Sisters Sharing a Seat Ch. 01

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I recently posted Making Room for the Art, my iteration of the popular account of the incestuous consequences for two relatives packed closely together in the back seat of a car (or in my case, a pick-up truck). I wrote about an aunt and a nephew. The story was well received and one reader suggested a story featuring two women. It seemed an excellent idea – thank you Epiphany_Jones. This is my effort to bring it to life.

Like Making Room for the Art, the women are based on gym buddies of mine. One of them also served as the model for the aunt in Making Room for the Art.

These events are a complete invention.

As always, all story characters involved in sexual activities are eighteen years of age or older.

* * * *

We maneuvered Rob, my husband, and Bryan, my sister’s, to the car. They’d had a successful night at the blackjack table. It was a two hour drive back to Manchester and they’d be regaling each other, and us, with accounts of their acumen the entire way. All of us had had a few drinks and good cop that she was, Chris subjected both men to a Breathalyzer test, determining that while my Rob was drunk, her Bryan was under the legal limit. She handed him the keys.

I was concerned about. “Are you sure about this?”

Gesturing to her husband’s substantial beer belly, Chris said, “Yeah. I’ve been with him long enough to know he can handle this and Bessie will get us out of any problems we may have.”

Bessie was my sister’s name for her police cruiser. We shouldn’t have been driving it to an out-of-state to a casino, but Bryan had insisted and Bryan, a major in the Hillsborough County Sheriff’s Office, was my sister’s boss. There were perks to being a major he said, including driving the cruiser to a casino on what he assured us was official business. Another perk was my sister, who’d he married three years before. His second, her first marriage, it had been a wild ceremony, my new brother-in-law toasting his bride as the baddest-assed-bitch-on-the-planet. No one disputed him.

One problem had been settled, now the next. The trip had been spur of the moment; we had not unloaded all the gear from Chris’ car. It had not been a problem on the way down. Although the back seat was cramped I, all four feet ten inches and 93 pounds of me, made myself comfortable. The trip back, however, posed a problem.

Our two husbands were regulars at the casino and that evening, as the bets at the black jack table grew, the casino comped our boys with several gifts: coolers and luggage bearing the casino’s name. It was now piled on the back seat.

It was cheap tacky stuff. I said to Rob. “Can we give it back? Can we dump it somewhere?”

“Fuck no, that’s our fucking winnings. We the men.”

“Yeah,” Bryan chimed in, “those are fricking gifts. We’d insult our generous hosts. We the men.”

“And where am I supposed to sit?”

“You and Chris can figure it out; she can figure anything out.”

Chris and I re-arranged the back seat, re-arranged it again. We opened the trunk; it was stuffed with police gear.

“It looks like you’re sitting on my lap.”

I’m twenty-four, my sister’s thirty-seven. Growing up she was the boss, still was. She was bigger than me; she had six inches and fifty pounds on me. My goal in the gym was to look good and I’d honed my body to what I wanted, lean and muscled. My sister, she wanted to be able to kick your ass. She power lifted and boy could she could move some weight; people stared at awe at her work outs.

There was another reason they, especially the women, stared. My sister made straight women think about changing teams. While we both had short hair, I kept my brown hair in a cute bob, my sister died her hair blonde and wore it in a carefully arranged gaziantep ucuz escort bayan mess. My tattoo was a delicate feather on my left shoulder, invisible unless I decided to show it. My sister’s most prominent tattoo was a blazing sun fixed on a powerful shoulder. No matter what she wore, it was visible. I took care of my skin and carefully applied make-up to emphasize my smallish features and pale skin. Chris, who was blessed with strong features, wide eyes, wide nose, prominent jaw, high strong cheekbones, wore no make-up and her skin showed the effects of years of outdoor living. And yeah, she also looked spectacular in a white ribbed tank top.

But that only describes part of her. When growing up, when I needed my big sister, when a friend or teacher or Mom or Dad or a boyfriend was cruel, Chrissie was amazing: intelligent, articulate, deep, fun, open-minded. We’d talk and I’d always feel better. I told her my darkest secrets; she’d always been there for me.

Was she gay? Bi? Yeah, but I knew few details. All her life she’d tease me, hint at a wild history, a hidden her, but would decline all specifics, deflecting my questions with a chivalric machismo.

So when my older sister, my confidant, the boss, a power lifter who might not notice my weight, and the baddest-assed-bitch-on-the-planet suggested her lap, I didn’t argue. Wearing a light cotton dress, I climbed board. She was wearing a jeans and a red shirt, sort of de rigeur for her.

