My Sister My Slut

NB: This chapter follows the previous two chapters of 'My Sister, My Slut'. You might read them first for context. Comments and feedback are welcome, as always.

*****

Seven hells, it had happened. I'd made love to my sister, came in her, and now had her nakedness sprawled over the couch next to me. It was thrilling having sex with Jen: she was astonishingly beautiful with my cock deep within her and her skin flush with sex. I wouldn't mind going at it again, I thought to myself. The incredible idea that we might make a regular habit of our incestuous coupling came to mind.

"That was fun."

'Hmm," my sister replied.

Hmm... somewhat non-committal. Jen sat up, her brow creased - this boded poorly, I could just tell. Goodness gracious, she could be a fickle lass sometimes, a character trait I'd noticed many times growing up with her.

"We shouldn't have done that."

My dream of regular copulation looked fleeting.

"I don't understand you, sis. First you want me, then you don't. We make sweet, sweet love, and then you say we shouldn't have."

"I do want you, Alex - it's just wrong that I do. You're my brother, for God's sake."

"It's just a bit of fun, that's all. Nothing to feel all guilty about."

"Just a bit of fun?" said my sister, crestfallen.

"Not a just a bit - a lot of fun! Hell, it was life-affirming sex. Divine."

"Sinful, not divine."

"Semantics, dear sister."

My sister laughed and I breathed my relief. At that moment I heard the closing of car doors in the carport - our parents, returned!

"They're back! Quick, get your clothes on."

It was maybe ten metres from the car to the front door. I pulled up my pants, briefly catching my semi-flaccid cock in the zip, eliciting a howl. My sister already had her skirt on, so she grabbed her blouse then dashed up the stairs to her room, not bothering to button it up. I heard the key enter the lock; I had maybe ten seconds, so pulled my polo on and sat back on the couch, switching the TV to a commercial station. Late-night Turkish news, brilliant. The front door swang open and my parents entered the hallway.

"Hi Mum, hi Dad," I called.

"Hi," they replied, approaching the lounge room.

I noticed my sister's discarded bra on the floor and grabbed it, my heart racing, tossing it behind the couch just as my mother poked her head in.

"Hi Alex. You're up late watching TV," she said, looking at the screen. "Learning Turkish?"

Goddamn. "I'm just channel surfing during an ad-break. How was your evening?"

"Enjoyable, even if the company was a little dull. Is Jenny home?"

"Yeah, in her room I think."

I heard my parents walk down the hall to their room - we had managed to avoid detection that night, but it did highlight the risks of our forbidden lust: namely, being exposed, berated and potentially disowned. The risk of being caught with my cock in my sister's cunny - maybe that was part of the appeal of incestuous fantasy, but in reality it would be devastating to our family. No doubt Jen's fear of that outcome contributed to her seemingly capricious behaviour.

The following morning, Sunday, was our traditional day of sleeping-in. Even my parents would not rise until mid-morning. I awoke incredibly horny having spent my entire night dreaming of the previous day. My rational mind had determined that we'd need to be very discrete for the time being. After this week, well, we'd have an apartment to ourselves and be hundreds of kilometres from anyone who knew us. This presented exciting possibilities, but I needed to test the waters with my sister first. This meant more sex. To that end I woke shortly after dawn and slipped silently into her room.

My sister was in a short nightdress and although her room was dark I could still make out the enticing curves of her breasts and legs. I crossed the distance from the door to her bed, noted that her nightie had ridden up her legs as she slept, now barely covering her buttocks, and then crept onto her bed next to her, spooning her, my stiffness nestling against her butt. Jen stirred, still not fully awake, and her legs parted slightly, allowing me to position my cockhead against her slit, only the thin fabric of my cotton shorts between me and her. Putting one hand on her right breast, feeling out and circling her nipple, I began rubbing my erection against her. Already I could feel a moist spot form on my shorts, which I surreptitiously rubbed into her pussy lips.

"Ugh," she moaned. "What's going on?"

My sister awoke with my hot breath on the back of neck, the hardness of my cock rubbing along her cunny and my hand on her silk-covered tits. She tensed but did not push me away.

"What are you doing here, now?"

I continued playing with her nipples through the thin fabric of her dress. They were hardening at my touch, poking against the diaphanous material.

