On the spur of the moment, I decide to make a surprise visit to my little Sister at State U. Partly it's because I haven't seen her since Christmas. But mostly it's that my little Sister is a fox--and so are her friends.
By the time I pull off the Interstate, it's almost dark and as I follow the county highway toward campus, I notice a nondescript building with a brilliant orange neon sign announcing: "RUBY'S MASSAGE PALACE. FULL BODY MASSAGE. STRESS RELIEF. FRIENDLY, BEAUTIFUL HOSTESSES." Below is a hand lettered placard: "Free Parking in Rear."
I slow up, debating with myself. My cock twitches. 'Stress relief' would be oh so welcome right now. It's Saturday evening and my paycheck's in my pocket. I slow some more, turning to re-read the sign.
But if I'm lucky, I think, I might hook up with one of little Sister's hot roommates. Someone honks and I accelerate past the driveway. Get real, Charlie. When are you ever THAT lucky? "Friendly, beautiful hostesses." There it goes again, twitching insistently. Even if they're not really beautiful, it's a sure thing, right?
I turn onto a side street, go around the block and pull into the gravel parking lot alongside half a dozen cars. Somewhere inside a small dog goes ballistic. After a long wait, the door swings open and I immediately have second thoughts.
The woman who smiles at me might very well have been a real looker once. But that would have been a long, long time ago.
"Oh, don't worry, handsome," she says, reading my disappointment. "My girls are young... and skilled. It's $50 for the house, credit card is fine. The girls work for cash tips. Fifty's the minimum, but they'll appreciate more... as an expression of your satisfaction."
I hesitate and I can feel her scrutinizing me. "You're not a cop, are you?" she asks.
"Hell, no!" I reply, but I understand why she asks. Both sides of the family are Irish. I've got the bullet head and square jaw to prove it. Not to mention a Marine buzz cut and the kind of muscle definition that comes from regular rescue drills.
"OK, then, Mr. Pants-on-Fire," she grins, revealing some not so excellent dental work. "What'll it be? Cash or credit?" She knows she's got me, hook-line-and-sinker. All she has to do is reel me in. "My best girl will be free by the time you get those hot pants off," she cackles at her own joke. "Her name's Mandy. She's 19, blonde and has been known to work topless, if you ask nicely."
I put a fifty in her hand before she's completed the sentence.
The Madame guides me down a narrow corridor with flimsy, numbered doors. She opens number 7 and I step inside. It smells of rubbing alcohol and patchouli. The only light is from a couple of flickering devotional candles. All of which amounts to at least three Fire-code violations. Surprisingly, there's also a professional massage table complete with a face cradle, a crisp white sheet and fresh towels.
"Hang your clothes over there," she says. "Lie face down. Mandy will be with you in a minute." On her way out, she hits the play button on a boom box and she departs in a flourish of synthesized string music.
I follow her instructions. It crosses my mind how ridiculous I'm going to look to Mandy with my face hidden in the cradle, but my pale ass cheeks on full display. She's probably used to it, though.
Mandy's five minutes is more like 20, but the soporific electronica has its intended effect and I'm sleeping like a baby when the door creaks open and a puff of cool air collides with my butt, followed by the scent of a vaguely familiar perfume. Which is followed by an even more familiar voice.
"Hi, I'm Mandy," she says in a genuinely seductive tone, stroking my leg with warm fingers. "You just relax, Sweetie, I'm going to make feel you better than you ever felt before."
If I hadn't been dozing and disoriented, things might have been different. But I freeze at the sound of her voice. By the time I recover my wits, her fingers are kneading the muscles on my neck, working a magic that overwhelms my better judgment.
"Oh, Sweetie," Mandy purrs, "your muscles are sooooooo tense."
I groan in agreement. But tense only begins to describe it. Mandy is not some faceless stranger. Mandy is the girl that I've known all my life as Manda.
It's my little Sister, Amanda!
For the next 15 minutes, Manda oils and rubs my naked back and arms and legs as I'm wracked by conflicting emotions. Occasionally, she remarks how tense I am, or how strong my biceps feel, and I moan in response. As soft hands work my glutes, her fingertips stray across my ball sac, sending electric shivers down my spine.
