Go West, Young Man! Pt. 06

Big Tits

Were you in on this? Did you set me up? Are you fucking my son?” She went on almost incoherently. Tears and halting gasps fractured her words, but her meaning was all too clear. Her bitter accusations were laced with anguished cries, emphasized by her tiny fists banging on the table. “Why don’t you look surprised?” Tracy wailed. “You don’t appear at all shocked by this! What does it all mean?” I had no good answer. Truth is, I had seen these envelopes before. I didn’t know what was inside, but I knew that it wouldn’t be good for either of us.

I could only sit numbly by, as my sister hurled painful and very nearly accurate indictments at me. She picked up the other envelope, still sealed, and thrust it under my nose. If it were a knife, she would have sliced my throat with it. My tear-streaked cheeks matched hers. “Open it,” she demanded. “Let’s see how innocent you look in those shots.”

I painfully slit the package and let the extortionate photos tumble out. They showed different scenes of debauchery, but it continued to be her and I. In other situations I may have found them sexy or stimulating, but now I just pushed them away. My guilty expression and lack of surprise only caused her to wail louder. I only needed to scan the images briefly, they were just like the ones she now clutched so severely in her grip. And the note was a computer-generated duplicate, I turned it over and pushed it aside. From the photos, it could never be determined that I played a role in this blackmailing scheme, and infact I had not. But though I worked in Hollywood, it was evident that I would never make it as an actress. Every guilty gesture and my inability to look her in the eye, or mount any plausible defense other than to keep muttering, “I’m sorry,” established me as a co-conspirator.

We sat in a stunned, uncomprehending silence for what seemed like hours. Our stilted sobs and hand-wringing were the only sounds other than the heartbeat of the clock on the wall. It was an agonizing frozen moment. I watched her rise unsteadily to her feet, holding on to the back of the chair. She trudged over to the sink as if in a hypnotic trance. I feared she might faint or possibly puke into the basin. She dumped out her coffee, and I thought she was about to run screaming and crying from the room. Instead she shakily opened a bottle of wine and poured some in her mug. It wasn’t even 1:00 PM, and she sat down heavily across from me with a twelve-ounce cup of red wine, and appeared to look right through me.

“Tell me now. And the truth. What the hell is going on here?” She seemed to have amazingly recovered her faculties, and was now searching for an escape clause. “Did you help him? Are you a part of this abomination?” Her voice cracked and wavered. The nasty pictures were flung across the table. Her temporary control had vanished and after draining her mug of wine, she was now pleading and searching for answers. “I can see that you knew about this. Are you fucking my son? Is he blackmailing you? Are you blackmailing him? What the hell is happening?” The hurtful discovery that her son Jeff, and possibly her younger sister, had conspired to blackmail her, now was weighing heavily on her. And for what, she puzzled. Did he really want to coerce her into an incestuous sexual liaison?

I coughed and sputtered. My choking, desperate words caught in my throat and I stumbled for answers. The hints of mascara blackening her cheeks, told a tale of bewilderment and betrayal. She was waiting or hoping for me to supply some sensible response. At the moment I was completely lost for a sound explanation. Meanwhile, she had emptied her cup, and with only a small hiccup, refilled it. My coffee was cold and I was already wide awake, so I spilled it out and filled my cup with wine too. This interrogation was going to require alcohol administered liberally. So we uncorked another bottle and took our positions as if facing off in court. I took a big gulp and cleared my throat, both obvious stalling techniques. I was searching for a moment in time or an extenuating circumstance that might mitigate my accessory to this horrible affair. There was none.

The best that I could manage was to explain how I had initially fallen into Jeff’s arms, (and bed.) And try desperately to relate it to the same enticing manner that I succumbed to her erotic seduction. The wine and nervous tension acted on me like a “truth serum” and I spilled-out most of the events of the previous half-year. Realizing that I was already in one incestuous tryst with her, I felt that admitting to another one with her son, was a minor offense. I carefully avoided any mention of the guilty schemes where Jeff and I fantasized about a deviant threesome with her. But Tracy was not yet too drunk to read between the lies. I did emphasize though that I played no part in this video extortion.

I could not hide the fact, and she was compelled to nod her weary head in reluctant agreement, that we were all committing incest and that the two of us atleast, were bisexual Betturkey and horny. Two empty bottles of wine later, we were faced with the impending dilemma of what to do at this moment. It was now two o’clock.

