Sam Sharpe was a party-planning expert...if she did say so herself. She had many, many talents (in addition to her stunning natural good looks) and getting down was one of them. Well, two of them, since there's more than one way to get down. She excelled at both. Case in point: Lincoln's going away shindig. When she first came up with the idea, she tried to think of how she should engineer things to work best with her plan. Sam's first thought was to keep it low-key: just her, the Loud siblings, good music and some booze. A nice, chill evening where they could get cozy and intimate together as a threesome (heh)...What could be better, right? But the more she considered it, the more she started to sense keeping things so restrained might not be the best idea. Lincoln was sure to get his guard up if she just knocked on his door with nothing but a six pack of beer, his sister and a smile. No. It seemed to her the thing to do would be to throw the kind of bash that'd give the boy no choice but to loosen up and get into the swing of things, the kind of party where turning down a drink and a dance would be just, well, rude. And with that in mind, her initial idea soon ballooned into something bigger and better over the course of the afternoon. She quickly invited a dozen people who knew how to par-tay, and managed to convince her boss to give her an advance on next week's pay so she could supply it properly with alcohol, pizza, snacks, and other sundries.
Sundries like weed.
To be sure, Sam was absolutely against hard drug use, like coke, crack, PCP, and politics, but it should come as little surprise that she was also far from some tight-assed square. A little bud never hurt anyone...in moderation, of course. She didn't partake very often, but she occasionally bought a dime bag from a guy she knew, mainly to help her and Luna relax. Hey, the stresses and rigors of life can be a little overwhelming at times, and everyone can use a little relief. The last time had bought some was right before Christmas and she wasn't sure whether or not her guy would have any on the shelf, but thankfully, he did, and since Sam was cool (or so he told her, and who was she to disagree?), he gave her an eighth on the cheap.
While Luna and Lincoln were both at work, she caught the bus to the Iron City Plaza and spent an hour threading her way through Party City, picking up cups, napkins, and even a stack of paper party hats because, fuck it, why not?
The more she thought about tonight the more excited she became. Next the blonde hit the liquor store at the end of the breezeway. The cashier, a big Sikh guy in a turban, watched her with the narrow-eyed suspicion of a man accustomed to being stolen from, and Arabic music filtered from unseen speakers. She wondered what the lyrics were. It could be anything from a guy pining for his lost love to a call to war against white infidels with a blue streak in their hair. Your godless perversion has offended me, American witch. I know what you're up to.
She selected a bottle of Ronrico rum and a bottle of Kahlua. She freaking loved Kahlua. She could drink a whole bottle by herself...which made it dangerous stuff. Some alcohol tastes so good that you forget it's alcohol, leading you to accidentally drink waaaay too much. She knew that from personal experience. She'd done it many, many, many times and it always ended with her either bent over the toilet and ralphing her soul out or getting really frisky. She thought she'd mastered the ratio of keeping the needle just on that bubble of loose-limbed and ready to score though, and now a certain white haired boy stood to reap the benefits from her long experience.
On her way out the door, she grabbed a case of Smirnoff and a pack of condoms. There were twelve in the former and six in the latter. Would six be enough? She had, ahem, a big night planned.
Balancing all the stuff in her arms, she rode the bus home. At the apartment, she sat it all on the kitchen table, stepped back, and parked her hands on her hips. Let's see, anything else? Booze? Check. Weed? Check. Cups that would undoubtedly wind up lined shoulder to shoulder on every conceivable surface like the ranks of an invading army? You bet'cha.
Hmm. As far as partystarters went, that was pretty much it. Now time for those all important party-sustainers: Snacks. You can't boogie down on an empty stomach, can you? No party's fun when you're starving to death and there's nothing to eat but left over stems and seeds from the bud bag. That necessitated another trip to the store; lucky for her, there was a place on the corner that sold everything she'd need.
She fetched a cloth bag from the pantry and left again. The hall was too hot and poorly lit; one of the overhead lights burned out the previous week and the super hadn't gotten around to fixing it yet. In his defense, he took his sweet time with everything. Dude was so backed up with repairs that he was still working on orders from 1978. Hey, man, my shag carpet's harshin' my mellow. Can you boogie on down and groovy-far out-peace, love, chicken grease. She was certain that people talked that way in the seventies and nothing could convince her otherwise.
Outside, the night was warm and scented with the sweet aromas of the city: rotting garbage, exhaust fumes, bitterness, and motor oil. A group of Hispanic guys stood one the corner and talked in rapid fire Spanish - maybe they were plotting a million dollar heist, or maybe they were plotting to go get a beer down at El Charo's. With language barriers, who knew? She preferred to think it was a heist, though. Indulging in flights of fancy like that in her mundane life was the best way she knew how to keep her mind alive amidst the every-day drudgery of Detroit.
