Kapitel 2704: NICE FAMILY VACATION

My parents decided to take the whole family to France for 2 weeks that summer, back in the 80s, when I was in college. There were 4 of us: Mom and Pop, my sister Alyssa and me. Our parents were sitting behind us so we all had window seats or the one next to it. I decided to be nice to my kid sister by giving her the window seat to enjoy the view.

Alyssa was crying before the plane's nose started to rise. She tried to hide it, quietly and not saying anything, but she turned around when I said something about being on our way and her eyes were red and cheeks wet. Instinctively, I knew she was not still upset about her messy breakup with the guy she dated all the way through high school. I took her hand, and she squeezed back.

"Are you afraid of flying?"

"Don't say anything!"

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"Everyone was so excited about this trip, I was afraid to say anything."

To comfort her, I squeezed her hand back. "Well, we are flying now. Maybe we can get you some alcohol to calm you down."

"They don't serve you unless you are 21. I checked. Until we get to France, they won't serve 18-year-olds."

"Are there any drinking ages in France?"

"I don't think so," she answered.

"Well, until we get there, I will sneak you some." The flight attendant checked my ID—in this case, my passport—and still looked at me like it was a fake driver's license at a bar. No one in my family looked their age, and she obviously did not believe I could legally drink.

She was impressed with how well I held my liquor, though. As the flight went on, I kept asking for more of those little mini-bottles. Alyssa was drinking Coke, so I kept ordering rum. In order to avoid suspicion, both our cups were on the tray in front of me; Alyssa kept hers folded up, making it easy to pour into her drink without anyone paying attention.

It worked, too. First, she relaxed. Then, she got sleepy. By the time they served dinner and dimmed the lights, she was leaning on her pillow against the window.

"Sleepy?"

"Yes, but this is so uncomfortable!" She pounded the pillow, trying to fluff it.

"Here," I said, raising the center armrest. Lean this way. My shoulder's more comfortable than that wall."

Impressed that I knew about the armrest, discovered while flying back and forth to college, she rested her pillow against my shoulder and the edge of my chair and leaned over. Alyssa was tiny at 5'2" and thin, so her weight didn't bother me and her head did not get in the way. In seconds, she was asleep.

"She isn't keeping you company?" The flight attendant asked in a flirty way. "Would you like some more rum, or perhaps a blanket for your girlfriend?"

"Sure, both will be great, thanks. But, she isn't..." I stopped, realizing she paid me quite a compliment.

Alyssa was pretty: very blonde, with amazing green eyes that everyone commented on. Her 105 pounds distributed over her short frame so nicely, my friends had drooled over her far back as I could remember, overlooking her nerdy style. Prettier than my girlfriend, in fact, which is one of the problems with having a gorgeous sister. I was nerd, too, so nerdiness did not bother me.

And, she was lying against me exactly the way my girlfriend would have. My own fault for folding up the armrest, which probably would have sounded pervy if the flight attendant knew she was my sister.

My parents chatted through the gap in the seats for a while, but wine made them sleepy, too. I can't sleep on a plane, so I read and watched movies. Alyssa wrapped her arm around mine when I returned from stretching my legs, so I put the blanket over us and tried to snooze for a few minutes.

Never quite falling asleep but I did drift a bit until a jolt of turbulence over Greenland or somewhere jostled me fully awake. My hand was on Alyssa, and she stirred from the bump, so I squeezed to reassure her without thinking where my hand was. Under the blanket, I moved in an effort to determine where my hand was.

I was rubbing the inside of her thigh!

Just as I started to ease my hand away before she noticed, she wrapped her arms tighter around mine, locking it down where it was, and her head snuggled against her pillow, which, by then, was down on my chest.

Pervy as it felt, her thigh felt nice. I tried not to figure out how high it was, hopefully not as high as I imagined, tried not to squeeze again—basically left it where she held it and tried to focus on the movie. Alyssa moved, and that tugged on the cord of the headset, pulling it off the ear on her side. My natural reaction was to use the hand on her leg, but controlled that impulse and managed to get it on with my left hand.

Soft, yet tight through her jeans...okay, I forced myself not to think about the inside of my sister's thigh.

More turbulence about 20 minutes later jolted her awake, and she let go of my arm and I let go of her thigh and acted like it was completely normal. She sat up and fluffed her hair. "Oh, I've gotta go to the bathroom!"

Before I could get my tray up and stand to let her out, she was on her feet and scootching past, her little ass less than an inch from my face, and I wondered how I had missed how tight her jeans were?

Pop reached up between the seats to tap my shoulder. It made me jump with fright. "What's going on?"

My heart stopped. What had he seen? "What do you mean?"

"This movie. I still don't know what a blade runner is."

"I am lost, too," I admitted." For the last 20 minutes or so, I was not paying much attention.

When she returned, she picked up a paperback. I asked, "What are you reading?"

"Flowers in the Attic."

"What's it about?"

"It's like a Gothic horror romance."

"Any good?"

"It's pretty amazing," she answered.

The rest of the flight went normally, neither one of us letting on anything inappropriate had taken place. Did she sleep through it? Probably. Whew!

We landed in Marseille, a rough, industrial city on the Mediterranean coast, France's second largest city. It was morning, and at the train station we boarded a filthy, yet somehow romantic train car. The countryside captivated us as we followed a beautiful coastal path across vineyards, through mountains, and occasionally just upon the edge of the Mediterranean. After almost a day of travel to Marseille, and then train from Marseille to the Riviera, we arrived at our destination, Nice.

Pop is the one who labeled it our Nice Family Vacation, mixing up the pronunciation between the English nice and the French city name of Nice. When he said, "Nice," someone invariably pronounced it in the other language. Yeah, we were a family of dorks. That first day was a blur from the jet lag. I didn't know much about Nice, but it looked like the Duran Duran video for Rio. After an early dinner, we all crashed before sunset and slept for 12 hours.

The next day we took a sightseeing tour to get our bearings and learn about the city. We hit a museum. The last time I spent this much time with Alyssa, we were kids. To my surprise, she was fun and laughed at my corny jokes. She really had changed this last year I was away at college. When I left, she was still a hormony, self-absorbed teenage nerd. Before that, I was a hormony, self-absorbed teenage boy, so years had passed since we got along.

The food in Nice is fantastic! Fresh seafood, traditional French cuisine, patisseries on every corner—I was ready to skip my senior year at college and stay right here! The four of us sipped red wine at sunset overlooking the Mediterranean when Alyssa planned our next day. "Can we go to the beach tomorrow?"

Everyone was enthusiastic, but Mom cautioned, "Luckily, the resort is not one of those topless beaches they have here."

And that's how my mother ruined my first day at the beach on the French Riviera.

Don't get me wrong—it was a great beach full of gorgeous, tanned women in tiny bikinis—some of the tiniest I have ever seen. But they all wore tops, and ever since my Pop mentioned going to Nice, I thought, nice! Titties at the beach! Alyssa looked good, I noticed, but her bikini looked scandalously conservative on this beach.

Also, we found out it's not a beach as we in America think of one. Beaches are composed of two essential elements: sea and sand. The Med was there, its blue waves washing gently ashore every few seconds. There was no sand, though. This "beach" was billions of rocks ranging in size from small to tiny—rocks of every size except sand. Thank god for the lounge chairs the hotel provides for its guests.

That night, our parents turned in, leaving me in charge of babysitting my 18-year-old sister while she enjoyed legal wine. Okay, not exactly babysitting, because we had fun. Alyssa wasn't half bad, now that she'd grown out of her snotty phase. She was naturally nerdy, and I think struggling to try to fit in with the cool kids took a lot of energy.

She had been popular with the guys, though. And, come fall, frat boys would swoop down on her again. For now, though, she and I enjoyed the dorkiness of a Nice family vacation.

"I need your help." Sure, I agreed. "Tomorrow, I want to go to the beach. The thing is, I want to try a topless beach, so they can't know."

My heart suffered momentary arrhythmia. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Tell her we're going somewhere else. We need to get away from them and have an alibi."

"We?"

"You don't think I'm going to a topless beach by myself, do you?"

"Well, yeah." The only person on the planet less likely for her to take to a topless beach was Pop—and only by a close margin.

"It's not going to make you feel uncomfortable, is it? I mean, I assumed you would enjoy being around hundreds of topless women."

"Well, yeah," I said again, still somewhat dumbstruck. "The thing is one particular topless woman will be there, and I am surprised you want me around to see."

"Well, if that bothers you..."

"No, it's just..."

"Because, with all the foxy Frenchies running around topless, I assumed you wouldn't notice."

It is so cute when women are so utterly clueless. I suppose women chuckle at us guys when we completely fail to understand something equally obvious about the other sex. The fact that she might actually imagine me disinterested in seeing my sister's boobs shocked me in its naivety. Alyssa is a smart girl. Perhaps smarter than I gave her credit for—or crueller than I credited her with.

"Well, I can try to focus on all those other naked boobies instead of yours."

"Oh, god!" Emeralds rolled around her eye sockets. "If I thought you wanted to see mine, I wouldn't take you with me."

"What do you think the point of a topless beach is, exactly?"

"Okay, point made. But I am sure there will be hundreds of boobs more interesting than mine."

Our hotel was suites, and our parents had one bedroom, Alyssa and I shared the other. Neither of us thought about it that first night, because we were so tired, and the second just felt like a family trip of a decade ago, when our parents got 2 rooms and left us in one. My mind was so obsessed with our trip to the beach the next day that, when Alyssa went to her bed in her bulky PJs, I asked what was about 50% a legitimate request.

"To avoid me gawking tomorrow when we're, you know, at the beach, I was thinking..."

"Uh-huh..."

"Maybe it would be a good idea if you take off your top tonight, so tomorrow I will be used to it by then."

"You want me to take off my top? Here?"

"Well, you are going to tomorrow, so why not?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Why? So you can look at them?"

"Well, since I will see them tomorrow..."

"No. Absolutely not. You are so weird."