The trap appeared to be expertly set, and Tracy looked to me for advice. I make decisions all day at work, and I’m normally very structured and rely on research and facts. Her department consults with me on a daily basis, so she knows that I’m not impulsive or erratic. But I could not see any way out of this and her shoulders slumped noticeably. We both drained our cups and sighed a defeated, last gasp of resignation.

“My gawd,” she meekly uttered. “What’s left for us to do?” Tracy asked in a trembling voice. Are we just supposed to crawl into his bed and let him fuck us?” When she looked at me again, she understood that I fuck him already and that it was her that would be the new trophy here. A thousand perverted images seemed to darken her brow in a matter of seconds. “What’s it like?” She nervously questioned. “I mean, what does he want me for?” She was speaking out loud and inquiring of me, but really I could see that she was having an internal discussion with herself.

I tried in a soothing, unobtrusive manner to explain that it was only a physical relation. Jeff was fucking his aunt (me,) and certainly had a crude fantasy about fucking his mother, and even fucking us together. But if I were not his aunt, and if she had never been here, or if I had a different female roommate, he would want to have sex with her too. Atleast that’s what I salved my guilty conscience with, though I didn’t quite believe myself. It was a power-trip for him I reasoned, and the blackmail would only serve to force her compliance.

I could see the anguish in her countenance as I talked. But the color was coming back to her face. She ran her long fingers through her dark hair and wiped the smeared makeup from her blotchy face. The robe was clutched tightly to her neck as we talked. Even through the material, I could see her pointy nipples poke defiantly at her gown. She looked unaccustomedly vulnerable and sexy in an innocent way. I was used to seeing her as a dominatrix, but she seemed to be shrinking before my eyes. I hate to admit that the perverted nature of this set-up was a turn-on to me, but I also couldn’t help but to see that it aroused my sister also. In her mind I guess she was picturing or fantasizing for the first time, how it might feel and look, to have her strapping young son climb between her legs and pound her hot cunt with his enormous meat stick.

She has spread her legs for me almost every night for the past couple of months. And though she is the dominant partner in our tryst, there are times when she begs me to wear the strap-on toy and pump the greased rod into her sopping wet cunt and even into that firm, tight ass. She sometimes likes for me to pull her hair and call her nasty names as I plunge the big wad inside of her. I could see the wistful glow in her brown eyes, mixed with the frightful trepidation of mother/son sex, as she envisioned just what exactly might be in store for her. Now she was beginning to put the clues together; why I didn’t wear a bra around the house and convinced her not to either, the strange moans and laughter that she often mentioned hearing after she went to bed, and why I kept my own supply of sex toys.

Tracy choked out a meek, submissive inquiry. “What will happen? Does he just want to fuck me, or humiliate me in some deviant way?” She appeared a bit frightened, and a little worried that he actually hated her. But clearly, she was visualizing having sex with her son. And before she could stop herself, she half-blurted, “Is he big?” She blushed deeply and stuttered that she meant only “would she be hurt?” But I could see the lie, and her awed expression when I assured her that Jeff was well-endowed.

I attempted to ease her worry and help make the inevitable, enjoyable. “He wants to have fun with you…uhh us. I’m certain that he enjoyed those pictures and having seen the different little things that we did, he’ll want to try it all. He’ll want you to enjoy yourself and we will all have fun together.” I could see that for a minute, that she forgot that I would be a part of this too.

“Is that it?,” she replied. He wants to do us both and prove something?” Tracy was almost insulted that she would be used and discarded.

“Oh no,” I answered. I guess that in her shock, she didn’t realize the entirety of the situation. “It isn’t just one time, or one fuck.” Now I had to reveal a little more of what I knew of his lewd desires. “He intends for this to become an ongoing, almost daily occurrence. Everything that you’ve done with me, he is going to want from you. And he wants us to put on little shows for him.” A leering, sensual half-smile played on her lips. She asked if we were meant to service him like concubines. The titillating new details seemed suddenly to spark an erotic passion in her.

She Betturkey Giriş shrieked with nervous laughter. Then her tone almost instantly reverted to normal. Up until then, we had been talking in a hushed, nearly theatrical manner. Now she was nearly convinced of the nature and gravity of the predicament. “Do you mean that he wants me to suck his cock, strip for him and play with myself?”

