Ah J'Arnie! [Four]

Why teens don't rake up autumn leaves?

Lust in the backyard — reverse cowgirl

Step-parents Delia and Ted, like any adults maintaining a home and trying to keep its interior, yard and lawns presentable: insisted that the young college offspring under their roof occasionally pulled their weight with the basics and took their turn at raking up the goddamn endless autumn leaves —deposited from the screen of silver birch trees at the fenceline of the property.

All that remained of the original garden on the rebuilt block.

Seriously, all it involves is to rake some frickin leaves. Just the basics, use some effort and pile the fuckers into a massive heap. Then done. 

It seemed too much to ask of both J'Arnie and Hamish.

The blonde basketball star was well-intentioned, as usual. Hamish had taken the big broad leaf rake out of the shed and determined a plan of action. 

You know the tactic, pick a spot to pile the crap where they won't blow around. Look where they are thick, clump them and rake big piles together. 

Hamish got right into the dry, crunchy, spongy golden, yellow and orange spread in the left corner. He started towards a secure spot in case the wind picked up — heap the mess behind the garden shed. 

He was grunting harder than he did in sex scooping and hauling.

Hamish wanted this finished before he started. He had promised his dad that this was one job he would see through.

It was one of those Indian summer days, however. 

Hamish was bare-chested and looking buff. It was hot, and the wind was picking up and swirling. 

The basketball star sweated like the proverbial pig. 

Geez, he needed to cool off, but he would finish this. 

For once, he was happy J'Arnie was out. She was meant to help. Still, there were no distractions; this was good. 

He had his head down and arse bent, hauling a big load of leaf litter on a tarp to the massive pile already building behind the shed.

Nearly breathless, he raised the edge of the tarp and heaved and shook it, adding to the growing lush pile. He was proud of his immediate work.

He took a shorter breather and would have finished the remainder of the yard in half an hour, even without J'Arnie's help — he had given up trying to find her.

He felt her wetness before he heard her. 

Well, her boobs bouncing and buffing into his bare back.

"Get an eyeful of this, you prick."

Hamish turned around and was confronted by the flattering, fetching, male fantasy becoming backyard reality — frickin J'Arnie in a white tight wet cotton t-shirt. 

No bra on the tramp. 

Soaked breast heaven.

Her boobs were just so goddamn enticing, especially if you were already familiar with the naked flesh creating the eye candy tease for your thickening cock.

Damn it, the brunette's nipples were rigid, and her pinkness was highlighted by the clingy fabric and the wetness adhered to and accentuated her delicious, delicate titties. 

There was a fondling invitation.

Well, it became more as J'Arnie, the slutette, flashed her gorgeous curvy melons. 

Her nipples seemed to mime: Play with us.

And the temptress stepsister added a lustre of lust as she removed her top: "Fuck, it's hot...and boy do my titties need some fresh air and a pair of helping hands."

Hamish dropped the stupid rake. The leaves could frickin' blow where they liked.

"Well, fuck the leaves," said Hamish.

"Yeah, you can't fuck, fuckin leaves, but you can fuck me," from J'Arnie.

He knew what would get blown fast —right here — behind the shed.

Hamish had her pretty cherry nipples between his fingers. 

J'Arnie murmured in approval, "Ah, Ah, Ah."

The blonde had her perky nipples in his gob, sucking them out and up.

The brunette moaned in appreciation.

"Ooh, ooh, that is good. Don't be frightened. You can suck them right out! Ooh, yes, perfect! Ooh, Ooh!"

The six-foot stepbrother had his hand down the front of J'Arnie's pants and a finger straight into her moist, shaved slit.

His stepsister pleaded instantaneously for action.

"You dirty bastard...straight to the pussy...you confident son of bitch...well, get your tongue down there...we don't have all afternoon."

Our five-foot-five-inch lass wriggled out of her shorts and flung her body backwards into the huge pile of crunchy, pulpy, cushiony leaves. She pulled her high-cut black skimpy lacey undies to the side.

"Yeah, look, you prick, and don't you get super excited when I touch myself...get your cock out... that's it...stroke it for me...your stiffy looks good.... bet you want to lick my clitty...mmm.... well ...get your fuckin mouth over my cunny now."

Hamish was down between her legs, and his body was shaped into the springy, spongy leaf mass. But his tongue was more importantly caught in the delight and trap of her spongy, wet fem-lipettes. 

Geez J'Arnie had an attractive pussy, and she frickin knew how to share her goodies.

The brunette stepsister enjoyed the risqué, unfolding, unrestrained, morally bankrupt encounter. 

Made racier by her mum Delia chopping salad through the kitchen window on the other side of the shed.

If she had come out, J'Arnie, in her current pleasurable state, would have encouraged her to give Hamish's balls a blast.

J'Arnie lost that thought in total clitty pleasure. Her pink budette was delivering big time under Hamish's swift licking. Spasms of delight building so rapidly centred on her sex bead.

The sudden involuntary burst of sexual delight overtook her whole being momentarily.

"Oorrgh, yes, just the right pressure! Oorrgh, Oorrgghh!"

