SHIFT STICKbyThe 5am Club
Celebs: Emma Watson
Codes: MF, incest, sissification, chastity, male analplay, anal prolapseDue to the strict rules of CSS, this is a no-bestiality edit of an original story. If you're into this shit you can find the director's cut on the usual sites, just look around.
Even if you're not, I still strongly advise you take a look at the story codes above. If you see anything you're not into, maybe you should skip this one.
Sure it was a manual transmission, but it was a left-hand drive and that was awkward. Because for one thing Alex was upset since he had left LAX. They lost his luggage, sent it to Australia probably, to ride the carousel with the few kangaroos left. And anger is the perfect gateway for false perception. The sensation of being in the wrong lane when you’re not, for example. Good thing it had only been long straight lines after leaving the city for the desert.
Another example was the gear stick he had to grab with his right hand. Everytime it was reminding him of his penis, grabbed tight, begging for it ever since he took his chastity cage off and put it in his suitcase, the one they lost! He had a chubby in the cab, a chubby in the plane and now he was hard in the rented car, shifting gears like someone who wanna jerk off real bad.
The road sign that meant he had arrived said
Brocken. If it didn’t suit the sandy little town it referred to, it suited the situation perfectly. It also meant it was urgent to cool things down.
Let’s find the shittiest song on the radio, he thought, scanning through the presets.
Taylor Swift…
Dua Lipa… …
Selena Gomez… … …
Rita Ora
ARE YOU FUCKIN’ KIDDING ME?!Johnny Cash.
Finally.“Sorry, pardner,” Alex said in his British accent, “you’re not close to shitty but you get the job done.”
And indeed when he branched off down the dirt road to his sister’s ranch, through a gate surprisingly left open, his other "pardner" had shrunk back to a bendier state. He could then appreciate the three-story house growing impressive as he was changing the gears down.
It was magnificent. Quite American. And isolated. As far as he could see it was hills and poles. Brocken had disappeared. However a lot of green surrounded the property, fencing it like two curved arms cutting off the sand in its progress and sinking in the distance to keep their true size secret. His sister’s money at work.
Speaking of which, she hadn’t come to welcome him at the porch with a slice of Southern hospitality-flavored apple pie.
SoCal isn’t the South I guess…Alex stopped the car—parked would be excessive—somewhere on the turnaround driveway and stepped down.
There was a gush of wind and then real, deep, appeasing silence washed over him. His first moment of silence since he left London. He basked in it. The place was oddly perfect for that.
He rang the bell, called once or twice, then called her cellphone.
Faintly, a ringtone came from inside the house, soon shut down by the voicemail announcement:
Hi this is Emma Watson I don’t know how you got this number leave a message“Em’, I’m here. You in the loo or what?” was a good enough message. Alex was everytime proud of his crassness.
By the time he began to add further subtle remarks, he had reached the side of the house where he saw a lush vista of green hills stretching away in the distance and the silhouette of his sister at the very end of it, shutting him up as abruptly as if he had stood face to face with her.
He couldn’t discern anything, an expression, the white of her eyes, the red of tan lines, the ever-changing spray of her freckles, or even the shade of her pubic hair, but there was no doubt about it, the brain is wired this way you instantly notice such a detail even at such a distance: Emma was strolling about in the afternoon sun completely naked. A white horse was with her to add some bizarre to the surprise.
Calm emanated from them together, the same Alex had felt in the wind.
Unlike all boys his generation, Alex wasn’t one to stare at Emma Watson, especially naked, so he looked away, turned around after an unclear amount of time.
He went back to his car and honked the horn.
He waited.
He tried to convince himself it was the vision of the shift stick that was bringing his chubby back.
His phone rang, it was her. He definitely had lost track of time.
And she said
Hey babe.
And “…” was his only answer, ill at ease and stumped, because Emma was probably rushing for her clothes as speaking, and he knew and she didn’t know he knew, like some involuntary voyeurism by phonecall.
But his unease stumbled when she came out of the house, a hundred yards from him and fully dressed. Now he was just stumped.
It’s been a long time! she sighed through the phone.
“Hasn’t it. Last Christmas. Four months.”
They walked toward each other (
Can you believe it’s almost summer? – “Yea… Sorry about your birthday again.” –
Well, 30 is not the happiest birthday party, believe me.), until they were eyeball to eyeball hearing the delay from mouth to receiver. They smiled. She was not wearing makeup. Not any jewelry either, he noticed. She had really assumed the full hippie naked out there. She was gorgeous. Like everytime he saw her. When they had smiled enough, they hung up and hugged.
“So dis your crib, uh?”
“Grab your things, I take you home.”
“No need.”
“What?”
“They lost my bloody luggage!”
