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Addiction

Chapter Eight

Rules are made to be broken

By:

Rufus Quentin

Late September, 1998

As we'd agreed Amanda picked me up from school and drove the both of us to the Yardage Outlet in the outskirts of Huntington. It flattered me enough that the lynx even considered me a seamstress, and it gave me even more of a self-esteem boost that she actually pushed me for it until I agreed to accept the honor of designing her dress for homecoming. We picked out a few yards of really cute fabric, simple stuff, but simple is better when it comes to classy dresses. She bought me lunch and we hung out, which we hadn't really done, at least outside the group. It was only the second time all semester I'd hung out with anyone from school, excluding the rather awkward date with that ill-opinioned collie. The lynx was just as shocked as I after I told her what happened on that date. Though I harshly questioned my choice not to see Gareth anymore, Amanda confirmed that I'd made the right decision.

Amanda and I didn't have all that much in common, but it was nice to have someone to sit down with and vent the stresses of high school and late adolescent life. We even hung out in my room after we swung by my place. I fitted her for the dress and we talked about the design she wanted. She even offered to pay me for it, which wasn't expected, but totally appreciated. After Amanda debuted at homecoming it created a bit of a buzz. Bryn and even Jennifer came up to me with designs in mind. Soon others, including those one would label as fashion police came up to me in the halls asking if I were the one who could make dresses. It gave me something to do and the illusion that I belonged. It put money in my pocket too. I kept it in a jar under the guise of it one day covering at least a fraction of college tuition, but I was realistic enough to know that at best it would cover books at most, for one maybe two semesters at state, let alone Brown. When my brother came to me asking for another car part, I reluctantly went over to my jar and pulled out twenties until he told me to stop or until it was empty. I didn't sew for the money anyway; I did it as a lifeline to those in my age group.

When their turn came around Bryn, Jennifer, and I were back on the road with a trunk full of fabric bolts and enough little accessories to make a pair of original garments. I gladly accepted the money they pushed into my paws, but I also agreed to it just to show them that dresses didn't have to come from the outlet malls we passed on the way back. Soon the three of us were back in my bedroom. I was furiously taking down notes as the two of them babbled away, telling me all the things they expected in their commissions. A sprawl of open fashion magazines lay across my bed. The greyhound and the bear each pointed to different celebrities, showing me examples they'd like to have spliced together in impossible combinations. I nodded away as I plotted something entirely different, which would nonetheless satisfy them.

One could call Jennifer a full figured girl. There was no way she'd ever fit into the V-waist cuts she kept pointing at. I had her stand on a stool in the middle of my room as I measured her. As I wrapped my tape measure around her I'd decided she'd get something to emphasize her bust, which was quite impressive. Bryn had a completely different figure. The greyhound didn't have an ounce of fat on her body. I always considered her the ideal of feminine beauty, which got kind of awkward at times, considering she was my best friend. She had good tastes, conservative, prudent, but classy. She had a design in mind that belonged in the 50s'. I tried to inspire her to go a bit more mid-century, a bit bolder, sexy, and feminist. Given that I knelt there in cargo shorts, a shirt of some 80s metal band, I lacked any real fashion street cred, but I knew what brought out the best in people's figures and species.

"I'm sorry we pushed Gareth on you, hon," Bryn said, changing the subject from clothes to guys.

"It's okay," I said, nervously checking the greyhound's inseam, lest my paws get a little too close to her stride, "it was worth a shot."

"I'd heard rumors about him, but I guessed he was a good guy at heart. He is hot," said Jennifer from the edge of my bed.

"He is super cute," said Bryn, standing with legs apart and arms out as I knelt in front of her with my tape in my paws.

"You know who else is super cute?" Jennifer asked.

"Who?" said Bryn.

"Alex's brother Dustin."

"He is adorable," Bryn confirmed.

"Doesn't help me much," I said, distracting myself by scribbling a few numbers down in my notebook, trying not to blush or otherwise let it show that I'd gotten a little bit closer to my brother than I should have, and possessed a few secrets that would have been fatal in the rumor mill.

"Is he single?" Jennifer asked.

