By JetBoy
This is the first new non-collaborative story I’ve posted here in, oh, ages. I finished it a few months ago, but what with the various lengthy works we’ve been running over the last year, there was always something else that needed to be posted first. So I stashed this one in the vault until the time was right — namely, right now. Like many of my stories, this is based on something I saw in another piece of erotic fiction (no idea what) that stuck in my head and wanted to be a story of its own. Hope you like it.
***
I’ll keep the memory of it forever. The way she spoke that one word. “Please?” Only six letters, but oh, what a universe of meaning they contained.
My sister wanted it that badly. She needed me that much. Strange how good it feels, to be needed like that.
I don’t have much to say about the wedding itself. Sure, the groom is handsome. Full of potential, everyone says, with a bright future waiting for him. Perhaps I should be jealous, but no matter how rich he will be, no matter how wonderful everyone says he is, there’s something inside me that refuses to be impressed. Can you understand that?
I lost my temper once at the reception. It was one of the best man’s friends who set me off. I suppose he wasn’t ugly, not exactly. His hair was shiny, I remember that. I pictured him standing before a cabinet filled to bursting with hair care products, and had to conceal a smile. I’m also sure he’d had too much to drink.
“Do you know,” he said to me, his glass tipped at a precarious angle, “Do you know, I think the bridesmaid is even prettier than the bride!” He topped that with an insipid smile.
Perhaps I overreacted, but at that moment, I was so angry, just so, so angry, I looked around to make sure no one was paying attention, then stuck my tongue out at him. And what did he do? He laughed. I turned my back on him so abruptly that my dress nearly cracked like a whip.
I suppose some girls would have been flattered by his words. Even I might have been under any other circumstance. But it was utterly tasteless to say such a thing at that time. To feed me compliments on my sister’s day! It’s like pinching the widow’s bottom at a funeral. Why are men so completely clueless?
I’m going to have to explain. I can’t tell this story backwards, can I? You’ll have to forgive me. My thoughts are somewhat tangled at the moment.
I need to explain this properly. Otherwise I’ll simply end up going round in circles like water swirling down the sink.
So where do I start? Not when my sister first met the man who would become her husband – it wasn’t a particularly memorable event, to hear her tell it. Nor when she went away to college, although I remember that day all too well.
No, I have to go back to one special night, when I was twelve. My sister and I had just climbed into our beds and settled in when she suddenly sat up and looked at me, and even though I was engrossed in my book, I knew she needed to talk. So I marked my place and put the book down.
It’s funny; I can no longer recall what that book was, or who wrote it. Strange, really, because I remember everything else as if it happened five minutes ago.
It’s good for me, you know, telling you this. It isn’t easy, keeping such a juicy secret to myself Secrets want to be shared, even the dark ones.
Anyhow, this is what she said: “Hey, sis. I’ve really got to show you something.”
I could easily have replied with, “Do tell,” or something equally disdainful. We could be like that, my sister and I, playing at being snarky, even rude to one another. In truth, we were closer than close, best friends as much as siblings. Then as now, I would cheerfully throttle anyone who hurt my sister.
There was a certain urgency to her expression, as if she’d been waiting for days to share this with me.
That was enough to rouse my curiosity. “What is it?” I asked. I expected her to show me a CD she’d bought, or a cool photo in a magazine. Maybe a new move she’d learned in her dance class. Something like that.
Instead, she got out of bed and padded over to me. Tugging my blanket and sheet down, she climbed in and snuggled up close.
I was taken aback, to say the least. “What are you doing?”
“Hitch up your nightie,” she told me. Her voice was all warm and breathy.
I meekly obeyed, pulling my nightgown up to just below my chest. I wasn’t wearing anything underneath, but that wasn’t a big deal. She’d seen me naked hundreds of times.
She placed a hand on my thigh. To this day, I remember the warmth of that hand. “Close your eyes.”
“What are you doing?” I asked again.
“I’m going to show you, silly. Shut your eyes.”
Her voice was so gentle, her eyes so tender, that I did what she told me. And when she began to caress my thighs, moving from one to the other, I seemed to drift off into space.
No one had ever touched me like that. Heck, I’d never even been kissed, not for real. But it did feel nice.
“Do you like this?” she asked me, resting her chin on my shoulder.
“Sure, I guess.”
“Just you wait!” she said. “I’m only getting started.”
Her hand continued its journey upward. And then she touched me there – you know where I mean. Of course, that had been her goal all along.
Her lips grazed my cheek. “What about this?”