“Aw bugger!”
“They’ll send it here…when they find it. Meanwhile I have no clothes!”
And no chastity cage, so my dick is like a crazy rabbit! Alex added mentally before he shrieked like a girl, jumping at least five feet backward.
A shape had landed right before him—fell straight down from the sky at high velocity rather—with a deflagrating thump. He immediately recognized the horse Emma was walking with and immediately saw it wasn’t one.
The not-horse reared and shrilled and Alex jumped back some more.
But then what did he hear? Could he believe it? From behind the beast, Emma Watson was laughing.
*****Like all boys his generation, Alex had seen Emma Watson’s movies (most of them). From memory, he recognized the animal standing tall between his sister and him as a hippogriff. The body of a horse, the head of an eagle, forty feet of wings. But she explained it was not one from the movies. Not from the books either. It was one from real life. Whatever that means.
That meant Alex could stare as long as he wanted, it—
he didn’t look like CGI. He lacked the unimpressive quality of modern special effects, the blandness, the uselessness; this creature, solid and sound, was buzzing inside his optic nerves like a Penrose triangle. His white, almost polka-dotted coat—“It’s called flea-bitten grey, dummy!”—was ruffling in the desert waft with more complexity, more life than his creative mind could have drawn. And when Emma told him to come closer, his resting behavior wasn’t anything like what a VFX guy could come up with. His expression too, looking at Alex with a defiance, an attentiveness that was hard to apprehend on an animal head.
“Go on then, stroke him. His name is Paean.”
“Hi Paean,” he said, a trembling hand reaching out. It was here, it was real, no discussion.
Before he could be touched, the hippogriff grunted some kind of chuckle and blasted off vertically with a detonating tap of the hoof, disappearing somewhere in the cloudy blue.
Alex was butt on the ground, on the edge of sanity.
“He’s harmless but he rarely obeys!” Emma laughed, pulling her brother back to his feet. “Let’s have a walk, I think you need it.”
And because big sister was always right, they left car and house behind to enter the depths of her domain on a tenantless track that wandered beneath waning willows, remote from the interstate, out of sight of the desert, ideal for some long catching up which would be mostly about the elephant in the room: the mythical creature in the sky.
“It was a gift from J.K.”
Of course.Emma bought the ranch especially for him, away from the prying and the uninitiated. Unlike a horse, he didn’t need any particular care, but very much like one, his presence was an adventure daily renewed Emma had grown fond of, to the point of spending all her time here.
“Does it have superpowers? Apart from existing I mean.”
“Um…he’s very charismatic.”
“You mean you
talk with him?”
“No. But the more I’m with him, the more it makes me…I dunno…
attentive to things.”
Alex went out of polite questions eventually, and the crass ones were put on hold by the heavy flaps of wings circling over them along the way; the sound a prideful comfort for Emma, an eerie foreboding for Alex. He couldn’t find the force to tell her he saw her naked, precisely because he felt it had a lot to do with Paean; he couldn’t express his weird feelings about it, that what he saw looked like a pagan painting, when gods and people walked around in the buff. And the horse being replaced by a hippogriff in the picture gave an even witchier vibe to the whole affair.
Asking her if she’s a witch… her, of all people!So they walked in silence, both full of thoughts that probably had a lot in common, until he saw a lake at the end of the path, cradled by a crown of high grass, and Paean waiting for them there, which made the view unnerving rather than inviting in the Californian spring heat. But it went downright startling when Emma took her sandals off as they reached for the clearing. She shuffled with her Daisy Dukes and “What are you doing?” Alex asked as fast as possible. He knew exactly what she was doing.
“It’s the Unided States! It’s freedum!”
She was throwing her clothes around, walking, accelerating, and once she was completely nude, she ran to the water with a screeching “
You can do whatever you want here!”
During the few steps before she dove in, Alex had this time all the unwanted liberty to see everything he hadn’t glimpsed earlier, her perky ass, her toned legs, the lean muscles of her naked back, her freckles running everywhere…
She resurfaced, a smile for her brother, slicked her wet hair back, and went for a swim.
It was
one less thing to address, he guessed, but immediately found a new one: as he took his eyes off her to keep an eye on Paean, Alex saw a dead tree standing out on the bank, its gnarled branches covered in candles, all of them alight. Some so high they were impossible to reach without a ladder. A hundred stars ignoring the breeze and logic.
The hippogriff went and pushed Alex into the pool, not even pretending to be an accident. Just a plain drive-by pushing.
Immediately going back up, drenched, cursing, water to his hips, his first thought was for: “
My phone!”
“Fuck your phone!” Emma giggled. “And you were dressed for London anyway. It’s Brocken here, you don’t need pants!”
