Sister And Me Cumming Ch 02

Winter break for both Rachel and me extended to the second week of January. It was ski season in Utah, and both ski season and the opening of hunting season trumped school. Loyola had an open study period where students could return a week early, right after the New Year to take two-week electives, or to get a head start on their next semester's work. That wasn't Rachel's thing. And neither of us liked to ski. So we both stayed close to home over the break.

I wasn't sure how things would go, but it turned out that we did not take the posture as if nothing had happened after our little (for her, little, for me, epochal) mutual masturbation session. We opened up and spoke a lot about sex.

Rachel on anal sex: She told me about having anal sex with guys when she was at Timpanogos High because they wanted to act as if they were keeping their virginity and not, as the more religious - but still hopelessly horny - boys would put it, "entering the holy of holies." Now that she was in college it was all full-throttle sex. From Rachel's viewpoint, anal sex is not all that great. But if it is the best you can do, it is better than nothing. She couldn't understand why, absent the religious proscriptions, anyone would want to go into someone's ass hole when there is a warm, moist vagina there for the taking.

Rachel on penises: She also spoke about penises, not mine specifically, not specifically anyone's, but that she was not into penises beyond their function. "It isn't as if I'm going to get turned on and want to have sex when I see a penis, no matter what its size or shape. Like, 'Oh, a hard penis. I need you to stick it in my cunt'. If I don't even see it, that's fine. Though," she gave a little laugh, "I better feel it."

Rachel on semen: Rachel's comments about my ejaculating being "a little gross" was true to form for her - and she felt for girls generally. "It is like watching this thing throw up. I know guys like to have us be amazed by it all. That they want to cum over us. I guess it is the same urge that makes them push to cum deep inside. It's all the urge for reproduction, so that's fine. But it really isn't all the pleasant to have it over my skin. And on my face? Forget it."

Rachel on oral sex: Speaking of cum, Rachel said she did not like oral sex because of concern a boy would cum in her mouth, and that she had been the recipient of unappreciated pre-cum.

This was all interesting, but more important, it kept the sexual tension in place. She could tell, of course, that I was aroused by all this talk, and she would take little glances at my crotch while we spoke. I'm sure she was having fun keeping me hard just by her conversation.

One of the times we were talking, I surmised the reason she was checking me out. At least I wanted to test it. We hadn't gone beyond talking about sex since that time, and I realized, or hoped, that she was keeping these conversations going because she wanted to replay our masturbation session, but didn't want to be the one to come out and say, "Hey, do you want to jerk off with me again." My guess was that she wanted to make sure I was into it, that I was coming to it on my own, and not have it seem like she was oversexed, (which I discovered she really was).

With that as my working assumption, I figured I would have to be the one to ask. I could have said something like, "Can I masturbate in front of you again." That would be a little too forward. What I did say was, "I am getting so turned on, I need to do something about it."

She could have said that she didn't realize it was so arousing, and have changed the topic. Or said that she would leave the room for a bit so I can do my thing. What she did say was, "Well, its OK if you want to do it here. It won't be a surprise anymore." And once she said that, I knew that was where she wanted things to go from the outset.

I pulled out my cock. She looked at it sort of quizzically, and said, "There's more there than that. Take off you pants. I want to see the whole shaft. And your balls." And then, "I'll get naked too. You can look at me while you do it."

I sat there, my legs spread out. I lifted up so she could see my balls, put my hand under them and pushed them out against the skin so she could see their outline, and then let them rest on the leather chair. I lifted my cock up so she could get a good view. When she took off her pants she opened her legs a bit so I could make out more than her hair.

I had barely touched myself before I had a rush of blood making it even harder. The head started to have a tinge of purple. She leaned forward. I sensed she was thinking of more than getting a better view.

I implored her to keep moving toward me. "Rachel. Touch it. Let me touch you."

Rachel moved even closer, to the edge of the sofa. "You know where this is going. If I touch you, we are on our way to sex. You will go to hell." She said this mockingly. We did not believe in hell in the usual sense, but "three degrees of glory" with the celestial kingdom being the highest. She got more to the point, "No more celestial kingdom for you."

"Or you," I interjected.

"I'm long gone from that. Frankly, I don't care. I think it is all stupid."

That could have been the start of a long conversation in itself: Why my sister had basically abandoned the Church.

But I was not there at the moment. I was stroking my penis, more idling than racing toward the finish line. I luxuriated in being exposed in front of Rachel, having a conversation while she was looking at me. Having her look at my balls hanging down.

"Just do it. I'll watch." She thought for a second, then said "I'll do it too. But you need to go slowly. I want to come at the same time."

Now we were both sitting naked from the waist down, our genitals open to each other's view, Rachel's full thighs like guards on either side of her labia. It didn't really matter that we were brother and sister; that was no longer in the equation. This was getting closer to sex, just as much as having her touch me physically, maybe even more so. It was real sexual intimacy.

