The Art of War Pt. 01

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This is a re-post of my original story, taken down by me about a year ago after a lot of adverse comment. I will be posting the second part immediately this posts. All characters having consensual sex are over 18, and if the subject matter offends you, I urge you to find something to read more in line with your reading references.

Please vote if you liked the story, or tell me if you didn’t, and if you want to ask questions, please either comment or drop me an email, if you’d like a reply please don’t forget to include a contact email address.

Please read and enjoy, it’s just a story, this is not the real world, so make allowances for the fact things happen the way they do because I want them to, not because they really do; it’s just a story, after all…

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Part 1: The plot is hatched:

Izzy was truly, monumentally, 100% pissed-off; she put down her phone with a grimace, once again on the receiving-end of a tirade from the cow-mother about nothing much in particular, just ten minutes past her curfew, ten lousy fucking minutes! Ollie busted curfew by at least an hour all the time, and all he got was a pained look. Carol reserved the snotty bitch-crap for her, and it was really pissing her off. For a moment, her expression grew less curdled as she thought of Ollie; although she’d be tortured by Torquemada inside a sack of fire-ants rather than admit it for one second, she thought Ollie was everything a man, a big brother, and, (and this was the part that curled her toes), a boyfriend should be, and seeing him every day lusting after other girls made her sad, angry, and deeply, hotly jealous, yet another set of thoughts and feelings she’d never share with anyone, especially him; what was the point? He was her big brother, and forever out of reach; better to get back to the business at hand, a way to fix that moody, rat-bag mother of theirs once and for all.

She flopped down on her bed, complicated and painful revenge schemes chasing through her mind. If only Dad hadn’t done a runner. Izzy was sure most of Carol’s bitch-crap could be traced back to when Dad decided he liked his new marketing trainee better than her mother, and Izzy was still at a loss to understand why. She had the bedroom above her parents and she used to hear them going at it every night; sometimes she’d grin at the grunting, begging, whimpering, muffled howling and twanging of tortured bedsprings, sometimes she’d cover her head with a pillow and try and drown-out the sound of Carol being royally rogered, and other times she’d wank along to the sounds of fucking, sucking, and protracted howling orgasms, having a few of her own along the way to keep pace with the almighty humping her mother was getting.

And then Dad had decided that the blowsy, saggy-titted, sweaty, splotchy, bottle-blonde tart of a marketing trainee was more to his liking; obviously he believed the younger the meat, the sweeter the treat, and she was younger than Mum, much younger (try ‘just out of her teens’ Izzy, her subconscious snickered hatefully…) and Dad was obviously more attracted to her fat arse and saggy tits and the teeth-grating, sandpapery sound of her thighs rubbing together when she walked than he was to her mother’s svelte, slender, catwalk-model frame; why that should be was forever beyond her comprehension…

Five years down the road, and her mother had only just begun dating again, which puzzled Izzy; Dad had fucked off with that saggy-assed bleached strumpet and he was obviously getting his regular portion, to judge by the stupid, self-satisfied smirk constantly pasted on his admittedly handsome face. Carol was a MILF no matter how you looked at her; surely she should be getting some soon? But no, all her dates, every single one them, without exception, dropped her off early. She gave them a curt nod goodbye, and that was that.

And yet it made no sense. All the husbands up and down the street stopped even pretending to not ogle her when Carol Bartlett walked by, unconsciously radiating ‘come and get me’ out loud, her taut, comely, bumly bum quivering like hard-set jelly. They just gazed wistfully at all that scrumptious woman going to waste, for want of a good, hard shafting. Most of them would have settled for just a knee-trembler, a hand-job, even a soapy tit-wank, anything, just as long as they got to squeeze those tight buns and cuddle those luscious puppies that were giving every man in the area distinctly un-husbandly thoughts…

Izzy usually got the fallout from Carol’s disastrous dates; she’d come indoors in a foul mood, as usual, and erupt at her daughter for the most trivial reasons, until Izzy had finally had enough; bad moods were one thing, but now, this was war, and Izzy thought that maybe she knew what would restore peace in the house, and get her mother off her fucking back permanently. Who knew, maybe it might even make her a little more liberal in the way she treated her (almost) twenty pendik escort year-old daughter.