Can't blame a guy for trying, right?

Sleep did not come easy that night. Anticipating spending the day with your sister's naked tits has a way of keeping you aroused. In every way. So many scenarios ran through my head, complete with clever lines to respond to each—I was ready for anything!

Basically, we told our parents the truth: we were going to the beach again. We just left out we were not going to the beach at our family-friendly resort. We went a mile down the road to Nice Beach.

Let's just say, Nice Beach is not as nice as you imagine. Nor did it meet Alyssa's sales pitch. First of all, the main difference from our hotel's private beach was the absence of chaise lounge chairs. Everywhere, people lay on towels atop thousands of hard, lumpy, uncomfortable rocks. Semi-prepared for this, we each had a small towel and we packed a large, double towel, the size of a blanket for a double bed.

Second, yet far more disappointing, were the sights. Sure, there were hundreds of topless women there, breasts bronzed dark as the rest of their bodies. I'm going to guess their average age was 57. Sure, there were women in their teens and twenties, a few hotties in their thirties—crowded as the beach was, the closest to where we laid our towels was probably 75 feet. Big, shapeless sacks or golf balls in tanned socks made up no less than 80% of the bare breasts on this beach.

"Um, you are going to be popular here," I snarked.

"Maybe we should leave."

"Sure, if that's what you want," I said. And, if she did want to leave, I would lead the way for her. But I was not giving up that easy. "Why did you come here? Did you want to flirt with guys our age or compare your assets to 25-year-old French starlets?"

"No, I just wanted to have the full French experience and feel free like Bridget Bardot."

Bridget's grand-mère might be here somewhere. "Avoir de l'expérience." It either means have the experience or to be experienced. I still had a week and a half to learn French.

"Promise not to look?"

"Oh, I will look." I brought my camera, too.

There was genuine fear on her face, her eyes wide and green as she contemplated facing her fear. Shaky fingers unbuttoned her white shirt with thin blue stripes from the bottom up. Sea breeze caught it, blowing it open, revealing a tight sky-blue tee-shirt underneath, her final chance to chicken out. Tight enough to reveal, with the outer shirt laying on the towel, that she wore nothing under it.

"Here goes nothing!"

One of the last words I might have chosen was nothing. Rien in French, spoken with that sexy blurring of the R and the N sounds. No, this was going to be something. Quelque chose d'exceptionnel!

Her breasts hung for a fraction of a second on the hem of the stretchy blue shirt, lifting them, and when the fabric let go, they bounced quite impressively. Breasts always look so good when a woman's arms are raised, and my sister's were no exception. When those arms dropped, they looked fantastic, too.

Alyssa wore B-cups; I knew this from the laundry around the house, a fact that puzzled me. My girlfriend also had Bs, but looked a full size smaller both fully dressed and, now, bare. And they had a lovely hang, however slight, the way large breasts do. Skin of alabaster, so white it appeared translucent and contrasted with the tanned skin round them, making them stand out even more than they otherwise would. Rose nipples, large and light, were located high on her breasts and slightly turned out, away from the center toward the sides.

Those nipples reminded me a little of Marty Feldman. Many of you probably don't know what I'm talking about, but back then, he was quite popular, and died suddenly shortly before our trip. When he appeared on screen, all eyes were on his eyes pointed away to the sides. You just couldn't look away, as I could not look away from Alyssa's breasts.

The comparison ends there.

Her eyebrows drew down, presumably warning me to put my jaw back in place, and she whirled around and lay on the towel. Her breasts glowed in the famous sunlight and my dick began inflating despite my best efforts to control the damn thing, so I quickly lay down beside her, praying a tent pole did not arise inside my pants.

"Oh, almost forget the sunblock!"

Sweet holy Jesus! She rubbed Coppertone 30 into the skin of those beautiful breasts! Back then, sunblock was a white, oily cream that, as she rubbed it across that pallid skin and over her nipples, looked exactly like she was rubbing jism all over her tits! I had to put my book over my lap.

Soon as she covered every inch of her breasts and looked beyond amazing doing so, she lay a small, folded hand towel across her face the way she usually does while sunbathing to keep the sun off her face, which always has seemed counter-intuitive while sunbathing. To keep her complexion from getting too dark, she explained—again, pretty much the opposite of sunbathing's purpose. This time, I think, she either used it to hide or as blinders to keep from seeing the dozens of eyes aimed at her. Hundreds.

"Are you looking at my tits?"

"Does honest count?"

"Yes."

"Then, yes."

"Stop-stop!" A hand blindly swatted toward me, hitting me on the third or fourth try before she started laughing. It was magnificent when she laughed. They shook like two large bowls of vanilla pudding with giant cherries on top. "Is anyone looking at me?"

"I don't know."

"Why not?"

"Because you are laying there topless, so it's difficult for me to see anything else." Vanilla pudding again shook magnificently, but this time, she remembered precisely where she located my arm, and instead of an open hand, swung a curled fist with the middle finger out to induce maximum pain.

A beatdown from the Road Warriors would have been worth it for this view.

"Stop looking at my tits!"

"Okay."

"Stop looking at my tits!"

"OKAY! I'm not looking at your tits!"

"What are you looking at?"

"You left a little streak of sunscreen on your sternum, right between your tits. If you want, I can wipe it off or rub it in or something."

Cherries shook atop the vanilla pudding again. "I hate you."

"I know. For good reason, too."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"At least say something!"

"About your..."

"I know you're thinking something, and I know how guys judge, and I'm feeling extremely vulnerable and foolish and vain and I need to hear you say something other than avoiding saying what you are thinking."

"Honesty still count?"

"Yes—I think."

Funny how all the English superlatives are virtually the same in French. Superb. Sublime. Marvelous. Remarkable. "Magnifique."

"Really? You aren't just saying that to make me feel better about lying here topless in front of God and everybody?"

"Stop worrying! Honestly, they are beautiful." How I avoided using the word perfect I still do not understand.

Her little towel over her face was the second-best part of this whole experience, because I could look the whole time without her confirming her suspicions. My wood got out of hand and threatened to tip over the book tent erected to hide it, so I rolled over so dozens of rocks could poke it painfully. And what a blessing that pain was, causing the swelling to go down. My view was almost as good, and allowed me to turn my face toward her without the appearance of ulterior motive.

When she lifted her towel and saw me prone on the rocks, she too, rolled over. "Ouch!"

"Rocks?"

"Until this very second, I didn't know how sensitive my boobs are.""I'll have to take your word for that."

"But you have sensitive things there, too. Doesn't it hurt?"

"I'm good." The way her breasts bulged out to the sides under her looked almost as hot as when she lay on her back, so I still needed the pain. "How did it feel being topless in front of...all these people?"

"The strangest combination of powerful and defenseless. You know the least likely girl to show her boobs in public is me, so this is so far outside my comfort zone. Knowing they were looking at me turned me on a little, if I'm honest about it."

"How did knowing I was looking make you feel?"

Instead of answering, she said, "Join me for a swim?"

Large flat rocks smooth as glass lay under the shallow waves. A few steps out, Alyssa's foot shot off a slippery rock, her feet lifted up in front of her like a cartoon, and she landed painfully on her little ass. I should have guessed, but I suppose I never contemplated how falling on your ass makes boobs fly around in the most remarkable way. Taking my offered hand, she struggled to her feet, and together we inched hand in hand across the rocks into deeper water, where her boobs floated and we could swim.

So much adrenaline coursed through our veins that we started splashing each other like we were 7 and 10 again, and I'm sure her squeals carried all the way down the beach. Don't ask how, but I somehow choked back the urge to grab those bouncy, floating boobs right there in front of me.

Not somehow—she's my sister, and in all those scenarios worked out the night before, grabbing her breasts in public worked out badly. It's not like we could avoid each other for a few days, and if my parents got wind of it—well, they did invent the Guillotine in France.

Alyssa lay on her back again when we returned to our towels. Watery beads clung to them, and once in a while, one rolled down. Once they dried, she rubbed schmoo over them again, bringing on another boner. This time, I decided not to hide it. I wasn't wearing a Speedo like most of the men drooling over my sister's titties.

On the way home, we stopped for wine, then again at a few patisseries along the way. I loved anything made from pears, a taste totally ignored in the States; Alyssa loved anything filled with crème, so we sampled each other's sweets, too. Hell, I'd have eaten anything in those stores. Anything.

Our parents were out, probably visiting another Medieval cathedral. While Alyssa showered, I sat on the balcony with a glass of White and remembered every single detail. Every curve, every pastel shade, now tight her nipples were when she got out of the water. The gooseflesh.

Her bikini bottom dripped from the towel bar when it was my turn in the shower. I just couldn't take it anymore. Still sporting wood, I hung my bathing suit next to hers, sat on the closed toilet seat and began pumping away.

Just before I came, the door opened. I have no fucking clue what she was doing, whether she wanted to catch me getting into the shower to make us sort of even or just goofing around or if she simply did not hear the shower and forgot I was there, but the door swung open and she walked right in.

The moment she saw me, she froze in mid-step, her wet hair flying out when she suddenly stopped. Her jaw dropped, probably like mine did when her boobs first popped out the bottom of her tee-shirt, green eyes bulged enormous, and she watched as my wad shot halfway across the bathroom.

"Oh, hell!"

"Sorry," I said as my next shot of jism shot out, not nearly as far and kept stroking, because it felt so damn good and I needed the relief after hours of nonstop sensual torture and temptation. She slammed the door behind her, and by the time I finished, the tile needed a thorough cleaning.

Explaining was useless. We both understood exactly what happened. I only hoped she had done the same in her shower, maybe using the handheld shower head on herself, between her legs. Not that she should because she had seen her big brother topless her whole life, at pools and the beach, even around the house. Today was nothing different, nothing special. Not like it was for me.

From spending a day with the most beautiful breasts on the Riviera to abject humiliation. Even by my standards, an epic failure.

