Mother and Sister Package: Not Easy

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Mother and Sister Package, Not Easy

It was not easy keeping inappropriate thoughts or actions at bay when, due to the Covid 19 pandemic I found myself confined to home, going on six months, with my only housemates being my twenty-five year old, half black, half Indian sister, Laila, and fifty year old, very light-skinned, Indian mother kamala. Especially when the sister, a light brown, smooth-skinned, definition of eye candy, habitually wore the skimpiest clothes imaginable about the house and could be seen from time to time flitting between bedroom and bathroom in panties only — not to mention she showed no modesty when sitting or lying on the sofas and even breast-fed her one year old baby without a covering rag.

As if that was not enough provocation for my twenty-one year old raging libido which before the lockdown had grown used to ridiculously regular sex over the last three years, there was the added eye torment coming from my thick Indian mother who, though not guilty of the above mentioned transgressions of her daughter, did regularly wear short spandex tights and close fitting shorts made of soft stretchy material and often went braless in thin vests and blouses. To her credit though, my mother looked more like forty than fifty, and maybe knew it, so in her mind there was nothing wrong being like that in her own home.

Not a day passed in my house without me being greeted by one or more of the following — camel toe, thick, bare thighs, bouncing ass and breasts, prominent nipples and sometimes fully naked breasts. There were days when they all ganged up on me together. Mommy was five foot three, and thick, about one hundred and ninety pounds. Her backside was big without being round or high; it was just a broad fleshy chunk of sexy looking femininity, tapering out from a relatively narrow waist, and leading into thick hips. She had big, bright light brown eyes, a straight longish nose and a wide full-lipped mouth on a well sculpted oblong face. Her butt length jet black hair had only a few stray threads of grey and her bubbies were a firm looking B cup size.

When not watching TV we would play cards or games like scrabble, monopoly, checkers, Ludo and snakes and ladders. Most times we’d be sitting on the carpeted floor, with the both in front of me, driving me crazy. Mom sat decently most of the time, with only occasional flashes of fat crotch, but there was still her thick thighs and prominent nipples always on display. Laila’s crotch was always there for perusal, even when she wore skirts — short skirts — she just didn’t seem to know how to sit decently, or just didn’t care. Laila was a slim-thick, smaller version of mom except she was three inches taller, a cup size bigger and had a big round ass, gifted by her black genes. They looked like big sister and little sister.

For the first month or so I would glance without particular interest, or without taking note of detail. But eventually I started noting detail and tried appealing to decency to keep me from deliberately looking or thinking about what I did not want to deliberately look at. But then my reserves of decency and inhibitions ran dry and I started ogling when I could without being observed, until I suddenly told myself ‘what the heck’ and started ogling barefacedly — if the ladies were bold enough to show I was bold enough to look. I knew they were aware of the sensual undertone, I saw the blushes and the questions in their eyes — ‘what you looking at?’ — Whenever my eyes lingered inappropriately.

As the days of the lockdown went by I found myself looking at my mother and sister with progressing sexual desire and my imagination produced the wildest erotic scenarios that resulted in me wanking myself to sleep most nights. It is said if you can imagine it, you can achieve it. I decided that for the sake of my sanity I needed to stop this junior league imagining and wanking and move up to the bigger game. I was going to ‘achieve’.

I was primed up and ready, like a jungle hunter, waiting for every opportunity that presented itself for physical body contact with the two available female prey driving me crazy with lust in my home. It was my plan to gradually get them used to casual but intimate touching, which I hoped would spark some fire and longing in them. I suddenly became a hugger and a toucher and prone to accidental bumping into one or the other.

We did some drinking, because there was lots of booze in the house, a whole cabinet full. Both my dad and Laila’s husband worked on an ocean going vessel, and whenever their ship came in, would bring home bottles of alcohol from all parts of the world, and sometimes cases of beer, but they were hardly ever home to entertain, so the stuff piled up. The last we heard, their vessel was holed up somewhere in Europe under quarantine. As I worked my plan I had hoped that alcohol would loosen them up, but was wrong. They knew their limit and stuck to it, never allowing themselves to be more than slightly tipsy. I couldn’t help halkalı otele gelen escort wondering if the two fuckers suspected I was hoping for them to them get drunk and vulnerable, and were deliberately denying me the pleasure.