"I haven't seen him with anybody," said Bryn, "Alex, what do you know about him?"

"Shush," I said. "He could be listening." I said, nodding towards the hall.

"Sorry," Bryn whispered. "You haven't seen him with anybody, right? Do any girls come here?"

"It's hard to tell," I said. "Ever since the truck broke down neither of us get out much."

"But he's single right?" Jennifer said. "Can you arrange it so we can talk to him before we head out?"

"I think he's taken," I said, blushing even more. Of course he wasn't. I didn't know why I said it. What did I have to gain from lying?

"Damn," said Jennifer.

"By whom?" Asked Bryn.

"I don't know. I don't talk to him much. Some girl from Kentucky, maybe. All I know is he's hoggin' the phone a lot. Must be talking to her," I said, feeling my muzzle grow longer with each successive lie. My ears must have visibly glowed pink. It took my best efforts to keep my tail from betraying me with an expressive wag. I'm a terrible liar. What was I trying to accomplish?

"Do you know her name?" Bryn further questioned. "What is she?"

"We got to figure this out. I want to know for sure," the black bear said. "Even if he's talking to Miss Kentucky, maybe things aren't so serious?"

"Bird in the hand," said Bryn, "hell of a lot easier than trying to cross the state line without a ride."

I seethed without really knowing why. I just wanted the conversation to stop but I hadn't a clue how to end it without becoming the subject of interrogation myself. "What kind of a neck do you want?" I asked Bryn, not looking up at her should she see the signs of anxiety and embarrassment in my expression.

"What?" She said, unable to switch back topics.

"I'd recommend a V-neck for you, but it depends how much cleavage you want to show. U-neck is also an option, if you want to show more."

"V-neck it is," she said, "so what does your brother like?"

"Yea, tell us everything you know. I don't know a thing about him. He's always been so mysterious," said Jennifer.

"I really wouldn't know," I said, again trying to think of some way to keep from surrendering any fact that my two friends could exploit.

"I don't think anybody knows anything about your brother. Never see him at any of the games. He never played a sport. I rarely ever see him in the cafeteria," said Bryn. "Just who is he?"

"Sexy," said Jennifer. "Wouldn't mind tugging on that mane."

"Shut up," I said, starting to get a little bit testy.

"Woah, didn't know you had a crush on your brother," said Jennifer.

I froze. A ripple of anxiousness shivered down my neck and into my twitching tail. I could feel my fur along my spine rise against the inside of my clothes.

"Take it easy, Jenny, I'm sure you wouldn't want either of us drooling on your little brother," the greyhound said, again delivering me from a very awkward situation.

"Eww," the black bear said.

"Exactly," I confirmed. I sighed, and continued. "He's in metal shop. He's the creative type, but with things mechanical. He likes classic rock; Johnny Cash, The Who, Cream. I hear it all the time coming from his room. He's a goofball, but once you get to know him, he's actually pretty deep." Each statement I said felt pried from my fingertips, as if I was surrendering a precious pearl of information neither of my friends deserved. I felt like I had to offer those morsels, just to get them to shut up and distract them from my reactions. I finished my job fitting Bryn and closed my notebook. Jennifer and Bryn were busy plotting up some strategy to vie for Dustin's attention. It pained me to listen to them talk about him. As close a friend Bryn was to me, the last thing I wanted was for her to wrap her naked body around my brother. I shuddered at the thought, but why? Did I just not want both my best friends taken away? Or was it jealousy that I felt?

I shooed the both of them out of the house a bit earlier than they expected to leave. They did have their hearts set on meeting Dustin, but thank the fates he stayed in his room. I closed the door on them both and sank to the floor in our foyer. Some very confusing emotions snapped through the synapses of my mind. Of course I wanted Dustin to be happy. He deserved his chance to find another high school relationship, or fuck buddy, as he considered it, even if that meant I became more alone. Why did I lie to my friends? It seemed silly now that they were gone.

I got to my feet when I heard the floorboards creek from above. Dustin came down the stairs, casting me a quick glance and nod as he passed, apparently on his way to the kitchen. We queued in front of the fridge in pursuit of sodas, staying mostly wordless as we tended to inside the house.

