The Haushauers' commodious old farmhouse had many spare bedrooms (for Ash was the youngest of eight siblings, all of whom, save Ash, had left the nest). There were also numerous couches and recliners, a passel of chaise lounges on the back porch, and if nothing else, there was plenty space on the floor. Ash had encouraged people to bring sleeping bags. Some had pitched tents on the hill behind the pond.
Ash had given up his own bedroom to guests and was instead sleeping in the master bedroom downstairs, his parents' bedroom. He'd invited Kat and Rufus to spend the night with him, as they were among his closest friends, and he trusted them not to steal, befoul, or break anything. His parents' bed was an enormous California king, with plenty of room for three people to sprawl without touching. To minimize temptation, they were to have arranged themselves with Kat in the middle: boy-sister-celibate gay boy.
Actually, Kat and Rufus had each secretly hoped to find a hookup partner for the evening, and thus avoid Ash's bed of chastity. However, this did not come to pass. Instead, Ash's bed, improbably, had become the bed of fornication. And now Kat and Rufus were left without a place to sleep.
§§§
Behind the bedroom door, things seemed to be reaching a crescendo. The thumping of the headboard quickened, bedsprings screaked precariously, Ash huffed like a wild beast, and Keri wailed in a shrill, hyphenated falsetto.
Kat's lips scrunched into a pout. "This sucks, R.P. Now it's late, and all the other beds are already taken, I'm sure."
They checked the other bedroom downstairs, the guest bedroom. At least half a dozen people, all guys from the looks of it, were crammed sardine-like onto the bed, snoring like a chorus of mechanical frogs. The room smelled of foot fungus.
Kat sounded a sad trombone. "Wah, wah, wah."
In the living room, the two sofas and two recliners were occupied. The floors, too, were littered with bodies, some curled up on the rug, some lolling and drooling on the bare hardwood. Scattered amidst them was a wreckage of cups, cans, bottles, paper plates, discarded clothing, shoes, fragments of smashed pottery, a spray of blackish soil, and an uprooted fiddle-leaf fig.
Rufus thought a spot on the floor between the piano and the fireplace looked adequate, but Kat tugged him away by his sleeve.
"You don't have a sleeping bag," she admonished.
Kat went to investigate the back porch. Meanwhile, Rufus poked his head into the den. His eyes nearly poked on out of his head when he beheld the spectacle within.
Ottavia Putkowski and Lucy Gruetzmacher were spooning on a blue leather sofa, wearing nothing but skimpy panties, watching anime on an ancient black-and-white TV. Or rather, their eyes were open and their faces aimed at the TV, but they appeared to be in a catatonic state. Their mouths were slack, and Lucy was drooling. They didn't react to Rufus's intrusion.
In the corner of the room, another girl was wearing not even panties. She knelt, fully nude, before an old wingback chair in brown and green plaid, her head down, dark hair ensconcing her face like a veil.
At first, Rufus thought she was vomiting (perhaps inspired by the chair's colors). He'd seen a number of his classmates in a similar posture that evening. But then he heard the slurping and saw the slow bobbing of her head. Whoever was sitting in the chair was obscured by its angle, its wing, and the girl's naked body.
Although her face was not visible, Rufus knew the body: short but sturdy, somewhat stubby of limb, wide of hip, thick through the thighs and rump, with a good bit of muscle and a little pudge-not too much pudge, just enough to make everything soft and round. Her skin was tawny, with complex and diffuse tan lines left behind by various cuts of summer clothes. From where Rufus stood, to her rear and diagonal, he could have easily mistaken the girl for his sister, except that Kat was currently accounted for. Which meant that she could only be Rose Gillogly.
Kat and Rose had played volleyball together since junior high, and had often been mistaken for sisters. They could have nearly passed for twins, except that Rose was a hair taller, had a higher and rounder forehead, a less complexly-faceted nose, no gap between her front teeth, and smaller boobs. She also spoke in a squeaky cartoon voice, in contrast to Kat's husky mezzo. However, despite being longtime teammates and semi-doppelgängers, Kat and Rose were more rivals than friends.
