Two Sisters.pdf

IPB-172 Two Sisters by Carole Wilson

Chapter 1

Sybil slapped four slices of bacon into the electric frying pan. She could hear her husband Sid in the

bathroom and knew that when he came out, he'd be ill-tempered because the alarm clock hadn't gone

off this morning and he feared being late on this, his first morning tutoring the wealthy Dunlap sisters. If

she had her way she'd be lolling in bed right now, instead of staring at raw meat and slimy eggs, but

she'd made a vow long ago that she'd never force her husband into making his own breakfast---the way

her mother had forced her to as a child. Not that he gives a damn, she muttered, stepping back to

escape a sizzling spit of bacon grease.

"For Chrissakes, isn't breakfast ready yet?" Sid poked his head in the kitchen door, his fingers working

at the buttons of his short-sleeved blue shirt. His eyes were still puffy with sleep.

Sid sat down at the table, throwing the morning paper to the floor and sliced a wedge of butter to scrape

over the toast that Sybil had dumped over his shoulder and onto his plate. The irritating noise was torture

to her as she was already beginning a sinus headache from the heavy Los Angeles summer time smog

inversion that had settled over the valley, and it was all she could do to keep from screaming at him.

Wordlessly, she served him breakfast and sat down opposite him with a cup of black coffee. Sybil never

ate breakfast; maybe because she'd cooked so many over the seven years of marriage.

"You wouldn't have to rush if you had the girls come over here, you know," Sybil put in, knowing her

suggestion would be met with a barrage of negatives. Still, she persisted. "Certainly if the Dunlaps have

that much money they could afford to send their kids over in a cab ..."

Sid tacitly cursed her with one of his 'don't tell me how to run my business' looks and chomped on the

crunchy toast, then dabbed the crust in the yellow pool of egg yolk and raised it to his mouth. A tiny

speck of yellow egg dribbled from his black mustache, and Sybil had to look the other way to keep

from gagging.

He does that just to bug me, she thought, distracting herself by

thumbing through the society section of the paper. The sinus headache

put her in a rotten disposition, and when she felt rotten she spoke her

mind. "Really, Sid, I don't understand why you made such a big deal of

converting my sewing room into a classroom for you if you never use it

..."

"Knock it off!" Sid grunted, wiping his mouth clean with a paper napkin. Sybil knew it was useless to

push the point; you couldn't push Sid into anything But it was time she started asking questions, she

decided.

When Sid had come home from the interview with the Dunlaps yesterday he had, in answer to her

questioning, admitted to being successful in being hired, but that's where the conversation stopped.

Then, too, she'd noticed how strange he was acting when he came home last night from his interview. He

had a funny look in his eye, and she couldn't help but notice that there was an obvious bulge in his

trousers. The way he kept staring at her, too as if he was debating or mulling something over in his mind

and was trying to find the answer in her eyes. It made her uneasy ... she'd been afraid that he'd try and

make her do disgusting things that night in bed. But he had just rolled over on top of her, without so

much as an "I love you ..." and roughly spread her legs apart. As usual after seven years of marriage, she

tried to be responsive and to show some sigh of arousal, but his coarse jabbing with his thick, hardened

penis only disgusted her. She'd just lain there with her eyes closed, as he thrust into her, and she

breathed a sigh of relief when, with a few heaving grunts, h@ emptied Ms semen into her. She could

hardly wait for him to roll off her again, before she dashed into the bathroom to wash away the outward

signs of their 'lovemaking.'

Sid broke into her painfully lingering thoughts with a curt good-bye and it was with a feeling of relief that

she heard the door slam behind him.

* * *

Automatically, she began to clear away the breakfast dishes. A dull plodding resentment governed her

actions. Used and humiliated ... that's how she felt ... a piece of property to be used and abused at

Sid's whim. Being a good wife had always been her goal, and she kept the house immaculately clean and

cooked good meals, and she knew that for her thirty-two years she had a good figure. She squeezed a

sticky pool of dish detergent into the dishpan and began to tidy up the other rooms. But she felt no joy in

her work, no reward ... not even relief. This big beautiful house seemed like such a waste of space.

And Sid was the one who'd insisted on having a study where he could tutor children in the summer

inter-session to make few extra dollars to augment the meager salary he earned at the 'Free School'

where he taught pre-teens everything from gymnastics to French. And Sid was so ungrateful for her

support and backing!

She couldn't help feeling that most of the fault of the trouble in their marriage lay on Sid's head. She had

taxed her patience, skimping here and there on the household budget, remaking last year's fashions into

this year's mania, taking in alteration and sewing jobs to bring in a few extra dollars. Nothing helped! Sid

just didn't appreciate her efforts at conservation.

Her headache still throbbed above her eyes, so the housewife decided to treat herself to a long, hot bath

and ease some of the tension in her taut, stressed body.