Laila and I were packing away government supplied foodstuff and sanitizing liquids in kitchen cupboards. We had also received stuff we’d ordered and had delivered from a nearby supermarket, so it entailed a lot of unpacking and repacking to get things in order. A lot of stuff was strewn around our feet. Laila stepped back onto a can of beans lying lengthways on the floor and sprawled as she started to fall. Moving quickly I grabbed her, going straight for the full young lactating breasts. I twisted hers and my body to bring her down on me with her sitting between my legs, backing me, and my hands gripping the soft breasts. We both broke out laughing, while my hands still held on for dear life to my sister’s boobs.

Laila started to get up and looked down at my clinging hands.

“Like yuh hands stick on to mih bubbies,” she said chuckling.

Without letting go of the breasts, I replied.

“Yuh noticed eh … geez, these things feel so good I don’t want to let go of them.”

“I can understand, brother … it’s been a long time since yuh hold one, I know how yuh must feel … but yuh gotta loose them so I could get up,” she said, throwing back her head and laughing.

I quickly, but reluctantly let go of the breasts, because just then we heard our mother’s approaching footsteps.

Later that evening, Laila was in the kitchen making roti. I approached her, and pressing my nose to her hair, said:

“You smell like roti.”

She replied, “Well, I’m making roti, and in case yuh forgot, I have roti in me.”

What she meant was that she was mixed with Indian. Our mother is Indian and our father black. Roti is an Indian staple food, and sometime during the late nineteen sixties or early seventies guys started using the word roti — not in a derogatory way — to refer to Indian girls. I then quickly licked her neck with a wet tongue. Her body shivered.

“And you taste like dhal.” I added, laughing.

“Brian, you full of shit,” she said giggling, her face blushing red, no doubt from the unexpected intimate touch, which I guess stirred familiar sexual feelings in her body

“I think there must be curry somewhere on you,” I said, looking down to below her waist.

Again, she blushed, obviously flustered.

“Boy, go find something to do and leave me alone,” she cried out nervously.

I moved to a chair and sat there watching her cook. She would take a hot roti off the baking pan and put it into a two litre plastic ice cream container and shake it up vigourously. Originally, the person cooking roti, would throw it up into the air, repeatedly clapping it between both hands to give it a soft fluffy texture. But somewhere over the years, somebody had come up with the idea of instead of burning tender palms, to just chuck the damn things into a container and shake it roughly for the same effect. Mostly the younger girls did this while older women stuck to the traditional clapping. Every time she shook the container her full unharnessed breasts would shake seductively under the thin sweater, making my eyes blaze and my cock throb. Upon noticing me staring at the action, she said:

“Nothing like thinking outside of the box to make things easier, eh.” Referring to the novel idea of clapping roti in a container, instead of with bare tender palms.

I continued watching the bubbies bounce and feeling my cock throb. She suddenly stopped mid-shake and looking at me with knitted brows asked:

“You looking at how I clapping roti, or yuh eyeing up mih bubbies?”

“Both, and also I doing some thinking outside the box,” I said, looking into her eyes with a steady gaze.

“Which box you thinking outside of?” she asked.

I got up from the table and walked to within eighteen inches of her. I could see that she was breathing hard as she wondered what I was coming with. Her eyes appeared dilated. I guess she knew from my stares and actions of late and the little tongue play on her neck minutes ago, coupled with my hands on her breasts earlier that day, that a storm was brewing and shit was imminent.

“The box that says I shouldn’t enjoy looking at my beautiful sister’s body parts or be wanting to touch them.”

She visibly shook, as if on weak legs, and managed a trembling-lipped smile. I stretched out my hands and covered both bubbies, immediately massaging them gingerly. She stood still as if stunned. It was several seconds before she shook her chest and stepped back, breathing haltingly, eyes ablaze.

“The feel yuh got yesterday sweetened yuh eh, yuh want more,” she said.

“Yes, I want more, a lot more.”

“Well, I, sorry for you, but these bubbies don’t belong to you, so yuh can’t get more,” she replied.

“I halkalı rus escort could look after them in de absence of de rightful owner,” I said.