With Izzy, to think was to act, so she tip-toed down the hall and let herself into Ollie’s room. He wasn’t there, of course. Once again he was giving Carol’s curfew the finger, secure in the knowledge that nothing would be said. She decided to wait for him. As she waited, spinning aimlessly in his computer chair, curiosity got the better of her, and when she bumped the computer mouse, the screen flicked on, to the open desktop; he hadn’t locked his computer, well, my goodness, how interesting!

She began idly skimming through his desktop, finding nothing much of interest, only uni stuff, training fixtures and suchlike, until she clicked on his Google browsing history, and grinned at the list of porn sites, only to be expected in the computer of a twenty-one year-old single male, but it was the type of sites that made her grin: they were all mother-son and brother-sister incest porn sites.

“Oh Ollie, really?” she smirked to herself as she skimmed through the sites, and looked through his folder lists for anything that might give a clue as to just what else he was into, other than simply the incest angle. At first nothing out of the ordinary jumped out at her; mostly course-related work, saved games, lots of ‘You Tube’ videos of all sorts of stupid stuff that only Ollie would find funny; half-wits crushing their balls in disastrous skateboard and BMX stunts, epic fails, that kind of stuff, then finally, hidden in his ‘My Documents’ folder, she found one labelled ‘Miscellaneous’.

When she opened it, she knew she’d hit pay-dirt. Folder after folder of thumbnails and video clips of all kinds of sex acts between young men and older women, with titles like ‘Step-Mom Surrender’, or ‘Mom’s Anal Pounding’, and clips of young couples, with names like ‘My Sister’s Tight Pussy’, ‘Sister Seduction’, and ‘Sister Gives Up The Ass’.

“You dirty little…” she breathed, clicking on one of the folders then clicking on a file at random. Immediately a stunning older woman flashed on screen, flirting with a young male on a sun lounger. Izzy turned the volume up so she could cop the cheesy dialogue while the pair of them took 15 seconds to go from chatting to her sucking his oversized dick.

“Well, I guess the Oscars are sewn-up this year…” she mused, watching the young man’s improbably large cock slide into the woman’s mouth and down her throat. Events proceeded and before long he was slamming that thing into the woman’s pussy while squeezing her suspiciously solid tits. Izzy had seen porn movies before, and there was nothing to make this one a stand-out, nor the next one, nor indeed the next one. As she flicked through them, though, something began ringing a ‘Dead-Slow’ bell in her mind, and, a suspicion forming, she quickly skimmed through all the other supposed ‘mom/son’ movies. Then it came to her; all the women looked like her mother!

Izzy sat back, her mind singing with triumph. Yess! Ollie was wanking to bone-strokers of what looked like their mother getting poked unmercifully in every single orifice. The thought gave her a warm glow; now she had him; now he had no escape, and he was going to help her get Mum off her back forever, because if he didn’t, then all this was going in front of their mother, and then they’d see how long Ollie remained king of the house! Izzy had no real desire to get her hot older brother in Dutch with their mother, but this was war, and right now he was her best weapon.

After debating with herself over whether to drop Ollie in it, and weighing-up, on a probable scale of one to ten, how mad he was likely to get, she set her jaw and emailed the most incriminating videos she could find to herself, and grinned happily; there, let him delete them all, she had an email, from him to her, with the video clips attached, and a little note saying “Hey Iz, don’t you think these look like Mum? I wonder if she likes this kind of stuff?”

Not that she was going to, of course; even Izzy, with all her anger at her mother’s unreasonable behaviour, wasn’t crazy enough to alienate the one male on the planet she thought was absolutely perfect; if she had to, she’d sort of, kind of, maybe hint that she was going to use them, but she knew, if push came to shove, having Ollie on-side and liking her was still more important than fixing her mother and her moods.

As an afterthought, she skimmed through the brother/sister incest files, and once again an eerie feeling stole over her; the girls in all those videos looked eerily similar; in fact, wait a mo, what the Hell, they looked like her! She leaned back in shock, a happy, secret smile on her lips; Ollie was yanking his crank over her as well? About fucking time, too!

After a moment, she looked again, watching as every possible sex act was carried out, and, try as she might to resist the notion, Izzy began imagining it really was her, not just some porn-starlet who maltepe escort looked like her, and all the big-cocked, studly fuck-muffins on-screen were Ollie.

