Two Sinful Sisters

Louis Kahn Nin

Smashwords Edition

2012

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Originally published in paperback print by Ophelia Press, 2010. This edition is only slightly revised.

Chapter I

Through the Blonde Pubes and into Her Slit

You know how people say, “If I could go back, if I could do it all over again, I would not have done it at all, and my life, all our lives, would be different today.”

I want to believe in alternate timelines and universes, in time travel, in the possibility that I could change things.

But that’s all bullshit.

This is what happened…

***

I was 29, divorced, selling shoes in a shopping mall and feeling pretty lost and not all that confident. My ex-wife had left me for someone else: a woman; at 26, she realized she was a lesbian and not “a breeder,” is how she put it.

I needed to get back into dating.

I met Patricia on a muggy afternoon. I left the store for a few minutes to get some air, stretch and clear my head. I walked across the street to the shopping strip. It was a lot like every other one you see: grocery store, drug store, fast food joint in the center of the parking lot and a half a dozen various stores mixed in, selling this or that. Over the year or so I had been here I made a habit of walking to the drug store for a pack of cigarettes or a candy bar, for something to do on my break. Like every other day I walked in wandered the aisles for a minute or two, picked up my candy bar and walked up to the counter.
I admit that I seem to have a devious devil in me that loves to tease young girls, particularly when they are in a work situation—a waitress or a clerk who hesitate to tell me to fuck off. I usually get them flustered, saying how pretty they are, like models or movie stars, and asking them to marry me, run away to Vegas or Paris or something grandly outrageous

I approached the counter and noticed that there was a new girl working the checkout. She was 18-20, cute, blonde hair, nice build, not too chesty but enough that you would not mistake her for a boy. What stuck out most: she had wide emerald green eyes. And braces.

I couldn’t help myself. I placed my candy bar on the counter asked for a pack of whatever brand I was smoking at the time and waited for her to give me a total.
“That will be $7.45,” she said.
I handed over a ten dollar bill. “Here you go Patricia.” I saw her nametag, pinned above her left breast. I smiled at her like her were old friends.

“Do I know you?” she asked, flustered by my stare.
I pouted. “Oh, Patricia, I’m hurt you don’t remember me.”
She blushed. “I’m sorry, you look familiar but I can’t place you.”
“No reason you should. We never met.”
“How did you know my name then?”
“It’s written on your left breast, Patricia.”

She looked down and went, “Oh, yeah, my name tag! Hellllloooo! Duh!”
I put on the cad act: “You have such beautiful green eyes.”
She blushed and said, “Thank you.” I love it when a young girl blushes.
“Will you marry me?” I asked.
“What?”
I said, “Think about it and let me know,” and walked away.
I would have to go back every day until she got used to me. Then it wouldn’t be fun anymore. I really had no real intentions toward the girl. She was obviously too young to hang in the bars and clubs with me and I had gotten to the age where I wanted to be able to hold a conversation with my date that went beyond her clothes and makeup.
I went back every day around the same time, some days she would be off and some days she was there and I would tell her how beautiful she was and ask her to marry me again. Each time she would blush and smile and not answer me. Then one day she threw me a curve. Then one day she had an answer for me: “My father won’t let me marry someone whom I haven’t even dated.”