The truth is that from the day I first noticed her budding breasts and widening hips, I've had sexual feelings for Manda. One summer night coming back from baseball practice, I saw movement in her bedroom. The drapes were drawn, except for a narrow crevice between them and when I put my eye to it, I could see Manda pacing across her room with her blonde ringlets piled atop her head and a towel wrapped around her torso.
In an instant, my cock was out and in my hand. After hanging up her clothes and brushing her hair, Manda dropped the towel and stepped in front of her full-length mirror. The moment I saw her milky white breasts and silken pubic hair, my body convulsed and my cock sprayed five or six thick white streams against the shingle siding.
After that, I visited Manda's window two or three times a week. If there was no crack between her drapes, I made sure there was on the next night. When I wasn't fantasizing about sucking her strawberry nipples, I was dreaming about her fingers and lips caressing my cock...
"OK, Sweetie, time to turn over," I hear her voice saying through the fog of sexual reverie.
I obey, but as I roll over, I bring the towel from the face cradle with me, covering my head.
"Shy, aren't we?" she quips, but from the sound of Manda's voice, I can tell she's not really looking at my face. "You're so excited, poor Baby. Do you want me to take care of that for you?"
It's a rhetorical question. Her hot, oily hands are already wrapped around my cock.
After being quiet for so long, Manda is suddenly--and sensually--talkative.
"You needn't be shy, you know," she says. "I've seen a lot of cocks, and yours is by far the nicest."
I whimper. Partly in appreciation of her compliment, but mostly because she's teasing me in ways I'd never experienced before. Already the tip is wet and ultra-sensitive.
"Oh, you like that, Sweetie, don't you?" she asks, fingers circling the tight skin on my cock head which pulses with the memory of every pleasurable sensation I have ever known.
Again, I whimper. Louder and longer.
"Thought you would, Sweetie," she says, her voice now in whisper. "I like it too, you know. Feeling your cock in my fingers is making me... well.... it's making me wet..."
Unexpectedly, Manda takes my hand in hers.
"Here, feel for yourself," she says, her voice barely audible.
She guides my fingers to her breast. I can make out her nipple, hard and swollen. Then she directs me lower. Across her stomach and into her panties. My fingertips are greeted by a thatch of silky pubic hair. I can visualize it perfectly, the exact shade of pale yellow. Even the beauty mark on her lower abs, just above the hair line.
Impatiently, she forces my fingers lower. They glide effortlessly between lubricated lips. I curl my middle finger and it comes to rest against her clit. It is moist, hard and distended.
Manda lets out a sigh that is so deep and loud that it almost seems as if she's been waiting for this moment all her life.
What happens next exceeds even the limits of my wildest masturbatory fantasies.
"Will you cum for me?" she asks in husky whisper that is more of a plea than a question. With that, I feel warm lips embracing my cock and tiny fingers probing between my ass cheeks.
My fingers grasp reflexively, pushing deep inside her and the muscles of her vagina respond by rippling in a rhythmic contraction. Hot liquid streams down my fingers, hand and arm. And although her lips are hermetically wrapped around my cock, I hear a profound moan of satisfaction deep from within Manda's throat.
My own orgasm takes me by surprise. Before I can attempt to pull myself from her mouth, I release. Remarkably, Manda stays with me, swallowing as each new tremor ejects a fresh stream of semen.
In that instant, my adolescence flashes before my eyes and vivid memories of my profound affection--and lust--for my little Sister come flooding back. I return to my senses to find Manda nursing on on my cock, milking the last drops from my shaft with her fingertips and licking them greedily from the tip. And I realize my fingers are lovingly caressing the puffy flesh that marks the boundary of her labial lips. As my cock deflates, I feel Manda nestle the side of her face into the nest of my public hair.
Just as I'm feeling ashamed by my deception, and worried how I can escape without Manda recognizing me, she whispers in a dreamy voice: "You can come out from under that towel now... Big Bro."
I lift a corner and peek out to find Manda's Irish eyes smiling into mine.
"Charlie," my little Sister says, giving my cock a tug. "You have no idea how long I've dreamed of doing this..."
"Manda's Massage" continues at the following link:
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