Hugh Kissasse
A Little Night Nookie

Chapter 1

The book that had arrived in the brown paper wrapping was a whole lot better than any books I'd ever seen before. After looking at a few of the pictures, I started feeling wonderfully warm. I thought of that night with my brother Harold-instinctively I slid my hand down and began rubbing my crotch, turning the pages absent mindedly.

There was a photo of a girl with perfectly enormous breasts, all spread out in a weird position, with one rather good-looking young man pushing his dong into her cunt, and another one in a sort of straddle, so she could suck on his thing, which was the size of a salami, I swear. From her expression, and theirs, everybody was enjoying themselves. I wasn't though; I was plain envious-mostly of her development.

People have said I'm a bit overdeveloped for my age, but in that town, that didn't mean much. I didn't think so anyway.

Then I jumped up and opened the bathroom door so I could look in the mirror, and just stood there-dissatisfied. I have this good thick crop of hair, which I was wearing in a couple of braids just now, and I was wearing my house pajamas. I opened up the jacket front, and stared hard.

Mine were just nowhere, compared to those in the picture; about the size of apples, and the nipples weren't any bigger than pale pink dimes. They'd never get to be that size, I thought, no matter how enthusiastically Bo squeezed them-the way he had been doing lately down at the Passion Pit That was about Bo's limit, though if the movie were long enough he got as far as snapping at my pantie elastic once or twice.

Then there was the matter of hair; the young woman in the photo had an elegant triangle of thick fur, and me? Well! I had decided to check again, and undid my pajama bottoms, and dropped them. Fuzz as I thought. My brought Harold had more hair than that on his chest. Phooey.

I didn't put my p.j.'s hack on, because I was feeling warm and my skin tingled a bit- maybe the effect of the book. I flopped on the bed again, on my back, and took another long, envious look, turning the pages.

Now, this one was peculiar, I thought I hadn't known one could do that with such a large candle; I'd already tried it several times with a small candle, weeks and weeks before, and the first time wasn't any fun. Then, the second time, it felt nice, but nothing to write home about. Possibly, if I got a really big candle, I thought, studying the photo, I could have as much fun as this girl seemed to be having. And then, oh jeepers, I did something. I flipped at my clitoris with my finger-I went twang all over, and jumped about a foot straight up.

Well, for a couple of minutes I was just socked out I mean, I just lay there, damp all over and stars and colored lights rolling around in front of my eyes.

When I started beginning to feel a bit better, I just shut the book, got the wrapper back on real fast, and slid out the door and down the stairs, dropping it on the hall table where Harold would find it I mean, it scared me. And just as I ran back up the stairs, naked as a jaybird, who do I hear coming up the walk but Harold, naturally. It wasn't so much seeing me without my clothes on, because I suspected he'd done that quite a few times already, the lecher, but if he guessed I'd been at his book, all hell would break loose.

I got into my room, and in to the tub, where I was soaking comfortably when Harold came trotting upstairs. He didn't even know I was home, I thought, so I tried not to splash as I got out and dried myself. The tub hadn't done what I had hoped it would; I was still feeling very peculiar. I wondered if this was what a girl I knew had meant by saying she was horny.

I flopped on the bed and listened. I could hear Harold in his room and. his shoes thudded on the floor; then, the bed creaked a bit Alter a minute I heard the bed creak again, several times, in a regular way.

What Harold doesn't know-because I never told him-is that the peephole he managed to fix up in his bedroom wail to look in at me isn't the only one. I made a much better one in my bedroom closet, from which I can see Harold's room just fine. So I went on in, put my eye to the hole, and froze.

There was Harold, all right, flopped out on his back on his bed with that book in one hand and his wang in the other, and pulling away on it He was all naked and he wasn't half had, for a big yellow-haired lump. But that thing of his, in his hand, was a real surprise. It wasn't anywhere up to those gigantic pricks in the book, but it was a heller for a boy of sixteen-though I had to remember I was no expert on comparative sizes. The only one I'd ever gotten close to was old Bo's-and the time I accidentally-on-purpose grabbed it when it popped out of his fly during a double feature… well it retreated like a scared snake into a hole.

