There are a lot of words you could use to describe my life, or at least, to describe
my life as it had been up until early last summer. Idyllic would certainly be among those
words. Pampered and spoiled would be reasonably descriptive, as well. Lucky is the one I
would use the most.
I was born poor, with no real father. When my mother died I was thus orphaned and
eventually at the age of two I was fostered. I was too young to realise it but that was
when the proverbial silver spoon was put in my mouth - or maybe gold. Because I was so
young I always considered the people who reared me to by my “mother” and “father”, though
they were not my blood relatives. I never considered the boys who were their children to
be my brothers – they were always step-brothers. So, in the story that follows, you will
see me refer to my “father” as father, and his brother Peter became “Uncle Peter” and so
on – because that was what it was like to me from my earliest memories.
***
My father is filthy rich. I’m not talking about a guy with a few million bucks here
either. My father is worth several billion dollars, easily. Money has never been something
that was ever in short supply in my life. Whatever I wanted I got. I had only to express
an interest in something to have it laid out at my feet.
So what was it like growing up me? Well, the best schools, driven around in big
limousines, living in one of the largest homes in Beverly Hills with a huge landscaped
garden and a fantastic view of the valley below. Servants at my beck and call. Even before
I was a teenager I wore expensive designer clothes, and simply tossed them on the floor
when done. Someone - some servant type - would then pick them up, scoop them off
somewhere, wash them, and return them to the dresser or closet from whence they’d come.
After school there was the huge swimming pool and the tennis court, as well as the
games rooms to play in. Or I could take the limo down to the ocean to our private beach,
supervised by servants. On weekends I could be whisked to the mountains for skiing, or out
to the lake for water skiing. I took surfing lessons, skiing and water skiing, archery,
ballet, modeling, makeup, and had private tutoring for school.
I played - constantly, at everything. As a teenager, I flew all over the world. We
have a castle in England, a chalet in the Alps, a beautiful home on the French Riviera, a
fantastic penthouse apartment in Manhattan, and a place on a private beach in Hawaii. I
saw the pyramids in Egypt and the lions in Uganda. I went to the carnival in Rio and
gambled in Las Vegas and Monaco with fake ID. I traveled the great wall of China, and
roared over the sand dunes of Morocco in a dune buggy.
It was, as I said, an idyllic life, a golden life, and it didn’t become any less
golden as I grew older, or when I discovered sex.
For if I had been lucky in my fostering - and I had - in that I was taken into a
wealthy family which believed in spoiling its children and giving them every imaginable
luxury, I had also been lucky in my birth as far as my body was concerned. I was and
remain extremely healthy, athletic, and so far as society and its expectations go -
beautiful. I don’t take any huge degree of pride in that beauty. I’m not a narcissist,
really. I accept that I’m beautiful just as I accept that I’m healthy and wealthy. None of
that really has much to do with any actions taken by me.
I was a beautiful child. I grew into a beautiful nymphet of a teenager, jail-bait
who teased the living daylights out of every male who crossed my path - of any age. My
height - I’m six feet tall - has always allowed me to disguise my age, though, to let me
get into bars and clubs and casinos well before I became a legal adult. So nothing really
changed for me in life after I actually did turn eighteen. Which, while it might be legal
for sex, still is three years shy of the legal drinking age in California and New York.
But eighteen was a magical year in another way. I graduated from high school, and
that left me free to play and party and ski and skydive and paraglide and swim and dance
and snowboard and gamble seven days a week. In the fall, I flew to the Riviera for six
weeks of partying and sunbathing, then flew to Australia to continue the good times. I
went to Hawaii for January, Rio for February, to enjoy the Carnival, then flew to Austria
for the skiing and snowboarding. In the spring, I returned to New York for a few weeks,
then headed out to Beverly Hills.
I had lovers of course, in every city.
I have a 36C-22-36 body, firm, lithe, tanned - but not too tanned - graceful, and
with soft, golden, unblemished skin. My blonde hair spills down across my shoulders. And I
look incredible in a bikini, especially a thong. My breasts are as gorgeous and perfect
and firm as any plastic surgeon could have wanted - and yet they’re the real thing. So I
also look great topless, as the men in Rio and the Riviera can attest.