She took hold of my hips, moved me around, finally settled me atop one leg, straddling her thigh.

“You ladies set back there?”

“We’ll be fine. Your wife’s as light as a feather.”

The ignition was turned; the guys started up before we escaped the parking lot.

“Fuck, man, when you hit that 21, the dealer looked like he’d shit a hand grenade.”

“Yeah, but when you decided to draw at 13, and won, the dealer looked like he’d shit a land mine.”

“Fuck, you the man.”

“No fuck, you the man.”

It was going to be a long trip home.

My sister placed her hands on my knees and I leaned back, finding comfort, as I often did, in her strength. I closed my eyes, tried to relax, to shut out the chatter in the front. My mind emptied out, floated, as we bumped down the road.

Chrissie’s hands moved to the top of my thighs, gently kneading my flesh. It felt nice. The guys kept talking; I zoned out.

We’d been on the road awhile before I noticed I; it crept slowly into my consciousness. I felt it before I began to focus on it and even then it took me several moments to identify it. There was a nice warm feeling flowing through me, emanating from my sex; I was aroused. My dress had worked out from under me; my vagina, covered only with my thin panties, was pressed to my sister’s powerful leg, and the car – could they give these things better suspensions? – was rocking back and forth. It felt good.

I started to move, thinking maybe I could straddle both my sister’s legs, end the contact, but Chris’ grip on my legs tightened, held me in place. She brought her lips to my ear and, murmured softly, “You’re doing fine baby, there’s no need to move.” She kissed the side of my head and said, “What’s that perfume you’re wearing?”

“Jo Malone.”

“Sage, sea salt?”

“Very good. You like?”

“Very much,” she said.

“I thought you might be getting uncomfortable.”

She rolled her back on the seat, shifted our positions, angling her leg upwards, putting a bit more pressure on my sex.

“I’m doing fine. I remember when you were baby, sometimes I would rock you to sleep like this.”

“Rock me to sleep? I mostly remember you fixing daddy’s car.”

I could gaziantep ukraynalı escort bayan feel her smile.

One of the men up front let out a long loud fart; they both burst out laughing.

“You the man.”

“No, you the man.”

“Lower the window,” my sister said.

“Oh honey.”

“Lower the window.”

My sister could be scary.

“Yes dear.”

Then in a soft voice, to me only, she said, “Men can be so gross.”

We drove on. My mind kept returning to my sex and finally decided to relax, accept it. There was no harm in what was happening and it did feel good. We reached a stretch of highway paved in concrete; the car jolted at each joint. I felt each jolt in my sex. I was getting wet. I knew I needed to do something, but shit, I also thought, maybe it could wait a few minutes. This felt so good and I liked being held by my sister.

My sister’s fingers closed around the muscles running from my neck to my shoulders, effortlessly massaged them, little challenge for a woman of her strength.

“How that’s feel Liz?”

“Wonderful, absolutely wonderful.”

She worked my shoulders, my neck, my spine. When done she leaned me forward, further pressing my sex to her leg, and ran her powerful fingertips up and down my back. I began to feel like jello. When she stopped I melted into her body. We drove on, mile after mile; I felt great, I’d have to masturbate later. Chris moved my head so it rested on her chest and toyed with my hair, touched my face. I continued jouncing on my sister’s leg; my mind fixed on the glowing warmth between my legs. My breathing flattened out; my beasts flushed; my small nipples hardened.

The guys kept up their chatter, now indecipherable background noise except for the occasional, “You the man!”

And then I felt it, realized it had been going on for awhile. My sister was flexing the muscles in her leg. Was she actually rocking against me?

I stiffened, not sure what to do.

She read my motion. “It’s okay.”

She knew, knew what I’d been feeling.

I started to pull my head away, but she cupped it with her hand, held me to her. I began to apologize

“I’m sorry, it’s just that, I didn’t mean to.”

She kept jostling her leg.

“It’s okay honey, no need to apologize. I’m a woman, I understand what’s going on, how your body feels. You seemed to be enjoying it, I thought I’d help. I didn’t mean to offend.”

Now I felt like I needed to explain, “I’m not offended, it’s just that, I mean, well…”

Some explanation.

She raised her leg, pressed it firmly to my sex.

