Martha in America Ch. 04

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I nodded with an “uhn-hnn,” and then I was humming as I did everything else I could to let her enjoy it, and she was: sighing and purring, and then moaning as her pelvis moved, and then her thighs jerked and started to quiver as she gasped out: “Oh, oh,” gasping and moaning as her thighs quivered, and then she started to come – all her sweet love juice! Better than oysters! And when I thought she was finished, she started all over again, her “ohs” and moans melding into an aroused whimper – like a small child’s – that just couldn’t be stopped, and then she gasped: “Fuck me! You’ve got to fuck me!”

Surprised at her demand and choice of word, I stood up and almost did; I wanted to, and she seemed so desperate to have it, but we needed a rubber.

“I will,” I promised: “… just wait.”

She looked a little disappointed, but nodded, and I ran to my room with him bouncing and found one and rushed back as I got it out and started to put it on. She had her hand on her pussy, her finger moving in it, and then her hand guiding him, and then he was in it, deep in it as she moaned and it clutched him. And then we were fucking, and she was still almost as aroused as before as I squeezed her flushed breasts as she wrapped her arms and legs around me, kissing, with her tongue fucking in my mouth. Then she began to whimper again as her pussy held him, squeezing him again and again as he moved in her quickly, and then coming again, as though she hadn’t already, her thighs quivering as she rocked her hips up to meet his thrusts, and then he was coming as her pussy clutched and spurted until she almost cried out: “Nok! Jeg kan ikke mer!” and relaxed under me.

Of course, I didn’t understand what she had said, but from her reverting to Norwegian and the situation, it must have been something like: Enough! I can’t any more! She still had her feet locked behind my back as she breathed deeply under me a few times, and then she squeezed him again and he slipped out of her, and she snorted softly and opened her eyes and smiled with an expression of satisfaction as she sighed and murmured:

“Oh God, I wanted it! Just couldn’t get enough, …” and a another smile passed over her lips: “… just had to have it this way too. But then it was enough, … thank you.”

I nodded and she snorted again with another smile and added:

“The more I get, the more I want. You’re spoiling me. … I never did it so much with anyone before … and certainly not so good. … Hm-hmm! No one did it so good, … or let me do it so good, … like I said, … when you were doing it.”

“Um-hmm,” I agreed with a nod and smile:

“I liked that, … just the way I felt, just wanting to do it for you and appreciating that you were letting me do it, wanting me to.”

She snorted slightly again with a nod and another little smile. I stood up and she sat up, and then she looked down at him and chuckled, and reached down and slipped the rubber off and held it up, reminding me of my sister as she looked at and then snickered and asked:

“Can I have my second helping now?”

“If you want, … I guess,” I added to suggest that her remark had surprised me.

For the same reason I repeated in a more questioning way:

“If you want?” She looked at the rubber and its contents for a moment, and then grinned at me and replied:

“I do,” and snickered: “… that’s how much I like it, … better than beer or oysters, but I like them too.”

She smiled at me as she as she put the rubber in her mouth.

“Then you must really like it.”

Martha nodded and raised the end of the rubber and slid her fingers down it, letting me watch her shove the white fluid into her mouth.

She snorted and smiled and then swallowed and snickered as she said:

“Getting it both ways. Now I want a beer.”

“Me too,” I agreed, and went to the refrigerator and got two cans as I wondered how many other girls liked “a second helping” like that, if I knew three that did: just the very good ones – or the very bad ones – no, just the very good ones from my experience.

Martha had gotten off the table, when I turned back to her, and grinned, saying:

“We better clean up here before we spread it around. Give me the hand towel.”

I grinned and agreed: “Yeah, I guess so,” and handed it to her.

She dropped it on the floor and wiped it around with her feet, then wiping her feet on it, and then picked it up and wiped the table as she said:

“I’ll do some laundry on Friday,” and left the towel on the table and took the opened beer can that I offered her.

“Skaal,” we both said and drank and then looked at each other again, smiling, and both snorting slightly and then almost simultaneously asking:

“And what do we do now?” and then laughing at our joint remark.

Martha responded before I could think of a reply:

“After beer and oysters and that, … with chocolate … – Hm-hmm! – and a second helping, there isn’t much else we can do, … isn’t anything better that we can do.”

“Not that I can think of;” I agreed and had another sip of my beer.

She nodded with wide eyes and had a kızılay escort sip, too, and then suggested:

“Maybe it was the oysters … that made me want it that much.”