Anyway, to get more to the point of how my luscious life changed I will bring you
to the day after I returned to Beverly Hills. I was out back. Our house is on the edge of
a mountain, and the pool is on one side, down about ten feet, on a terraced level below
the house. The tennis court is down a level from that. Below that is a hundred and fifty
foot fall. The backyard is quite private, and can only be seen from our own house, really,
and even then only from the back windows which overlook it.
My father had long held the belief that servants were a necessary evil. No one
wanted to do the cooking, the cleaning, the laundry and such. No one wanted to fetch their
own drinks or snacks, or make their own beds. That was why you needed to have servants.
But at the same time, you wanted some privacy from the servants, who tend to be
unsophisticated and gossipy. The servants followed a very careful timetable of chores The
back rooms and suites all were off limits except during certain times, mostly the late
afternoon and early evening, when they would be cleaned. If a servant was found in those
corridors during any other time, unless they had been specifically asked, they would be
fired.
Likewise there were phones or intercoms to summon the servants if one wanted a
drink when one was in the library, say, or the games room, or the theater, or the den or
one of the sitting rooms, but if they were not summoned, they were not to appear except
after everyone went to bed, when they could clean the place - like elves or fairies coming
in the night, not getting in our way or disturbing us with their vulgar questions or
chatter.
Yes, daddy was and is a terrible snob, and mother was no better.. She divorced him
years ago, but runs her houses in pretty much the same fashion. And she has many houses,
just as daddy does, giving me all sorts of options as to where to spend my playtime.
One of the benefits of that was that I could lay out in the sun, basking in its
soft warmth, my skin glistening from the suntan lotion, wearing nothing but a G-string to
preserve what little modesty I possessed. Often enough I didn’t even bother with the
G-string, in fact. But that depended on who was home, who was even in the same city at the
time.
I had done nude sunbathing at the Riviera, you see, and in Brazil, but it was
different around my family, for some reason. I just felt a little - squeamish - around my
step-brothers and father, say, even though I didn’t around other men. Actually, to be
honest, I can’t say I felt nothing around other men. I felt - excited. I guess it’s the
prudish American in me. Walking around topless or even naked on the beach seems just so -
naughty - so nasty - so sexually provocative and suggestive to my American sensibilities.
Knowing the men are looking at me, scanning me, their eyes moving over my bared
breasts, my bare bottom, or even, sometimes, my expertly denuded sex, always seems to make
my insides squirm and my pussy throb with anticipation. It doesn’t even matter if they’re
ugly or old, or if I have no intention of ever, ever doing anything with them. Just the
way they look at me, and the fact I’m naked makes my mind and pussy squirm and buzz.
And that’s despite the fact that, to be honest, I’ve had a lot of sex. I mean, I am
not a complete slut or anything, but I have few inhibitions, and have been raised to
believe that if I want to do something, then I should simply do it. So I have had a lot of
sex with a lot of people in a lot of different places! Not all of it was great, but all of
it was pretty good!
In any event, as I lay there, content, soaking up the sun, enjoying my lazy ways, I
was not altogether surprised when my step-brother Kyle came out and sat down next to where
I lay sprawled out on the chaise lounge. I had known he was home, after all. And I blushed
ever so slightly.
“Hey,” he said, sitting heavily, and giving me a casual wave.
“Hey,” I replied in kind.
It would not do, it was not proper to show one was embarrassed, made uncomfortable
or intimidated in any way – by anything or anyone. I had learned that at quite a young
age. And in truth, I was not oh so bothered by Kyle seeing me like this.
“How was New York?”
“Lovely. And Japan?”
“Interesting. They’re really into bondage out there.”
I snorted. “Then you should have been quite happy.”
Kyle was as blessed as I was. He had a tall, fit, athletic body, with broad
shoulders and well-defined pectoral muscles. He had slim hips a great ass, and a very
large, thick cock. We had seen each other naked on a number of occasions, of course,
mainly on the beaches, but I had learned, first-hand, about his cock a few months earlier
in England, when I had been kind of stoned on ecstasy and pot, and he had put me down on
all fours and rode me like a bitch in heat. He had fucked me so hard my pussy had ached
for days.
