The Little May Serie: Teaching Stan(Part 3)

May teaches her brother some of the things she's learned from dad...

Stan stumbled through the school day in a daze, his brain looping the same torturous memory—May’s small, wet hand sliding up his balls in the shower, her fingers wrapping around his cock with almost practiced ease.

He’d never seen her move like that—like she *knew* exactly how to touch him, like she’d done it a hundred times before. Fuck. His cock ached just thinking about it, pressing painfully against his zipper as he slouched at his desk.

They'd always been close, sharing a tiny cabin bedroom their whole lives. He was used to her nakedness—it was normal. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t occasionally been aroused by her softness before—the way her thighs pressed together when she stretched after waking, the way her nipples pebbled when she stepped out of the shower.

He was a teenage boy, for fuck’s sake. But he’d always tried to suppress it—shoved it down, drowned it in cold showers and guilt. But after this morning, the dam had broken. Now every time he blinked, he saw her—pink lips parted pissing onto his legs, water dripping down the slight swell of her chest, her fingers stroking him with terrifying confidence.

The bus ride home felt endless. Stan’s knee bounced uncontrollably as he stared out the rain-streaked window, images flashing behind his eyes—May’s mouth whispering "Later" against his skin.

He was both excited and terrified about what would happen after lights out, alone together in their small shared cabin. Would she slide under his covers like she used to when they were little?

Only this time… with purpose? His hands clenched around the straps of his backpack, knuckles whitening as his cock twitched against his thigh. When he finally stepped into the narrowboat’s wheelhouse, it was weirdly quiet, strained even.

No sarcastic quip from Dad about bladder control. No playful ribbing from Mum about teenage boys and their "morning problems." Just the soft hum of the fridge and Banjo’s tail thumping against the floorboards.

Katy glanced up from her book with a smile and a weird look in her eyes. "Tea’s in the pot, love," she murmured before returning to her reading—pages turning with deliberate slowness.

Dad didn’t even look up from his laptop, fingers clacking away at some spreadsheet. Stan hesitated in the doorway. Something was off. Normally Mum would’ve asked about his day—really asked, not just tossed out a distracted "How was school?" Dad would’ve ruffled his hair or made some dumb joke about puberty hitting him like a freight train. But they were both... careful. Quiet. Like they were tiptoeing around landmines.

Had they had a fight?

Only May was her usual self, skipping barefoot through the narrowboat's cramped corridor when she spotted Stan. She collided with him in that reckless way she had—all sharp elbows and sudden warmth—her small body pressing against his before he could brace himself.

The scent of strawberry shampoo clung to her. She grinned up at him, fingers curling into the fabric of his school shirt. "You look flustered," she whispered, too close, her breath tickling his neck. "Been thinking about me have you?" She gave his cock a squeeze through his trousers—quick, practiced—before dancing away toward the kitchen, leaving
Stan frozen in the hallway with his backpack slipping from numb fingers.

As bedtime approached Stan palms grew more and more clammy. The narrowboat creaked rhythmically with the canal’s gentle sway, amplifying every sound—May’s bare feet padding across the floorboards, the rustle of her nightshirt sliding up her thighs as she climbed into her bunk. He stared resolutely at the ceiling while she giggled at some text on her phone, its blue glow casting shadows across her coltish legs. He waited and waited but she never came.

Minutes bled into hours, the tight coil of anticipation in his gut unraveled and he eventually drifted off. He woke to the slick whisper of skin against sheets—May's naked, slender form sliding under his covers. Moonlight carved silver edges along her collarbones, her tiny breasts barely-there curves in the dark. The scent of her—warm skin and something sweetly musky—flooded his senses before he could process the reality of her pressed against him.

"You were supposed to come get me," she murmured, her knee slotting between his thighs with deliberate precision. Her fingers traced the waistband of his boxers, dipping beneath to graze the wiry trail of hair leading south. "But I guess I'll have to take the lead."

Stan's breath hitched when her lips brushed his—soft, tentative at first, then insistent, her tongue flicking against the seam of his mouth until he groaned. Her hand found his cock through the thin fabric, already rigid with need, and squeezed just enough to make his hips jerk.

