Matti and Miki decide to "practice" together so that Matti can give their father Matti's sexual gift.
It had taken a lot of thought, a lot, before I put my plan into motion and began what I thought of as my campaign. Knowing my ultimate goal, or goals, really, I was nervous, realizing that there were so many reasons it could fail. But my reasons were so strong, so fundamental, so important that I thought I had to try.
So it was that, glancing into the TV room and seeing my older brother Mikhail sitting on the couch alone I thought “Now or never”, like that moment before you jump into a cold lake, and strolled over to the couch. “Can I borrow your car keys, Miki?” I asked.
“Why: You’re only 15; you can’t drive.”
“I’ll be 16 in a couple of months and then I can get my learner’s license. I like to sit in the driver’s seat and learn the controls.” I could see that Miki wasn’t convinced and certainly not inclined to lend me his keys, as I’d expected. Time for the next step.
“I know you’re carrying them; you’ve always got them on you.”
“Not true; they’re in my room.”
“No way”; and with that I launched the next phase. I charged the couch, threw myself onto him, and began trying to reach into his pockets. Laughing, he pushed me off, only for me to return to the attack. My pocket search soon launched us years back into the past, to our childhood when we used to regularly tussle and wrestle on the floor. But it had been years and now our tussle was an essential element of my plan. I wasn’t surprised by the first few minutes as our wrestling and laughing left the search behind and returned to our childhood play, so I moved to the next step, Miki all the while unknowing.
I maneuvered myself onto him, pretend tickling him, then as he fought for release I straddled him and pressed down on his hips, pretending to strengthen my control. After a couple of minutes I advanced my agenda, allowing him to easily push me off, using his tactic to roll onto the couch and, to my surprise, fairly easily allowing him to get on top of me. Now it was time for the final step of today’s gambit: I continued to ‘wrestle’ while quickly spreading my legs so that within a few seconds we were in the classic missionary position. Except for about four layers of clothing, I had him exactly where I wanted him and continued to keep him there, faux-wrestling, “struggling” enough that he continued to hold me down by my wrists and to press his body on mine. Finally, I wrapped my legs around him and locked my ankles together. “Gotcha”, I smiled.
At that point he released my wrists and shifted until he was being supported above me by his forearms, pressed into the couch on either side of me. Released, my hands gently found his back and I held him in a hug, then allowed my hands to lightly drift up and down his back. His eyes, looking at first deeply into mine, closed as he felt my - let’s be honest - caress. And then I knew phase one of my scheme was a success as I felt his undeniable hardness against me; to this day I don’t know if even he realized he was hard, and maybe in different circumstances I wouldn’t have known either. But that was the entire goal of my tactic, and, lying beneath him on that TV room couch, I realized for the first time in my young life the power of my sex, and the impact I could have: I’d given my first man an erection.
Then I went off plan; without thinking I craned my neck up and gave Miki a quick kiss. On the lips. Just a quick, sisterly peck on his lips. His eyes lit up with surprise, then became half closed as he leaned down and returned the kiss, more slowly, and with the slightest increase of pressure on my lips. This was an unexpected bonus, more than I had hoped for. I thought I should quit while I was ahead and, laughing again, said “Ok, I believe you; I’ll get the keys from your room.”
“Stay out of my stuff” was all he had to say as I left the room. A furtive glance back told me that he was still laying on the couch, watching me leave. Did I see a different look than I’d ever noticed? Or was that my wishful thinking?
I knew my campaign would be a long one, so I didn’t hurry it along. Another week passed and I used every opportunity to, well, advance my plans. Yes, I was only fifteen, but life to that point had taught me many lessons that some folks never learn. Some background might explain that. My parents met in ballet school and, while both were gifted, neither danced professionally for very long. An early injury directed my mother into teaching and my father became a ballet company manager. Not surprisingly both Miki and I were encouraged to dance and did, for a time. Miki, named Mikhail after the great Baryshnikov, decided at 14 that he preferred sports over dance. Dance had taught him well, and he was an excellent athlete. They named me Mathilde, after Mathilde Kschessinska. A lot of people called me “Matilda” and I had long since tired of telling them “it’s with an ‘e’, and the ‘e’ is silent”. Thankfully most called me ‘Matti’ and I was fine with that. It could always have been worse; they could have named me Olga, after Olga Pavlova and I’d have to endure a lifetime of questions; “you were named after a dessert?”
