other wasn't even listed. (Not, I think, that it would've made any difference to us if it had been!)

I had to get to work, though, so nothing particularly interesting happened that morning.

==||<>||==

At last, I got home from work. We barely had the door closed before we pressed our bodies against each other while we engaged in the first deep kiss of the day. As we kissed, I asked myself whether I needed a shower. But it had been a relatively easy day, and I knew she liked a little bit of sweat, so I decided there were more important things to worry about at the moment.

My hands wandered from her hips, up along the sides of her body to her tits. I cupped them for a bit, enjoying the soft, curved flesh, and then I moved to the buttons of the shirt she was wearing—where I started undoing the top one. She stopped me. "Not yet," she said. "We'd better go to my room. The lube's there, and I've been waiting for you."

"We'd better," I replied. "I want to touch your skin and taste you."

She looked into my eyes smiled, and answered. "I want to touch you and taste you, too." She reached up for a quick kiss as her hands stroked up and down my sides. And then she broke away from me and headed for her room. I followed. Somehow, we managed not to run.

When we arrived, she took my hand and pulled me into her room, where she turned toward me and pressed once more against me. I wrapped my arms around her again and kissed her. She responded by wrapping her own arms around me and squirming against me as we kissed. She hadn't said anything about my getting a shower; my judgment must've been right.

When the kiss ended, she moved back and looked again into my eyes. She reached for my arms and pulled them from around her, bringing my hands again to the top button of her shirt. And, trusting me to act accordingly, she reached for the buttons of my own shirt. Seconds later, we were both naked.

Bending slightly, I took a nipple into my mouth and sucked on it, tickling it with my tongue at the same time. "I like it when you do that," she said, thrusting herself a little deeper into my mouth. I continued to suck and tickle. She held me against herself, encouraging me to continue, as she went on, "It makes me get hot and wet…" And she trailed off into a moan of pleasure.

I removed my mouth from her nipple; she came again into my arms, and I thrilled at the feel of her skin against mine. My cock, which had been at least half hard since I left work, was now poker stiff; it slid up along her belly and nestled between our bodies as I kissed her neck. She groaned and wriggled against me, so that her boobs rubbed against my lower chest. I reached down and, took an ass-cheek in each hand, and pressed her against myself. We both moaned in delight as we kissed again.