"So I guess I can expect a visit from the matchmaking committee," Dustin said the moment before he cracked the tab on the can.

"Fuck, how'd you know?" I said, popping open my can as well.

Dustin chuckled and said, "Well, you're right. The walls are paper thin. It's hard to keep the squealing from getting through."

I felt myself blush again and turned away. Only my tail swished Dustin's direction, communicating nervousness I couldn't hide. "You're not actually thinking about it, are you?" I asked. I couldn't keep the curiosity at bay.

"What, with your group? I don't know. That greyhound is pretty hot, what's her name? Bryn? Brian? I don't know about anyone else. That bear is too moody. Just trouble. What was the name of that lynx?"

"You serious?" I asked, ears swiveled back in Dustin's direction.

"I think I'll pass. I don't have the money to trade for sex anyway."

"Why would you pass them up? Or anybody else for that matter? There are still a lot of single girls out there."

"Like I said, I don't have the fucking money. That's how you guys operate. I buy you guys nice things, keep you fed, entertained, and chauffeured, and in exchange you put out. That's how the world works and has worked since the beginning of recorded history. Come on Alex, you know this."

"I forgot, you don't believe in romantic love."

"No," he said, "I believe in brain chemicals that shout out reproduce, reproduce, reproduce!" He gestured flashes with his paws.

"You're gonna make a woman very happy one of these days," I said with some degree of sarcasm.

"When I'm gainfully employed, ya. I'll dump all sorts of cash on her and get laid like a fox."

I wordlessly passed him without even making eye contact on my way back to my bedroom.

"Don't worry sis," Dustin said as I rounded the corner into the living room, "we'll still paw together, even if one of your friends ends up being a cheap enough date for me."

"Shut up!" I shouted without looking back. "Shut up, shut up!" My face and ears burnt and my tail twitched out a novel's worth of different emotions.

Dustin chuckled from where he stood in the kitchen, that asshole.

The next couple of days I found myself thinking about Dustin. I worried when my friends gossiped about him and bit my tongue as they plotted. What was it about Dustin? On one side he could give you every impression that he hadn't grown out of his puppy years yet. But since I became close with him, far too close, I'd learned of his more salacious practices as well and had a hard time separating his sexual interests from the image of him I'd grown up with. Those observations tarnished my previous impression of him for good. There was something peculiar in how he treated me when he was turned on, somehow shameless as if he'd forgotten I was his sister, was treating me as "one of the guys" or something like that. Why was he so open around me? Then there were also these rare moments where he showed a deeper side, occasions he demonstrated intuitive knowledge about nature and himself. He could even reveal things that had eluded even me and thereby gave me a better understanding of who I was. What was he; the puppy, the pervert, or the philosopher? I probably spent an inordinate amount of my time daydreaming about him in class, wondering with whom I would speak to today on the ride to and from school, and up on the hill by our fort.

The puppy in him could bring a smile to my face no matter what my mood. The pervert somehow showed me sides of myself I didn't know existed and introduced me to emotions I hadn't been given the chance to explore. The philosopher in him, though it would definitely stretch the term to apply it to him, became the only person in my part of the state my age that I could talk to. In the end it didn't really matter. All existed in the same person and I learned how to steer one into the other and back again. I looked forward to the rides home from school and to our homework sessions and the usual jogs, or when weather didn't play along, working with him on the truck in the garage. Every morning at breakfast, every walk to the bus stop and ride to school, every afternoon spent doing homework together, every hike and masturbation session, I had to sit next to him and wonder what he was thinking. Did I irreparably breach our sibling relationship just as we were transitioning into a new mature phase of it?

I had a sinking feeling on an afternoon right after school let out. I waited for Dustin at our pre-agreed upon spot between the senior parking lot and the bus stop. He usually beat me there by several minutes. This time I couldn't see him anywhere. For a good fifteen minutes I pretended not to notice his absence. I even allowed myself to miss the first bus home. When he didn't arrive I asked the few stragglers at the bus stop, the misfits who like me were poor and rideless and a little too embarrassed to use the school bus, whether or not they had seen him. I began to wonder if Bryn or one of the other girls had gotten to him first. Had they intercepted him, flirted a little, and lured him into one of their cars? Was he chatting it up on the way home as I stood on there on the hot sticky asphalt? Bastard.

