Monica and Selyna

Monica toiled away at her computer, trying to find a muse, as she had for weeks now.

An aspiring writer, she wanted to make a name for herself, but she was finding it exceedingly difficult. Inspiration was fleeting for her: it came and went, often too quickly for her to capitalize. She sat down to write, and all of a sudden, the idea that she had in her head was gone in a flash. Most of the stories she had started ended in a paragraph, a page if she were lucky. She would never get anything published at that rate. It was starting to adversely affect her personal life as well. She found herself not enjoying her youth and energy, rather, she was wearing herself to the bone plugging away at something that wasn't coming freely.

Monica was feeling fairly inspired and creative tonight, when she was abruptedly interrupted by a pounding on the door. She swore to herself, as she slammed the empty glass of vodka down on her desk, a stray piece of ice jumping out onto the floor. It was her half-brained sister, for sure. This wasn't the first time that this had happened. Selyna stumbled up to her loft after a night of partying. As Monica got up from her chair and walked over to the door to let Selyna in, the coolness of the concrete floor underneath her bare feet, she shook her head wondering what her wild sister would drag in next.

In typical Selyna style, she greeted Monica with a hearty ,"Hey big Sis," as she stumbled in the door. Monica loved her sister, but a part of her loathed her at the same time. Monica worked herself religiously, with evening college courses 3 times a week, and kickboxing classes on weekends, on top of holding a full time job as a metro reporter for the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, but Selyna, was a part time dancer at one of Seattle's adult clubs, and part time god-knows-what. She hadn't seen the inside of a gym since they were in high school, but her body was flawless, and everyone, male and female knew it. Selyna had a thirst for alcohol that Monica could barely match. The difference was Selyna danced and fornicated away her libations, while Monica tried to write hers away.

"Jesus, Lyna," Monica exasperated, guiding Selyna to the couch. She had gone through this ritual countless times before. Lyna was her pet name for her little sister. She had called her that from the time she was born. Monica was a late talker, being 5 years old when she first said her first word, Lyna. Their mother had been trying to get her to say Selyna from the moment her sister was born. Monica loved her sister for as long as she remembered, even though she hated some of the things Selyna chose to do.

Selyna collapsed in Monica's lap, as they both plopped onto the couch. Monica glanced back at the clock on the wall, seeing that it was almost 3am. "TGIF," she muttered to herself. Monica wanted to her enjoy a weekend off, as they were exceedingly rare these days. Reclining on the couch, her inspiration to write was leaving her. On most nights she would have been so irritated that she couldn't sleep, but tonight, having her drunk sister close to her was comforting. Selyna snuggled into Monica's lap, slipping her arm underneath the oversized T-shirt and cupping Monica's waist. Monica relaxed, and leaned back, stroking Selyna's hair. It felt like old times again. Monica took off her glasses and set them on the end table. Almost mercifully, the almost empty bottle of vodka was sitting right there. Even though it made her feel like a wino, she grabbed it and took a generous gulp straight, the burning sensation in her mouth and throat making her shudder a bit.

With a loud exhale, she slid back onto the couch, wrapping her leg around Selyna's waist for comfort. Selyna's hand almost immediately moved to her ankle, caressing it, tracing a finger along her arch and up the sole of her foot, squeezing her toes gently. The feeling of being caressed was intoxicating to Monica, much moreso than alcohol. It felt natural to her to be touched this way, as a lover would touch his mate...

Monica was suddenly startled. It did feel natural. Too natural to be the hand of her sister. The analytical side of her mind kicked in almost instaneously. Had her beloved sister become so much of a whore that she didn't know who she was touching? Was she misunderstanding?

Ever since the her painful breakup with Eric 3 years earlier, she had lost her ability to express herself, so she lashed out.

"Did you make a lot of money tonight," she said to Selyna, moving her foot away from Selyna's touch. "Was it worth it?"

Selyna, rolling over to face her sister, said, "What's that supposed to mean, Monica?"

