Moans Veneris

This is the second of five chapters. I recommend reading the first one before you undertake this one.

*

Jenny and I spent the next several days being angry with each other. We stopped touching each other. We avoided each other; we didn't even walk to or from school together. We spoke to each other only when absolutely necessary. And I, at least, was surprised at how often "necessary" arose—not least when we had to share the table with Mom and Dad at meals. We were too civilized to hurt each other physically, but there were times when I wanted to injure her, and I'm sure that there were times that she wanted to do the same, or worse, to me.

We'd had multi-day fights before—times when we weren't speaking to each other. And, however much we tried to hide our rancor, our parents knew when they were living between the trenches, in no-man's land. But they'd told us, a few years earlier, that they figured that we had grown up enough to work things out between ourselves, and they would no longer intervene. That, I think, was some of Professor Mom's psychology. And, naturally, Professor Dad was philosophical about it.

They did require, though, that we behave in a civil fashion when anyone else was around—no matter how much we currently hated each other. We didn't have to speak to each other, or even acknowledge the other's presence—but if we did either in other people's presence, we were to do so politely. If we broke that rule, they told us, they would see to it that we wished we hadn't. And we believed that.

Her anger with me didn't keep Jenny from jilling herself off during that period. In fact, she did so more frequently than had been her habit—five times during the ensuing week. Nor did my anger with her keep me from listening to her pleas to be fucked harder, when they came through our wall, along with her moans, right after bedtime. She'd moaned that way when we'd fucked. And I knew, now, what her pussy felt like when we put my cock into it, so her moaning now evoked memories that excited me even more. In consequence, my anger with her didn't stop me from jacking off to her moans and pleas. And it certainly didn't stop me from thinking about fucking her again.

On some level, I recognized that the two of us were being childish. But one of the symptoms of childishness is refusal to take any steps toward altering your behavior. If we had acted more like the adults we weren't, we would have controlled ourselves, talked things through together with some semblance of calmness, and come to an adult resolution. But our childish impulses prevented us from doing that. Neither of us was willing to overcome our anger long enough to listen, let alone to talk rationally, to the other.

At the very least, if we had behaved in any way like adults, we would have ignored each other long enough for our anger to weaken. Then our childishness would have run its course, and we would have reconciled ourselves with each other and with what we had done. Though we were the same age, Jenny was the more mature. She proved it by beginning to moderate her attitude toward me. But no sooner did she do so, than I found a way to be even more childish. And I made things worse.

It was a week after that ill-starred fuck, and Jenny had gotten home from school a bit before I had that afternoon. When I got home, she'd already gone upstairs to change clothes. I left my pack by the front door and went through the living room, headed for the kitchen, looking for food. Our parents wouldn't be home for a couple of hours.

As I approached the couch, I saw that she'd left her pack on it, open. A bundle of papers inside it, folded vertically up the center, caught my eye. The paper on the outside of that folded bundle was seriously marked up with red pencil.

"What's this?" I said to myself, and I reached in and extracted the papers. I took them into the kitchen with me and, as I made myself a jelly sandwich, I examined them more carefully. It was Jenny's latest Spanish test; she'd gotten a 52 on it. The minimum passing score, school-wide, was 65, so this was a definite

F,

if ever I'd seen one. If either of our parental units found out about this test score, Jenny would be grounded until she was thirty! Maybe longer.

I smiled a vicious little smile in my heart. "Sweet!" I muttered to myself. "It's payback time!" She had made me want to fuck her, and then she'd made me pay her a lot of money to do so. I was still pissed off at that. I hadn't accepted any responsibility for the tension between us; all of the blame, I thought, belonged to her.

As I finished eating the sandwich, I took the exam back into the living room, Jenny was sitting on the couch near her pack, about to turn the TV on. She looked and, for the first time in days, smiled at me—smiled prettily, in fact. "Hi, Jerry," she said. It was a peace offering, which I was about to reject in no uncertain terms. And, referring to the paper in my hand, she asked, "Whatcha got there?"

