The Phantom Foot:
A Sister Sherlock Mystery
Turkey is supposed to make you sleepy, but it nearly killed me. No, it was not poisoned--or booby-trapped, and while I am at it, how is it that the word booby can be associated with anything bad?
Anyway, I had just taken a big bite of dark meat, when suddenly I felt a foot on my crotch. It felt good--very good, in fact. The only problem was that I nearly choked to death.
When I had sufficiently recovered myself, I tried to figure out who the perp was.
The way I figured it, there were three main suspects: my mother, sitting directly across from me; to her right, my cousin; and, to my mother's left, my aunt. A frontal attack seemed most likely, but a diagonal one was certainly not out of the question. My father's family was tall and lithe, after all.
My beautiful mother was sitting opposite me. Blond and in her early forties, she had aged well--incredibly well, considering she was the mother of two. She was dressed well too, in a green, silky number that showed her double D breasts--not only their size but, also, a lot of cleavage, not to mention the barest hint of her nipples.
Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced down the table at my father. He was sitting near the end, between his parents--my grandparents, carousing with his older brother--my uncle.
My parents were not estranged or anything. In fact it was by mutual consent that they spaced themselves out at holiday gatherings. Partly, it was so that they could fraternize with relatives they did not get to see often. Another reason was that my mother disliked my grandma. I guess even women dislike their mother-in-laws.
I looked back at my dear mother--at her tits. Logically, they were more mine than fathers. I had suckled on them--teethed on them too. They were the source of my first food; I had been nourished on them. My mother had even cradled me in her arms while I bit her nips--certainly my father could not claim that.
I felt the foot again fleetingly.
Okay, so I had an Oedipus complex--well, at least half of one. I did not want to kill my father, except occasionally when he had the Sports Illustrated or was eating last pork chop, but those were only fleeting thoughts. On the whole, I respected him--he was a good provider and role model.
Yet somehow, I did not feel bad about the idea of fucking his wife--my mother. Why? Well, firstly I would just be following his example. Secondly, I had come out of my mother's vagina, so I felt by natural rights I had a sort of passkey.
There were other mitigating factors too. I would not even be going fully back into it, just part of me--parts of me, I mean. For starters, I would say my cock, fingers and tongue, although if you included her mouth, my balls would make the list as well.
Honestly, I had never been in her mouth before, but she had kissed me a couple of hundred times. Whether I was wrong or right, I don't know, but it seemed proper justification for her to lick my balls. Similarly, I had once drank her milk, now I felt it would only be polite for me to offer her mine.
In the womb, there had been an umbilical cord connecting us. Technically, it was not part of her, or, for that matter, me. I seized on that precedent. Granted, I'm no legal expert, but I figured it opened a loophole. Theoretically, one could exploit it to insert objects. Battery-operated dildos, for instance.
I groaned because the foot-rubbing had suddenly become more vigorous. My pants were already unbuttoned when I sat down. I had done it in order to eat as much as I could. But now the toes put pressure on the material, and the zipper was giving. In fact, before long, it was all the way down.
My mother was chatting amiably with my cousin, and the back and forth was pretty quick. It seemed extraordinary that either of them could be massaging my cock with her foot.
Out of a sudden suspicion, I looked to my right, to my sexy sister, who had come on to me last winter break, when she had discovered how perverted I was. We had lost our virginity together. (See "Sister Sherlock: Case of the Perverted Brother.") But, her hands were visible and though she was certainly flexible, I knew it was impossible for her to align her foot from that angle.
My sister noticed my look and smiled at me shyly. Of course, she had a legitimate claim on my mother's jugs too--in some legal systems, at least. But, by the rules of primogeniture, our mother's hooters were rightfully mine. I was the son, and my sister was the daughter--she had her own boobs.
Don't get me wrong. My sister was a good kid. I would be willing to provide for her--to share my mother's boobs with her. There were two of them, and we got along together well, after all. Besides, they were big.
We could even come to a legal agreement. I would be generous and take the lesser terms: alternating weekends and the summer. Why? My college was far away. Also, I felt the whole thing would be just a formality, anyway. Much of the time the three of us would be together--really closely together.
I looked across the table from my golden-haired sister--to my mother's right.
My cousin was a high school senior and brunette. Though she was an "A" student, she had B-cups. Unfortunately, she was wearing a bra--unlike my mother or sister, both currently pointing. Probably, her mother--my non-blood aunt--had made her shackle her twins. The nerve of that woman! This was a day set aside to eat breasts! A national holiday--no less!
Well, I suppose there was one thing I could thank my uncle's wife for: giving birth to a hot blood relative--my sexy cousin.
Although she was Caucasian and roughly of the same mix of nationalities her looks were somehow exotic. They were not as familiar as my sister's. Perhaps, it was the dilution of the family blood, or, perhaps, it was just that I did not get a chance to see her as often.
Her face was pretty, but her expression was wooden--frigid, even. It could not have been her!
I groaned again. The boxers I was wearing were designed without a button. Sometimes, when I slept in them I woke up with my cock sticking out. Now it had come out again, and I felt the toes drawing back my foreskin, titillating the nerves of my engorged head.
"Good, huh?" asked my sister.
"I'm certainly enjoying it."
"Sort of on the dry side." said my mother.
"No, mine is very moist." said my aunt.
Ah, ha! That was a double entendre, if I ever heard one.
I focused by attention on my aunt. She was a red-haired dynamo with perky C-cups, surprisingly young for an aunt--only thirty, in fact. She taught English at the local high school, and, from what I understood, all the guys wanted to fuck her, but, though she was not married, she was definitely too professional and straight-laced too do that. Heck, her dress was even more conservative than my grandma's.