"Enjoying you, that's all. Mum and Dad won't be up any time soon, I thought we could have some morning fun."

"Sleep is morning fun," she groaned.

"There'll be time for that when we're dead."

"And we'll be dead if Mum or Dad catches us."

She rolled over and looked at me, her pale blue eyes bright even in the darkness. Her hand slipped down to my tented shorts, hooked under the elastic and pulled them down, freeing my cock. My sister took it in her hand, still watching my face just inches away - I could feel the warmth of her breath on my cheeks -, and began rubbing.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked.

"This is a good start," I said.

Jen was slow and deliberate; I could get used to this. Maybe it could be a morning ritual when we lived together interstate - an enticing thought if ever there were one! Idly I wondered if she'd given many hand jobs before, perhaps to fellow backpackers in Europe and SE Asia. Or would she have treated them to more? Not content merely to have my sister's hands rubbing up and down my shaft, I thought up further baseness. I couldn't explain why, but baseness and my sister seemed to go well together.

"You're thinking dirty thoughts, aren't you? Naughty boy."

I scoffed, "What does that make you? A naughty girl? Or a very naughty girl?"

My sister smiled and her rubbing hastened. Pleasure was flowing from her hand up through my body, making my earlobes hot and my toes tingle. My rigid shaft was the conduit of this bliss. She was a virtuoso playing my instrument, possessed of a skill far exceeding my own in that respect; the irony that my sister could outclass me at jerking my own dick brought a wry smile to my lips.

"The naughtiest, of course."

I was breathing fast now and knew it was only a matter of time before her hot little hand would bring forth the flood. The gyrating heat of our two bodies on her bed fanned the fire in my loins.

"You're getting close, aren't you?"

I nodded. I wanted to last longer, I really did, but my eyes were locked to hers and my heart was racing and I couldn't think straight any more, let alone contain the pressure rising within my depths. My sister had a terrible effect on me. Maybe it was seeing the girl I had shared my entire life with a woman now, her sensuous form so close to me; I could hear her dulcet childhood laughter in the songbirds' morning verse. Or maybe it was the titillation as she twisted her hand softly, pulling up and down, electrifying the sensitive nerves in my member. Yet in the frantic energy of my need and her scintillating exertion, I felt tranquillity.

"That didn't take long," she said, her voice calling my consciousness forth from its idyllic depths.

"You're good at what you do."

My sister slowed and stopped, leaving me gasping like a fish out of water. The pressure abated, at least for now. She propped herself up on the bed and crawled down to my crotch before giving me a sultry glance, licking her lips and lowering her mouth to my shaft.

At first she took only the head, running the tip of her tongue along the little eyelet there. My sister's mouth was warm and moist and heavenly. Then she lowered her mouth further, bobbing up and down until at last she had most of my length in her mouth. Each time she went further until she gagged and brought her head up, before trying again. I felt her hand at the base of my shaft, where it was tugging up and down gently. The combination of her mouth, tongue and fingers was glorious.

My sister had been hasty with her hand earlier, but now she was leisurely, not at all in a rush to make me cum. She was enjoying it, savouring me, licking and sucking on me as if an ice-cream. I watched her for a while, transfixed by her measured movements, then I lay my head back, closed my eyes and simply focussed on the rapturous sensations. Gradually her pace quickened and I could feel my orgasm approach. Soon she was taking me deep and fast, my cock pressing against the back of her throat for a brief instant before she would bob up again, gagging. It was a funny noise, the slurpy-gaggy-sloppiness but I couldn't deny it was excellent oral.

"That feels amazing, sis," I said as she used her free hand to cup my balls.

I could feel the heightened sensations that preceded orgasm.

"Let me taste your cum, little brother."