Does that shock you? It shouldn’t. We’re very spoiled and have never been denied
anything we wanted. He wanted me, for obvious reasons, and when the opportunity presented
itself, he took me. I don’t blame him for it. I’d have done the same if the idea had come
to me. And, in fact, he’d been a great fuck. I had been a little bit - surprised
afterwards, and bemused. The idea of fucking my step-brother was a novel one. But then I
sought out novelty where I could find it, so appreciated the irony.
Anyway, he had a great body, and was very handsome, so why not?
Okay, I admit that I feel a little squirmy about it. I guess that’s a holdover from
the prudish American culture that surrounds me. After it happened, I just wrote it off as
one of those things, you know. He was drunk. I was zoned out. No harm done. But… it wasn’t
something I had planned on repeating. But it had, a month or so later, in Rio, during
Carnival.
That incident had kind of changed my opinion about Kyle, and left me feeling a
little – fluttery – around him. I had always thought of him as just another spoiled
playboy - like most of the men I hung around with. I had certainly never considered him to
be particularly forceful or dominant or strong-willed. But he really shocked me in Rio.
Admittedly, I’d been drinking. I had just come back from carnival. I was wearing
very little, a very short skirt, and a glittery, revealing halter-top. I had come home
late - of course, and had expected to find the house in shadows as I made my way to the
stairs. I had not expected to run into Kyle for the first time since that earlier
incident. I mean, we hadn’t even talked about it, really, except to sort of laugh it off
the next day.
And yet, there he was, suddenly just looming out of the shadows at me, wearing
nothing but boxer shorts, his skin pale in the moonlight. I was brought up short with a
gasp, and then he was staring into my eyes from inches away.
“What – .”
That was all that escaped me, standing there, eyes blinking uncertainly in the near
dark, confused a bit. Then his lips were on mine and his arms around me and I was being
borne back against the wall as his mouth and lips practically fed on mine, in an expert
but demanding kiss that seemed to never end. Meanwhile his hands raced over my body, and
my clothes seemed to fall away on their own. Then he took me, up against the wall, driving
that long, hard prick deep into my oozing pussy and driving me insane as his fingers dug
into my ass and my legs wrapped around him .
I was - bleary, confused, muddled, drunk. It all happened so fast, and the feelings
which he forced on me were so powerful that I felt as though I had just waken up to find
my bed racing up and down a wild roller coaster, with no idea how I’d gotten on the ride
or how to make it stop!
And no small fear either, that the thrills and chills might contain some actual
danger.
After I had come - come so powerfully I had almost passed out, Kyle had thrown me
over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes - or maybe, like a cave man bringing home his
woman! He carried me to his room, threw me on his bed, and tied my ankles and wrists to
the four corners. Then he had proceeded to taunt and tease me and drive me into a
thrashing, screaming sexual frenzy, over and over and over again. He had brought me to the
edge of orgasm again and again, then held me there, teasing me, making me beg for it,
making me say - terrible things about myself, to confess to the sluttiest of fantasies, in
order to get him to push me over the edge.
God it had been wild! And he had been so – so forceful, so macho, so tough and
expert in his touch and behavior. Like me, Kyle had always been able to have about as much
sex as he’d wanted, and he had really learned from his experiences.
I had been left drained, exhausted, sore, bruised, and with the close experience of
such intense orgasms inside me that I had masturbated to those memories many times since.
I mean, I had been tied up before, on occasion, but never with such intense determination.
And I would have laughed at the cliché of hot wax on the nipples had I not actually
experienced it, tied there, gasping, moaning, overheated inside and out, with him
straddling me, leering at me, dripping hot candle wax down onto my throbbing, tingling,
burning nipples as I arched and twisted against the bonds.
Oh they were firm and tight around my wrists and ankles, those straps, so that no
matter how I pulled and strained, no matter how my muscles spasmed and my body writhed,
they held me quite tightly in place for my perverted step-brother to continue taunting and
teasing and driving me insane.