I nodded, struck speechless. Just having her fingers there at all was doing extraordinary things to me. But then, very slowly, she began to rub my slit, and from that moment, every imperceptible movement she made felt like I was doing a loop-the loop in an airplane.
Soon I was moaning helplessly, lost in a world of unfamiliar pleasure. Several times she had to hush me, but it was all but impossible to stifle feelings as enormous as those. It was exhilarating, frightening and beautiful, all at once.
Then it became too much, too fast, totally overwhelming, a merry-go-round out of control. I was gulping for breath, wanting her to stop, but she was saying, “Yes, yes, yes,” over and over again, as if cheering me on, and that calmed me just enough. Her face was only a few inches from mine, and those big, round eyes seemed to be peering into my very soul.
That throbbing beneath my belly grew and grew until I wanted to scream. As it is, I was about to shove my sister’s hand away, but then those intense sensations began to wane. I paused to assure myself that this wild ride had reached its end, then sank back into the pillow with a sigh of relief.
I didn’t know what to make of it. One moment, I’d been in a huge, scary but pleasurable place – and the next, it was as if nothing had happened, except for my being out of breath.
“See?” she said. “Wasn’t that wonderful?”
To tell the truth, I wasn’t sure. I’d really liked it to start with, but well… in a lot of ways I was still a kid, unable to deal with something that powerful. Still, she’d meant well, and I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, so I just nodded. “Yeah,” I mumbled, trying to sound grown-up. “Wonderful.”
“Good,” she said, touching her lips to my cheek. “G’night, sis.”
I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. And it was one of those deep, profound slumbers in which all the knots in your brain unravel, and the next day you wake up as if nothing has ever gone wrong in your life, everything around you new and exciting.
In the days that followed, I tried not to think back to that night. I didn’t even question what had happened. Eventually, I came to half-believe the whole thing was a weird dream I’d had after a slice of pepperoni pizza too many.
Then, a week or so later, when I got into bed and turned to the page where I’d left off, my sister came over and sat beside me. She placed a finger on the corner of my book – not quite interrupting, mind you, just letting me know she had something to say.
I gave her a questioning look, and she met me with a big smile. “Want to do it again?”
I saw something there that made me tremble inside. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about the way my sister had touched my private place, but that look of hers touched me in a different way, making me eager to take what she had to give.
Putting the book down, I readied myself, took a deep breath and parted my legs.
Even before she touched me, I knew this time was going to be different. My heart was buoyant, lighter than air, and I didn’t even know why. Then her fingers were exploring my lightly-downed slit, and it felt amazing.
I struggled to maintain eye contact with my sister, awed by the tenderness I saw there, but the waves of pleasure that ebbed and flowed through me made it all but impossible to focus. I must have gasped or moaned, because she started hushing me, whispering things like, “Isn’t this good?” and, “It feels so much better when someone else does this for you, don’t you think?” and, “I love touching you this way, baby sister.” The uncertainty and confusion of our first time had vanished, and I yielded completely, gave myself over to her as she brought me to orgasm.
I don’t know what I said in those moments of helpless exhilaration, but I remember that my sister was cradling me to her as my consciousness gradually drifted back. I felt so content in her arms; at peace with everything.
She seemed so glad for me. Honestly, I’d never seen such joy in her smile.
Playfully rubbing her nose against mine, she murmured, “You liked it that time, didn’t you?”
I didn’t have to answer. My blissful expression said it all.
It wasn’t long before I was yearning to experience that piercing pleasure again. The next night, in fact. And I didn’t even have to tell my sister what I wanted. I just put down my book, and she glanced up at me. Without a word, she got up and came over to my bed. She knew. And in her eyes, I saw that same warmth she’d shown me the previous night. Without a word, she raised my nightshirt, pausing for a moment to look, then applied her fingers to me, toying with my slit until I came.
After that night, we shared that special time regularly. Sometimes I’d give her the look, sometimes her eyes met mine – but what followed was always the same. I’d stretch out on the bed, naked from the waist down, heart thumping as I waited for that sweet, sweet caress.
It wasn’t long before I got the idea of touching her the same way, feeling silly that it had taken so long for the notion to occur. I was awkward at first, but my sister was amazingly patient, gently showing me what she liked best. It made me happier than I can say to see her savoring those delectable sensations, knowing I was causing them. When she finally rolled over with a contented sigh and smiled at me, I was beside myself with happiness.
