Cave Love Ch. 02

Big Tits

“Oh, my cunny needs fucking so badly!”

“What do you think we’re doing here!”

I was really pounding Carrie. The delicacy of our first coupling in the cave had given way to grinding fuck-thrusting, real shoving and straining: the natural progression, my sister observed, from all the wrestling we’d done when we were younger.

The trick in making Carrie cum hard, so that her pussy pulses my penis, is deep-fucking: Pinning her. Actually *limiting* her thrust-back.

This is relatively easy. Strong as she is, she’s petite. A pixie. I’m almost twice her size. I hold her cute round bottom in the span of my hands, marvel at the soft-hardness of her lean glutes. She clutches my butt, too, which I love.


She fucks back like a champion, but I’ve (gently but firmly) got her pelvis in a lock, so that her engorged clit is under constant pressure, a button pushed down before it can fully pop-up. But a super-horny girl like my sister is cunning of cunny: her thrust-back allows her clit to enjoy friction, up-down, side-to-side, and *swirling*.

My own fuck is built on the basic principle that my cock must aspire always to penetrate-further Carrie’s pussy. And damn she’s tight! My penis gets squeezed without mercy, glans to root. There is no “slapping,” in this style of fuck, no “splooshing.” Every movement is fast, controlled, oppositional (meaning: Carrie is trying to fuck me harder than I am hard-fucking her). None of this would be possible if I did not keep a firm grip on her bottom. Our quads, well developed in both Carrie and me, also help to lock us in place.

Kissing is very important. In fact, our tongues are fucking, too. As if our groins have been left to their own urgent business. Autonomous. But there is a symmetry of action and intensity between mouth and groin.

In time, our mouths must commit wholly to breathing. I gaze at Carrie’s pretty face, the light spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She smiles, almost shyly. (“Pouting” lips can also make for a very cute smile.) Our matching sets of dark blue eyes smile, too. The heaving and shuddering of her bosom. Her nipples erect and wet from my tonguing and slurping and sucking.

And there it is. The red flush, crimson at the suprasternal notch, that has spread across her upper chest: the signal that she is about to cum. It lingers for some time afterwards. (Thinking back, I realize that all the times I’d noticed that flush to her chest and neck meant that Carrie’d just masturbated.)

Building and building to O. You’d like to soar forever at the cum-limen, but it’s impossible. Which is the whole point. Achieving the zenith, I release the first torrent of jism into my sister. She’s been waiting for this. Her orgasm commences.

“Oh my pussy!” Carrie screams. “My pussy’s being fucked!” She can manage words, whole sentences. I’m just grunting with every full-bore blast. “Oh! Your cock is squirting cum into my pussy!” And then the pulsing of Pussy while my cock twitches and spurts its last.

Still thrusting, clutching her bottom, I swivel my right ring finger to her sphincter, lightly Topkapı Escort touch it: it’s keeping a beat, the infallible Richter scale of the endurance and intensity of Carrie’s orgasm.

As for me, a long and intense fuck such as what Carrie and I have (overnight!) perfected, produces, in orgasm, an almost mystic awareness, not obtainable as conscious thought during the event, but somehow *known* in a primordial way: that my penis, ejaculating, is “other” from the rest of my being. That it is, in orgasm, somehow… ensouled.

Bonny Hind House. The first week of summer. My twin sister and I are in sole possession of the grand old manse and its ninety isolated acres. (Though the arrival of our cousins is entirely too imminent.) All we do is fuck and play with each other’s nude bodies, kiss and cuddle.


“Yeah, Carrie.”

“I need to suck your cock.”

“Good luck.”

It’s three p.m. Since ten this morning I’ve volleyed more semen into my sister’s vagina and mouth than I ever thought possible.

