Rudra's eyes were glued to whatever was being exposed. Following his mesmerized gaze, I exposed the beginning of the groove at my clitoral base, the long dune of my clitoris, the clitoral hood, and the most sensitive part, the peanut-tip of my aroused clitoris. I distracted my brother waving at him and when he looked at me I shot a hot look back. Soon I smiled coquettishly and splayed my legs a little further. My hued labia, glittered by secretion, gaped like a ripe fruit that had been cracked by a snap with sharp knife.
The look on my brother's face demonstrated how much he liked what he saw. When he had seen my firm breasts, it was romance that was marked on his face. Now I saw in his look the raw desire for my sex. My labia unfurled convulsively. Yet I couldn't help splitting it further with my slender fingers so that my brother could have an unhindered view of my aroused pussy.
"How is it, Lover?" I asked when the site registered on his face.
"A piece of broken peach," my brother said.
I maintained a neat garden on my pubic mound, but I shaved my pussy lips every morning, a habit I had grown since I was 19, which gave me an opportunity not only to nurture my delicate labia but also to maintain the beauty of my pubic hair. My brother had, therefore, not exaggerated when he said that my pussy was a piece of ripe peach.
I knew how he got the idea. He was a keen observer of feminine beauty since his puberty but he had not had the opportunity to see the inner beauty of a woman until I opened my legs for him. With the artful movement of my slender fingers, I showed him the oval curve, the red texture of the outer lips and the light-pink texture of the inner lips, and the luscious flesh inside. Thus my fleshy pussy registered on my brother as a piece of ripe peach. But what boosted my ego that moment was not the beauty of my pussy but the pleasure of showing it to my brother, splitting the tender flesh with my own fingers.
I smeared the bloated lips with oozing honey and my brother licked his lips with his beautiful tongue. As I opened the lips further, the bump at the beginning of the vulva seemed a fragment of pulp in the crack of a severed peach which was crumbling into juices and flowing down. My succulent cunt, with its oozing honey, resembled a gilded juice-machine in the breakfast restaurant of a seven-star hotel.
"This peach of your imagination is for you, baby bro," I said passionately, as my exposed cunt beckoned him. "Look at it well. Memorize it. See, how it is leaking honey, only for you, Baby. If you don't do something very soon; bees, ants, and wasps from forest will enter our house following the scent. They will eat your peach and will not leave even a morsel for you."
No, I had no intention to tempt my brother to eat my pussy. He had got ridden of his inhibition. If I had asked, he would have jumped into it and lapped my juices like a thirsty kitten. But at this stage what I wanted was not my brother's mouth but his virile cock, to claim its rightful share of his sister's mature cunt. The conflagration that my own coquetry had set in my body couldn't have been extinguished if even all the men in our small town came in one after another and gnawed my cunt as if it was a chunk of Amazonian sugarcane. There was something deeply psychological behind my arousal and that arousal could only be satisfied by a night of disgruntled hammering by my brother.
Pushing two pillows under my head, I lied down, splaying my legs so that my pussy was in the right pose for the most craved fuck of my life. I had been drained of the last drop of power to prolong our foreplay. My nipples were bloated so much so that they ached. My pussy had gone mad. What I needed was my brother's cock in my pussy and his mouth on my nipples. "Come, my holy brother. Come to your sister's nest," I issued the inevitable invitation and my brother, who had not sat since he brought me water, took position between my legs. I signaled and he brought his mouth near me, without touching my breasts. I held his neck and gave him a deep, motherly kiss. I would have liked it more if he had lied over to kiss me so that I could've taken his cock in my hands to push it into my womanhood. But I wanted my brother to see with his own eyes how his cock enters his sister's pussy and loses its virginity.
I pushed Rudra away gently to my groin. I rose to a semi-lying position with the support of the pillows. "Come to mommy," I spoke, not to my brother but to his cock. I took the ever-raging cock in my right hand. It burned my palm. I poised my brother's erect penis a millimeter off my gashing cunt and gazed into his eyes.
"Honey, do you regret that I'm not a virgin?" I asked.
My brother was visibly shaking by the rage of his arousal. He was so horny that he would have shoved it into even a street whore. But I wanted to make sure that it was okay for him to fuck a girl who had already been fucked many times in her life. "If you have any doubt, we still have time to right the wrong. You are the most handsome boy in this little town. I can easily find a virgin girl for you so that you can have the pleasure of popping her cherry."
