A Day on the Ranch

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32


Alright, people. I appreciate the e-mails and questions about my situation, so I will share the truth from the beginning. But this is it and unless I’m caught in the mood, I don’t think I have the balls to talk about this in any way ever again. Now I might change my mind sometime. It all depends on my mood. Don’t send me comments. Don’t send me hate mail if I misspell something or if out of nowhere I take huge leaps in time or something. Truthfully, I don’t really care if I screw up the specifics. I’m just trying to get the story across. When dialogue is in quotes, it does not mean that it is verbatim as far as I’m concerned. I’m not a fucking writer. I’m just laying it on the line. Everything following did happen unlike most of the crap I read. I don’t personally like 3rd person narrative and it’s so obvious when people write absolute lies (ie – she was moaning for my 10 inch cock as a I railed her). Um, yeah right.

It is obviously how I remember it and it could be way off, but whatever. And yes, this is extreme, real, crazy, (I’ve been needing to get it off my chest for awhile) and by the time all this portion of the story took place, we were 18 so technically it was legal for people who care about that kind of shit.

I’m 34 now and the following story I’ll start at when I just hit 18 to avoid any bad connotations of underage perversity. You’ll read this and say, that guy is a pervert. Yes. I suppose you’re correct. This doesn’t happen to normal people. But here’s the thing. I was a late bloomer through my 20s but financially and socially, I have become very successful (which from where I came from defied all odds). After reading a lot of your stories both real and fake I had to just get this out there. Here’s something ironical. Everything following is as true as I remember it except the most pertinent details (names, locations, yadda, yadda, yadda)

I’m going to write this quickly because the very thought of proof reading and acknowledgement about my own life and what I’ve done scares the hell out of me. I may repeat shit. There is no way I can read this over when I finish. This is true straight stream of consciousness so it might just ramble here and there. I’ll try not to embellish anything so you guys can finally read what real incest actually is.

My immediate family grew up in the town of Temecula, California. There isn’t much to do and throughout high school, I didn’t have many girls. I wasn’t unpopular; it was more that there was nothing going on in our little town. My dad is a great guy, but when his mother died, he inherited his family’s kind of crappy wine orchard. He ran it well. Money wasn’t an issue. We weren’t rich, but we all had a lot of time just hanging out. My dad’s big goal was to produce a viable wine, and then as soon as the business worked, he wanted me to come in and run it when I was ready. He used to tell me (and now I really appreciate and agree with what he did) that he is setting me up so I’ll have total freedom to do what I want. My parents still loved each other, but what people called magic had clearly been gone years before and they were more with each other out of comfort

That sounded pretty good to me. As I said, we weren’t rich or anything, but I wasn’t blind to the fact that our situation was fairly unusual. My high school was a boarding school in Davis, California where I learned about both how wine is made and how the business works. I graduated fairly early. My birthday is in October, so I finished up high school at 17. I moved back to Temecula to the ranch and was given my own bungalow, which is basically it’s own small 2 bedroom apartment on the ranch. My older sister by 2 ½ years, Michelle, had not left and went to the public local high school. Sorry if I’m jumping around here but I’m trying to get to the heart of my story. She had just turned 18 and had no real plans as to what she was going to do with the rest of her life. As I said, I lived on an awesome bungalow as did most of the family. That’s just how the place is set up. When I moved back, I actually felt very isolated and alone. My family’s plan for me was always that I’d run the place and all, but when it came down to it, I wasn’t sure if I would be able to last there long. In school, I learned the details of how wine is made in a very laboratory setting, but it doesn’t prepare you for the fact that you are waking up to people picking the grapes and barely getting by.

Upon moving back, the first thing that hit me was the loneliness. I really didn’t know anyone there and because of my experience at school, I also didn’t fit in. I never did the true manual labor. In fairness to me, no one knew as much about me about the specifics of wine. My dad’s trusted right hand man (what in the biz they call a grape evaluator) seemed aloof at first but I gradually won him over because I cared about every little detail. I got along with everyone and eventually met one a grape picker named Maria. We messed around and I really had a great time with kartal escort her. My father, the businessman that he was, gave great incentives to all the workers, so the morale around the place was amazing. Maria and I had a fling that we kept on the down low for few months. By Christmas, she left the ranch and I was left alone. It was something you can’t plan for. There weren’t any other girls around. I spent my evenings going out with the guys for drinks at the makeshift bar on the ranch. My sister, Michelle, was still around, but we hardly had any contact.

