Chapter 57: #12 Abbey's Secret Life
Entry #1 - Thoughts
If my brother can keep a journal, so I can I. His little book just sits in his room, tempting me to read his thoughts, but I won't, but I want to, but I won't. There isn't a place in our home where he could keep it hidden from me, and there's not a lock in the house that I can't get into (for now). I could read his journal, but I won't.
*Smiles*. I used to call Timmy "Timmy Bear" back when I first met him. (When I first remembered meeting him the day Dad dropped me off at Mom's house and said, "Don't forget I love you. This is goodbye for now, not forever. We'll see each other again." What kind of Dad does that to his daughter? I don't call him "Dad" anymore--not to his face.
Maybe I'll start calling Timmy "Timmy Bear" again.
Entry #2 - Randomness
I'm not going to use my journal to keep my life in order. When I get a thought, I'll write it down, whether it's from ten days ago or ten years. Chaos, baby!
Entry #3 - Strange
Something "strange" is going on in my home. I'm more tempted by the day to look through my brother's journal.
Entry #4 - The Upstairs Man
I met Vicki after school today, something that started about a week after we both turned eighteen. Vicki is Lana's cousin. She's eighteen and one-hundred-percent Polish American, unlike Lana. She's also a senior, whereas I'm stuck at being a junior. (Thanks, Dad.)
In truth, I could have graduated high school before I was old enough to enter junior high, but we, Dad and I, didn't see the point in growing up fast. I don't see the point in growing up slow, either. (I'm digressing.)
Vicki was a girl who I met in a strange place. Diana had asked me if I wanted a ride home today, but I had brought my board, as I always do, and so I said, "Next time."
"But, I'm getting burgers," Diana said as we stood outside her car. "Big, greasy, fat burgers with cheese and tomatoes and mushrooms and onions and all of that unhealthy shit we can eat now while we're young."
"Another time," I said. "I mean it."
Diana looked at me. I could see her mind working behind her blue eyes. I could hear her words already. "You're not a talker today, are you?" she'd say, not ask, but say. It was one of those rhetorical questions. Then she'd prod me to talk until she was sure the sunlight shined on every corner of my world, but I had things to do today. So, I stepped forward and hugged her, pressing my lean, wiry body against her all-American athleticism.
As always, her big tits reminded me that I had no tits. I didn't have small tits. I didn't have little handfuls. I had no tits. I had Keira Knightley's tits. I Katherine Moennig's tits. No, I had Zendaya's tits with a more athletic body. I had pectorals where my tits should have been, LOL. But, even so, no one could mistake me for a "little girl." I was as tall as Diana. I was "beautiful" (according to Diana), and I guess my beauty was evident in my reflection. I was a short-haired gamine, but I had those regal lines, high cheekbones--Fuck it: I looked like Tinker Bell or Sleeping Beauty with my hair long, the classic animations. Enough about my tits. (Enough about me. I'm not as "beautiful" as Diana tells me I am. She's always been too nice to me.)
I waited until my sister drove off before I dropped my board and pushed my way across the parking lot, where I met Vicki, who was waiting in her Subaru, behind her metalized windows that barred people from seeing the interior of her car.
I didn't knock on the window when I reached the passenger side door. I grabbed the handle, opened it, tossed my backpack on the floor, and got in with my board standing between my knees. I shut the door, and Vicki drove off.
It wasn't until we were off school property that Vicki asked, "Where are we going today? The house, the neighborhood, or downtown?"
"The neighborhood," I said, thinking back on the text I had sent during lunch.
We didn't talk for the rest of the drive.
I had worn my fitted, black baseball cap with a shapeable brim to school, along with metallic red basketball shorts and a buttoned-up jersey. Underneath my jersey, I wore a black, wraparound tube top that covered my tits and nothing more. I didn't bother with a bra since the tube top kept my little titties in place, and the jersey covered my nipples whenever they turned hard, typically around some of my friends and a few of the teachers. I went around school with only the jersey buttons covering my tits done up.
During the drive, I took off the jersey and stuffed it into my backpack. From a secret pouch I had sewn into the pack, I fetched a pre-rolled joint, fit it to a glass filter, and pushed the joint behind my right ear. I then sat without making a sound until Vicki pulled into a gated driveway in an affluent neighborhood on the border of the suburbs and the city. As we waited behind the gate, I logged into my phone and sent a text. The gate opened, and a tight, twisting motion hardened my bright pink nipples. Vicki pulled into the property, stopping long enough to lower her window so I could show my face to Tattooed Jake, who waved us in.
"Why don't you have to pay?" Vicki asked me as she always asked me.
"Lucky, I guess," I answered as I always answered.
They had tried to recruit Vicki. She was a short, slender, and small-breasted girl, but her tits looked big on her petite frame, and her ass looked big beneath her narrow waist. She had passed on their offer, and now she couldn't get into the place without me. The one day in a year that we had both been in the same place at the same time....
Vicki drove through the roundabout and around the side of the house with a custom-built parking lot. She found a space and parked her car, then leaned back and took a deep breath.
"Smoke first?"
"Yes," Vicki said, sighing. "Please."
I pulled the J from my ear, and we lit up in Vicki's car, passing it back and forth and saying nothing. I relaxed as the THC warmed my body. The blush that ran through my light skin sent a pinkish swirl through my cheeks. As the smoke filled my lungs, my mind slowed, as did my breathing, as did Vicki's breathing. I let her have the last couple of hits, and then we sat in her smoke-filled car, like fat men in a sauna.
"Am I giving you a ride home?" Vicki asked.
"Yeah," I said, pushing the door open. "Text me when you're ready to go."
I led the way to a pair of cellar doors at the side of the mansion near the parking lot. Tracksuit Tony stood by the closed doors, dressed in his trademark tracksuit, but I doubt the no-neck thug ever moved faster than a walking pace.
"ID," he said, looking at Vicki.
"You know me," Vicki said.
I said nothing.
