“Oh, what's to that?” said Caroline, “It does not matter. Has he not seen your breasts before?”

“Of course he hasn't-no,” my sister said, then uttered a small shriek as Caroline swiftly grabbed the upheld sheet and ripped it down. I saw the sleek pale of her belly and her navels whorl. Another inch-a further shriek-and Adelaide's pubic bush was displayed, curls crisp and tight, and in her jerking drops of wine had fallen in the thicket there. “Oh, please! No, Caroline!” Adelaide exclaimed, but the sheet was gripped. She could not draw it up again. Her tits were melons, jutting and snow-white, crowned with brown berries.

“Drink your wine. And you, too, Harry. Hurry now!”

“Oh, Harry, she is such a naughty thing, she… ow!” my sister squealed, for even in the instant that she finished off her glass at one quick gulp so Caroline bore her down, took the glass away from her and let it roll away beneath her feet.

“He has not kissed you properly ever-has he?” Caroline demanded.-“Stop it, do!” squeaked Adelaide, but showed no strength to struggle or get up, head dented in the pillow and her nipples up. Caroline's right hand but rested on her shoulder and was light. “Kiss her, Harry, on the mouth, for I have somewhere else to kiss-where wine has spilled,” laughed Caroline. So speaking she dipped her face right down and brought her open mouth upon my sister's bush, the warmth, the springiness of curls, soft shimmering of skin upon her belly's gentle curve.

“Ha… Ha… Ha… Harry!” Adelaide moaned out-and then my lips were deep into her own, my cock a-throbbing up against her hip.

CHAPTER TWO

Often I cried for things, as children do, when I was young-younger by ten years and more than on that afternoon when I lay down with Adelaide and Caroline.