We’ve moved the mattress and bedding out to the porch off our room. Being naked outdoors, running your hand along the curves and contours of a gorgeous naked girl; masturbating her while being masturbated by her; lapping at her pussy while she thrashes in ecstasy; fucking her hard and fast, fucking her gently and slowly… this is when sex gets celestial, launched free of common rutting into the empyrean of the gods. If I remember my Greek mythology, brothers copulating with their sisters was a theme often visited by classical civilization.

Speaking of visits. “Suck Finn’s cock” seems to have become a regular entry in my sister’s social calendar.

She’s crept down my torso to align her lips with my languid penis. Her tongue darts out to slap the large purple-pink corona. Then quick licks along the shaft. But I know my greedy sister. All this pointillist fellating cannot satisfy her need to hold my cock in her mouth and softly suck, “mmmmmmm”-ing as the spongy tissue swells, lengthening and expanding.

A mackerel sky above us; the ocean pluming the rocks below us. Through a deft combination of suck and pump, Carrie is rewarded with a jet of jism. She swallows. Smiles. Says, “Ahhh!” Like her thirst’s been quenched. It was the rhythmic swaying of her tits that did it, made me come. That and the auburn pubic triangle. And the toile de Jouy ribbon she’d used to fashion a ponytail, her hair getting blonder by the day in the summer sun. Yes, gazing upon my sister’s nude beauty turned the tide.

“Damn, that’s good fun,” Carrie says, nuzzling me.

“What’s that about?” I gasp, trying to tally the ridiculous number of times since we returned from the cave that Carrie has abruptly, wantonly, taken my cock into her mouth.

“What’s what about?”

“Sucking my cock. Swallowing my cum.”

“I dunno. Blowjob qua blowjob doesn’t interest me. I dislike the term, actually.”

“Yeah. It’s pretty inelegant.”

Carrie giggles. I think it’s because I’ve just said something droll.

“‘Inelegant’? If I were a guy, I’d be more Topkapı Escort Bayan concerned about possible confusion.”

“Whadd’ya mean?”

“There’s this comedy-album mix tape someone left in the ballroom. There’s one bit, this guy’s a TV newscaster and he’s caught on camera talking to his girlfriend on the phone, and he says, ‘No, you don’t actually *blow* on it.'”

“That’s funny.”

“So ‘blowjob’ is a no-go. But replace that with what flashes through my mind: ‘I want to suck on his cock. I want to feel Finn’s cock harden and throb in my mouth.’ That’s what I think. And there’s nothing I want more in the world.”

“What about the cum?”

“Does Annie swallow or spit?”

“A gentleman never tells.”

“She spits. Yeah, she spits.” Carrie clambers atop me to tickle my ribs. My sister’s been making jibes about my absent girlfriend.

I’m hard again. Again! Carrie is wet, very wet. She scoots her pussy down and wriggles onto my cock. We both groan, but this won’t be (cannot be!) a full-fledged fuck. Just a fun way to keep the conversation rolling.

“So… ahhhhh… why *do* you swallow?”

“I couldn’t imagine doing otherwise. Also, understand, Finnegan, pre-cum… especially your output. Geez! I’m swallowing the whole time I’m sucking. That blast across my tonsils: that’s like the action sequence, the car chase.” (Carrie, cinephile nonpareil, often uses movie metaphors.)

Panting, she continues: “But more to the point… unnnhhh…” (Carrie is starting to ride me for real now!) “I like the taste.”

Carrie abruptly rotates and pulls me on my side, for fuck-spooning. Her little body nestled against mine. I caress her tits, clamp her nipples between my fingers (this makes her moan). My cock tight up inside her flexing cunny. I lick a trickle of sweat from her neck as she grinds against me and diddles her clit. I drift into reverie. Just before sleep takes me, I register the gasping and whimpering of my sister’s orgasm.