Following the prematurely sticky end to my beach trips with my topless sister, we resumed sightseeing with our parents. Alyssa and I avoided even looking at each other, although when she turned away, my eyes followed her. Dressed conservatively sent a message impossible to miss.

At just over 300 years old, Nice Cathedral is centuries newer than most in France. Still, our parents toured it, and we followed along. Did the detached white bell tower alongside also scream out a painful reminder of yesterday, like it did me?

Afterward, we went to the splendid Russian Orthodox Cathedral, like our parents were trying to tell us something. This one was only a century old and looked like it belonged in Moscow, not the South of France. I was in a little alcove when I heard footsteps behind me.

"I owe you an apology." Alyssa stood there looking adorably contrite and restrained. Even after the day before, she had an innocence, perfect for inside this church.

"Don't be silly; I should have locked the door."

"Not about that." Those green eyes looked up from the floor, into mine. "Had I known how it would affect you, I never would have put you through that yesterday."

Okay, I was confused. "Put me through what?"

"I put you in a terrible position by asking you to go to a nude beach with me. It never occurred to me how seeing me naked might cause conflicting emotions, in both of us."

"What conflicting emotions do you have?"

She began rocking like a shy little girl giving a presentation in front of a classroom. "Same as yours, I suspect."

"I don't understand."

After checking over her shoulder to make sure the coast was clear, she asked, "When we came home and, you know...were you thinking about me?"

"Does honesty still count?"

"I am being honest with you."

Well, then, here goes! "Yes, I was thinking about you. Does that bother you?"

"No, I suspected that."

"How did you feel when I looked at your body?"

"Warm and afraid. Wrong as I know it was, it felt good and I wanted you to look at me—to enjoy looking at me. I wasn't that afraid about a bunch of French strangers seeing my body, I was afraid of you seeing me."

"Afraid of what?"

"Afraid you might not like what you saw."

"How could any man look at you and not like what he saw? I may be your brother, but I am also a man who can recognize beauty when I see it."

Whispering even quieter and venturing a step closer, she asked, "Isn't it wrong for us to feel that way?"

"Probably. It's also probably natural." I looked around at the religious icons everywhere around us. "I've never been to confession in a church before. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

"Forgive me, brother, for I have sinned." Before I could ask her any of the thousands of questions spinning around inside my head, she turned and left me alone in the alcove.

Outside, we trailed behind our parents, out of earshot, although we avoided saying anything improper. Our hands brushed against each other a few times as we walked. Vincent van Gogh came to paint in the South of France because of the colors here, and her emerald irises were the most beautiful color in the city. We followed our parents into a patisserie.

"This is so delicious," I said, eating mine.

Alyssa asked, "What is it?"

"No idea, but it looked great and tastes even better."

"Can I try yours? I will trade you a taste of mine."

Mine, some sort of puff pastry thing, crumbled under a fork, so rather than cut her a piece, I lifted up what was left. Rather than taking it with her fingers, she leaned down and took it with her mouth straight from my fingers, her lips closing over my fingertips. It was hot as fuck! So hot, in fact, I expected my parents to explode.

"Anyone want to try mine?" Mom held up half a Napoleon, which everyone cut a sliver from. Pop offered samples of his apple torte, and I looked at Alyssa. "Don't you owe me some of that?"

Hers was a puff pastry topped with crimson cherries and sprinkled with sugar. She bit half off, then held up the rest for me. Like her, I bit it out of her fingers, and with a little shove, she got fingers inside my mouth, too. It was getting insanely hot in there.

"Anyone else want to try another one?" Alyssa addressed her question to our parents, to break the sexual tension.

"I need to walk this one off, I'm afraid," Mom said.

Pop said he did, too. "Why don't those of you with high metabolisms have another? We've got a dinner reservation for six, so meet us at the hotel by 5:30 and we should be fine."

Behind the counter, a worker was putting a dozen white pastries shaped like breasts on display. My sister giggled. "Oh my gosh! What are those?"

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?"

"Capezzoli di venere," she answered with a grin.

"Deux, s'il vous plait," I turned to my sister, "because they always come in pairs."

Alyssa's skin glowed a brilliant red as we each lifted a Nipple of Venus, as I now know they are called and I held mine up as a toast, and she bumped her nipple against mine before we took bites.

"Oh, these are amazing," she said, still blushing, "you, on the other hand, are terrible!"

Innocently, I asked, "What?"

After dinner, we drank red wine as a family at one of those tiny round sidewalk tables and felt très French. I could not take my eyes off my sister, and she looked everywhere but at me. Still a bit jet-lagged, we all were tired by 9:30 and went back to our suite. Mom and Pop said goodnight and left us.

"Now we have to share a room for the night."

"Is that going to be a problem?" She shot emeralds at me as an answer.

I blocked her way into the room when she emerged from the bathroom in her PJs. Bulky and unflattering, she dressed for a cold night months away. Her finger poked me in the chest. "You should put on pajamas and get into your bed."

"Aren't you going to be hot wearing that?"

"I am going to be safe wearing this. And don't ask me if I would be more comfortable without this top, so I don't have to lie about it." Her hand had remained by my chest, and she began wiping it as though brushing off lint, and it didn't pass without notice that she brushed where breasts would be if this was her chest. Then she pointed to her bed. "I should probably..."

"Yes, you should."

Instead, she continued wiping imaginary dirt from me. "Tomorrow, do you want to stop for more of those nipple pastries?"

"They were delicious, weren't they?"

"Funny, I always pictured you more as a butt-guy. Look at what I've learned about my brother on this family getaway."

"Oh, I like breasts. I liked those, and I like yours." Using the back of my hand, I brushed away lint that may or may not have been on her breast. She allowed it, for two or three light strokes across the round bulge inside her pajama top before stepping away.

"We can stop on the way back from La Reserve--if you will go there with me."

"What is La Reserve?"

"It's another beach," she said as she slowly walked around me. "It's close—we can walk from town. They say it has a diving board 20' high where you can swan-dive into the sea. Oh, it's a topless beach; I hope you don't mind."

This just might be a better vacation than I dared to imagine.I am not much of a shopper, which is a shame, because Nice's streets are lined with shops of all sizes selling every kind of souvenir, designer clothes, Rolexes--you name it, they sell it. My sister Alyssa shops, so when she dragged me into a shop, it annoyed the hell out of me because each second spent shopping was another second I had to wait until my sister took her top off again.

I dreamed of her tits last night. In my dream, her breasts tasted like those pastries, delicious chocolaty chestnut hidden under pure white fondant topped with a large cherry circle of light pink. I sucked the pink cherries and the white cream coating, and the chocolate chestnut filling melted in my mouth. Hottest dream of my entire life!

This shop sold women's clothing, while all I wanted was one particular woman without her clothing. An 18-year-old blonde American. She led me to the back, to a table covered with bikinis, one of which she held up a tiny one of green and gold fabric. Very little little fabric. At the waist, a little gold chain held the front and back pieces together.

"What do you think of this?"

"It's...tiny."

"The sizes are different here, I'm not sure which size to buy. Do you think this one is too small?"

"Too small as in too sexy, or too small as in..."

Glaring at me, she answered, "Too small. I'm not sure about the coverage."

"The point obviously is not to cover much."

"Maybe I should try it on for you."

"Do they have one size larger?"

She held one up, slightly larger, perhaps large enough to cover the important bits. "That's what I thought. I was afraid to try them on because I don't know what the rules are here in France. They might make me buy it if I try it."

She wore it to the beach under shorts. The slightly larger size. Seeing how little the larger one covered, I almost wish she had modeled the smaller one for me--that would have been some show!

If anything, her breasts were more mesmerizing the second time. The sunscreen did a wonderful job, her breasts still carved from white marble despite the sun two days before. Her nipples blushed perhaps a brighter pink, making me wonder if the sun may have kissed them a little too much. What does a sunburned nipple look like?

As she pulled the Coppertone from her bag, I asked, "Need any help applying that?"

For the briefest second, she hesitated, and I knew she almost answered differently. "That's probably not a good idea. An interesting one, to be sure, but not a good one."

"What's the worst that could happen?"

"Same as the best that could happen, I guess; we might like it."

"Might? Admit it--you'd love it." She is not the only one who would love it. I tried to think of something to bring back the vanilla shake, but seeing her topless again rendered my brain basically non-functional.

"Want to hear something funny? If Daryl hadn't dumped me, can you imagine me doing this? I'd feel like I was cheating on him if I went topless in front of God and everybody."

"Thanks, Daryl," I said, eliciting a slight milk shake. "We haven't talked much about it. How are you doing with it?"

"Oh, you know. It sucks, yet at the same time I feel free for the first time since my sophomore year when we started dating."

This way of celebrating her freedom was highly enjoyable. "Still miss him? Or are you over him?"

"Oh, I don't know. I've moved into the anger phase, but how angry can I be in such a wonderful place having so much fun? Isn't this place magical?"

"I'm having a great time."

"So am I. Thought I would be missing Daryl and feeling miserable, but instead I'm having a great time and enjoying every minute of it."

No one enjoyed her freedom to sunbathe topless more than me. "Well, good for you! Don't let him drag you down."

"You deserve some of the credit."

"How?"

Lifting her towel off her face enough to peek out at me from under it, she said, "Haven't you figured it out by now?"

I will admit to being to being totally clueless. "Tell me!"

"Without you here, this could have been pretty boring. Who knew you could be so fun to hang out with? It's almost like having a boyfriend here without all the stress and drama."

"Well, you can always feel free around me. In my experience, most of the time, dating isn't nearly as fun as it should be."

"This is fun, isn't it?" She turned her head and lifted up the little handtowel covering the tender skin of her face to look at me. "The beach, I mean. More relaxing than the first time."

Hell yes! Perhaps more relaxing, but not one tiny bit less entertaining. I played it cool, though and agreed. She pointed to the side, using the opposite arm across her body, which pushed up one boob magnificently. "There's the diving board. I dare you to dive off."

