Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.
*****
Well, this is my first try at writing a story that involves any kind of explicit sex, so bear with me. At the end of this chapter is a little (well, little ...) disclaimer where I will tell something about me and how this story came to life.
Everyone involved in sexual acts is 18+, but keep in mind that this is not a sex-story; it is a story which doesn't revolve around sex (although it should have plenty of it) so there are a few chapters that does not contain sex. Also, it'll be long, but I hope I can work fast enough not to let you wait too long between chapters.
* * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 1.1 – After dark
* * * * * * * * * *
When he came home he didn't bother reaching out to turn on the lights. He knew the house well enough by now to find his way without the necessity of light to guide him. It hasn't been long since they occupied the house – merely a few months – but he got used to the house quick enough.
Usually, that is.
This time he had drunk quite a bit, which resulted in him being a
little
less responsive to things he should be avoiding. He hit a couple of things with his feet; one foot sent something across the floor when he reached the final step of the stairs. It rattled and hit other things, making much more of a ruckus in the middle of the night than he wanted to. He didn't know what he had kicked and didn't really care much about it either. He was more worried about whether the sound would summon an angry sister.
He held his breath and listened whether his sister would wake up but nobody appeared. He didn't know if she didn't dare to go see who it was or that she just slept through it all. He felt the urge to go look, to open the door and take a peek around the corner – but didn't. For some reason it didn't feel right.
Something in the back of his head leered at him that he'd probably stumble when he'd open the door and end up sprawling on the floor in her room, waking her up. That thought alone made him groan with embarressment and he stumbled over to his own room – this time without kicking any unidentified objects.
The moonlight peered through his windows and illuminated the room. Just below his window was a street lantern, which gave the bottom of the window a little orange glow. The window in the adjescent wall looked out on the house next to him, which was pitch dark. But his thoughts went out to the little glow on the window.
That's a nice sight,
he thought.
A little orange glow. Atmospheric. Romantic.
"If only I weren't alone," he added in a whisper. "It would be nice if I could show a girl this little piece of happiness on the window pane."
There was a little pain in his chest when he realized that Jenny wasn't with him right now. She'd appreciate his poetic mood and would've probably aided him in his melancholy.
They had gone to a party together and while they initially stayed together they naturally drifted apart once they saw other people they knew. Usually they would join them and when there were enough people they would split off in smaller groups, generally splitting Jenny and Vincent up for the evening.
They often met up again and had a good time, but they both didn't feel the need to stick around each other. It wasn't because they didn't like each other, but when attending a party they simply mingled with others and hopped from group to group. It was simply how they were and they didn't wish to impose on the other by dragging them along wherever they went.
This night he had seen Jenny dance with a couple of guys and he had noticed her waving when he had been dancing with a couple of other girls, sometimes making a show of it just to show off a bit. At some point he had tried to lift up a girl when the music seemed to ask for it and collapsed under her because he had too much to drink. In the corner of his eye he had seen Jenny laughing so hard she nearly collapsed herself. She had to cling to some random bystander to manage to support herself, much to the dismay of said bystander.
At some point Jenny had disappeared, which she sometimes did when someone hit on her. The same went for him, but today there had been no such luck; he had gone home alone and now he felt lonely. There was no Jenny and there was no other girl who might've wanted to stay the night with him.
He swayed and realized he was too drunk to be even close to romantic even if he had a girl with him. He had to support himself to a table next to the door in order to avoid the previous vision of sprawling on the floor. The small table shifted a bit under his weight and moved a few inches across the wooden floor, causing another unholy scraping sound that made him cringe. He also had to grab a small lamp which started to have an increasing interest in the ground. It took him three tries to actually grab it to hold it still before it would collapse.
He looked at the wall which seperated his room from his sister's. This also felt melancholic. He realized he really wanted to go over and watch her sleep. Nicole was always so beautiful when she was sleeping. She always had been.
Even back when they were children he had noticed that. When she fell asleep on his legs, or when they shared a room and she fell asleep earlier than he did. Back when they were little they had the same bedtimes and after the lights went out they usually kept whispering to each other for a while afterwards. Most children had a double-bed, or beds placed on different sides of the room. They didn't; their beds were single beds placed next to each other, technically seperating the room into two halves. It solved a lot of issues where kids usually have arguments about whether something is on their half, as it was pretty clear which half it was in their room.