Alex limped back out. His precious phone, last bit of civilization, had gone blank forever. Paean’s beak couldn’t smile but it’s as if.
“Gimme your clothes, they’ll dry in the sun,” she said while wading ashore like a naiad, her nipples erect in the breeze, her soaked bush a matted bump of dark brown. She had no tan lines at all.
Between two stares at her sister’s body, Alex hurled his clothes at her head. Everything but his boxers he kept preciously on. She hung each piece on a bough, between candles. The little flames never fluttered.
“Is it where you have your black masses?” he asked.
“No, it’s where I stash my weed.” She took a small metal box from inside the trunk, and a bottle of sunscreen and two towels which she spread out on the thick sand. One for him, one for her, just like the joints she began to roll.
She lay down with a sensual moan and Alex pretended to go for his own swim, uncomfortable with the vagina in his field of vision.
Their walk hadn’t done anything. Never in his life had he been so out of his comfort zone, a zone where cryptids don’t exist, woods don’t grow in the desert and Emma Watson is cautious of the paparazzi.
In front of him the lake was falling into depths of dark blue; behind him, he heard Emma say “Paean!” And then “Paean, move! you’re blocking my sun!”
Alex turned back and saw her sister, nonchalant, surrounded by the might of a beast and the majesty of a shining tree. He shivered, not because of the cold waters brushing his ankles from the deep. She was the most beautiful woman who ever graced his world. Because he had known her since he was born. And because she was more present over that starry background than any pagan scene on a canvas could be in his eyes.
She said to him: “Come out of the water, there’re piranhas in there,” and he would almost have believed her, however Alex could not come out at this moment. Not in any sort of dignified fashion.
“I-I’ll just go for another swim,” he stammered.
“You’re pitching a tent or what?”
Usually, a line like this would have been
his routine, with Emma eyerolling and containing a chortle. He wondered if he had to feel proud or concerned as he did one exhausting tour of the lake. But then back at the bank, he realized he should have consecrated this worrying to the more important matter: he was hard like he’s never been hard before and he was running out of excuses.
“Still can’t?” she asked.
“Leave me alone.”
Perhaps finding why he was in such a state would help him calm down. The first and most reassuring reason his consciousness selected was that his little pecker was making up for the months inside a plastic cage. It was only half the truth, Emma found out the other half:
“Is it me?”
Now Alex had to choose which half was the least embarrassing.
“No,” he mumbled, “it’s… fuck, this is so embarrassing…”
“Come on! What’s wrong with your dong?”
“It won’t go down.”
“Why not? just think about football.”
“You promise you’ll keep it to yourself?”
“I’ll be as silent as the graves.”
“I think it’s serious.”
“Does it hurt?”
“No. Not yet I guess. I… I’m not wearing my cage for the first time in months and I think I should go see a doct—”
“What’s a cage?”
“I… I wear a chastity lock, b-but I took it off for the flight. It’s in my suitcase.”
“
Ooooh it’s so cute!” Emma sat up. “Why do you wear a thing like that?—Oh my gosh, are you gay?”
“WHY DOES IT HAVE TO MEAN I’M GAY?! It’s a fetish!”
“Ok so you’re bi.”
“I… no. I mean… Can we stop talking about this?”
“Come out!—”
“
I said I’m not gay!”
“Come out
of the water, you bloody idiot! We can’t have this conversation while you’re floating out there, come on.”
Alex put his feet in the mud, tired, cold, and sent a last goodbye at his already mortally wounded pride. Emma was barely paying attention: she was lighting her joint on a candle. He walked out as fast as water would allow, blushing as the waterline uncovered his waxed chest, his steel-grade bulge and his waxed legs. He jumped on his towel belly first.
Emma handed him his designated joint. “You should have told me.”
Never. When it came to sex, or relationships at least, they shared a lot more than what siblings usually do; Emma typically bringing the questions and Alex the answers. But this time it was “—complicated. I’m still dealing with all these feelings and I don’t really know what to make of them. That’s why I’ve been single all this time.” It was hard to come up with affirmations, with jokes, Alex’s state of mind lately had been more about exploration than conquest.
“I’m bi,” she shrugged.
And from there, two things: Alex knew it wasn’t some egotistic bomb dropped by an egotistic thot into the conversation; and also he wasn’t really surprised. But for the first time in an hour, his crass mind peeped out to retort his sister’s kind-minded revelation:
“Shouldn't you say pansexual?”
“I don't use Newspeak anymore.”
“What?”
“But now that you say it… I’d never noticed…”
“What?”
“Nothing, nevermind…”
The comeback had let him confused and he let her look in the distance, enjoy her mysterious epiphany for a bit, but still he went on:
“Anyway, you being bi won’t make me any more bi, you know? But thanks for putting these images in my head of you shagging girls. Very relaxing.”
