Author's note: This is a four chapter story about incest between a brother and sister. It's a story within a story and takes a little before getting to the good stuff, but, there's lot's of good stuff throughout. I hope you'll enjoy it. There is a plot twist in chapter four, so please stick with it until the end. Comments are appreciated. Thanks!
Oh, how intense that wave of release felt. That release, that tidal wave, that orgasm had been building for over a week. My finger tip orgasms were just a tease, barely able to get the job done. My body was saving that orgasm for warm full hands. And, that those warm hands were not my own hands added fuel to the stream of desire that coursed through my body and culminated in that huge explosion. Those hands, my sister's hands, the hands of taboo, took my desire to another plane, an order of magnitude yet undiscovered by my young and somewhat inexperienced body...
"You were saying?" Jan Martin, my psychologist, interrupted my musing.
"Sorry. I was lost in my thoughts."
"Tell me about those thoughts, William."
"I was thinking back to the first orgasm I experienced by Clair's hands. How intense it was."
"I'd like to hear about that, Can you tell me more about that orgasm?" Jan inquired.
"It's hard to put in to words." I paused for a few slow deep breaths as I lay on her office couch with my eyes closed. My right forearm draped over my eyes added some comfort from the emotional exposure I was experiencing. I felt my inner most self, my perverted self, ripped open, laid raw, examined, and judged by the whole world
"It was like a super orgasm."
"Can you describe what that felt like?"
"Do you have orgasms Ms. Martin?"
"William, unfortunately, my sexual life is not up for discussion here."
"Well, by that answer, I'll assume you do," I said with a newly found smugness. She didn't answer the question one way or the other, but I took it as she does experience orgasms. Who doesn't? In my mind the whole world was having one big orgasm. Some women still don't, or at least have trouble achieving, according to what you read in the media anyway; it's a pity if it's true.
"It was like, take all the orgasms you've ever had and pile them up together into one big super orgasm, a super nova of celestial orgasm, a super-gasm."
"And you've never experienced an orgasm like that with anyone else?"
"No." I answered. It was true. Of all the other girlfriends I've had sex with, no one made me cum like my sister Clair.
"Was that because it was your first sexual taboo? Do you still have orgasms with your sister that are as intense as that first one?"
"Sometimes, yes. They're all different, but they're still more powerful with Clair than with any other lover."
"Is that because you love your sister romantically, and not as a sister?"
"I don't know. We don't want to be together as lovers, or as husband and wife. Although I wouldn't mind, but I know I can't. And not just because we know it's wrong. Clair is married to someone. I know I should move on and make a life for myself with someone else."
"But you keep returning to Clair for sex?"
"It's not just sex. I have girlfriends for that."
"Then why do think you and Clair still see each other sexually? Can you describe the bond you have?"
"I don't know...I just need her hands on my cock. It grounds me like nothing else in this world. That's all I know."
"And Clair? Why does she continue? What does she get out of it?"
"I don't know. She's addicted to me, as I am to her, I suppose. She calls me her ad-dick-tion."
"You've never talked to each other about what you were doing? What you're continuing to do?"
"Not really."
"When you say 'Not really', What do you mean by that? "
"Just, 'Billy we have to stop', or 'I know Clair, I shouldn't be here asking you for this...'"
"But, you haven't stopped? Is that Correct? You've never stopped having sex with your sister? "
"Not yet. Well, until recently, Clair's therapist has insisted she stop seeing me. We're not even supposed to talk to one another for a while. So, as of the last week, Clair told me we can't even talk or text one another for a while."
"That's a big change for you, William. How do you feel about not seeing her?"
"I don't think this hiatus will last long," I said. I was hoping it wouldn't last and I was counting on Clair's passion for my cock to end our sequester.
"William, it's been three weeks now since we started this therapy. I still don't have a clear sense of what transpired between you and Clair to start your sexual relationship together. You've been avoiding telling me the whole story. I only have fragments of information," Jan said.
It's true. I've been dancing around the issue. I really didn't want to be there, on that couch, or any psych's couch for that matter. I was only seeing a shrink to appease my sister; she asked that I start counseling the same time she did. I figured if I showed good faith, sooner or later she'd want to compare notes, and I'd be back in her graces.