Izzy had to admit, Ollie had chosen well when he’d picked out a lookalike for her; when it came to hair, general build, long slim legs, and facial features, they were all practically indistinguishable from each other, or from her, except for their tits. They all seemed to have inflated, giant, economy-size California Silicon-Tits. A sudden thought struck; was that what he wanted? Because if it was, she was sunk; all she had something that could really only be charitably called adequate; not bee-stings, or two fried eggs on a plate, thankfully, but definitely not yahbos or fun-bags, either, and all those girls on screen had a luscious set she couldn’t possibly compete with.

As she sat and watched her avatars hump, pump, squirt, suck and fuck, she could feel her own panties becoming damp, and there was a definite tenderness between her legs, an itching and crawling sensation she knew well.

“Oh my God, Izzy Bartlett, are you getting horny?” she asked herself, but she already knew the answer; seeing endless versions of herself being speared, stretched, pounded and pile-drivered mercilessly was having its own effect. She longed to slip her hand into her panties, and give herself a comforting rub, but she knew where that would lead. Did she really want to be caught in Ollie’s room, by him, with hard-core sister-porn on-screen and her fingers in her fuzzy?

So she held off, and held off, while the itch, and the urge to scratch that itch, built and built, until finally she couldn’t stand it any longer. Almost reluctantly, she slipped her fingers into her panties, to rub at her sopping wet, shaven snatch, and almost fainted as her palm rubbed lightly over her engorged clitoris, jags of pleasure shooting through her at the sensation.

Izzy knew she was close; watching hot porn of yourself (well, almost…) being pounded can do that, and it just took a few well-chosen strokes of her fingers over her wet and slippery pussy for orgasm to slam into her, making her clench her teeth and whine softly with the effort of not screaming at the power of her release.

She slumped back in the chair, her body trembling, mewing through her clenched teeth, while her heart pounded with the aftermath of her amazing orgasm; she’d never come like that before, but then she’d never had a visual like that before, with the knowledge ringing around in her mind that possibly, maybe, Oh please God make it so, Ollie could be tempted by her, and if she played it right, she could maybe have him too. Her eyes closed as a sweet, blissful daydream of Ollie taking her and making her his danced and scurried around in her mind, and then she was shocked back to reality.

“That sounded like a good one; was it fun, Izzy?” came a voice, and Izzy spun around in horror, to look into the face of her older brother, who grinned at the sight of her minuscule panties pulled down her thighs, and her bare, pink little pussy glistening wetly in the light from the desk lamp.

Ollie leered at her, his smile of happy lechery stretching almost from ear to ear.

“This is a first for me, Iz; my hottie-totty sister stuffin’ her muffin in my bedroom! You put on quite a show, popsy; fancy getting them off and going for Round Two?”

With that he grabbed his crotch suggestively and gave a squeeze and jiggle, à la Michael Jackson, with a lascivious wink thrown-in for good measure.

That jarred Izzy back to life in a hurry; all she could think of was that the best defence was a good offence; this was not how it should be, and fright, embarrassment, and annoyance that her pleasant fantasy had been so jarringly shocked out of her put her hackles up.

“Get lost, you fucking goblin; if you ever fuck me it’s because I’m dead and can’t stop you!” she retorted, shame at her Ollie seeing her like that making her retort hotter and angrier than she’d meant to be, while pulling her meagre little panties back up and wriggling them into place, something she couldn’t help noticing made that distinct bulge in the front of his jeans twitch. Ollie saw the direction of her gaze, and smiled knowingly, then closed his eyes and sniffed theatrically.

“Yum, love that smell, sis; any idea what it is?” he taunted, strolling towards her. Izzy ignored him, and instead pushed herself away from the desk, the chair rolling several feet, but Ollie didn’t take any notice; rather, he clicked on ‘Sleep’ mode and waited for the screen to cycle off before turning to her.

She shrank back into the seat as he leaned down and rested his hands on the armrests so he could look into her eyes.

“So tell, me, Izzy; why are you in my room, nosing about in my computer, and wanking in my chair? You have a really nice laptop in your room. Why aren’t you wanking in there? And don’t bother to deny it; I’m surprised you don’t wake Mum kartal escort up, the way you go at it!”