“And play with me too,” I added almost too cheerfully. He wants us both. We’re his harem now. You read the note, he owns us now.” Then I recalled one glaring fact, “And he has the pictures to prove it.”

She was shaken. “What are we supposed to do?” she pleaded, unsure if she even wanted to know the answer to that.

“Well,” I hesitated. “It’s about two-thirty. I guess we had better get dressed. We don’t want things to start off bad.” I could barely hide my own excitement and anticipation.

“What exactly am I expected to do?” She was still thinking like this was an event with rules and a fair chance to regain her independence. “Tell me, all of this time was he thinking or planning to rape me, and own me like a sex-slave?” Tracy was distraught and angry that she could have raised a son who harbored these crude, deviant wishes. But something else struck me as odd when I noticed that she was subconsciously pressing one hand down roughly on her pelvis, and her legs were spreading slightly apart. She licked her tongue around her dry lips, and the plumpness and pink tone returned to her lips and cheeks, replacing the ghostly pallor. The hand that had been clutching her robe to her throat, now was lower on her chest and gently cupping one large breast. The nightgown had fallen loose at the neck and her deep, moist cleavage came into view. Her ample chest heaved with a shuddering sigh and I could plainly see that her pert nipples were erect and pointing straight ahead. I could almost taste the fragrance of her arousal in the air.

It seemed to me that she was battling her inner-most instincts and I dare say, that she was contemplating what it would be like to turn over control of a sexual situation to someone else, and this someone being her son. I was the “bottom” to her “top,” but now she would become a willing, but reluctant slave to Jeff. As I was. And the enticing prospect of that exotic appeal brought a wry, sexy grin to her conflicted demeanor. It was a quarter to three. “I guess you’re right,” she suddenly chirped. “We had better get ready.”

Was it the wine, the idea of a new master/slave scenario of incestuous, Oedipal sex, or maybe just the resignation of folding a losing hand, or possibly seeing it as not a loss but a new and exciting sexual adventure that wasn’t completely different than what we were doing? I couldn’t tell, but all of a sudden I was feeling livelier about the upcoming passion-play about to unfold. We both skipped off to our rooms to freshen-up and choose our attire for Jeff’s arrival.

I picked out a blood red baby-doll nighty that matched my lipstick and nails. It complemented the light auburn streaks in my sun-bleached mane. I knew his command about “no panties,” but I thought a jeweled hot-pink G-string offered an eye catching invitation. I wore a pair of scarlet, backless four-inch heels that had a small tuft of red fur above the toes as I strutted out of the bedroom not quite prepared for what was to come.

My sister was just entering the hall from her room, and I had to catch my breath. She appeared like a spectral image from a Gothic novel coming towards me. Her jet black hair was worn down and long, parted in the middle and covering her shoulders and chest. It framed her high cheekbones and sharp chin. Her skin was no longer so pale, the L.A. sun had added color and warmth to her. Tracy’s cheeks were rouged and a bluish cat-like fade enhanced the edges of her dewy, dark eyes. It was an exotic siren look. She was draped in a full length, black gossamer gown with thin spaghetti straps that strained to conceal her bouncy double-Ds. That magnificent bust jutted out like the proud figure head of a majestic sailing ship, standing out above her trim waist and billowing out to broad, firm hips. She wore no underpants beneath the flimsy material, but her close-cropped ebon pubic hairs were tantalizingly camouflaged by the dark silky fabric. She had black fishnet stockings that peeked from the hem of her long gown and led to spiked-heel, “fuck me” pumps.

I was enthralled and horny as she floated in my direction, knowing that soon there would be an erotic, sensuous unveiling. I have seen my sister in a few daring, captivating outfits; and have had torrid sexual encounters with her, and have played dress-up games that included whips and dildos, and if at this instant she had crooked her finger at me, I would have followed her onto the bed for a night of rough punishment and brutal seduction.

But knowing of the pent-up, domineering desires of my lustful nephew, I could not believe or even imagine the type of all-out, lewd fantasy that awaited the both of us. With only a quick detour to the kitchen for one more bracing goblet of wine, we cautiously slipped downstairs to Jeff’s lair and made ourselves as comfortable as possible on the big bed, like pigeons on a wire under the looming shadow of a hawk.