After that night, those special times became a frequent occurrence. We never teased one another. It went without saying that my sister and I always brought each other to orgasm as quickly and reliably as possible.
Having said that, I don’t think the orgasm itself was the most important thing to us — at least, it wasn’t for me. Rather, it was about the closeness we shared; a sweet secret that existed for us and no one else. A way for my sister and me to show love for one another without getting soppy about it. Despite the sexual nature of what we did in bed, we never thought of ourselves as lovers, just siblings who were closer than most. We never discussed it, but I know she felt the same.
If I asked to borrow a pen, or take a page of her notepaper, my sister would roll her eyes. When she chose to wear a low cut top to school, I’d tease her mercilessly about flashing her tits at the boys. If I asked for help with my homework, she’d throw a cushion at my head. In most respects, you see, we were perfectly normal sisters. But if either of us gave the other that yearning look, there was never any question of what happened next. It cut through everything.
Our private time was something solemn, a bond, an almost sacred duty. Never once did either of us show the least reluctance to indulge. In fact, sometimes my sister offered it to me when she sensed I was in need, and I did the same for her. Those moments of shared pleasure kept us on an even keel. Our sisterly relationship always had a rock-solid foundation to sustain it.
We weren’t avid socialites. We’d usually go out when invited, and more often than not, enjoyed ourselves when we did. Nor did we cling together. But later, once we were back home, that was our time.
I suppose that was our pattern: fiercely independent during the day, busy with our separate lives, our varied interests, our own circles of friends; but in our room it all fell away like discarded clothes, with that magical tenderness, that secret solidarity there to comfort and strengthen us.
Our parents were baffled by our insistence on continuing to share a bedroom. Once I started high school, Dad offered to fix up the spare room for me. “So you two can finally have your own space after all these years,” was how he put it. Imagine his and Mum’s astonishment when we both refused. My sister said, “She’s fine where she is,” I wholeheartedly agreed, and that’s the last we heard of it.
By the time I was fifteen, I’d never masturbated, save perhaps the odd experimental grope. Nor, I’m sure, did she. If either of us wanted it, we had only to exchange that special look.
But then my sister went away to college, and I was left alone. And when my time of longing came, and I glanced up to see her empty bed, it was like falling on a hard stone floor. I wanted her: I wanted her fingers, I wanted her face above mine, I wanted the scent of her skin, I wanted her tender, loving gaze. I wanted all of it. But she was miles and miles away.
I knew what to do, of course. I reached down and fingered my slit until I got off. But it wasn’t the same. That first night, I did it again and again and again, trying to find that same satisfaction, but to no avail. It must have been nearly dawn before I fell asleep, exhausted.
Of course, I was thrilled by my sister’s academic achievements. She was attending school on a full scholarship, and never failed to make the Dean’s list. I read her occasional letters over and over again, taking enormous pride at seeing her grow into a confident, assured woman, ready to take on the world. I knew my craving for her was pure selfishness, and it left me feeling ashamed.
I tried to extinguish that desperate hunger by repeated indulgence in self-induced pleasure. I went from being a complete novice at masturbation to a seasoned expert in less than two weeks. After a while, I began to feel a kind of rebellious thrill at my ability to bring myself to climax after climax. Even when I was still trembling with the aftershocks of the last, I’d be fondling myself, gently reawakening that lovely, seductive inner tickle that once begun, demands to be satisfied with yet another sweating, shivering finale of mindless, frenetic rubbing.
But I soon grew dissatisfied. Why was it that for years, my dear sister had been able to satisfy me with just a few light caresses? Yet there I was, burning up half the night engaged in relentless masturbation, driving my body, making myself sore… only to end up tired, angry with myself, angry with my sister, angry at the world. Something had to give.
For a while, I tried to deny myself. At night, I lay tossing and turning, refusing to acknowledge that deep-banked hunger. It was hopeless, but at least it kindled my imagination and helped me to think.
I began to dwell less on me and more on my sister. I pictured us lying together, playing together. I wondered if she thought of me as often as I thought of her.
I wanted to know what my sister saw in me. Stripping naked, I studied myself in the mirror, taking in the view of my bare body. I began to excite myself; seduce myself. Instead of furiously masturbating in bed, I began to stroke and tease my sex in front of the mirror, admiring what I saw, seeing who I was through her eyes. I liked watching myself climax. It was more final, more fulfilled, more self-accepting.
When my sister came home for Christmas break, I found out that she’d longed for our private time every bit as much as I had. Those intimate moments now came alive with a new intensity, and we went at each other like animals in heat. Like before, it never went further than mutual masturbation. That seemed to be an unspoken agreement between us, to leave certain lines uncrossed.