That was all the encouragement I needed - how could I deny her, my goddess, my sister? My hips flexed, my glutes tensed and my cock started to spasm in her hot, wet mouth. My cum flooded forth and I watched hungrily as she took my incestuous seed within her mouth, some dribbling from her lips down my shaft. I came and came, spurting what felt like a torrent of white creamy ejaculate into my eager sister's mouth, where still I could feel her tongue at the tip of my cock, teasing out further drops. Slowly I subsided, the tension left my body and I fell back into a wondrous dream-like state, this forbidden nirvana. My eyes devoured the captivating sight before me: my sister, her golden locks catching the bright dawn light through the blinds, her skin glowing, blushed, her lips shining with the gloss of my cum. She held my cock in one hand, her delicate, slender fingers wrapped around it, with the other gently caressing my balls. Kneeling on the bed, smiling, she tipped her head back and swallowed. I gasped, or maybe I was silent - at this point I knew not; I had surrendered to sybaritic oblivion. The pure eroticism of seeing her swallow - not spit, but to willingly take her brother's salty-bitter seed into her mouth and swallow! I could have almost orgasmed again. In the aureate radiance of sunrise, my sister moved forward, crawling over me, and then lowered her lips to mine. I could taste my seed on her lips and tongue, residue of our taboo deed.

Finally our lips parted. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her in close for a hug, delighting in having her pressed against me. Then I manoeuvred on top of her and pushed the silky fabric off her breasts so that I could lower my lips to her collarbone and kiss a trail down to her nipples. I wanted to return the favour, but honestly it was my lust that drove me as much as any noble sense of gratitude or duty; I wanted to taste and feel my sister's nubile body. Her intimate, erogenous flesh was now open to me like Aladdin's magic cave.

Open sesame

, I whispered.

"That feels nice," she said as I kissed down her breasts over her taught stomach to her Mons pubis.

I raised her nightdress above her hips to give me access to her cunny, but did not target there immediately. Instead, I kissed around her inner thighs. She wiggled and gyrated her hips. I treated her to teasing brushes of my lips on her bare skin and the occasional lick, letting my hands wander over her. So close to her, I could feel her musk in my nostrils, drawing my attentions to her puffy pink lips, affecting me like pheromones. I was going on instinct, not experience, but my sister was responding well to the insinuation of my tongue into her folds, the tip of my nose rubbing against the top of her pussy. My saliva mixed with her juices and I started licking her clit, which prompted the involuntary tensing and relaxing of her thighs as I began spelling the alphabet onto her firm little button. My sister's cunny had an interesting flavour, a little tangy, but pleasant.

"Christ, you're good at this. To have my brother eat me out!"

I redoubled my efforts, bringing a finger to rub her slit before slipping into her tight, moistening pussy. My sister liked using those words; I could tell that the taboo-ness of our incestuous passion aroused her as much as it aroused me, as if the more explicit our words the fainter the fearful reality of our transgressions. I curled and uncurled my finger inside her, still sucking, licking and kissing her engorged clit.

"Ohh, fuck. That's great," she moaned.

Pushing another finger into her folds, I straddled her, blessing her perky nipples with kisses and soft suckling, all the while plundering her wetness with eager thrusting digits. Jenny's pussy was tight around my fingers and slick with lust. My cock was hardening again at the thought of entering her as my sister's panted and moaned. Soon I felt the sudden twitching and contracting around my digits and saw her abdomen tense. Her fingers were in my hair.

We lay together for a while, our hot, contented bodies close, watching as light filled the room. Then I rose, dressed and stole a quick kiss. We each tasted of the other. Back in my own bed I smiled and fell easily into sleep.

*

"Come on sleepy-heads," called our mother from the foot of the stairs. "Breakfast!"

I looked over at the clock - 10am, a couple hours of shut-eye since my earlier activities. At breakfast I faced my family, cautious that I should not reveal any of what had happened in the past 24 hours. Can parents sense things by intuition? Perhaps less well than they think, for though I felt the heat in my cheeks as I ate, the earth did not crack open and swallow me whole, nor did I taste my parents' wrath. Jen was vibrant, a charming contrast to the dark uneasiness I felt as I watched her, although subtle hints in the creasing of the brow and faint flecks of fear in those brilliant blue eyes suggested that, at the least, she was still of two minds.

After breakfast, I pushed my concerns to one side and busied myself with preparing for my move interstate. One can tell a story from the odd collection of things that spill forth from a desk as it is emptied. Here, some exercise books from high school. There, a partially broken mobile phone. Old birthday cards, this one from Mum, another from a friend, and here, in my sister's flowing script a card from my eighteenth, my seventeenth, my sixteenth years of siblinghood captured on cheap supermarket-bought cards.

