Cave Love


My sister found the cave. A rock ledge had fallen into the sea over the winter. From her kayak she’d spied the cave mouth. Carrie reported this to me at noon. I was in the library, reading a story by Hawthorne, “Wakefield.”

She came in. That tiny bikini. I feigned distress that she was dripping wet in the library.

“Finnegan,” she said. “Whatever that is, put it down and come with me.”

“It’s totally bizarre,” I said. (Carrie’s full breasts. Her nipples mocked the bikini’s thin material, denying its purpose as coverage.) “This guy goes out one evening for a stroll and disappears. He returns to his home decades later like nothing’s happened. The whole time he’s been renting an apartment one street over. His wife is still at home.”

“Some people have really fucked-up relationships,” Carrie said, hitching up her bikini bottoms to create a splendid camel toe. My cock writhed in my shorts.

We both knew that she was talking about our parents. After ten years, this was probably the last summer renting Bonny Hind House. Carrie and I were going to college in the fall: she to Dartmouth, I to Williams. We didn’t have to be twins to possess the same understanding: our parents would be splitting-up. Why else had they let us have the run of Bonny Hind for the season, unsupervised. “You’re eighteen now and we feel we can trust you to stay out of trouble.” Carrie and I knew this was nonsense. Mom and Dad had vanished into their respective law firms long ago. We’d navigated adolescence together.

It was the first week of summer. Our cousins would be arriving on the weekend. Carrie and I had to “open the house,” but there was not much that needed doing. The Trust had kept the place in great shape all winter. Bonny Hind House had lost none of its magic over the years we’d been coming here. The “secret staircase” that connected the third floor bedrooms behind a hidden panel to the kitchen still thrilled Carrie and me. We’d decided as children that it was “haunted.”

The ballroom had a pretty decent pool table in it. Fickle felt. The second-floor “landing” over the ballroom was just as vast, and the site of some vicious ping pong tournies.

Carrie and I felt extremely comfortable being scantily clad around each other. Boy-girl twins: modesty is ridiculous. At Bonny Hind House, when we had the place to ourselves, nudity was not uncommon. So it was as natural as can be that Carrie leaned forward, dripping on me and the venerable edition of TWICE-TOLD TALES, and unsnapped her bikini top. “Perfect tits” is subjective, but I think that all guys can agree that a girl with naturally round full breasts, dark-pink-to-tan areloae, centered by the sweetest gumdrop nipples: is this not the ideal?

Carrie had the whole package: lean, muscular arms; taut tummy; auburn pubic triangle that she kept neatly trimmed; voluptuous pussy lips; a girl-jock’s muscular, lithe legs. She was just incredibly cute, always smiling: smiling wickedly. This had caused her more trouble than she deserved, from teachers or babysitters Topkapı Escort who suspected a prank. Her dark blue eyes communicated a keen intelligence. She was always impatient, on the go, looking for adventure. And finding it.

Exiting the library, Carrie casually flipped down and stepped out of her bikini-panties, revealing her bottom. The platonic ideal of female posteriors. Toned, soft, and round as an apple. Carrie’s naked bottom never failed to make me throbbing-hard.

“C’mon Finn!” Carrie shouted on her way to the main staircase. “Nathaniel Hawthorne’s been here since this house was built. But what I have to show you, you get one shot.”

My erection had me pinned. Earlier, I’d enjoyed an excellent spank on the porch of the east wing, off what we’d decided must be the “master bedroom” (though all the second-floor private rooms were vast). With the sun beating down on my naked body, and my thoughts straying from my girlfriend Annie to my sister, I’d given myself an epic O. I’d lain there for a while in the deck chair, contemplating the spray of pearly jism that crossed my chest and pooled in my navel. Mom had always said that vanity in a man was “unbecoming,” so I kept private my satisfaction with my body: I was tall and muscular-lean. I knew that the girls at school admired my chest and my tight butt and my really well-developed racing cyclist’s legs.

My cock was an entity unto itself: thick and a good length when relaxed. Almost never relaxed. Even though Annie and I had the leisure to fuck constantly, I still masturbated two or three times a day. My cock was demanding almost double that attention with Annie spending the summer in Italy. And my sister was not helping matters at all.

I’d returned to the bizarre world of “Wakefield” when Carrie reappeared in the library door.

“Get up, you schlub!”

Success. TWICE-TOLD TALES had tucked-in Cock for a restless nap.

“Why are you dressed for hiking?” I asked Carrie.


“Oh, Carrie, please. You’ll have me scrambling up and down every rock-face on this island all summer. Does this really have to start today?”

“Yes. Get your climbing shoes.”

Carrie was wearing a really sexy simple white bra underneath her tank top. Terry short-shorts. My guess was: no panties. Not even a thong. On her feet: flex-sole climbing shoes. I heard her in the kitchen, bottles clattering and the fridge thumping open and closed as I laced on my own climbing shoes.

Carrie returned with a back pack and a smirk.

“I see that Mr. Angry’s gotten all weepy.”

Carrie had named my penis “Mr. Angry.” An allusion to a description of an erect penis from the movie BODY HEAT.

“Yeah,” I said, noting the wide semen-stain on my khaki shorts. “What’re you gonna do?”

“Hey, dude, you know that every day I come back from kayaking wet all the way through, and there’s nothing I’d rather do than go jill myself silly. But you’ve got to see this now!”

“Okay,” I said. “Your self-sacrifice: Noted.”