She just smiled at him and said nothing. Sincere.
“It’s not gonna help either if I smoke this,” he said, sticking the joint behind his ear.
“Having a boner for too long can damage the erectile tissue inside your shaft. You wanna go home and have some…alone time?”
It was going way, way more personal than they ever went before. All because of this bloody hippogriff prancing around, jamming his wits.
“I can’t. I-I promised to stay abstinent.”
“To whom?”
“To myself! That’s the point of wearing a cage!”
“Oh I get it, you’re one of them NoFap people! You know it’s all nonsense, right?”
“I’m not.”
“That’s so weird! I’m not judging, but that’s so weird!”
Most people would have burst out laughing at him by now, especially on drugs. Not her. The dilated pupils of Emma were just…attentive.
“Here.” She gave him her phone. “Buy a new one. It’ll be here tomorrow morning.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah go ahead, mess with the recommendation algorithm!”
Selecting the first cheap Chinese crap that would do took him only the time of a long-drawn sigh. It also left enough headspace for more questions, more stuff from the unheimlich. Emma was not the person he left months ago.
She segued:
“So…do you permit yourself the…
other side?”
“
Fuck’s sake, Em’!” he exploded.
She flinched. He clearly saw her flinch. And in this micro-expression he caught the sister he used to know.
No it’s not that dramatic, he thought,
it was only a part of her personality I glimpsed on her face, something she stifled since I arrived. Agreeableness? In any case it’s still there, roaming under the surface.Paean leaned down to caress her hair of his beak.
She took a puff of the devil’s lettuce and went on a startling monologue, smoke coming out of her mouth. “Actually it would help if you did.”
What she explained then, she shouldn’t know. Yet she found the right words for such an abstract as the private perception of your own flesh, the right amount of tact for a subject so inherently carnal.
She described the throbbing in his crotch, a flow concentrated in his erection, with a weight inside the tip. She described how as Alex had explored his sexuality, he had realized this flow could travel, once he chose to acknowledge it. Down the root of his shaft, deeper than most men would dare to feel and most women would dare to know, the flow could enter another vessel, concentrated in the rectum, with a weight in the ring of the anus.
All his life he had condensed the roaring gravity of his lust inside his penis, demanding a hand, a mouth, a snug hole; but like a little dam bursting in his taint, his desire, his tingling anticipation could transfer to his prostate, wash away to his ass, demanding a finger, a tongue, a cock. This discovery (this acceptance) had been all his life, all his bodily habits, his history, his idiosyncrasies, his certainties tweaked, all by the simple presumption that maybe,
maybe, he could cum like a girl. Whatever that meant.
From there the journey only began, a lonely one. The enigma was passed, thus came the stigma. And once this, the fear and shame of anal sex, discarded too, remained simply and only the question of:
how?The common mistake was to will the flow as an equilibrium. There was no sharing. A flow split between two opposite poles meant a pleasure divided. She was sure Alex had experienced it. That the two beasts inside his body could not be beasts if awake at the same time, that (to put it in his own words) a hand on his cock and a finger in his arse was often disappointing, his ejaculation softer, his pleasure milder, and in his mind the lingering impression that a cliff, leading down a freefall of unknown orgasm was still at reach in his loins, in his asshole, but ever slipping away.
However, it also meant a need divided and that was the point Emma was trying to make. With the right stimulation, the flow pulled away entirely, unsharingly, pressured and entrapped in his delicate hole left only a fair unfrustrating void on the low side of the tide, a penis quiet and free, flaccid and back in its lock where it belonged. And if Alex could not perceive that yet, he was somewhere on the way, wasn’t he? This strange pact of never touching his dick again mixed too well with a devouring eagerness for anal pleasure, didn’t it? She was close, wasn’t she? He was wondering how she did know all that, wasn’t he? That’s attentive, motherfucker.
“It’s all very new for me too,” she added, “I had my first anal orgasm only recently. And it was as difficult as teaching myself my G-spot.”
Alex didn’t dare put in another
“Fuck’s sake, Em’!” He didn’t dare open his mouth, look at her, breath. He would have been more comfortable asking her if she was a fucking witch.
“It’s different for me cause obviously I don’t have a prostate. But it’s clear the more I let go of my clitoris, the more I
unlearn it, the harder my arse cums. Though it still gets in the way sometimes. I get a nice buildup with my dildo and then
bam! for no reason at all, this little button I love so much reminds me how jealous it is. It’s like it makes me sidetrack.
“But enough of me. How close am I, Alex? Did you find out what I was talking about? this pressure moving through your body? a little like some yoga rubbish, you know, transferring the energy and all… Is it why you started wearing a chastity device? because you sensed your arse was jealous of your cock?”
