Incest/TabooSympathy Pt. 03 – Homecoming
Part 3 — Homecoming
How You Can Get Carried Away by A Hot Woman
As I exited customs in the freight terminal that the company plane had landed at, I was feeling a little fragile. Our planes were like my Dad, who is ex-RN, said that they would sail home — for example from a foreign port — 'on the Grey Funnel Line' (that is — on a warship). There were small passenger cabins on our planes that we could use, but most of the space was for cargo, and the flights, weren't as fast as commercial planes, and the air-hostesses weren't. Though they weren't any 'air-hosts' either. You carried-on your own food and drink; and used the Elsan in the closet (mind you — that isn't so much different from flying 'commercial air').
Anyway, I cleared customs after getting all my bags searched, and drug swabbed, and paid any necessary Customs Duties. I then started looking for Rosemary, who had agreed to meet me at the airport, to take me home.
There weren't many people there, and very few of those were paying attention to our debarkation. I could see no sign of her, but we had landed ahead of schedule, a tailwind all the way, according to the pilot. But I did briefly admire the figure and legs of a trim hot looking blonde in a minidress and heels that was waving to someone behind me, as I looked around for somewhere to sit and wait.
Once I got seated, I leant back to relax, I became aware of the clat-clat-clat of heels coming in my direction, and with a brief glance, admired the legs of the Hot Blonde as she walked towards me. When she stopped, and stood, hip-shot in front of me, one hand on the 'shot' hip, my shyness took over, and I kept my gaze on the main entrance to await Rosemary's arrival.
"Look here my lover," said Rosemary, "I'm not used to being ignored this way. Buck up!"
I looked up at the Hot Blonde with a wry smile for the way Rosemary addressed me, within hearing of at least a half-dozen others, as 'my lover' as I turned to where Rosemary … wasn't[?].
The Hot Blonde cleared her throat.
I went rigid, before turning slowly to the blonde — and LOOKED at her.
"Rosy?" I squeaked
The Hot Blonde jigged, giggled, bounced up to me and wrapped her arms around my neck, and gave me the best Lover's 'I've missed you' kiss I've ever had.
Of course, as it had been my very first 'I've missed you' kiss, it just 'had' to be the best. Didn't it?
"SHIT … Rosy!" I yelped, getting some frowns from other travellers. But I grabbed her by the hips, pushed her away from me, bent down and peered into her face, and asked her (quietly), "Who are you? And what have you done with my sister?"
Then I grabbed her — left arm around her waist, and right hand on her bum cheeks, and hauled her up me, and sunk my tongue in her mouth for five minutes or so as she stroked my hair with the hand of one of the arms that were wrapped around my neck.
Then I put her down, and just looked at her. Jesus! She looked like a fifteen-year-old film star, or at least a young, blonde, Michelle Trachtenberg.
"Man, we better get out of here. If any police see us kissing, they'll nick me as a paedophile. You look fantastic!"
She giggled, looking bashful.
I kissed her again, then taking her hand in one of my paws, I struggled to hold on to her, and all my luggage.
Once outside the terminal, I stopped, wrapped her in my arms again, as she said, "Welcome home!", and we kissed again. She deliberately wriggled herself against my stiffie.
I released her. I had to get out of there before I embarrassed myself; or, more importantly, her!
"Come on Rosy, let's get out of here, and find somewhere I can have some lunch."
All About 'Me'
We chatted about inconsequential things as we … er … dined[?] … ate our burgers anyway. But the coffee was quite good.
Then we set off for home.
Mum and Dad couldn't pick me up, because Mum had a specialist's hospital appointment for her gammy knee, and as she had been waiting six months for it, she didn't dare cancel, and she wanted Dad, rather than Rosy, to drive her there and back.
When I asked Rosy about her new appearance, she looked a bit embarrassed, and admitted most of it was 'out of bottles'. The 'blonde' was a professional, salon, job. Her pearly-whites were courtesy of a fancy dentist, who replaced her wonky caps, and did significant tidying up, and some veneers. The rest of her body was courtesy of various medical processes and establishments because, she said "They eventually diagnosed me as having Polycystic Ovary Syndrome. I've got if for life — can't be cured, just worked around."
So — she has laser treatment for the unwanted body hair; she exercises and diets to control her weight and hence allay (or delay) the onset of Type 2 Diabetes; and uses special treatments to alleviate the skin and scalp-hair problems.
Then, during the journey, I admired the car. She admitted that that, and her dental and other treatments are courtesy of 'a little win on the lottery'; six scratch-cards, bought on a whim, the day I left to start my new job. She said that after our erotically charged days together, she was feeling so lucky, that she just had to 'risk it'. And, can you believe it, three of them came up. Altogether, she won several hundred thousand pounds. More than enough to buy a decent car; and kick-start her beauty regime.
"Oh, and since I use your bedroom now, I bought a new bed — king-size!" she giggled when I moaned about being relegated to her old 'rabbit hutch' (the box room).
Mum and Dad were pretty much the same, she said; Mum feeling more optimistic about her gammy leg; but refused Rosy's money: – "You're only young. You are going to need it all to keep your own health and happiness up to scratch." (- boom-boom! … 'Scratch cards'! Geddit?
Sorry! I didn't mean to belabour the 'joke'!)
I eventually got around to asking her — to her face (she had kept fobbing me off by phone, video, or letter) — how her love-life now is. She said the relationship she is now in has its ups-and-downs, but she had hopes that things would improve in the near future. Apparently, he is an engineer, and gets on well with Mum and Dad.
She also said, though — that she wasn't sure he would want to stay with her, as he might want kids, and the PCOS might make it difficult, if not impossible, for her to conceive. She said she was a little sad at that, because she would quite like to have a family with him. But there was always a chance.
When we got home, Mum and Dad still weren't back, so Rosemary took some of my luggage, and I followed her upstairs with the rest.
I was surprised when she turned into my old room, but I followed her in, anyway. She put what she was carrying on the bed, plonked herself down on the bed beside it, and said, "Ok, you know where you want everything to go, so I'll leave it to you."
I looked around, and was surprised. Much of my old stuff was still here, mixed with some of hers.
"I thought you said this was your room now? How come you haven't dumped my stuff in your old room?"
"Say this was my room now."
"Yes, you did!" Just before saying that you bought a new bed. And this is a king-size!"
"No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did."
"Did-unT!" and she poked her tongue out at me. Some things — even being several years a grown-up, do not a grown-up make. Or some equally meaningless saying?
"OK, I give up, what did you say then?"
"I said this is the room I use now."
"What's the difference, if you are sleeping here?"
"I do, but it's not my room."
"Well whose room is it then?"
"It's our room!"
"I said that it's our room."
"Yes, I heard you say that, but what does that actually mean … here?" And I waved my arm around to indicate the room, in general.
She took a deep exasperated breath, and said — in a monotone — "This — is — our — room — as — in — like — this — is — where — we — sleep[?]"
"Fuck sake, Ian! This is our bedroom. This is where we sleep! If you want to, that is?"
"IAN! This is getting bor-ing!"
"But what's … ," and here I flopped my arm about as if I were a mad orchestra conductor "wass-iz-name … your boyfriend — gonna say about us sharing?"
"I don't know. What DO you say about us sharing, Ian?"
"What?" as I shudder/shook my head, trying to get my thoughts into some semblance of coherent order.
She sighed. "OK. How can I make this clearer? Gimme a moment to think. Stop cluttering up the floor, and sit here for a while." as she patted the bed beside her. I sat, and turned partially to look at her.
"OK! First thing — have you met that 'someone special' while you've been away?"
"No! You know I haven't! I'd have told you if I had!"
"Good. Just checking! Now — before you left, I told you I loved you. Did I not?"
"What was your reply?"
"I said I loved you too."
"OK! Have you changed your mind? Do you wish to retract that claim?"
"Just one 'no'. What question is that in reply to?"
"I asked you two questions, but you gave me one answer. Is it the answer to the first question or the second?"
"What? … Well … er … both[?] … I suppose[?]"
" 'Both — you suppose'. Can you be a bit more … er … decisive?"
"Is that 'Yes, you've changed your mind', or 'Yes, you wish to retract the claim?"
Rosemary was starting to get flustered now — she was starting to lose control of the conversation. Conversely, I had started to enjoy myself.
"So, what was that 'Yes' for?"
"That I can be more decisive."
"Oh! Right! Good!" She looked a bit brighter.
"So, what's your answer?"
"To what question?
"Have-you-changed-your-mind, or do-you-wish-to-retract-your-claim?"
"Dunno. I'm beginning to have second thoughts."
"Changing my mind, or retracting my claim."
"Yes … what?"
"Yes … Sir[?] … Madam[?] … Mistress!"
"Yes! Mistress! I like the sound if that! It sounds appropriate. Don't you think?"
"Appropriate for what?"
"Yes. You are my Mistress, aren't you? And wouldn't this grand bed be appropriate for an engineer and his Mistress to sleep in … together? And have screaming orgasms in, if the engineer fucks his Mistress just so? Or his sister. Though this engineer would prefer to share this wonderfully large bed with both. Do you think they would be prepared to share him? Even if his parents were in the house; and indeed, in the very room next door?"
"They do seem to accept that proposal."
"They … what?"
"They accept that proposal."
"How the-hell do you know that?"
"I gave 'em an ultimatum. Either allow us to sleep together, and hence fuck as much as we want in this bed — or I leave home if they won't allow it. But if they wanted to pretend to allow it, but then report us to the police for incest, then after I leave prison, I'll fuck off — never to be seen again. So, they agreed. Fairly quickly. And easily! It was quite … eerie[?], really."
"An admirable approach! Incidentally, why would the engineer's hot sexy sister be prepared to throw away her own life, just to be with him?"
"She doesn't feel she's throwing her life away to be with him; any more than if she got married to any other man."
"So why devote herself to … him … in particular?"