I continued to dance after Miki quit; I had few hopes of a professional career, but I knew that if I was good enough it might provide an education. I had hopes of scholarships. But the hard work, discipline, practice, dedication, and necessity of working closely with others had advanced my maturity beyond my years. In fact, I found too many of my classmates, for example, to be immature and overly concerned with trivial things. I planned my life, both long term and short term. I considered virtually every decision from every perspective that I could and, once decided, pursued my goal with singular determination.
Which might help explain that week. I contrived to, shall we say, offer Miki ‘glimpses’. I’ve read enough porn to know that what I did that week is often called ‘cock teasing’; so be it. If I teased Miki it was in pursuit of an important goal; one that I’ll explain later. Carefully timing my showers, I managed to “forget” my clothes in my room, so that I would slip past him wrapped only in a towel, hiked enough to show most of my long legs. More furtive glances back, more confirmation of his following looks. As I prepared for bed (our bedrooms were adjoining, at the other end of the house from our parents’) I managed to precede him by minutes and “just happened” to have taken all but my undergarments off, strategically leaving the door open enough for his glance, before I donned my usual overly long t-shirt for bed. In between I found and wore the shortest, tightest shorts that I could and invented unnecessary activity in his vicinity, carefully bending over to “pick something up”, always changing into more demure clothes before our parents came home.
By the end of the week I was sure he was where I wanted him. To guarantee it, on Friday night I performed the double whammy, exiting the shower in the bath towel, wrapped so that some of my cleavage (no, there wasn’t much; I was a ballerina, remember?) showed, wrapped high enough that most of my legs showed. Then to the bedroom and, as I heard him approaching, dropping the towel with my back to the door, revelling in the pause I heard in his step as I shimmied into my night shirt.
I quickly closed the door, turned out the light and walked to the wall that our rooms shared; his bed was against the wall, mine was across the room. I pressed my ear to the wall and listened with all my might and felt the thrill of the success my week’s activity had wrought. As I listened I heard first the soft rhythm of his bed, the unmistakable sound of his masturbation as he pumped his rigid cock, then the growing sounds of his moans and, finally a gasp as I heard him come.
How to celebrate this success? Well, by moving on to the next phase certainly, but in the meantime and on a much shorter time frame I returned to my bed and indulged in an unplanned fringe benefit of the scheme as my hand slipped down, found my pussy, and slipped first one and then several finger into my hot, wet opening. Within seconds, Miki’s groans echoing in my ears, I was writhing on my bed as my quiet orgasm wracked my body. Sated, I fell into a smiling sleep.
The next phase was not the next week. The next week was structured and as intentional on my part as the first, but a little less intense. In other words ordinary days passed with no teasing, no bath towels, no doors left open, followed by a day of more teasing on my part. Truthfully I enjoyed thinking of new ways to, hopefully, awaken that instinct - no, that need - in Miki that I wanted to awaken. Tight shorts might be followed by an after school braless couple of hours in which I’d manage to draw the t-shirt close, giving my nipples a prominence that Miki couldn’t miss, or more tight shorts, all ending, of course, before my parents were home. I began to wonder if I was going too far, or if Miki saw the pattern and began to see my goal. And practically every night, certainly on the “teasing” days, I heard the now-familiar rhythm of his bed springs.
There were no deadlines in my campaign; I was prepared to take as long as I needed to reach my goal. I imagined that my campaign was like a cross-country road trip and that my goal was New York and my departure city our hometown of San Francisco. Interstate highways were my plan, but I knew, as with any trip, side roads and secondary routes might be needed. So it was that I listened carefully for family chats during the week and watched the signs and knew by Thursday that Miki had no plans for the weekend and that our parents would be out Saturday night at a recital. That settled it: Saturday night would be phase three of my plan, The Conversation. I knew that my plan depended on the success of this conversation, that failure might jeopardize my entire campaign, and hoped that two weeks of preparation for both Miki and me would ensure success. I was planning one of the most important, hell, THE most important, conversation I’d ever had with Miki. Or anyone, probably.
Nervous? Of course I was nervous. I don’t think I’ve overstated the level of my maturity, but I’d taken on a mammoth task, an adult task, and I needed Miki’s help to see it through. What was that help? Simply put if you haven’t guessed by now I wanted Miki to fuck me. That’s it, there’s no dressing it up: I wanted my brother to have sex with me. Several times. But that needs even more explanation, one that I hoped would persuade my brother to go to bed with me.