I don't know why it bothered me so much, but I obsessed on it every moment of the bus ride and the walk home. When I got there Dustin wasn't home either. Where could that asshole be? I waited around in the kitchen for an hour or so, trying to concentrate on my homework. I caved and called Bryn under the pretext of confirming the night's homework assignment. By the by I asked if she'd seen Dustin. She hadn't, or so she claimed. Amanda and Jennifer received similar phone calls, but other than a brief Dustin sighting between classes, neither of the girls could or would give me any more specifics on his whereabouts.

When I thought about it, Dustin fairly regularly went AWOL when he felt like it. I could recall plenty of times where my brother would disappear until nightfall, or spend the whole night out altogether. Getting the occasional earful from dad never broke his habits. By 16 he was ungroundable anyway. Around 6pm I felt like a nervous wreck. It was his business if he were out there boning one of my friends, and as his new buddy I'd be obligated to congratulate him on it the moment he strode through the door, garlanded in the scents of one of my classmate's intimates. I felt jealous of each of my friends. In my mind they were all out there getting his best treatment. Even if they weren't, they could and I couldn't, and I'd just have to content myself sitting around, cramming for Friday's calculus test and contemplating the banalities of what I should prepare for dinner.

Dustin came home right after sunset, riding of all things on a woman's bicycle which must have been older than the two of us combined. Of course I met him out on the gravel of our driveway, the way Dad had when one of us disappeared without permission. "Where were you?" I asked as he pedaled up to me and clumsily came to a halt.

"You'd be proud of me," he said, carrying the half smile he could pull off so well. "Got the job at Sam's. Gonna work for Herb a few hours a week. Kinda a come in as you want basis. Shouldn't interfere with my school work. They understand my situation. I wouldn't be the first high schooler they employed."

"Where'd you get that?" I said, gesturing at the bike.

"Fringe benefit," Dustin said. "Gotta make it two and from work after all. Explained my situation with the truck. They said I could have this."

"You look like such a dork on that thing," I said, pissed, but feeling the relief that none of my more sordid worries came true.

Dustin chuckled. "Tell me about it. I took all the back paths to get here. It's fucking come to this. I don't even have the gas money to borrow the 4-wheeler."

"How often are you gonna be gone?" I said.

"Flexible," he said, "few hours here, few hours there. The more I'm there, the more I get payed. Gonna shoot for 10-20 hours a week."

"Gonna leave me at school again?"

"Sorry," he said, "didn't mean to abandon you. Probably gonna come in after school two times a week then try for weekends. So yea, you'll be on your own then."

"Shit, thanks a lot."

"Fuck, I thought you would be happy for me? I'm doing this for us. This way I don't mooch all your cash away. This way the car gets repaired and we can both go back to normal sooner."

The term going back to normal didn't sit well. Did he say that just to irk me? "You coulda just told me you were going out longer today. Gonna suck to ride the bus alone from here on out."

"Only gonna be two days a week, like I said. You know the way. And sorry," he continued, "didn't think I needed to excuse myself from the bus ride. You've fucking ditched me a number of times without asking as it is."

"Sorry," I said.

"Why are you all over me all of a sudden?" Dustin said as he climbed off the bike and wheeled it into the garage where we used to keep ours.

I followed him, not quite sure how to feel. I swallowed my original criticism of Dustin and let the tempest writhe in me whether or not I should feel betrayed or jealous, or whether to turn my anger into some awkward form of praise for his rather commendable show of responsibility. "Just worried about you," I said.

Dustin chuckled. "Since when?"

"Don't get stuck at Sam's." I tried to change the subject. "Make sure your works done too."

"Dude, you are turning into dad. Lay off me a bit, will ya sis? I'm tired."

