The four-second shriek must have been just an octave or two below the upper limit of human hearing.
Almost every one of the muscles in my body contracted in the startle reflex the unexpected clamor triggered in me; my hips, almost cocked (Heh!) as they were, bucked. Half the length of my boner forged into my twin sister's pussy.
Then an electronic voice screamed, "Danger! Danger! Fire! Fire! Fire!"
We didn't have any dead people living (so to speak) in our house, but if we had, the racket would've aroused them. Several smoke alarms were networked throughout the house; they all sounded when any one of them detected smoke.
A second or two of deceptive silence followed, and I looked into Madison's eyes. I had just enough time to see that they mirrored the panic and desire she must have seen in my own eyes, and the alarms shrieked again as they began another cycle.
In spite of the racket, and without any intention on my part, my hips took over and began to thrust me in and out, in and out. Maddie's legs—also, evidently, on automatic pilot—wrapped themselves around me and seconded my motions.
"...Fire! Fire!" the alarms screamed to end the cycle.
During the pause between cycles, I heard feet scrambling upstairs, and it dawned on me: whatever had set off the alarms might well be the least of our dangers. Mom and Dad would be downstairs in seconds.
Maddie was thinking the same things."Let me up!" Her voice was barely audible over the alarm's next cycle. "Mom and Dad will be down here right away!" She unwrapped her legs from about me.
I wrapped my arms around her thighs and kept thrusting, back and forth, back and forth. For a brief interval that seemed a lifetime I continued. Her pussy's tight, warm clasp overcame me and I thought; I hoped; I wanted; I
needed
to finish before Mom or Dad could get to the kitchen. The noises from upstairs continued, but none came from the stairs; and that encouraged me to continue.
She writhed under me, her hands pushing weakly against my hips, trying for all she was worth to escape. "Please, Mase," she begged. "We can't let them catch us." But, even as she pleaded, her own desire was still strong in her eyes.
The alarm cycles continued. We must have been in the sixth or seventh, now.
Still, no noise came from the staircase, but—very much against my will—I realized: they would arrive in the kitchen long before I could get off. Letting our parents catch us with my cock in my twin sister's pussy seemed unwise—even more unwise than letting them catch us together with no pants on. Pressure in my groin notwithstanding, I pulled out and released her.
Instantly, she scrambled off the table and gathered her clothes from the floor. Over the din and between the cycles she said, "When they get down here, tell them I'd just gone to pee when the shit hit the fan." And, clothes in hand, she scampered into the bathroom just off the kitchen.
Footsteps finally sounded on the stairs.
My own pants were about my ankles. I reached down, pulled them up, and stuffed my boner, now shrinking in my panic, into them. It was a tight fit, but I made it work. And, while I fastened up, I saw a thin plume of white smoke rising from the stove. What I'd thought was the smoky scent of her hair had been the smoky scent of...
smoke.
I turned on the fan over the stove and grabbed the smoldering pot holder; Maddie had set it down a little too close to the burner she'd forgotten to turn off. When Dad arrived in the kitchen, he found me at the kitchen sink, running water over the pot holder. Mom arrived seconds later, just as the toilet flushed and Maddie emerged—fully clothed and looking panicked—from the bathroom. "What's happening?" she asked, looking thoroughly frightened.
"Thank God you're both okay!" Dad breathed. "You weren't in your rooms!"
That was what had taken them so long to get here—being sure we'd gone to bed, they'd checked our rooms.
Dad went on, over the noise of the alarm, "Mase, get the stepladder from the basement. We'll get the smoke alarms off the ceiling and take their batteries out."
I was halfway down the stairs when the uproar stopped: the alarms had decided there wasn't a fire after all. I returned to find Mom and Dad quizzing Maddie about what had happened.
Of course, all Maddie "knew" was she'd been sitting on the toilet when the smoke alarms went off, so they turned to me.
"We took a break from working on our calculus to have a cup of cocoa," I said. Explaining our unusual Saturday night activity would be easier, I figured, than explaining the even more unusual activity we'd intended—and actually started under the influence of the unexpected commotion. "We didn't get the burner turned off, and the pot holder was too close to it." The pot holder, blackened and wet, was still in my hand: I displayed it.
"That was my fault," Maddie said. "I wasn't careful enough."
"Well," said Mom, "it sure could have been a lot worse. Just be more careful from now on."
It turned out no further explanation was called for. They weren't especially pleased about having their night's sleep interrupted, but they were glad, they said, we were taking our math so seriously. "I remember calculus from college," Dad remarked. "Well, to be perfectly honest, I
don't
remember it. But I remember how hard I had to work on it. I spent some late nights trying to puzzle it out, too.