Izzy just glared at him, her original reason for coming in here forgotten, wiped away by that lecherous smirk on his face; how she longed to wipe it off him! Of course, the part of her that was watching and listening couldn’t help but watch his dreamy eyes, his sexy cheekbones, the way his hair, with his habitual buzz-cut growing out, formed a perfect wave on his smooth, classical forehead, or the way his soft, mobile, kissable lips moved as he talked, and his white, even teeth flashed; for one mad instant she had the urge to grab him and jam her lips against his, no matter how mortified and angry she was, but she shoved it back down; something told her that, right here and now, it might be a very bad idea indeed.

For a couple of seconds Ollie seemed to catch the turmoil inside her, his brow knitted in puzzlement as he saw something that gave him pause, but then he straightened-up and sauntered away, his hands in his pockets, obviously enjoying every second of his power over her.

“So what shall we do with you, naughty little Izzy-Wizzy, what shall we do, eh? We could just forget all about this…” Izzy’s heart leaped, then sank as she realised he was just toying with her, playing ‘cat-and-mouse’ with her emotions.

“Or, you could pay me a forfeit for intruding into my personal life; personally, I’m in favour of you paying a forfeit; now, let me see, what shall it be, hmmm?” he mused, a phony frown of contemplation on his face.

Izzy thought she knew exactly where he was going with this, and after a few seconds of silence, she couldn’t stand it any longer.

“I know where this is going, don’t you even think about it! You try anything on me, and I swear to God, I will come in here one night and jam a corkscrew up your cock, do you hear me?” she hissed, anger and humiliation again warring for dominance in her, but there was something else, something that puzzled Ollie.

Usually, in his squabbles with Izzy, she verbally out-pointed him every time, but now…now something had changed, and he could tell her heart wasn’t really in it; she was mad, mostly because of the embarrassment that went with being caught ‘in flagrante’ but she wasn’t in a steaming fury, and he wondered why.

Ollie clapped his hands together with a sound like a gunshot in the confined space, and his face split into a wide, genuine grin, his grey eyes flashing with mirth.

“That’s my girl, well done, Iz! For a second there, I really thought you were just going to hand it over! Did you really think I was going to blackmail you into bed? God, what must you think of me? Just remember one thing, and paste it into that pointy little pin-head skull and behind low forehead of yours; not all us guys are like those pox-jockeys you call boyfriends!”

Izzy’s eyes flashed with anger as she leapt to her feet.

“You mean you …you did all…you let me think…you fucking…I hate you!”

But she didn’t…

Ollie grinned at her outburst, infuriating her even more.

“Siddown, you skanky tart!” he grinned, just to watch the outraged expression on her face, reflecting that she most definitely wasn’t a skank, not with a body and face like that.

Being totally objective and honest with himself, he had to admit, his kid sister was a serious babe. Izzy was almost angelically pretty, and sexy, very sexy indeed, a true hottie; she could do so much better than those brain-dead fuckwit losers she seemed so attracted to. He waited while she stalked around the room, fuming at him for really scaring her, calling him increasingly unlikely names all the while.

Ollie was always fascinated, with a tinge of casual arousal, at how much like their mother Izzy looked: the same huge, warm chocolate-brown eyes, the same light, tawny-brown hair sprinkled with golden highlights, the same high, arching eyebrows and sweet, rosebud-pink lips with the smile quirks at the corners, the same delicate nose with that adorable little tilt at the end, and the same pale, translucent skin. They even shared the same svelte, willowy figure, with the same delicious, round, biteable bottoms.

Except for Carol’s tits, he conceded; in the boobage stakes, Carol’s splendid knockers had Izzy beaten hollow; Izzy may have had a cute pair of cuddly puppies, but their mother was blessed with a delicious pair of wolfhound snouts; to Ollie, they looked like two Zeppelins coming in for a photo-finish…

Other than that, they looked like big sister and little sister, in other words, prime totty, and hugely fuckable. That was just one of the reasons why both of them cavorted so nakedly through his innermost fantasies; given the opportunity, Ollie knew he’d fuck his sister; he wanted her so badly it was a major effort just keeping his hands off her. God alone knew what kind of shit-storm would rain down on him if he even made a move, but he just knew it would be bad, very, very bad. It didn’t stop him fantasising about her though; Izzy was the hottest girl in this part of London, and he wanted her; hell, he’d fight off a horde of rampaging trolls if it meant he got to plug her properly, and as for his mother…

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