Harold's didn't look like it was about to retreat at all-not from where I was. It was big long, and flushed-looking, with a lump of a head on top; and while I was at it, I noticed that Harold had a lot of hair, not like me, he had a real bush. But he was so busy I doubt he'd have noticed anything, even my breathing-which was pretty hard. He just kept flipping the pages with one hand, and himself with the other, moving around and kicking. And then, all of a sudden, he let out a big groan, and squirted a lot of creamy-looking stuff. After that he lay back and, closing his eyes, went a little limp, and so did his fascinating cock, darn it!

I just stood there, listening to his breathing for a while, and studying that thing of his. Of course-I kept telling myself-you aren't supposed to do it with your brother, because that's called excess or something like that, but looking isn't doing, is it?

The way Harold was snoring, I took it for granted he was not going to wake up unless there were an earthquake, and I'd had experience trying to wake him up. So I thought it might be kicky just to slide in and have a closer look, since he was lying there on his back, ready for inspection. I tiptoed out of my room (and, incidentally, completely forgot to put anything on, being in such a hurry) and into Harold's room, quiet as a mouse, and right up to him, where a ray of afternoon sunshine fell on his limp soldier.

Oh, gee, I thought, isn't that too bad, poor thing, all bent over and shrunken that way when it looked so marvelous before. So I gently reached out and touched the object and ran a finger down over his balls, a pair of plums.

Was I ever surprised? That dong of Harold's went right up as if somebody had a string tied to it-zip. It gave me a weird feeling of power, as if I'd pressed a button and released an atomic bomb or something like that There it stood, quivering a bit, straight up, and Harold still sound asleep, though he grunted and shifted a little. I bent over really close now and couldn't resist one more touch and it grew a full half inch. It was fascinating.

Staring at it, I wondered how the girl in the book had managed to put such a big one, bigger than this, in her mouth, and what it taste like. I was hypnotized. I bent over, closer and closer, kneeling on the bed beside Harold now, and almost as if it were an accident, I opened my mouth and came down on his quivering cock. I remember thinking, in a confused way, that he hadn't awakened at being touched before and maybe… well, there I was, with his cock between my lips, my tongue on it, and I just tasted it a little. Faintly salty, but nice; I gave a small sucking motion, like a popsicle.

Harold emitted this weird sound, between a gasp, a choke, and a laugh, and flung up his hands, which landed right on my crotch. He dug fingers in and I went absolutely ape. I sucked three or four long ones, not being too careful about teeth either, while his fingers stirred around on my cunt, and he made some more noises.

I had to let go just as I began to notice a dampness on his thing that wasn't spit, be needed a lot more air so I could yell, which I did. And then Harold woke up, with his hands still on my crotch, and sat up giggling at me.

"Uh! Honey!"

I was sitting, naked as an egg, still holding his cock, and he was sitting with his right index finger two joints up inside me and it must have been a great way to come to.

For a minute he just stared, his eyes like saucers, and then he started to laugh. And then I laughed too.

It took us both a minute to get out of the hysterical mood, and then he tried looking serious.

"What are you doing, Honey?" he said. "I mean, don't you realize?…"

"I could ask you the same thing," I said, and he noticed where his finger was. He pulled it out, but the effect on the way out was almost as spectacular on me as it had been on the way in. I let out a squeal, and fell over the bed, spread out, grabbing at Harold's prick, but missing. He tried another speech, but the words didn't come out. Old Debbil Nature took over, let's face it Two or three seconds, and he was on top of me, squashing me down flat under him, working his wang around till it was right there in the lobby of my cunt, so to speak.

I was in a helpful mood, so I managed to get a hand free and catch his balls and put two fingers around the base of that tool, just for steering purposes. A quick tickle back there, and he drove it right on in, like driving a fencepost into the ground, with two or three long strokes.

"Groovy!" I said, fingering his asshole, and he began to heave up and down, while I really started enjoying the whole thing. My nipples had popped right up and turned a bright pink, almost as good as my rival in the book, and I had an all-over melting sensation, as if I had turned to active jelly of some kind. I could feel every lovely inch of prick right up there inside, stuffing me like a sausage, so damn big that it felt as if it were about ready to come out my mouth. However, what came out instead were all sorts of encouraging remarks that I hadn't known were in me.