Next day. The beach. We fuck doggie-style in the shallows of the cove. I just can’t take my eyes off her perfect little butt, the sight of my teak-hard cock held fast by her swollen vulva. We bob about, letting the sea guide our orgasm, which is a fantastic trick, probably impossible to repeat. Just the right energy and sequence of waves shoves me into Carrie. The contrast of my warm semen and the cool sea water makes Carrie yowl as the climax crests and crashes in her Ocean Within.

Later, I’m licking the sea water from her pussy. She’s writhing, pinching her nipples. Her tummy muscles go rigid as she comes. I can’t stop lapping her cunt, but she’s screaming, begging me to quit, as she’s convulsed by onrushing orgasms.

It’s not something I’d ever been much interested in doing, but suddenly I’m on my knees, cranking my painfully swollen penis, rocketing spunk across Carrie’s tummy and tits. She leans forward to catch a splat in her open mouth. “Mmmm, thank you Mr. Angry,” says Carrie, in direct-address to my cock, then sprawls on her back again, eyes closed, idly raking my jism along her body with Escort Topkapı her fingertips.

I collapse next to her. “Hey.”


“I think this is the longest I’ve gone without masturbating since I took up the practice.”

“You mean ‘calling,’ not ‘practice.'”

“Quite right.”

“That reminds me.” She’s got her face up against mine, tenderly kisses me. “Will you be a good guy and get the pool open, pronto.”

“Oh. The water-return jet.”


“Carrie’s original Summer Love.”

“Yup. Your days are numbered, buddy.”

Days. “What are days for?” asks the poet. “Days are for fucking my delicious sister, Mr. Larkin.” Though, at this moment, she’s sucking on my cock yet again. Nothing like ease of access. Carrie and I have been completely naked all week. Ravishing each other. Pausing sex only to rest, bathe, eat. The delirium of a new girlfriend. The fuck marathons. I’ve known a few. But these days with Carrie: nothing could have prepared me.

We swim over to Gone-Baby-Gone Bluff, or as close as we can get to it: the surf is rough today. Carrie dives to try to find the remnants of the collapsed rock face. My heart leaps at the sight of her bottom and the line of her cunny captured in the golden evening light. Eventually, Carrie surfaces, squints up at the cave.

“You realize,” she says, we’re the only people in the history of the planet to enter that cave.”

A flash of our first fuck.

“We consecrated it,” I said.

Moonrise. I follow the thought. “Never a woman on the moon. That was a mistake. A man and a woman should have landed on the moon. And there they should have fucked.”

“What? In the lunar module? A glorified airplane toilet.”

I laugh. Carrie is nothing if not direct.

We drift together, kissing lavishly. Above us looms our love-cave.

The ocean chills. We race each other back to the cove. I let her win, the better to gaze upon that gorgeous bottom, those plump cunny lips.

The water beading on Carrie’s goosebumped skin. Her nipples hard as the pebbles at our feet. No control of it. Carrie grabs my erection and shouts, “Home, boy! Point the way home!”

We make it to the lower lawn, whereupon Carrie drops to her knees and bids me fuck her doggie style in view of the great house.

Indeed, in view of Bonny Hind. From any number of vantages one might see distinctly the jiggling of Carrie’s tits; her brother’s white-knuckle grip on her hips; our mouths open, heads thrown back in ecstasy.

Carrie ascends the ancient stone steps to Bonny Hind House. I follow. My sister’s inner thighs are a sheen of sex-juice. For that matter, my pubes are sticky and soaked and my cock is slick with boy-cum and girl-cum.

Carrie laughs at something.


“I have no clue what day it is.”

She’s right. What a fuck-fest! “Me, too,” I say, as we arrive on the upper lawn.

The massive door of the main entry is ajar.

“Idiot!” says Carrie. “You left the door open again.”

“No I didn’t.”

And then we see the luggage piled in the breezeway.

Our cousins have arrived, to find the master bedroom gone to bedlam: Carrie’s tiny white-cotton bikini panties flung onto the neck of an empty bottle of Veuve; the mattress migrated to the balcony; the frenzy and torment of the sheets.

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