“It’s a turn-on. What’s wrong with that. I like it too. “

She took my small fingers in her hand, slipped them between the buttons of her shirt. I could feel her areolas and nipples, which were large and raised from her flesh, trough her bra; they were hard and erect.

There was a burst of laughter from the front seat and my cell phone pinged. A message from my husband: “Baby, how big are your tits?”

Chris cupped my breast, squeezed, whispered in my ear: “Not as big as my sister’s, but big enough.”

And so I replied.

That got an “Oooooooo,” from Chris’ husband and a laugh from my mine, followed by the obligatory, “You the man.”

Jesus, they could be morons.

My sister pulled me into her, flexed her leg on my sex, unbuttoned my dress. I offered no resistance When she had trouble with the top button I covered her hands with my own, said in a soft voice, “Let me help,” and with my smaller, more nimble fingers, released the button, then undid my bra. She slipped a hand inside my dress. I inhaled sharply as the air conditioned air blew across gaziantep üniversiteli escort bayan my skin. It was pitch black outside and the heavy metal grill separating the front and back seats made detection of our play impossible. Still, I whispered to my sister, “I can’t believe I’m letting you do this.”

“Relax and enjoy honey.”

That I did. Her leg on my sex, one hand on my breast, another stroking my leg, her fingers dancing lightly on my skin; it was magnificent. I nestled against her and she kissed my head, my ear, my nose, gentle sweet pecks. I basked in my sister’s touch and her warm powerful body.

I could lie like this forever.

Her hand moved to the inside of my thigh, slid on my skin. She had a sixth sense, correctly interpreting each murmur and shudder, understanding exactly what I liked best, returning to it, but never too often. When she moved her hand to my crotch I was impatient for it.

I pivoted back into her. Her index finger glided along the middle of my vagina and clitoris, top to bottom, up and down. She applied pressure to my vulva, then my labia, moving back and forth in a small circular motions, varying the pressure. She kept at it, taking her time. Sh was not a man, not in a rush to get me to orgasm.

A finger traced the outlines of my pussy lips, the tip snuck inside me, less than an inch, and rubbed the sensitive flesh.

I cooed into my sister’s chest.

I detected the strong scent of my arousal; luckily the guys were clueless.

The hand in my dress, which had avoided my nipples, caught one, rolling it between talented fingers. I giggled, looked up at my sister, said, “I love you,” took hold of the hand on my chest, drew it out, kissed each fingertip, moved it back inside. My sister dropped her head; our lips met in a long sweet kiss.

“Undo my shirt.”

I struggled to unbutton her shirt; my fingers were clumsy and slow, distracted by the sensations flowing through me. When I was finally done I pulled her bra down, freed her breasts, and buried my head in the valley between her breasts, then moved to her nipples – they and the areolas were massive hard firm distended – and my cheeks concave, suckled on them like a desperate child, lashing them with my tongue.

Our intertwined bodies were pressed so tightly together I could not longer tell where I began and she ended.

She placed a finger along each side of my clitoris, squeezing gently.

I humped my hips; my groans were muffled by the tit-flesh in my mouth.

The pad of her index finger found my clit, rolled it on body. Perfect motion, perfect pressure, perfect speed.

the sound of the car on the highway, the chatter of the boys, was barely discernible; they’d faded into the background. My focus was on the body I clung to and the hands on my breasts and sex. I made sounds, nonsense noises, whimpering in ecstatic delight. My sister kept up the pressure, understanding what I needed.

I stood at the gates of heaven; then I entered.

Every muscle in my body tightened, my thighs quivered, tingles spread throughout me. I was light-headed; my vision blurred; I broke out in a light sweat. A faucet was turned on deep inside me and every ounce of sexual energy was sucked from my body, starting with my toes and fingertips and working its way until it pulsed through my vagina. When it was over I felt like a noodle, happily molding myself to my sister, thinking, “I can’t believe how completely normal this all felt.”

“I love you,” I purred.

“I love you too baby sis.”

I fell asleep in my sister’s arms, not waking up until we’d stopped in front of my sister’s house. Still tossled with sleep, I kissed her, then, with her support, stood on shaky legs. My husband got out, looking much the worse for wear, and said, “Honey, while you were asleep Chris suggested we spend the night here. I’m not sure I’m up for the drive home.”

Sounded like a plan; I had unfinished business with my sister.

“Great. You’re the man.”

Bryan, echoing my sentiment, said, “Rob, you is the man!”

Chris said, “Why don’t you boys have a night cap. Liz and I will make up the bed in the guest bedroom.”

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