It took a long moment for Alex to give a nod so slight Emma could have missed it.
She smiled: “You have no idea how many girls
wish—secretly in their beds at night—how they wish they met a guy like you.”
“I’m fine being single,” he murmured.
“Heh… I’ve heard that before,” she said, for the first time blushing since they met today.
She concluded as humbly as she had spoken:
“All I’m saying is if you need a buttplug I can lend you one of mine.” And Alex stammered something along the lines of
no thanks.
Alongside this passionate conversation, had been a very uninterested hippogriff. Paean was lying down by the tree, staring impassive at her owner and her funny guest, both nude, and gorgeous, and horny.
Emma reached out to him for some necking.
“If this one could talk, he would feed TMZ for years…” she said.
Meanwhile and unrelatedly, Alex lurched on his towel as he felt the first internal twinges of an ejaculation. His own horny pole had been sandwiched between his stomach and the ground for too long.
He could whine “No, no, nooo…” all he wanted, it was too late; his pelvic floor disregarded his attempts at relaxation and twitched on its own, softly at first, sending a burning sting up his taint, and then hard like kegels, sending gobs after gobs of semen inside his underwear.
Paean and Emma stared at him the whole time, puzzled, until his body slumped in humiliation and post-orgasmic ebb.
His first orgasm in weeks had released him, discarded him like a used tissue. The climatic wave had been harrowing, compressed into the awful context, completely and utterly rendered fucked up by its strength, its slowness and its reasons, which Alex would now spend hours trying to suppress.
“Will you have to report this to your domme?” Emma asked him.
“I don’t have a domme!” he managed to grunt.
She came closer, without touching him.
“There, it’s all right, Alex. It’s obvious you’re not well. You had a long day, the jetlag and everything, the magic beast who’s not supposed to exist… I understand.”
“What do you mean the jetlag,
I just came in front of you!”
“And it was an accident. I want you to not ever feel shame about it. Not on my land. Alex I love you, you’re my brother, we’re adults. I tell you it’s all right.”
He slumped lower.
“Didn’t it feel a little liberating at least?”
“No.”
“That’s all I can offer you here though. If you’re gonna spend the next six months here, remember it. This place is judgment-free. Precisely because I’m your sister. Your weirdo sister.”
Emma rose to her feet. The hippogriff imitated her.
“Now take these off and let’s go back home.”
His arms and his will responded eventually. On shaky legs, he ran for the pond for a cleanup, tossing his soiled boxers away. When he turned back, he was naked just like her, his penis flaccid, back to two inches, perfectly waxed. A new erection impending.
That is why he dropped his eyes. His mind was too weakened to withstand Emma standing so noble in her bareness.
Would he have sustained his gaze, he would have understood all the comments of the internet, all the inconsistent reverence for the nude human form and those who represented it throughout the ages. And then his penis would have started to agree in its signature manner.
Emma mounted up the hippogriff and told Alex to come sit behind her.
He refused and looked away.
A candle on the tree had gone out.
“Ok then,” she said. “
Last one at the house is a bi!” And the rider and her mount rose into the air in a short blast of endless wings.
Paean flew fast, fast home.
Alex cursed for this and all that had happened, this strange afternoon, and started running.
*****In all this excitement they had forgotten their clothes at the lake and Emma came up with a solution of her own:
“Let’s stay naked all summer then.”
Alex was still panting from his fifteen-minute race, still dazed by the vision of her sister riding the skies like…a goddess, but now in the living-room, without Paean around, he felt like he had awakened from a stupor and questioned the proposition. He questioned all the strange afternoon.
“Easy example: would you hug me right now?” he asked.
Of course not. And that was exactly the problem. What she presented as innocence was actually the opposite in this place.
Taking in the pique, Emma walked up to him and kissed him on the cheek, her fingers in his hair, their bodies not touching but their skin aching like two magnets would ache if magnets were made of flesh.
They both were thinking the same obvious answer to the easy example. Alex could see it in her eyes they did. It wasn’t Emma’s fault, nothing had ever been innocent between them, they understood each other too well for that. It’s what was hidden underneath their clothes.
They listened to the silence of their mutual comprehension.
“I’ll never be comfortable being naked around you, Emma. I’m sorry.”
“Is it why you wear a chastity lock?”
“N-No…”
“I can lend you a T-shirt for tonight,” she said and then they toured the house.
Finally introduced to the guestroom, Alex dropped his backpack—the last thing that had not been taken from him—on the desk and dropped on the bed, drained.
Emma gave him towel and soap, an XL Hello Kitty shirt, and a buttplug with a jar of lube.