As the bath was filling to the brim, Sybil slipped off her breakfast robe and nightdress and scrutinized

herself in the full-length mirror. On the whole, she was pleased with what she saw. Her tummy was a

trifle rounded, but knew that it was not unattractive. "Titianesque ..." as Sid called it. Apart from that

small imperfection, she still had the figure she had that day, over eight years ago, when she'd met Sid at

college and he had stared so rudely at her. Goodness! she was young then ... so much had happened in

those fifteen years. And not all for the best, either! she sighed, stepping into the tub.

She lay back, covering her shoulders with the calming hot water. The ends of her Raphelite

strawberry-blonde curls floated for a moment and then sank into the water to straighten into slender

strands of silk. A sigh of contentment broke from her chest as the warmth seeped into her pores,

internally massaging her aching muscles and tight, tension-taut neck muscles.

As she lay there soaking, she reminisced on those lost fifteen years, remembering how at seventeen she'd

been cheerful, vivacious, full of hope, self-promises ... a far cry from the lonely, depressed person she

was now. What had gone wrong? Again she asked herself the question that tormented her daily. Had

she make a mistake in marrying Sid?

She knew the difference in their attitude and life style was overwhelming and now they didn't even have

the same interests. Sybil, raised in a wealthy family in Memphis, Tennessee ... daughter of a debutante

and banker, had been blessed with everything a young girl could want: Money, clothes, parties, her own

car ... Like the Dunlap girls, mused Sybil raising a steaming wash cloth to dab at her cheeks.

And Sid ... idealistic Aquarian that he was, with no desire for material wealth sometimes even eliminating

comfort. Education, learning ... that's all he cared about. Oh, sometimes they went to movies together,

but most nights he read and she watched television.

Tears blinded her eyes as she thought of the endless litany of unfulfilled nights ... their frustrating sexual

encounters ... they were almost strangers to each other. In fact, she'd witnessed him with some of his

students, and he showed more appreciation for their curiosities then he did for her cooking ... more

concern over their emotional whims than he showed over his wife's feminine needs.

Was it her fault, as Sid so darkly intimated? She knew that coming from a conventional, wealthy family

she was a little inhibited. Strange that the very quality her mother had labeled 'sophistication' should bring

a barrage of expletives from her husband! "Up tight, bitch!" he'd called her one night when she couldn't

do that disgusting thing in bed with him. But if Sid was so patient with the students, couldn't he try and

help his wife, be patient with her and carry her out of the repression of a religion dominated way of life?

But no ...

Sid was too selfish, too caught up in his teaching and studies to take time and find out what his wife

needed. Tears flowed down her face and all the misery of her unhappy existence unflowed from its

pentup hiding place.

A memory came flickering back ... a thought she tried to banish forever from her mind. An image of

herself in Sid's apartment, under the surging poundings of her boy friend's penis! Wildly shaking her

head, she tried to blot out the memory of her own premarital surrender, but her lewd words, screamed

at the height of depraved passion, seemed to echo throughout the room.

"Fuck me ... fuck me harder ...

She clasped her hands over her ears to shut out the lascivious memory. Where had she learned those

words? She never used them, before that time or since, and felt a pang of distaste whenever she heard

her husband use them.

Sanity returned to her troubled mind, and she lay back again, the tears drying on her cheeks. She felt

cold and began to scoop up the soap bubbles. Idly, she smoothed them over her breasts, delighting in

the way the frothy lather coated her creamy orbs. As she covered them with bubbles, she noticed how

the nipples, a deep blush pink, stretched and awoke and the crinkled brown skin around them began to

contract and squirm. She continued to massage them, enjoying the relaxing sensation, until the reddening

buds jutted out boldly from the soap-covered mounds. A shiver raced through her and she sank further

back in the suds. She began to soap herself, lifting one graceful leg and then the other, lathering it right up

to her thigh. A tingle erupted deep in the pit of her stomach as her hand grazed the wet clinging curls of

her pink triangle. She rested her palm momentarily on the glistening mound and a forbidden tingle shot

through her. She felt her nipples stiffen again and involuntarily, her hand flew up the hungry orbs. The

tingle in her stomach had grown to a jabbing fire and horror crept over her as she realized she was

becoming sexually aroused.

But, almost of its own volition, her hand dropped lower and began to search gently in the swelling folds

of her pulsating vagina. Her ringer brushed against the tiny erogenous knob of her clitoris and she gasped

at the electrical shock of the unexpected contact. A twinge of guilt prodded at her conscience ...

memories of the childhood warning instilled in her that to touch oneself there was evil, dirty ... but the

incredible hunger, borne of years of frustration would brook no sidestepping, and she began to trace the

hot, throbbing lips of her vagina, swollen to fleshiness, with her ringers. Her fingertips glided over the

slippery flesh of her inner folds, and slid toward the clasping, viscous opening. Her breathing was ragged

and a series of sensual visions tumbled about in her head and she felt swept along in the increasing erotic

frenzy that she was conjuring up in her mind. She raised up her knees to afford her probing fingers

greater access to her burning vagina and she began to thrust her finger into the moistness of her vaginal

orifice. Her loins were hot, and her head was spinning with the strength of her overwhelming need. With

a savage mewl, she sunk her finger into the inflamed opening. The warm fleshy walls closed in ravenously

over her finger and a gnawing hunger told her that one finger wasn't enough.