Saturday arrived and I managed to find errands and excuses to be out of the house most of the day, afraid that my nervousness would show. I worked hard to calm my nerves enough to eat a normal dinner with Miki and my parents, to see them off for the evening with the usual banal chatter, and then to fuss about in my room while Miki went to the TV room and found a movie. I gave him about twenty minutes with the movie, then, screwing up every ounce of my courage, wandered casually into the room.
He glanced up at me and joked “you’re not after the car keys again, are you?”
I smiled, relieved, and sat down on the couch, sliding closer to him than usual. Close enough to easily touch him. “No, but I want to talk to you” I said.
That got his interest; he glanced away from the TV and took in my face. That was enough encouragement that I reached across him and, yes, managed to allow my braless chest to rub across his and take longer than necessary to reach the TV control. He didn’t draw away; in fact his hands seemed to involuntarily reach up and hold me lightly as I reached. More encouragement, enough to give me hope of success tonight.
“It’s about dad”, I began as I silenced the TV, back in my seat, but a little closer to him.
“What about dad?” he replied.
“He’s not happy.” I’d decided on a blunt approach.
“Huh?” was his, anticipated, actually, response.
“Come on, Miki, even you must have noticed how he always seems down now; it’s been probably two years since I first noticed it. He always seems cheerful when he’s around us, but when he thinks no one’s looking: watch him. I know women are more sensitive to a lot of feelings than men, so I’m not surprised that maybe you haven’t noticed. But he’s sad, and it’s a sadness that always seems to follow him. Think about it; am I wrong?”
A pause, then “well, now that you mention it, no, you’re probably not wrong. But what’s that got to do with us? What can we do about it?”
“You haven’t looked in the right direction, Miki, you haven’t asked ‘why?’”
“Ok, why?”
And now the bluntest response I’d ever give. “Sex”.
“WHAT?”
It was all or nothing now, I knew; “you heard me: s-e-x. Dad’s not getting any. I’m absolutely sure of that.”
Now I really had Miki’s attention, TV totally forgotten. “How do you know? How can you be sure? How…”
“Ok, I’m not proud of myself, but back when I was a kid, about a year and a half ago, I was poking around in mom and dad’s bedroom drawers. I found a stash of condoms in one of dad’s drawers and for laughs I counted them; there were about two dozen. Six months later I looked again and there were still a couple of dozen. The number hasn’t changed.”
“Maybe they’d used some and replaced them?”
“No; they were exactly as I’d seen them the first time. One package with a bunch in them was still sealed. No doubt about it, Miki, that’s what’s going on. Or more likely not going on.”
Silence as we sat together, he absorbing what I’d said, me gathering my thoughts for my next approach. I began “I’m worried, Miki, how does this go? Is he like this for the rest of his life? Or does he have an affair? Wreck the marriage? Look, I don’t doubt for a second that he and mom love each other, each in their way. But I’m worried mom’s love doesn’t have much of a, well, physical side. Look: you’ve seen her at the school, you’ve been in her ballet classes. She’s all business; she’s like a drill sergeant or some NFL coach, but she gets results. Our school turns out the best dancers in the state, but I think mom pays a price for that. She’s become, well, kind of cold, don’t you think?”
At that Miki squirmed and I sympathized with his discomfort at envisioning our parents’ sex lives, or lack of it. “When I think about it,” he began, “some of the students used to call her ‘The Ice Queen’. I never thought much about it, but now I know what you mean.”
“It could get worse” I continued, “what if he decided to look to the corps de ballet, at the girls in our school? Look, more than a couple of the girls have told me dad is ‘a hunk’. Some of them seem more than just casually interested. I’m worried that girls and women can sense it, like a dog senses fear, and might make a move on him. I’m worried that he might go there. That would end the marriage, split the family, probably cost him his job; and maybe mom’s too.
It was getting too much for Miki. “Ok, you’ve figured this out so far, what’s the solution?”
“Well, it’s not an affair. Dad’s simply not the type. He’s totally loyal to mom and, as I’ve said already, he loves her. No, an affair or even a one-night stand or two simply won’t help. It’ll make it worse.”
“I’m waiting”, he said, all eyes on me now.
