Sandy tightened up and I could feel her suppressing a moan of discomfort and pain.
“What's the matter?” I asked.
“It hurts.”
“So what?”
“Put something on it, Terry, make it smoother.”
“What is there?” I said, looking around. “Strawberries?”
“Milkweed,” she said. “Get some of the milkweeds.”
I dismounted and picked a half dozen of the thick milkweed stalks that grew alongside us. A smooth, milk-white cream oozed from the broken stems and I squeezed a handful of it out, applying it to her ass and heavily anointing my prick with a juicy, generous application of the fluid.
Then I lowered myself back down onto her and gasped with delight as I felt myself slide all the way into her asshole until the tops of my thighs were squashing her upthrust buttocks.
I slid my hands underneath her to cup, squeeze and squash her breasts, began slowly to withdraw and then to plunge back into her. At first she was tight, controlled, in pain, too obviously suffering me without complaint because she wanted me to enjoy myself. But the longer I thrust and withdrew, the more she relaxed and began to breathe more deeply, more pleasurably. Her nipples expanded and got hotter and hotter. She began to move with me, slowly at first and then with more and more abandon.
My own hungry poundings became less and less gentle now, as I felt her responding to me, as I felt the pain in her nerves transforming into pleasure. I let myself go, and savagely drove into her, going further and further every time until I must have reached within inches of the membranes of her vagina.
As I reached my climax she was wrestling under me like a hand-held fish, and when I riotously, joyously, roaringly came, she must have done something like that too because she stopped all of a sudden, howling, and pushed her ass all the way up into my gut.
After I had withdrawn and she had rolled over I broke off some more of the milkweeds and massaged her breasts and belly with the spermlike juice.'
“Did you like that?” I asked.
“Yeah. It hurt at first, but then it started to feel great.”
“Did you, like, have a thing, whatever they call it?”
“An orgasm?”
“Yeah, an orgasm.”
“I had something like that.”
“Spectacular.” I kissed her and then rolled over on my back to soak in the sun.
“This is really going to be a terrific summer,” she said.
“It already has been.”
“Only time I've ever been happy in my life,” she said.
“Me too.” We pawed away at each other some more.
“I hope the old bitch doesn't show up,” she said.
“Mommy?”
“You think she will?”
“Nah, she doesn't care about us,” I assured her. “All she wants is to get Daddy's money in the divorce. What does she want to come up here for? She hates her mother as much as she hates us.”
“I hope you're right.”
“Me too.”
NINE
As we approached the house, though, on our way back, a lady was standing on the patio, looking directly at us. Drink in one hand, the other pressed in a defiant fist at her hip, she had to be the old lady, we knew this before we could make out her face.
She was wearing a short summer dress, silk apparently, and it showed she still had the same figure of the girl in the pictures we'd discovered in the trunk the day before. Her hair, the same dark blonde as Sandy's, was longer than it was the last time I'd seen her-almost a year ago-and was blowing in the wind.
We instinctively stopped holding hands when we saw her, but once I'd let go I didn't know what to do with my hand. I looked for a pocket but my tight shorts didn't have any. Mother's presence there on the patio, the arrogance of her stance, intimidated me and made me feel like a helpless, childish jellyfish.
By the time we could make out her mouth it was set in a frown and when we could see her eyes they were alternately glaring at our faces and giving our bodies the once-over.
In spite of the fact that neither of us had seen our mother for so many months there was no rush to embrace, not even a cheerful hello. We walked up to her warily and braced ourselves for the worst.
“I've been waiting for you two,” she said.
“When did you get here, Mommy?” I said sheepishly.
“Apparently right after you two left for your romp in the woods. Where have you been for three hours?”
“Just around,” I said. “Looking at the places we used to go when we were kids.”
“Well you're not exactly kids any more, at least physically. What do you think this is, a nudist colony? How dare you two dress like that!”
She darted the icicles of her stare over Sandy's body, nude under tight short-shorts and a see-through tee shirt, and turned to me, also visibly naked under thin cotton shorts and nothing else. What made the situation worse was that our bodies were still wet from the last swim we'd taken, and showed clearly through the thin fabrics.
“What difference does it make?” I said. “There's nobody else around here. Why should we have to dress up?”
“It's not a question of wearing formal attire. It's a question of being clothed rather than unclothed. And I classify you two as unclothed right now.” She turned to Sandy. “Now go up to your room immediately and put on the following: a pair of panties, a bra, a decent pair of shorts and a blouse that isn't transparent.”
Sandy, flaming with rage and shame at being so viciously humiliated, took off running.
“And as for you,” she continued, “what do you think you're posing for-a pin-up boy's magazine? Your body's developed a lot more than you realize in the last year. It could be pretty disconcerting to have you prancing around…”
“What's that mean, disconcerting?”
“Never mind what the hell it means. Go up and put on some underpants and stop showing yourself off so much. And put on a shirt. And don't wear such tight pants.”
I stood there, waiting for the rest of the sermon.
“Go ON!” she screamed. “Do I still have to dress you and undress you?”
I looked into her eyes and seemed to have caught her off guard, because she blushed and turned away, glugging some more of her drink. I bolted upstairs.
I found Sandy in her room. She had already taken off the tee shirt and was stripping off her shorts as I entered.
“I hate her!” she said with furious tears in her eyes.
We came together and embraced. I kissed her eyes.
“She won't be here long,” I said. “She'll be gone before you know it.”
“She's going to ruin everything, I know that.”
“No she won't. We'll just have to be a little more careful.”
I heard footsteps in the hall and whirled around. Mother stormed into the room. “What the hell's going on now!” she screamed. She walked up to Sandy and slapped her hard across the face. Sandy pulled away and feebly tried to cover her nakedness. “You little whore, how dare you flaunt your naked body like that!”
“But he's my brother, what difference…”
“I don't care what he is. You're not little brats any more, you're both past puberty.” She turned to me. “Now get out of here and don't let me catch you in here again.”
I started to leave.
“I can see the two of you are going to need a lot more supervision than you've been getting.”
From then on, we got plenty of supervision. Mother's bedroom was directly across from Sandy's and right next to mine. There was no way we could possibly get together undetected at night, even if we had dared to try.
In the mornings, she would personally waken us, personally select Sandy's outfit for the day and accompany us down to breakfast. She kept Sandy busy with housework all morning and sent me off to play by myself. I would wander off into the woods where my love and I had been together. I would swim in the stream, lie naked on the mossy rock, drink of the milkwoods by the spring and roll in the strawberry fields, my mind awash with memories and fantasies of Sandy. After a few days of frustration, though, after I had begun to use my hand to manipulate myself into an artificial and deeply unsatisfying orgasm, I stopped going to those places and sought out deeper, gloomier parts of the woods in which to brood and daydream.