"Eighteen and over only," Tony said. "You're a guest of a member. We card."
Vicki pulled her ID out of her back pocket. Tony scanned it, looked it over, then nodded his head as he always did. I walked away from the cellar doors as Tony pulled them open.
"Hey," Vicki said before I managed to get two steps away from her. "You're going to go see him, right?"
I turned around and managed to keep the frown off my face.
"Introduce me to the Man Upstairs," Vicki said.
"You didn't want to work for him, so you don't want to meet him."
"I do want to meet him."
"He doesn't want to meet you."
"They tried to recruit me."
"If you don't want to pay to see the show, take them up on their offer," I said. "Or tell Tony you want to blow the Man Upstairs, and he'll set it up."
Tony made a face.
"Do you blow him?" Vicki asked.
"Yeah," I said. "Every time I come by."
Tony frowned and shook his head at me from behind Vicki.
"I can't do that yet," Vicki said, sighing. "I'll text you when I'm ready to go."
I waited for Vicki to walk down into the cellar. As Tony closed the doors behind her, he looked at me again and shook his head. I sighed and continued around to the front of the mansion, up the steps, and inside, where the downstairs furnishings were so sparse, you'd think the owner had spent all of his money on buying the property.
I jogged up the steps of the front room's staircase, ignoring the looks of the men sitting on the couches as they looked up from their titty magazines. I walked down the East Wing's hallway, doing my best to ignore the moans coming from behind the doors. I had to stop for a minute as from behind one door, I could hear the loud moans of some guy and the constant, out-of-breath grunts of some lady. I wanted to press my ear to the door and listen to the way that man was riding that woman. She sounded beat, physically, mentally, and she sounded like she never wanted the pussy pounding to end.
Between my legs, a warm pool of liquid grew, wetting my boyshorts panties, but knowing there were cameras on me, I continued down the hallway to a large, iron door. I pushed it open and stepped inside, closing the door behind me.
A tall, athletic man about an inch shorter than Timmy looked up from the desk: He had black hair with specks of gray, and he wore a pair of small reading glasses on his lean face. On his cherry wood desk sat a laptop, a money counter, an open, silver briefcase full of loose cash, and two closed briefcases stacked beside it. In the corner of the room, sleeping on a small couch, was Fred, who opened an eye to look at me before closing it again.
"I've told you to knock before you entered my office," the Guy Upstairs said. "It's polite."
"I told you to lock the doors," I said. "And then I'd knock."
"I saw you on the cameras, as I always do," he said and pressed a button on the underside of his desk. Behind me, several steel latches slid into place, locking the door. "Always use the back stairs to come and see me, no matter what place I'm working at for the day. I don't want the clients in the waiting room remembering who you are." He took a breath. "Do you need anything? Money?"
I shook my head as I stared at him.
"You sure? I have more than enough now; you know that."
"I just wanted to say hi."
He nodded and asked, "That's it? Nothing else? Are you sure? Maybe you'd like me to go online and order you a decent shirt?"
"I want a pound of weed," I said, trying to stand straighter so I could push my itty bitties outward. "A bottle of pills. A bag of blow. Something I can sell on the street."
He shook his head at me.
"Laugh," I said. "It was a joke."
"Ha," he said.
"Fine, I'm going to the cellar. I want to see them wrestle."
He looked down at his computer, put his hands on the keys, and tapped one finger up and down, making little clicking sounds, but he didn't speak, nor did he type, unless it was the same continuous letter materializing across his screen.
"I'll see you around," I said as I turned away from him. "I want them to be my age, and the girl needs to have small tits."
The Man Upstairs pressed his desk button. The bolts slid free, and I left his office, heading to the cellar from inside the house.
Entry #5 - A Thought
I wonder if Timmy keeps his journal in order?
Entry #6 - The Cellar
I'm not sure I should write this next part down...fuck it, I could always destroy it later.
Whoever owned the mansion before the Man Upstairs had built a wine cellar you could live in, with multiple rooms and racks able to reach as high as fifteen feet. I walked through the cellar, still with my titties pushed forward, but I kept the brim of my hat low. Security said nothing to me, other than Horrible Ralph, who stopped me at the fuck-mat entrance and whispered, "We've cleared and cleaned your spot, so sit there this time"--his voice dropped to the level of barely discernable--"out of the security cameras' line of sight." His voice rose back to a whisper when he spoke again. "Keep your phone in your pocket this time, or we're gonna have to take it from you and you'll have to get it back from him."
"What if I need to text someone?" I asked. "C'mon, Horrible; I'm won't record the show again."
"Text from out here," he said.
I sighed, but I nodded as I walked through a short tunnel between two bleachers and into a square room with tiered, leather-padded seating. Smoke hung in the air (not the cigarette kind), but it couldn't hide the smell of pussy and sex in the room. I didn't search for Vicki (I never do) as I prowled through the darkness and climbed the elevated rows of leather up to the east corner. As I moved through the scattered crowd up to my corner perch, the wetness between my legs grew thicker, making each step a little slippery slide for my cunny lips until I sat, my soaked panties pressing into my small bubble butt and the meaty clam below my asshole. I pressed my back into the corner of the bleachers, pushed my ass to the edge of my seat, and watched the show in silence.
Within a padded square, spotlit from above by a dozen recessed lights, I watched an older man with gray chest hairs between the legs of a Latin-looking girl who was probably in her early twenties. She had long black hair, big breasts, and dark nipples puckered into long, thick nubs. Her light brown skin held a sheen of sweat as she lay on her back, the older guy between her firm legs, pumping his big cock between her hairless pussy lips. (The performers were always big and long or thick between their legs.)
I listened to the girl and guy moan as my heartbeat rose and a rush of heat traveled through my body. Around me, a good distance away (a social distance away, lol), I watched shadows touch themselves, or if they were lucky enough to have a partner, I watched them touch each other. I heard a guy come. I heard a lady whimper. I saw one shadow climb atop another and bounce up and down, facing away from the man whose lap she was riding, but the crowd kept their pleasure to themselves. It was a rule: Only the performers could be vocal with their cries.