Deep inside, I wanted to do more than just touch, but that would be too much like sex. Whoever heard of sisters engaging in lesbian intimacy? At that age, I much preferred my imagination to pornography, so the concept of sex between female siblings simply didn’t register as a possibility. Let’s just say that I was far less worldly than I thought.
During my sister’s time away at school, my solitary exploration, borne out of desperation and necessity, had taught me a few things. Hitherto, I always got her off quickly and efficiently. Now I began to toy with her, deliberately setting out to drive her crazy before I let her come. The orgasms she had were beyond belief, reducing her to a quivering mess. Mind you, there was a purpose behind my teasing. When my sister returned to college, I wanted her to miss me more than ever.
It’s funny: however much my sister and I yearned for each other when we were apart, it was a subject we never discussed. When we were alone together, our eyes said everything that we needed to know.
But as time passed, she got more and more involved with her college friends. She began to date boys; even went steady with one for most of her junior year. Her letters home became fewer and further between, though we did continue to exchange phone calls.
As for me, I tentatively began to explore the idea of a relationship with someone other than my big sister. It took a couple of extremely awkward dates to convince me I had no interest in boys. Then I began to hang out with a cute, whip-smart punk girl who called herself Spike. We became fast friends — then after a few weeks, our friendship became something more.
We were hanging out by the swing set in a neighborhood park, sharing a bottle of schnapps I’d pilfered from the back of Dad’s liquor cabinet. It was late, no one was around, and that was when Spike kissed me. I was startled, but not for long. Soon we were making out, feeling each other up while we kissed over and over again.
I ended up taking her home with me and sneaking her into my room. Mom and Dad were always in bed and lost to the world by ten, so I wasn’t worried about them catching me in the act. We got naked, and I experienced full-on lesbian sex for the first time. She’d done it before, having realized her true sexuality early on. “I knew I was queer by the time I turned ten,” was how she put it.
Spike got me off first. She spent a good long while on my budding breasts, teasing the nipples with her mouth and fingers until I was ready to scream. It was no use trying to masturbate, either – every time I tried to reach between my legs, she gave my hand a sharp slap, cooing, “Naughty, naughty.”
I was on far more familiar ground when her fingers found my pussy, though she knew a few tricks my sister had yet to learn. But when Spike kissed a pathway down between my legs and put her hot, sucking mouth to the opening of my vagina… I nearly began to cry, it felt so lovely. She brought me to a rapturous orgasm, leaving me dazed and very, very content.
Once recovered, I was determined to give my friend the same pleasure she’d bestowed on me. Needless to say, Spike was happy to be of service, spreading out on my bed to offer me what she had.
What an experience! I had no idea what it would be like to go down on a girl, but from the very first lick, I was hooked on the scent, flavor and juiciness of pussy. Soon my face was dripping with Spike’s thick, warm essence, and she was pressing a throw pillow into her face to muffle her cries.
We had sex a few more times in the following weeks, but she was too much of a free spirit to confine herself to a single partner, and I thought of her as more of a friend anyhow. We still keep in touch; she changed her name back to Patti, became the manager of a local boutique and found love with a girl named Gina who, of all things, had been head cheerleader at my high school.
The pleasures I shared with Spike were more than enough to convince me I was a lesbian, and I quickly decided that life in the closet wasn’t for me. Coming out to Mom and Dad was awkward at first, but they couldn’t have been more supportive. My sister was just the same. “I get it, believe me,” she said when I phoned to tell her. “You’re too awesome to get stuck with a boy. Me, I’ve got lower standards.” She laughed when she said it, but I knew she’d been going through some stressful times with her boyfriend.
Once I was officially gay, I indulged in a bit of casual dating with a few queer or curious girls at my school. Nothing serious; some kissing and touching, occasional sex. One girl wanted a full-time relationship, but I wasn’t in a mood to settle down. That’s what I told myself, anyhow.
When my sister returned home for the summer, we resumed our private time, exchanging pleasure as if we’d never been apart. Now, though, there was a certain awkwardness lurking between us. Oh, we still did it, more often than ever: it was an unspoken necessity, and I know that in a way we were both glad for that shared foundation. But we were more distant in our everyday dealings, blushing whenever we found ourselves alone together, our conversations somehow tentative. We were like Christians who lost their faith, but still insisted on attending church every week.
