AUTHOR:
Jai Marie
EMAIL: magicy2jai@home.com
RATING: NC-17 for sexual situations
CONTENT: Incest (brother/sister), swearing, sex
SPOILERS: Raw 8/14/00
SUMMARY: Shane thinks Steph is in over her head with Hunter (and Kurt),
and he's the only one who can get her out.
I'll call
you!" I yelled, running out to the limo as I saw the long legs swing in.
"Steph!" I sighed, watching in frustration as the limo pulled
away. I was going to kill them both. Unless Dad did first, I
thought, thinking that the first thing Stephanie would do is call Dad to tell
him that Hunter and Kurt had both been assholes *again*, reducing my poor baby
sister to tears. I felt possessiveness grip me again. I was tired
of sitting back and letting those clowns take care of her. They obviously
cared more about themselves than they did about Stephanie. As I walked
back in, flexing my fingers into fists, then relaxing them, I thought about
Hunter, and how this wasn't the first time I'd wanted to kill him.
Ha
ha, Steph, you're such a bad girl, I thought. In over your head.
You didn't like the fact that Dad felt it necessary to protect you and
shelter you from all the bad things in the business, including self-serving and
lustful wrestlers. I'd never said it, but I ageed with him. You
were... you *are* too good for them. That includes that obsessive
bastard Hunter. I don't care what he says about how much he loves
you. Nobody could love you like I can... like I do.
He
changed you, Steph, I think as I throw myself down on the couch in my dressing
room. I don't want to wrestle tonight. I want to go find you and
comfort you, drying your tears and wiping that whore's makeup off of your
face. What did he do to you? Why do you have to masquerade,
Steph? The fans chant every week that you're a "slut" and that
you "swallow." Do you? Maybe Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley
does, but not my Stephy. Not the Stephy I used to lay next to on the lawn
in the back yard and look at stars. Not the Stephy who used to cheer me on
at all my football games. Not the Stephy who took care of me through all
my football and wrestling injuries, better than anyone else could. Not
the Stephy whose mere sweet smile could make me feel whole again. Where
is she now? She's replaced by a whiny, brash, brazen woman-child, who I
can tell hates where she is and what she is. So why the charade?
All in the name of power? All in the name to be equal? All you had
to do was tell me, baby...
There's
a knock, it's Hunter. I want to throttle him when I see him. It is
because of his "love" that Stephanie had thought it necessary to
trade her sweater sets for tight halter tops and mini skirts. Her
beautiful silky hair is a rat's nest of curls, which must take hours knowing
how straight and fine it is, which I do from spending hours running my fingers
through it as we sat watching television with her head in my lap.
"What?" I ask, pensive.
"That
punk Kurt Angle is going to die! I've tried to take the high road with
him, but I'm sick and tired of..." the rest of it becomes a blur to
me. I don't give a shit about Hunter and Kurt's bickering. I just
want to survive the night. And get home to my sister.
*
* * * * After Raw * * * * *
I
can't help wondering what Dad said to those bastards as I relax in the
plane. I've hopped on a commuter plane to Greenwich, knowing Stephanie's
gone home. I want to run into the cockpit to make the stupid pilot go
faster. It's been months since I've really had the chance to even hold
Stephanie in my arms. She's so different now. A sisterly hug once
in a while, and she cries on my shoulder now and then... but before she
ever got the -Helmsley on her name, we would spend hours cuddling and
talking. Her kisses would linger a little longer, or stray onto the
lips. That's as far as it ever went. That was all it could
go. She *is* my sister, after all. But now as I watch the lights of
the airport get closer, I'm wondering if that's any excuse. We'd always
been close. Shane and Stephy against the world. I'd always thought
that nobody could take care of her better than I can. Nobody could *love*
her like I can. I realized at that moment that tonight was the night I
was going to prove it.
I
made the taxi driver go no less than 20 over the entire way home, or else I
wasn't going to tip him. That was motivation enough and exactly 13 1/2
minutes later he was pulling into the horseshoe drive in front of the
house. I throw some bills at him, I don't even count how much, grab my
bag, and stalk toward the door, a man with a purpose. My heart is
pounding painfully, and my mind is focused on one thing only:
Stephanie. The house is empty. Mom is at the Democratic National
Convention. Dad left from his rendezvous with Angle and Hunter to go to
more XFL meetings. The staff has all gone home. That means
Steph is home. Alone. I put my gear in my room, kicking my
sneakers off. The house is eerily dark and silent.
There is only one place she could be. I pausedoutside the door to
her room, running my fingers through my hair to compose myself. In the
silence I can still hear her muffled sobs. She's still crying, hours
after she left the arena. I knock quietly on the door, but get no
response. I knock louder. "Marcel, I'm fine!" comes the
response from inside the room. She must think I'm the housekeeper.
At this time of night? C'mon, Steph. I open the door a little
bit. The sight makes me want to rip my heart out. There is my baby
sister, *my baby*, face down on the bed, body trembling with sobs. She is
still wearing those god-awful clothes, and her hair is a mess.
"Steph?" I ask quietly, a bit apprehensive of what this woman
who is my beloved sister, but at the same time is nothing like her, would
do.
Stephanie's
head snaps up, her eyes wide as she regards me. "Shane," she
says, her voice a little raspy. Her hair is an absolute mess of ratted,
matted, hairsprayed frizz. Her face is streaked with mascara, and she
looks like a raccoon from rubbing her heavily-shadowed lids. My heard
melts. She is a mess. She's my baby sister all dolled up, and I can
tell from the look in her beautiful eyes that she doesn't know why. She
doesn't understand why they are doing this to her. She doesn't understand
she's in too deep.