"Fuck—May, we can't—" he gasped against her mouth, but she silenced him with another kiss, her fingers now peeling his boxers down his hips, the cool air hitting his slick precome. "Too late," she breathed, her palm sliding down the length of him with terrifying familiarity. "You've been thinking about this all day. I know you have."

Her thumb swiped over his slit, smearing the bead of moisture there before stroking him in slow, maddening circles. "Bet you nearly came in your pants at school imagining this, didn't you?"

She didn't wait for permission. The covers fell off the bed as May slithered downward, her breath hot against Stan's stomach before her lips brushed the throbbing head of his cock. No fumbling, no hesitation—just the wet, knowing seal of her mouth taking him in with a practiced ease that made his hips jerk.

Stan gasped, fingers tangling in her hair as she hollowed her cheeks, sucking him deeper with obscene little pops of suction that echoed in the dark cabin.

She knew exactly what she was doing—the flick of her tongue along his frenulum, the way her small hand twisted at the base in counterpoint to each bob of her head. Where the fuck had she learned this?

And then—oh fuck—she took him all the way, her nose pressing into the wiry curls at his pelvis as her throat fluttered around him. No gagging, no choking. Just warm, wet perfection swallowing him whole.

Stan's back arched off the mattress, a ragged groan tearing from his throat as her fingers found his balls, rolling them gently between her fingertips while her throat pulsed around his cockhead. "Jesus—fuck—May," he hissed, thighs trembling. The sight of her—lips stretched obscenely around his girth, blonde hair tangled in his grip—was enough to make his vision blur.

It was to late his teenage balls contracted and pumped rope after rope of thick cum straight down her throat. May didn't flinch, didn't pull away—just swallowed every last drop with greedy little gulps, her throat working around him until he was soft and spent.

When she finally released him with an obscene pop, she licked her lips with a satisfied grin, her chin glistening in the moonlight. "You're welcome," she whispered, crawling back up his body like a predator, her small fingers tracing the damp trails on his stomach where precome had leaked earlier. "Bet you didn't expect your little sister could do that, huh?"

Stan could only stare, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried—and failed—to reconcile the May he knew with this wicked creature straddling his hips.

She leaned forward suddenly, her damp pussy pressing against his stomach as she gripped his jaw with surprising force. "Now it's your turn," she murmured, shifting backward until her thighs bracketed his face, her scent—musky and sweet—filling his nostrils.

Her tiny teenage pussy was smooth as a peach from that morning's shave, her lips glistening under the faint moonlight seeping through the curtains. "Taste me," she ordered, grinding her slit against his mouth before he could protest. Her fingers tightened in his hair, guiding him with sharp little tugs. "Use your tongue—like this," she hissed, rocking forward to demonstrate, her clit dragging wetly over his bottom lip.

Stan's mind blanked; the heat of her, the sweet-salty taste flooding his tongue, the way she moaned softly when he finally obeyed, licking a tentative stripe up her seam. "Yes," she breathed, her hips rolling in slow circles against his mouth now, teaching him the rhythm she wanted.

Her fingers rubbed her tiny clit as she ground against his mouth—slow at first, just letting him explore, letting him get used to the heat and the taste of her. But when Stan’s tongue flicked upward experimentally, catching her just right, May gasped sharply, her thighs clamping around his head.

"There—yes—just like that," she whimpered, her voice high and breathless in the dark. She rode his face with increasing desperation, her hips rolling in tight, practiced circles. Her fingers worked her clit in quick, tight spirals, the slick sounds of her own arousal mingling with

Stan’s muffled groans beneath her. Stan gripped her thighs, holding her steady as he lapped at her dripping slit, his tongue exploring every fold with a curiosity that bordered on worship. The taste of her—musky and sweet—flooded his senses. He couldn’t get enough.

His nose pressed against her smooth mound as he licked deeper, his tongue dipping inside her tight little hole before flicking upward to circle her swollen clit. May whimpered, her breath hitching as her hips bucked against his mouth.