What she described as a diving board was not exactly my idea of a diving board. What it really was puzzled me, but a couple of kids jumped as we watched, falling about 20 feet to splash into the blue Mediterranean. Another followed, doing a flip. It looked scary as hell, but topless girls yield great powers, and the power topless sisters possess is virtually unlimited. "Sure. Are you going to come watch?"

Heads swiveled to watch her pass as we hiked down to the end of the beach. I can't blame them, either, because Alyssa walks with a bounce in her step that is simply captivating when she's topless. "Oh, remind me when we get back: I got a little sunburn on my back the other day, so I will need you to put sunscreen on me later."

Not as fun as rubbing it on her front, but the thought stirred my loins, raising the question of how seriously can you be injured diving 20 feet with a boner?

Neither stairs nor ladder led to the diving platform, so I watched the kids shimmy up and followed suit. They were in their early teens and knew what they were doing, but somehow, I made it and looked down.

Twenty feet from the ground looked like fifty from up here.

Alyssa called up, encouraging me I could do it, then undid it all by yelling at me to be careful. The kids went first, and I made sure to follow their example when I jumped. From here, mine was going to be a jump, not a dive. In need of inspiration, I turned to look down at my sister.

In high school, she had been a cheerleader, and she cheered me on, clapping and bouncing with one of those cheerleader bounces. She always looked great in her cheerleader outfit, but now her upper arms pushed bare boobs together when she clapped, and bouncing made her, well, bounce. All alone up here, there was no need to hide my hard-on.

To prevent the impact with the water from breaking off wood, I turned and jumped before it fully resprouted. The Mediterranean rushed up at me, and I remembered to keep my feet together as I hit the water with a jolt, then heard only the muffled sounds underwater.

My jump impressed my sister and filled my veins with even more hormones and adrenaline than I carried up to the platform with me. For a moment, she must have forgotten, for she gave me a hug, bare breasts pressing firm, soft and wonderful against my skin. Only when I pulled her tight did she catch on and pull demurely away.

"You should try it! Or, are you scared?"

Alyssa glared at me. Long as I could remember, she loathed being accused of fear, of being afraid to try something I did. I survived, so it seemed safe enough, and I would never knowingly put my own sister at risk. She's smart--she won't screw it up.

Behind me, she scampered up to the platform and hid her fear, although I saw it in her eyes. The guys on the platform with us were about her are, and each checked out her boobs before jumping, one flashing a smile before he dove, flipping twice on the way down to impress her.

She stood beside me, our toes at the edge. Her grip on my hand felt like a vice. "Oh, shit."

After I squeezed back, I smiled and started counting. 1. 2. On 3, she joined in, screaming it and leaping with me, free-falling as we proved Newton right and fell side-by-side despite me weighing half again more than her. Our bodies splashed together and the sound of muffled water replaced all other sound.

Bubbles swirled and boiled around her body, and her breasts floated in the clear Mediterranean water. We swam to shore, climbed to the platform and this time, each did a swan dive into the blue.

When we came to the surface, we celebrated our dives with a big, wet, squishy and carefree hug above 15' of water, our legs intertwined and kicking in subconscious coordination as we treaded water together. That hug we held, laughing and celebrating and burning off the adrenaline of a 20' dive, and when she kicked her right leg forward, it slipped between my kicking legs. Each time it bumped my crotch as my right leg rubbed against hers on every kick.

Our eyes met, her smile faded and we held each other with faces inches apart. Who knows who started it? I may have leaned first, or she may have, or even a little wave may have hit one of us in such a way that made it look like initiation. It neither mattered nor did we care. Once our lips met, everything pent up inside came out as one big, wet, messy and carefree kiss.

Our mouths opened to each other almost soon as our lips touched and our lips met fast and desperate. The passion and power of her kiss surprised me, as did the satiny smoothness of her tongue against mine. Like our legs working together to keep us afloat, our tongues moved with an instinctual rhythm neither of us knew existed until that kiss.

Two arms wrapped around my neck and one hand held the back of my head. My arms held her body, one around her waist, the other holding her back, pushing those perfect breasts into my chest. For a first kiss, it was epic and romantic and wild and, like all things epic and romantic and wild, it could not last long.

We were treating water, for chrissakes! A couple of minutes doing that and you are sucking wind, which interferes with your ability so suck your sibling's tongue. So, after burning into our memories the hottest, wettest, most romantic kiss either of us will ever have, we swam to shore. And we climbed to the platform and dove several more times into the sea.

At dinner that night with our parents, Alyssa kept uncharacteristically quiet; I suspect I was, too. We told them about the diving because leftover adrenaline made us chatty, but we left out so much. The sexy bikini. Alyssa's tits. That kiss and, afterward, massaging Coppertone into the skin of her back. Wood. They thought they knew how the story ended when, instead, all they knew was the inciting incident.

That night, in our room after our parents retired to theirs on the opposite side of the suite, we were quiet as a funeral. I can only speak for myself, but those same butterflies that flew around inside my stomach during my first date about five or six years before returned, and with a vengeance. I suspect she endured something similar.

On that first date, I took the girl home and went to mine. To the privacy of my own bed in my own room. Sure, I saw her at school afterward, but while on the date we had our escapes. It was weird enough sharing a hotel room with my adult sister, but after an illicit intimacy, a wet kiss neither of us planned, an escape route would have been nice.

Alyssa broke the ice. "Okay, are going to talk about it? Or should we ignore it and hope it goes away?"

"Hope what goes away?"

"Hormones. Because that is all it was, our bodies full of way too much hormones for our own good."

"Is that all it was?"

"Look, I admit showing you my boobies was fun. I hope for both of us..."

"Oh, I sure enjoyed it."

"Good. It was pretty obvious my boobies have an effect on your hormones," she looked down at my pants, which were not bulging then. "It excited me, too, and it makes me feel great that you like them so much. And you aren't going to see your girlfriend for a while, so you probably had hormones up to your eyeballs already, if you are like most guys."

"As for me, since I broke up Craig, I really haven't wanted anything to do with guys. You are the first guy I have spent any time with in a while, and you aren't 'a guy', you are my brother."

"I'm not a guy?"

"Well, until this week, I never really thought of you as one. You are in a different category, and sometimes I forget you are as much a guy as anyone."

Confused as hell by then, I asked, "What are you getting at?"

"Well, guy, what are you thinking about, Mr. He-Man?"

"I wonder if that was a mistake, a one-time blowing off steam in a moment of weakness or..."

"Or what?"

"A beginning."

"Funny, you took the words out of my mouth." I didn't want the words from her mouth. In fact, I wanted to put something else in her mouth, and I had a few good options in mind. "Tell you what; I'm going into the bathroom right over there, and when I return, let's decide which it was."

I probably don't need to tell you; I did not need to think about it. What I wanted was to find out if her nipples are as delicious as those naughty titty pastries, but if she didn't want me to taste them, I steeled myself to accept the disappointment. I did bring a bottle of wine and two glasses back with me, and had both glasses poured while she got ready for bed.

Alyssa didn't need to say a word when she returned. I tell you, she has some serious style. Emerging from the bathroom wearing a pink camisole and matching panties, she made her intentions absolutely clear.

Those panties were by no means revealing, certainly not like that green and gold thong thing she wore to the beach that day, but looked amazing nonetheless.

Slowly looking her body over from her legs to her eyes and back, when I finally returned to her eyes, I asked, "A beginning?"

"It's what you want, isn't it?"

I handed her a glass. "Exactly what I want."

"I have one rule." She held up one finger for emphasis. "You can't fuck me."

"No fucking--got it."

"Are you cool with that?"

Hell, another kiss, even one as brief and hot as the one in the water, and I'd be a happy man. Fucking is nice, but her one rule left many other fun options wide open. "Totally cool."

Apparently, she felt an explanation of her rule necessary. "First of all, we can't fuck."

"Sure, because I am your brother and all..."

"Exactly. To me, fucking is unemotional, fun but impersonal. If we decide to do it, I don't want impersonal. Not from you."

If we decide to do it???? So, fucking is off the table as a general category. Just call it something different then.

"Fucking versus making love."

Her emerald eyes lit up. "Exactly! Second, our parents are right there. I don't want them waking up hearing you moaning my name. Third--and this is probably the most important--I'm not giving up my first time just because I had a really incredible, romantic kiss. Even if it was my brother kissing me."

"Wait--your first time?"

"Right. Before I give away the gift a woman can only give once, the guy is going to earn it. No matter who I decide to give it to."

This revelation that Alyssa was a virgin gave me a warm feeling. Sister are supposed to be virginal, right? No one wants to imagine their sister being humped by dudes. Besides, we still had a week and a half in France--plenty of time to try to earn it, right? No need to rush.

"I accept your terms." Her body shook as I took her wine glass from her and stood so close the front of my body bumped lightly against hers.

Her breath tickled my lips. "We're really doing this?"

"We are."

Our first kiss sweet and soft, her lips like a flower petal. That only lasted seconds as our bodies came together, our arms enveloped and our mouths opened. The instant our tongues touched, we were in warm, blue water way over our heads.

Smoldering fires can explode into an inferno in an instant, and we had been smoldering since she pulled that sky blue tee-shirt off and showed the perfection of her breasts to me. Heck, it started on the plane, although probably innocently enough, then. Suddenly, we were all tongues and hands and boobs grinding against my chest.

I was so damn hard and she was so damn hot. Fully intending to honor her one rule, I was already out of control and only hoped she remembered her rule and reminded me because, in fact, there was no hurry.

We landed on the bed hard enough for it to squeak, with her on top of me and our tongues somehow still attached. Damn, she's a good kisser! They say virgins kiss better because they need to, but it may have been simply because the fire in her burned hot as the inferno in me.

Breasts cushioned her body on mine and my hands caressed her bottom. The sheer power of her kiss almost distracted me from her ass. Almost. Alyssa's butt is so damn sweet. Firm and smooth, too. And her tongue cast a spell upon my soul. Between us, my cock sprang to life, and for a minute, fear swept through her body. I felt it. Muscles tensed and she pulled her lips away.