I
cross the room to her bed in two strides, sitting down next to her.
"Steph, would..." Before I can even give her an invitation,
she's in my lap. My arms instinctively close around her, and I find to my
relief and happiness that she still has the same warm, soft curves she always
had. Her head finds the crook of my neck, and her sobs start fresh.
I stroke her back and sides, feeling her shake, every sob like a dagger to me,
eliciting a vow that those two will both pay. I'll do it with my own bare
hands. I'll... I'll... All anger fades from my mind as I feel
Stephanie's breath against my adam's apple. I look down to find her
staring up at me with wide, pleading eyes. What is she asking me?
"What, Stephy?" I whisper. She shakes her head,
whimpering. She doesn't know where to begin. Damn you both!
She's a baby! She's only 23! Seeing her looking like a little
hooker is making me ill. I make a decision and start to move away from
her. She whimpers again, clinging to me. This is my baby, the one
who needs me as much as I need her. "I'm going in there," I
whisper, pointing to the bathroom. She reluctantly lets me go, following
me as I walk into her private bathroom.
I
haven't been in there in forever. It's done tastefully in a coral, jade,
and white pattern with a large claw-footed tub, handheld shower, and a whole
shelf full of bath products. Perfect, I think as I reach down and start
to run some water. I test it over and over on the sensitve underside of
my arm until it's just right. Looking through the bath products, I select
a silky lilac-scented bubble bath and pour a generous amount into the
tub. Soon the bathtub is frothing invitingly with foam. I step
back, smiling, only to see Stephanie leaning in the doorway weakly, looking at
this with half-interest. I notice her fluffy terry cotton robe hanging on
a hook where it's been since before she moved out to live with Hunter.
It's lavender, and very cuddly and feminine. Just like my Stephy. I
take it off the hook and offer it to her. She takes it wordlessly,
staring at it as though it's a friend who has betrayed her, but soon disappears
back into her room. I hear the thunking of those god-awful clunky shoes
hitting the floor over the roar of the bathtub filling. Flipping the
water off, I then look around, gathering a few other items. Large sponge,
check. Body wash, check. Shampoo, check. Conditioner, and
lots of it, double check. Towels, check. I look up, seeing her back
in the doorway. A thrill runs through me, seeing her like that.
Some guys get off on sexy lingerie, or nudity. Okay, I do too, but not
right now. I've longed to see my sister like this for too long. The
robe goes all the way to her ankles, and there's something almost...
arousing (there, I said it!) about seeing her all covered up. Treating
her body like it was something to be treasured and saved, not shown off to
infinite numbers of perverts jacking off while watching her on television, or
live in the crowd.
I
step back, turning my back to her to give her some privacy. Modesty and
decency is what you deserve, Steph. Why won't you demand even that from
them? I hear her sink into the bubbles, and a sigh escapes her
lips. I turn around to see the bubbles pooling around her breasts,
obscuring them from view. She looks like she is starting to relax.
Good. "You like that, Stephy?" I ask, pulling my shirt off and
kneeling behind her. She nods. Her eyes are closed, and I can tell
she's fighting a war inside herself. "Stephy, forget about them
tonight. They don't understand you. They don't understand
love," I tell her as I stroke her ratted hair and reach around for the
detachable shower nozzle. Gently I sit her up a little and tilt her hair
back, turning on the nozzle to soak the mess. She shudders and moans
softly as the water courses over her skin. I can't contain a small smirk
of delight that I can still do that to her as I set the nozzle down and get
some shampoo. I begin to massage it into her hair, kneading her scalp,
feeling the tension coming off of her in waves. I rinse the first
application and begin a second. Lather, rinse, repeat. And
repeat. It takes me four rinses before I'm satisfied that the nasty stuff
is out of my baby sister's hair. She's almost limp in the water, head
lolling back, moving her head wherever I nudge. Now for the
conditioner. I never had use for the stuff, but I know that the guys say
it's good for getting tangles out. And if Adam Copeland and Jason Reso
recommend a hair product, you listen. Can't argue with results like
that. So I slather a good amount of the conditioner in Stephy's hair and
work it in, then proceed to take a wide-toothed comb and run it through her
hair, detangling it. She sighs again, louder this time. I dare to
peek around to the front of her body. Her raccoon-eyes are still
closed. Those are next to go, I think as I begin to rinse her hair.
"Hunter doesn't do this for you, does he?" I finally can't fight back
the urge to ask. Call it jealousy, call it what you will. But I
wanted to know that I was better to Stephy than that lousy asshole that was her
husband. I wanted *her* to know it too.
Stephanie
still says nothing, just slightly shakes her head no as a tremor comes through
her. I feel a pang of regret for having said that cursed name
tonight. Not again. That word is off-limits for the rest of the
night, as is Kurt's. Finally her hair is rinsed, and I take up the
washcloth and find some Pond's cold cream, which was what they universally used
backstage to take off make-up. Never realized the little useful things I
had picked up all those years until now. Stephy flinches from the startle
of the cold when I first touch her face with the washcloth, but then relaxes again
immediately. I gently smear the stuff all over her face, then rinse it,
rinsing away the indignity of the whore's make-up. Rinsing away the
indignity of the whore's role my baby sister is being forced to play.