He always stayed awake a little longer to see her face and to stroke her hair. From his position in bed he could easily make out her facial traits, but after a particular time he stopped doing that. In their early teens it felt wrong to do it, but he never lost the urge. When they hit puberty, she stopped laying her head on his legs. Around the same time they also didn't sleep in the same room anymore, so regardless of his urge, the decision was made for him. And he had stopped appreciating the beauty of his sister, replacing it with mostly annoyance as most other teenagers feel for their siblings.
He unbuttoned his shirt and attempted to throw it towards the laundry bin. He missed hilariously; it nearly went in the other direction, that far off it went. It wasn't his style; he couldn't stand it when there were clothes on the floor when there was a place where they belonged. He knew he should pick it up because it would bug him the entire night before he got to sleep. His feet didn't like that idea. They refused to move. He told them who was boss and found out that he had missed them going on strike.
He measured the distance.
Two steps.
It could've just as well been a thousand. Too far. Not worth the effort.
He started working on his belt, but apparently somewhere during the night someone had replaced it with some sort of chastity belt when he had looked the other way. No matter what he did, he couldn't pry it open.
He took two steps in a different direction – those feet knew damn well where they wanted to be – and let himself fall, face down, realizing that a belt wasn't worth that much trouble in the first place. He breathed in through the sheets and sniffed the air of fragrance.
He had changed the sheets yesterday, so they still emitted the smell of detergent. His sister always told him that she loved it when the sheets were freshly washed because it felt so clean when she went to bed. He never thought about it that way, until he now became aware of the smell.
I shouldn't have changed the sheets yesterday,
he thought.
Such a shame when you get home drunk and decide to go to sleep all dressed up, stinking of smoke and booze. It'll waste the smell of the sheets.
He didn't know when he had closed his eyes.
He didn't know when he fell asleep.
He didn't know there was someone watching him either, just the way he used to watch his sister.
* * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 1.2 – Jenny
* * * * * * * * * *
He was eating her. Going down on her. Cunnilingus. There are many ways of describing what he was doing, but she wasn't really enjoying it. The thing that bugged her was his name.
Paul
.
Philip
.
Pascal
. It was something with a 'P', but she couldn't figure out which one. If he was going to give her a good time she should at least remember his name. She had already decided that it didn't
matter
what his name was, but it still bugged her.
"Mmmmm," she moaned. "That feels good, Paul."
He stopped momentarily and glanced up. "My name's Peter," he said from between her legs.
"Of course. Just keep going."
Okay, that was ridiculous. You could've thought up a better way to ask his name.
But she knew his name wasn't what was really bothering her. Not really. It was simply that this guy was also not the guy she dreamed of. Not the guy she really wanted to take home. So she had to settle for this guy.
But he's pretty decent with his skill. Not like some other guys I've been with. Could've been worse. Not that I had sex with so many guys; he's only the third, but still.
And he kept going, just as she asked him. She held his head with both hands, guiding him whenever he strayed, but mostly to make sure he applied the right amount of pressure on her sensitive parts. His tongue touched her lips, licked them all the way up till he could nibble on her clitoris. It sent lightning through her body. Three times, four times and she was on fire. She was shaking. Bucking. She was cumming.
When it was over, she was lying down on her back, eyes closed. She felt Paul –
or Philip
– move, place his dick to her entrance and her eyes flared open.
"You got protection?" she asked.
"Do I need to?" he asked cautiously. "Anything I should know?"
"Alimony?"
"Christ, you're not even on the pill?"
She smiled wickedly. "Should I? It helps keeping guys from sticking their dicks without rubber into me for kicks."
He shrugged and put the condom on she offered him. Then he went to work.
The steady thrusting had a lulling effect on her. She had already gotten off and she wasn't really in the mood. She was still wet enough to not dislike the feeling, but her mind was elsewhere. Partly due to the booze she had drunk, partly because of how she had seen that Vincent had left before her, drunk like a fish. The idea of a drunk fish made her giggle, not because it wasn't the actual saying – she couldn't remember and made something up herself – but because it was funny to imagine how a fish could get drunk while being submerged in water.
He would reach his home safely; the bus would drop him off close enough. The bus stop was right under his own window after all. But she would've liked
him
to get her home. And end up with in bed. She imagined it was him thrusting a dick in her, rather than Philip –
or was it Pascal?
– who was doing his best in making it seem like he was doing it for her.
She moaned by the idea of Vincent sticking his dick into her the way it happened now. And she realized that that idea was making her more wet. She got into the mood.
She adjusted a bit to allow his penis more leeway into her and started touching her tits. She could feel the effect that had on the one fucking her, as the pace went up.
If this only had been Vincent,