“I hope so, … I didn’t plan it that way, but it sure was good.” She nodded with a smile.

Then she came and put her arm around me, holding her warm body against mine, and murmured:

“I’ve just got to feel you.”

I put my arm around her shoulders, liking that she had bridged the physical gap between us that I had also felt.

“Um-hmm,” I agreed.

“I know,” she went on softly: “… my mother was right. … It’s just for now … maybe that much … so …”

“Intense?”

“Yeah,” she agreed, smiling at me: “… for that reason.”

“Um-hmm, … to enjoy it while it lasts, knowing it won’t be forever, but maybe more intense … just for that reason.”

She hugged me and then offered a skaal with her free hand, and we drank again.

“Yes, like that,” she agreed, and then snickered to my surprise and remarked:

“There’s a Norwegian song that starts: ‘Skal vi väre dus, bare for i kweld?’ Shall we use the familiar … second person – you know: du in German or tu in French – just for this evening? It’s like that, just for more evenings.”

“And maybe more intense,” I suggested.

“Not just maybe,” she replied, and we hugged each other again and drank to that without a skaal.

I liked that she had said that, appreciating that girls seemed to be more outspoken about clarifying “ticklish” situations, and then hoped we both could manage the situation later. We finished our beers, still with our arms around each other, in silence, and then Martha murmured:

“I guess we can go to bed.”

We disposed of our beer cans and put the chocolate syrup and whipped cream back in the refrigerator, and she picked up the rubber without a comment, and then we turned out the lights in the kitchen and living room, and I told her I would join her and went to my room and got two more rubbers and then went to the bathroom and used the toilet and washed him, and then went to her room. She had turned off the lights already, so I felt my way to her bed. She had left the covers open for me, and then drew them back over me, and then we were lying in each other’s arms with our legs interlocked, and with a kiss said good night and went to sleep.

When she rolled over in the night, it became involved in my dream, something nebulous about my sister, more about a vague fear of my mother discovering us, without my quite knowing why. I dreamt on, that the safest thing to do was stay hiding under the covers with her, now that her turning over had made it apparent in the dream that I was in bed with her – settled comfortably under my arm – very comfortably as he slipped between her thighs.

And then the dream sort of faded out, but then it resumed again when I felt her fingers on him, pressing him up as she moved her hips, and he slipped into her – still in my dream – and I approved without any erotic thoughts, thinking in my dream: yes, hide him there, and then no one will know what we’re doing. Satisfied with this solution, the dream faded out again.

And faded back in again as she rocked her hips a couple of times: nice sister, letting him hide in her, and in my dream I helped move him in her, taking turns doing that a couple of times. Slowly I realized that it wasn’t a dream, but was still thinking she was my sister, liking the way she had intruded in my dream. And we continued taking turns rocking our hips, just letting it feel good; he wasn’t going to do anything, just enjoy it, and I chuckled slightly at my thought in the dream that her hiding him there would have avoided anyone’s recognizing what we were doing.

Suddenly the sound of a police siren made me aware that we were in the city – not on Fire Island! God, were we at home, doing it at home?! I froze, not returning the movement of her hips. No wonder there had been something upsetting about my dream! Her hand slid back over my hip and held me to her.

Then Martha’s voice softly asked:

“Don’t you want to?”

It all came back to me: Martha and I alone at home; my sister only a dream; everything was all right. Immensely relieved, I nodded and replied:

“I was still sort of dreaming, until the siren woke me up,” and then moved him in her again. “Doing this?” she asked and snickered and then rocked her hips again and then added:

“I’d better not ask.”

I rocked mine again, wondering that I hadn’t recognized that it wasn’t my sister’s breast that I was holding in my hand as I rubbed her nipple, and she chuckled in appreciation. And then we were more active, until I had to hold still and murmur:

“We better find one.”

Martha held still, too, with a nod, and I felt her moving her hand under her pillow, and then she nodded again and started to put it in my hand, and then murmured:

“I’ll do it.”

She unwrapped it, and I drew him out of her and she reached behind her hip and put it on – with more experience than I expected. Then he was back in her, and we started again, taking kızılay escort bayan turns as before, but now with out my fear of discovery. Then I had my hand on hers on her pussy as both our hips were moving at once as I slid down the bed a little to let him go deeper, and then both our fingers were moving on her. She snickered softly as hers moved just as eagerly as mine. And then we were just silently fucking, wanting to come.