Now
it's time for the sponge. I take it and soak it, then run it over her
body. She's beautiful, but I am not thinking of her sexually. Not
that much, anyhow. My first concern is, and always has been, for her
well-being, both physical and psychological. She doesn't respond to this
much, just moving and turning her body so I can wash all the sweat from her
exertions crying off of her body. At last, it's done. I step back
and grab the large towel, drying off my bare arms then standing back on the rug
and holding it open to her. I turn my head away. Part of me doesn't
want to, but it's overruled by the big brother who just wants to give his baby
sister her dignity back. She steps into my arms and I wrap them around
her, the towel with them. "Dry yourself off, I'll be outside,"
I tell her. I then go sit on the bed, realizing I'd left my shirt in on
the bathroom floor. I'm feeling a little better now, having worked some
of my frustrations out on Stephanie in the bathroom. But there was
more. A little washing wasn't going to erase, or at least repair the
damage those two heartless bozos have done. She needs more. And
she's going to get it. 'Cause tonight Stephanie Marie McMahon is all
mine. My heart swells at the thought of holding her tightly in my lap, or
maybe even playing a game of Scrabble together. Yes, it is definitely the
little things...
My
thoughts are interrupted by soft footfalls. I look up and there is
Stephanie, standing shyly in the doorway. Her hair is straight and hangs
down around her face. Her face... it's clean and actually
glowing. She has a soft smile, and her chin is tilted down, but those
eyes are looking straight at me. She still hasn't said a word. The
adoration in those eyes is enough to fill volumes. But that isn't all
she's speaking with. She's not wearing her terry cotton robe. She's
not wearing the pajamas I set down on the edge of the sink. She's wearing
my discarded shirt. It's dark blue, and contrasts beautifully with her
peaches-and-cream skin. The sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, and the
top two buttons are undone. The shirt just brushes the tops of her
thighs, and is quite loose on her. I open my mouth to say something, but
instead it just curves into a smile. She always looked good in my
clothes. Tonight is no exception. "Come here, baby sis,"
I command her gently, holding my arms out as I stand up. She smiles and
walks slowly over to me, a vision out of my dreams. I wrap my arms around
her, and stroke her wet hair, smelling of lilac and a scent that is Stephanie's
alone. Her body presses against mine tighter as she buries her face
against me. For a moment I fear she's crying again, but then I feel her
cheek caressing my bare chest, and I know she's doing the same thing I was
doing before: reacquainting herself with something all but lost.
"I
missed you, baby," I murmur into her damp hair, kissing the top of her
head. She responds by placing a chaste kiss on my sternum. I
feel my heart leap into double time. I can tell Stephanie noticed as
well; I feel her smile against me. Finally, she looks up at me
again. Her plain face and wet hair are a complete contrast to what had
just been a few hours ago. I find myself overwhelmed, and my lips find
hers in a whisper of a kiss. I dare not ask more, and begin to pull away,
but Stephanie's lips follow mine, and the kiss lingers for a moment, soft and
undemanding. Finally we part, and looking down into her eyes, I see the
same emotions running through her that I feel in me. It was as though we
were back in time, back to last year before Stephanie had ever gone to Las
Vegas in her entire life. This is my baby sister, my little girl.
The one I love more than life itself. I stare at her, she stares at
me. I rasp in awe, "You're back."
I have to keep looking down into my lap to make sure this is
real. But there she is, her silky,
straight hair glistening in the light of the television. I sit on the end of the couch, half-paying
attention to an episode of the X-Files.
I think it’s the one where Mulder and Scully have an alien
encounter. Or one of ‘em. Actually, I have no clue. All I can think of is that I’m having a
close encounter of my own, with a ghost from my past. As I run my fingers through the spun silk that is her hair, I
look at her face. She’s not watching
the TV either. Her eyes are staring at
the vase of flowers on the table across the room. Actually, staring right through it, into space. I know what she’s thinking about. It’s plainly written on her face. What went wrong, Stephy? No answers yet. She has yet to speak to me since I arrived, except for the small
squeak of my name when she first saw me.
Yes, she now looks like my baby sister, but she’s still not acting like
her.
”Steph,”
I say softly, and her head turns in my lap, and she’s now looking up at
me. Her eyes are almost pleading with
me, for what I don’t know. I stroke her
face, feeling it wet with tears. “Hey,
feel like a game of Scrabble?” I ask,
feeling like I’m sort of grasping at straws now. She hesitates, and finally nods, her head rubbing against my
groin. Oh, Steph, don’t do that please,
I think, my thoughts vocalized by only a soft gasp. My face burns as her eyes find mine again, a little inquisitive. You weren’t supposed to hear that, Stephy, I
think, blushing further. She sits up,
and as she stands I catch a look at the side of her face. Wait…
was that a little smile? I feel
my spirits lift a little as I jump up to go get the Scrabble board.
I
had taken the time before we went down to watch TV to change my clothes into a
pair of loose shorts and a tank top.
Steph was still looking more beautiful than she had in a long time, in
my Oxford shirt. When I got back with
the game she was sitting on the couch Indian-style with the coffee table pulled
close to her. The shirt was stuffed
loosely between her legs, but I caught a glance of plain, white cotton panties
beneath. For some reason that makes my
heart pound faster. She’s not wearing
some skimpy, lacy, slut underwear.
She’s wearing Stephy underwear.
No, not now. This isn’t the time
for your fantasies, Shane, I tell myself.
