I wish I could give you boys (and curious girls) a porno style ending to the Wendy saga, but real life doesn't work out that way.
After I brought her off, we went in my bedroom and I held her. She really seemed to love that. It's something many men just can't bring themselves to do. At some point, I took her hand and placed it on my breast while I kissed her. Then I put her hand down between my legs. My pussy was sopping wet, and she started to gently finger me while we kissed. I was shaking with arousal, stroking her hair, trying to ease her head in the direction of my crotch.
Suddenly, she jumps up and runs to the bathroom, barely shutting the door. I hear her throwing up, then the flushing of the toilet. We'd each had about one bottle of red wine between us. When she came back out, she looked green around the gills and staggered out to the living room. By the time I got there, she was dressing.
"I just can't, Linda," she said. "It's just not me. We can't ever do this again."
"Okay." I felt pussy juice running down my thigh. In a few minutes, the door closed and Wendy was gone. Another lover who will deny something ever happened between us. Sigh...I loved bringing her off and giving her some sensual lovemaking. She seemed like she needed it. I went back to bed, used my imagination and got myself off. Definitely not as much fun when you're flying solo. But I had Wendy's wonderful scent still on my face.
The next morning my headache was added to by a call from my sister, Amber.
"Justin raped me last night," she said. I wanted to say, How long has it been since you've fucked your husband? But I didn't. I just responded sympathetically and waited.
"He made me do things," Amber said. "He sodomized me!"
My headache was going away in a hurry. There's always been a bit of the voyeur in me. Did he fuck her in the ass or just make her suck him off -- with Amber one wouldn't know. Until she said, "I can barely walk. I don't know if I should go to the doctor..."
I asked her if she was bleeding. She said no. Ah, that neighborhood of Sodom.
"I think you'll be fine," I said. "But you and Justin need to get counseling."
"I've asked him to talk to Pastor Bob."
Great. Pastor Bob sounds like the name of a pedophile hiding inside a judgmental little prick who would tell Justin sex is only justified for making babies, but I'm a cynic. I asked where she was, and she said at home. Where was Justin? In the next room.
"Maybe you need to take (I named my nephews) and go be with mom and dad until things call down."
"I don't want to do that," Amber said. "I just don't know why he's always after me for, you know... It makes me feel so dirty. I just don't want to...I just don't know why he can't keep his hands off me, act like an adult and not an animal?"
I think: Well, maybe because he's a normal horny guy and you're a beautiful young woman -- definitely prettier than me, and with big boobs. It's not that I'm totally unsympathetic -- Justin's dick would definitely hurt getting sis's anal cherry.
Then, "When he...you know...as he was finishing with me...when he..."
"When he came?"
"When he came," she said. "When he came, he called our your name. He screamed and called out your name!"