"Man, go, go, go, sock it to me, ooh, like a goddamned RRRRABBIT!" I yelped. "SCREW! OOOH, MAMA!"

And then, I felt several new and highly interesting sensations all at once. One of them was at rippling feeling down inside, where several muscles I hadn't known about were starting to squeeze and milk Harold's driving dong.

Next, there was a curious vibrating thing, as if someone were plucking on my spinal cord-but fun! It started twanging faster and faster, and my vaginal thing kept squeezing harder in time with it, and then, Harold let out a hooting noise and started to bite on one of my tits, which seemed to do the trick for both of us. I went up off the bed onto my heels and shoulders in a perfect arched parabola with my spine turning into a 20,000 volt high tension line, and Harold hooted. I felt a gigantic jet of warm wet cream flood me all over, and we collapsed, wheezing.

About five minutes later, Harold was beginning to come to, and getting analytical.

"We shouldn't have!" he said.

"Only we did," I pointed out.

"It's all your fault"

"All right," I was perfectly willing to take the blame. "Except you were banging your meat all by yourself. That isn't healthy."

He stared at me. "Healthy! Look who's talking! You… why, you're only fourteen and doing this, and with… with your own brother."

"You did it, with your own sister," I said, sweetly. By this time I was curled attractively at the end of the bed, adjusting my braids, and feeling gorgeously contented.

"It isn't normal," he said.

"How would you know?"

"I mean, normal girls… well, they don't."

"Ha, ha," I told him, "I could number the virgins at South High on the fingers of… one foot" Well, that might have been a little exaggerated, but dose.

"That's silly," he said, frowning. "Lots of girls… won't."

"Won't, hey?" I said. "Such as who?"

"Dot Trent," he said. "She doesn't…"

"Well, well," I said. "So my brother the make out artist didn't make out last Friday night, hey? That was why you looked so flustered. She fought you off, did she"

"I didn't try to make her!" he denied, looking foolish enough naked.

"Oh yes you did, brother Harold," I said. I noticed something else interesting, as I talked; his tool was starting to recover a bit As far as I was concerned, I'd recovered right off the bat.

"She told me all about it," I said smugly. "You got to feeling and flapping… why, the poor girl was so bothered she almost died. Had that busy finger in there, too, didn't you?"

He glared. "Do you girls tell each other everything?"

"Everything," I said, my eye on the rising barometer of his dong. Hmm, I thought, if he's that interested in young Dotsy, a tottering spinster a whole year older than I, and as anxious a virgin as myself, too… sort of.

"I'll bet you could make her, if you had a little help," I said, grinning. "From me, for instance. I think I could fix it up…" His interest was coming up, all right.

I lolled around on the bed, rubbing my head up against his side, nipping with my teeth.

"If you do get her where I am, right now…" I said.

"Hey!" he said.

"Will you let her suck on this a little…?" I grabbed at it, and let go, just to tease. He flushed and snatched at me, so I rolled hastily onto my belly, reared up a bit, and peered around at him.

"Maybe you could get her into this position?" I suggested. "I think it's one on page 83… and stick your big ol' cock right on in… oh!"

He hadn't been able to resist those apple cheeks of mine, wiggling up at him. My rear is my best point, I think-small, round, firm, and neatly divided as a peach.

He slid it right in this time, and it went straight to the bottom and struck hard, with a bong. I was really wet, hot and anxious, and I worked him for all he was worth, knowing we hadn't much more time. He rammed harder and harder, as I twisted around under him, and then he grappled my apples, one in each hand, drove it in good and hard, and hung there, gasping.

I tried those new muscles deliberately this time, moving in rhythm, my hips swaying as I let my lower lips suck gently, and then faster, one, two, three, CRASH-BANG, and I went all to pieces, floating away in a sea of electrical jello, while Harold creamed marvelously. And a half-hour later he fucked me again, but I told you about that. This time it was several minutes before conversation time, and I decided to take no chances. I was at the door when Harold started to stir.