Now he sat down across from me, then leaned forward, his hand reaching out lazily
to grasp my thick hair, pulling me firmly, but not roughly towards him as he leaned in and
kissed me softly but deeply. It was not a step-brotherly kiss, by any means, his lips firm
against mine, his tongue sliding through them, dipping and darting, caressing my own
before drawing back.
He grinned as he released me. No, that had been a lovers’ greeting, and it made my
chest fluttery as I lay back and he sipped from a bottle of beer.
“They’re so open about it, though. It’s part of the common culture. Men read
pornographic graphic novels on the subway, even ones which strongly feature bondage and
schoolgirls. It’s really quite amazing compared to how things are here.”
“You spend a lot of time on subways here, do you?” I asked with a smirk.
“I’ve been on subways,” he said haughtily.
I laughed and he shrugged, and then eyed my tanning lotion.
“I trust that doesn’t have any strange, female smelling perfumes in it,” he said.
“No it’s a very natural, vegetation based oil with no artificial ingredients. You
could even drink it,” I said.
“When I worry about my stomach getting sunburned I’ll give it a try,” he said,
picking up the bottle.
He gazed at me, then grinned in a lopsided fashion. “You know, in Japan, women tend
to know their place.”
“Uh huh,” I said suspiciously.
“They know how to serve and service their men.”
“Good for them. You should buy one and bring her back here.”
“You could learn from them.”
“I don’t have a man.”
“You have too many men, slut.”
“You’re a bigger slut than me!” I sniffed.
“That’s different. I’m a man. “
“Oh please.”
He turned the squeeze bottle around and squirted oil onto my bare chest.
“Hey, I already have enough!” I protested.
“Yes, but you need more so you can apply it to my fine, masculine body.”
“What?” I said in confusion.
He was pouring oil over my chest and belly and downwards toward my abdomen and tiny
suit in a thick layer.
“You’re using too much.”
He grinned but didn’t stop, then put the bottle down, sat back, and skimmed his
swimsuit down and off. I felt my breath catch as his cock sprang out, semi-erect, and then
he lay back on his chaise lounge and turned his head towards me. “Get on me and rub your
body against me to apply the lotion.”
I opened my mouth to tell him to go to hell, but to be honest, the idea was turning
me on. I hesitated anyway, feeling a sense of sisterly rebellion and indignation that he
was so arrogantly trying to tell me what to do. But then the heat between my legs pushed
that away and I sat up, my eyes starting to heat, and moved to straddle him.
“Lose the suit first,” he said.
I felt a little jolt of heat, and forbidden excitement. I glanced up towards the
house, then slipped my thumbs into my little G-string and pulled it down. I was, of
course, completely bare and smooth beneath, all my body hair having been lasered away
years earlier. I straddled him and the chaise, the oil slowly running down my body, and
felt my pussy throb powerfully as I sat across his thighs.
I ran my hands slowly over my body, feeling the thick, oil smearing across my
breasts and belly, then I leaned in and down, laying my chest down and pillowing my
breasts against his chest. I rubbed my body slowly along his, smearing the oil onto him,
while he just lay there, hands under his neck. The back of the lounge was elevated a
little so he could watch me as I rubbed my breasts against his hard, firm, yet deliciously
soft chest, exulting in the tactile sensations of warm, slippery oiled skin against skin.
I slid upward, my feet still on the ground, my groin sliding up along his thighs
until it was over his cock. I rubbed my groin, my abdomen, back and forth across his cock
as it lay on his belly, and felt it hardening between our bodies.
My breathing had quickened, my chest tight, sexual electricity rippling through my
body as I rubbed myself over him.
“Get up so I can turn over,” he ordered.
God! I was ready to fuck him right now! But he was going to tease me, I could tell,
going to demonstrate, as he had last time, how controlled he was, and how out of control
he could make me. I wanted to respond in kind, to act haughty and above it all, to pretend
like this wasn’t affecting me, but I knew I couldn’t bring it off.
I rose, still straddling him, my legs obscenely wide, and he rolled casually over
so I could sit down on his thighs, lay along him, and rub my breasts against his back.
God, the feeling against my skin was so sensuous, so erotic! I moaned softly as I rubbed
my breasts and chest and belly slowly against him, kind of tilting my body a little to the
side so I could rub my pussy along the back of his thigh.
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