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The Crew Cat

I was still in my nightgown when I answered the knock at my door.
It was my brother, Peter -- good old Saint Peter, the seminarian.
I knew right away what was up. He'd been sent all the way from St. Louis by our parents to try to talk some "sense" into me.
"Hey, Petey, what's up?" I asked as I leaned lazily against the door.
"Can I come in, Cathy?"
"Sure," I said and deliberately swished my hips as I turned and walked back inside.
I didn't need to see his face to know his expression. He would have rolled his eyes at my hip swish, which he knew was deliberate provocation on my part. But I knew that eye-roll was a mask for what was really going on inside of him.
We both sat on the couch. I leaned back on the pillows, stretching lazily, letting my nightgown ride as far up my thighs as that movement would allow. The hem stopped just short of my bare crotch. Peter kept as far from me as he could get. Instead of looking directly at me, he focused on a spot about three feet in front of his face, a blank piece of space.
"Mom and Dad asked me to come here," he began.
"To talk me out of my evil ways."
"Don't be like that, Cathy. You know they only want what's right for you."
"My name is Cat."
"All right, then, Cat, if you have to have it that way."
The conversation went on pretty much as I had expected. About how upset Mom and Dad were at my lifestyle. Dah dah dah. Morals. Dah dah dah.
While I never told them at home about what I did after classes, I knew the folks had a pretty good idea. Dad got the credit card statements every month. He saw the kinds of things I bought -- not just clothes and groceries, but the charges from The Leather Shoppe, The Adult Store, and my favorite, a shop called "Clitty's."
Finally, Peter uncorked the "practicality" argument.
"Cathy -- Cat, I mean -- they really mean it this time," Peter said. "They're talking about cutting you off."
"Let 'em," I said coldly. "With my grades, I can get an internship with the psychology department any time I want. In fact, I've already had several offers." I knew I could get by. I've tested out at genius level and I could write my own ticket as a researcher even before I got my degree, if I wanted.
We went back and forth like that for an hour. Finally, I excused myself to go to the bathroom.
I didn't need to go. I walked through my room and into the lavatory, where I stripped off the nightgown. Quickly, I applied mascara and lipstick and combed out my hair. I pinched both my nipples hard, to get them to stand out. Then I flushed the toilet and said in an exasperated voice: "Shit!"
"Something wrong, Cathy," Peter asked from the living room.
"Yes," I answered. "I got toilet water all over my nightgown. Be a good guy and get my robe from the closet."
I couldn't help but smile as I thought how Peter would try not to notice the stuff in the bedroom. I'm not very neat and I just kind of leave stuff around when I not using it. There were leather ball gags, whips and virbators scattered around the room, on table tops and shelves, and open drawers stuffed with bras and panties of all colors and styles. Peter wouldn't be any happier when he went to the closet to get the robe; he'd try not to stare the bustiers and hot outfits I'd hung in there.
Ever since we were kids Peter, two years older than I am, has been hot for me. He's always tried to hide it, but it was so obvious.
At pool parties at our place in St. Louis during summer Peter would stare at me out the sides of his eyes, while pretending to focus on conversation with his friends, mostly altar boy buddies. I could tell, of course, and always made sure to wear my skimpiest bikinis, bending over and stretching in ways I knew he couldn't ignore.
He'd always get a boner, always come up with an excuse to go inside the house until his wood softened. Sometimes he stayed inside an awful long time.
I think that's one of the reasons he decided to study for the priesthood.
I swung the bathroom door wide open as Peter approached with the robe. I let him get a good look at me. He just stood there, as if paralyzed.
"Cathy, you shouldn't --" he began, but I shut him up by putting the tip of an index finger to his lips. Then I took his face in both my hands and kissed him.
My tongue slid past his with no resistance, entwined with his and left no doubt about what I was up to. As we kissed, I unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out. I slid my naked body down his and put his cock in my mouth as I got to my knees.
I circled the tip of his cock with my tongue, then took him deep in my throat. I bobbed up and down on his penis, running my tongue across the full length of it, trying to blanket his cock with it.
Suddenly, I broke off and stood up, put both my hands on his chest and began shoving him back toward my bed.
"Catherine, we can't do this!" he protested. "We're brother and sister! I'm studying to be a priest!"
"Just shut up," I said as I pushed him a final time. "You've wanted this since before I got my first period. Well, now you're gong to get it!"
Peter fell backwards across the bed, landing on top of the outfit i'd worn the night before, a little black dress with cutouts at the hips and the thong I'd worn under it.
With both hands I undid his belt and pants and pulled them roughly down to his calves. I crawled on top of him and took him into my mouth again. I sucked his cock until I could feel with the tip of my tongue that the skin was tight around the head. Then I crawled the rest of the way up his body and positioned my cunt just above his cock. I pressed down and felt him enter me. I ground down slowly, making sure he felt every milimeter of my vagina, then pulled up again, just as slowly.
"Cat -- " he said, but I put a palm over his mouth and he stopped trying to talk.
By now I was wet enough that I could pick up the pace. I bucked faster, slammed my hips down on his harder and harder.
We came together. As I yelled, "Goddam!" he whimpered: "Oh, God!"
I got off of him to go clean myself in the bathroom. Peter stayed on his back on the bed, not moving. He had tears in my eyes when I came back. I started selecting my outfit for the day.
"How could you do this to me?" Peter asked when he finally pulled himself together.
"How could I do it to you?" I asked, incredulously. "You had a choice. You could have stopped me and gotten out of here."
"You gave me no choice," Peter said. He sat up on the bed and began pulling up his shorts and pants.
That really pissed me off.
"Listen, brother dear," I shot back. "If there's one thing I learned from all those catechism classes, it's that we each have a choice. Me. You. We're each responsible for our own actions. You chose this as much as I did. And I'll tell you one more thing: don't let your guilt tempt you into trying to 'save' me again. You do, and I'll write your bishop a long letter. They'll pack you off to Alaska just to get you out of their hair, just like they did those priests who diddled the altar boys. You'll be warming your balls in some Eskimo slut's crotch!"
"Are you kidding?" he asked. "I can't go back to seminary after this."
"You'll go back, all right. You don't have the balls to admit what you've done. If you don't go back, questions will be asked, and you're not a good enough liar to keep the truth from coming out.
"Oh, you'll go back."

End of Story