"Better get covered up, Harold," I told him. "Uncle George."

"Uh," he said.

"I always keep promises," I told him with a Mate Han wink, and a wriggle of my entirely-contented hips. "You and Dottie will make it, trust your girl, Honey. Bye!"

Just incidentally, I happened to know why Uncle George was an absolutely safe bet not to come home while I was carrying on in that utterly perverse way. Uncle George owns the biggest and fanciest drugstore in town, and is a pharmacist himself, but he usually knocks off at three, leaving the place in the hands of Junior Kelso, who is a pill-mixer too, and quite old, almost twenty-five. However, Junior was a positive dreamboat, and very cool, and I know about some of his goings on; and after a prolonged and panting description of his techniques, which I overheard Lily Dacker giving, I had my mind made up that one of these days he was going to bruise my girlish flesh.

Though that might have one difficulty, Junior being as cool a cat as he was; he was therefore careful, too, and in no position to go around risking becoming the prison drugstore manager for the old statutory thing. That was about the main stumbling block in the way of most of us hot-blooded maidens around town-the fact that most males knew about the law. Even if we rip our own garments off and offer our pulsing flesh to some groovy cat, we're in much less danger than he is, until we pass the magic age-point. Pfah!

But Uncle George wasn't risking that; it was something else. Old George had a very close friendship with Miss Lula Grover, a young and curvy spade chick who lived in Gomera Junction, nine miles down the main highway-about ten minutes drive if you leaned on it, and Uncle George leaned on it whenever he got word that Miss Lula Grover's boy friend, Mr. Aldridge Sutter, was off on business elsewhere.

As I saw it, Mr. Sutter's function was physical and spiritual stimulation, which I rather thought Miss Lula needed a whole lot of; and my Uncle George, besides getting something stimulated himself, supplied one of the other ingredients a girl needs to stay young and beautiful-namely bread, loot, or cash, to be crude about it.

I was pretty well in on the whole thing, for one reason or another, as I earnestly hoped Mr. Aldridge Sutter wasn't Mr. Aldridge Sutter was a large, wide, gorgeous hunk of shiny black muscle, who had been a railroad worker before he entered new fields. He was now, believe it or not, a playwright and poet, and something in demand; he often went about organizing riots, protesting, turning up on TV, and lecturing to white folks who wanted to have their consciences shaken up.

Speaking of the great race thing, we are way ahead of the ignorant South up here in Connecticut, and while blacks still get paid less, work harder, and can't go around getting too uppity in some places, there are some things where equality goes, baby. I mean for instance, if Uncle George happened to get caught while clutching Lula's elegant coffee-colored body in his arms, he would undoubtedly get the finest thumping Mr. Aldridge Sutter could hand out, and there would be no lyching afterward either; just a good many laughs-on Uncle George.

As for my knowing about it, well… that's a long story, and mostly, it comes from my close friendship with Lula's younger sister Jill, who confides things. Also, from my fascination with Mr. Aldridge Sutter, who is such a luscious lump of pure, vibrating male that I am damn sure any well-brought-up Southern girl would have dropped her pantalettes and begged to be defiled after one look at him. He was a living bilThoard in favor of miscegenation, and I itched to be miscegenated, should the chance arrive.

So, knowing that Lula was going to be her seductive self, nine miles away, I figured out the chances on Uncle George. Three fifteen, arrive; two rounds, a rest, some discussion of Lula's finances, and arrival at a figure, followed by one more round, and a longer rest. Three was about usual according to Jill, and at Uncle George's age, it was phenomenal. But then, there were all those vitamins, free after all.

So, when Uncle George, baldheaded, pink, and respectable, came in the front door, I was just descending, also pink and respectable, to carol a girlish greeting, and pop off to check Mrs. Achover, our housekeeper and cook. The image of a nice girl, that's me.

But I was laying my plans now. Harold's performance was so impressive that I had to plan really wild sequels. And, if he got Dottie… well, I'd be doing her a favor, I could see that. A favor deserves a favor, doesnt' it?