This is about Stephanie. It’s
always about Stephanie. That’s what you
don’t understand, Hunter. You don’t
either, Kurt, I think as Steph scatters the tiles on the table and begins to
draw. You both don’t understand what
it’s like to devote your entire being to another person. And you’ve poisoned Stephanie into thinking
that there is no such thing. That she
needs to live with second best. Well,
fuck you both.
“Shane?”
I hear a soft, slightly-squeaky voice ask.
I snap out of my rage and my eyes fly to hers. She’s looking at me expectantly, having laid out the word
‘INVITES’. I whistle low as a small,
triumphant smile crosses Steph’s unglossed lips. She marks down her score for the word, which was across several
double squares, plus 75 points for using all her letters. I can’t help but smile myself. It’s nice to see her truly enjoying herself. Steph is ruthless when playing
Scrabble. She’s always been, even when
we were young and would play against Mom and Dad. Steph often won then, as well.
After thinking for a bit, I add ‘SOME’ going down. Steph ponders this, and sips the iced tea
she’d brought in for both of us. I look
at mine a little hesitantly and take a sip, smiling as I realized she’d
sweetened it just the way I like it.
That’s my baby.
The
game progresses in silence, as seems to be the theme for the night. I really don’t like it. I have so much I want to say to her, so many
things to ask. But I don’t want to
force her. If she wants to talk, she
will. Her face is growing more animated
as we play, and as she gets into it.
Her score is soon almost double mine, and her eyes are sparkling with
excitement. I pass twice as she
continues to rack up points, finally putting me out of my misery with
‘ADZE’. I groan. I usually don’t lose that soundly. And it wasn’t as though I wasn’t trying. I love Steph, but I also love to beat
her. She’s incredibly competitive, and
that makes it so much more fun to play with her. Also, unlike the sniveling whiner she’s become with Hunter, she’s
a gracious loser. At least she
was. I don’t have anything to compare
that to at the moment. “Good game,” I
tell her, as I start to clean the board up.
Suddenly, her soft, well-manicured hand is on top of mine. It feels like it is carrying an electric
charge as my entire hand starts to tingle.
I look up at her.
“Can
we play again?” she asks, eyes expectant.
I
chuckle, dumping the tiles back out.
“What, Hunter doesn’t play Scrabble?” I ask softly. I can’t help myself.
“No,”
she replies, shaking her head, voice barely a whisper as she watches my hands
spread the tiles back out.
<So
what the hell DOES he do?!> I find
my self tempted to scream. What does he
give you, Steph, that makes you want to stay with him and take all the shit he
gives you? But again, I bite against my
rage, calmly drawing tiles and laying out ‘ADOBE’ as my first word. Stephanie sees too much rage from that loose
cannon husband of hers.
She
must sense this, for as she lays out ‘SILO’ she says, “Hunter isn’t really in
to board games.” It’s almost apologetic
sounding, with a hint of pain. She
probably asked him once. I imagine him
laughing at her with that shit-faced smirk.
I see red again. Bastard.
“What IS he in to?” I
ask, trying to sound casual as I add ‘OVUM’.
A long silence follows, and I venture a look into Steph’s face. She’s biting her lip in concentration. I can’t tell if she’s pondering my question
or her next play. It soon appears to be
the latter as she plays ‘TILL’.
However, she then looks up into my face, shrugging. “Going out.
Watching TV. Working out.”
“You
mean he doesn’t like the theatre? Or
riding bikes? Or taking walks? Or cuddling while watching movies? Or playing games?” I ask, pressing perhaps a
bit more than I should, listing off some of Stephanie’s favorite things to do
as I add ‘TERMS’. She’s silent, biting
her lip again in that delicious way. I
feel my heart twist, hating myself for a moment. I’ve attacked her, just like Hunter had earlier. God, I’m sorry, I think, watching her
trembling fingers pick up her tiles to make a play, obviously shaken by my
attack on her husband. Everything I had
tried to do tonight, I just ruined.
Good going, Boy Wonder.
“There
aren’t many men who are in to those things,” she says with trepidation, placing
‘LOVE’ slowly. My heart jerks at her
choice of play, and her choice of words.
She then goes on, “Especially in the places where I spend most of my
time.” She’s trying to excuse it, to
make an easy reason for why she abandoned all her standards, all her hopes and
dreams, all her loves. She dismisses
them all with a cursory wave of her hand.
“Who needs all that stuff anyhow?”
I
stare at my rack, feeling my stomach churn.
Sure, I like to go to sports games.
Sure, I like cruising around in my sports car, sailing on the yacht,
playing tennis or football. But I’m
also the one who went to see Les Miserables with Steph 7 times, and actually
started to LIKE it. I’m the one who
spent countless rainy days watching movies with Steph on the couch,
cuddling. I’m the one who rode bikes
with her all the way around Martha’s Vineyard.
The silence is deafening as I reach for three letters, fumbling them in
my palm. I set them down, one by one,
as Stephanie stares at the board. I
stare as well. It’s done. It reads, ‘IDO.’
Steph
looks up at me, giving her version of the People’s Eyebrow. “Shane, where does that connect?” she asks,
ever the stickler for the rules. I say
nothing, just looking at her. “What
kind of word is that anyhow, ‘ido?’”
She looks at me strangely, knowing from the intense look in my eyes that
there is more than just a nonsensical play to the word. She looks at it again. “Ido…
I do…” her voice grows soft as
her eyes met mine, and realization dawns in them. “<You do>,” she whispers, voice cracking.