But there lay the paradox: that awkwardness, that little tremor of uncertainty, seemed to make our intimate moments that much more exciting… and intense. In my determination to give her as much pleasure as she could possibly bear, I’d driven my sister to heights of ecstasy I’d never even dreamed possible. On one or two occasions, she fell on me afterward, kissing me like a lover, frantic with a kind of emotional overload. Sometimes I had to do her again right away, just to calm her down.
It’s strange, I know. She’d never kissed me like that before, just as we never needed to resort to words when we had our private time. Just a glance, a tender caress, and then down to business. I loved kissing her, but it still felt strange to do that with my own sister. Was she trying to tell me something?
A few months later, she met The Man… and before the year was out, they were engaged. That, for us, was the end of our secret games – or so I assumed.
Mom and Dad were overjoyed, of course. And by the time the wedding date was announced, I’d let go of my jealousy enough to be genuinely happy for her – for them, even. It was just a matter of putting my needs aside and focusing on my sister’s happiness.
I was pleased and very flattered when she asked me to be her bridesmaid, to help her choose the wedding gown, and even to help her dress on the Great Day. I think Mum was a bit put out by that last request, but she didn’t make a fuss. I must admit, it felt a little strange for me to be so intimate with my sister again, to be applying her makeup, doing her hair, fussing over her. It had been weeks since our last private time.
I’d just got her dressed, all perfect, in plenty of time. They’d done a lovely job with her hair. I’d just got the veil nicely pinned up when I glanced at her face in the mirror.
And there was that look.
“No!” I cried. “Are you crazy? We can’t, not now!”
And then my sister said it. She’d never asked out loud – at least, not since that very first time. “Please?” My God, the longing I saw in her eyes!
I was at once furious with her, completely melted by her desire, and more aroused than I’d ever been in my life. My sister needed me once more; wanted the closeness we’d shared so many times before. Perhaps it was her way of saying goodbye, of putting a seal on what we had before her new life began.
It was too tempting to resist, even if I’d possessed the strength to refuse. I unzipped her dress, and she shrugged out of it, kicked it away and tore her panties off. She looked positively luscious, standing there nude but for her bra and veil.
She went to lie down on the sofa, but I wouldn’t let her. That flawless hairdo would be ruined. Instead, I made her lean over the dressing table. Seeing her mostly naked made me want to finish the job, so I unhooked and removed her bra. There she was, flushed, panting, looking at me in the dressing-table mirror, her breasts dangling enticingly.
I did my sister from behind, my eyes locked with hers. I couldn’t help but gasp when I realized how wet she was – absolutely dripping! I pressed two fingers into her, and it felt like a kiss.
You have to understand that in all the times my sister and I touched each other, we’d never indulged in vaginal penetration. Just fondling and caresses, sometimes gentle, sometimes firm. Now I was fucking her, deftly working my fingers in and out, forward and back. What I noticed most was how easily she took me inside, her pussy welcoming my loving invasion.
I could have made her come in a minute or two, the way we usually did it. But this time, I was bound and determined to give my sister an experience she’d never, ever forget.
During my long nocturnal experiments with self-pleasure while my sister was away, I discovered this certain place in my vagina where you can tickle and tease yourself for long stretches of time. And although it doesn’t make you come quickly, it does send your body drifting off into this warm, delicious emptiness. And once you’ve pleasured yourself that way long enough, you can go off in an orgasm for the ages, one that seems to last for an eternity. It requires patience and stamina, but the payoff is worth it and then some.
That’s what I chose to do to her.
After about five minutes, Mom was banging on the door. “What’s taking you two so long? Our limousine is waiting!”
“We’re nearly done,” I cheerfully lied. I didn’t even slow my movements. I was still being gentle, fucking my sister with unimaginable tenderness, the fire inside her rising by degrees. She was swaying, eyes closed, floating in that blissful limbo. The calm before the storm.
“Oh, God!” my sister gasped in her delirium, completely oblivious to her surroundings.
Luckily, Mom didn’t hear her. “Well, get a move on, all right? We’ve got a wedding to get to!”
“No kidding,” I muttered as our mother stomped away. My arm was still moving, my sister just starting to moan. Getting closer…
She came a couple of minutes later. When it finally hit, I thought she was going to wreck the room. As it was, she knocked a lot of her things off the dressing table. I’ve never seen her go off like that before. It was almost frightening. But then she let out this lovely, lovely sigh, trembling as if she had a fever.