"I'm sorry; it seems to have a mind of its own."

"No, that's totally okay." Tucking hair behind her ear, she laughed. "Funny, it's hard pushing aside a lifetime of being your sister is all. Did I just say hard?"

"Sure did."

"I should shut up now."

"Good idea." I pulled her lips to mine and for the longest time savored the most delicious kiss a man can imagine. Her tongue soft and firm, a feather and a knife. My kiss had the same intensity, at least I hoped so. Passion filled me, so powerful I wondered if controlling it was possible.

At some point my hands were inside her panties, fingertips inside the crack. Long had I imagined how she felt, yet in my hands I realized my imagination was insufficient for the reality of touching her this way.

I could have kissed her all night. Should have, probably, and we both might have been satisfied. It was not to be, though. Had it only been a couple of trips to the beach looking at my sister's tits, well, making out and feeling her sweet ass might have been enough. Truth be told, I'd held back my attraction to her for much longer than that. And, I suppose from the way she kissed me, it unleashed passion pent up inside her for quite some time.

Alyssa squealed and giggled when I rolled on top of her, and her boobs inside that tight camisole shook. Two delightful nipples poked against the fabric, and I suppose it might have been the most amazing sight I ever saw if not for two topless days at the beach.

"You are an amazing kisser," I took in a deep breath.

"Not boring like the old saying?"

"Whoever came up with that saying was unlucky to have a sister who did not kiss like you."

"Why are you stopping, then?"

Darn good question. This time, I was on top and in control, and she followed my kiss the way I followed hers. Like dancing, only infinitely more pleasurable. It surprised me that my hands caressing and squeezing her bum didn't make her stop, but I had an inkling something else might, so before she did come to her senses, I needed to do it.

Her left breast filled my hand. My hands are pretty big, but it was full, and her breast felt wonderful! Maybe a couple of seconds and she'd start giggling or get skeezed out by the fact that I was feeling her boob. At least, that is what I expected. What I didn't expect was for her tongue to respond that was it did. Or her moan while her kisses increased in their passion.

I moaned, too. After watching these beautiful, firm, perfect breasts at the beach, feeling one was a dream come true. I didn't squeeze hard, not at first. More caressed it, savoring the delicate balance of firmness and soft, pliable flesh. The perfect size, feeling even larger in my hand than I imagined while watching her this week. Gradually increasing in intensity, I softly began squeezing her, pressing soft flesh against her ribs.

Her legs moved, and for the first time I realized I was lying between them, my hard-on--raging at that point--pressed between them against her...

No, I pushed that thought from my head. Tried to, at least, because I couldn't yet accept what was happening. Her breasts were enough to satisfy me for now--for a lifetime of memories at night when I went back to school in the fall.

I pulled her top up to expose her beautiful breasts. This was the next line I expected she might hesitate at crossing. I kissed her neck, and her head turned away to grant me access to kiss more. Seconds later, I moved down, stopping to kiss along the line of her collarbone, then the uppermost part of her chest just below it, in case she got cold feet. I wanted her, but she is my sister, and a big brother is supposed to protect his little sister.

If she needed me to stop, I needed to give her one last chance.

This little sister wanted no protection, not that night. What she wanted was my lips kissing her quivering boobs. Fingers of both hands ran through my hair and urged me down further. Soft skin met my lips as I came to the uppermost curve of her breast, and I kissed all over it, all around.

A man can only hold off for so long!

My lips were drawn inexorably to the nipple that had mesmerized me for two days at the beach. And kissing it felt unbelievable! The pink areola was large but the nipple itself small, young, soft and supple. Little bumps rose instantly around her areola and it hardened slightly in my mouth. Fingernails dug into my scalp and she gave out a little moan, the kind brothers are not supposed to hear from their sisters. The other breast I caressed in my hand.

My head felt light, like in a dream. Her breasts were so warm and soft and smelled of her, a smell my brain knew but, until that moment, did not realize. God, she was enjoying it as much as me! Although my experience at that time was not that extensive, larger breasts usually are less sensitive, but she responded to every kiss, every little nibble with my teeth, every time my tongue licked circles around her nipple or across it with astounding pleasure.

And when I sucked it? Oh, man! Her legs wrapped around me and her moaning got so loud I worried she might wake our parents. So, I shushed her. That made her giggle, and giggling made her boobs jiggle, and I didn't care if our parents caught us, I just wanted to suck on her breasts. I moved to the other one and started all over again.

Last time I played with breasts for so long probably was in high school, when my girlfriend at the time didn't let me past 2d base, so I spent as much time there as possible. Might have sucked and kissed and played with my sister's for a half hour.

By then, she had ants in her panties, and rolled me over and sat on my stomach. They looked even better hanging free. Alyssa got really playful, dropping her shoulder to dangle it over my lips, pulling away every once in a while. Once I didn't let go, kept sucking and watching in amazement as it stretched out before popping from my lips. Then she'd laugh and drop the other shoulder to offer me the other tit.

Straddled across my stomach, the heat emanating from between her legs grew hotter, and it was impossible to miss the wet feel of her panties upon my skin. Not moist, freaking wet. She wanted me as much as I wanted her and I had no idea what to do about it.

What I decided to do was exactly the same thing if she was any other beautiful woman. I rolled her back over and started kissing her stomach. At some point, her top had come the rest of the way off--I really don't remember how--and now she tugged mine over my head, and I went back to making out with her belly-button.

Alyssa has always been ticklish, and belly-button exquisitely so, I found out, and it was fun teasing her as she giggled and tried to fight me off, squealing stop, stop, her breasts shaking all over the place. Eventually, though, I moved down, kissing the lovely patch of tanned skin between her belly button and the elastic of her panties.

I slid down, kneeling on the floor between her slightly spread legs and began easing those pink panties down her hips.

Remember how I expected her to find playing with her breasts the line she could not cross? Turns out the line was her panties.

"Stop! Stop, please!" She was begging, not laughing like when my tongue was licking her belly-button clean. Her eyes were desperate with fear.

Of course I stopped--she's my little sister!

"I'm sorry, I can't. We should stop before..."

"Sure," I said, despite my yearning for her to consume the entirety of my body and soul.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she kept repeating, although I assured her there was nothing to be sorry about. The case of blue balls waiting for me in the morning was worth it. "Come here and kiss me some more."

Those kisses were soft and sweet. The passion was there, but both of us held it deep inside. I wanted her, she wanted me. And we had another week and a half here in France.

We slept in our own beds, of course, because our parents could barge in without warning to wake us for breakfast early in the morning. A locked door would probably be worse than anything they could see with their eyes, although, in reality, they probably never would allow themselves to believe what had gone on in the other room in their family suite. Before I slept, though, I plotted.

Plotted how to get my sister out of her panties, and how to convince her to pull my pants off with her own, tiny hands.It was still hard for me to believe, several days into our family vacation to the French Riviera, the most beautiful sight I had seen on the famous Côte d'Azur was my sister. More specifically, her breasts. If I spent 100 years in strip clubs, I doubt I'd see tits more beautiful than hers. Carefully applied Coppertone kept the skin alabaster with nipples cherry pink surrounded by a wide band of pink fading into lighter shades the further from the delicious center.

In the rose-colored light of early morning, I lay on my stomach, which helped ease the growing ache of a monstrous case of blue balls. Alyssa's perfect breasts caused that, too. After another day on a topless beach, my sister finally broke down and let me play with her titties, which was wonderful. Made out with me, too, which was about 100 times hotter than it should have been.

Then, I went for her panties, and that freaked her out. Alyssa wasn't just a "good girl", she was very conservative, brought up in a normal, upper-middle-class family. If anything, we were intellectual to the point of nerdiness. Now that she was 18, though, she had begun expressing her sexuality for the first time. How fortunate I was to be there to witness it with my own eyes!

Nothing was ever more worthy of a case of blue balls.

No problem. She caught me jerking off after seeing her topless on Nice Beach, and not only did she deal with it, it must have turned her on. I never in my wildest dreams expected to have sex with her, anyways. Heck, I never expected to see her boobs! So, a little pre-breakfast wank in the bathroom would be no problem.

I turned my head toward her bed, only to see her lovely emerald eyes staring at me. "Good morning!"

"What time it is?" My voice croaked, unable to sound nearly as cheerful as she did.

"6:30. I couldn't sleep. How do you feel?"

"Does honesty count?"

"Always."

"My balls hurt." I started to explain blue balls to her, but she stopped me. "Boules azur on the Côte d'Azur."

"Every one my boyfriends has complained about that, but I never really believed them. I thought it was just something you guys make up to get laid."

"No, I can assure you, it is very real."

"Want a Tylenol or something?"

"Only one thing makes it better."

Cheerfully, she asked, "What's that?"

"If you must know, it's the same thing you caught me doing in the bathroom Tuesday."

"Oh!" Her face turned crimson. "That works?"

"100%."

"Good thing I'm not a guy; I'd have spent half my life with blue balls."

Hmm. Intriguing as her comment was, now that she understood what I needed to do, no point in putting it off any longer, so I rolled out of bed, not even bothering to hide my morning wood bulging in my boxers.

Alyssa started laughing. "Does that happen every morning?"

"Pretty much."

"I am so glad I'm not a guy!" She was giggling like crazy at my boner. "Well, go ahead and take care of it so we can go get breakfast. I don't want to be seen in public with you in such a state!"

Slightly annoyed at her laughter, I said, "Since it's your fault, the least you can do is offer a helping hand."

Eyes widening, she asked, "Would that work?"

"It doesn't matter whose hand it is. Might even be better if you did it."

"Hmph!" She stared at my cock in my boxers. "I suppose it is my fault."

Totally outside my control, my cock moved with a life of its own. "There's a bottle of lotion in the bathroom. Might be fun to try it."

"You're a freak."

"You enjoyed when I played with your boobs last night; think this will be any different?"

"That did feel nice. Is that what caused your...current condition?"