The store was two blocks up on another corner - because little ghetto-marts are always on a corner. The proprietor, another Sikh, leaned against the counter and scrolled through his phone. He had a novel management style, that was to say, total disinterest in anything happening around him, which led Sam to suspect the whole store was a money laundering operation. He was young, hip, and bald, and sometimes he gave her stuff for free. Then there were times he overcharged the Hell out of her. She couldn't prove it and she never made a fuss, but come on, a bag of beef jerky, a Monster, and a Dutch Master (for blunt rolling purposes) shouldn't cost twenty-five bucks.
The chips were along the far wall between the ATM and a metal shelf crammed with cleaning products. She stood in front of them and tapped her chin. Hmm. What should she get? Funyons were good, but gave you stink breath. Lay's Classic were always a crowd pleaser, but a little bland, if you asked her. Fritos were yumtastic when paired with bean dip. Pretzels...well, they were a little meh too but she had a soft spot for them anyway. Cheese Nips were great too.
To be on the safe side, she grabbed a box of Cheese Nips, a bag of pretzels, a party sized bag of Lay's, two bags of Wavy Lay's, a bag of Fritos, bean dip, French onion dip, salsa, and a couple boxes of snack cakes. At the register, she paid, stuffed it all into her bag, and hefted it out the door, her muscles straining. Her burden was a lot heavier than she thought it would be and by the time she staggered through her front door fifteen minutes later, her back ached and her arms quivered with exhaustion.
Maybe she should start hitting the gym.
She put everything away, slipped out of her jacket, and hung it on one of the chairs. Kicking out of her shoes, San hit the head to pee, then when she at last got to the living room, the girl gladly collapsed onto the sofa with a weary sigh and propper her socked feet onto the coffee table, clenching her toes and giving a mewl of satisfaction when they cracked. Did she have absolutely everything she needed, she wondered? Sam ran through her mental checklist one final time and nodded to herself. Yep, all present and accounted for. Tomorrow was going to be a good night.
A sinful simper kissed her lips and she tossed her bangs out of her face. It had been a loooong week but it was all about to finally pay off. Like...do you know how hard it is being a good girl when you really, really, really want to be bad? Extremely hard. Astronomically hard. She couldn't count the number of times she almost gave in and pounced Lincoln and she really couldn't count all the times she nearly succumbed to the urge to be flirty, suggestive, or otherwise naughty. Just the other day, he and Luna were talking about music. I like west coast style, Luna said. I prefer east coast style, Lincoln replied.
I like doggystyle, Sam almost blurted; the words came so close to spilling out they clicked against her teeth and she quickly swallowed them down like a warm, salty wad of…
...snot. Wad of snot.
That was all in the past, though. In just a few short hours, her dastardly plot would reach its thrilling conclusion, and she would at last claim the prize she had worked so long and hard for. She would watch as Lincoln mated his sister like an animal, then she would take Luna's place and let him pound her into oblivion. She closed her eyes and conjured a picture of the scene. Lincoln was on top of Luna and rutting into her, and her legs were crossed over his clenching little butt in a shaky X. They were too far gone in their primal lust to realize they were fucking their own sibling; their minds were gone, their bodies in control. Hot, wet, trembling, their passions rising, cresting, Luna hugging him tight, the boy quivering.
At the last second, he yanked out and Sam caught a flash of his dick: Fever-red and glistening with its sister's natural fluids, it pulsed...then thick, white sperm shot from the tip and splattered Luna's bare stomach. Luna thrust her hips, tossed her head from side to side, and gripped the pillow in her hands. Lincoln shot another round onto her perky tits, and Sam bit her lower lip and clamped her legs closed against the sudden pressure swelling in her loins.
Oooh, that was hot.
So, hot, in fact, that she kind of wanted to jill off to it. She glanced at her phone and scrunched her lips. Lincoln would be here any minute and Luna probably wouldn't be far behind. She supposed she could squeeze one out really quick, but an image that delicious deserved a long, in-depth session, to be relished and explored from head to toe.
With a regretful, frustrated sigh, she instead snatched the remote and turned the TV on to try to cool herself down. She attempted and failed to lose herself in an episode of Artworld, the CBS reality show where ten artists vie for the chance to win ten thousand dollars and a contract with a talent agency. She and Luna were really into it when it first started, but their favorite contestant revealed himself to be a slimy, backstabbing asshole and they kind of fell off after that. Her mind wandered back to her girlfriend and her little brother, and her panties dampened. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight; she rolled her neck and cracked her knuckles. Anything to distract her from the thoughts straining to take shape in her head.