“I’ve never used it, don’t worry.”
The most awkward
thank you stumbled out of his lips.
He used it all after a well-deserved shower: the shirt going down to his knees and making him look like a girl at a sleepover (“I am a girl, what did you expect, dummy?”); the plug a nice pastel blue and a beginner’s size, too small for him but never would he ask his sister for a bigger one; he wouldn’t ask about the lube either, about why there was no label on the pot, like a home-made ointment which
witchHe brushed the thought off and squatted over the bathroom floor. The lubed toy locked inside his ass so smoothly nothing happened. He couldn’t feel the stretching and the fullness he sought, he loved.
The head of his penis poked under the shirt, quickly going hard as though he didn’t cum half an hour ago, as though he hadn’t got laid in a year.
He stood up and the toy slipped out of him.
Five minutes of pacing up and down the room later, boner swinging left and right, Alex was on his way to ask his sister for a bigger buttplug.
In her bedroom, no inverted cross, no poster of Judas Priest, no smell of incense. A little purple here and there, like a regular girl. For a second in this normal decor, away from Paean, he almost thought too much about what he was about to do. As if the thing didn’t have a perfect shape in his head now.
She too had an adjoining bathroom. He didn’t knock, the door was ajar. His penis clutched.
The room full of white was glowing golden in the evening light. The tub was placed at the center and at the very center of it, Emma was lying, basking, hot water up to her chin. She didn’t open her eyes at his intrusion, didn’t see his erection deforming her shirt.
“Em’, do you have another toy? The one you gave me is uncomfortable.”
She told him to take the box under her bed and help himself with an ease that didn’t surprise him at this point but cracked his composure nonetheless.
Then a little more when he looked upon the collection. It wasn’t just the number and the variety that got him uneasy, it was the fact that without a doubt all of these toys had made his sister cum.
He chose the first reasonably large buttplug he saw, held back the impulse to smell it, and then the few remains of calm in him shattered as Emma said from her bath: “Bring me one too, please.”
They have a saying in the US that goes
Fuck dat shit. But there’s one in the UK that implies
hanging on in quiet desperation and thus Alex went back to the bathroom, a plug in each hand.
They met at the rim of the tub. Emma took the toy from him with unshaking pruney fingers and of course she saw his hard-on.
He was gone before anything more, any remark, any joke, any gaze drifting over her gorgeous body, any thought that once back in his own bathroom, Emma would be doing the same as him at the same time.
But once back in his own bathroom, he crouched, applied more lube and the new plug made his shaft tic as it passed the sphincter of his anus. He let out a low moan of pleasure, he recognized the sensation making itself selfish. It was the right size.
It’s Emma’s.He rested on the floor until his penis rested over his testicles and his ass felt like a cunt.
The priapism was gone for now.
*****They met in the kitchen.
“What’s rule number one of life?” Emma asked him.
“Don’t eat yellow snow?”
“No. Never cook naked.” And she put on an apron.
This covering-up made it easier for Alex to relax all the way to dinner. Despite it not hiding her buttocks and the plug between them. He found his crass mind again and they laughed like old times, or perhaps a little more.
Their bellies full, they brought the party to the living-room where one of the corners was arranged in a cozy nest of mattresses and cushions and bean bags right in front of the TV set.
“This is where I touch myself!” Emma declared, sprawling about and picking a small wooden box from the coffee table.
“I believe you,” Alex admitted. “So self-partnered, uh?”
She giggled. “Yea… ugh… you know journalists… you tell them wankers you like mustard and they write you hate ketchup.”
“Four years at Brown and that’s the only analogy you can come up with?”
“Shut up and smoke
this!” She handed him a joint even bigger than the one he still had behind his ear.
“Gift from J.K.?”
“Seth Rogen.”
Consequently, thirty seconds later they were two twinkling stars over the neon-tinged plains of Jamaica, heading north-east to Amsterdam.
They turned out the lights, put Nat Geo on mute and talked in the dark. About sex, about sex when you’re single, sex when you’re single and fucking loaded. About that female masturbation website Emma had promoted in an interview (“What was it again?” – “OMGyes.” – “Oh yeah… you have shares in it?” – “Of course.” – “Tax-free?” – “Fuck off!”).
The discovery that you could make an evening of masturbating had been a very important one in her life. A refined delight that didn’t have to be a frustrated substitute for sex anymore.
“Why are you telling me all this? Why?” Alex whined. “Just stick to telling me about you fucking girls, bloody hell! Or maybe, I don’t know, look, look that lion on the telly, he eatin’ some shit! Look! Damn I see this thing in my yard I kill it!”
“Quote
Family Guy one more time and you’re out the door.”