”Yes, I do,” I
repeat in a similarly soft voice, heart pounding. I wonder if she even comprehends all that those three little
Scrabble tiles are saying to her. Not
just that I love Les Mis. Not just that
I love cuddling and watching movies.
Not just that I love bike rides.
But that I love <her>, Stephanie McMahon, for all that she is, was
and all that she will be.
Steph’s
brow furrows, and I can tell that she’s thinking, maybe trying to make sense of
this. For a moment I fear that I’ve
done the wrong thing, that perhaps I should have just kept those feelings to
myself. Finally, she looks up at me, a
hesitant smile crossing her face. “So
then…” she says slowly, flipping a ‘G’
tile over and over. “Tell me what this
means…”<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns =
"urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />
It’s
now or never. She’s giving me an
opening. Come one, Simba, you’ve come
this far; might as well just take the plunge.
You may never get this chance again.
“Steph, I can’t tell you,” I say, trying to keep the uncertain
tremor out of my voice. “I have to show
you.”
She
doesn’t move for a moment, but then in one swift, completely-Stephy moment, she
is scrambling around the table and sitting on the floor at my side. “Show me what?” she asks breathlessly, like
a child on Christmas Morning contemplating which present to open first.
“Show
you this,” I hear myself say, putting my fingers gently under her chin, and
pressing my lips to hers. This is old
news to Steph – we’ve kissed on the lips for as long as I can remember. Even the tender, lingering kiss that we’re
sharing at the moment is not foreign to us.
We’ve shared a few in our time, but it’s always stopped there. But not tonight. It *can’t* stop there tonight, not if I want Stephanie to
completely and truly know how I feel.
I
gently cup her head with one hand, while my other hand strokes her cheek with
an intimate gesture, one that comes from years of love. She senses something is different and pulls
back a little, but my hand is a little firm and holds her. The little pause for breath gives me the
chance to nudge her lips apart with mine.
This time, there is no hesitation on her part as her full lips part to
allow my tongue entry. I am vaguely
aware of one of her hands covering my hand on her cheek, stroking the skin
idly, while her other hand finds a spot on the back of my neck, assuring that I
won’t be going anywhere soon. My hand
moves from the back of her head to her back as I taste the sweet honey of my
sister's mouth fully for the first time.
She
is overwhelming. Hot and liquid,
tasting faintly of sweet iced tea. My
tongue swirls over hers, not receiving much response. However, I can’t stop at the moment, as I’m overwhelmed by the
need to possess her mouth; leave an indelible mark on her. Finally we part, as I sense she needs a
break.
I can’t look at her at first. I’m afraid she’ll think me some sick pervert
who misinterpreted years of intimate contact and experiences. Then I feel her thumb lightly graze my lips,
and I turn my eyes to hers. Her eyes
are wide and full of wonder, and her lips curve up in a slight smile. I open my mouth to ask her what she's
thinking, but she answers me before I get a chance, catching my words in her
mouth as it covers mine.
This
time, her tongue does not lie dormant, but gently meets mine, and they mutually
explore and pleasure one another, tangling wildly, delving in and out of each
others’ mouths. I hear a soft sigh
escape from my baby sister’s body as the kiss endures for countless moments. Her fingernails gently scratch the nape of
my neck, adding to her silent encouragement.
I love you, I tell her over and over with my tongue, until it is aching
from exertion. This isn’t something I
do on a regular basis. Especially with
someone who is drinking it up like my Stephy.
We finally part, and in my mind I’m screaming, <‘now what?!’.>
Stephanie
answers this question for me as she leans against my body, her hand slipping
under my tank top to stroke my slightly-sweaty skin. Her nails trace concentric circles around my navel while she
rests her head against my chest.
“You’re heart’s racing,” she comments in a small voice, full of wonder.
“You
do that to me,” I tell her, my fingers again drawn to the silk of her hair.
“I
do?” she asks. <Like it’s any
secret, sis,>I think with a laugh.
If she couldn’t tell from the voracious way I was kissing her, then she
would probably get a hint if she brushed against my crotch. Part of me is really hoping she doesn’t,
because it could get REAL awkward. Then
again, part of me is hoping she does.
The feather-light tickling of her fingertips on my stomach isn’t helping
matters, either. It’s making my hunger
grow. Rather than being satisfied with
possessing her mouth and showing her the depth of my feelings for her, I begin
to want more. I want to possess her
totally. I desire to show her how she
should be loved, not just every day of her life, but every night as well. I force my mental voice to say it; to
acknowledge it: I want to make love to
my baby sister.
There,
I’ve said it, and now have to become comfortable with the fact. <That’s not so bad now, is it,> I
think. It’s been wanting to be said for
a long time, but I’ve been afraid. I’ve
been afraid to acknowledge that the most basic love of all has now, for me,
become the most forbidden love of all.
The knowledge isn’t any easier to bear with the admission, but I hold a
glimmer of hope inside me that perhaps, judging by her reactions, Stephanie is
also guilty of this offense. I can only
pray.
I
then realize my mind is wandering from my original purpose. Stephanie’s cheeks are still flushed, and I
can see her still replaying the kiss in her mind. “Want more?” I ask her, my throaty voice breaking the thick
silence.