I let Dustin leave me behind in the garage. He padded straight upstairs to his room. More than anything I felt embarrassed. Why did I even care? I made such a fool of myself. Did I just offend him? I slinked back into the kitchen, closed my books and readied dinner. The mechanical motions of food preparation couldn't distract me from my fluctuating, contradictory thoughts. In the end I found myself wishing I could be like Dustin and shrug off everything bothering me as if it were dust. Even that desire confused me.

A new routine shaped my days after Dustin got his job. I found myself waiting day after day, sitting on our living room sofa, more staring at then watching pre-primetime shows on our television set. I'd survived the school day, the lonely bus ride home, and the walk through the forest by our sordid little spots. All of which seemed to take a little longer without my brother's company. Though I was always the kinda person to feel content by myself and on my own terms, I shifted on a rare form of anxiety I didn't dare interrogate. Somehow I was aware that Dustin was the source in some circuitous way. Was he still at work? Was he being intercepted as I sat there worrying, by one of the girls from school? Was there something he wasn't telling me? Was he as honest as he seemed? Why did I even care? And why was I contemplating doing nice things for him, things that might convince him to spend a little more time with me? Even though it was fairly obvious, the dots were there, but no matter how far I contemplated, I somehow refused to connect them.

Then there were those stupid photographs. What was I thinking? Why was there no word of them since the moment I pressed the envelope into Dustin's paws? Did he forget I'd exposed myself to him on those polaroids? I wish I could. I wanted to send a bullet chasing after whatever part of my brain housed the memories of me sprawled naked across my bed. What was worse? The fact that I bared my body, or the fact that I committed some quasi-incestuous crime? I was one fucked up pup.

While I did homework, prepared dinner, and watched the shows I didn't even like in a vain attempt to distract myself, I wondered why I wasn't one-hundred percent opposed to taking more. It killed me that the topic fell into the black hole of undiscussed problems. I craved feedback, anything, even a vulgar monosyllabic comment on my genitals in the same semi-academic way I yearned to read the letter grade on a test I knew would not be returned until the end of the class.

"You hungry?" I asked, as he came through the door. I'd taken to meeting him at the threshold every single day he worked.

"Starved," he said, dropping everything this side of the doormat. "What's for dinner?"

"Beef stew."

"Again?"

"Don't have much time to cook," I defended. "It's a simple recipe."

"It's all good," he said as he slinked up the stairs.

"How's your homework going?"

"Too tired to think about that right now. I'll get to it after dinner."

"What about a run?"

"You crazy?" He said. "Everything hurts. Been hauling boxes today."

"Thought you were gunsmithing?"

"They need me where they need me."

"It's been awhile since we've run."

"Then go run without me."

"It's no fun to do it by myself."

"This weekend maybe," he said, already at the second floor landing.

That was the end of that conversation. I stood downstairs, gazing up the flight of stairs, wishing to catch one last glimpse of him. Damn, what was wrong with me?

Dustin's grades started to slack again, just as I predicted. Whenever he was home I followed him like a ghost, part hawk, part stalker. As unethical as it is to say, I started doing most of his math and science homework. He asked me and I couldn't say no. I sat at his desk as he snored away, penning away at his worksheets and notebooks in my best effort to write in a sloppy handwriting. I tried to occupy his time on days he had off, mostly out of a desire to keep exposure to my girlfriends to a minimum. He deserved better than them, I told myself in moments I had to take a step back rationalize my behavior. Luckily after several weeks of this new routine it became clear that he either had no time, or felt too exhausted to pursue any such extracurriculars.

On a rare weekend he had the energy and a day off I talked him into another run. This time it occurred on a fine late Saturday morning. Even in his new perpetual tiredness he couldn't turn down an adventure on such a splendid day. I lagged behind of course. Without the incentive I'd let my skills lapse, but we made it to our spot in due time. As if it was understood what would happen next, Dustin pulled out the magazines and spread out a blanket which would serve as our little pawing spot. We made small talk as we lay down, pretending for a good half-hour to be there just to enjoy the pure blue sky and the first yellow leaves of the season.

"Normally I hate this time of year," Dustin said.

"Why's that?" I asked.

"Longest possible time before more summer."

"I kinda like it," I said. "I didn't used to, but I do now."