"Yes." Perhaps an oversimplification, because I awakened in such a state, as she put it, probably 3 days out of 4 at home, alone, without playing with her tits.

"Okay. But only this once."

One more handjob than I ever expected from my sister. France is a great country. "I'll get the lotion. It will..."

"I can imagine what it will do," she said, sitting up on her bed and propping pillows behind her. I handed her the lotion and sat down beside her. "Do you do it with your underwear on?"

"Oh." Tossing my boxers onto my own bed a few feet away, I sat naked beside my sister with my rock-hard erection pointing at the ceiling. Her eyes bulged, making me wonder if seeing a hard-on was as rare for her as sitting naked on my sister's bed was for me.

"I'm probably not very good at this."

"Don't worry--if you need any tips, I will let you know." She's going to be fucking amazing at this!

She rubbed a handful of freezing cold lotion over me, covering my dick like she covered her breasts with Coppertone at the beach. A slight sensation of disassociation hit, and it felt like a dream or watching a movie, although the feel of her hand on my cock felt very real.

Try as I might to act cool, the moment her fingers closed around me, I let out a deep sigh, well beyond my control. Her fingers were so tiny and thin and soft, and felt a million times better than my own hand.

"How's this?"

"Uh-uh-uh," is all that came out.

"Tell me what to do."

"You're doing it!" Her hand stroked slower than my own would have, but I was in no hurry. Our parents never came to get us before 8, so she could pump my rod for an hour and a half, for all I cared. And the French make some damn fine lotion! It smelled of Lavender and was remarkably smooth. I made a mental note to stick the bottle in my bag when we left. If nothing else, for the memories.

Inside the thin fabric of the pajama top she wore, her boobs were starting to sway with the rhythm she took, and that made for an incredible sight. I watched as long as I could, but when I could not take any more, I reached over and grabbed one. In my state, I grabbed it rougher than I had the night before, but she didn't seem to enjoy it any less, her eyelids fluttering as I squeezed.

I tugged up her shirt to expose her boobs and kept pulling until she let go of my penis.

"Freak!" But, she lifted her hands to let me get her top off then immediately resumed stroking my rod.

I didn't say anything because she had rendered me speechless. Her arm leaning across her to reach my cock pushed her boob in, pushing them together, and each stroke shook them subtly in the most enthralling sight I had ever seen. Well, her hand moving up and down on my cock may have been. Let's call the visual impact even.

"Do you ever use both hands?"

"Mn-mm," I groaned, imagining.

"Can I try using both hands? Is that okay?"

Giving her a side-glance, I nodded. "Better than okay."

Holy hell! No one had ever given me a 2-handed hand-job, and it was off the charts! Her shoulder leaned against my shoulder now, her boobs bouncing, both arms pushing them together. Moving even slower now, one hand caressing each side, fingertips meeting in the center and rubbing right down the root, it felt better than sex.

Enticing boobs swaying with the motion, with her face inches from mine and her emerald eyes staring into mine, I could not control my impulse to shove my tongue into her mouth. Opening hers to mine, her tongue welcomed mine as I reached maximum sensory overload. Not long after we started kissing, I felt an orgasm coming on.

Without releasing our kiss, I rolled and knelt over her, straddling her above her on my knees. A massive sensation welled up inside me and I knew this was not going to be an ordinary orgasm. This felt like it came from every inch of my body and soul.

Gasping and moaning too much to continue kissing, I knelt on all fours over her body and brought my hips over her chest. I eased her hands over her right breast, which for some reason was my favorite, and she crinkled her nose and gave me a disgusted look. "Freak!"

"Please!" I begged her.

"You clean it up!" This was going to require a lot of cleanup. When she discovered rubbing the tip on her nipple felt good, that was all it took to send me over the edge. Half her nipple disappeared under the first gush. It seemed to surprise her. "Oh!"

"Oh!" I practically yelled.

"Is that good, baby?"

Where the hell that came from, I have no idea, but if I wasn't already coming on her tit, hearing her call me "baby" would have done the trick. She was rubbing my pearly DNA around her nipple and I continued shooting more and more onto her. Hard as it was to keep my eyes open with this unprecedented level of pleasure coursing through and out of my body, I could not look away.

It felt like every nerve in my body was stimulated with unimaginable pleasure. Certainly more magic than any girl I dated had in their hands. A white drop trickled down the center of her boob like liquidy Coppertone, and that brought another couple of spurts out of me. Her skinny little fingers milked each drop out of me, squeezing hard like she was juicing a lemon. I had to brace my hands against the wall above her head to keep from collapsing on top of my sister.

That orgasm had so much power, it left me drained, and for a while I lay next to her trying to regain my breath and my sanity.

"Was that good?"

"Best thing I ever felt in my life."

"Seriously?"

"Honesty counts, remember?"

She laughed, and there was that vanilla pudding shaking again, like I enjoyed so much at the beach, this time dripping with cream sauce. "Look at the mess you made! Go get a towel to clean me up!"

"Cleanup on aisle Cs." She didn't dispute the cup size as I wiped her breast clean with a washcloth and warm water, then carefully dried it with a towel. Throwing them aside, I lay on top of her and looked into her green eyes. "Best thing I ever felt."

Then I kissed her, and we just lay there for quite a while making out. Like lovers. Finally, she put an end to it. "They'll be here anytime. We need to get ready for breakfast."

Oh, what a day this was shaping up to be! Sponging your own spunk off your sister's breast is a fine way to start a day. I highly recommend it.

Our parents had set aside the day for museums. There were many to choose from, so in the morning we toured the Musee Franciscain, a history museum, and after a late lunch, the Matisse museum. We never noticed how we were acting like a couple, shoulders bumping against each other while we looked at the exhibits, gawking and giggling at the nude paintings.

What it felt like was the best date of my life. That may be slightly unfair to my girlfriends, because rarely did they launch a date with a handjob. Its too bad more women don't know about that strategy.

We had dinner and wine at a lovely cafe overlooking the Mediterranean, and never once let slip any mention about our inappropriate activities. Our mood was contagious, though, and our parents were having a great time, as well.

Just before we left, Alyssa spilled red wine on her shirt. Wearing the conservative, preppy clothes she had on, it was hard to tell for sure, but it looked like it landed about where my jism had run down her breast 12 hours before. I grabbed a napkin and reached before I caught myself and handed it to her, and tried not to stare too much as she dabbed herself.

Our folks didn't seem to catch my near-error. Mom asked, "Are you young people going out tonight?"

"I don't know. Look at me! I need to change if we do."

"Well, we're probably going to call it a day," our father said. "Let's go back to the hotel together, then you can decide from there."

Alyssa went into our room to change, and after giving her enough time, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. In the room, my sister was standing in her bra and panties holding up two tops. "Which do you like better?"

Quickly shutting the door so my parents would not see me talking to her while half-naked like that, I answered, "I like what you have on."

"Cute. I'm talking about going out."

"Where do you want to go?"

"Drinking, dancing. Maybe a moonlight walk along the shore." I pointed to the cute green top in one hand that matched her eyes. "I knew you'd pick this one."

"Why?"

"Because I can't wear a bra with it--not with those little straps. Pervert!"

"Admit it--that's the one you wanted to wear."

"No it isn't."

"Admit it--it is!"

Alyssa is terribly ticklish, and she was backing away from me as if she could read my mind. I stalked her to a corner, where she half turned, elbows pulled in to her sides and doubled over to protect herself when I started tickling.

The lower portion of her stomach around her belly-button is where she is most ticklish, her weak spot which all of us in the family have attacked since she was a little girl, but that night she seemed even more sensitive than usual, squealing and trying to escape. She got far as the bed, then fell onto it, trying to roll onto her stomach to stop me, but I held her on her side and went in for the kill, right above the elastic of her panties.

Neither of us heard the door open, but we both heard it close. There stood our mother, glaring at her two children rolling around the bed, her daughter in sexy lingerie and her son on top with his hands all over her.

"What are you doing?"

Alyssa immediately stopped laughing and I stood, hoping my early-stage hard-on was not visible. "He was tickling me..."

"Better put some clothes on," she sternly said. Alyssa held up a shirt on a hanger in front of her. "I don't know what has gotten into you, but be thankful it was me who walked in here. If your father saw you like this, he would not tolerate such behavior."

"Sorry," I muttered. "It won't happen again."

"It better not. Now you get out of here while you sister gets dressed. And no more funny business--you hear me?"

"Yes," we said simultaneously.

We went out and drank more wine and danced and walked along the rocky shore barefoot, the water lapping over our bare feet. Narrowly having dodged a bullet, we had obviously gone too far and agreed to behave for the rest of our vacation. It was a chilly night, and Alyssa's nipples poking against the green fabric were visible in the light of a full moon, as was the spring in her breasts with each step.

Before we went to bed, we hugged for a while standing up, and kissed a little, too, but without the insanity of the night before or that morning. Moonlight through our open window fell on Alyssa's shoulder-length blond hair. I slept with wood in my pants that night.

The next day was a long-planned day trip to Monaco, the fairytale duchy ruled by Grace Kelly until her tragic death a couple of years before. Mom and Alyssa enjoyed it more than I did. The shopping was fantastic, I guess. Pops and I hiked up to where Grace Kelly's car had plunged off the cliff, where a monument of flowers stood. Alyssa wore an Izod shirt over a firm bra and long white shorts with green and pink plaid, the most conservative thing she wore since we arrived. I got my passport stamped.

After lunch, Alyssa took me window-shopping while our parents did the same a half-block away.

"Oh, my gosh--you aren't going to believe the conversation I just had with our mother."

"About what?"

"Safe sex. She pulled me aside and asked have you and your brother been using condoms!"

"What did you say?"

"I told her the truth--we haven't done anything we need a condom for, and pretended to be all offended, saying you were only tickling me."

"I was only tickling you!"

"That's what I told her! So she says we both know where that sort of thing will lead. And I say, Mom, he's my brother!"

"Yikes! What did she say to that?"