The clock was ticking towards three fifteen, and we were feeling jittery and a bit giddy. Our inhibitions had been lowered by the alcohol and the sensual sensation of two grown women who already had a sexual history with each other, and are resting uneasily on a man’s bed awaiting his return, wearing revealing lingerie while playing-out in their filthy fantasies, what may come to fruition in the coming minutes.

At first we acted nervous and surprisingly shy considering the erotically charged proceedings. Our eyes constantly scanned the clock and a fine film of perspiration gave our lush bodies a warm glow while bringing out the subtle essence of the perfume we wore. With every twitch of my body, the flimsy gown rode up on my hips, permitting Tracy a lewd, ogling glance of my barely concealed pussy. Though she had seen it many times before, even ordering me to strip and to sit on her face for her pleasure, I felt that in some weird way that I was cheating on Jeff.

When I noticed that her misty brown eyes kept zeroing-in on my trimmed pubic patch, my hand alternated between straightening the sheer, moistened material and indelicately pulling the scalloped edging aside, coyly allowing Tracy to spy my wet, shiny labia. It was a strange scene, anxiously waiting for a “wild-card” third partner to arrive and instantly take charge of our established sexual hierarchy. Because we already had our own ongoing dynamic and the current nerve-rattling situation only increased the tension, we didn’t know what to expect or how we would react. That worked double for me, since I had “slept” with both of them. But we were incredibly horny and the mood was ripe with blatantly crude sexuality.

I saw the unsteady smile part her lips and a big sigh escape her throat, but then my vision strayed to the dark crevice formed by her abundant cleavage as the two ripe melons of her upper torso wrestled under the thin confines of her clingy, sheer top. The deep valley between her soft breasts was already pronounced, then her arms reached to flatten wrinkles at her waist and the bodacious mammaries danced on her chest like water balloons in a baggie. The tops of her glistening globes were spilling out of the slinky silk and just the very points of her perky nipples remained alluringly hidden but poking at the sheer linen.

She leaned over me and kissed me, her wet lips grazing mine, and her snaky tongue darting into my startled mouth. “I guess we really have no other choice but to get this over. I’m sorry I accused you,” she whispered softly. “Let’s try to make the best of this.” I nodded numbly, my hand reached for her breast as it rested on my body, I cupped it and fondled it gently in my grip. She purred invitingly and I pulled both of her plump, perspiring boobs from the tight quarters of her slip. I kissed each nipple and tweaked them between my fingers. Her hand began to strum at the outer folds of my cunt lips and a long finger was tickling at my exposed clitoris. We heard footfalls on the steps and scrambled to rearrange our disheveled appearance, the crimson embarrassment shading our faces. As if we were teenagers nearly discovered by an adult, “playing doctor,” instead of mature women about to submit to being ravaged by a perverted member of our own family.

Jeff strode into the room like a king inspecting his court. “Ah, my sluts.” He trumpeted, “You see, this really wasn’t such a hardship was it? And from the pictures, I know this isn’t anything too dirty for you. Infact, I see that you started without me. So maybe we can jump right in.” He bent over us both, saying, “Hi, Julie-slut.” His strong hand firmly grasped my tingling wet pussy and he roughly inserted two fingers inside of my moistened cunt. I jumped at his abrupt approach and was

shocked at how casually he handled my hot pussy in front of the bulging, amazed eyes of his mom. I heard the sharp intake of her gasp, but the sound was already being replaced in my mind by the trilling sounds of my purring, while his fingers slowly played on the inner walls of my snatch. He knew where to locate my G-spot, and exactly what to do when he got there.

Then he just as easily reached for his mother’s fluttering chest. He placed a heavy, sloppy kiss on his mom’s lips, his tongue forcing it’s way between her teeth. Her eyes nearly bugged-out of her head as he held her tight and explored her mouth. At the same time, his other hand fished her bountiful boobs from their hiding place for his rude appraisal. She hadn’t moved a muscle when he glibly remarked, “Hi Mommy-slut, I’m very pleased that you decided to join us.” He laughed the hearty guffaw of a sultan, then he pinched and licked each prominent, purplish nub. His paws kneading her smooth flesh, elicited a series of low, compliant moans. He slobbered wet kisses on each one and then playfully slapped the sides of each breast, watching them wobble and vibrate on her body. His pleased laughter continued.

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