”Yeah,”
she says breathlessly, sitting up and tilting her mouth to mine. We kiss again, each time our lips melding
together a little more fiercely, our tongues becoming bolder, as well as our
hands. As Stephanie’s small hands
possessively roam my back, I slide one of mine down to cup her beautifully round
ass. I’m rewarded with a little squeal
against my tongue, and feeling her squirm against my hand. There must be a direct nerve line from my
hand to my cock, because at that moment it became fully awake, as though
realizing that its long-dormant desire for Stephanie may finally be sated. We parted once more, and I capture her gaze
with mine, and demand softly, “Does *he* kiss you like that?”
Stephanie
starts, then looks down for a moment. I
firmly, yet gently, take hold of her chin and make her look back at me. “No, he doesn’t,” she finally admits, as
though it’s a crime she herself is guilty of, rather than her husband.
”Damn
him,” I mutter, gently caressing her lips with mine. “You deserve better, Stephy.”
She
begins to pull away, well-worn objections bubbling half-heartedly from her
lips. But I won’t let her go. “He doesn’t know how to love you. He doesn’t know *you*,” I punctuate this
with an index finger to her heart.
Stephanie’s
eyes meet mine accusingly, but before she can say anything, I put my finger to
her lips. “Stephy… let me show you. Let me show you how you deserve to be loved,” I almost plead,
which I’m sure is a sight to her.
McMahons don’t plead. Not unless
there is an ulterior motive. But for
the first time in my life, I’m begging, begging for my sister to give me the
ultimate gift – a chance to selflessly prove my love to her.
She’s
chewing her lip, trying to convince herself that this is wrong, that she
shouldn’t be here. I’m silent. I’ve pleaded my case and I’m not going to
push. There is nothing more I can say
or do. It’s now up to her. I sit back, holding her hands as I had been
while speaking to her, caressing the backs of them with my thumbs as she
thinks. Her eyes are closed, her hair
is tousled, and her lips are slightly moving, perhaps even twitching. Suddenly, her eyes are open. They look calm, assured, and at peace. As her face breaks into that soft, shy smile
I feel my cock stiffen further. I know
the answer, and before she even says a word I’m standing up and holding my hand
out. She takes my hand and follows me
upstairs. By the time we reach the door
to her bedroom, we’re both shaking. I
had no idea how terrified of this I would be.
I’ve had many girls, but none as special as my Stephy, my baby
sister. Taking a deep breath, I reach
for the door. “Are you sure? Do you really want to do this?” I ask her,
looking her right in the eyes.
Without
a moment of hesitation, she nods, smiling knowingly. “I do.”
I
do.” She does. She accepts my offer of unconditional
love. I push the door to her bedroom
open, and just like that we’re back where we started. We walk together to her bed and sit down next to one another,
still holding hands, staring at each other.
“Are
you scared?” I ask. I wouldn’t blame
her. I mean, she’s basically going to
commit adultery. With her big brother. Her answer, though, surprises me.
“No,
not really,” she says, reaching over and cupping my face, bringing me to her
and kissing me. Our mouths open
simultaneously, tongues finding each other, caressing each other as though
they’d been lonely without the other. I
ease back onto the bed, laying my sister back against the mound of pillows at
the head. I’m leaning over her, propped
up on one elbow, my other hand gently stroking down her front as our kiss
continues. Her hands are both threaded
through my hair, making it obvious she’s not letting my mouth go anywhere for a
while.
While
we kissed, my fingers lightly trailed down her front, between the valley of her
breasts, reaching the bottom button of my shirt that she’s wearing. One-handed, I unbutton the bottom three
buttons, then slip my fingers under the fabric. I’m greeted by the sleek, smooth skin of my sister’s
stomach. My fingertips brush against
her tentatively, almost as though they’re afraid her stomach is going to
scald. It doesn’t; instead she
reflexively sucks it in a little in a gesture I find absolutely endearing. Our mouths finally part, and we each move to
our own careful explorations. For my
part, I kiss Stephanie’s neck and ears softly as my fingertips continue to
stroke her satiny soft stomach. I
eventually grow bolder, fingers skimming up over the bottom of her ribcage, as
far as the partially unbuttoned shirt will let me. That is soon remedied as I unbutton more of the shirt, revealing
inch after inch of flawless peaches-and-cream skin. I finally cannot resist and place a reverent kiss on her stomach,
right above her navel. “Oooh,” I hear
her croon, her own hands skimming lightly over my back, now tugging at my shirt.
Sitting
up, I discard my tank top for her benefit, then lean over and hold my breath as
I unfasten the final three buttons of the shirt that is draped on my sister’s
body, pushing it apart a bit. I place
more tender kisses on her stomach, then kiss up the newly-bared skin between
the firm mounds. Her face is now buried
in the crook of my neck and shoulder, gently kissing and licking my skin. Her mouth is so eager, so sweet and
soft. It makes my erection, my skin, my
bones, my very *being* ache with need.
Soon,
the shirt is pushed open, revealing her beautiful, full breasts. I can’t help but stare wonderingly at her
womanly form, so tantalizing and natural.
My hands skim up her ribcage to cup her breasts, weighing them in my
hands, my eyes on her face. Her eyes
are closed now, her lips slightly parted, soft sighs coming from them. I return my attention to the worship of her
body and brush my thumb over one of her small, rose-colored nipples. It immediately hardens into a stiff bud,
accompanied by a breathy moan from Stephy, which is repeated as I give the
other nipple similar attention. “Sha….”
She begins, not even able to finish my name.
Well, that’s going to change. It
becomes my new goal: making her scream
my name while in the throes of ecstasy.
