Foreword
A mature brother/sister piece this time. Caroline is 45, her brother Simon is twelve years younger. She's staying in his London apartment during a divorce. One afternoon, Simon arrives home early...
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GA – Thirsk, North Yorkshire – 16th of November 2015.
***
A minute earlier and she wouldn't have been lost in the rush of her climax. The timing might have been accidental, but couldn't have been more perfect. A series of random connections came together to produce a unique set of circumstances: a cancelled meeting; hitting every traffic light at green on the way home; her need for release, unknown to me at the time, becoming too powerful to resist.
Each event fell into place with critical precision, the fates conspiring to lead me to walk in on my sister as she jammed a pink dildo into her pussy.
Seeing her like that was like a bucket of ice-water thrown in my face, a moment so unexpectedly shocking I couldn't move from the spot. The impossible sight of my sister laid bare on the sofa held me transfixed. Caroline was spread wide, thighs parted, her face twisted with carnal torment. One of the most erotically compelling sights I've ever witnessed.
Her climax burst as I opened the door. She didn't pause, just kept on fucking the length of moulded latex into her body. "Oh God," Caroline groaned. "I didn't expect you to get back for another couple of hours." Her voice tapered away when the pleasure carried her off, leaving me unable to do anything more than gape at my sister's ripe, voluptuous body, her large breasts holding my gaze for what felt like several eternities.
Time turned elastic, the image of Caroline's tits shivering and rolling searing itself across the screen of my mind's eye. It's something I'll never forget, that wink of time when I took in the detail of her agonised gaze and slack face, with my own sister's meaty labia splayed to reveal the scarlet stretch of her cunt. I can see it now: her pink clit all taut and shiny, the ungainly folds of Caroline's labia curled at the edges, their ugly beauty causing a fist of yearning to grip tight at my stomach.
My sister looked at me through a mask of tortured desire, then gurgled, "Are you going to stand there and watch?"
Caroline winced as air hissed in through her nose. She moaned and rolled her eyes, body convulsing while a half-choked sob came up from her throat, the tone of her voice and the look on her face goading me to an act of depravity which still has the power to shock me. It was what she said and the way she said it mingled in with the way she looked at me.
I can recall something dark and illicit uncoiling inside me as I stared at her glazed eyes, their depth vague yet fixed to my face as my sister croaked her way through, "I'm coming now, Simon, and I don't care if you see it."
Where it came from, I don't have a clue; I have no idea what motivated her to say what she did. All I have is a dim recollection of unzipping my flies after she uttered the words.
She was half-laid on one side, weight on her elbow while propped up by the big cushions. For the next thirty seconds or so, perhaps more, my sister mauled at one breast, a thick nipple peeping between her fingers as she used the dildo against her pussy with vehement robustness.
She moaned and gasped, "Oh yeah," the other breast bouncing in time with her thrusting, hips moving in convulsive jerks as Caroline fucked up onto the rubber cock, wincing and gasping and holding my stare with her own.
When she slid the dildo out of her body and used the shaft against her clit, Caroline pouted at me, crinkling her nose as she let out a silent snarl before plugging her gape with its girth once again.
Seeing that had me jacking my cock, and, mindless to the fact she was my sister, I moved in close, the surge already bubbling, working my fist back-and-forth until the first rush of ejaculate poured out of me.
Semen flicked over Caroline's skin, the initial few spurts gleaming like thick, snotty ropes across her silky inner thigh.
"Oh!" Caroline yipped. "Oh my god, yes!" Then she was snorting and wall-eyed as my cum rained down onto the sofa and carpet, the jizm shooting forth in an indiscriminate deluge while Caroline let it all go.
*
There's twelve years between us, with Caroline older, and the age difference means I can't remember her as a sister living at home. I grew up and disappointed my parents by going straight into industry instead of getting a degree like she did, but my decision paid off after I spread my wings and started my own business in IT while Caroline went down the route of a career in accountancy and marriage. I managed to accumulate wealth while her path led to divorce, hence she was temporarily ensconced in my flat at the age of forty-five, a supposedly temporary arrangement which had lasted two months by the afternoon I burst in to find her masturbating on the settee.
That day, as the fog lifted, after I'd pumped semen all over her leg, the reality of the scene hit me. I boggled at Caroline while she sucked air into her lungs, the storm having abruptly subsided. A weirdness enveloped us, a surreal few seconds while my sister fought to recover her breath and I struggled with the rapidly growing enormity of what I'd just done.
I denied it at first, despite the evidence in front of my eyes – the dildo laid on the sofa alongside my sister, the spunk on her thigh and the rest of the goo staining the carpet.
It was impossible. It just couldn't have happened. None of it was real.
But then my sister groaned, "Oh God ... Simon ... What have we done?" and I gaped at her for a few seconds longer.
