I clamped my hands on her bum, pulling her tight into me, bringing her nipples into range for an all-out lip-assault, something she appreciated, judging by the gasps this evoked as she rubbed and ground her crotch into my increasing hardness. The pressure of her crotch against mine inspired me to even greater efforts as I licked and suckled her breasts harder and with more serious intent, almost biting at the stiff, rubbery nubs that were now the centre of my world.
Lori was whimpering now, “Harder… harder… yesss… yeeesss… like that… yes!” almost continually, her words and bucking on my lap spurring me on, inspiring me, making her writhe as she pumped.
Suddenly she slid to her feet, pulling her top off over her head in one move, and sliding those skin-tight jeans down and off, to stand in her microscopic thong, a pornographic fantasy image come to life, with her jutting breasts and 1950’s movie-goddess looks. With a quick grin, I pulled it down and tossed it aside, then pulled my slacks and jockey’s down and over my feet, allowing my cock to spring free as I pulled my shirt off and threw it after my slacks. Lori slid back onto my lap, her hand encircling my cock, to pump and squeeze it as she leaned in to kiss me, again rubbing her crotch against mine, rubbing her clitoris against my painfully erect, straining cock. After a little more rubbing, squeezing, and sucking my tongue, she decided that she’d had enough foreplay, and raised herself up on her knees, holding and aiming my cock, then sliding down slowly, easing my cock into herself, and grinding into me at the bottom of her stroke, setting her own pace.
She placed her hands on my shoulders as she pumped on my cock, the sucking and squeezing sensation as she tensed and relaxed her vaginal constrictor muscles around my cock were utterly delightful, while the action of rubbing on me was brushing her clitoris through the tuft of hair on my lower abdomen, obviously a sensation she found pleasurable; as she speeded up, her face and neck flushed, and she knotted her fingers behind my neck, pulling me closer to kiss and play with my lips, nipping, licking, nibbling, her eyes shut as she entered her own world.
I was having difficulty keeping from exploding inside her; the sight of her rising and falling above me like this, the close contact with her satin-smooth, warm skin, the obvious arousal she was feeling, all combining to make me very horny. It was with something like relief that I felt her begin to speed-up, her orgasm obviously nearing, rubbing and grinding harder as she built, until, with a loud groan, she began to shudder and quiver, her vagina pulsing as her orgasm roared through her, picking me up and making me come with almost painful force, the sperm boiling out of me and into her in long, satisfying jets, Lori giving an “Oh… Oh…!” as each jet splashed into her cervix.
Eventually we both subsided, spent, sweaty, and very satisfied, to slump down on the couch and lay in perfect contentment, too beat to move, for a while, anyway…
When we eventually stirred, Lori wanted to talk about England, what it was like, what the people were like, all the things about England that intrigue and baffle Americans, a nation separated from them by a common language.
I tried to explain about the difference between the state educational system and the public schools, such as Harrow, or Eton, or Charterhouse, or the significantly less famous school I attended, and their reliance on centuries of tradition and privilege to stay exclusive, but Lori listened in polite incomprehension, until I gave up, only barely understanding it myself. I had attended a public school, but not one of the famous ones, and had only ever socialised with the boys from those other schools on the rugby pitch, so the whole privilege thing was a bit of a mystery to me.
She was also intrigued about the family history, so I whiled-away an hour or so telling her about some of the more stand-out characters in almost 600 years of murder, treachery, deceit, double-crossing, piracy, slave-trading, land-grabbing and mass-murder in the name of the king. My ancestors were not nice people, leaders of the royal armies through all the interminable campaigns against Britain’s enemies (everybody), and I hoped like hell that Lori understood that the family she was marrying into had spent several hundred years trying to live-down the more extreme antics of their forebears.
We fell asleep to the sound of the traffic humming softly below, and awoke to the bright sunshine of a Massachusetts summer morning. Now that we had a plan, Lori was eager to get things moving, so she called Sophie and asked her to lunch, while I started confirming our flights and transport arrangements.
That settled, we turned our attention back to each other. Lori in the morning sun was a sight to behold, her skin gleaming marble white, hair deep, glossy black, eyes like cornflowers, her beautiful face and classic features irresistible, sexy. She noticed my attention on her, my close scrutiny of her every feature, and she blushed as I held my gaze, drinking in every inch of her magnificent form.
“What’s on your mind, Doctor man?” she smiled.