Monica reached for her glasses, carefully putting them back on. "You know exactly what I mean, Selyna. It looks like you had a productive night"

Selyna was incensced. Forcefully moving Monica's leg from around her, she sat up, moving as far away from Monica as she could while still staying seated. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Monica?"

Even through the drunkeness, the look of shock and pain on Selyna's face was apparent. Monica softened, reaching for Selyna's hands, "We both know what you do, sis, the world's oldest profession. Why do you try to act like it's something different?"

Selyna recoiled from her, more forcefully than she had sat up. She stood, wobbly, put purposeful. "I don't know why the fuck I come over here." Selyna was a thick-skinned woman, but the tears she felt betrayed her. She could feel her makeup starting to wash away as the tears began to stream down her face.

Monica melted. Her mind was reeling a bit, because she didn't realize what she had done to hurt her sister so, but it was clear that she had wounded her, deeply. "Selyna, i'm sorry, i didn't..."

Selyna had backed away from her, against the wall, her arms locked in front of her. The tears were streaming freely down her face. "Get the fuck away from me!" she screamed, slapping Monica's outstretched hands away. "You don't give a shit about me, as long as you're better than I am!!" Selyna's voice was shrill, but hoarse between ragged sobs. "How can you judge me like that, sis?" she pleaded. Monica bit her lip almost until it bled. The pain she saw in her sister's eyes was jabbing her in the heart like a cold blade, yet she couldn't speak, as if something was squeezing her by the throat.

"Fuck you Monica!" Selyna screamed. She reached down and grabbed her shoes. "You take your wonderful life and leave me out of it from now on! You could at least call me a whore to my fucking face, Monica!!!"

Monica felt the slam of the door like a punch to the stomach. She felt the beginnings of a panic attack, or some sort of anxiety washing over her. It was all too real what she had done. Just as she had driven her beloved boyfriend and lover away, years before, she had done the same with her beloved sister. The room began to spin around her, and she felt her throat constrict. Her breathing was becoming excessively labored as she fought to hold back the anger and pain that was causing her heart to pound with ever increasing force, but she managed to lash out and slam the empty liquor bottle against the wall, shattering it into countless pieces, before she curled into a ball on her living room floor.

Monica didn't know how long she lay there, in a fetal position, wailing in agony. The more she cried, the more out of control she felt, and the more she wailed. It was a terrifying cycle of pain that she was powerless to control. Monica only hoped that exhaustion would overtake her, and that before too long she would slip into unconsciousness.

Monica's alarm blared away, on queue, at 6:00am. Groggy, and light-headed from an untold amount of alcohol, she rolled over and glanced at the clock, then slammed her hand down on it, silencing the alarm. It was Saturday! With a smile and a sigh, she collapsed back into the softness of pillow and mattress. She slept for perhaps 15 more minutes, until, in usual anal-retentive reporter fashion, it dawned upon her that something didn't make sense. After drinking half a bottle of vodka, how did she manage to make it to her bed, and even more amazingly, into her pajamas. The thought was so strange, that she couldn't sleep any longer. Pulling herself slowly out of bed, she stood up, scratching her head and rubbing her eyes as she walked from her bedroom into the living room of her loft, on her way to the kitchen to start her traditional morning pot of coffee.

Monica's back and shoulder joints creaked ever so slightly as she walked carefully across the hardwood floor. She could still feel the effects of the vodka, and she had to be extra careful so as not to fall, head still spinning somewhat. A slight groan coming from the living room startled her and made her jump, reaching for the wall to steady herself. She wiped her eyes as she spied a figure curled up on her couch. Moving a little closer, she quickly recognized the lithe figure of her sister Selyna. Monica thought she might cry as she saw Selyna there, curled up under an afghan that was far too small to cover her, toes peeking from underneath the bottom edge. In the low light from the motion lamp on the end table, she could see Selyna lying there, her face streaked black with smeared mascara from crying, sucking her thumb. Selyna had sucked her thumb ever since she was a baby, and never gave up the habit. It was cute in a strange way, to see a young beautiful woman, a whore, lying there as innocent as a tiny child.