"I'll be out of town for the next two weeks. I'd like you to do some homework while I'm away. Are you up for doing a little homework, William?"
"I guess. I don't know. Depends..."
"I want you to write your story. Take it from the beginning and don't leave out any important details. I don't need to know what you ate for breakfast each day, or what you watched on TV, unless it's important to the events leading up to you and Clair becoming sexually active. OK?"
"I'm not a good writer. I don't know..."
"That's fine. I don't need you to be the next great novelist. I just need a good understanding of what transpired. Writing it down and reading it yourself will also help you come to terms with what you and your sister have been doing, since you've yet been able to admit that you have been in an incestuous relationship with Clair.
That's all the time we have for today. So, I'll see you this same time in three weeks."
As I got up from Jan's office couch, I stared at her quietly for a moment. Her head was down and she was writing staccato like on her note pad. She was a hot looking woman in her early thirties, too hot to be a psychologist. Looking at her sitting at her desk, I admired her short bob-cut blond hair, her dark rimmed glasses, and her red business suit.
She was the third psychologist I'd talked to. The first two were males and I couldn't relate to them. I didn't feel I could open up to them, and it seemed a waste of time and money. Why did I stay with Jan? Why was I comfortable with her? I wondered, as I gathered my coat. Certainly she was easy on the eyes. In fact, I dreamt the other night she was giving me head as I related my story, my so called "problem," to her. Was that it? Was I sexually attracted to my psychologist? So cliché, but there it was. I felt a twinge of excitement stirring within my loins. I've never been sexually attracted to female authority figures before; no teachers excited me; no women bosses got me juiced up; not even any older females in my childhood, aunts, or cousins. So why her? Why now? It certainly didn't hurt that I was pouring my perverse sexual proclivities out to her. We were a team now. She was on board.
"You should upgrade to the twenty first century," I said as I put my coat on.
Jan never looked up from her writing and said, "Come again?"
"You're hand writing your notes. They make electronic tablets now, like an iPad."
"Yes I know, I have an iPad, William. I'll transcribe my notes later to my computer. And, I do use my iPad for notes too, sometimes, but short hand on a note pad is still quicker for me than working the stylus. Especially when I'm listening to my patients and taking note. You do want me to listen to you, don't you, William?" She looked up and finally smiled.
"Sorry, didn't mean to infer you were..."
"Speaking of technology, William. I'd like you to send me whatever you have written at least one full day before our next session. I'd like to read it before our session so we can talk about it. My email address is on the card I gave you the day of our first session. Do you still have it?"
"Yes, I still have it."
"Good. So I'll look forward to reading your story. See you in three weeks then," Jan said as a final word for our session. She went back to writing her notes.
As I drove home, I agonized over writing my story. English was my worst subject in school, even college. I hated the writing assignments. I could never think of anything to write. To be sure, my story was already in my head, and I revisited it often, but to actually write it, how would I begin?
Later that night I sat in my home office, with my laptop open and a blank new document staring at me. I attempted a few sentences, and then deleted them. I tried again and managed a paragraph. I read what I wrote, and it was all incomprehensible jumbled up words; I deleted it. "Jesus! I suck at writing," I stammered out loud.
I picked up my phone and punched out a text to Clair, "what are you doing".
I attempted again to refocus on my writing, but I was clearly not in the mood, and what I wrote was again garbage. As I thought of my story, my thoughts, of course, turned to sex between my sister and me. My cock stiffened as I thought of her and her silky smooth hands on my cock. This, of course, didn't help my concentration.
My phone pinged. I looked at the screen. Clair answered, "not 2 much how bout u"
"Bored... thinking of you," I responded.
"me 2," my phone lit up.
"Can I come over?" I typed.
"Billy, we shouldn't."
"I know, but I need U. I'll explain when I get there."
"No! My shrink says we shouldn't be in contact with one another," she texted back.
"Can I call you?" I texted.
"Sure."
"Hi. I needed to hear your voice," I said to Clair, my voice conveying what my fingers couldn't.
"Billy...we shouldn't... I'm not supposed to be talking to you right now."
"I know Clair. Just a little. Please. My shrink wants me to write what happened... you know... about us. How it started... all the details."