I smiled back at her, not prettily at all. "Oh, just something very interesting," I answered. And I held it up so that she could see what I had.

She blanched. I'd never seen that happen to anyone before. Her face went dead white, and it looked like she was about to fall over.

"Oh, Jesus!" she breathed. "My Spanish test! Give it back!" She reached out for it, and I moved it around behind my back, out of her reach.

"I don't know…" I began. I paused for effect. Then I continued, "I think Mom and Dad should know about this."

Terror flitted across her face. "NO!" she almost shrieked. "You can't tell them! They'll ground me forever! I'll miss Karen's party on Friday! I have to go to that party!"

I rubbed it in. "This is pretty serious," I offered. "It's an

F

, you know."

"It was a bad day!" She was almost sobbing. "It was the day after… after… you know… After we fucked. I wasn't myself! I'll do better from now on. I promise! You can't tell them. I can't even tell them why I did so badly that day. Please! Give it back to me!"

I was intent on making her hurt. "You took a lot of my money last week, and now you want me to be nice to you." I paused and looked meaningfully at her.

She was in tears now. "Please!" she sobbed. "I still have most of your money." I found it encouraging that she referred to it as

my

money. "I'll give it back to you, and I'll repay the fifteen that I don't have now. I'll owe it to you. I promise. You know I'll pay what I owe!"

"That's a good start," I replied, smiling significantly. "You have to repay me. But that's not enough. I want to fuck you again!"

She looked at me, unbelieving. She wasn't crying anymore, but her tears still trickled down her cheeks. "Do that again?" she whispered, in shock. I don't think she was faking.

"Hey," I pointed out. "It isn't anything we haven't done before!"

"That was just a one-time thing…" she began, and then trailed off. She looked at me. "You really mean it! Don't you?"

"I really mean it," I confirmed, in what must have been my shittiest tone of voice. "If you want me to give this test back to you, and to keep my mouth shut about it…"

"You'll give it back to me if I fuck you?" she asked, doubtfully. "And you won't say anything to Mom or Dad? …or anyone else who might tell them?"

"You got it," I said, nastily. "Fuck me again and promise to repay my money, and I'll give your test back to you. And I'll keep my mouth shut about it—I won't mention it to a soul."

"God! You're such a jerk!" she muttered.

"Payback's a bitch, isn't it?" I smirked, reaching for my belt buckle. "Are you gonna take those clothes off?"

"Right here? In the living room?"

"We're the only ones home. It's as good a place as any!"

The dead expression on her face showed her resignation. "All right," she muttered. "If that's how it has to be." She reached for her own belt buckle.

"That's how it has to be," I said as she took her jeans off. "And take your top off, too. I want to see your tits."

"If it'll make you come faster," she sulked. And she pulled off her shirt and her bra, followed by her panties.

As she took her clothes off, I stripped, too. My cock was stiffening, anticipating some more of what it had gotten a week earlier.

When she'd finished stripping, she lay on the couch, her head on one of the couch's arms, and her legs drawn up so that her knees pointed at the ceiling. Her expression was unreadable, inscrutable.

Naked myself, now, I sat near her feet and reached for one of her boobs, cupped it, fondled it. She glared at me. I leaned over, between her thighs, and applied my mouth to her nipple. Not realizing—or not caring—that I could see her face, she rolled her eyes and sighed stoically. I felt her nipple stiffen between my lips, but there was no other sign that she might be enjoying this.

I kissed my way down to her belly-button, and then on downward toward the tangle of light brown hair that marked the juncture of her thighs. A heady aroma rose from those curls; it was like nothing I'd ever smelled before, and it made my cock throb with desire. Jenny just lay there, unmoving, uncaring. I continued to move downward along her body.

She guessed what I had in mind. "Oh, God! Are you gonna do that, too?" she asked in a tone of disgust.

"Mmm-hmm," I moaned in reply. My mouth was too busy tasting her skin for a real reply.

"Go ahead and do what you gotta do!" she answered, disgust evident in her mien. "You're so gross!"