A moan wanted out of my mouth as my nipples tightened, constricting and swelling until I had to cup my little breasts and rub my palms over my hard nubs. Caressing my tits sent shivers of pleasure through my body that ended up between my legs. I tightened my firm ass, feeling my pussy pulse and the wetness within me double. A thick, floral scent filled my nostrils, and I looked around, wondering if anyone else could smell my pussy as well.
As I watched, I ran my hands over my stomach, back up to my tits, down to my shorts, back to my tits, over my abs, back to my tits, and into the waistband of my basketball shorts. I undid the strings when the Latin girl begged, "Dame tu leche, Papi. Mas duro. Mas duro. Ay si, ay si, dame tu leche!"
The heat between my legs dampened my skin. My pussy dripped with my honey as I undid my drawstrings and pushed my hands into my shorts. I grabbed onto my boyshorts panties and pulled them against my muffin, feeling a tingle in my clitty as the fabric tightened against my mound. When the guy came, pulling his cock out and shooting his spunk all over the Latin girl's light brown skin, I let go of my panties and exhaled a shaky breath. Someone several feet to my right nutted into a towel, cleaned himself up, and leaned back, breathing hard. When his head turned toward me, I slowly turned my eyes back to the performers, a chill dancing along my spine.
(I need a boyfriend. Writing this memory down is making my cute little pussy wet. I think it's cute. It's small, hairless, though sometimes I grow a flaxen-haired landing strip. My outer lips are thick, and they curve inward, protecting my petite inner lips, forming a level crescent that hid the bright pink meat within, and my clit looks like a shiny pink pearl within a smooth hood. That's enough about my pussy. I want to touch it again.)
Before the next show, Zack, a college-aged man in a pair of jeans, white shirt, and flat brim hat, strolled out of the narrow tunnel through the bottom corner of the bleachers and wiped the fuck-mats down with a pushable floor squeegee. The lights over the mat stayed on; the lights over the crowd remained off. As I watched him move, his lithe arm muscles flexing, his butt pushing against his jeans, I pinched my nipples again, grimacing and making faces as the pleasurable pain buzzed through my tits. Before he left the floor, I softened my nipple play until a fuzzy tingle radiated throughout my small breast bumps.
Another pair of performers entered the fuck-mat from the bottom corner of the bleachers. These were my performers. They could have been anywhere from eighteen to twenty-two by the looks of them. (The "Club" didn't allow anyone under eighteen onto the grounds. This was a swingers' club that accepted "donations." The only "real" trouble they could get into was for the drugs they sold, which is one of the reasons I kept my distance from the Man Upstairs. I never knew when he'd be gone again.)
Shit, I'm digressing.
They were a hard-bodied couple, the two on the floor. The guy had short, black hair and a lean body, but he didn't have a wrestler's physique. He carried a small bottle of coconut oil in each of his hands. The girl had a slender, athletic body with a hint of leanness, long brown hair, and tits bigger than mine that were just handfuls, but still: They--were--bigger--than--mine.
(*Sigh* There are no flat-chested girls at the meeting places.)
The girl stood in the middle of the mat, wearing a tight sports bra and sporty bikini bottoms with multiple straps connecting the front of her panties to the back of her thong. The guy, wearing a pair of tight boxer briefs with a nice bulge, walked around her, then called out, "Any volunteers?" as he held up the bottles of oil. "We're looking for a man and a woman?"
(*smile* I remember when Tracksuit Tony tried to play MC at one of the places. He thought he was a wrestler cutting a promo. He slipped on some oil the cleanup guy had missed, pedaled his feet like a cartoon, and fell on his ass. Tony's been on the outside door ever since.)
Two volunteers stepped forward, a blonde woman for the guy and a blond guy for the girl. The volunteers held hands, so I deduced they were a couple. The girl wore a tight dress, and the guy had on slacks and a shirt. They took the oil and poured it over the performers.
I watched the guy spread the oil over the girl, not a moment's hesitation in his hands as they moved over her shoulders and sides, her back, then over her ass and abs. He darkened her gray sports bra, rubbing his hands over her tits while her sexy spasms twitched across her face. He moved to her side, cupped her pussy, then dropped into a squat and did each of her legs individually, cupping her meaty cameltoe through her bikini bottoms every time his hands went up her legs.
The woman groped the man as aggressively as the guy did the girl. She had her hands on his chest and arms, his butt, the oil darkening his boxer briefs, and she pulled his waistband outward as she poured oil over his cock. I leaned my head to the right against the bleacher's padded rails, closed my eyes, and moaned in damn near silence as I pushed my hands between my legs. If only I were touching that guy's cock.
Eventually, the guy had to end the rubdown when the audience member slid his fingers under the leghole of the girl's panties and tried to get his digits up her snatch. You could "donate" to play upstairs, but this wasn't a free use market. Though, when he molested her pussy, my right hand slid up the loose leghole of my basketball shorts, pulling the fabric up my thigh as it caught on my wrist, and I pressed my fingers against my pussy. The front of my panties was so wet my fingertips came away sticky.
Now alone in the center of the mat, the two performers stood face to face like this was sports entertainment. I wanted something more traditional, but I'd have to take what I could get. There were no hooks, no takedowns, no counters, tosses, or single or double legs. Instead, they "wrapped up," sliding against each other as their hands slipped on the oil coating their bodies. After a brief struggle, they ended up on the mat with the guy on top of the girl.
I slunk into the darkness, moving my hands over my body. I let the moans of the scattered men and women resonate through me as I ran my hands over my sleek abs and under my tube top. The nylon caught on my wrists, rose, and exposed my little titties, yet out of sight from the hidden cameras that the client/members didn't know were recording them.
On the mat, the guy and girl struggled, slipping and sliding as their oiled bodies glistened below the lights. The girl grunted as the guy flipped her this way and that as she tried to squirm out from under him whenever he covered her body with his own. I'd have preferred something more raw and guttural without the lotion, but I'd take what I could get.