"Why?" Dustin asked.

I shrugged. "Summer's gotta end eventually. Why bother fretting about it ending? Can't you just enjoy it and look forward what's coming?" I paused. "I'm glad we've started doing this. I mean, just the running. It's given me a spot to come meditate at. To kind of say goodbye to the past and make peace with the fact that things change."

"I thought you came along to feel nostalgic?"

"Maybe that's part of it. I think part of nostalgia is knowing that the past is gone. I'm not here to relive it. I'm not even here to remember it, though its kinda hard not to, y'know? It's there, it's part of me, and its gone. We're not gonna be cubs again, crawling over these dumb logs. I accept that. I'm more thinking about the future, now that things are finally coming to an end, or at least an end is in sight. This will probably be my last winter here."

"There will probably be winter where you go, unless you're planning on going all the way to California."

I chuckled, "Yea, but the last one here. Wherever I go the leaves will probably start changing sooner or maybe later, the weather will get colder sooner or later, and the winters will be milder or harsher. It won't be predictable."

"You've got weird worries," Dustin said. "Half the kids at school don't have a job lined up after they graduate. Most of them won't even find one outside of the mines, and you're worrying about whether to bring a light or a heavy jacket."

I chuckled and felt a little bit embarrassed. Again Dustin inadvertently hit me with a reality check.

When the conversation ended Dustin brought out the magazines and pulled down his pants. He fondled his sheath and peeking tip as he flipped through his collection. He caught me staring at him even though I pretended to read a splayed open magazine of my own, but this time he didn't say anything. Either he'd gotten used to me doing it, or the no peeking rule was indeed null and void. I watched my brother grow hard and then start to paw in earnest. Only then did I cave in to the temptation to unbutton my jeans and join him in his search for cheap and easy sexual release.

It didn't take all too long before I caught up to Dustin. I fingered myself furiously, hooking a promising little sensation. My paw-pads eagerly brushed my hood, doing their best to reel in and nurture the warmth and tingle. Everything I touched felt wet, soaked in my arousal. Indeed that physical pleasure grew from moment to moment. I was determined not to let it slip away this time. I held my breath and closed my eyes concentrating simply on what was occurring in my boxers. I felt that awkward bladder pressure return, but this time I'd ignore it. I wanted to burst through that barrier come what may. It was getting good and going from good to better. I started to feel my muscles tense. I thought for a second I was on the verge and braced myself. My fingers moved as fast as they could. Then it was gone, all of it. No climax, no contractions, no more bladder pressure, all I felt was my paw-pads caressing my sex.

"Damn it," I said, withdrawing my soaked paw from my equally soaked boy's shorts. I leaned back and sighed, panting out my frustrations.

My brother slowed down what he was doing. He looked over at me, at my frazzled body lying in the worst possible combination of exhaustion and sexual frustration, at the little patch of belly fur showing between my shirt and boxers, and at the wide open fly of my shorts and visibly wet boxers. I looked over at him, up into his eyes. His gaze met mine. He was expressionless, but not quite. Was there worry or concern? What was he thinking? It was hard to tell. I'm not sure what he read in mine, perhaps disappointment, desperation, capitulation. I watched without reacting as his paw left his knot and crossed the space between us. I wanted to say something, to interdict as his paw brushed my belly and his fingertips dipped under the elastic of my boxers, but I didn't. And worse, I didn't know why. I gasped in a short breath, intently watching his paw disappear into my boxers. I wasn't going to stop him.

My body tensed as he brushed over my pubic fur as if my body was trying to warn me, begging me to step in and put an end to this taboo, but I failed. I felt his paw-pads find my slit and ever so gently brush my bare folds. My muzzle darted back up at him. My features carried an anxious expression, wordlessly questioning if he truly understood what was transpiring, if he knew what we were doing and wanted what it meant. He nodded as if asking for consent. I nodded back, succumbing to the desperation, and parted my thighs for my sibling.