That’s when something strange came over me and I found myself kissing her from behind, raining kisses on her ass, her back, anywhere I could reach. I was a woman possessed, craving my sister like never before. I spun her around, pushed her against the table and plunged my face between her thighs to lick her sweet, juicy cunt. Never mind that I’d spent half an hour painstakingly applying makeup — I had to do this for her. Had to.
“Oh, fuck!” she gasped. “Oh, yes, lick me!”
I went down on my sister with more passion than I’d ever shown any other girl. She came quickly, then tugged me up to face her, where we shared a deep, passionate kiss.
“That was beautiful,” she whispered. “God, I love you.”
I had to give her a wipe with a wet-nap, then myself – she’d come all over my face. While I got her back into the gown, she was dazed, like a roused sleepwalker, meekly allowing me to dress her. I took a moment to hastily fix my makeup, then led my sister out to face the world. She didn’t really come to herself until we were in the Rolls. Then her eyes met mine, and we both blushed.
But I turned away, pretending to fiddle with my hair, refusing to look at her. It was my sister’s special day, she was more beautiful than words could express, and as for me… I was head over heels in love with her.
The realization hit me like a freight train. I’d never understood my true feelings, and now they seemed childishly obvious. If she looked into my eyes, she’d know, and I didn’t want that. I was a welter of confused emotions – happy for my sister, heartbroken for myself. How could I not have known? I wondered. It’s always been there, and I never saw it until now.
Somehow, I managed to get a grip on my feelings. Mustn’t be selfish. This is her day. Her happiness, that’s what matters. Finally, I managed to look up and give my sister a smile. “You look beautiful,” I whispered, touching her knee.
“Thanks,” she murmured, giving my hand a squeeze.
Just then, we were pulling into the chapel parking lot, so that’s where we left things. In mere minutes, she would be married, and a chapter of my life would come to a close.
Everyone was waiting, so we started the ceremony right away. And when my sister floated up the aisle, all rosy-cheeked, there was this lovely “aah” from everybody in the church. She was an angel, descended from paradise. All that anxiety, all those hours and hours of “will it ever happen?” and “how will it be when it happens?” melted away into a kind of lovely, floating serenity.
There was an instant as she reached the altar step where my sister glanced at me – a special smile on her lips, a hint of pink in her cheeks. Her look made me weak inside. When she said, “I will,” it came out in this funny, far-away tone, as if her mind was elsewhere. I don’t know what, if anything, was going on in her mind, but the deed was done. My sister was married. The Man looked so proud! And she was just glowing. I hated to admit it, but they looked wonderful together.
The reception was something of a trial for me. What with Mom weeping, Dad slapping perfect strangers on the back, and that shiny-haired young man I told you about earlier, I was ready to bite someone’s head off.
At the same time I was fighting to keep my emotions bottled up, grappling with these unexpected, yet oddly familiar feelings for my sister. I’m in love with her. My mind kept saying it, and I kept telling my mind to shut the hell up. I just had to hold it together until we got back home, and I could creep off to my room for a good cry.
I’d just fended off the attention of yet another young man, this one a frat boy with a crewcut, when my sister grasped my arm. “There you are!” she exclaimed. A lock or her hair was askew, and it managed to make her even lovelier. “I’ve been looking for you. Come with me.” She seized my hand, then led me into a nearby corridor, moving briskly.
“Wh-where are we going?” I asked, confused.
“Shhh. You’ll see,” was all she said.
We came to a large metal door. She opened it, then guided me through and down a staircase, her hand still clutching mine, as if she thought I might try to get away.
Another door a flight down led to a much smaller hallway. By then, I was utterly bewildered, but meekly allowed myself to be led. Grasping a doorknob, she hustled us into a darkened room.
What the…? It was a small bathroom, nothing there but a sink and a toilet. She shut and locked the door while I waited for an explanation. This better be good, I thought.
Oh, it was. Without a word, my sister took me in her arms, claiming my mouth in a deep lover’s kiss. I gave a tiny squeak of surprise, then responded, melting into her sweet embrace.
We kissed for a long time. Nothing else existed; the rest of the world forgotten for the moment. Her tongue engaged mine, drawing it into a lewd dance. Her hands slid down my back until she was cupping my ass, groping it in a most unsisterly way.
Abruptly breaking away, my sister knelt before me, reaching up under my gown to grasp the waistband of my sodden panties, impatiently yanking them down, then she took a handful of the skirt and raised it, exposing my vulva. “Here, hold this up,” she said.
“You – you shouldn’t!” I stammered, though it didn’t stop me from doing as she said.