The guy locked his legs around the girl's legs, his thighs near her knees as he lay against her right side, his head aligned with her tits. He used his right hand to push her bra up her chest as he tangled his left hand in her brown hair, holding her in place. He grabbed her right tit, squeezed, and coned her nipple upward before he sucked it into his mouth. A long moan left her lips as she pushed against him, her hands slipping on his skin as he sucked on her titty with exaggerated pulls.
I pushed my right hand down my stomach and into my shorts, below my panties, as I spread my legs. My left hand stayed on my tits, pinching my nipples between my fingertips, squishing them, sending bolts of electricity through my bumps. When the guy pulled the girl's bikini panties to the side, I cupped my pussy, taking my small, little wet beaver in my hand and squeezing it hard. The tingles ran through my lips, the outer and inner, and a buzz shocked me as my middle finger's last knuckle pressed down on my clitty.
"Fuck," I whispered, pulling my fingers upward and pinching my clit, making my ass jump.
Down on the mat, the guy pushed himself between the girl's legs, dry humping her until she slid her hands down his body and pushed his boxer briefs over his ass. His big dick came out, slipping around her meaty labia as they wiggled together. He reached between their bodies, grabbed his cock below its neck, and slid it through her wet patch, fucking her lips with his head before he gave her one hard thrust and buried half of his bone up her snatch.
"Uh," she grunted, and then he fucked her, not taking it easy on her cunt. He lifted his hips and fucked his oiled-up cock through her pink curtains, keeping his prick pillowed between her pussy walls. "Uh, uh, uh-uh-huh!"
I closed my eyes and visualized myself down there without oil, wrestling with a shirtless man, his muscles overpowering me, his big body bullying me around the mat. I saw myself on my back with my hands pinned over my head as he fingered my pussy and played with my clit the way I was rubbing my juicy pearl with my fingers. I imagined him turning me over and pinning my hands to my lower back as he spread my legs and held my pussy from behind.
"Mmm, fuck, fuck, fuck," I whispered as I rubbed my bare cunny beneath my shorts. I squirmed against the bleachers and swung my left arm around to my back, forcing my hand into my shorts from behind. I pushed myself up on my feet, leaning my head and shoulders against the backrest, and slid my left fingers into my pussy as I arched my back into the air. As soon as my middle finger swirled the shallow end of the pool between my legs, I sat on my hand and diddled my clit from the front as I poked my slit from the rear.
(Fuck, fuck, fuck--I want cock so bad, but the cock I wanted is the cock I could get, so fuck that.)
I toyed with my pussy in that wine cellar until my body flushed with heat and my cunt tingled with unreleased pleasure. My insides warmed, my cunny dripped with honey, and the heat building below my mound, within my core, threatened to set my insides aflame. God, I was hot. So damn hot! I needed to get naked. I wanted to get naked. I wanted the pleasure swirling in my clit to explode, and then it did, just as the guy pulled his cock out of the girl and came on her pussy. I bit my lower lip and howled deep in my throat, my body jerking as my pussy muscles spasmed and my asshole clenched shut. I sat there in the bleachers and came, then I sat back, melting into the corner as I regained my breath.
Half an hour later, I texted Vicki, and forty-five minutes later, after having cleaned myself up in the cellar's restroom, I was sitting in silence in Vicki's car on our way to my street where Vicki would drop me off at the corner.
"Are we friends?" Vicki asked me as we neared my street.
I lifted my head and sighed.
"How do you know the Man Upstairs?" Vicki asked.
I sat in silence, and I only opened my mouth when I knew the questions were coming again. "I don't know him," I said. (And I don't. Not anymore.) "He's a guy who fucked me over a long time ago."
"Okay."
"You can't tell anyone about him," I said, turning to the window so I could watch the world pass by. "You don't mention him, ever. Not to your cousin, not to your friends, not even to me."
"Okay," Vicki said.
"I mean it."
"Okay," she said again with some firmness to her voice.
"I wouldn't like it," I said, and then I added, "He wouldn't like it."
"Okay," Vicki said after a moment, her tone softer than before. "I won't. I promise."
I closed my eyes, then clenched them, then I opened them and said, "I guess we're friends. I've seen other senior girls from our high school on the mats before, but you're the only one who's ever seen me. We're connected."
Vicki nodded.
"Let's keep it that way."
"If we're friends," Vicki said and licked her lips, "then I want to show you something."
"It's not your pussy, is it?"
We looked at each other for a moment, and then we burst out laughing together. They were awkward laughs at first but slowly evolved into unrestrained giggles. We laughed so hard Vicki had to pull over as we wiped the tears from our eyes and regained our breath. She looked at me after we had recovered and smiled, and I smiled back with an inward reflection I don't think she noticed.
Before Vicki pulled back into the street, she said, "I have some videos I want to show you."
"Okay," I said as we drove to my street in silence.
Entry #7 - Men Suck
Grown boys and young men suck. I have too many friends who saw me as a younger sister (or little brother) while chasing around girls who looked like Diana. The friends who did want me would be happy to date a talking watermelon with a built-in fuckhole. I'd say I'm aiming too high, but that's not true. I want men who look like men, and they want women who look like women.
One of them once said, "You're like a little sister to me; dating you would be strange. We could fuck, though...if you want?"
*Sigh*
Entry #8 - My Sister's Tits
I was in Diana's room the other day, watching her try on these lacy panties and bras she had bought online. Really slutty stuff. Some of those bras and panties "happened" to be too small for her, but they were just my size. What luck, right?
"Who's the lucky guy?" I asked her as she modeled a red lace thong and matching half-bra in the mirror. Compared to my sister, I was overdressed in a pair of jean short-shorts, the crotch hugging kind, and a tight, Badfish T-shirt.