Despite the anxiety mounting inside me, my sister's lush body held my attention. I thought her tits were incredible: heavy and round with islands of thick fleshy nipples in the large disks of their areolae, false to be sure, but a superb example regardless of their manufactured fakery. My eyes went down from her boobs to the crinkled and meaty folds of her labia, past the jewel in her navel, her tummy bisected by a horizontal crease because she was still laid there all scrunched up, legs wide, flaunting her sex.
"Caroline," I croaked when I looked at her face, shame dragging at my guts. "We–"
My sister returned my stare, her expression unreadable. I had no idea what was going on behind her blue eyes. She slid a finger into the mess on her leg, holding it up to examine her brother's spunk on the digit.
And that's when I gasped, "Oh Jesus, no," and fled.
*
I went blindly at first. I'd tucked my cock away and, ignoring the smears contaminating my suit trousers, all but stumbled out of the flat into the corridor beyond. The lift took me down fourteen storeys, the doors sliding open to deposit me at ground level where I gave Dave the security guard a vague, mindless wave as I went past his desk.
There's a pub on the corner, a survivor of the regeneration in London's East End, a place its former clientele wouldn't recognise beyond the solid façade. My mobile rang as I ordered a pint of trendy lager, with my sister's ID showing on the screen. I groaned as though in pain, which I was on an emotional level. Switching off the device to cancel her call, I downed the beer in several quick swallows. After that I asked for a vodka, another following soon after. And so the slide began.
The next morning it took me more than a minute to work out where I was. I woke up in a confusion of tangled sheets and a killer hangover, snatches of the late afternoon and evening coming back in an incomplete jigsaw. I could recall the pub and the drinking, and there'd been a lot of drinking. There was a brief period of not caring, the near euphoria of alcoholic overdose as I bought drinks for complete strangers, needing their company so I wouldn't dwell on the sin.
Of course, inevitably, then came the crash.
The picture was blurry when I first opened my eyes. I attempted to blink through the bleariness, gulping down on the nausea while struggling with the deep, rapid lub of the pulse in my temples. Had I eaten last night? I wasn't too sure, but my stomach roiled and squeezed and made dire threats at both ends. I gave it up after lifting my head off the pillow, dizziness forcing me back down, but, after a few deep breaths, I tried again, the anonymous surroundings slowly forming to reveal what was obviously a room in what looked to be a chain hotel.
I saw a bottle of water on shelf fixed to the wall next to the bed, groped for it with a low groan coming out of my chest, then twisted the cap and struggled vaguely upright. A few gulps helped and, with my head still pounding but my insides settled, I looked for my trousers.
My phone was in a pocket, the device emitting a series of bleeps when I switched it on. The bells and whistles went on for quite some time, each one signalling either a myriad text or missed call from my sister.
Ignoring the shrill tones, I dropped the phone to the floor and thanked the gods it was Saturday. Work would have been impossible that morning. It was all I could do to lie in complete stillness and ride the swell and ebb of the alcoholic over-indulgence, with the only power able to rouse me from bed being the necessity to piss. Anything more serious was simply too much.
The hotel phone lifted me out of my near comatose state an indeterminate time later. I'd overstayed my welcome and it was time to check-out. I did consider simply asking for another night's accommodation, but then decided against it. I had cotton wool in my head and wasn't think too clearly, deciding it would be best to face up to the issues confronting me.
Stepping outside into a cold day had a contradictory effect. November cleared my head, wind like minty breath chilling my already thinned blood to the point I was shivering after a few paces. A taxi seemed a good idea, so I ducked back inside the hotel to call a mini cab company. The car arrived without too much delay, the journey home taking less time than I'd waited for the cab to arrive.
Going up in the lift was a nerve-wracking experience. So far, the hangover had demanded most of my attention, but the prospect of seeing Caroline brought my focus back to what had gone on between us. I stood at the front door to the apartment, swallowing heavily as I gulped down on the trepidation swelling in my chest, a ripple of something clandestine shivering inside me.
I recognised the dribble of primordial desire when images of my sister's body pushed to the forefront of my mind, the shame clenching my guts at the same time I felt my cock thicken and grow.
"Shit," I muttered, braced for the moment, appalled by my body's response.
Then, after another deep breath and a girding of resolve, I opened the door.
*
Her carry-on bag confronted me as soon as I walked in. I looked at it and wondered at its significance before shutting the door. The first tentative call of her name went unanswered, with no response forthcoming when I repeated the process with a little more volume. It became obvious Caroline wasn't inside the flat as I progressively searched all three bedrooms, both bathrooms, the lounge, my home office, and finally, the kitchen.
The note lay on the kitchen counter. A plain sheet of A4 from the printer with a few handwritten written lines:
