Our high school was filled with girls like her, freshly scrubbed, never in need of Clearasil, just the right balance of tits and ass. A girl like her could screw an entire offensive line and still maintain her wholesome glow. At 38, I still enjoy transgressing. These days, no one cares about my pierced tongue or the silver studs that outline each ear, and although my nose ring occasionally elicits questions about nose blowing, it never really bothers anyone.
All that can possibly get a rise is the chunky safety pin in my left eyebrow, which juts out at an awkward angle, grabs hair, and gets infected. He still looks good: A drop of sweat makes its way down my left sleeve. I pinch the tips of three fingers, a reality check. Curiosity tinged with insanity has brought me face to face with my brother again.
Two weeks ago, after decades of peripheral contact, he summoned me to his Rockefeller Plaza office, with the impossibly high ceilings and stink of faded cigar, to offer a proposal that could bind us forever. Our newly constituted family was making its second annual winter pilgrimage from New York to Florida with Bill, Sabrea, and Max in the middle seat while we older sibs luxuriated in the coveted, rear-facing jump seat, enjoying a temporary respite from parental condescension.
George, my stepfather, always drove straight through to Florida, with the rest of us nodding off by Virginia. This time, soon after I drifted off, I felt a soothing stroking. Coming to, I realized that Steve was petting my ass. I feigned sleep, and the minor infraction soon ended.
But in Georgia he cupped my left breast, fingering my nipple as if turning a dial. I heard you lost a lot of friends in those towers. He leans over the table, arranging an earnest face. When those buildings came down I had to reevaluate. Ignoring me, Steve lowers his voice. In his world, men make the moves, and women like it that way.
Steve had lured me to his office under the pretense of needing art advice. A pathetic Jim Dine, red and orange hearts, was propped up in a bulbous leather chair. Charged with inciting a riot, it took three years to clear him. Steve had trapped me with a hand on each shoulder. Do you know how many black guys get beat up in this city? I held back the urge to spit in his face. What do you want from me? Damn right it was a shock. A hysterical laugh surged like an avalanche until I was doubled over and my heart heaved.
Liza, your career is going nowhere! The waitress plunks down our shots and we order off a menu that showcases 47 types of herring. Every girl wanted him. The summer before that football season, the five of us were left in the care of Betty, our obese nanny. By August, I let Steve creep into my room with the lime green carpet and white daisy wallpaper.
‘stepsister’ stories
At first his breath, tongue, and saliva sickened me, but as he learned to avoid sudden moves, I turned into an elegant cat waiting to be caressed. For years, my heart would spasm when I saw boys who resembled him, but art school cured me of that frat-boy drama. SVA introduced me to real men who lived and died for their art: Never mind that my longest relationships, before JJ, were with Percy the compulsive liar, whose dried dung sculptures were surprisingly evocative, and Pedro, the film student who shot heroin between his toes and cried for his mama.
I look around at our fellow diners. JJ still loves me. After his wings were clipped, I lugged two huge canvases to our apartment to help the healing. Instead, the blank space taunted us until one night we sold them for some weed. I pull out a single strand of hair, dance it over the candle until it ignites, then delight in the explosion of heat on my fingertips.
Or Olga the Calvin Klein model? He got one of those genius grants and dumped her ass. With a long chug, Steve drains his beer. You gotta live your life. A few years back, I bummed a ride upstate with Steve, and we stopped at the sight of a spotted fawn lying next to its recently dead mother. After the animal rescue unit arrived and pried the fawn from his arms, Steve looked so crestfallen that, back in his car, I unbuttoned my blouse to show him the little deer tattoo that graces my heart. He ran a warm finger across the top of my breast, then backed off.
Wrestling my stepsister | domination story from Bastige | An Erotic Story
I pulled him into my chest, but he shook me loose. Holding back tears, I riffled through my backpack for a Quaalude while Steve gunned his Porsche up the Taconic Parkway. He raises an empty shot glass. I brought home that nice accountant from Minneapolis, Emily. But the seed was planted. I wanted a kid. On the stark bed, the white sheet leaves her lower half exposed, her legs wide open, her vagina stretched around the neck and head, which dangles in the blood of labor.
Had she never miscarried, had she never taken that ill-fated bus ride, would we care now about some Mexican girl with a unibrow and mustache? After Steve violated the sibling code by putting his paws on me, I spent years studying that painting, absorbing the pain, allowing it to fill me with sadness, steadily cultivating a Kahlo-esque, been-wronged attitude to feed my art.
Then, when JJ got messed-up, validating that kicked-to-the-curb edge, my creativity shriveled into something cold, hard, and inaccessible. A warm tingle shoots across my belly. Steve bites his lower lip, a habit I assumed our parents had drummed out of him. It bothers me that his words land like soft fingers caressing my cheek. Why do you drag everything down to the lowest common denominator? Well, what about you? Steve laughs into his beer glass. Dissing each other brings on a homey feeling.
She snorted in irritation, but I could tell she wasn't that upset The next day, things went pretty much the same. Amy challenged me again, she tried for my balls but failed, and I pinned her.
Again, she demanded a rematch, and I accepted. Again, she removed her pants and went bottomless for an hour. This time, I slapped her on the bare ass as I walked by, and she woofed in indignation. On the third day, however, I got sloppy. Pinning her had become so easy, I must have let up a little, because as I was about to win, she grabbed for my balls - and got em this time.
I instantly realized I had lost, and tapped out before she could start squeezing my precious jewels. She danced around, punching the air and singing "We are the Champions," before turning to me and pointing.
A story about a step-brother and step-sister
I grinned, only slightly shaken, and took my shorts down. My dick flopped out and Amy suppressed a giggle. I laughed, and did part of the dance from Napoleon Dynamite.
She covered her mouth and guffawed. She walked over, slapped me on my bare ass, and then walked away, singing a song. After that it was on. With the house just to ourselves, we'd wrestle maybe every other day. At first I won most of the matches, and Amy spent a lot of time bottomless, enduring ass-slaps from yours truly. Occasionally she managed to get me by the balls, and then I tapped out quickly, because when a girl has got your balls it's over. That happened only a couple times at first, but Amy started developing some skill after a couple weeks, and it became much harder to beat her.
She always was an athletic girl. We got bored of just making each other walk around bare-butt, and started making each other do embarrassing forfeits. It started with things like cartwheels and jumping jacks, then we started making each other do dares, like doing a lap around the house bottomless. Once a guy jogging saw her do that, and once an old lady saw me. Fairly embarrassing, but good motivation to win the next match. After the jogger saw Amy, she was pissed. I instinctively bent over a little. I shook my head. If it really came down to it, I knew I could beat her.
So we squared off, just like usual, me in my t-shirt and gym shorts, her in tank top and sweats, and we went at it. She had been exercising, and her arms and legs were slippery with sweat. I had a hard time holding on to her. Then when I was on top of her, she suddenly faked a knee at my groin. I instinctively folded up, and she grabbed my arm and forced y face into the carpet. I shouted in frustration and tapped the ground, submitting. She got up and did her victory dance as I lifted myself dejectedly off the floor. She just waved her finger. She walked over to me, and asked, "Are you ready?
She reached back and swung her palm into my nuts. It was a pretty hard whack, and I groaned and immediately held myself. Slowly, I crumpled to my knees. Amy stood in front of me with cocked hips and a satisfied smirk. Then she reached over and shoved me onto the ground. I decided to stay there. Then, as she had after our first match, she grabbed my shorts and hauled them off of me, leaving me bare-butt and clutching my nuts.
I got up after a few seconds, groaning. Amy walked over and patted me on the butt. I didn't, not with the price of losing this high, but I said "Sure. This time I gave it my all - after all, my balls were on the line! She did not want to submit, wriggling like crazy and shouting in rage, but eventually I immobilized all her limbs and forcer her face-down onto the carpet.
Then I got off her, and let her up. She got up and grumblingly stripped off her sweats, then peeled off her top and undid her bra. Amy had very nice tits, big for an Asian girl, and she was pretty proud of them. I turned over on my back so I could watch her while she worked.
This made her more embarrassed, especially when I started making "Asian massage parlor" jokes. I had seen my stepsister naked plenty of times, but the massage somehow made it a lot more erotic. Her nipple brushed my nose, but neither of us said anything. The next day, we circled each other warily all day, both of us nervous to start what we realized would be the ultimate and final bout.
Amy and I were comfortable seeing each other nude, but never before when guests were there.
And my friends would think I was the man. That sounded like a one-way ticket to Hell. No embarrassment on her part was equal to that. I put on a brave face and said, "OK. But as we faced off and prepared to do battle, she straightened up and said "Let's wrestle nude. For me, the advantage is that it's easier to grab your balls if you're naked. Already, I could feel my dick stiffening in my pants. I knew this was a terrible idea- besides the advatage she had mentioned, I'd be terribly distracted by her nudity.
See a Problem?
But what guy would turn down the chance to wrestle a hot girl completely naked? Even if she was his stepsister. She did the same. To my shame, this time I had a full erection. Amy, stark naked and looking incredibly hot in her wrestling stance, pointed and laughed. You always think with the wrong head. Suddenly, she lunged at me, and my first thought was not to counter her, but to move my erection out of the way. I did that, but she crashed into me and sent me to the carpet. Suddenly she was all over me, grabbing me in one of the holds I had taught her over the past month.
For a second, I focused on trying to find some angle for my crotch so that a my balls would be safe from her grabbing hands, and b my erection wouldn't be ground into the floor. Again, I successfully did this, but now she had grabbed my arms and wrapped her legs around one of mine. I could have broken her hold and thrown her off me, but I was suddenly distracted by the unfamiliar feeling of so much of her skin against my skin, and her bare breasts crushed against my back Bad time to do that.
She grabbed me around the neck and arm, and shoved me right down to the floor. Before I knew it, she had pinned me.