Fuck she felt good. She had her own scattered golden glow flash of personal pleasure.

J'Arnie was now in the fuck you feel good and need a big fat dick...good.

And a hard dick was immediately at hand. Rigid and long, already pointing stiff, out of Hamish's pants. 

His pecker was looking for succour. It needed immediate relief, a helping hand, a keen tongue or a tight wrapping pussy. 

It was J'Arnie's mouth to his prick's rescue.

She had cock ministrations crafted to perfection. A girl either knows how to set up the blow or has no idea. The brunette knew all the steps. She didn't play basketball but understood that the drill down was crucial. 

Starting with taking control and bloody enjoying it — stepbrother and all.

She gave the quick succession of rapid full gob strokes over his prick's head and halfway down the shaft. Make the prick demand the full, deep throat.

She paused and gave him her devastating sexy eye flutter: "You like that...you want more...well you need to beg you bastard...ask for my slutty lips to lock around your cock...you want it ball deep...plead you bastard."

"Yeah ...you bitch...I want it...but you want my hot fat pecker even more...take it deep, you bitch...take it where it belongs...at the back of your trampy throat."

And J'Arnie went the whole shaft. Easy and happy. Wow this girl knew mutual fun in the sun.

Their combined arousal was amped. 

She had him squirming in pleasure as she lingered under his sensitive cock head while her hand went up and down his saliva-lubricated shaft, and her fingers fondled and cupped his ball sack.

She treated his rock-hard cock like a gear stick: "First gear...second gear... and overdrive...like that don't you."

Hamish just groaned and added groans to pleasurable moans.

"You want your balls licked, don't you, you kinky bastard...like this." 

J'Arnie sucked his ball sack. 

Hamish thought he was going to blow it there and then.

"Oh, you dirty prick...you secretly want your arsehole licked, don't you."

The brunette rimmed his sensitive crack.

Hamish was convinced that was the spurt trigger, but the bitch eased off.

"Not yet, you prick; you are going to cum like a frickin fountain today; after you fill me."

Hamish was over-ready. J'Arnie mounted him.

The leaf mulch shaped two bodies as J'Arnie straddled cock. Her hands pressed into and spread across Hamish's firm chest. Then, it was like she was bull riding.

"Yeah, ha! Yeah, ha!"

Flexibility, as she bounced up and down.

Coordination as she managed to massage her stepbrother's balls.

And her cute moist cunny wrapped around hard drilling pecker.

"Ah! Ah! Ah," mouthed off J'Arnie.

Then added— "That is so good, but I need babeback, reverse cowgirl! Yeah, ha! Go for it, big boy!

After wads of spit and two ramming fingers, Hamish hit her gaped constriction like a jackhammer.

J'Arnie let her winking starfish's muscles be stretched to the limit bouncing on his stiffy like it was a pogo-stick.

She rode cock up her arse with a frantic, frenetic, eager willingness only possessed by youth.

She bucked her body. Hoiked her rump. Spread eagled her thighs. Shimmied her booty to max the pleasure ramping.

"Orrgh! Sheez! Ah! Ah Ah! That is in frickin' deep! Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!"

An effusive anal-gasm.

Hamish deserved his reward.

Dismounting, J'Arnie took his rampant wood slowly, an inch at a time.

Her stepbrother enjoyed seeing his cock slowly being pleasured to his full length.

Then she did the soft circling tip licks.

Finally, the pace hit frictional release. J'Arnie had her hand wrapped around his base. A finger from her other hand shot into Hamish's arse.

"Ugh, ugh," he bayed.

At the same time, she went the full deep throat, and Hamish couldn't envisage a sex life without his stepsister.

She wanted a geyser, and she got it.

Her hand jacked him off to male pecker heaven.

'Orh ...Orh...Orh" was all the lad got out as his jizz launched straight up in a spurting surge like a launched rocket — until gravity hit, and it splattered from his nipples to his navel.

"Wow, boy...fuckin full load there."

They rested for a couple of minutes, dangerously exposed naked behind the shed. 

Then J'Arnie redressed, and Hamish wiped his torso with dried leaves and packed his satisfied pecker away.

For a while, they lay in the balmy shaded leaf litter. Two happy young beings. They could ask no more of the afternoon. They both spread out their arms and legs.

Fuck the raking, thought a worn-out, replete Hamish. Maybe later.

J'Arnie grabbed him by the hand and whispered, "Let's go skinny dip at the weir."

And they were out the back gate, playfully pushing and bumping into each other. 

Meanwhile, Mrs Rogers had two tall glasses of cold lemonade and two cookies on a tray as she walked out of the back door and scanned the yard for hard-working Hamish and perhaps J'Arnie if she was helping. 

Delia knew her stepson had been outside raking for more than an hour.

The rake was there, but supposedly piled-up leaves were swirling and re-scattering everywhere across the vast backyard.

And Delia Rogers was left holding chill lemonades and cookies and contemplating — You waste your bloody breath asking teens to rake frickin autumn leaves; something else will get their attention.

Then she looked closer and thought, Why are there two huge side-by-side indents in the pile of leaves?

Well, if she knew the answer...