I’d had months to think about this, months to prepare for this moment and had rehearsed the words countless times. “I want to give him something that mom can’t seem to give him, something he really wants.”
I thought he’d understand at that point, but he didn’t; are all men this thick, I wondered. “And that would be…?” he said.
“Me.”
“Huh?” again.
“You heard me, I want to give myself to him. I want to give him what he really needs; sex. I’m old enough and I’m ready. I’m worried that if I don’t give it to him then he’ll either be depressed for life or our family will be wrecked.” And then I waited for his arguments that I knew must come. But the best word for him, after ‘speechless’, would be ‘flabbergasted’. His mouth moved but no words came for a few seconds.
“Are you crazy? Are you…you’ve never had sex, Matti, you’re, you’re only 15, it’s…”
“I know: it’s illegal. It’s very illegal; I told you I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. The age of consent in this state is 18; under 17 and it’s statutory rape. And, of course, it’s incest. Let’s not forget about that; incest is a crime in this state at any age.”
The room became quieter than it had been. Miki looked down at his lap as I continued to watch him for any sign of understanding or, I hoped, agreement. Finally he said “Matti, think about this; use your head.”
“I have used my head, Miki, I’ve thought about this for months. And then I began to use my heart too. I love dad; hell, I love mom and dad, but he needs this so badly that we have to give it to him.” There it was; ‘we’ and Miki didn’t miss it.
“What do you mean ‘we’? What’s any of this got to do with me?”
Now came the most important step in phase three, the most important part of the evening. And that’s saying a lot, considering what I’d just told Miki. “I don’t want dad to be my first” I said, “I want it to be right. I want it to be beautiful the very first time. I want to know what to expect, how to act, how to give him as much pleasure as I can.” I waited, watched Miki’s eyes, waiting for understanding to dawn. It didn’t, so I continued. “Miki, I want you to be my first.” I stopped there, expecting his shocked look that followed.
“I…I…you…”
I had expected this. I took his hand and said “remember when you taught me how to ride a bike?” I said, “You held me until I learned. I want you to hold me now, Miki, I want to learn with you.”
“Matti, I’m no expert; you know I’ve never had sex with a girl.”
“I know that and that’s why I think we can learn together. I can’t think of a better, more understanding, kinder teacher than my own brother.”
That was it. I doubted I had any more words that might persuade. His silence scared me; I felt we were on a knife-edge and that we could fall either way, to success on one side, or failure on the other. As he remained silent I felt us teetering toward failure. It was time for my next weapon: extortion. “Look”, I said, “don’t tell me it’s a totally crazy thought; what about your nightly ritual the last couple of weeks? What were you thinking about? Who were you thinking about?” At this there was an unmistakable blush rising on his cheeks. “Miki, I think it’s sweet that you might have been thinking about me”, a pause as his silence, confirmed my suspicion. “In fact, it even kind of turned me on. How about we just look for those car keys for a few minutes?” I smiled.
And with that I pulled him down onto the couch as we easily lay together. Enough words, I told myself, time for action; I think I’ve never felt so seductive. So I kissed him lightly and drew back as he returned the kiss. I sank back into the pillows as our kisses grew longer and more passionate. I parted my lips, waiting, and he accepted my invitation, his tongue slowly probing, slowly and shyly touching first my lips and then the tip of my waiting tongue. An electric shock, it seemed, jolted us both as our tongues began their first acquaintance, their first dance together, each probing ever deeper, each becoming more and more bold, exploring, thrusting, seeking. I felt us both teetering on that knife edge, this time toward success.
Again I managed to slip beneath him and hold him there, my hands gliding up and down the muscles of his back. Finally I asked the final question, a wordless message as I thrust my hips gently up to him, feeling his hardness as I did it. Again I thrust, and then a third time until he, or his body at least, understood and began meeting my thrusts in a perfect rhythm as I raised my knees so that my thighs held him in a soft valley. And now his face was buried in my hair, his lips next to my ear, words, unconnected, streaming from his whispers; “oh god, Matti, oh god, I’m…I’m…unnhhh…you’re…I…oh god…”
“Don’t stop” was all I could gasp as his rigid cock rubbed against my eager pussy, a few thin layers of fabric separating us. I’d never felt so exhilarated. “Don’t stop, Miki, please don’t stop” I gasped as I felt my orgasm building. I wasn’t alone, though, as I sensed his climax approaching, heard his panting quicken.