My triplet had bigger thighs than me, a bigger ass, stomach, tits (always the tits), shoulders, and arms, but it wasn't fat or natural thickness. Diana's body had that athletic smoothness that other women killed themselves in the gym to achieve. She had the sensual definition of her muscles covered by a thick layer of skin that flowed over her body, hugging her muscles close, showing off the strength of her body without being too lean. She did have abs, though.
"Who says there has to be a guy?" Diana asked.
I rolled my eyes and said, "I haven't seen you this happy since your first crush told you he like-liked you."
Diana laughed as she cupped her tits and pushed them up. They didn't need lifting. My sister's tits were big and perky. Big AND perky. Big and perky tits...lucky her.
"Come on, who is it?"
"So, you're a talker today?" Diana asked.
"Don't answer a question with a question," I said and sighed. "I've always been a talker."
"Not this year." Diana turned away from her mirror and looked at me. Her panties made a sharp V from her hips to the bottom of her crotch, where the lace gripped her labia hard. "This year, you've been on and off. Your head's not always in the present."
"You don't have my problems."
"The boyfriend thing?"
"No," I said.
(I wish I hadn't said that, so I tried to cover it up by saying, "Maybe, I don't know," but I knew my triplet didn't believe me.)
"You can talk to me about anything," Diana said. "That's what I'm here for."
"I know," I said. "You guys won't let me forget that I'm the little one."
"Would I buy the 'little one' panties like the ones I'm trying on?" Diana asked. "Try yours on. We'll prance around in our underwear--every boy's fantasy."
I laughed and said, "Another time. Thanks for that bikini that did me no good because Timmy was watching my friend and me the entire time."
"No problem," my sister said, taking off her bra and tossing it on her dresser. "I guess you haven't found that boy to kiss yet."
"Nope," I said. "I'm waiting for you to find me that man to kiss. You're still doing me that favor, right?"
"Hell yeah. That's what sisters are for." Diana followed my eyes. "Are you staring at my tits?"
"I have too; they're always there."
We laughed.
"Have you ever touched a girl's tits?" Diana asked, bending over as she pushed her panties down her legs and stepped out of them. My naked sister stood to the side of me as I lay parallel to the foot of her bed, watching her and imagining my head on her body.
"No," I said.
"No. Never?"
I shook my head.
"Not even at a slumber--oh, that's right, you never went to slumber parties."
Diana turned her body in my direction, her breasts high on her chest, her peachy nipples hard, thick, and proud. Her abs had a bit of a pump to them, and I could tell by her smoothness that she had waxed the hairs between her legs within the last couple of days. Her lips hung between her thighs--
(Why am I describing this?)
"I know you know some girls," Diana said. "They've never asked you if you want to touch their tits?"
"Most of my friends are guys," I said. "Fuck, all my friends are guys. It's always been that way." I looked down at my flat chest. "It's these two little titty bumps that make them think I'm a boy instead of a girl."
"And the pixie haircut."
"Low blow, dirtbag."
"Dirtbag?" Diana asked. "I thought you were a genius? Don't you have any big words to throw at me?"
"No."
Diana laughed, her titties shaking with her shoulders as she stared at me, still naked, still hot, still sexy--still-still-still.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing," Diana said.
"What?"
"Do you?" she asked.
"Do I what?"
"Do you?" she said, nodding downward at her tits. "Do you want to touch them?"
"Your tits?"
"No, my twat," Diana said, laughing. "Yeah, my tits. They're just tits."
I turned my head so I could stare up at the ceiling. The beating beneath my breasts turned into a thumping. Why was my sister asking me if I wanted to touch her tits? Thoughts of Timmy formed in the back of my head.
"You can wrestle Timmy, but you can't touch my tits?" Diana asked, and my mind swiped left on those thoughts of Timmy. "Why do you like to wrestle with our brother?"
"I dunno," I said. "Why, do you want to wrestle Timmy too?"
A small, mostly straight smile tugged at Diana's lips for a moment, then it was gone, and she went back to trying on her panties and bras, and I went back to watching her with strange thoughts in my head....
Entry #9 - The Cougar
My mother is a cougar on the prowl. She spends most of her weekends wearing small bikinis at Timmy's team-building parties those horny MILFs throw for the senior wrestlers. (Could they be any more obvious? They invite the eighteen-year-olds only, but all the wrestling moms show up to those parties! Fucking desperate housewives.)
I should ask Timmy how the wrestlers like partying with their bikini-clad moms.
Entry #10 - He "Likes" Me
The other day, Timmy told me he liked me like he liked Diana.
I doubt he does.
He spends a lot of time in Diana's room and none in mine. I have no reason to invite him into my room, but still...it sucks being the "young" one.
Entry #11 - Vicki's Videos
Vicki texted me during lunch, and I hooked up with her after school. I was wearing loose jogger's cargo pants that fit high on my waist and a crop top that said Bad B! across the front. It barely covered my itty bitties. Vicki wore a long hoodie as a thigh-high dress and a pair of half-laced, black boots. She drove us to a strip mall, where we parked behind a liquor store. We moved into her back seat and pushed the seats all the way up before she put her laptop on the edge of the center console. She stared at her computer, nibbling on her lower lip as she stuck a flash drive into its port.
"Want to light up?"
"Yes!"
I pulled a joint from my backpack, stuck a glass filter on it, and lit the twisted end. The joint glowed orange, and we passed it around as she sat back and stared at her ceiling.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"I haven't told you how I knew about the places we go to," she said. "They need a business name."
"You said they tried to recruit you," I said. "And a place without a name is hard to find."
Vicki rolled her head toward me as she passed me the joint. I took it, smoked it, and blew smoke at her. She smiled as the white mist swirled about her long, brownish-blonde hair. I could see a bit of Lana in her, not enough to call them sisters, but enough to call them cousins.
"So?" I asked.
"My uncle took me there," Vicki said. "He introduced me to that woman, Charlotte."
I nodded as Vicki looked at me.