Finally, finding no respite, she jumped to her feet and went into the kitchen. Might as well make herself useful and get dinner started. She rooted through the cabinets like a hungry raccoon through someone's trash (yummy, unshredded bank statements). There wasn't much in the pantry, though the peppered country gravy mix did catch her eye. On a hunch, she dove into the freezer and moved packages of pork and chicken around until she found a pack of sausage patties in the very back. She took it out and flipped it over to read the directions. Can you thaw these things in the microwave?
Yep. Good.
She ripped the plastic wrap off, separated each patty with a fork, and put them onto a plate. She popped it into the microwave, hit DEFROST, and scrolled through her phone while she waited. Her mom posted a bunch of pictures of her and her boyfriend at an Iron Phil concert (if you looked really hard in the background of one, you could see the lead singer, the seventy year old Ronald Hagen, on stage with a cane in one hand and an IV drip in the other). A guy she went to school with posted a video supposedly proving that the Illuminati existed and were secretly microchipping newborn babies as a means of population control. A woman she and Luna used to hang with opined that everyone south of the Mason-Dixon Line was an utter racist and deserving of death (okay, wow, gonna react with an angry face 'cuz that's kinda fucked). Oh, there was a fresh crop of cat videos from her metube subs! Sweet!
When the sausage patties were unfrozen, she took the plate out and cut them into tiny pieces, then made the gravy mix. She combined it in a pot with milk and stirred it up. By the time Luna came through the door, it was bubbling like a witch's cauldron, and the smell hung thick in the air. The brunette joined her in the kitchen, slumped against the counter, and threw her head back with a sigh.
"You alright?" Sam asked. She jammed bread into the toaster and grabbed three plates from the drying rack. She wished they had buttermilk biscuits but beggars can't be choosers.
Luna yawned. "Long day," she said. She crossed her arms and cast a longing look at the door, looking so much like a lost little puppy dog that Sam's heart twinged in sympathy. They hadn't talked about her feelings for Lincoln in days, but they were still there and as his scheduled day of departure approached, her girlfriend's mood started to tank. It was nothing showy. She didn't mope or weep or drag herself around like a bipolar on the low end of the manic depressive cycle. Luna hated to lay her burdens on anybody. Instead it was a subtle, but marked, change that only someone who had spent six years becoming intimately familiar with her could notice. If Sam looked into her eyes, she would catch the occasional glimpse of worry tinged sadness. A palatable tension rolled from her in sickening waves, and every time her brother entered the room, she favored him with a quick, blink-and-you'll-miss it hangdog expression.
She didn't want him to go.
Well, neither did Sam.
They couldn't keep him from going back to school - and shouldn't, since he needed that degree - but they could make tomorrow night the most special of their lives.
And they would.
Oh, they would.
"You want a foot rub?" Sam asked, trying to cheer her up.
Luna considered it, but shook her head. "Nah, I'm just gonna take a bath..."
"Alright," she said, "well, dinner's almost ready, so you might wanna eat first."
"Yeah," Luna sighed. She pushed away from the counter and trudged into the living room. Sam watched her go with a little frown, then turned her attention back to the food. Luna was really broken up about this, and if Sam knew her as well as she thought she did, she was also broken up by her inability to suck it up and make her move. Luckily for her, she had an awesome girlfriend who loved her and wanted her to be happy...and who also happened to have a newly-discovered incest kink.
The brunette stretched out on the couch, picked up the remote, and changed the channel. In the kitchen, Sam took the toast out of the toaster, sat it on one of the plates, and shoved more in. A few minutes later, just as she was spooning gravy onto the toast, the door opened and closed. Her heart jumped into her throat and her stomach knotted in what had become almost a Pavlovian response. Lincoln's here!
Across the way, Luna sat quickly up like a girl caught red handed doing something wrong. The glumness drained from her face and the corners of her mouth curled up in a happy smile that Sam found breathtaking despite its subtlety. "Hey, bro," she greeted. The chipper inflection in her voice made her feelings obvious, but poor Linc was none the wiser. He just answered his sister with a tired, friendly smile of his own, one which the blonde found equally beautiful. It was guileless and pure.