As is often the case with cleaning processes, I found myself stalled, distracted and unproductive after a few minutes. My hands moved idly and my mind could not focus - how could a mind focus when the past weekend had been so odd, so lusty and so unavoidably forbidden? My childhood possessions spread before me, I felt once again like a child who, having broken his father's prized model car, waits trembling, his heart palpitating, an energy-draining sickness in the bottom of his gut. He knows his crime will be discovered soon. He knows that the heavy, angry thuds on the stairs presage his doom. And he knows that, if he had his time again, he would not have played with the toy forbidden him. Yet I wasn't so sure. Being with my sister made me feel whole, not broken. Did she feel the same?

*

The day slipped away as it is wont to do while we mortals squat in the dirt and pick and peck at our mortal possessions and each other and fill our minds with temporal distraction. My room was mostly cleared. I had moved years of clutter from my desk to my mind, where the oddest memories would strike me with pangs of humiliation and regret. How strange that we should remember our most trivial errors so acutely and that these thoughts still bear their sharp edge, while years of happiness fade into the haze. All things are ephemeral - but, of the emotions, shame and regret live longest.

My melancholy was dispelled over the evening meal by my sister's presence; such has often been her effect on me, and for many a season before this. She was the cool balm, the calming elixir, to inward tumult. Yet even that happy thought could not go un-accosted by my cynicism: if she was the cure, she was only the cure to the disease of my lust for her - and, in this light, no more a cure than another hit of heroine is for an addict. Oh, unhappy mind! The gods were pulling me this way and that like a puppet. My Apollonian years of secondary schooling were ended and Eros was ascendant.

"You seem distracted this evening, Alex," said my mother.

"Humph. Thinking about the move, that's all."

"I remember leaving home when I was your age. You get used to it. Besides, you'll have Jen there with you. That'll be fun, won't it?" said Dad.

Jen rolled her eyes and feigned protest. "Ew!"

"Thanks for that, sis. I look forward to it too."

My mother laughed, although I think she was a bit sad about me and Jen moving out. After dinner I went to my sister's room on the pretext of helping with packing.

"Strong progress, sis," I said sarcastically as I surveyed the carnage.

She scowled and turned toward the wardrobes. Her room was a mess. Dresses, tees, jeans, socks, books - everything - were spread randomly across the bed and floor. Two large suitcases were each half filled, although I couldn't really determine why some things were in one suitcase and not the other. A couple of boxes of personal effects lay on the floor at the end of the bed. I noticed a couple of polaroid-style photos from a photo-booth of Jen and her French ex, Luke, in one.

"Luke's coming with us?"

"What?"

She turned and looked at the photo I was holding and frowned.

"He was nice, you know."

I raised an eyebrow.

"If you're here to help me pack, how about you grab the box up the top there instead of passing commentary," she said, pointing to the top of her wardrobe.

"Think you'll be ready for Tuesday?" I asked as she started emptying its contents onto the floor. Some athletics trophies from high school and a recorder.

"Think you're ready to shut it?" she retorted.

"What's gotten into you?"

"You, for a start."

"Well, at least you already know what I'm packing."

Jen relented, smiling briefly. She was, however, focused on the job at hand and sent me back to my room since I wasn't helping. There I considered the following day. We each had going away drinks with our friends in the evening. I wondered if my friends would notice anything different about me, but sex doesn't really change one's appearance, even if it is incestuous. Although I'd initially been very disappointed that none of my school friends would be moving interstate with me, it occurred to me that in light of recent events, it may be for the best.

Monday came and went and Tuesday began. Our parents had arranged to get to work later in the morning so that they could see us off. I hadn't had much to drink the previous evening, so I woke bright and sharp and put a final couple of things into the car. Of course, we weren't taking all our possessions interstate with us and we'd back home at the end of the semester, so I was amazed by the quantity of stuff that my sister had packed into the hatchback. She rose a bit later and we had our last family breakfast for the near future.

I was eager to hit the road, but as my sister jumped into the passenger seat Dad pulled me aside. I recognised his stern fatherly expression, the kind reserved for special occasions.

"You look after you sister, Alex. Okay? And don't get up to anything too naughty. I don't want to hear any complaints from the landlord or the university."