My weed had a way of slowing down my thoughts. It was like gently pressing on the breaks of a car and slowing down as you approached a red light, hoping you didn't have to come to a stop before the light turned green again.
(I knew Charlotte by sight like I knew everyone who worked there by sight, but I didn't know them well enough to converse with them.)
"Your uncle?" I asked once Charlotte's face left my head. "That's...strange."
Vicki nodded and asked, "You know what's stranger?"
I think I did, but I said, "What?"
"He kissed me a week before he took me there."
That was close enough.
"I liked it," Vicki said, then added in a whisper, "I was hoping he would kiss me."
"We've all got our problems."
Vicki laughed, a soft chuckle, then she sighed.
"What's going on with you...Vicki?" I asked, thinking Diana was much better at this. So was Timmy. I was the "young" one. I didn't listen to people's problems; they listened to mine.
"I want to show you something, but you can't tell anyone," Vicki said. "Like the places we go."
I nodded, saying, "I won't."
(Keeping a secret is the one thing I can do well.)
"I'm just going to click a video," Vicki said. "Just know that Lana and I are cousins through our Dads, and our uncle is our Dads' oldest brother. He has a daughter named Cindy and...well, just watch."
"Okay," I thought, attempting to imagine what kind of fucked up shit I was about to see.
"Everything you're about to see was consensual."
(And the first thing I thought was: Oh, that kind of fucked up shit.)
It's hard to describe what I felt when is saw real incest for the first time. Disbelief: They can't really be related. Curiosity: What drives a person to do this with a relative? Disgust: Because I'm supposed to be disgusted. Shame: I've used my brother to "work off" my sexless aggression; I've gazed at my sister's naked body, wishing it was mine until my nipples hurt as I imagined all the top-shelf cock I could get if I had bigger tits, bigger hips, and Wonder Woman's body. Fascination: Incest is a dirty secret that would always be available to its practitioners. Jealousy: Why was their family so close? Intrusive Thoughts: Images of my brother, my sister, my mother, and my--unwanted, sexual scenarios that come and come and come and continue to come long after I witnessed the real thing until guilt and shame turn into a dangerous obsession and dark desire.
The first video I saw starred Cindy (a short blonde with a wholesome, girl-next-door appearance and a compact, My Little Pony, body) and her father, Vicki and Lana's uncle, in a pastel-colored hotel room, reminiscent of high-class gonzo skin flicks.
I didn't recognize Cindy from the places we go, but girls come and go from that place all the time.
"What's your name?" the "director" said, whose name was Steven S. Król.
"You know my name, Dad," Cindy said, her cheeks turning pink as she sat on the hotel bed wearing a jean skirt and a matching jacket, a white blouse, and brown UGGs.
"Play the part," her dad said. "This is roleplay."
Cindy rolled her eyes as her dad asked the question again, and she said, "Cindy."
"How old are you, Cindy?"
"Eighteen," she said.
"That's a sexy eighteen," her dad said. "What are you here for, Cindy?"
"I'm here to fuck," Cindy said, her face going red as she looked into the camera and said the words with a shoulder shimmy and forward-moving chin.
"Who are you here to fuck?"
"You," Cindy said.
"Who am I?" her dad said. "Tell everyone."
"You're my daddy," she said, her voice hesitant and her smile turning silly. "You're my real daddy, flesh-and-blood, and this is an incest video."
"Good girl," her dad said. "This is going to make your mom so proud of you."
Even with the simple dialogue, knowing what was going to happen, and the embarrassing way Cindy answered her father's questions did something to me I hadn't expected--I got warm between my legs. Warm and wet until the white crotch of my panties stuck to my smooth pussy lips. As the scene continued, I pressed my thighs together, rubbing them side to side as my nipples tightened, and that hot, tingling sensation swirled throughout my cunny and core.
(I was viewing a forbidden act, something twisted and sick and naughty--so very, very naughty.)
I took a hit of the join, saved the last toke for Vicki, and passed it over without looking at her. I heard her burn it and place the filter in the door's side pocket above the handle.
In the video, Cindy's daddy had her stripped down to her skirt and UGGs as she turned in a circle for him. She smiled at the camera, her peachy tan and big hair making her look like a beauty contestant.
"What are you wearing beneath your skirt, baby doll?" her father asked.
"I don't know," Cindy said, the blush in her cheeks no longer darkening, but it wasn't fading away either. She pulled her skirt up around her hips, baring her smooth-lipped beaver and her thick, brownish-blonde landing strip.
"Leave that skirt right there," her dad said.
Her dad entered the frame, already naked, already hard, his slender-to-athletic physique darkened by a tan. Cindy lay on the bed with her ass at the edge, and her father leaned over her, sucking her big, round tits into his mouth, really drooling all over her thick, pale, pink nipples. He moved down her body, sliding his cheek down her stomach and turning his face down to kiss her pubic hairs before kissing her pussy as he slid his hands beneath her round ass.
"Ohhhhh, Daddy," Cindy moaned, looking upward until her father told her to face the camera. She did, her blue eyes sparkling and her small mouth open as she moaned with each cunny lick between her thighs.
By now, I had my hands on my thighs with my fingers digging into my skin. My pussy wanted attention, so did my nipples, and my hands battled my mind as they tried to exert the force needed to drive them between my legs.
When Vicki's uncle stood with his good-sized, but not huge, cock pointing forward between his daughter's open legs, Vicki said, "Do you mind if I...you know...."
I whispered, "Whatever," as I kept my eye on the laptop's screen.
Cindy's dad didn't fuck around with his daughter. He kept her skirt up around her waist, grabbed her right leg with his left hand, picked her up, and tilted her body toward the camera so we could see her front at an angle. She spread her legs, opening her chestnut-toned pussy to the camera (like a good little girl *laughs*), and her father grabbed his dick with his right hand, slid his head through her juicy slit several times before punching his head between her small pussy lips.
"Ungh!" Cindy moaned, arching her back.