The weeks rolled on. I hadn’t been with a girl in a while. Work took up a lot of my time. Michelle got a job at a non profit in Elsinore, a town not to far from us. My dad moved me to better digs. Not great, but bigger. A 2 and a half bedroom on the north side on the ranch that still probably needed some work on it. It was like one of those places that are awesome but still have boxes on the ground and feel incomplete. I was very happy there. I enjoyed the space. It’s funny. I actually remember the day of the week, but it was a Thursday when Michelle knocked on the door. She asked me if she could stay there for a few weeks because our dad wanted to give her old place to our wine cherro (that’s the misspelled version of the Spanish word), who just had his second kid. A cherro is important because he’s the one who is like a sommelier at a restaurant – the guy who knows wine and has incredible taste. It’s an incredibly important part. You know when you listen to great music and you have enough taste to know what’s good and what’s not, but you’re just not enough into it to tell how to fix it and why. That’s what he does.

My bungalow was a large 2 bedroom, 2 bath. I had the master bathroom and bathroom in my own room. Michelle had the smaller bedroom and the bathroom that also doubles as the bathroom for the guest. I barely noticed her the first few days. The soundproofing was terrible, so you could actually hear everything going on in the place. For my job, I could sleep til 9ish. The first Monday I was awakened by her alarm clock. I could hear Michelle getting up. I lay in bed but could hear her getting ready. The door to my room was directly across from her bathroom. The sound of the pipes went through all the walls. There was no way I was going to be able to sleep, so I headed for the living room. I decided to get up and started to open the door when I could see very quickly that she was totally naked in her bathroom with the door partially open. She didn’t hear me at all and I shut the door except for a crack and got down on the ground. It’s really strange that she was totally naked and so free. Obviously, she had no clue that I could see her in her entirety at this point.

It’s amazing how quickly my sister meant nothing more to me than a sister and now I was sitting there looking at her like a sex object. She’s 5’4″ with wavy sandy blonde hair with a crazy body. Skinny, but curves and all. She didn’t shut the door to her bathroom and was probably only 5 feet in front of me in all actuality. Totally naked. Her breasts were huge, but in the huge, real way. We’re both of Irish decent, but she looked more like the stereotypical Italian or Jewish look in that she had the huge breasts, hips and wasn’t that big but was really small.

I had my own door open just a little as I watched her getting ready. If she were to look over at me, there was no way she could really see me as it looked my door was more or less closed. Around 7:30, she finally got dressed and left. I masturbated and thought about her. There was nothing to feel too guilty about at that point. I just told myself that hey – she’s hot and I just wanted to check out a girl. The pattern repeated itself day after day. I quickly had it down to a science. I would get up just before her, open my door just slightly, watch her get ready naked and beat off, and then go back to sleep until it was time for me to work. Truthfully, to this day, I honestly don’t believe she ever knew I was doing that.

I knew she wasn’t seeing anyone. In fairness to her, it wasn’t like there were many options. But yes, as you guessed, things progressed. Here’s where they started. One day I came back earlier than expected and wanted to tell her about a new business deal that I was involved in. I liked to share what was going on on the ranch because intrinsically it affected everyone. So I came back early and knocked on her door, telling her I needed to tell her the good news that happened that day. She wouldn’t open her door to me so I could only see her face and she told me she was “stretching.” I was like, whatever, I’m going out to celebrate and was leaving the bungalow. She told me she’d call me on my cell but give her a few minutes.

All the sudden, all the financial success of the day was pushed to the back of my mind. Something didn’t jell for me. I pretended to walk out as if I were going around the ranch and bostancı escort turned around and headed to the back of my bungalow. I tried to look through her window but I guess I’m too short. Something just felt off. I saw some cinder blocks which had been arranged to create a flower bed and put one on top of the other. Now I was able to look through her window.