"Well!" and she hunched forward towards me, and lowered her voice in a semi-conspiratorial way, "When she was at a particularly low point in her life, because she couldn't get anyone to fuck her, she approached her brother hoping for a sympathy fuck. That very brother told his sister that he really liked her bum, and her fanny, and especially her nipples; and she'd given him a raging hard-on, so he was lusting to get his tongue on her nipples and his cock in her pet Brazilian, and suck on her bum cheeks, so he wasn't prepared to give her a sympathy fuck, so she'd just have to make do with a hot-sister fuck."
" 'Ang on, I don't remember anything like that being said."
"You obviously weren't listening to the true words being spoken between the lines, then!"
"Oh … right … OK[?]. Sorry! Please continue, I prithee!"
"So, the Ugly Sister decided that she would try to change her fate, by becoming the Ugly Duckling. Now, knowing the true worth of her brother by his actions, she decided that she would (now that she had all this 'filthy lucre') morph her Ugly Duckling into the Beautiful Swan, and when this was achieved, she decided that the brother was the only one who deserved the rewards that the Swan could disburse, and thus get into her knickers to fuck her arse off."
"Oh, what a beautiful tale." I sobbed, wiping the tears from my eyes with my grubby snot-rag (long journey, and no real chance of getting a fresh one out for use).
A Princess is Crowned
"Now," still wiping my eyes, I changed the subject "perhaps the beautiful Mistress, will grant her adoring groupie a boon? If she would close her eyes for but a trice, and stand — hup — about … here would seem right, while I … poke about in my shit until I find … gotcha … a trifling gift that would enhance, I am sure, my Lady's beauty. Stand there for a mo… . OK?
I opened the package, and gently laid the tiara on her head, and gave it a test wobble to check its stability.
"Now, if my Lady would open her eyes for a gander at the goodies!"
She looked, gasped, then moved and bent closer to the mirror for a close-up look, holding her hair away from her view, and moving her head from side to side as she gazed at her reflection.
Tears had started streaming from her eyes, "Fuck … sake … Ian!" she sobbed, "It's a silver fuckin' tiara!" She grabbed me and squeezed me, nearly toppling the tiara off her head, as she burrowed her face against my chest, and was wracked with sobs, "How much did this set you back?"
Ignoring (as I usually do) her inappropriate and less than Ladylike enquiry and language, I replied, " 'Tis a mere trifle of my regard for thee! It was meant to be my 'slipper' that would bring-out the Princess in thee! An' it would'a' had loads more impact if you weren't now a sun-haired temptress. But never mind!
"Anyway — I wanted to give you something nice, that would make you feel gorgeous, or at least pretty. But if you don't like it, you don't have to keep it — I'll just take it back."
"Don't you fuckin' dare!" she seemed split in her intentions. Part of her was gripping me as if to make sure I made no attempt to leave to return it; the other to grip me in an intensely grateful and loving embrace, "Even if I hated it, you're not taking it back! You bought it for me for love, so I'm keeping it for that — for love!"
And, releasing me, she took a while to gaze at her reflection (again), nudging the tiara into the 'right' position.
"But, Ian … I don't hate it!" she whispered, "It's luv-lee!" and turning around carefully so that it wasn't disturbed (again), she wrapped me in her arms, and kissed me lovingly as she mashed her boobs against my lower chest; then she lightly stroked down, and caressed my goolies, then tightened her hand into a vice-like grip, and continued, "I may look more like the Princess in this, but you are still NOT getting your cock up my arse! Got that?"
"Ow, certainly sweetie! Wouldn't have crossed my mind — ow — OW!"
Then she kissed me sweetly again; and stroked my face, "Thank you my love!"
And let go of my family jewels.
"OK, OK. So — come on sis, fancy a fuck?"
"Oh, God, Ian, I thought you'd never ask!"
"Is it alright if I continue to be In-Love with you, even if I manage to fuck your brains out?"
"The preferred method. Can I wear the tiara, Ian? Puleeeze?"
"But seriously Ian," she paused — annoyingly just before the pussy reveal, "whatever games we play in here, there's real life going on out there. Mum and Dad — Mum especially — would like to hear the patter of tiny feet — at some time. Don't feel that you have to throw away your chance at fatherhood, just to keep fucking a childless crone of an old maidenly sister."
"That's all right my love. Let's take our chances; and fall back on the wanking into a bottle route to parenthood when we decide that we're done trying the natural way."
"Oh Ian, I do Love you! Now… now… fuck me now, Ian, please! I've been waiting so long for you!"
"Yes, my love, me too."
Mum and Dad had just got in the front door, when a loud wail of ecstasy rolled down the stairs, followed by:
"Fuck sake, Ian! Slow down! That was my third screamer, and you've only just got your cock in me. I can't take this. Don't stop — don't you dare fuckin' stop, just slowow ooow OWWWW
"FOUR!!!!!! . . . . oooooOOOH . . . down a bit!"
Mum and Dad, even though they choked-up with the — no doubt dubious — pleasure caused by discovering the very real and deep affection that their two children shared for each other (or at least – Lust), decided that they fancied checking out the Civic Hall tea shop and especially the library. They had heard there were some wonderful volumes of silence there. And the now very-real — and loud — presence of their offspring's incestuous relationship would actually take a little getting used to.
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