"She says, and he's also a handsome man and you are a beautiful young woman. Then she said something about forgetting that she was a sister who had a brother and knows all about how young people have all sorts of impure thoughts. Then she got all flustered and said, I just want you to be careful is all."

"Wow! That must have been a super creepy conversation to have with our mother!"

"For sure! And it raised all sorts of questions I really don't want to think about."

I let out a low whistle. "You don't suppose..."

"Well, everyone has always joked how much you look like Uncle Brad. And she did name you his middle name."

"I really don't want to think of Mom like that."

"Well, we are doing the same thing."

"Not quite the same. And Mom was married to Pop when I was conceived, so it's different."

"I suppose so." Alyssa was deep in thought. "Do you remember when we were kids and Uncle Brad used to come visit so often?"

"He was always there."

"I remember him coming to visit once while Pops was away on some business trip. Remember, she had some story about he was there to keep us safe?"

"Yeah, that was strange, even then."

"And Mom said not to tell Pop that Uncle Brad stayed there because she didn't want him to worry."

"That was weird, too."

"I think they were together, which is why she's cool with us being together." It was the first time she referred to us as being "together," and until then, I had not really thought of it that way. "You can't really blame her--Uncle Brad is a handsome man. You do look almost exactly like him."

Feeling my ears burning and my face turning red, I said, "We should probably get back so we don't make Mom worry about where we are and what we are doing."

Not 10 minutes later, Mom led me off to see something or other and when we were off by ourselves, said to me, "We need to talk."

"Okay," I answered, worried that she was going to have the same sex talk with me she had with my sister.

"This is very awkward, so I will just get to the point. You and Alyssa need to be careful. In this day and age, you cannot be too safe."

"Right..."

"I don't know what they call them here in France, but I want you to buy some condoms. I am sure you can find them at a pharmacy."

Good question, I had to admit, although I suppose they sell Trojans here. "Mom, Alyssa and I don't need condoms."

She repeated, "In this day and age, there is no such thing as being too safe."

"Mom! I'm not going to give my sister VD! Even if we were doing that--which we aren't--I'm pretty sure Alyssa does not have VD."

"Well, with AIDS and all, you can't be too careful."

"Mom, neither of us has AIDS. And we were just goofing around, a tickle fight. That's all it was."

"That's how it starts. Look, I'm not judging you. I'd rather have you consoling your sister after her boyfriend treated her so badly than have her give herself to some Frenchman she meets here. Some stranger. Same goes for you."

"Don't worry, Mom--the last thing either of us are interested is picking someone up at a bar while we're here."

"Good. Good. I'm not stupid. Mothers know things. When the two of you went to the beach the other day, I went down to check on you, and you weren't there. I suppose you wanted to experiment with your freedom and went to a topless beach. When I was your age, I probably would have done the same thing. Just promise me you will be careful."

Anxious for this painful conversation to be over, I promised to be careful and left it at that. The image running through my head of my mom sunbathing topless on the beach, however, may take some time to process fully.

In French, condoms are called le préservatif. I discovered that at la pharmacie. More expensive there, too. I went with the small box, because I didn't really expect to use any of them and the smaller box is much easier to hide. Alyssa made me promise not to fuck her, regardless of what Mom had to say, but she was right, there is no such thing as being too safe.

The good thing about walking around Monaco all day is how it wore our parents out. They went straight to bed when we got back.

We changed to go back out for the night.

Alyssa was thoughtful enough to again wear that gorgeous green top with spaghetti straps that prevented her from wearing a bra. We stopped at a new cafe with a view of the Med and sipped Pouilly-Fuissé, which tastes much better than its lame name suggests.

"It's beautiful tonight," she said.

"Sure is," I agreed, and I don't think she noticed when I answered that I was studying the faint outline of her nipple poking through her shirt, visible in the bright moonlight.

"Wouldn't it be nice if we could take a vacation together, just the two of us?"

"That would be fun. Where would you like to go?"

"Anywhere no one knows who we are. Spring Break in Florida or skiing--I've always wanted to learn how to ski."

"That would be nice," I agreed. I learned to ski in college; my ever-present hard-on grew harder at the possibilities. "France wouldn't be too bad, either."

"Oh, wouldn't that be something? Everything here is incredible. You know what I want to see? Those castles on our way to Paris."

No trip to France is complete without visiting Paris. We were heading there Monday for the second week, with a few stops along the way. "Yes, those Medieval towns will be awesome."

"Another thing has been on my mind all day. Mother."

"Weird, right?"

"I can't believe she thinks it is fine if we have sex."

"About the last thing I expected from her. What do you think about it?"

"About Mom?"

"No, about us?"

"I've spent most of the day trying not to think about it."

"Why? Is there something wrong with it?"

"Are you kidding? Everything's wrong about it--despite what Mom thinks about it, or what I do."

"So, you do want to?"

"Don't you?"

"Isn't that obvious?"

Her eyes looked so sad. "What's wrong with us?"

"Nothing, I suppose. It didn't feel wrong the other night, did it?"

"That felt really good. Really good. What we did the other morning, was that enough for you?"

"Was it enough for you? Wouldn't you like to feel the way you made me feel?"

"I'm scared."

"You think I'm not?"

"I told you, we can't go all the way. But," her finger twirled slowly around the rim of her glass and a lovely, high note sang out like a bell; her eyes somehow glowed as if lit from inside, "we wouldn't want to disappoint Mom, would we?"

"I'm more afraid of disappointing you."

"I'm more afraid we will start laughing at how ridiculous it is."

"That morning when you did that to me, or the night before when I kissed your body, we didn't laugh."

"No, we didn't."

"I want to kiss the rest of your body--do you want that?"

She began looking around. "Let's pay our check."

Halfway back to our hotel, I pushed her up against a stone wall and kissed her. Her arms wrapped around my neck and her body melted into mine. I could not believe how fantastic a kisser my sister was, or how good she felt in my arms, how electric the soft form of her breasts pressed against my chest. Our tongues instinctively knew what the other wanted.

Stealthily we sneaked into our suite, so our parents would not hear us, and before I shut the door to our bedroom behind us, my sister had her shirt off. It's hard to understand how her breasts had grown even more lovely since I saw them that morning, but it's true--they had.

Back at the cafe table, our decision had been made. Now that we were here, we only acted. I don't know about her, but all thoughts were gone from my mind. The only things that existed in the entire world were me and Alyssa. Nothing else mattered.

"What are you going to do to me?" She stepped back as if expecting me to tickle her again.

"I am going to make you mine," I said. Don't ask why, but it sounded cool at the time, and it was true.

Funny enough, she didn't laugh at such a cocky answer. It seemed to satisfy her, or turn her on even more. Whatever it did, she stopped backing and let me take her into my arms again, and kissed me with more passion than my mind ever contemplated might exist in my own sister.

What the fuck was her boyfriend thinking about when he cheated on her?

My sister's kiss, her tongue were almost enough to satisfy me, although my cock pressed achingly against her. Needed her.

"What are you going to do to me?"

"Anything I want," I said between kissing her lips and her neck. The line between horny and cocky is a very thin one. "What I want to do is make you feel as good as you made me feel yesterday morning."

Her body went limp in my arms for a second, as if her knees buckled or she almost passed out. While we did drink wine, she only had a couple of glasses; even her small body could take that much. No, it was something else, although I wasn't sure if it was anticipation or fear. Either one was cool.

My hands grabbed at her firm ass and at the button of her shorts. I haven't told enough about what a nice little tail she has because of the obsession with her boobs that devoured me that week, but I finally realized her little ass would feel better without the canvas shorts, so I unbuttoned and unzipped them, and she kicked them across the room.

One thing I miss from the 80s is lace and silk boyshorts. They made women's asses look so damn fine, not like what they call them today. Lacy, silky, with the bottom third of the ass poking out. And when I felt them on my sister, I loved them even more. I rubbed that lovely ass, hands venturing up inside the fabric. Her hands worked on my shirt, and soon it was off and her bare breasts pressed against my skin.

One hand held my neck while she kissed me, the other felt the front of my khakis and the massive boner inside. It felt swollen beyond its capacity. I squeezed Alyssa's firm, tight butt, fingers deep in her crack. It felt, in my hand, even smaller than it appeared, the opposite sensation from her breasts.

Somehow, we were on her bed. She may have shoved me, or I could have fallen over--all that blood swelling my cock, I might have swooned. Who knows? All I know is she lay atop me and her tongue was down my throat and the skin of her back and legs and bottom was smooth as silk. Underneath, muscles rippled as her body writhed against mine. Nothing about this felt real.

When I rolled her over and lay on top of her, she got my pants off so fast it was shocking. Her sweet skin against my rod felt so damn good! Down I moved, until it rubbed between her legs, and her panties felt moist and shockingly hot, like an internal flame burned between her legs. She started moaning, even though her tongue never stopped plumbing the depths of my soul.

I had to kiss her breasts again. This time, she responded even more powerfully, pressing my face forcefully against her, holding it there while I sucked and licked her nipples. Her movements in response told me which lit her fire most, so I paid attention and gave her what she craved. I covered both breasts with kisses and licks and teasing little bites, and by then, I swear, she would have let me do anything I wanted.

Anything.

The only thing I wanted was to lick her between her legs. To find out if her bush was the same color as her light, almost invisible eyebrows. She didn't even have to look at my cock, if only I could eat her!

This time, she didn't stop me. In fact, she lay there moaning as I kissed down her stomach to her panties and pulled them slowly down, kissing each inch of skin as it was revealed to me. There she lay, eyes closed, head turned slightly to the side with her lips slightly open, hands curled up beside her head completely surrendered to her fate.

Oh, damn! It is blonde! At first, only a tiny bit appeared, and I kissed those flaxen curls, kissed the skin beside them, pulled a little more down and kissed a little more white fur.