Whom!
It was an unexpected answer but always ready with a snappy comeback, I said “All right, when can we go out?”
She looked me in the eyes and said: “I get off at 6:00 and we could go get pizza.”
She called my bluff. My pride was at stake and to make it worse there were people in line behind me just listening to all this. I couldn’t chicken out now; I agreed and we met and went for pizza that evening. I was a perfect gentleman. The conversation was nice and the company not as boring as I was afraid of. When the pizza was done I walked her to her car, and got a hug and chaste kiss on the lips. But I also got a second date set for Saturday. Typical movie and a dinner date.
The movie was good and the dinner turned into her life story. 22 years old, grew up in a born again Baptist home. Moved out when she was 18 to live “in sin” with a guy she knew from high school. He liked to smack her around and a year, she got up the nerve to leave. She had to eat some serious crow and listen to a lot of preaching but finally her parents allowed her back home, which is where she was now. We had a nice time but she had to be home by 11:00 p.m. I took her back to her car. This time as we sat in my car in the parking lot; I leaned over to get my goodnight peck which turned into a bit more. She met my lips with hers and drove her tongue into my mouth. It only took me a few seconds to get my hand under her shirt and cop a feel. I started to circle her nipple through the bra that earned a pleasurable moan from her. And that was as far as she let me get. When I tried to make my way inside her bra she pulled my hand away and set it outside her shirt. I tried again to get under her shirt and now she had her guard up. I was allowed to fondle her through her shirt but no farther.
After about twenty minutes of what the British call snogging, she pulled back, saying she was going to be late. I asked her about getting together again and we set it up. A few weeks went by and a few more dates, two a week. All the usual date things: dinners, movies, walks in the park or by the beach, but I could never get more than a handful of tit through the bra. The dates were fun and the company good so I let it go; plus I was still spending time hunting in the bars and occasionally getting lucky. That’s what many guys do: you have the “good girl” date and you fuck drunken sluts who aren’t worth two nickels to get your rocks off.
We both had a Sunday off and I invited her to my apartment for lunch in the afternoon. She agreed but only because it was during the day. God forbid her parents found out she went to a man’s apartment at night! The appointed day came and she was suitably impressed with my culinary abilities and that my apartment was clean (I had hired the $60 Mexican maids two days before). The date went well. We sat down to watch some HBO. We sat on the couch, Patricia leaning against me with her feet curled under her ass. She smelled good and felt good. Figured I’d go for a kiss, so I leaned my head down and kissed the top of her head. She looked up at me, closed her eyes. My lips met hers and sparks flew. Before we broke that kiss she had my shirt open and was working on my pants, and then had my pants open and my dick out and her hand around it, gently jacking me. Before I could respond she had her own shirt and bra off and her pants open and halfway down. She had a nice set of tits, not huge but a respectable “B” cup, nicely round and firm, with nipples sticking straight out so far that I was afraid if I wasn’t careful she’d put my eye out with one. I dove on them—my lips wrapped around first one then the other, flicking my tongue back and forth across magnificently pink nipples. I laid my hand on her pubic mound which was still covered by her panties and rubbed back and forth, applying pressure where she would appreciate it. Her box was hot and her panties getting wetter by the second. I moved my hand down inside the elastic band, through the blonde pubes and to her slit; I spent a few seconds on her clit with my index finger and got a shudder and a moan from her. I didn’t waste anymore time and I plunged a finger inside that pussy and worked it around, looking for her G-spot. I must have found it as I got another moan and wrapped her lips around my cock. With her bent over my cock I could no longer work her pussy from the front so I slid my hand out and pushed her panties down over her ass and attacked her with two fingers from the rear. It was not long before I felt her cunt muscles tighten around my fingers and her climax ensued. It had bee a long stretch since she’d had sex; she craved attention. While she came, she remained bent over my lap. My dick was still in her mouth. As she finished her orgasm I sat her up, got on my knees in front of her and finished removing her pants and panties, and then went my own; all our clothes were in a mixed pile on the floor. I was on my knees between her legs and I went for what is natural. I bent over and put her legs over my shoulders and place my mouth on her blonde pussy. Gently I licked and sucked, working her slit and clit and occasionally spearing, like Ahab to the white whale, her hole with my tongue. She screamed through two more orgasms and then she grabbed my head in her hands, stared into my eyes, and said: “Fuck me, please fuck me now.”
I needed no more words. I took her there on the couch, on my knees with her legs over my shoulders. I slid my dick slowly into her. I got the head inside and paused. She was neither tight nor loose, just enough to let me enjoy it and still last. Now I slid the rest of the way in and felt her pussy’s silky smooth wetness engulf my cock. I decided that the wait was worth it; she was very wet and very warm and felt so glorious wrapped around my dick like the nasty birthday present. I fucked her and fucked her and wished it could last all day and I felt my own orgasm rising in my balls like oil making its way to the earth, rushing like a freight train through my dick. I shot baby batter; I pumped and pumped. With each squirt her body gave a little jerk.
We rested a bit, and then I picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. We lay in bed for the rest of the afternoon making love and just touching…

Chapter II

The Road to Ruins

The next few weeks we settled into a comfortable routine. She spent most of her free time at my apartment and whenever possible in my bed, always careful to be home before Mom and Dad would think it indecent.