She burst out laughing, “Brian, boy go watch TV and leave me let me cook in peace … you playing fresh … and yuh seem to be going crazy … you forgetting I is yuh big sister.”

I laughed and walked out of the kitchen.

Two days later in the early morning Laila was again in the kitchen making roti for our breakfast when I entered, body and mind heeding the urges of a stiff morning wood, standing straight up past my boxer shorts waistband. She was on the last two. When she plopped the last one into the bowl, I went up to her and like I’d done before, I poked my nose in her hair and said

“You smell like roti.” She didn’t reply, only smiled broadly.

I licked her neck and said, “You taste like dhal.”

She laughed out loud. While she was laughing I swiftly raised her vest and lifting a heavy breast, put my mouth to the nipple and sucked hard. Milk flowed out into my mouth.

“Nice tasting dhal, you’re a good cook … I think I’d like to taste some of that curry yuh got down there,” I said, looking below her waist.

She was wearing short, shorts. She backed away, giggling, but I stepped forward and grabbed her around the waist, holding her from behind, her soft plump buttocks bracing against the morning fire stick in my shorts.

I dragged one hand down her belly to the shorts waist. Flattening my palm I let it slide down past the soft and slack material of the shorts and under the flimsy panties waist until my fingers glided over bush and found the cleft mound. I moved aside the lips and entered hot feminine terrain. She gasped and tried to shift away but I held her firm, and curving my middle finger, sent it up into her, she made an encouraging roll of her hips and I took that as cue and began finger fucking her as rapidly as I could in the confines of her two pants. I kissed her and she responded by sending her tongue into my mouth, flickering wildly. I captured it and sucked on it, suddenly she broke the kiss and tried to wriggle away from the finger.

“Stop, suppose mommy come in here.” She cried, her voice full of concern.

“She won’t come out now, she doing she meditation.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” she countered.

“Okay, come,” I said.

I took my hand away from her wet pussy and grabbed the waist of the shorts, pulling her behind me.

“What yuh doing Brian? … Wait, we can’t … not now, another time … maybe tonight when she sleeping.” She begged.

I wasn’t buying any of that. Her feelings and mind could change before night came, I had her hot and ready and wasn’t keen on giving her a chance to cool off and reconsider; I was intent on fucking her sweet pussy there and then. I pulled her into the toilet. The toilet and bathroom were separated by a wall. I locked the door.

“Suppose she come to use the toilet?’

“Shhhh! was all I said, as I started pulling her shorts and panties down.

I got down on my knees in front of her and she immediately lifted one leg onto the toilet bowl as my mouth touched her thick inner thigh. I licked and sucked on the juicy, eye-fattening thickness. Then I moved to her pussy. I inhaled the stale overnight odour, and poked my tongue into the pink cup. I licked it with long strokes and she grasped my head and started gyrating against my face. I took the clit into my mouth and sucked it teasingly. I sent two fingers up into her as I sucked the stiff clit. My fingers moved piston like in the wet, tight pussy, bringing soft cries from her.

I alternated between flicking the clit with my tongue, probing its tip and sucking on it under the pressure of a twirling tongue. The long months of sexual inactivity had her well primed, within a few minutes she moaned and began to shudder as an orgasm hit her. While she was still in spasms, I got up, pushed her against the wall, crouched and sent my dick tearing into her. She replaced one leg on the toilet bowl and I lifted the other one off the floor, keeping it up in the crook of my arm. I pounded her fast and furiously while massaging a clothed breast.

“Yuh got to hurry, before we get caught.” She pleaded.

“That what I doing.”

I nudged her leg off the toilet bowl and onto the floor, raised the hem of her vest and found a nipple with my mouth. I sucked hard on the nipple as I pounded away, drawing hot milk. With my fingers sunk into her plump behind, holding her firm, I jerked my hips rapidly, moving hard dick back and forth in Laila’s juice slick cunt. Within another couple of minutes my swollen dam of pent up desire broke and suddenly I was shooting cum up my sweet sister’s pussy. I held her tight as my body shook with mind blowing ecstasy.

Laila sat on the toilet and pissed, then wiped her pussy clean, while I leaned against the wall in a daze. She unwrapped tissue and halkalı türbanlı escort tenderly cleaned away her juice from my half erect cock, then kissed it, flicking the head with a wet tongue.

