She wore a forestgreen dress that ended just below her knees, exposing thick, gray woolstockings and high-top shoes that buttoned on the side. A small crosshung from a gold chain around her neck. Her arms were lowered in frontof her and she clutched a porcelain doll in her hands. Her dark eyesstared out of the painting as if she were looking past me at somethingin the distance. Even at this early age she seemed remote andunknowable.I gazed at the portrait for a long time. In how many ways did I shareher life now. I lived in her house, I was called by her name, yet Iknew next to nothing about her. Finally, forcing my eyes away, I brokethe painting's spell, shifting my attention back to the room. Therewasn't much to see here other than a few personal items. A doll, I wassure was the same one in the painting, rested on the bed, its head onthe pillow. A child's pair of silver slippers peeked from beneath asmall vanity with carved arms, the oval frame between them missing themirror. Two. ...” she moaned. Every couple of strokes when I was all the way in, she’d press herself down fully with all the strength she could muster and rock her hips back and forth slowly, using my head to massage every square inch inside of her. She was extremely wet but also very, very tight.Sarah and Jeff motioned to do the same. Jeff laid on his back next to me and I watched as my wife mounted him and guided him in. She smiled at him once he was fully inside, took his hands in hers, then pulled them above his head as she laid prostrate on top of him, kissing him deeply and grinding her pelvis onto his. The fact that she was older and more experienced showed. Jeff was short of breath, but she knew when to press harder and when to let up. My wife was reading him like an open book.Soon, Cristina laid down on top of me as well, trying her best to grind her hips as I thrust upward with mine. The thought of filling up my younger brother’s tiny wife grew with each passing second. At times, I.
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