One day, I came home from work and she was waiting for me, excited about something.
“Guess what, chicken butt!”
“You won the lottery?” I said.
“Almost. Mom and Dad are going away for two weeks—a church retreat. So I can stay here with you, if you want me to…while they’re gone.”
“I would love to have you here.”

I was happy about it. I had been considering asking her to move in but was concerned about ruining a good thing by having her around all the time and finding out she ate crackers in bed or something. As it was I was getting laid regular and had my privacy too. The second thing I was worried about was that I knew her parents would not approve; she hadn’t even told them she was dating anyone let alone a heathen like me—and “older” guy, once-married. So this way I got to have a two week trial to see if I could put up with her 24/7 and then I could worry about the parents later. Maybe I would even have to go to church a few times so they at least wouldn’t think I was Satan incarnate.
Then the bomb: Patricia had a younger sister who, according to her parents, was on the road to eternal damnation and had to be monitored constantly. They had planned on sending her to grandmother’s for the two weeks but the kid refused, adamantly, and said she would run away from there. Seems he had been spying on her big sister and knew all about her “sinful affair” with me, right down to where I lived and worked and that I was, gasp, a divorced man. She threatened Patricia with exposure if she did not help convince their parents to not only leave her behind but stay with us at my apartment so she could be in town instead of stuck in the middle of nowhere.
Her teen sister, Penelope, was not exactly what I would consider on the road to ruins. She was still a virgin at 18, but had been caught kissing a boy behind the church on a Sunday a few months earlier. She liked rap music but did not dance and she had been caught smoking once a few years earlier. She had even gone to an R-rated movie once or twice and had viewed porn at a friend’s (I wouldn’t know until later, however, that she also given a blowjob or two, making that kiss behind the church pale in its sinfulness).
I was not thrilled with the idea of having Penelope stay with us. To let her imagine her sister’s sins was one thing; to give her an up-close-and-personal was quite different. Still, I relented. I would let Penelope use the second bedroom but she damn well better not cause me any grief or there would be hell to pay. I wanted to meet Penelope before we got started and Patricia said she’d bring the sister by. Turned out that Penelope was just as cute as Patricia and except for eye color and lack of breasts, she was what Patricia must have looked like youmger. Same hair, same braces, same legs and ass, maybe just a tad thinner; I wondered if her tits would ever get bigger than Patricia’s or if the two girls would share that. I also wondered why Patricia inherited the green eyes (and from who) and Penelope had the typical blonde’s blue peepers.

Patricia must have told her I was pissed because when they got to my place she started off by apologizing for being a sneak but that she just wanted to have a little fun. I couldn’t blame her for that, just the way she went about it. I spoke to her very frankly about the upcoming two weeks. I told her that as far as I was concerned she was an adult and any trouble she got into was her problem, but that if she did anything to ruin her sisters two week stay, whatever her father would be nothing like what I’d do. The combination of my being so much older than her and the way I spoke to her as well as the fact that I was “worldly” was enough to make me an authority figure to her; she seemed to take it all very seriously. She thanked me and gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. I have always been a sucker for a pretty little girl and a kiss on the cheek so I couldn’t stay mad. She seemed like a good kid.
The girls were able to convince their parents that Patricia was reformed enough and responsible enough to watch Penelope and make sure she got to prayer meetings and Sunday services and grandma was nice but she wasn’t born again and might mislead Penelope by accident.

Chapter III

Finger-Fuckers

The girls arrived at my place just before dinner, each carrying a bag. I couldn’t resist the tease. “What’s in the bags?” I said with a wink.
Penelope said, “Clothes and stuff.”
“Clothes?” I said. “You’re not allowed to wear clothes here; we spend all our time naked, unless we go out in public. Right, Patricia?”
“Absolutely,” Patricia said and started unbuttoning her shirt.
A look of pure horror raced over Penelope’s face.