Monica paused, breathless. She felt an uncomfortable, yet familiar feeling stirring deep within her. It was her deepest, and darkest secret. She reached out and leaned on the back of the couch for support, as the unmistakable sensation of arousal started to brew deep within her abdomen. Monica had spent years in and out of therapy to deal with her cravings, her addiction. Therapy had helped a bit, when she was actually active in going. When she wasn't going, she was busy giving into her desires, which she admitted to herself were deranged, and sometimes even self-destructive. She had a tiny scar just underneath her right buttock from a whip as testament to how deeply she allowed herself to travel into the underworld of sex when she lost control of her sexual addiction. It was this journey into sex that had driven away Philippe, her lover and companion of 5 years.

The reporter tried to steel herself and surpress those feelings, as she watched her sister, her own sister lying there, unaware of lusting eyes surveying her. Monica felt herself moistening as she stood there, watching the slow and rhythmic rise and fall of Selyna's chest underneath the blanket. Monica bit her lip, as Selyna turned over, moving the blanket, revealing that she was wearing nothing but a long sleeved button down shirt, unbuttoned down to her stomach. It was Monica's shirt in fact, probably one of Philippe's that she had held onto. Monica surveyed the smoothness of Selyna's skin, the curve of her cleavage, and the feminity of her strong shoulders. Amidst her rising tide of sexuality that was brewing deep inside her, Monica suddenly realized that Selyna had come back after she had been treated so terribly by her sister. She then remembered and realized that it was probably Selyna that had dressed her and put her in bed. The internal conflict was becoming overwhelming with thoughts of Selyna's hands on her nude body and her wanton cravings for sexual satisfaction, and the true, platonic emotions she felt for her beloved sister. Monica did not know which side would win out, but she no longer cared.

Monica stepped around to the couch and gently took Selyna in her arms. She was warm and soft, and Monica inhaled deeply, smelling the scent of her perfume, coupled with the hints of remnants of a night of fast drinking on her breath. For all their differences, Monica and Selyna had remained quite close, there was a sense of yin-yang with them, with Selyna often being the fire to Monica's ice. As Monica leaned back, on the arm of the couch, pulling Selyna up to lay on her chest, Selyna nestled there, unconsciously sinking into her sister's body. Monica leaned her head back and thought that no one she had ever been close to felt as natural to touch as Selyna. She began tracing circles along Lyna's collarbones, slowly, gently, with her fingernails. She felt goosebumps form on Selyna's skin.

She closed her eyes. Visions of sex darted back and forth through her mind, as she lay back, caressing her sister's skin, with ever motion moving lower and lower, towards her firm, young breasts. Monica lost herself with memories of her first lesbian encounter, with her high school English teacher, and with visions of being blindfolded and whipped in the dungeon, biting her tongue through every lash of orgasmic pain. Monica was subconsciously arching her back, as her pajamas began to dampen with arousal. It was a minute before she realized that she had Selyna's breasts cupped in each palm, her fingertips toying at the young woman's nipples, her areola wrinkled as the nipples became painfully erect. Retreating from her trance, Monica was amazed at how Selyna had not stirred! She was being molested by her own sister, and had not made a sound. Her chest still rythmically rose and fell peacefully.

Monica suddenly became overcome with a sense of shame and what she was doing. She pulled her hands away, slowly, so as not to stir Selyna by accident. She thought she might absolutely die if she was to awaken and find herself being fondled by her own sister. Determined to control her lust, Monica laid back and sighed, staring at the ceiling, even as she felt her pearl, hard and longing, rub against the soft folds of her labia. Still, the closeness of her sister next to her was comforting, and relaxing, and she did not want to move, even if it meant that she would not even be able to masturbate away her tension. She breathed deeply and slowly began to drift away into a dreamy wakefulness. She never noticed Selyna twitching, eyes pressed tight, as she slipped her hand between her legs and came.