It really was his innocence which was one of his most alluring traits, Sam reflected as she finished making their plates. Most of the other guys, heck, most of the PEOPLE Sam had met throughout her life were users, or at the very least wanted something. Some were players, others were genuinely nice but knew what they were after. Lincoln wasn't like that. His kindness and devotion to the people he cared about was authentic. The boy was fumbling, awkward, and reminded her of a little bunny rabbit slipping on ice. So pure. So inexperienced. So virginal. She'd never considered herself particularly aggressive when it came to romance, or even the type to chase after a guy, really, but with Lincoln it was different. The thought of her and Luna, two experienced, sexual vixens, working together to seduce the sweet ingénue, popping his cherry and ruining him for all other women, was knee-knockingly hot. She wondered if this was how boys felt when they were on the prowl.
Did that make her a cougar?
Cougars are usually older women who pounce and maul younger men...much, much younger men...but the spirit was the same, right?
Speaking of food, dinner was ready and here she was staring into space and woolgathering again while the siblings were right there. Bad Sam.
Lincoln dropped onto the sofa and tossed his head back much the way Luna had and the blonde fought to keep from laughing. Did they realize how alike they were sometimes? They didn't look much alike (though if you squinted, you could see the resemblance) but their mannerisms were mirror reflections of each other. Then again, she supposed the two did spend a lot of time around one another in their formative years, more time than they spent with any of their other sisters from what Luna had told her. It made sense that they'd adopt similar characteristics. In fact, over the past six years, she'd picked up some things from Luna and Luna had picked up some things from her. It was like cultural cross-pollination or something. The thought of Lincoln getting some of her habits from Luna kind of excited her, it would be almost like she was their sister too.
When she had that thought her navel clenched so hard it made her dizzy. The blonde wondered if she could talk her girlfriend into doing a little roleplaying tonight...
Picking up two plates, she carried them into the living room, handing one to Lincoln and the other to her girlfriend. "Hey, Linc," she said, "good day at work?"
His smile got tighter on his face, tight enough for his eyes to squint. He was obviously trying very hard not to bitch.
"I'll take that as a no," Sam laughed.
She went back for her plate and sat between Luna and the arm of the couch. "Is it good?" she asked.
Luna nodded. "Yeah, it is. Thank you."
"You're welcome." Sam reached out and poked Luna's stomach. "I gots to feed my girl. Otherwise she'll turn into skin and bones."
Luna swatted her hand away. "Get off of me," she complained playfully.
'You're starting to get a little pudgy there," the blonde said as she picked up her fork, "maybe I should cut back on feeding you."
"Look who's talking," Luna shot back, "you got a bit of a spare tire going on."
No, she didn't, but neither did Luna.
"I'm storing it up for the winter," Sam said.
Luna snorted. "Winter's not for a long time, honey."
Sam shrugged. "I like to get an early start."
"I can tell, porky."
That made Sam laugh. "Me? Porky? You're at least three-fifty these days, you really have no room to talk."
"You're the fattest one here though," Luna said and took a bite.
"Whatever you say, hambone," Sam said. She held her plate out to Luna. "You want mine too, tubby?"
Luna turned away. "Stop trying to steal my food, dude, you need to lose weight, not gain it."
Lincoln stared at the TV, completely oblivious to Sam and Luna's playful banter. It looked like he was seriously exhausted; his boss must have really put him through the wringer or he'd suffered through a bad string of entitled customers. Boy, Sam had been there...She studied his pouting face in profile and a twang went through her center when the notion occurred to her that he might not have the energy to fight her off at the moment. Honestly, couldn't they just speed things up and get it on right now? Surely he wouldn't object to her getting on her knees and sucking him a little. He'd probably even reward her with a mouthful of appreciation.
No. Of course, she couldn't do that. She wanted to, but Luna wasn't quite there yet. See, back when everything had all started, she thought her Lunatic only needed a gentle little love-nudge to make everything happen. In actuality, she needed a big ol' shove. Lucky for Luna, that was fine too. Sam was willing to do whatever it took to get her girlfriend to where she knew she needed to be. That's how much she loved her.
Really, Sam deserved a medal for all the hard work she was doing here. Not only was she orchestrating the best night of Lincoln and Luna's lives, she was dutifully keeping her hands, mouth, tongue, and pussy to herself, which was no easy feat with how desperately, breathtakingly horny this entire forbidden love situation had made her and KEPT her. Any other woman would have done Lincoln behind Luna's back and justified it to herself. You snooze, you lose, sister. Sam wasn't like that. She was loyal and loving.
Goddamnit. Luna owed her one. A big one.
One attached to her brother -
She cut that thought off before she accidentally turned herself on again. Easy there now, steady. There'll be more than enough of Lincoln to go around soon enough. She just had to wait twenty-four more hours. They were fast approaching the finish line, no need to fuck things up so late in the game.