Yes. Yes. Yes. This was crazy. I hit the gold mine. I was speechless. This was what she was calling stretching. She was on her back on her bed with what looked like a vibrating shoulder massage thing between her legs. I’ve never seen anything like it. She was on her back with her legs spread. She had a bit of pubic hair. Trimmed, but it was there. Her breasts were huge. I’m not really a breast man. Small ones are fine. Hers are huge and natural. It’s a running joke in my family that all the girls are small with big breasts. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, Michelle was on her back playing with herself. Her right hand held the vibrator thing between her legs. Her left hand was squeezing her breasts. I sat there mesmerized. I knew perfectly well that she couldn’t see me as the window must have looked like a mirror to her. I started to touch myself and came really quickly.

But now something had changed. I knew I could spy on her easily without her having any idea. I could easily watch her get ready in the morning but this was something totally new. I mean, she was masturbating. Obviously most girls do it, but this was Michelle. I knew right then and there that something had changed in me. She was my best friend (I mean there aren’t too many others in the area) but she was also my sex fantasy for all occasions now.

This went on and on as I watched her naked and masturbated. It didn’t seem like she had any plan to leave my bungalow and I had it perfectly arranged to be able to catch her easily either in the shower or alone in her room (rarely like as I described above. Mostly just her hanging around). I really realized just how isolated we were on the vineyard. She pretty much became my only connection to a real woman. I looked online at different sites about incest and felt better about myself. It seems it’s pretty natural for things like this to happen. I mean, if you go to a high school with a bunch of hotties, then fantasizing about your sister is unusual but if the only hot girl that’s within proximity of you then it apparently is far more normal for this kind of thing to happen.

So this kind of crap went on for awhile. I didn’t feel so bad about it at that point. In December, I got a call from an old friend of mine who worked in Elsinore. He had a lot of friends who were coworkers of Michelle and told me to invite her. She was more than happy. No matter what, you get a little cabin fever working on that ranch by yourself.

We got to the party and it was probably the best party I’d been to in ages. My friend, lets call him Brian, knows how to live it up. He’s the kind of guy whose family comes from tons of money and he has that relaxed air about him. He’s chill.

Michelle and I got there a little late. I guess it was good, cause everyone was a little wasted. We were sort of wallflowers, just hanging with each other. Finally we ran into Brian. He was on ecstasy apparently, a drug I had never tried. Brian was kind of messing around with two girls. They weren’t getting it on, per se, more like just kind of feeling each other and touching each other’s skin. Brian asked if we’d like some. Ok, yeah. I kind of remember the conversation (as I remember it).

Brian: “Hey. Fuck. Brian. Michelle. Welcome to my casa. You down to roll?”

I thought roll meant leave and answered.

Me: “Yeah, in a bit. We just got here.” Brian: “No, pure MDMA. For you two. Knock yourself out.”

Michelle laughed.

“Why not?” she asked.

I echoed the sentiment. Not that I’d ever tried it before, but there is a first for everything.

Michelle and I each took a pill. Brian went back to pay attention to the girls he was with. Neither me nor my sister had our drugs kick in yet.

We went outside again. I wasn’t in the mood to really talk to people. Michelle wanted to walk down to Brian’s infamous (tiny) lake. It was dark as hell and I sat on a rock. The ecstasy was starting to kick in. Michelle told me that this was some good shit. I guess she’d done it before.

Her chin fell to her chest. My first thought in my fucked up state was that she was in a bad place or something. Instinctively I got behind her and started rubbing her back.

“Mmmm. That feels awesome,” she told me.

I don’t know if you’ve ever done that drug and I hadn’t but the sensation of touch feels amazing. She turned around and we started rubbing hands. Nothing sexual, but it felt incredible.

“I freaking love this drug,” she said.