I rubbed my shaft up and down. Rachel rubbed her clit back and forth. The fingers of her other hand moving in and out of her vagina. We looked at each other, moaning to communicate just how close we were to climax. The moaning itself added to the fervent nature of our sharing of this experience. We did come at the same time. And as we were, I could have pushed her back and gone on top of her, she could have come over to me and straddled me on the chair. In our minds that is what we were doing.

I shot out, and for all that she had described about not being into cum, as I shot out she pumped her pelvis forward as if she was trying to catch it, to put it inside of her. And we knew that was finally, inevitably going to happen. We might be going to hell, but if so, if that is what these moments of mutual excitement and intimacy meant, that is where we wanted to be.

Rather than grab a tissue like last time, Rachel came over to me, reached down and wiped some semen off of my legs, rubbed it between her fingers, smelled it, and then wiped it back onto my thigh. Then she wiped her fingers from her other hand back to front between her legs and held the wetness next to my face, then rubbed it on my nose and mouth. She gave a little laugh, "Better than my underwear?" So obviously she had figured that out.

She then looked down at my penis, draped over my scrotum. "Look at that. It is so pathetic, all deflated." She reached down and for the first time touched me there, one finger on top and one below the rubber hose that had been my achingly hard shaft just a few moments earlier, and flipped it up and down a few times. I reached down to pull up my pants and she pushed down on my hand. "Not yet. I want you to stay there like that." Now that it was over I was embarrassed to be on display. She knew that; for some reason wanted it that way.

Rachel went back to sit on the couch. She also stayed half naked, but with her legs closed together. "So let's talk about hell and about the Celestial Kingdom. And your mission."

The mission. A thing about being active in the Mormon Church is that boys go on a two-year mission when they turn nineteen, usually after their first year of college. So I was a year away from that. I could be called to serve just about anywhere in the world, in order to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ (the real name of the Mormon Church is the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) and convert people. The mission is a rite of passage, for all practical purposes a requirement for serious activity in the Church. So even those who are not totally inspired will go as part of their obligation within the Mormon social world. And being in Provo, that is a major thing.

Let's put it this way. If you are not a returned missionary and are going to BYU, you are stigmatized. You are not called to leadership roles in your church ward. You are not considered serious marriage material. The marriage thing is a big deal, because there is, at least in theory, no premarital sex. So being horny twenty-one year-olds returning from two years of a mission with no contact with girls, (and not even being allowed to masturbate, but good luck with that), students get married soon thereafter, often while still in college.

So, the bottom line is I was planning to go on a mission, and was already in preparatory classes run by returned missionaries.

Rachel continued. "Are you going to go if you are not worthy? Because I think masturbating with your sister might be crossing the line. In your interview with the Bishop, when he asks if you masturbate, will you say, yes, and sometimes with my sister?"

I was disturbed by this. "What are you saying? Why do you care?"

"Because I think the whole Mormon thing is garbage, and I think you will be wasting you time." She became more taunting, "When you go with Mom and Dad to the temple for your endowment, you will still be thinking about this." She opened her legs wide, rubbed herself and mimed an orgasm.

"It's time for you to get off of this. In case you haven't noticed. Mom is the only one holding onto staying in the Church. Dad stays in the Church, but he is stuck." Dad was a professor at BYU, and Church activity was mandatory to his position. "Sandy and Emma act like they are still active when they are home and Mom is around, but they are half laughing at putting on a show for her so she doesn't come down on them." Sandy and Emma, our two older sisters.

While saying this, Rachel's countenance changed. In her next comments, to my Mormon sensibilities, and relative to the sister that I had known before our two masturbation sessions, she took on the air of an apostate. I'm sure she did it to shock me. Leaning back on the sofa, keeping her legs apart, she spoke matter of factly. "Here's what we are going to do, and you'll do it because you have a cock and you want to stick it into my cunt." She pointed to my penis and then to her vagina, and said "cock" and "cunt" with her mouth half open and a pronunciation that had a bit of a Southern spin.

"I'm going to come into your bed when Mom and Dad are out, get naked next to you and play with you. You will get hard and start to rub against me. You will rub and rub and push and push and I will bend against you and then suddenly you will be inside of me. Your pushes will turn to thrusts. You won't be able to stop it until you've shot everything you have. You'll stay inside of me until you get little again," she looked down at my shriveled state, "and once it flops out you will feel so guilty, and think to yourself, 'what have I done?'."

"But you will want to do it again and again. We will be fucking every day until I head back to school." She closed her legs and sat back up, still naked, but with the same motion as when she had been fixing her nightgown the first time, when I had seen her hair. "Then you can hold your little dirty secret and prepare for your mission. And think about fucking every girl you see like you will have fucked me."

And that pretty much is the way it did happen. We did fuck. Again and again.

But more than fucking, more than fucking my own sister, she choreographed our sessions in a way that was about as antithetical to my Mormon upbringing as could be imagined. So that I was not only breaking my covenant with Heavenly Father but squirting my cum over everything the Church stood for. That was her objective. She had fallen away from the Church, and she wanted to pull me away with her. Whatever the source of her simmering distain, it was now at the fore. That was what our sex was about. And with my cock swallowed inside of her, my soul would also be swirling into her dark, warm, moist void.