"Fuck—*fuck*—right there!" she gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him closer. Her thighs trembled, her body coiling tight before she arched sharply, a muffled cry spilling from her lips as she came biting into her hand—her cunt pulsing against his tongue, wet heat spilling over his chin.

Katy woke with a start, the pressure in her bladder sharp and insistent. The narrowboat swayed gently, moonlight slicing through the porthole above the bed where Tom snored beside her. She clenched her thighs together, the lingering ache between them a reminder of the afternoon’s rough coupling—and the way Banjo’s tongue had lapped at her before Tom roughly took her arsehole.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, wincing at her still slightly tender bottom. The boat’s wooden floorboards were cool beneath her bare feet as she crept toward the tiny bathroom. But as she passed the children’s cabin, a sound froze her mid-step—a wet, rhythmic smacking, punctuated by muffled gasps. Katy’s breath caught. She knew that sound intimately. The cabin sliding door left a thin gap—just enough.

Katy's fingers hovered over the wood, her pulse hammering in her throat as she peered through the sliver of darkness. Moonlight pooled in streaks across tangled sheets, illuminating Stan's chest, May's messy blond hair buried between his thighs—and then the wet, obscene pop as she pulled off his cock with a gasp.

Katy's nails dug into her own thighs. You're welcome," she heard May whisper crawling back up Stan's body. "Bet you didn't expect your little sister could do that, huh?"

Katy's head span. Her stomach clenched, tight with something that wasn't quite shock— her traitorous cunt pulsed wetly at the sight of May's slim, naked body writhing atop Stan, her small hips grinding down onto his face with practiced movements. The cabin air was thick with the musk of teenage arousal, the slick sounds of May riding her brother's tongue sending an electric jolt straight to Katy's clit.

Katy’s fingers found their way between her own thighs, her fingertips pressing against her damp folds through the thin fabric of her nightdress. She should stop this. She should. But her body betrayed her, rocking forward against her own hand as she watched May’s back arch—the girl’s tiny breasts just visible in the moonlight, her nipples hard little peaks.

Suddenly a hand slipped over Katy’s mouth and she looked up to see Tom holding his finger to his lips—his eyes black pools of lust in the dim corridor. She hadn’t even heard him approach, too absorbed in the scene unfolding beyond the cabin door.

His breath hit her ear, hot and uneven. "Been watching long?" he murmured, his other hand sliding around her waist to palm the damp heat between her thighs. Katy shuddered, her pulse stuttering as his fingers pressed harder against her clit through the thin fabric. "Fuck—Tom, we have to—"

"Shhh," Tom's lips brushed Katy's ear, his fingers still working her through the damp fabric. His other hand remained clamped over her mouth, stifling any protest. Through the cracked door, May's gasps grew sharper—her small body trembling as she rode Stan's tongue with frantic little rolls of her hips.

"Look at her," Tom whispered, his erection pressing against Katy's back. "Our sweet girl knows exactly what she wants." No sooner had May come down from her shuddering orgasm atop Stan’s face than she flipped herself onto all fours, her still-dripping slit hovering just inches above his throbbing cock. Her tiny fingers reached back to guide him, her breath coming in quick, excited gasps as she glanced over her shoulder with a wicked grin.

"See if you can last a bit longer this time, okay," she whispered, rocking her hips teasingly, "but don't you dare come inside me—I don't want a six fingered baby."

Stan hesitated, his hands hovering uncertainly over her narrow hips— he knew this was wrong but his cock throbbed painfully, eager for the tight heat she was offering.

Before he could protest, May reached back and gripped him, guiding his tip to her slick entrance with a breathless giggle. "Don't be scared," she teased, pressing herself backward until the head of him slid inside her soaking teenage cunt.

Stan gasped—she was impossibly hot, impossibly tight—and then she sank down onto him in one smooth motion, taking him to the hilt with a satisfied sigh. "Oh fuck," he choked out, his fingers digging into her hipbones as her walls fluttered around him. She felt like silk and fire, her tiny body swallowing him whole.

