Charlie and Mindy Bk. 04 Ch. 03

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This is the third chapter (of eight) in the fourth and final book of the Charlie and Mindy tetralogy. The books detail a story of forbidden love between a brother and a sister.

You can read this book on its own, but it refers to events that took place in Books 1, 2, and 3. If you want a better understanding of what is going on, read Book 1, Book 2, and Book 3 before reading this book.

I value your comments and your feedback, and I will respond to non-anonymous comments–usually within a week.



Mindy and I awoke in each other’s arms around seven. As I woke up, I became gradually aware of my morning hard-on poking stiffly into the soft warmth of my little sister’s thigh while her bare little tits pressed against my equally bare chest. And I was nearly fully conscious (to the extent that full consciousness is possible that early) when she raised that thigh and her little hand reached down to make sure that my boner found its way to rest against her furrow.

Her thigh descended again, trapping my cock between it and the other one, holding it tightly against her cleft. I marked my approval with a happy moan, and I got a pair of little moans in reply. I tightened the circle of my arms a bit and held her a little more closely. My hips rocked back and forth a bit. She tightened her arms, too, and wiggled her hips back at me. The length of my cock rubbed up and down along the length of her slit, separating her outer lips slightly, so that it moved against the sensitive flesh that hid between them.

Another little moan came to my ears, and then she said, “What a nice way to wake up.”

“I’m thinking I’ll really wake you up, now,” I murmured.

Her wiggling intensified a bit; my cock was getting even more interested.

“Not yet,” she said. “But soon. I have to pee first.”

“Me, too,” I admitted. It seemed a waste of time that could otherwise be better spent. But, I had to agree, there wasn’t much choice in the matter.

We lay, and hugged, and rubbed, for a little while longer. Then she broke our embrace, rolled out of bed, and headed for the bathroom that adjoined the master bedroom. As she did, I remembered for the first time that we were now in that room instead of one of our own rooms. I got up, myself. (It took me a little while; the edge of that big bed seemed pretty far away.) I headed for the other bathroom—the one that opened off of the upstairs hall, and that she and I had shared for years. As I peed, it dawned on me that what I still thought of as “the master bedroom” was really now our bedroom—and that the old “our” bedrooms were now just extra rooms. And that the huge bed in our room was now our bed.

Reflecting bemusedly over the new arrangements, I returned, and there was Mindy, back in our bed—our king-size bed—under the covers. At the sight, I chuckled inwardly, because that huge bed dwarfed her little body the way a tabletop dwarfs a bug that walks across it. But I was very careful to keep that observation and that chuckle to myself. Suggesting that she is little, I had learned long before then, is not a good way to start the day. And, I thought, she might not appreciate being likened to a bug.

I crawled back under the covers myself. And I realized that I hadn’t crawled even nearly far enough to be able to reach her. So I began moving, sliding toward her on my back. She rolled to meet me, and kept rolling until she’d straddled me, on her knees. Enthusiastically, and pulling the covers over our bodies, she dove in for a good, old-fashioned, deep kiss. She threw her arms around me, and, as our tongues wrestled, I was acutely aware of her naked little boobs against my chest again, and of the way her little bush tickled my lower belly. I held her tightly and moaned into that kiss. The assorted fragrances of her body again filled my nostrils. My boner—which had softened in the bathroom—was back.

My little sister moaned, too. Then, when she raised her head to end the kiss, I opened my eyes and found pools of deep blue looking down at me. She was aiming one of those 150-watt smiles at me.

I smiled back; I may have managed 75 watts, but it was the best I could do.

“Don’t tell me,” I said, still smiling. “Let me guess what you want.”

She was still smiling at me. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll just give you a little hint.”

She slid down my body a bit until her cleft engaged the upper surface of my hard-on again. She was hot and wet. She wiggled her hips up and down, up and down. My own hips responded, and we hummed happy little moans at each other.

She stopped wiggling and looked into my eyes again. “Ready to guess now?” she asked.

“Umm…” I said, feigning deep thought. “You want…wait, let me think…” I paused. She bent down and nibbled my left ear. Her hips wiggled again. So did mine.