She looked up at me, giggling and holding her hand to her mouth.

“We, just fucked … I can’t believe it little brother … you fucked me …oh lordee oh,” she cried out, looking shocked.

She got up and kissed me hard.

“Let we get out of here before it too late,” she said.

As we came out the toilet we saw our mother turn into the passage way.

“Some one of you used the bathroom, I guess” she said, smiling.

We both laughed. It was up to her to guess who the imagined culprit was.

We heard the toilet door close and looked at each other with tender eyes. But seconds later the expression on Laila’s face changed.

“I forgot my panties on the floor,” she cried, worriedly.

“No problem, it would only show that you were the one in there.”

“But it’s damp with my pussy fluid from when you were touching and feeling me up.” She said.

“What makes you think she’s going to examine it for clues,” I said, in an effort to assure her there was nothing to worry about.

“It might have looked suspicious to her, the two o’ we coming from there the same time … but I hope you right.” She said.

That evening Laila and I agreed that I would come to her room after we all retired for the night. As planned, I let about an hour pass by for allowing both Laila’s one year old baby, and mom to fall asleep soundly.

When I entered the room, which had only a night light on, I saw Laila’s five foot six, thickish body, lush and naked, sitting on the edge of the bed. One leg up on the mattress and spread wide; a sight that nearly made me cry out with passion. Her curly black hair was let loose like a lion’s mane around her pretty oblong face. I walked over and immediately began softly stroking the pussy that was clean shaven but had a soft, black, curly triangle on the mons veneris. Laila stood up and placed her hands on my boxer’s waistband and began lowering it even as she also lowered herself to the floor. She wasted no time taking my already hard cock into her mouth and sucking it passionately and sloppily, getting saliva all over her face and down her chin and neck.

I slipped down to join her on the floor, sitting with my back leaned to the bed. She positioned herself on knees and elbows to continue sucking my cock. I looked along her back to her stuck out ass. Her ass was big, round and high, inherited from the black side of the family, and she had thick flaring hips that led to nicely rounded thighs. I found myself wishing then that by the time the crisis was over, her husband would have found himself another woman wherever he was, and leave all that sweet meat for me to pound regularly.

She crawled forward and after I lowered my legs she straddled me and sat on my lap, letting the big hard dick slide all the way up into her luscious pussy. She wrapped her arms around my neck, her breasts pressing into my chest as she rode me hard in that sitting position. When she wasn’t bouncing up and down and grunting, she was rolling her hips and grinding hard, or making quick little back and forth jerks. When she came it was with a long, deep moan that she quickly stifled. She leaned forward, resting her head on my shoulders.

I got up, lifting her with me. She made herself light and maneuverable by clinging to my neck and wrapping her legs around my waist. I stood on the floor with my sweet sister in my arms, her huge fluffy batty cheeks in my hand. Like that I jerked my hips upward, sending cock up and down her pink velvety chute. We walked around the room as I hammered her. I braced her to a wall and continued pummeling the pussy, she mewing and hissing throughout it. When I finally placed her on the bed she brought her legs all the way back past her ears. I pulled out of her briefly to get a good look at her woman part in that gymnast position. It was a beautiful sight.

I re-entered her and continued pounding away furiously, delighted by the clapping sound my lower belly was making against her upturned ass and raised pussy. She offered up her breasts to me and I fed gluttonously, only stopping when I realized I was on the verge of coming. As I began shooting, she quickly lowered her legs and wrapped them around the backs of mine while I emptied into her.

She lay flat out on me, resting her head on my chest, her hands playing with my wild frizzy afro, which was nappier than hers. As we spoke in whispers she was moving her body on mine in a soft undulating manner, hardening me again. She slid downward and started licking the underbelly of my cock with long strokes of a surprisingly long and expert tongue. She sucked in my balls, rolling them together and individually inside her wide mouth. She then stiffened her tongue and probed the spot between my balls and anus, before going full Monty and sticking her long tongue up my butt hole, and then briefly, her finger, driving me crazy from the novel, titillating experience.

She threw her legs off the bed and reached to her bedside book cupboard and from the top of it picked up a little jar.

“I want you to do something for me,”

“What?” I asked hesitantly, remembering her tongue in my ass.

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