Ugh, but do twenty-four hours drag oooooon when you're anticipating something amazing! She was like a kid the night before Christmas, tossing and turning in bed with excitement, trying to go to sleep just so the time would pass by quicker. Her present (which in her mind looked an awful lot like a bed with three naked, sweaty people in it) might as well be on the other side of forever, and every minute leading up to it was an eternity unto itself. Great things come to those who wait, she reminded herself, and what was coming was really special, so that was some consolation. Her grandmother Sharpe was a good Christian woman who never missed church and read her Bible every night (how'd Sam spring from that?) and she used to talk about God testing people. The Big Guy likes to poke around and see what you're made of from time to time, so he'll make you run a gauntlet. Like Job. Sam was just like Job, she decided, trying to ignore the voice at the back of her head assuring her she was going to Hell for drawing a comparison between his unflinching belief in God and her depraved desire to watch her girlfriend fuck her brother.
Anyway, the whole point of the Job parable is how adversity builds character. Or something. This was like a test, because she was impatient and being forced to wait for something was literally hell to her. If she stayed faithful like Job did, she'd be rewarded with the spectacle of the two beautiful, wonderful siblings she adored making sweet, incestuous love to one another, and that was well worth the wait.
Well worth it.
After dinner, Luna hit the shower. Lincoln, obviously drained though he was, didn't fail to compliment her for how delicious dinner had been, apologize for how quiet he'd been that evening ('Long day,' he'd explained, as though she hadn't already guessed) and then dutifully offer to wash the dishes. Gosh, how had Rita managed to raise such a gentleman? "Sure," she said and laced her hands behind her head. "Thanks, Linc."
He carried his and Sam's plates into the kitchen and sat them in the sink. He plugged the drain, turned the water on, and squirted in a measure of soap. Sam leaned against the arm of the couch and watched his cute little butt as he worked, her teeth brushing her lower lip and her head nodding in unconscious appreciation. There's something incredibly sexy about a man doing housework. She would never tell Luna this, but she used to think Lynn Sr. was kind of hot when he'd wash dishes and cook dinner in that frilly pink apron of his. Not that she wanted to do him or anything, God no, but he commanded her attention and made her feel a little horny. To be fair, at sixteen, everything made her horny. There was this song from, like, the seventies that summed teenage Sam up perfectly.
Women turn me on
Music turns me on
Tacos turn me on
Almost everything turns me on
What could she say? Sam was a naturally sexual person. When she and Luna first got together, they had sooo much sex. They'd get under the covers and play with each other's bodies until they were trembling and on the edge, and then out would come Sam's vibrator. If they hung out for an afternoon, you can bet your sweet behind they spent at least half of it seeing who could make the other cum the most. Seriously, puberty was not gentle to the blonde. She'd get so bothered and hot in class sometimes that she ended up flushed and wet and counting down the minutes until she could see Luna again.
Kind of like she was now. The edge wasn't quite as bad, but she did recently flick her bean in a public bathroom, something she hadn't done since she was fifteen. Yes, she did that very often when she was a kid. Hey, when nature calls, you answer.
She caressed Lincoln's butt with her eyes and licked her chops like a hungry bitch crouched under the table and begging for scraps. Lemme clap those cheeks, boy. How would he react if she went in there and grabbed it? Just full throttle, both hands; maybe even a little neck kiss to seal the deal. Hey, Linc, wanna fool around? She envisioned him going rigid like a guy in a scary movie at the sound of a ghostly moan. He'd probably wiggle, squirm, and try to get away, but she'd be too into it to stop there. She'd spin him around, shove him against the sink, and -
Damn it, there was her leash again, yanking her back before she could claim her prize. The leash being Luna and the prize being Lincoln's hot virgin bod. In the beginning, Sam really wanted to watch two siblings go out of their mind with horniness and have dirty, shameful sex with each other. She still did - a lot - but her hormones were kickin' like buffalo chicken and if she didn't want Luna to have him first (and whether this was out of sincere love and respect for her girlfriend's wishes or simply her own kinky desires, she was having trouble deciding now), she'd have jumped his bones five times already.
But on the flip side, she wouldn't get to watch his big sis deflowered.
This was a very delicate matter, you know. It had to be done just right, in the right order. A brother and sister could only have sex together with Sam gleefully watching and jilling off once, after all.
Tomorrow, she reminded herself with a clench of her jaw. Tomorrow her plans would come to fruition and she would finally have what she wanted.
No...
What she needed.
She. Couldn't. Wait.