"Sis, is this the time for such nonsense?" Rudra cried. He glared at me with such rage it seemed that either he would start raping me then and there or he'd abandon me with an irrecoverable hatred, leaving me to wallow for the rest of my life upon my aroused pussy. This would have been such a loss that my entire body jerked in fear and the prized penis almost slipped out of my hand. I couldn't afford to let it happen. Out of foreboding, I tightened my grip around my brother's penis and smashed my erect clitoris with the bulbous head.
Rudra had followed the eventuality. Otherwise, his cock could have been torn from its root; only I knew how forcefully I snapped it to hit my disgruntled clitoris.
It was a debauched act. But it was also an act of sheer eroticism. The fact that I had battered my knotted clitoris with my brother's aroused cock multiplied my pleasure. My eyes closed themselves to withstand the electric shock that my smashed clitoris sent to the distant parts of my body. The pleasure in my clitoris was out of the world when the shock diffused itself in my nervous system. The more I savored that pleasure the more tightly I squeezed my pampered clitoris with the bulbous head; the more the cockhead squeezed my clitoris the more pleasure it produced. I hit my clitoris with my brother's cockhead maddeningly and it brought me a series of mini climaxes.
It was an endless cycle of pleasure. Yet it was not the pleasure of a hot fuck. Besides, I didn't want to have the principal orgasm without my brother fucking my pussy.
Rudra was smiling naughtily as I looked at him opening my eyes. I was a shameless girl. I smiled back at him. No word could have communicated the love between us more lucidly than those tender smiles on me and my brother's face. I loosened my grip around his cock but didn't let its head leave the touch of my clitoris. I needed my brother's assurance that he was enjoying as much as I did.
"My Clit," I said, looking into his eyes wantonly, "is the most sensitive part of my body. What I did is not a mere act of madness. I gave my clitoris to my brother by marrying it to his cock." I lightly brushed the clitoral hood with the cockhead, with an air which demonstrated that a marriage had really been registered between my clitoris and my brother's cockhead.
A series of whimpers escaped my brother's reticent mouth as I brushed his cockhead along my clitoral mound. It was obvious that he liked these light touches more than he liked smashing frictions. I wondered how he was enduring so much teasing.
"Baby," I said, "it's surprising that you can hold it for such a long time. I heard that a virgin boy discharges to the first touch of a girl's pussy."
"I am surprised too, Sis," Rudra said. "It seems that I am aroused not only in my cock but in my whole body. My whole being seems to extend one thousand invisible hands to hold my penis erect. The same invisible hands tapped the source of my orgasm. They are adamant to prolong my pleasure. It seems I will be able to hold it forever if you are this sexy for me."
"I've somewhere read about such arousal," I said. "But I heard that only saints are capable of such arousal."
It was an incompatible coincidence of knowledge and memory. My brother was, in fact, a saint. One night, after papa had died, he cried in my breasts seeing on television the skeleton body of a group of children who were dying of hunger in a Sub-Saharan country. One day he rescued a two years old girl from the Rhine. He was only twelve then. Papa, I, and Rudra were picnicking on the bank of the river. None of the dozen of men that gathered by the wail of the distressed mother dared to jump into the tide to rescue the child. Only 12 years old Rudra had the courage to do the act of humanity although his life was at stake. Papa -- who had been far off -- came running and ultimately rescued both the child and Rudra. But if Rudra had not pulled the child by her frock reaching out to her diving into the water, the girl would have been flown to the sea by the time Papa had noticed the accident. Not only these two. Rudra had done many other works of charity. It was a false impression that I had fallen in love with him this afternoon when I knew the affect of my panties on him. I had fallen in love with him the day he jumped into the Rhine to save the child when he was only 12 and I was an innocent woman of 19.
"You are a saint, Brother," I said. Tears welled up in my eyes. Only Rudra did not know why.
Leaving my clitoris, I brushed my downy mound with Rudra's cock. I was committing the sin of foreplay for the pleasure of my brother, although I was being equally rewarded by my depravity. Rudra's face was woven with the hued pleasure as the silkiness of my pubic hair caressed the sensitive head and the thin skin of his penis.