When the kneeling naked girl's hair parted, momentarily, to reveal a wedge of her face and a pale, swinging, teacup-sized breast, Rufus determined that she was, indeed, Rose. Sweet, bubbly Rose from his Spanish class, the cheerleading squad, and his sister's volleyball team was sucking a cock. It felt very wrong to watch. He knew he shouldn't. But in the flickering light of the vintage TV, the whole scene seemed not quite real. So, he watched.
Rose didn't see him. Her eyes were closed, or at least the one he could see. Like Kat, Rose had large, wide-set eyes, slightly bulgy, with big smoky lids and long curling lashes. Her lips were puffed out like a volcano. Slowly, methodically, her head bobbed on a shiny penis.
Her hair-curtain closed, then parted again, but this time her eye was open. She glanced back over her shoulder. Rufus backed away a half step, but she held him with her gaze. Her expression was hard to read from his angle, plus with the big cock plugging her mouth, but her eye was glassy calm. She didn't miss a beat with her bobbing. However, she blocked out his view of her suckling face by shuffling around on her knees, squaring her body to the door, aiming her ass directly at Rufus. He gasped, audibly.
Among his circle of friends, consensus held that Rose had the finest ass in their class, in their entire school, in fact, and probably in their entire geographical region. It was a world-class ass. And here it was before him, so plush, so spacious! Two perfect globular hemispheres smooshed lovingly together, punctuated in the middle by a pucker and a slit-an upside-down exclamation point! Silently, Rufus thanked the universe. He felt blessed to witness such beauty in the flesh. It was like sighting a rare and elusive bird.
It started to move. It moved like the slow swishing of a feline's tail. This puzzled Rufus.
What does it mean? Am I being taunted? Is this a mooning? Is she showing off? Or...could it be...an invitation?
"What's up?" Kat's voice came from behind.
Rufus jumped. "Nothing!" he said, jerking the door shut. "Occupado. Porch?"
"Nope. Well...the porch swing is free, but it's still damp with Talia's piss."
"Let's try upstairs."
§§§§
Rufus trailed his sister up the stairs. He was exhausted after a hard day of drinking and playing in the sun, but also unexpectedly stimulated after his encounter with Rose Gillogly and her ass. His eyes, by chance, fell upon Kat's ass as she climbed. Normally, he would never ogle his own sister, but in his current state of zombified arousal, he lacked the willpower to look away. It was right there in front of his face, in a pair of snug denim shorts, swinging like a meaty pendulum. He could almost hear it intoning, "You are very, very sleepy...and horny."
He also couldn't help but compare his sister's ass to Rose's. Rose may have semi-officially had the best ass in their class, but he thought Kat's compared favorably. It was very much the same type of ass as Rose's, with quite similar proportions: broad and bubbly, well-muscled and well-padded, with grandiose curves. Kat's ass was underrated, Rufus felt.
The problem was, probably, that Kat's ass was overshadowed by her boobs. Just as a consensus had formed around Rose's ass, one had also formed around Kat's boobies. Most of his friends (save Ash) coveted them, thought they were the best in town. Martin Hamschlinger called them "rocket titties," because they were massive (especially for her diminutive frame), pointy-tipped, and gravity-defying, dangling down but curving back around to aim for the stars.
In the gloom at the top of the stairs, Kat almost immediately stumbled, and Rufus nearly plowed into her. She flipped on the light in the half-bath to her left and discovered her stumbling block: a pair of feet protruding into the hall. They belonged to Madeleine Hinz. She lay face-down on the bath mat, ass humped in the air, wearing nothing but a silver anklet and a pair of men's tighty-whities. The briefs hung loose and low on her hips, exposing a sliver of her crack.