Desperate now, she plunged two more of her fingers into the hot, moist opening and began to frantically

swirl them around in her cavernous depths. Her other hand began to knead at her breasts and her nails

dug deeply into the doughy fleshiness, trying to rout out the overwhelming fire that was raging in them.

She was moaning incessantly now and her hips were jerking and twisting in time to the incessant probing

of her fingers. The lewd rhythm of her undulance gained momentum until her whole lust-crazed body was

thrashing wildly in the water, whipping up a new froth of bubbles and lashing the water out over the sides

of the tub. The back of her head was totally submerged, and only her face was above water. Her hips

rose up in paroxysm after paroxysm of delight and every muscle in her body was tensed, waiting for the

final release.

Then Sybil's lithe, young body was convulsed with a gigantic spasm which seized her trembling loins and

held them teetering dangerously over the edge before sending her shattering into the water, her luscious

hips, flailing spasmodically like a fish on a hook as wave after wave of hot, screaming tremors raced

throughout her entire body, crashing against the deep secret inner walls of her womb like the Pacific surf.

For interminable seconds she was unable to breathe and her heart seemed to stop in the wake of her

shattering climax, until finally she sank back, exhausted and satiated.

When the momentary pleasure of orgasm had passed, a feeling of mortification engulfed her. Fresh tears

streamed down her face and rising up from the tub, now a thing of horror to her, her legs, weak from the

daring surge of her passion, gave way and she collapsed on the carpeted bathroom floor, her body

racked with guilty heartfelt sobs.

Then a sixth sense edged its way in as she lay face down on the blue fuzzy bath mat. Something was

terrible wrong, and intuitively she knew it had something to do with Sid.

Chapter 2

Sid's digital wristwatch flashed 9:04 when he pulled up outside the Dunlap's sprawling Beverly Hills

mansion, replete with a kidney-shaped swimming pool, tennis courts shaded with palm trees, and a guest

house.

Today he would meet the girls, his two new students to whom he would teach French for two months

before they left for Paris where they were enrolled in a private school for girls.

Unexpectedly, the door opened.

"Hi there!"

Sid Carter whirled around at the sound of the throaty voice, and gasped as she saw the beautiful girl

standing not more than a foot from his startled face. At first glance, she appeared to be about fourteen,

but as his eyes traced over the molded firmness of her breasts, pushing against the soft blue silk of her

French blouse, Sid judged that she had to be closer to sixteen. Her long blue-black hair swept around

her golden-tanned face splattered with a tease of freckles across her high cheek bones, one hip stuck

out coltishly. She wore tight shorts, which revealed the enticing line of her upper thigh.

"Hello," he gulped, unable to take his eyes off her slim hips and perfectly shaped thighs.

"You must be Sid, our tutor?" she said rhetorically, extending her hand with cosmopolitan grace. "I'm

June."

Sid clasped her well manicured hand in his, and was amazed at the coolness. It felt like she was wearing

kid gloves, it was so soft.

"Won't you come in?"

He timidly followed June inside, feeling awkward and out of place as he stepped into the magnificent

hallway of the sumptuously furnished house. June led him into the study, a room whose walls were lined

with bookshelves, all filled in hard cover elegance. In the comer a globe sat in its walnut frame adjacent

to the mahogany desk behind which a black leather chair sat emptily swiveled to one side. One whole

wall was devoted to a geological map of Europe, and next to it, a window overlooked the swimming

pool not more than a jump away. He gazed with interest at the map, then his eyes drifted to the

collection of atlases on the bottom shelf near the desk. He was rather surprised at the wealth of

knowledge and experience collected in that one room, so unlike the rest of the modern house ... and so

unlike garish Beverly Hills.

Instinctively, Sid felt that his tutoring job would change the direction of his career. Sure, teaching at the

"Free School" had its rewards, meager as they were, and helping a ghetto child learn a new concept was

exciting, but damn it! It was time he started getting some decent tutoring jobs ... working for people with

money, people who had contacts. He wouldn't mind having a classroom filled with Junes!

As he was waiting, musing over the map, his finger tracing imaginary trips he knew he'd never take,

could never afford to take, June came back into the room.

"My sister's upstairs getting dressed. She's a late sleeper," June giggled, her hazel eyes twinkling as her

wide smile showed off a row of pearl-white teeth and deep dimples crinkling her cheeks. She walked

around the room, eyeing her tutor who stood stoically erect, his brief case under one arm while he

stared, a bit absentmindedly and engrossed, in the map.

"Have you traveled much?" she queried, a maturity to her voice putting Sid on edge. Turning, he

watched her stroll over to the window and open it, the material of her brief shorts slipping into the

crevice of her rounded bottom as she bent over. Sid felt a rush of pleasure sweeping through him, his

cock leaped in awareness and he could feel it growing along his leg. He felt an almost uncontrollable

urge to reach out and knead the enticing cheeks of her buttocks in his hands but just then, she turned

around. He was aware of June talking to him, though the words were meaningless, and he dumbly

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