“Oh, yes, I should. No way am I gonna leave you like this,” she said, tracing my slit with a finger. “God, you’re sooo fucking wet. I knew you would be.” She flashed me a bad-girl smile. “Now, baby sister… tell me to eat your cunt.”
That threw me for a loop. “I – I, um…” See, I’d never been one for using swear words in those days. That kind of thing seemed so vulgar to me – like playing beer pong, or wearing Daisy Dukes.
My sister’s sapphire-blue eyes transfixed me. “Say the words, and I’ll do it.” Her finger paused, resting lightly on my clitoris.
I was trembling like a leaf in a breeze, knowing this was crossing a line. Half an hour earlier, my sister was a free agent. Now she was a married woman, offering to go down on me? And yet I wanted this, oh my God, I wanted it more than anything in the world.
Putting an exclamation mark on my frantic longing, she teased my clit with the lightest of caresses – and it reverberated through my body with the force of a hurricane.
I wanted to scream. Instead, I clapped a hand over my mouth until the moment passed, then mumbled, “Eat my cunt.”
My sister held a hand to her ear. “What’s that? Can’t hear you.”
“Stop… messing with me!” I blurted. “Eat my cunt, you fucking bitch!”
She looked so amused that I wanted to smack her face. Actually, I wanted to smack it anyway. Luckily for her, she said, “Happy to,” and buried her mouth in my throbbing pussy, seeking and finding entrance with a probing tongue.
“Oh, God,” I whispered as my sister ate me. “Oh God oh God oh God…”
It was incredible. By then, I’d had oral from at least half a dozen girls, but never like this. My sister was writing a love poem on my body, transformed into beautiful music accentuated by the cries and whimpers that spilled from my lips.
I was already so aroused that she had me coming before a minute had passed. I’m sure my nails were biting into her scalp as the storm raged inside me, but my sister didn’t stop; didn’t even pause until I was left a quivering wreck, barely able to stay on my feet.
She bid farewell to my mons with a tender kiss. “God, your pussy tastes so good,” she murmured, then rose to embrace me. Her mouth was smeared with my essence, and she fed it to me with her tongue.
I could have kissed my sister for hours, but we had a wedding reception to get back to. Not to mention Mom and Dad, who were probably scouring the place for us at that very moment.
“We need to go–” I began, but my sister cut me off.
“Listen to me,” she said, her eyes burning into mine. “We’re not done here.”
I could only stare. What was she getting at?
“I might be married now,” she continued, “but I have no intention of giving this up. What we have. You and me, baby sister. For always.”
Once again, she kissed me, her tongue darting between my parted lips, then broke away just as abruptly.
“I’ll be a good wife,” she continued. “I’ll make him happy. But you, my sweet, wonderful sister… it’s you I really love. I’m just sorry… well, that it took me so damned long to figure out.”
I stared at her, baffled. Surely she couldn’t mean…
“Wh-what are you saying?” I stammered, my heart thudding helplessly.
Her smile could have illuminated the Eastern seaboard. “We’re more than just sisters, you and me. It’s been that way for ages, only we didn’t see it. You’re in love with me, and I am with you. Don’t even try to tell me I’m wrong, ‘cause we both know I’m not.”
What could I say? She was right. I’d known my true feelings for her before she led me down to this closet bathroom for a hurried fuck. And she felt the same way!
“You’re n-not wrong,” I mumbled, dizzy from the sheer enormity of this moment. “I – I am in love with you!” Then I began to cry.
My sister held me to her as I wept, whispering sweet words to soothe me. Then she outlined her plans for the two of us. As it happened, her new husband would be leaving on a business trip the day after they returned from their honeymoon. “You’re gonna spend that night with me,” she said. “We’ll make love for real. And then… we’re gonna fuck.”
Silly me – I nearly asked her what the difference was. I knew, though, and picturing it made me tremble inside.
“But you’re married now,” I protested. “I mean, won’t it be weird, cheating on him with your own sister?”
“Not at all,” she said. “My husband and I have an arrangement. He’s gonna be on the road for the company two-thirds of the year, so he’s allowed to, um, take care of his needs.” She grinned. “As am I.”
My mouth dropped. “Seriously?” I admit it; that shocked me.
My sister shrugged. “C’mon, the guy’s been a ladies’ man ever since he hit puberty. There’s no goddamn way he could keep it in his pants for weeks at a time. This keeps things honest between us. We both get what we want… and what I want is my sexy little sis.”