Lowering
my mouth to one turgid peak, I swirl my tongue around her, tasting the soft
satin of one of my sister’s most intimate areas for the first time. I cannot get enough, and I’m soon greedily
suckling like a baby, but it’s my soul that’s receiving nourishment, from every
sigh of pleasure I hear. Things are
becoming more urgent for me, much to my dismay, as I move my mouth to the other
raspberry crest, drawing it into the hot wetness of my mouth, laving it with my
tongue as if my life depended on it. My
left hand skims back down her side, fingertips tentatively brushing over the
white cotton bikini-cut panties my sister is wearing. I skim the fabric, moving down over her mound and between her
thighs, which part automatically for me.
I look up at her, and she’s not even with me. Her eyes are closed, her head relaxed. I wonder if she’s even thinking about me. Maybe she’s fantasizing I’m Hunter. Or even Kurt. Pain stabs my heart at this thought, but I’m spurred on by the
consolation that at least she’ll have known how good it can be, and maybe it
will give her the courage to demand more from them. Shaking the thought off I attack my sweet task anew, stroking my
fingers down between her thighs, a thrill running through my fingers and
through my body as I discover the crotch of her panties is thoroughly
soaked. This reinforces her soft
sounds, and I know she’s enjoying herself.
Now it's time to take things further.
My
fingers slip back upward to the waistband of her panties, skimming along the
edge, finally dipping down between the cotton and her skin. I can feel the heat radiating from her sex,
and I gently trace the wispy hair covering her mound. I finally unlatch my mouth from her nipple, my body crying out
for hers. I take a few breaths to calm
myself, telling my screaming body that it will have its reward soon
enough… the reward of hearing Stephy
scream my name. I slip her panties off,
perhaps a little quicker than I should have, but then I have to freeze and look
down at what is beneath me. My sister,
my beautiful baby sister, in all her naked glory. Her straight hair fans around her head, glittering in the soft
light. Her eyes are now open a little,
staring up at me with a mixture of adoration and apprehension, as though I
wouldn’t like what I see. “Oh Steph,” I
whisper, skimming my hands over the front of her abdomen and down her legs,
laying down next to her once again.
“You’re so beautiful… the most
beautiful girl in the world.”
“You’re
just saying that,” she whispers, her eyes fluttering closed again as my fingers
find their way to the nest of curls guarding the entrance to her sex.
“No,
I’m not. I may be a McMahon, but when
it comes to you I always tell the truth,” I reply, biting my lip as I ease my
finger into the molten wetness pooling in her cleft. She's incredibly hot, and I haven’t even penetrated her yet. I run my finger all the way down her
crease, almost to her ass, then slowly back up, passing over her entrance, and
encountering at the top the swollen nub of her clitoris. I gently tease it; her body immediately
stiffens. “Ohmygod,” she whispers, arms
clutching at me. I smile. This is it.
I begin to rub around the base of her clit, feeling her squirm and
whimper under me, growing ever wetter.
Her hips begin to move in rhythm, and I know her orgasm is
inevitable. Then I realize something. I bet Hunter gets her off with his fingers
all the time. My baby sister deserves
more than a mere hand job. I withdraw
my fingers quickly and her eyes fly open, accompanied by whimpers of
protest. “Just wait a sec, Steph,” I
tell her as I move so I’m kneeling between her legs. She immediately realizes my intentions when I begin to kiss
around her navel, then trail my lips down toward her inner thighs.
“Shane,
no,” she protests, trying to squirm away.
“I’ve never… Hunter doesn’t…”
My
head snaps up, eyes flashing at those two words. “I don’t give a shit what Hunter * doesn’t *, Steph,” I growl. “I love you.
I *do.*” Before she can protest
further I’ve pulled her knees up and spread them, using my fingers to part her
swollen nether lips. I’m greeted by a
sight that again almost makes me lose control.
Her sweet pink inner flesh, soaked in the iridescent, musky wetness of
her juices, glistening invitingly, begging to be tasted. And I’m going to be the first. That was enough to erode my patience, and I
delve into her most intimate of places with my eager tongue.
God,
nothing on earth has ever tasted as good as my baby sister on my tongue. She has a delicate, musky flavor, exotic and
damp, like sandalwood. I waste no time
in reclaiming the stiff pearl that is her clitoris, swirling around it with my
tongue, then gently drawing it into my mouth.
Stephanie reacts by stifling a scream, clutching at the bedclothes,
trying to restrain her hips from bucking so hard that they break my jaw. I continue at my work, silently urging her
on, mentally begging her to give me what I desire most. My mind is not even thinking about my own
raging erection, still confined in its prison of boxers and shorts. It’s concentrating on achieving the Holy
Grail. I encourage her again by slowly
slipping my middle finger into her hot passage. Her silky walls grip me, and I try to find the sweet spot inside
her and press on that to add to the stimulation. It works, and I am finally rewarded as her entire body goes stiff
and her muscles contract in a death grip around my finger. She convulses, and I hear her breathing,
“Shaaaaaa… oh God Shane… Shaaaaaannnneeee…..!”
And
now my life is complete.
*
* * *
My
life may be complete, but my night is not over. After making Stephanie come, I had withdrawn, content to have
shown her what she was missing. Seeing
the look of amazement on her face, feeling her snuggle against me and kiss
me… it was reward enough, I told
myself. I hadn’t convinced my hard-on
of that yet, but I might be making progress.
Soon I hear my sister’s angel voice whisper, “Shane?”