Carrie Topkapı Escort Bayan and I masturbated openly, and sometimes together. She jilled as frequently as I jacked, though she was currently between boyfriends (Carrie likes to “free agent” in the summertime) so she might have been besting me during those last precious days before I kissed Annie goodbye at Alitalia check-in.

The eye refuses to see such a radical change in the landscape. Since childhood we had memorized every crag and cranny of the bluff. “Burning Bluff,” one of the time-worn maps at Bonny Hind House identified it: at odds with another cartographic relic I’d found in a drawer of a third-floor bedroom that labeled the place “Burnt Bluff.” Now we would have to call it something else.

“‘Gone-Baby-Gone Bluff,'” Carrie suggested.

A wall of rock, god knows how many tons, now lay on the sea floor. I stared over the edge, mesmerized by the new cove that had been created, the gentle swell of the waves.

“Now we descend, see if I’m right,” said Carrie, lowering herself over the edge.

“Right about what?”

“You can’t see it from above, only from the water.”


“A cave mouth. Maybe. Or just a hollow.”

Yes. A cave mouth. Deep.

We were both panting, sweating, from the tricky descent. Carrie tossed the backpack to me and peered in. Her sweat-soaked terry shorts confirmed my suspicion: no panties. She kneeled in the cave mouth, and I could eye the distinct outline of her voluptuous pussy lips. Carrie tied-back her long mane of sun-streaked blonde hair. Her dark blue eyes, matching my own, made clear her intent.

“Oh, c’mon Carrie! Finding a cave doesn’t require that you explore it.”

“Of course it does.”

And in a flash, she was in. I followed. I was expecting it to be pitch-black, but to my delight I could discern her petite body in front of me. My face was so close to those terry-cloth haunches.

“Where’s that light coming from?”

“From below.”

“How’s that possible?”

The tunnel opened into a grotto of wave-worn rock. A well in the floor. Peering down, we could see the waves roiling, catching the light, sending it shimmering along the walls and ceiling of the tiny chamber.

Yes, close quarters. Carrie pressed her body against mine as we peered into the well. She giggled.

“Is that a rock formation jabbing my ass? Or a… cock formation.”

“The latter.”

“Does Mr. Angry like spelunking?”

“Mr. Angry lives to spelunk,” I said.

“So Mr. Angry can shoot his spunk.”

Carrie giggled again. And to my delight began grinding her cute little bottom against my hardness.

We kissed. We’d kissed before. In play. In experiment. Not in passion.

This was passion. In this magical place. We made love with our mouths for a long time. Coming up for air, I fondled her breasts.

“Uuuuhhhhhhnnnnn,” Carrie groaned.

Well, fine, I thought. Something is taking Escort Topkapı its course.

In the merry, whirling light I stripped off Carrie’s tank top and unclasped her bra.

My mouth moved between her nipples: licking, nibbling, sucking, suckling. My hands on her heaving rib cage.

There was a pressing concern. Kicking off my climbing shoes (Carrie did the same with hers), I released the engorged fury from my shorts. I removed my shorts and kneeled naked before Carrie, my cock pulsing and jumping in time with my pounding heart.

Carrie rose to her knees as well.

“Make me naked, Finn.”

Gently, I tucked a finger between her tummy and the band of her short-shorts. My finger looped the elastic, lowering the shorts with each pass. When I had them to her knees she leaned forward against me, her breathing coming in bursts, and the cloth cleared her knees, her ankles. She was nude. She was in my arms. We kissed ferociously.

My fingers found the seam between her legs. The slightest shift, and my forefinger plunged into the pool of her pussy. Only after a long tease, in my experience, does a girl get this wet. Of tactile sensations, there is none more wonderful.

“Let’s fuck,” Carrie whispered, spinning a strand of pre-cum from my cockhead with her fingertip.

I lowered her onto the wave-smoothed shelf. The light playing across her body etched every curve and muscle. She opened wide her legs. I lowered myself over her and we both watched, mesmerized, as my cockhead found her saturation. I nudged her open so tenderly. She cooed and inched her pussy along my pulsing shaft. I was inside Carrie. She contained me. We were still as statues. Just our breathing. The throbbing of my cock deep in her lubricious cunt. We fucked so tenderly, possessed entirely by the miracle of boy-sex in girl-sex.

“I’m holding back from coming.”

“So am I.”

The gentlest fuck-thrust, and… *Here come the warm jets*… I spurted inside my sister. Carrie, gasping.

“Oh, fuck yes! I feel your cum shooting [gasp] into me.”

Spurt. Spurt. Spurt.

Her pussy clenched and released my cock. Clenched and released. Clenched and released. Clenched and released.

In time, I withdrew, lay with my back on the cave floor. Carrie’s body locked atop mine. Our fingers entwined. My hands moved down to hold her bottom. Our mouths wide but barely touching, only our tongues delicately dancing. My new erection found her center. More fucking in the shimmering cave. Her lithe body riding mine. Her tits jiggling in contrast to the smooth, flexing muscles of her arms. Grinding of groins. Her clit hard against my pelvis. She was coming, gasping. I held her aloft, my forearm against her breasts, my other hand slowly circling her belly, my cock in there, a delicious release of jism. She licked my ear.

Fumbled for the backpack. We drank the water, still cold. We napped. We woke. Wordlessly dressed. Climbed the wall. Leaning together, we followed the trail through the scrub and pine to Bonny Hind House. We ate voraciously from the fridge. Evening was upon us and the slightest chill. Naked, desperate to fuck and never stop fucking, we dove beneath the crisp sheets and the jumble of blankets.

Out beyond the pines, the ocean swirled up through the well, flooding the cave.

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