“Matti, I’m going to come” he moaned.
“Do it, DO IT” I said, “I want to come with you” and with that both our bodies began to shake uncontrollably as our mutual orgasm ripped through us. With each prolonged thrust against me I knew he was shooting jet after jet of his seed at me, and that fueled several more waves of my ongoing orgasm.
Spent, we lay together. Although there was no one to hear us we spoke in whispers. “God, that was amazing, you were amazing,” I said. Another weapon I’d prepared: flattery. “Just imagine what the real thing would feel like, Miki. It would be unbelievable.”
He lay with me, quiet, as my hand drifted up and down his chest, caressing, thrilling to the ripples of his muscles. “My god,” I thought, almost forgetting my ultimate goal, “I want this guy. I really want him.”
“But it’s wrong, Mat (only Miki was allowed to call me Mat), it’s wrong. You and me. You and dad. It’s a crime; it’s several crimes that you’re planning. What if you’re, we’re caught?”
“No one will ever know, and you know it. Who would you tell? Your buddies? A girlfriend? No, you’ll never tell and I’ll never tell. And we both know dad would never tell.”
“What about mom? Would she figure it out?”
“With you and me? Never; why would she? Why would she suspect her son and daughter were fucking?” I chose the word carefully, I’d thought about this well in advance. I wanted to awaken something in him, something primal. I wanted to light a fuse to his arousal. I loved my brother and I’d made this plan, for him to be first, largely with that in mind. I could have had sex, I knew, with any number of boys, but I wanted it to mean something. Illegal, yes, but my first sex would be with someone I loved. But I wanted him to feel, well, lust. I wanted him to be horny; horny for me. “Do you think we won’t be careful? Leave stains on the sheets that she’ll see? Don’t worry, I’ve even thought about that. When we fuck (I didn’t say if) we’ll be very careful.”
“But dad? That’s different.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “you’re right. I worry that she might see a difference in him. If she does, she’ll assume he’s having an affair and she’ll look in every direction except at me. And she won’t find anything. Yes, we would have to be very careful. No signs to see, no reason for suspicion. If I’m right, then I will be the solution to dad’s unhappiness. If he and I begin it would have to be very gradual, so that she hardly notices a change in him,” I explained.
“What if you get pregnant? Have you thought about that?”
“Of course, that was one of my first thoughts. I will have to take precautions. I know you and I can use some of those condoms in dad’s drawer; there are so many that I’m sure he won’t miss a couple.”
“A couple?”
“Yes, a couple. After that we’re on our own. You might be able to get some, maybe through some of those stud buddies you are always talking about. Give them some line about having sex with a friend of your cousin, anything to get the condoms. I know I can get some through some of the girls at ballet, especially the older ones; they love to brag about their conquests and easy access to sex. I’m sure they’ll be happy to encourage me. And I’m pretty sure that when I’m 16 I can get birth control without mom and dad’s consent and without them knowing. Obviously, if my plan works, dad will know; just one more secret for us to keep. And, yes, more than a couple,” I said, returning to our original theme. “I want us both to be really good at this, so more than once, more than a couple of times. Miki, if…when…we do this, if it’s good, I think I want to do it with you lots. And I hope you will too.”
“I don’t know what to say; you’ve been thinking about this for a long time, but you expect an answer tonight?”
“No, I don’t. All I want from you is for you to think about it. I want you to know, though, that if you won’t help me, if you won’t help me learn enough to make dad happy from the start, then I’ll do it myself. But I really, really want you to teach me, even if you think you don’t know anything. We’ll learn together. And it’ll be fantastic. How about this; I know mom and dad will be at the second night of the recital tomorrow, so can we talk some more?”
“I guess so.”
And with that I slowly rose from the couch, then knelt beside it quickly, and moved close to Miki’s shorts. Passing my hand lightly over the rising bulge in his shorts, I laughed “I think someone has already decided.” I went quickly to bed and reviewed the evening. Somehow my mental playback slowed down to a crawl as I remembered our kisses, our touches, our, well, let’s be clear, our humping. Lying in my bed, my hand unconsciously drifting to my pussy, I began to wonder if Miki was just a step to my plans for dad. I was surprised to realize that I wanted my brother, pure and simple. I wanted to fuck my brother, I wanted him to fuck me, whether it led to success with dad or not. And I smiled as I heard the muffled rhythm coming once more through the wall.
axsReport