“Yeah,
baby,” I reply, stroking her back comfortingly.
She
says nothing, but I feel her wiggle her hip against my erection. She looks up at me inquisitively. I shake my head. “We don’t have to do anything, sis,” I reply.
“No?”
she asked, with what might best be described as a pout.
“Not
if you don’t want to.”
I
then feel her fingers grasp me through my shorts and I don’t even have time to
stifle the guttural sound that escapes my throat. My eyes lock with hers, glittering and happy, as she whispers
with that Stephy smile, “I do.” Another
moan, one of absolute surrender, comes from deep within me as I feel Stephanie
easing my shorts away. Jesus, it just
feels good to be loose from the constraints of the fabric, let alone to have
Stephanie’s silky hand wrapped around me and stroking in long, leisurely
strokes. I continue to stroke her hair,
murmuring soft encouragement, my mind jumble of good feelings. She peppers soft kisses all over my chest,
and I can feel her awkwardness, as though she were inexperienced at taking the
lead. Makes me wonder again what sort
of sex life she and Hunter really have.
But those thoughts don’t stay long as I feel her lips approaching my
erection. Alarms go off in my mind, and
I’m pushing her away gently, just as she had me before.
“Wha…?”
she asks, her eyes wide and confused.
“Hunter always likes…” she stops
when she sees my frown.
“Am
I Hunter?” I ask her. She shakes her
head ‘no.’ “Not now, Steph,” I then
tell her as I reach over for my pants.
After a few awkward moments I’ve gotten into my wallet and retrieved a
rubber. I don’t know how long its been
in there, but it hasn’t been that long.
I open the packet, but am surprised when I feel Stephy’s hand on mine.
“Let
me,” she says, taking the condom from me.
I open my mouth to object, but she silences me with a finger to my
lips. “I want to,” she purrs. I lay my head back, soaking in the sensation
of her fingers working over my throbbing cock.
I hate condoms. With a
passion. I honestly can’t feel anything
when I have the damn things on, and I really only use them if the girl
insists. But this is different. This is my baby sister. And I’m not taking any chances. She’s too precious to me.
Fully
‘armed,’ I gently roll her on to her back.
As I am poised at her entrance, the head of my cock already immersed in
her scalding juices, I stop to look down on her beautiful face. Her eyes are wide open, staring up at me,
wanting to watch my every expression as brother and sister become one. I don’t blame her; I want to watch as
well. Seeing her like this, her skin
flushed and aroused, her lungs heaving, makes me realize there is even more to
the profound love I have for my baby sister.
Not only do I love her heart and her soul, but God help me, I love her
body.
With
this in mind I arch my hips forward, slipping into her inch by inch. She feels even hotter than she had around my
finger, if that’s possible, and infinitely tighter. She’s gasping as I finally sheath myself in all the way, now
holding there, waiting for her to adjust.
Her eyes meet with mine, and I can’t help myself. I lower my mouth to hers, kissing her again
with tender possessiveness. “I love
you, Steph,” I whisper to her, kissing her again.
“I
love you too,” she replies, kissing me back, then wrapping her legs around my
waist. This is the signal I’ve been
waiting for, and I brace myself and begin to rock gently within her, grinding
right against that sweet spot deep inside her that I had found before. She throws her head back, gasping out
nonsensical words of encouragement as she clutches at my body and the
bedclothes around her. My strokes
gradually become deeper and faster, and I find that I can’t hold back any
longer. I quickly snake my hand between
our bodies and flick her clitoris a few times, drawing a shriek and a shudder,
as I finally lose control myself, feeling her muscles milking my cock for all
it's worth. Amidst all the panting, the
blood pounding in my ears, the creak of the bedsprings, and the rustle of
sheets, I hear a whispered, “Ohhhhh Shaaaaaaane.” Now my life is *truly* complete.
We
lay together afterward, still unable to find words to express the profound love
and feelings that have been unearthed tonight.
Stephanie’s head is buried in my chest, and our bodies are tangled
together like the most intimate of lovers.
There is no trying to make sense of this, at least not for now. Now that I’m with her, in body, mind, and
soul, I have no more fear that she’s in over her head. It doesn’t matter if she is, for I know that
together we can get through anything.
To that end, I have nothing more to say about Hunter, or Kurt. There is an unspoken agreement that those
things are to be resolved in the morning.
Tonight is ours.
As
we lay there in the afterglow of our lovemaking, I’m aware of another
sound. I then realize it’s Stephanie’s
sweet soprano voice, humming a tune.
Straining, I attempt to identify it.
Eventually I realize it’s a tune from some Broadway show I’d taken
Stephanie to a long time ago. Once
more, I’m glad I have those memories with her, as the words come flooding back
to me:
I have never felt like
this
For once I'm lost for words
Your smile has really thrown me
This is not like me at all
I never thought I'd know
The kind of love you've shown me
Now, no matter where I am
No matter what I do
I see your face appearing
Like an unexpected song
An unexpected song
That only we are hearing
I don't know what's
going on
Can't work it out at all
Whatever made you choose me
I just can't believe my eyes
You look at me as though
You couldn't bear to lose me
Now, no matter where I am
No matter what I do
I see your face appearing
Like an unexpected song
An unexpected song
That only we are hearing
The song of our love is something
that was indeed unexpected, and is something that cannot be shared with
others. So we’ll revel in its music
tonight, hearing the words only we are meant to hear, then face the new day
together, whatever it may bring.
THE END...