Alyssa's was my first blonde bush. My only blonde bush, to this day, and my heart was pounding so hard I was pretty sure I was about to drop dead of a heart attack. Okay, fine, but not before I got my tongue up inside her! So I yanked off those boyshorts and gazed upon the most beautiful bush anyone has ever seen. So light, it was hard to believe it was not bleached. Her thighs were only slightly apart, just enough for me to squeeze between them.

I pushed them up and apart, so her knees were bent and I could kiss her most sensitive parts.

The gasp that came from my sister's lips the moment my lips touched her softest lips didn't sound like it came from her. A voice I never had heard. So soft, so warm to the touch, and they opened to the touch of my lips, spilling hot, aromatic liquid down my chin. She wanted me as much as I wanted her!

I didn't even try to act cool anymore. I attacked her! My tongue went crazy around, on and inside her. Her scent and flavor filled my senses, delicious and all her own, adding to my madness. Even at the time I knew it was madness, because I simply did not care about anything else but burrowing my tongue inside her.

Her body writhed about, seemingly as crazily as my tongue, and her moans and sighs rose and fell like waves on the rocky beach. Two hands on my head guided me, and I followed along like a good dog on his leash. Soon, I began settling down, focusing on her pink button, watching her bush from too close for my eyes to focus.

As I became less crazed, having realized my initial goal of sticking my tongue where it now was, I set for myself a new goal. If you are giving your own sister cunnilingus, you should give her your very best. Right? I mean, if your sister does not deserve your very finest tongue-lashing, then who does? Your own flesh and blood surely deserves no less.

So that is exactly what I gave Alyssa. I paid attention. Every moan, every gasp, every twitch of her muscles or twist of her body spoke to me. My tongue sought out those sounds and involuntary movements that gave away what brought her the greatest pleasure, and I gave more of what she craved.

A certain way the tip of my tongue licking down from the top of her clitoris worked like rocket fuel, and she responded powerfully to sucking on her button. Particularly when rubbing it with my tongue. A finger inside helped. Two seemed to be magic.

Her first orgasm came quickly and obviously. My girlfriend takes a long time, so Alyssa surprised me, but there was no doubt. Her legs closed around my head and her stomach quaked like a spasm as her moans took on a new, high-pitch that almost sounded like she was crying. It worried me a little, but she hung onto the back of my head, and I realized I just did not know that sound--but I remembered it.

Once was not enough and I was barely getting started. Reaching up, I ran 2 fingers still dripping with her essence across one nipple, pinching and flicking and circling it. Even with that, it took longer to coax out the second one. She taught me how much she loved when I licked along the roof of her love canal as far back as my tongue went then drew my tongue slowly all the way back to her button.

Soon after I discovered this little secret, her hips were bucking and her stomach quivering again. This time, though, instead of moans, she kept inhaling deeply, hitching inspirations and her fingernails dug into my scalp.

This orgasm continued for an insanely long time, several minutes it seemed, long enough to envy. Mine last but a few fleeting seconds!

After that, I almost quit. Much as she enjoyed me licking her, it seemed the moment had passed. One knee lay flat out to one side, the other limp over my shoulder. Never underestimate a brother's determination--I wasn't giving up without licking a third one out of her, if it took all night!

After a few of those deep dives along the silky top surface, I focused all my energy on her clitoris. A marvelous thing it was, so tiny, a pearl rolling around my tongue. Tinier than the ones I was used to, yet filled with no less power. Her knee rose off the bed and her leg on my back began rubbing up and down.

There is something particularly exciting and stimulating about hearing your sister climax, feeling her orgasm rattle her body like an earthquake destroying her most forbidden depths. I cannot explain it. I suppose others get that same thrill from other crimes--shoplifting or shooting heroin or maybe that is what drives people to parachute from a perfectly good airplane.

Now that I had experienced this power, it consumed me to the point that I needed to feel it again--maybe as much as she wanted that quake to take her body.

When she came, much like her first, she left no doubt. Hips thrust her blonde bush into my nose, thighs slapped against my ears and my hand on her lower abdomen felt waves of muscles contracting in a syncopated, out of control way. Her sound was different, though, forceful gasps followed by repeated "Oh, oh," rising in pitch and speed until I wondered if our parents might hear her.

Strength nearly used up completely, my tongue circled her flesh pearl hard with the last bit of energy it possessed. And suddenly, it was over. Her entire body relaxed, fell limp, and a long, mournful sigh came from those rosy lips. An exhausted, sated sound.

My poor tongue--numb, sore and barely able to move--continued working her over, though, even when she began laughing, then squealing and squirming, begging through the laughter, "Stop, please! Oh, it tickles. Stop!"

My sopping wet chin collapsed on her blonde fur, and past two pink-tipped mounds I gazed up at her beautiful face, those unforgettable green eyes scrunched in a smile returned back at me.

"Come here," she said, fingers opening and closing, urging me up. On the way, I kissed her stomach a few times, then her breasts, a shoulder, her neck, then our lips came together. My weary tongue slowly circled hers like we were both exhausted, and I just wanted to hold her, to fall asleep with her in my arms.

Honestly, I wanted nothing more of the night. The deed was done, and I could die a happy man.

"Now, what am I going to do about you?"

"Nothing. There is no need."

Soft, caring fingers took the tip of my penis and her thumb traced the edge of my helmet. "Feels like a pretty big need."

"I didn't do that as part of a deal. This wasn't an I scratch your back, you scratch mine."

"What if I want to...scratch your back?"

"I've got nothing against a little back scratching," I held her face in one hand, "but, only if you want to!"

"You idiot! Do you think I am passing up this opportunity?"

"There will be other opportunities." Honestly, I have no idea why I was trying to talk her out of another handjob. But, there I was, lying on top of her naked body while she played with my dick trying to talk her out of it.

"Roll over."

"Alyssa..."

"Roll over!" she started shoving me, so I rolled onto my back.

Just before I reminded her of that fantastic lotion, she rolled over my legs so her head rested on my thigh, and she loosely held my cock in her fingertips. "Don't get me wrong--I don't do this with just anybody."

"Only your favorite brother?"

"Something like that. Since I may not be very good, tell me how to do it better."

"Oh, you are extremely good."

"How would you know?" Before I could answer, her head lifted up and her lips wrapped around the head of my cock.

Ho-ly shit!

Her tongue circled around the tip, much like mine had done to her tiny button a few minutes before. My head fell back on the bed.

Looking back on it, technically, she might not have been very skilled. Her soft, pink lips, though, felt so amazingly good, her tongue running across my stiff flesh so provocative, nothing ever felt better.

The moment she drove her head forward, taking me in, I let out a gasp and reached for her blonde hair, allowing my fingers to run through it. She held it steady in a tight grip, as if my rigid cock terrified her, but her hand did not stroke my shaft. I almost asked her to, but decided to find out what she could do on her own.

One of the best decisions of my damn life!

Her head rose and fell with a slow rhythm and she sucked me like a lollipop. Each time, her tongue firmly licked my vein along the bottom. She only took about half of me in, and I wanted to shove the whole thing back, deep into her throat, but I didn't. I wanted her to show me what she could do.

When she withdrew along its length, her supple lips trailed along behind and she sucked in, sucking harder as she continued. Every few strokes, she stopped and circled my tip with her tongue, each time playfully locking those smiling green gems on my eyes. Damn, she was enjoying herself!

Not as much as I was enjoying her, of course.

I watched as my cock slid into my sister's mouth, but her hair kept falling down, blocking my view, and I kept pulling it back because I needed to see to know this was not some dream or a fantasy run wild in my brain. Her cheeks puffed out and hollowed inward as she took me in and sucked on the way out.

A man can only take so much pleasure of that intensity. After a minute of her exquisite torture, my balls drew up and that feeling hit.

Honest, I planned to warn her, but it just happened so fast! I shot my cum into her mouth. If she spat it out, it still would have been a miraculous blow-job. Maybe she is just like me and wanted to give me her best.

But, she didn't spit out a mouthful of me. Instead, she hoovered me up, sucking in my cum, swallowed in big gulps, then sucked some more. Her head moved faster when I came, up and down. I was biting the hell out of my tongue to keep from screaming her name at the top of my lungs, and I tasted blood. My entire body felt alive, electric, acutely aware of every sensation around me.

Finally, a long "Ohhhhhh" came out that sounded so comical we both started laughing. Thank god I was finished, because her face landed on my thigh right at the hip, her nose buried into it to keep the laugh inside the bedroom. After a few seconds, her eyes peered up at me, and she winked. Winked!

That was so damn hot!

One last pearly bit of schmoo leaked out, and she was still holding the base of my rod, so it just sat there. Eventually, she saw it, and her tongue lashed out, licking it off playfully as she made a funny "Arumph" sound, making us both break out in another fit of laughter, this one lasting like five minutes. One of those where your sides hurt and you can't catch your breath.

Then she lay in my arms, forehead on my cheek, giving my neck these cute as hell little kisses with those soft, soft lips.

"Where did you learn how to do that?"

"Was it good?"

"Amazing! Incroyable! Fantastique!"

"Don't tell anyone!"

"Who am I going to tell?"

"I just don't want anyone knowing. I mean, when you hear someone saying a girl gives good head, you immediately think she must be a slut. You don't think I'm a slut, do you?"

"You aren't a slut."

"Promise? I really didn't think I was any good. I haven't done that much."

"Tres fantastique!"

Her face glowed red. "I was going to tell you not to, you know--in my mouth--but I figured, what the heck? He's my brother, and..."

The way she said it, we both started laughing again. It was pretty absurd. All of it. When the laughter ended, I wanted nothing more than to fall asleep just as we were, but that would have been the craziest thing we did that night. Our parents were no more than 20 feet away, and locking the door would have been too obvious. Not after what Mom told us.So, we kissed goodnight. A long, wet tongue kiss and, wearing our PJs, climbed into our own beds. Eventually, her breathing slowed, and I think she got some sleep. I may have slept for an hour or so; the memories of what we did playing over and over in my head kept me awake most of the night.

And we still had more than a week in France. The potential for what lay ahead also conspired to keep me awake.

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