“Umm…” I continued, putting my best expression of puzzlement on my face—in spite of what she was doing to bahis firmaları my cock. And then, trying to look inspired, I went on with a guess that I thought was as far as possible from the truth. “You want sausage for breakfast!”

An even more cheerful look spread over her face. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she announced. “But, yes! I think I’ll have a sausage for breakfast.”

Moving more quickly than I’d ever thought she could, she jumped off of me and turned her body end-for-end; her entire body disappeared under the covers. From under those covers came a muffled, “Your sausage!” And then my body went rigid, and I could think no more on account of the incredible, demanding sensations her mouth brought my hard, stiff sausage as she deep-throated me.

I hadn’t been thinking of my personal sausage at all when I made that guess, and she took me completely by surprise. I’d just been teasing her.

After about a half a minute, she raised her head. She didn’t take me out of her mouth, but, even though she was under the covers, I heard her breathe for a few seconds. Then she began bobbing up and down, up and down, on my cock. My hips began rocking, again, in response. But, before I could get close to coming, she released my cock, reversed her body again, climbed back to straddle my belly, and her head popped out of the covers again. She was grinning and breathing heavily.

“There isn’t much oxygen under there,” she said, a bit breathlessly, just before she dove in for another kiss. She’d gotten my cock back against her pussy—which was now hotter and wetter—and she was rocking her hips again. I had no complaints, and I was rocking my own hips against her.

Her boobs were within reach, and so I did reach—with both hands. We both moaned into our kiss as my hands cupped her tits, kneading them gently and tickling her nipples. It was a long kiss, and then she ended it by raising her head so that she could look again into my eyes. I looked back into those blue depths, and continued my action with her boobs.

“It makes me so happy,” she said softly, “to wake up and find you holding me.”

“Glad to oblige,” I said. “It makes me happy to find you in my arms when I wake up.” She sat up a little, and my hands drifted from her tits to her hips, where they clasped her.

I continued, then, with my dirtiest grin, “And I’m sure that finding my boner against you when you wake up doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

She returned dirty grin for dirty grin. “No more,” she said, “than you finding my boobs and my pussy against you has to do with it.”

I nodded sagely. “That’s what I thought,” I said. “I do like your tits and your pussy.”

“I like your boner,” she replied. And she went on, “And speaking of my pussy and your boner…” She came to her knees, bringing her body upright. Her right hand reached down between her thighs to grasp my boner as she moved to position her pussy directly over it.

“Hey! What a good idea you have!” I said, trying, without much success, to pretend I would never have thought of such a thing on my own. My hands remained on her rounded little hips as she moved, alternately clasping and stroking.

“Hey! What an awful actor I have for a brother!” she replied, as she ran my crown up and down her hot, wet furrow a couple of times. I’d been busted again. But she was smiling, and neither of us cared—because we had other, more important, things in mind.

Then my little sister’s hand directed my crown to her entrance. She lowered herself until she’d enveloped my full length, and her weight again rested on me.

She sat there a moment, her face slack with the feeling of the rod of throbbing flesh we’d embedded in her. My eyes closed of their own accord, and I suppose that my face went slack as well at the nearly overpowering warm wet slipperiness that her body’s clasp transmitted to my cock.

She ground herself against me, causing her sheath to deliver a little caress—though our senses magnified it greatly. I spread my legs a bit, bent my knees, and brought my feet up so that their soles rested on the mattress. Now I could use the muscles of my legs to grind back at her. I felt my cock move within her again, returning the caress she’d given it. She moaned her own response. I moaned back at her, my hands still clasping and stroking, clasping and stroking her hips—and, now, her thighs as well.

She bounced furiously up and down on me, and I bounced just as furiously down and up under her. Grunts and moans flew from our mouths as the two of us drove my cock in and out. Her channel drove all thoughts from my mind save those of its action on my cock and of the release she would bring me.

Closer and closer I came to that release, and frantically and more frantically we drove ourselves against each other. The tension in my loins grew beyond reckoning, but, still, I managed to move my right hand so that my thumb entered her cleft—where, moving with her, it found kaçak iddaa and stroked her clit. She groaned in delight at my touch, and she drove herself still more frantically at me.