He chortled like an idiot but somewhere in his smoky head, Alex drew fleeting negative emotions from the words. He wanted to be nowhere else but here, with her, forever. But maybe it was the weed talking.
Speaking of weed talking, Emma Watson cut in: “And there’s all the techniques! My absolute favourite is edging. And then you cross the three hours mark and things get stupid intense. But I bet you know about it, it’s part of your chastity program?”
Alex grabbed the remote and unmuted the TV. Because he wasn’t that fond of lions eating shit, he switched around, to find nothing but music videos of artists such as Rita Ora, Selena Gomez, Dua Lipa or Taylor Swift. Which made him grateful for his buttplug. The warmth inside his ass wasn’t bleeding to his penis. He could push around the toy and feel a comforting buzzing.
Emma undid her apron and was fully naked again, lying in the blue electric glow, a hand lost in the shadow of her thighs. Alex focused on Taylor Swift, a little too much. He flexed his anus a little too often.
Emma babbled on:
“I even tested teasing myself over several days. It’s so exhausting but the rush everytime it’s like
whoooosh! What’s the longest you ever went?”
“Two days.”
“Heh, I knew a little competition would untie your tongue. I’ve been working on this orgasm for five days now.”
“Shut up you tart!”
“I can’t go to my room, I’m too stoned to move. Let’s see who can edge first!”
His voice became serious: “Why are you provoking me like that?”
She flinched again in the dark, her hand leaving her body.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’m just so fascinated by sexuality, you know…” Just like him. Anyone else would have laughed at her excuse. “You’re the only one I can tell everything. Well, besides Paean. But Paean doesn’t reply back.”
Something Alex would never tell his sister was his first dildo arriving in the mail a year ago. His long nights using it. His discovery of new perceptions; a bulbous cockhead snapping through the tight rim of his hole, rubbing and squeezing the small orb of shivers snuggled against the wall of his rectum. A year hadn’t been enough for him to learn how to build that pleasure up. How often had he broken his cage open to end the agony of an elusive anal bliss he wasn’t even sure existed at all, stroking his still flaccid cock to a weak ejaculation that would still rip lewd yelps from his twisted mouth.
But something he needed to address right now, like a wave of panic, was that he could, for the first time of his life, feel that buildup going somewhere. Fast.
“Err… Em’?…”
“Myea?”
“Something’s wrong.”
“Are you sick?”
“No I…Fuck!” Pleasure racked his butt.
“You’re cumming again?!”
“I don’t know… it’s like my arse is burninNHGGh fuuck!”
“Take the plug off.”
His fingers touched the base and leaped back as if he had received an electric shock.
“I can’t!”
“You mean the plug is gonna make you cum?”
“It’s the first time it’s happening,” he panted.
The stir was blatant now. Defined. His penis, flaccid and forgotten, oozed some runny precum onto his stupid Hello Kitty shirt.
“I can’t move,” he said, losing all straight thoughts to a mess of moans and desires pushing back all shame away.
His ass was pulsing, waiting for the few flexes left before the unknown. It was where he never had been able to go, and now his body knew exactly how to get there. The only thing he was sure of, the only terror, was that it would be bigger than him. A penis orgasm is pretty feeble, you can still answer the phone during one, or sign a check, straighten a tilted frame on the wall, or flee a pack of wolves knee-deep in the snow if needed. Not what was coming at him from deep inside his guts, rumbling and building and built to take him far and high, definitely capable of fucking with the most primal signal of all brainwaves: vigilance.
This had to stop.
Trying to stay on his back, he pulled his shirt up and grasped his penis. He went hard in a couple of strokes. The big flow of unknown diminished in his ass, the small familiar in his cock pulling it out, talking Alex out of what he would miss.
But there was still a problem, in the form of:
“Wait, I wanna cum with you!” Emma said and suddenly she was able to move, not so stoned anymore. She flipped over, he heard the wet rubbery sound of a plug getting bluntly removed and tossed away, and she turned the lights on. Before the bulbs were burning bright, she had placed herself beside him, squatting legs apart for him to see her open from her mons to her anus, two fingers pinching her swollen clit, her feet arching sensually. It was a vision that would break the mind of any boy his generation. In his mind it was just the end of shunning, the end of envy, all he heard, all he read, all these boys, all his friends lusting after his sister while he could not.
She shuddered, rubbing quick circles on her pussy. “Just let me put the machinery back on.”
And inevitably she noticed him staring and his hand never slowing down.
“Do you like seeing me like this?” she whispered.
“Yes,” he hesitated.
“Does it make you cum?”
“Of course, Emma, oh my God of course!”
She let out a string of moans without any forewarning. Alex looked down and saw her two holes contract in sync with her voice. She was in the middle of an edge, struggling not to orgasm.