We stopped playing with each other’s hands and I moved behind her again. She was sitting Indian style and maltepe escort I rubbed her back through her black thin sweater. It must have been the drugs, but she was loving it. It didn’t take me long before I reached under her shirt and rubbed her back. After a while, I moved my hands around and cupped her breasts. If it were not for the drugs, this never would have happened. And let me tell you something. It was awesome. She loved it. Her breasts felt incredible. I wish I were a better writer and could describe the experience. They were soft and perfect. I kneaded them for a while. Eventually, I asked if I could suck on them and she said no and got up to go back to the party. That was it. At least I could easily use the excuse that it was just the drugs.

Strangely, she wasn’t weird at all to me the next few days. She stayed in the extra room in the bungalow but we were on such different schedules we sort of pretended nothing had happened. It was all back to normal more or less. Work consumed most of my time working on a new line of pink Merlot (niche market) that we were hoping to launch next summer if we could make something that would work.

I actually remember the day – it was a Thursday the next time we spent time together. I came home and she was wearing this really cute top and bottom that was I guess was like a pajama thing. She was messing around with a deck of cards in what looked to be a game of solitaire and she had an almost empty drink or something in a blue plastic cup.

“You want a drink?” she asked.

“Sure.” I mean, why not – right? At least that was my reasoning at the time.

“We should play a game” she said as she shuffled the cards.

You have to understand as a reader what our situation was like. We lived an insular existence. The outside world didn’t exist to us.

“What do you want to play?” she asked.

I blurted out – “How about strip poker?”

She laughed. “I hope you’re joking. We are brother and sister.”

I was so embarrassed. She quickly picked up on how I was feeling and said, “Let’s start with something a little simpler. How about truth or dare? But just for fun, though. Nothing serious.”

That kind of surprised me, but of course I agreed.

“Ok. I’ll shuffle up the cards and whoever takes the highest card starts,” she said.

No problem with me. She shuffled up the cards and we both took one. I was sure all was good when mine was a jack. She took a queen. It seemed to really make her happy.

“Ok. Truth or dare.”

I thought it over and over.

“Truth” was my simple reply.

She smiled and started to ask a question before stopping and thinking it over.

“How often do you masturbate?” was the simple question.

No biggie. “At least once a day. Sometimes more,” I replied.


These kind of inane questions kept going and going. Who she had a crush on, etc. etc.

She excused herself to use the bathroom. Feeling kind of frustrated, I got up and grabbed one of our new bottles for our new type of wine that I was supposed to sample.

The answers that she had given me were so routine; they were almost frustrating. When she sat back down, I gave her a glass of the new wine.

And I asked the question of the game – truth or dare.

What was funny was we both had said only truth up til this point. It’s funny how I can say that in retrospect, but we basically just answered each others’ questions about the most banal topics like who our first kiss was, etc.

I was getting kind of bored and a little bit tired but I asked the requisite question – truth or dare.

“Dare,” she said. Something in her changed as she said that.

I looked her over. It was so hard for me not to just tell her how badly I wanted her but I know I couldn’t. But fuck it. This was aggravating.

Those breasts were perfect.

“Take off your shirt,” I told her.

She laughed and didn’t know what to do or say. It made me kind of tense to tell her that. Michelle obviously thought it over for a second and then decided to do it. She took off her shirt. As I could tell, there was no bra underneath. I tried not to look but it was impossible. The breasts were perfect. To see them like that was more than I could imagine. Natural c cups on her tiny frame with pink nipples. You knew right away that something as easy as this had just crossed a certain boundary.

So instantly she tried to push it back to me and asked me if I picked truth or dare. I thought it was more just to diffuse the situation in which she was practically naked in front of me.

There was no way I could handle a dare so I said truth.

“Have you ever thought of me when you touched yourself?” she asked.

I didn’t know how to respond but told her that I absolutely had. Michelle looked so beautiful sitting there in nothing but her undies.

“Truth or dare?” I asked.

She thought about it and said truth. “Have you ever thought about me when you touch yourself?” I asked.

Legitimately, she thought about it for a minute. “I suppose I have. I’m not really sure. When I fantasize, it’s not grounded in reality. Like I think of you in an abstract way.” She replied.

“So you have thought about me when you were doing your thing?” I said.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bir cevap yazın

E-posta hesabınız yayımlanmayacak. Gerekli alanlar * ile işaretlenmişlerdir