I responded in kind. And then, my body arched as my cock ignited from the hot wet friction. Liquid fire flowed through me repeatedly as my cum pulsed into her, filling her with the evidence of my love. Then came the last, climactic convulsion that marked the end of my orgasm. I pulled her little body down upon me as I drove my hips upward—all in an effort to embed my cock in her body more deeply than it could go.

As that spasm released its grip, my little sister’s tight grasp rippled along my cock—and I nearly lost consciousness. But I knew, somehow, that she had stopped trying to drive me in and out of herself, and that she was in the throes of her own explosion.

She rode out her storm, and then collapsed on me—leaving my shaft still deeply embedded in the cauldron of her love. My arms, of their own volition, rose to wrap themselves around her and hold the soft warmth of her naked little body tightly against my own naked body.

Gradually, we regained our senses. I regained control of my thinking, and I felt our heartbeats in duet, singing a fast, intricate fugue in descant over the slow bass theme of our breathing. The percussion of the residual tremors that passed often through our bodies punctuated the music of our loves and our lives.

We lay there a while, in fleeting, solemn, transported communion. She stirred, then, and delivered gentle, tickling kisses to my chest. I released her from my embrace, and slid my hands slid up and down the curves of her waist and hips.

She raised her head and looked into my eyes; blue fire transfixed me. “I’m so lucky!” she whispered. “My own big brother is the world’s best lover.”

I found my own voice, and I replied, “No, I think that’s you.”

She smiled. “Well,” she said. “At least, you must be the world’s best boy lover.”

I smiled back. “Okay,” I answered. “Maybe. But it’s because my sister is the world’s best girl lover.”

Her smile deepened, and she stretched up to kiss me. Her motion caused my softening cock to flop out of her, and our mingled juices flowed onto my lower belly as we kissed.

She raised her head and looked into my eyes again. She said, “Whatever the reason, I sure do like making love with you.” And before I could respond, she kissed me again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After we’d shared a shower (not to mention the fooling around that always accompanies our communal showers) and had breakfast, it was nearly ten. So we threw some decent clothes on and, in Dad’s car, made the ten-minute drive downtown for our meeting with Quent and Amanda.

We left home for that meeting in a state of apprehension.

Mom and Dad had never thought it necessary to discuss their finances with us. We knew, of course, that Dad was a successful attorney, and that our family lived comfortably, in a nice house, in an upscale neighborhood. But Mindy and I had both gone to public schools. Our parents, we thought, tended to be rather frugal—and we attributed that to a need to be careful about money. But there had always seemed to be enough when someone wanted something essential—or even, like a course from the Mountain Odyssey Learning School, just worthwhile. On the other hand, when one of us had asked for something that we later came to understand was trivial or frivolous, we didn’t usually get it—we got instead a lecture on spending money wisely.

On our way downtown, we talked about our hopes that Mom and Dad’s estate would support us through school. We shared our fears that it wouldn’t. And though both of us were worried about how we’d manage if there wasn’t enough, neither of us wanted to discuss the issue then. I had decided that we’d cross that bridge when we came to it, and I think that Mindy had, too. I knew, and I think that Mindy did, too—that this issue, more than any other, was likely to cause us to have a real fight, because each of us was determined to do whatever might be necessary to keep the other in school.

We left the meeting in a state of shock.

Dad hadn’t been merely a successful attorney, it seemed. He’d been a top-notch attorney, and his partners still were. He’d paid cash for the “nice” house he’d bought and moved into just a few weeks before he married Mom when I was ten. He had wanted, Quent said, to house his new bride in a residence worthy of her—and her children. When he bought it, the house had been worth half a million—so it was very “nice” by anyone’s standards. The wills left it to us—without any restrictions. We owned it now, jointly, free and clear.

The law partnership he owned with Amanda and Quent was worth four million, and if Mindy or I (or both of us) wanted to become a lawyer who could meet its standards, and join it, they would place a third of that in escrow against that eventuality. Otherwise, the estate kaçak bahis would receive that third in cash.