Outside the door, Tom hitched Katy's nightie up roughly, his cock throbbing against the cleft of her ass as they watched through the gap. Katy's breath came in shallow hitches—her fingers tangled in the fabric of her own gown, knuckles white as May began rocking back onto Stan's cock with slow, deliberate rolls of her hips.

Tom's teeth grazed Katy's shoulder, his hands possessive on her waist as he ground against her. "Look at them," he growled, voice thick with lust. "Our little girl rides her big brother like she was born for it."

His fingers slid between Katy's thighs from behind, finding her dripping before she could clamp them shut. "Christ, you're soaked," he laughed darkly, circling her clit with rough precision. "All this time pretending you weren't imagining this exact scene."

Katy's knees nearly buckled when Tom's cock breached her—no warning, no prep—just the thick, insistent pressure of him pushing into her swollen folds from behind as he pinned her against the doorframe.

Her gasp turned into a muffled whimper against his palm, her body arching involuntarily as he filled her in one brutal thrust. The door creaked ominously under their combined weight, the sound drowned out by May's breathy moans as she quickened her pace atop Stan.

Tom's hips snapped forward, his rhythm jagged with arousal as he fucked Katy hard enough to make her toes leave the floorboards. "Tell me," he demanded against her ear, his free hand snaking around to rub her clit in vicious circles. "Tell me you've dreamed about this—watching them—our perfect, beautiful teenager fucking—"

Inside the cabin, May's spine arched like a drawn bowstring, her breath coming in sharp little pants as she rode Stan with abandon. Her fingers worked her clit frantically, her juices dripping down onto his pelvis with each bounce of her hips.

Stan gripped the sheets, his jaw clenched tight—every muscle in his body strained against the tidal wave of pleasure threatening to drown him. May was so tight, so impossibly hot around him, her walls fluttering with each movement as if trying to milk him dry.

He could feel the tension coiling at the base of his spine, the pressure building relentlessly with every slick slide of her body atop his.

At that moment Banjo came barreling down the corridor to investigate the late-night noise and crashed directly into the back of Tom’s legs. The impact sent Tom lurching forward, his cock slipping free from Katy’s dripping-wet cunt with a lewd pop. Katy yelped, her fingers scrambling for purchase as she grabbed the doorframe—but the sudden movement made the door slide open violently.

Katy fell foward into the room, her naked bum stuck high in the air. Tom stood framed in the doorway his hard cock shiny with Katys juices. The scene froze—Stan’s hands frozen on May’s jiggling ass, May mid-bounce with Stan’s cock glistening inside her, Katy sprawled on the floor, and Tom looming behind her, his erection bobbing obscenely in the moonlight.

May was the first to react. She didn’t scramble away. Didn’t scream. Instead, she let out a breathless giggle, her hips grinding down harder on Stan’s twitching length. "Ohhh," she cooed, wiggling her fingers at Katy. "Were you watching us, Mum?"

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Did you like what you saw?"

Tom, still rock-hard and gleaming with Katy’s slick, chuckled darkly as he hauled his wife upright by the waist. "Course she did," he murmured, pressing a wet kiss to Katy’s temple while she trembled in his grip.

"Look at her—soaked through just from peeping. Isn’t that right, love?" His fingers dug into Katy’s hips, forcing her to face the truth—the dampness between her thighs, the flush crawling up her chest.

Stan's entire world had narrowed to the impossible tightness of May’s body milking him, her wet heat clenching around him like a velvet fist. His balls drew up tight, his spine arching off the mattress as his orgasm tore through him with violent intensity.

"Fuck—*May*—" he choked out, fingers bruising her hips as he spilled inside her in hot, pulsing spurts.

"Fuck!" May swore under her breath—in exasperation, as Stan's hips stuttered violently beneath her, his fingers digging into her hipbones hard enough to leave crescent-shaped indents in her pale flesh. She felt it the moment he lost control—the way his cock twitched inside her, the sudden flood of wet heat filling her up in thick, pulsing spurts.