He started slow and curious. By his own admission a long time passed since he'd been with a girl, and even then, every girl is different. His paw, far broader and more robust than mine, continued down and covered my sex. He deliberately rubbed my mound, brushing his pads over my folds, my heat, and my wetness. It felt beyond strange to have another paw there, one that wasn't mine, touching me so intimately. Despite the tension, the anxiety arresting my muscles, and the myriad voices in my head protesting the breach of such a colossal, immovable social norm, it felt good to let someone touch me. What he performed didn't bring me immediately pleasure, what I felt was more the liberation in giving up, a sense of freedom and newness no matter how taboo.

After a few passes his index finger slid through my lips from bottom to top, dipping into the shamefully revealing pool of arousal collecting within my folds. He spread that slickness as he explored beneath the taut fabric of my boxers. He rubbed my soaked pubic fur, felt my labia between his fingers, brushed my pee-slit and discovered the opening to my vagina. Thankfully he found my pearl and let that become the focus of his attention after he'd exhaustively satiated his curiosity toward what his sister's pussy felt like. He was perhaps a bit too rough and inexperienced with my clit, but the first little sparks of tingling began to emanate from under his fingertips.

He had me sighing, clenching the fabric beneath me. I kept looking up at him, as if asking if this was alright, truly alright. He kept nodding if I wanted him to continue, and of course I did. I breathed through my open muzzle, tasting the scent of my own arousal on my tongue. I then gazed down, at his lap, and noticed his mostly unattended knotted arousal poking straight up from his lap. I worked up the courage and reached over, taking hold of my brother's length before I could regret contemplating it. His venous length felt warm within my paw, firm but with the pliant feel of skin. A thin coat of pre added a little bit of slickness to it. Holding Dustin's arousal confirmed some of my curiosities, his feel affirmed things I couldn't know from sight alone. So it happened. I held my brother's cock while he was familiarizing himself with my vulva, so much for the no touching rule. Guilt weighed down my ears, but I was happy to feel it; it meant I still possessed a tether to normalcy.

My brother scooted closer to me, avoiding getting so near our hips would touch or our tails would brush against each other, simply to gain easier access. I began stroking his length, letting his stiff member pass under my paw-pads. I tugged his tip, feeling the canine point under my thumb and his pre slicken its course around his glans. His paw joined mine, his fingers making a ring just below his knot. Otherwise he let me have free reign. I'd never touched a guy before, never felt a cock. This felt new and intimidating, even though boys work so much simpler than girls. I stroked him as I'd observed him doing to himself, alternating between the tip and long shaft length tugs, incorporating his knot in the occasional caress. Soon I had him bucking upward as if yearning for the next improvisation.

My brother proved to be even less experienced than I. He kept going for my vagina, often leaving my pearl ignored to finger around my opening. I let him play between my labia and poke into the puffy folds, allowing him to get an inch deep or so it felt, but any deeper and I'd recoil with a hiss some air out between my teeth as if it caused me pain. I just wasn't ready to let anyone feel me so deep. He stayed good and followed my nonverbal cues as if they were a codex of law. In exchange he could feel me any other way he liked. It wasn't about getting off anymore. It was about putting my body up as sacrifice for the sake of the thrill and the trust, and most importantly the intimacy of sharing that physical little kernel of myself with another living body, damned it if we were related.

"This is fucked up," I thought to myself as my paw quickly traveled up and down my brother's length in an earnest attempt to get him to cum. I had him bucking through my fingers and breathing with irregular sighs, the kind he always vented when he got close. He was preing fairly heavily so that he felt slippery no matter how much I stroked him. He took a firm hold of his knot and squeezed. Our paws bumped against one another as we worked in unison. He felt intense, dynamic, and almost unwieldy, forcing me to tap into extra energy to reinforce my tiring arm. His fingering suffered as he got more and more distracted, growing clumsy and self-serving but nevertheless remaining highly erotic.