Not really silent, of course, both of us purring as we sighed and as he moved in and out as our fingers shared space on her aroused little swelling. Mine tried to follow what hers was doing, thinking that she knew what was best for her, and it must have been: she was soon gasping and her pussy clutching him, and moaning with her little “Oh, oh-ohs,” and then I started to come, and she did too, her love juice spurting out as her pussy clutched him again and again until she finally pushed my fingers aside and held her pussy with a deep, moaning sigh and relaxed.

I slid my hand up to her breast – suddenly wondering if her brother had held it after the thunder storm, and relaxed. God, it had been a relief to discover that it had only been a dream! I dozed off.

When I rolled over later, I reached down to adjust my balls, and discovered the rubber. This time in my half-sleep, I was fully aware of where I was and with whom and slipped it off and dropped it on the floor. Martha then turned over, but didn’t put her arm around me, and we dozed off again.

When I woke up again, she did have her arm around me. I opened my eyes and saw that it was very early still, much too early to worry about having to get up – a nice feeling. When she moved her hand a little, I thought she was probably also awake and put my hand back and found her hip.

“God morgen,” she murmured, letting me wonder where she thought she was. Then she murmured:

“Good morning,” and slid her hand up to my breast.

“Good morning to you, too,” I replied and slid my hand further over her hip.

She snorted – I felt her breath against my back – and then asked:

“Have any more good dreams?”

“Hmm! Hm-umm. One like that a night is enough, … especially if it turns out that it wasn’t just a dream, … thank you.”

“Hmm!”

“And you?”

Martha snorted again with a soft snicker and replied:

“My brother, … not doing it, … Hmm! … I think I was wanting to do something to him – for him – but it was kind of vague, like you said. Yes, sort of a continuation of what I told you, when I was fourteen, and … maybe of what you told me, … about your sister, topless. Hmm? … Maybe dreaming of what I might have wanted to do if I hadn’t left his room.”

“Wanted to show him your aroused nipples?”

“Hmm? I don’t know. A year or two later, I might have, at least, wanted to.

We both chuckled, and she held herself closer against my back, and I held her hips closer to mine. I was liking that she had admitted that she would have liked to have done more with her brother, making it seem less unusual that my sister had with me – and I with her – and that she had understand that we had without being completely shocked.

She squeezed my breast and murmured:

“You’re the kind of brother that would make a girl want to.”

I squeezed her ass and replied:

“Depends on the sister. Mine used to be pretty bitchy.”

“Bitchy?”

“Cranky, contrary, … you know, like teenaged girls can be.”

She snorted and then after a moment replied:

“But she wasn’t being ‘bitchy’ when she got you both to do that.”

I nodded my head. After a long moment’s hesitation, she asked:

“Were you dreaming about her?”

“You weren’t going to ask, but yes. Not very nice to admit that, sleeping with you” I replied, feeling myself blush.

“That’s all right; we shouldn’t be, either. Just don’t tell our parents.”

“Oooh! Don’t mention them!”

“Sorry.”

I nodded my head, and we were silent for a few moments. Martha hugged me to her again and kissed my back and said:

“Did you have Latin in school?”

I nodded again, wondering what the connection to our situation could be.

“Carpe diem,” she responded with a chuckle. I nodded and replied:

“More like ‘carpe noctem’, but we did it …” I bit my tongue. She rubbed my chest and replied:

“I’m sure it was good, … knowing you. Lucky, like I am.”

“And like I am with you, luckier, not so fraught with other thoughts.”

“‘Fraught’?

“Burdened.”

“Oh, of course. Must be a verb form of ‘freight’.”

“Probably; you know more about English than I do. But I still have to face my parents.”

“Oh, not so good. Hmm? Tell them it was my fault, that I seduced you. I sort of did.”

“Too easily to count as seduction.”

“Um-hmm! Thank goodness.”

“You wanted to?”

“Thought about it as soon as I heard that your parents were going to leave us together.”

“Your mother wouldn’t have liked that.”

“She is far away.”

“You’re lucky.”

“Carpe … What’s the word for dawn?”

“Aurora.”

“Carpe escort kızlay auroram:”

“Your Latin is better than mine.”

“But you knew ‘aurora’.”

“Not from Latin, from a novel by Sinclair Lewis, ‘Main Street’. The name of a soap is Aurora Dawn, and they complain about the duplication.”