I pulled her close, running my hands over her, touching, stroking, nibbling, licking. She busied herself with my cock, rearing up in readiness between us, gently pumping and squeezing the stem, encouraging the blood flow, making me ready. I rolled over onto my back, pulling her on top of me and sliding my hands down to her bum-cheeks, clutching and squeezing them, marvelling, as always, at how well they fit my hands, all the while kissing her as hard as I could, with her returning my kisses with equal passion and determination. Lori rubbed herself against me, against my cock trapped between us, the pressure and friction delightful, her eyes dancing and her slow smile promising, as she slowly ground herself against me.
“I don’t know what you call this, English-Boy, but where I come from, this is how you do the Belly-Rub!” she purred at me.
I grinned and ground back against her, watching her eyes widen as the base of my cock rubbed against her clitoris. Her arms slid under me as she pulled herself tighter to me, all play gone from her eyes as the sensation of my cock grinding against her clitoris caused little jolts of pleasure to run through her. Her head snapped up, and she slid off me, rolling me with her with her so we ended up on the bed with me now on top of her, my weight on my forearms, her legs wrapped around me. Lori reached back down and took hold of my cock with both hands, pumping it and rubbing herself along it at the same time with her legs wrapped around my waist for leverage, using the length of my cock to masturbate herself as she masturbated me. I could feel her pussy rubbing against me, the wet heat of her swelling labia as her pussy was dragged up and down the base of my cock and the feel of her hard little clitoris as she rubbed it on me.
She began to speed up, pumping me and rubbing herself, kissing me in a frenzy of tongues and lips, my own excitement building as the feel of her juices bathed my cock and scrotum, the scent of her arousal overwhelming me with its sweet, spicy overtones, and as she finally gave a loud groan and slumped back, trembling and quivering as her orgasm burst through her, the sensation of her juices flowing over my cock caused me to lose control, coming in a surge of spunk spraying over her, spurts hitting her belly, breasts, one landing on her chin.
I rolled over, to lie next to her, while Lori smiled, her eyes closed, and her hand slowly came up to stir the puddle of semen on her stomach, then dip her finger in her mouth, lick it clean, and look at me.
“Nice shootin’ Tex!” she drawled, “Y’got most of it in the bulls-eye!”
I started laughing, while Lori giggled and picked up my shirt, using it to mop herself off (again with the shirt!), before tweaking my penis gently.
“Come on you, shower time, we have a brunch date with Aunt Sophie!”
We met Sophie at the Consulate, and carted her off to the bistro we’d had lunch in before, where we gave her our travelling plans, plus our decision to get married now, in Bar Harbor, and then travel to the UK as husband and wife. Sophie declared she would come with us to Maine, so with a quick re-book, it was settled. Lori was ecstatic; her ‘mother’ would be coming to her wedding!
We flew out the next morning, all three of us, and set about booking a time at City Hall to get married, while Sophie arranged for shippers and packers, as only a Lady Who Organises could, and we were married the next day in a short, solemn courthouse ceremony. In advance of the packers, Lori and Sophie began pulling together all the things she treasured most, for us to take back with us now, while I went and saw a realtor about selling the house, leaving the details of the law firm in London who would deal with them.
When I got back to the house, I walked into a strange tableau; Lori, sitting and looking very pale, stiff and tense, Sophie standing and looking at me, stern and forbidding; something was wrong, and it didn’t take long for me to find out what.
“David,” she asked me, “is there something you want to tell me? About you and Loretta, I mean?”
I hedged, wondering where this was going, dreading I already knew.
“David, I found, quite by accident, I assure you, a photograph album, pictures of you and your parents. I browsed through it, quite innocently, looking at pictures of you, your poor dear father, and your mother at Denham Hall, all perfectly ordinary. Upon browsing further, and much to my surprise, I find a picture of your mother, with, I assume, her new husband, you, and a little girl; a little girl who looks exactly like Loretta, exactly like your mother. My question to you is: How exactly did you meet Loretta, and what is her actual relationship to you?”
Oh Jeez.
I decided that, as she had already worked it out, I may as well tell her outright.
“Aunt Sophie, Lori is my half-sister. I know what we’re doing is wrong, but I love her; she and I are meant to be together!”
Sophie nodded slowly, looking first at me, then Lori, then back to me.
“Yes, I daresay. When were you planning on telling me of this…. aspect of your relationship, pray tell?”
I gulped, and decided that total honesty was now the only policy.
“Aunt Sophie, I was hoping it would never come up. Lori and I have different fathers, we’re only related through Mother, and we’re from different countries…..” I trailed off. Sophie looked at me piercingly for another few seconds, her face slowly settling in to less stern lines.