My tongue worked its way into her cleft, stroked the opening I now knew how to find, as well as the little nubbin above that opening. Again, her body betrayed her, and her breath began coming in sharp gasps. After a few moments I felt her hips beginning to rock a bit. But then she grasped my head with her hands and pulled me away from herself. "Brothers and sisters shouldn't do this kind of thing!" she complained. She sounded only half convinced.

"Fucking me last week didn't seem to bother you," I pointed out.

Ignoring my comment, she looked down at my cock; it was hard, naturally. "Your dick's hard now," she said. "Go ahead and get this over with."

I raised my head slowly. My eyes fastened on her pussy; I'd never had such a close view of a pussy before, and it fascinated me. "That's enough!" she sneered after a few seconds. "You don't get to look at my pussy all afternoon. If you're gonna fuck me, fuck me. I want to watch TV. And don't come on me this time."

So, right then, I made the dumbest decision of my life—to do one of the stupidest things I've ever done. I thought to myself:

You bet! I won't come

on

you this time!

I pulled myself to my knees between her legs, and, taking my cock into my hand, I guided it to her pussy. I inserted its head between her outer lips and stroked several times along her cleft; she was hot, wet, slick. I felt her quiver at the touch. But I didn't know enough about girls, then, to recognize those signs for what they were—evidence that, in spite of the way I'd just rekindled her anger with me, she was enjoying this more than she would admit.

As if to convince me what a burden this was to her, she rolled her eyes again and growled at me: "Stick it in me and get it over with!"

I found her entrance and lowered my body; my cock slid easily into her again. I thought I'd remembered how good this felt, but now I knew how mistaken I'd been. The slick hot grip of her pussy on my cock felt far, far better than anything I remembered, and I groaned as her body enveloped me.

I lay there for a moment, my cock embedded in her pussy, dumbfounded by the sensation. My breath came raggedly; I shivered as she moved a bit under me to adjust her position. Unthinkingly, in response to emotions I didn't understand, I raised my head and tried to kiss her on the lips.

She blocked my effort with her hand. "No way!" she declared. "You're my brother. You can't kiss me that way! That wasn't part of the deal!" It amused me that she would fuck me but not kiss me. But for once, I didn't say anything. "Get going," she continued. "Get yourself off! And then get yourself off of me!"

Much as I enjoyed feeling her pussy wrapped statically around me, the thought of getting off had already occurred to my cock. Seconds later, I found myself plunging in and out of her as my hips responded to my cock's craving. She was still rolling her eyes, as if in disgust, and she huffed at me every now and then. Quickly, my strokes got longer, harder, deeper.

The moment came, and with one final, single-minded thrust, I embedded myself as deeply as I would go and exploded within her. I snorted and groaned as my fiery cum surged, again and again and again, the length of my cock and gushed into her body. Dimly, I was aware of the look of shocked horror on her face.

She thrashed under me and tried, with all her strength, to shove me out of and away from herself. But my muscles had locked in my transport, and she wasn't nearly strong enough to fight both gravity and my body's need. I didn't pull away from her until I was quite done and had regained some control of myself.

"Did you just come inside me?" she demanded in a low, deadly, threatening tone.

"Yeah," I gloated. "You told me not to come

on

you, so I didn't."

She responded instantly. "You creep!" she shouted. "You shit!" She was furious! "You… you asshole!"

"Big deal!" I snorted. "So I came inside you."

"How could you do this to me? What if you just got me pregnant? Mom and Dad will kill us!"

I hadn't thought about potential consequences before I'd come inside her, and I wasn't going to think about them now. I guess I was getting more and more childish as this went on. "You'll think of something," I crowed. "You can tell them it was one of your boyfriends, but you don't know which one. They know how much you like boys. If you tell them it was me, I'll just deny it! They know how I am with girls, and they won't ever believe I could have done it." I was still gloating. And there was just enough truth in the whole scenario to make it seem possible—even likely.

She already had her panties on, and she was reaching for her bra. "Get the fuck out of here and let me be," she yelled.

As I grabbed my clothes in order to go, she added, "But give me my Spanish test first!"

(To be continued)