“At least, I have heard of Sinclair Lewis. Carpe auroram.”

I rubbed her ass again, reaching down under the curve of it this time, and she pressed her thighs up against mine with another snort and chuckle as she slid her hand down and found him and my balls with her fingers, massaging them. We chuckled, and she moved back from me a little, suggesting that I roll on my back, and I did, and then moved and rolled over towards her, finding her breast, murmuring: “Carpe auroram,” and we kissed, briefly with our heads on the pillow, and then I rolled her up on top of me, and then we really kissed.

When she felt him, Martha chuckled and murmured: “It’s kind of funny to think that you were probably like this with her.” I had to nod, and she chuckled again and added: “Maybe I’m a little envious, … my brother,” and then she started kissing again, still chuckling at first, and I was full of appreciation for her sympathetic understanding as our tongues caressed each other, but then we were only conscious of each other, interrupted for a few moments to find a rubber.

When it was over and she had come back to herself, she murmured:

“I love to fuck you, … love you to fuck me.”

“Um-hmm,” I agreed, feeling the same way:

“… both ways, … and I hope we each love someone who loves to as much.”

“Um-hmm, … and as well.”

She kissed me, but then a tear dropped on my cheek. I hugged her, feeling a couple in my eyes in sympathy, and murmured:

“Me too. Making love this good just makes you have to love each other a little. That’s what the expression says.”

She opened her eyes and looked at me and nodded, looking real serious for a long moment, and then smiled – maybe a little forced – and agreed:

“I guess it does.” and then smiled more broadly with a snort and repeated:

“Yes, I guess it does. We just did it – at home – but not good enough to count as really ‘making love’, like that, … like this, … with you,” and she kissed me again.

And I kissed her, and then better, enjoying our consensus about “making love”. Then she wanted me to suck her breasts, drawing herself up on me, and they wanted to be sucked and nibbled on, all stiff and aroused, and he was all stiff and aroused again as I was sucking her other breast then, wondering if she wanted to “make some more love” as my hand slipped down over her ass, between her thighs, immediately finding her warm, moist pussy. Martha chuckled warmly in appreciation, and then snorted with a sharp “Uhmmm!” as I found her aroused clitoris, and then chuckled again and murmured:

“I want a third helping of dessert.”

“You’re greedy, asking for it.”

“I know,” she replied: “… bad manners, … especially in Norway. You never ask for seconds at home – or accept them – until the hostess has offered three times, so you know it wasn’t just politeness, that there really is enough so that you can accept.”

“Hm-hmm! Maybe there won’t be enough for a third helping.”

“That doesn’t matter. … Hm-hm-hmm! I’ll just pretend there is – Hm-hmm! – just go through the motion of eating it.”

“If you want to,” I agreed with a chuckle.

She rolled off me and sat up and turned around, snickering again as we both saw him, standing up with the rubber still half on. Martha snickered again as she lay down across the bed with her upper arms on my stomach and thigh, and then as she pulled the rubber off him, letting it slip up between the fingers of her other hand, she said: “Maybe this is my third helping and I’ll pretend that I can have a fourth one.”

“You are greedy,” I replied as she already had him in her mouth with the creamy fluid she had squeezed out of the rubber, and she nodded with nice feeling “uhnnn-hnnnnn” as her tongue explored. Then she let him slip out of her mouth and licked up the drops in my hair, snickering to herself, and then she had him back in her mouth, taking him real deep once, and then I drew up my thigh and rolled towards her, reaching out on the bed to hold her waist, drawing myself towards her as she rolled back, raising her thigh and letting me draw her hips to me as she slid her other thigh up under my head.

And then we were both looking for a last helping of dessert – licking for a last helping – and enjoying doing it, and enjoying even more having it done, wanting to give it to each other, both ways – to get our desserts and to give them to each other. When I started to stroke her asshole, I felt her snort, and then she let him slip from her mouth and murmured: “I will, too; I want to,” and licked over my taut sack as she pressed her head deeper between my thighs, and I did the same as she rocked her hips forward to let me find her asshole with my tongue as I felt hers on mine. And she seemed to be enjoying it as much as I was, both of us letting the other feel it move. But then she was licking my balls again, trying to get one in her mouth, sucking and then succeeding as my mouth slid back to her slippery pussy and I felt her chuckling as her tongue moved on it, thinking that it had been a good idea to let me cool off a little, to let my sack relax.

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