"Oh god," he huffed and grabbed my paw, bucking upward and holding it where his shaft expanded into his knot. I actually got him off. I actually held him as he came. I felt him throb in my grasp and his cum coursing through his length. Every pulse sent a jet of seed shooting onto his lower belly where the thick substance slowly trickled down the follicles of fur and caught in his coarser pubic tufts. My brother held my paw upon his member, squeezing me and thereby himself as if willing his orgasm to last a moment longer. He thrust through our paws when his bursts started to taper off, sliding his slick length through our fingers. I gave him a few more milking squeezes after his climax died down and his twitches all but stopped, and watched a slow cascade of his sperm ooze from his glans down his shaft. I observed with considerable disbelief how the stuff pooled upon my fingers until it spilled over the back of my hand, staining my fur in the off-white, collie scented substance.

After Dustin came he relaxed against the log, letting go of my paw and giving his drained balls a quick rewarding scratch. I played with my brother's softening cock a little longer until curiosity transitioned to aversion, let go and looked at the stuff webbing between my fingers and soaking into my fur. I tested the substance's texture between my thumb and index finger, finding it as slick as his pre. I took in the scent, the purely sexual, delightfully masculine musk. I felt pretty sure I'd just committed a sin.

My brother stopped playing through my folds during his moment. His paw simply rested over my vulva as if laying claim to it, guarding it against anyone who dare challenge him. I let him keep his paw between my legs. I was still turned on enough to take pleasure in his touch. It felt secure there. His paw got to work again a few minutes later, first with the flick of a finger through my slit and then resumption of full play. He discovered a few entertaining spots and created several amusing sensations, but he couldn't catch hold of anything near what I'd come close to. I arched my hips up for him and tried to wiggle to show him what felt good, but either he hadn't learned my signs or what he did find dissipated shortly after he'd discovered it. After a while it became clear that even with his help I couldn't find what I looked for.

I brought my paw to Dustin's wrist in an expression to stop.

"What's wrong?" Dustin asked.

"Nothing, just getting sore," I said, wincing a little and pulling my body back against the log. "I'm not used to this."

"Are you ok?" He said with his paw still lingering inside my boxers. His index finger slipped out of me, but he kept rubbing my vulva, caressing my slick lips as if in a last ditch effort to convince me to keep going. He knew as well as I did that what he was doing shouldn't ever happen again. He treated the moment as such and slaked his curiosity more for his pleasure than mine.

"Yeah," I said with a long exhale. "It's intense, and a little overwhelming," I continued, grasping for the appropriate compliment. "I just need a break." I said, looking at him with a smile.

Dustin reluctantly removed his paw from my rather soaked boxers and retreated a bit. I reclined against the log a bit more, sitting on the blanket and steadied my breathing. We sat for a moment catching our breath or at least exaggerating the process of such to avoid exchanging any more words. Outwardly things appeared back to normal. except they weren't. The aura of what had just transpired hung over us as did the uncertainty over what if any consequences would befall our relationship.

My brother handed me his bandana and I used it to clean his sperm off my paw, or at least I tried. The stuff left stiff streaks that rubbing only made it worse. I pretended not to notice my brother sniffing the paw he had in my lap, that sick puppy. At least I was much more discrete in taking in the scent of a male member of my breed. I sat there trying to find composure as my brother stood up and went to go mark a tree. What was he thinking, reaching into my boxers like that? I was his sister. What was I thinking? Letting it happen and masturbating him in return? What just happened went beyond bonding. It wasn't normal. We needed to have a conversation; one I didn't even know how to start. Nothing could have prepared me for an event like this. As such I stayed silent, sorting this event in with all the deepest secrets of my life, into the range of topics I would have to bottle up and obfuscate for the rest of my life.

I stood up, hobbled away from the blanket and tugged down my boxer's elastic to override my brother's claim on another tree. As much as I tried to forget what happened, the memory and the erotiscism of what transpired couldn't be covered up as easily. I zipped myself up and wordlessly rejoined my brother as we cleaned up for the awkward jog downhill. Every step made me feel that I hadn't gotten off. I felt an arousal of unprecedented magnitude I would have liked to wish away, but couldn't. Dustin seemed shy and uncharacteristically silent. For once he gave me the space for my little private moment, without pretending to accidentally cast a glance my way. I think he knew as well as I did that we both went too far this time. We were guilty of something. Was this incest? Did masturbation count? Oh god, what if what we did was actually incest? Damnit. We had a rule.