He remembered the rush he got after only two days of edging. If it really was her fifth, he couldn’t even imagine the overpowering blow she was handling.
And yet she was riding it with a wanton ease.
Then when she unbent, sighing “Phew that was close!”, she looked at him straight in the eye, a defying smile on her face that asked what he thought of the show. Her fluttered mind and her breath strained to go quickly back to the real (the sweetest) situation: helping her brother to cum.
She kneeled closer and spread a blanket next to him. “Spill your semen over it, it’s okay.”
“I’m so sorry, Em’…”
“What are you talking about? It’s all right, Alex, I’m here. Just let yourself go.”
He rolled to his side and masturbated frankly, summoning all the pleasure to his cock.
And then, he started cumming. His tense groans filled the room.
A few dribbles fell off. In a few seconds it was over.
And he was still hard.
They looked at each other in the silence of their mutual comprehension. Tears rushed to his eyelids, without shedding.
“Maybe I can help,” she said softly.
She was the only one who could. Because she was the closest being to himself.
His only answer was to start stroking his cock again.
She peeled his shirt off. There was a very peculiar kindness in her eyes, an attention in her movements.
She cupped a hand over his, accompanying it in its motion.
His fingers slowly retreated until he only felt hers on his skin.
Her lips puckered to come kiss the head reeking of lust and of the previous release. Meanwhile the siblings were looking at each other with a tender tension.
Emma sank her lips down his length and he gasped at the reality of the moment, the texture of her tongue on his skin, the tease of her teeth, her fingers slithering down his balls.
Way too soon she released her sweet grip but it was to ask: “Can I take you whole?”
“W-what do you mean?”
“You know…”
He knew.
Alex had never received a deepthroat before. He was shaking so much he didn’t have to nod.
She took him back in her mouth. Neither of them dared utter a sound. Only the quiet suckling of saliva proved time was ongoing.
A pop, silent too, reverberated from his bell-end to his loins. Alex breathed in forcefully. He was inside her. He was hers.
The onset of pleasure mingled with that realization. It was hot, tight, wet, wonderful, but Emma swallowing his penis so deep was an act of absolute intimacy. It was also probably magical because she was neither choking nor gagging.
His shaft bent on the shape of her gullet, his glans swelled to a bruise from the extreme suction, her nose reached his stomach. She gulped around his cock over and over. It was feeling good, excruciatingly good, his precum was drained out of him, like a barrage of fire turning the contours of his urethra into a palpable rod, the within becoming the without in his mind now entirely devoted to all the happiness they could share.
She liberated him in one loud gurgling pull and her hand broke through the strings of drool to go back to a ferocious pumping. She passed an arm under his neck and ordered “Cum now,” right to his face, and Alex never got the chance to finish his “What?” as a screaming orgasm filled his lungs.
Emma stooped and put her lips on his. She breathed in his breath. His ejaculation began spattering them both. Their chests. The side of their faces. Their lips.
She jerked him steadily. She prolonged his climax somehow, heightened it; her will and his pleasure merged, blotting out all memory of what cumming was before her dear hand.
As the ejaculation became longer than the five, ten seconds of your bland male orgasm, his eyes stretched wide. It was so long he actually had the time to think about it being so long. In her mouth he cried out the ravishment of being sucked to the bone; but in her hands he didn’t move, fitting the shape of her embrace.
When his voice became too strained to groan anymore and he was about to blackout, Emma broke the kiss, her eyes and all her love fixed on her brother. “You’re cumming so much,” she whispered.
“Empty me,” he begged.
“No, that’s enough.”
Streaks of semen passed between their faces, arcing in the air. It looked comical. One, two, three… Alex dodged a last one flying too close to his nose. They burst out in a loud rib-wrenching cackle. They rolled away from each other, laughing to tears.
For a long moment, they threw their relieving uproar at the ceiling, forgetting to say how much they loved each other.
Emma was the first to stop, Alex still had a little more climax to get out of his system.
Eventually he turned to look at her. She was asleep.
Bloody pothead, he thought but whispered “Thank you.” His penis was soft.
Soft until he looked around and saw the monstrous amount of semen everywhere.
Until he saw all the streaks of cum drying up on Emma’s skin.
Until he thought about how she had taken his load, reveled in it and now was wearing it just as naturally as he was.
Until he let the drug in his bloodstream decide for his next move, walked back upstairs to his room, locked himself in the bathroom and took a shower. He washed his plug and wondered if there was something in the lube. He pondered if he should try to make his prostate cum or if he should go to sleep.
He went to bed with an unoccupied ass and a throbbing hard cock.
(cont.)
Topic: Shift Stick (Emma Watson) (Read 8456 times)