Her father pulled his cock out and punched it back into her muff, eliciting another sexy "Ungh!" from his daughter's lungs. She opened her mouth wide and looked down as he pulled out and punched his cock back into her, burying his meat in her softness to the middle of his shaft. He pulled out and buried even more of his cock up her tiny twat with another plunge through her wet crease. The roughness sent a tremor through my shoulders.
I crossed my arms under my small tits and gripped my sides, my fingers pressing into my ribs. Next to me, Vicki pulled her long hoodie up her legs. I glanced at her. She hadn't been wearing shorts or panties under her hoodie. (A couple of days later, I discovered she had gone pantyless throughout the day. She had even attempted to flash one of her younger teachers, but if he noticed, he never mentioned it to her.)
We watched as Cindy's Dad fucked her missionary at the side of the bed, then he turned her over and pumped her pussy from behind, banging his hips into her bubble butt and making her meaty strength ripple. He spun her toward the end of the bed, making her face the camera with her right leg straight, foot of the floor. He fucked her from behind for a while, half-standing, spanking his daughter's ass and pulling her hair back, forcing her to look into the camera while he deep-dicked her. She wore an expression of pleasure and strain as if keeping up with her father's hard fucking was almost too much for her little pussy and compact body.
Next to me, Vicki uttered soft, restrained moans, but I heard the slick, side-to-side swishing of her clit as Vicki slid her fingers across her pleasure pearl.
The video ended with Cindy's dad pulling his dick from his daughter's cunny and moving to her face as she lay parallel to the edge of the bed. He grabbed her by her brown hair, turned her face toward him, and fucked her panting mouth, pumping his hips hard as he forced-fucked his daughter's face with his wet pole. When he came, he dropped his first load onto her tongue and the next three across her face, then he held his cock by the neck and drizzled the last of his spew against his daughter's face. (It--was--so--fucking--nasty!)
(Fuck! My pussy was so wet then, and it's so wet now as I write this down.)
"Choose another, umm, video," Vicki said, her voice tight with holding back her excitement.
I glanced at her again. She had her right fingers on her clit and her left hand between her legs, digging open her pouty clam as she spread her legs open. The scent of her pussy filled the car, mixing with our smoke, and the combined thickness of the sex and weed propelled my mind backward as the world advanced, turning me into an observer outside of time.
There were dozens of videos on the flash drive, labeled with either Cindy's name or Lana's, or both, but none of Vicki. I opened the file labeled: Lana, The Cocksucking Girl Scout. It came on, and there stood Lana, in her uncle's living room, wearing a cropped white blouse tied between her big tits, white, knee-high stockings, black shoes, a pleated, green skirt with a thick waistband, and a green sash. (There was no mistaking this was a woman's uniform...a stripper's uniform.)
I watched the intro as Vicki masturbated next to me, her wet-pussy sounds bringing new life to my already buzzing clit. (There was no darkness between us. No anonymity. Here we were, able to see each other....) The little bead of love capping my narrow slit swelled until I thought it would burst, so I dug my fingers harder into my sides and kept my thighs pressed together. (If I had looked down between my legs, I would have seen a damp spot on the crotch of my jogger's cargo pants.)
"Hey, everyone, this is my niece, Lana," Uncle Steve said, holding his camera in the male POV style. "Why don't you tell everyone who's watching how old you are."
"I'm eighteen," Lana said, smiling while holding her hands behind her butt, pushing her titties out, her mixed features blending so well together she looked like an elf or some kind of fairytale creature.
"Tell me about your badges," her uncle said.
"Well," Lana said, looking down and swaying her shoulders front and back. "This is my badge for turning eighteen. This one is my badge for playing with myself. And this one is for handjobs. And this one is my Dirty Cocksucker's Badge, and this is my Deepthroat Badge, and this one is my Busted Hymen Badge, and this one is my Incest Badge...." Lana went on for some time.
"Why don't you show me how you earned your cocksuckers' badge," Uncle Steve said. "Let's go from your Cocksucker's Badge to your Deephroat Badge to your Cum-Swallowing Badge, okay?"
"Okay, Uncle Steve," Lana said.
I watched as Lana dropped to her knees and pulled out her uncle's cock. She took it in her right hand, held it up, and licked the bottom of it, then the sides, his dick looking thicker up close than it had when he had fucked his daughter raw and senseless. Lana licked her wet tongue around her uncle's corona, then slurped the head of his pecker between her lips, her cheeks moving as she worked her tongue around his head.
"Oh, yeah, you good little family cocksucker," Uncle Steve said, pointing the camera straight down.
"Thanks, Uncle," Lana said, wetly popping her lips from his dick before sucking the flesh-pop back into her mouth. She stared up at the camera with her blue irises, the bright color at odds with her Asian eyes, but the exoticness of it made her look so fucking hot.
As Lana sucked and slurped on her uncle's dick, he moaned and groaned, said dirty words to her, calling her a "Naughty bitch" and a "Nasty little niece" and a "Naughty little dick sucker" and other things that made my pussy cream. Vicki's moans grew louder as her uncle talked, and Lana's cocksucking became fiercer, wetter, and with sudden gags and chokes that made her eyes tear up and my pussy hot.
As sexy as the blowjob was, I had to switch to a video of Lana getting her pussy fucked. I found one where Lana's usually light skin had been sun-toasted to a golden brown. I scrubbed the seek bar forward to a time where Lana lay on her back, and her uncle stood on his knees close to her ass and the meaty crescent of her labia. They were on a bed, with Lana's head and shoulders jammed into some pillows braced against the headboard. Uncle Steve put her feet on his shoulders, aimed his curved cock between her thighs, and sank into the mushy softness between her soft pussy folds.
"Uh," Lana grunted as her uncle gave her pussy a top-to-bottom thrust that buried his bone up her snatch and banged his balls against her asshole. "Uh--uh, uh, uh-uh-uh!"
"Mmm, fuck," Vicki moaned through her clenched teeth.
"He," I said, working my throat to get some moisture in my throat. "He doesn't take it easy on you girls, does he?"