When I had learned these things, I began to understand why Quent had been so cavalier about lending us $600. He thought of $600 the way he thought of pocket change.

In spite of our love for Dad, neither of us had the least interest in a career in law. So, while we had to take taxes into account, as well as the expenses that surrounded our parents’ deaths, Mindy and I knew then that we were each worth $700,000. But there were investments, cash in the bank, and other things, like life insurance policies, cars, and so forth, that we hadn’t tallied yet.

When Amanda had returned from Colombia she had brought certification, from the Colombian government, of our parents’ deaths with her, and Quent had filed those papers, along with our parents’ wills with the probate court. The court had begun considering them even before the funeral. The probate judge, Quent said, was a “good ol’ boy” who had gone through law school with Dad. Moreover, neither Quent nor Amanda thought any ground existed for contesting the wills. So he and Amanda expected them to clear probate in the next few days. Once the court issued the necessary letters testamentary, the executor would distribute the estate.

The estate was to be divided into two equal parts, and that money was to be put into two trust funds—one for each of us. Dad’s firm was to serve as the trustee for each fund. That choice of trustee, I realized, would work to our benefit. Both Amanda and Quent knew us well. Amanda, beyond all doubt, and in spite of her prickliness, thought well of us; she had never been anything but kind to us. And Quent, we were beginning to understand, thought of us in some ways as though we were the children he’d never had.

The money in those trusts would belong to us—though we were not yet to have control of it. But each of us would receive the proceeds of our individual trust, free and clear, upon our twenty-fifth birthdays. Until then, we were each to receive an annual, after-taxes, stipend of $50,000, paid in monthly installments. Beyond those stipends, our trusts were to pay outright for any large expenses the trustee approved. Dad’s will instructed the trustee to approve our college expenses, as long as our grades were acceptable, and other bona fide educational expenses—and the will preempted the trustee’s judgment in some cases by specifically naming certain costs—such as those associated with taking courses from the Mountain Odyssey Learning School.

We were in a daze; Quent and Amanda had estimated our worth, after expenses and taxes, to be something like $2,500,000.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

We drove home in stunned silence, together, but each of us alone with our own thoughts.

As we got out of the car to walk into the house, I looked at Mindy; a tear flowed down her cheek. “I was wrong,” she said.

I was mystified. “About what?” I asked.

“I said we’d never feel their love again, and I was wrong,” she said, flatly.

I didn’t know what to say in reply, so I didn’t say anything. Her tears began to flow a little faster.

A moment passed, and, through a crescendo of sobs, she went on. “I don’t want it! I don’t want to be a rich girl!” she sobbed. “I want my Mom and my Dad back. I’d give it all, and more, to get them back. But I can’t have them.”

She came around the car toward me and the house. I put my arm around her, and she put her head on the side of my chest and leaned against me—sobbing for real, now. I put my left hand on the side of her head and held her.

Through the lump that was growing in my own throat, I said, “I’d give everything I have or ever will have, except you, to get them back.”

I felt her head nod gently against me. Then, slowly, holding each other up, not to mention together, we made our way into the house.

I guided my little sister into the living room. Neither of us had opened the drapes over the living room windows that morning, and the semi-darkness seemed appropriate for our moods. I sat her down in the center of the couch, there in the gloom, and I sat down beside her, on her left. She kicked off her shoes and turned, to her right. Then she brought her legs up onto the couch and leaned backward, toward my lap. She laid her head against my chest, and we sat together, again sharing our love and our sorrow.

Slowly, her sobs abated as I held her close; for the second time in just a few hours, I felt her heart beat against me and the gentle rhythm of her breathing. And, gradually, the lump in my throat diminished. After ten minutes or so, I had returned, more or less, to myself, though deep sorrow remained. But, still, she sobbed gently against me.

And now that I was more nearly myself, I remembered what I should have remembered earlier. I put my right hand under her chin, and I raised her head so that I could look into her eyes. She returned my gaze, and, almost, I lost myself again those blue depths. But I remembered that I hadn’t made her look at me for that reason, and, gently, I caressed her teary face. And I said, softly, “Big Brother and Little Sister.”

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