She drew in to nuzzle my neck, then hastened to add, “Not to worry; he doesn’t know about you. Far as my hubby’s concerned, I’m one hundred percent straight. Don’t want him trying to get us both in bed.”
“Ooh, ick!” It just slipped out.
We shared a laugh, then our eyes met again – and I felt their pull, drawing me in. “So, you’ve been awful quiet, sister mine,” she said. “What do you think? We gonna do this?”
If this had been a movie, that’s when the strings would swell on the soundtrack as I pondered my future, weighing the pros and cons of becoming my sister’s lover. Of course, we’d also have been outdoors on the lawn, our bodies limned by the mellow autumn moon – not in a tiny bathroom reeking of disinfectant and pussy, under a buzzing fluorescent light with my panties on the floor.
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” I told her. “I want this. I want you.” And this time, it was my turn to initiate the kiss. It was soft, deep and smoldering with desire.
Finally, she broke away. “Okay, now we really have to get back. Mom and Dad are probably about to file a Missing Persons report.”
I bent to retrieve my panties, but my sister snatched them up first. “I’ll hang on to these,” she murmured. “Mmmm, still damp. Something to remember you by while I’m away.” She slipped them into the sleeve of her bridal gown.
We tidied ourselves up at the sink, taking turns washing our faces, then applying fresh lipstick. I fished a box of Tic-Tacs out of my purse for our breath. Exchanging smiles, we made a quick exit and hastened back upstairs to rejoin the festivities.
As it turned out, our parents weren’t freaking out at all. Dad was out back, puffing on a cigar and talking football with the groom’s father, and all we got from Mom was, “Oh, where’d you go, sweetie? Aunt Natalie wanted to take a picture…” Then she got all choked up again.
My sister scowled at me when I silently withdrew, giving her a playful wink as I made my escape.
I didn’t get any more time alone with her that day. She and The Man had a plane to catch, jetting to Ibiza for the honeymoon. She caught my eye just before climbing in the car, flashing me a smile that spoke volumes.
It was almost painful to see them drive away, the words JUST MARRIED emblazoned on the car in white shoe polish, my body already aching for more of her.
Once we’d trudged back indoors to polish off the last of the champagne, things got a little easier. I had a bit to drink, but not too much. I didn’t want to lose my dignity. Unfortunately, Mom made up for my restraint and then some with this overblown display of cheer – talking, talking, talking loudly to anyone who would listen about “my baby girl,” then lapsing into tears again. Spare me.
The event wound down about an hour later. Dad tipped what members of the staff he could find, and he and I got Mom bundled into the car before she could drag Dad back onto the dance floor again when the DJ spun some old disco record she liked.
We got home at about six-thirty. By then, the happy couple was on a plane crossing the Atlantic. In a few hours, they’d be tucked up in their hotel room, with The Man about to have the time of his life. Huh.
As for me, I made my excuses and retreated to my room, where I tore off my clothes, stretched out on the bed and fingered myself to at least three massive orgasms. Now I’m lying here, naked, glowing, my mind abuzz with excitement.
The day before, I thought the relationship I had with my sister was changed forever, the last chapter of a closed book. Now I know that will never happen. We need it too much – the pleasure, the joy, the love we share. No man on earth can drive that need away.
I will continue to seek out sex with other women, of course. Perhaps one day I’ll find a lover who will mean more to me than the occasional friendly hookup, and we’ll enter into a steady relationship. Never say never, that’s my motto. But what my sister and I have will also be there.
She and I will meet, and exchange pleasantries, bringing each other up to speed with the details of our lives. But then, perhaps after a drink or two, one of us will give the other a certain look. And when that happens, I will be ready to love her again.
I’ll come to her, our mouths will drift together, and we will kiss. Gently at first, then our lips part, our tongues meet. My hand finds its way beneath her skirt to find her pussy, uncovered, moist and ready for me. I penetrate her easily, my fingers slipping into her like a knife into warm butter. And I’ll whisper into my sister’s ear, “I want you.”
She moans, scissoring my nipple between her fingers. A sharp jolt of ecstasy reverberates through me; a cry breaks from my lips.
Then we will stand, link hands and wander to the bedroom. The afternoon is ours, and we have all the time in the world.
My sister and I will undress each other, then come together in a ravenous kiss. We will slip into bed together and join our bodies in carnal abandon, making love over and over again.
And she will know true passion in my arms. Her husband may have my sister’s hand, but I will have her heart, her soul, her being.
The End