"No," Vicki said, shaking her head. "I don't know, uh, yet. I've only, mmm, kissed him."
As Uncle Steve pounded Lana's little pussy, Vicki worked her own pussy faster, bringing a deep fragrance into the air that overpowered the stench of weed. My hands jerked, fighting my mind to get between my legs, or at least on my titties, but the most I gave into my body's demands was to rub my forearms over my nipples.
"You're fucking me hard-hard-hard, Uncle Steve," Lana whimpered, staring up into the camera. "Oh, fuck, so fucking hard, uh, mmm, oh, I'm gonna come! Oh, fuck, I'm gonna come!"
"Yeah, come, you little bitch," Uncle Steve moaned.
When her cousin came, Vicki came, spreading her legs wide as she pushed herself against her seat's backrest. She opened her legs, and I looked down at her glistening pink twat, her little fingers disappearing into her small hole. Her wet lips lay open, folded back, sticky and wet. My own pussy throbbed, screaming at me to mess it up and leave it tender to the touch.
I shivered as the video came to an end.
"Are you going to fuck him?" I asked her as the video looped around and played again.
"I don't know," Vicki said, still breathing hard. "I don't want him to be my first. I don't want to fall in love with my uncle."
I uttered a soft, quick laugh that was more like an expulsion of breath than a laugh.
"Do you want to choose another one?" Vicki asked.
It took me half a minute of watching Lana again before I said, "Sure."
My eyes moved over the video titles, ranging from handjobs to anal sex to DPs with toys and rough bondage, but then I found one labeled Cindy & Lana, Two Cute Clam Bumpers. My finger hovered over the cursor pad before I tapped it several times, barely touching it as I thought of the pussy sitting next to me and almost against my will, my finger stamped down twice, hard enough to initiate the video.
We watched it together, and as soon as Uncle Steve had his daughter spread her legs, and Lana spread hers, then press their pussies together with their legs scissored, Vicki asked, "Can I... touch you?"
Her words exploded in my mind, but not loudly. They sounded muted and far away, but big and billowing, almost shaking. I knew she asked the question again but heard the words "Can I touch you" echo throughout my consciousness.
Can I touch you? Can I touch you? Can I touch you?
I watched Lana and her cousin bump clams, grinding their hairless pussies against each other, their legs intertwined, their titties shaking, the pussy lips tribbing.... I watched, and the heat burning beneath my mound turned my small, untouched, virgin pussy into liquid.
Can I touch you? Can I touch you? Can I touch you?
I didn't answer Vicki, but slowly, I slid my right hand from my left side, and at an even slower pace, I lowered my hand to my waist, where the white drawstrings cinched my pants tight to my body lay. I traced one of the strings with my fingers, tugged at it, toyed with it, then, as my heartbeat thumped beneath my chest with a heavy, almost suffocating beat that vibrated between my ears, I pulled my drawstrings loose.
Not another thought went through my head before Lana crossed the distance between us and pushed her left hand between my legs as she circled my body with her right arm. She cupped my little pussy, held it, squeezed it, sending shivers of pleasure through me as my muffin wet itself at the eagerness of her touch. Her fingers found my clitty, rubbed it, moved lower, and slipped between my lips, no finesses, but the roughness of her small digits sent a thrill through me that pushed my hips forward. I laid my left forearm on Vicki's back, my hand up near her neck. Vicki yanked my crop top up with her teeth, took my tiny left titty into her mouth, and sucked.
"Uh, fuck," I moaned, my voice filling the car. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
I closed my eyes, threw my head back, and pushed my pussy against Vicki's fingers. In they went, out they came, my sticky honey drenching us both. In and out, in and fucking out, my pussy humming the entire time. She sucked on one nipple, then the other, then she pulled her fingers from my pussyhole, bringing a loud, "Noooo," from my mouth until she pressed down on my clit and rubbed the slick pearl in circles, forcing a loud "Yessss" from my lungs.
Time passed, and we struggled against each other. Vicki pressed her hands against me, her fingers into me, and her mouth over me. I pushed my body against her, turning so I could lean into the corner of the backseat, and she could move over me, one hand between my legs, the other behind my head, and her mouth sucking on my titties in turn. Somewhere in the clusterfuck of first times, a burning heat swept through my body. I got hot, so hot, so fucking hot before the heat spread outward, and as it moved through my body, it pulled a string within me, releasing the plug that kept my pleasure in check. Ecstasy exploded through my body--it surged out of me with the force of an atomic blast, and I came and came, wetting Vicki's hand, my panties, my pants, and her backseat.
Fuck, did I come and come. The more Vicki touched me, the more I came, one right after another, my pussy singing until silent tears wet my eyes and body trembled, buzzing all over. I put my hands on Vicki's shoulders and pushed, growling, "Enough! Enough! Please, fuck--enough!"
Vicki fell back against her door, breathing hard and staring at me. I hadn't opened my eyes, but I felt her gaze drilling into me. When I opened them, I met her eyes but said nothing as the video continued to play for the third time. Lana and Cindy's moans and our heavy breathing were the only sound in the car for the next several minutes.
"We should go," I panted, turning forward in my seat and fixing my clothes. "We should go."
"Okay," Vicki said, fixing her hoodie dress. "You okay?"
I laughed. I didn't look at her, so I don't know how she took my laughter, but I laughed for half a minute or more before I said, "I'm better than okay, but I need to get home and think about this."
"Okay," Vicki said. "Me too."
She drove me to my street in silence, and I boarded around my neighborhood until the wet spot on my pants dried before I returned home.
(Fuck, after writing this, I'm in the mood to wrestle.)
Entry #12 - Am I Strange?
I have said that things have gotten "strange" in my house, haven't I?
Well, things have become much stranger since I last wrote that down, but I'll write about "the how and the why" another time.
(I should burn this journal; I really should. I'm going to meditate on it, but there's so much more to write.)
I'm off to wrestle my brother; I've earned it.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone