Synopsis:
A series of historical vignettes depicting incest in various periods.
Author's Note:
A story I wrote for a client. I welcome any feedback you may have! I hope you enjoy it!
DISCLAIMER:
All characters who engage in sexual acts are 18 years of age or older!
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SISTERS FROM A DISTANT PAST
CHAPTER 2
Section 1.
At the time, Agathon was too young to understand.
"Mother," he asked one evening. "Where is sister going at night? She isn't reading to me at bedtime anymore."
Agathon's mother, kneading a large loaf of bread in the kitchen, pursed her lips with ambivalence. She was in her mid-thirties now, her hair wrapped in a bun as was the current fashion for Greek women. And she wore a toga over one shoulder. Like her son, her eyes were a cerulean blue and her hair a mahogany-dark.
"Your sister Melite--" Agathon's mother began. "Is honoring the Gods and serves at the Temple of Aphrodite, as I once did."
"Again?! But she still hasn't finished reading me the story she started."
"How about I read to you instead?"
"Ugh! You can't read the way she does, mother!"
"Oh? Shall I consider that a challenge?" Her grin was a sweet simper.
"Fine! I'll be in my bed..."
Despite her best efforts, Agathon's mother could barely keep his interests. And when the moonlight shone upon Agathon's face through his bedchamber window, and the flutter of curtains on his cheek bade him wake, Agathon took it upon himself to get out of bed at the stroke of midnight. He put on his sandals and threw a blanket over himself, quietly opened the creaking door of his home, and darted off into the thoroughfare.
This was not Agathon's first time alone on the streets of Corinth. He knew where the Temple of Venus was--it was the building on the cliff from where the happy adults came.
"I'll tell you what it is when you're older." Agathon recalled his mother's coy reply.
"Oh, come on, I'm old enough now! Why can't I go there? Tell me!"
She did not. And as boys would be boys, Agathon would claim his own answers.
The towering pillars of the temple stood against the backdrop of a bright and full moon. There were no guards and no watchmen. But Agathon could hear the beautiful melody of a harp drifting out of the marble structure like the aroma of freshly-baked bread, and Agathon was drawn to it like a bear to honey.
His sandals scarcely made a sound as he slipped beyond the columns and hid himself in the shadows just beyond the crackling braziers. There, at last, Agathon peered around the corner and into the temple entrance.
A young man with curly hair strummed a great, golden harp. There were long tables with food and wine, bowls of grapes and cheese and breads of all shapes and sizes. And there were men and women, young and old, watching what Agathon could only believe was the sacred dance he was so forbidden from viewing.
Then, Agathon's blood froze. There, straddling a male stranger, naked as he had only seen her in the baths, was his older sister. For a brief moment, Agathon surmised it might be a trick of the light. But when she rocked her hips with a rhythmic fervor, and an alien yet familiar moan erupted from her lips, Agathon knew it could be no one else but Melite. There, he gazed upon her as he took his own innocence, and he came to know not only desire but jealousy for the first time.
It was a dark hand squeezing at Agathon's heart, and that feeling only intensified as the years passed and Agathon became an adult, as had his sister Melite who became married to his new brother-in-law.
"So, what of it, Alexander?! What do you want ME to do about it?" Agathon bellowed angrily.
No longer the short, stocky boy he once was, Agathon was now in his mid-twenties and a craftsman of some repute. His muscles had grown corded and strong, and his tangled hair grew out like a waterfall and fell upon his bronzed shoulders.
Alexander, his sister's husband, leaned against the doorway of his workshop. And Agathon, turning a heavy, granite lathe, would not meet his eyes.
"Agathon, I don't mean to bother you in your work," Alexander said as he puffed his morning pipe. "But I cannot ignore that Melite has borne me three daughters in a row and no sons! According to Corinthian law, I still have no heir! Perhaps I am barren. Perhaps it is a prank of the moirai. Or perhaps it is Melite who--"
"How dare you! There is nothing wrong with my sister!" Agathon furiously spun his lathe faster and faster. "If she has borne you no sons, it is BECAUSE those shriveled, rotten dates you call testicles have no seeds!"
Alexander winced. "Y-yes, perhaps that is so. All the more reason that we invoke Corinthian law to allow her to take another man to bed in the hopes that his seed may bear better fruit."
"Then let her fuck every man in Corinth for all I care! Why ask ME for permission?!"
"Because, Agathon, she has chosen you specifically."
He stopped turning the wheel. Sweat dripped from his brow as he took a breath, the request of his own sister rippling through his primal brain. His was a forbidden desire so long tucked away in his heartstrings.
"I will not get involved," Alexander said. "The... specifics I leave to you and her. I hope your union bears fruit, my brother."
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Agathon stood before the front door with a nervous gait.
Melite and Alexander had inherited the household after his mother's passing while Agathon lived in his workshop on the busier end of the city. Despite having dinner with his sister and her family only a week ago, the circumstances of his arrival were now completely different.
He knocked. The front door swung open.
"Malachi, Agathon!" She greeted him with a smile.
Melite's luscious, dark braided hair tumbled pleasantly down her shoulders. Her cerulean eyes were the same as his mother's and his own. Deep cleavage of pale alabaster glistened on her breast. Agathon wondered if Melite could hear the rapid beats of his heart.
"H-hello, sister," Agathon muttered.
"Don't be shy. Come in."
She poured him a goblet of wine at the table. Neither her husband nor their children were anywhere in sight.
"How is the workshop?" she asked.
"I-it's--" He grunted, taking a sip. "Doing well!"
"Obviously Alexander told you my decision," she said. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be so nervous!"
"I am not nervous!" He bellowed. "I'm just..."
"Just what?" She smiled coyly.
"I am mystified that you have chosen me, sister. It is not proper for siblings."
"You are my younger brother, Agathon," she spoke, her eyes downcast. "I love you. I have always loved you. I will lie with no one who I do not love!"
"And what about the men at the Temple of Aphrodite?" Agathon said. "Did you love them too?"
"Not this again?" She rolled her eyes. "That was but worship and entertainment in the name of the Gods, Agathon. Can't you see that?"
"No, I cannot." He replied tersely.
"Then you're a hypocrite! Do you not yourself visit the Temple of Aphrodite from time to time? Surely?"
"I have never gone there and I never will! For every woman there is a sister of a man who loves them. And I will not be the stranger who indulges in the flesh of another man's sister."
"Good Gods, you are unexpectedly chaste, Agathon!" Melite laughed. "Aphrodite could likely not resist you. I was going to let you take the initiative, but if you won't--"
Agathon's eyes widened as Melite lunged forward and grabbed the hem of his toga. With an unexpected strength, she pulled Agathon down to her face and planted a kiss straight on his mouth. His heart skipped a beat as he felt her full, red lips, tasting the wine she had served him, and the comforting yet terrifying scent of his sister grew thick in his nostrils. The warmth and softness of her lips set every nerve in his chest aflame, and he was so taken aback that the bygone desire of touching her breasts did not even occur to him. And before he could even count the seconds, Melite drew herself back and licked her glistening lips, her face flushed.
"Hey," she said. "What took you?"
"What do you mean?"
With a brief hesitation, Melite pulled up the hem of her skirt. Agathon gulped; her undergarments were damp over her womanhood, betraying the faint hint of dark pubic hair.
"I-I've been waiting here all day long. D-did you not want to come, Agathon? Do you not want me?"
"No, I just--"
"Hurry and kiss me."
Melite shut her eyes and puckered her scarlet lips invitingly. Agathon gulped. He grabbed her dainty shoulders and pulled her close. Then, he leaned in and kissed her once more.
"Mmm..."
She opened her lips just so, allowing Agathon's tongue to dart inside her mouth. For the first time, the siblings traded the taste of their saliva. And as they did so, the dark grip on Agathon's heart began to loosen.
"Put it in..."
Melite lay on the dining table with her hips suspended over the edge--the same table that Agathon and Melite ate breakfast on since they were children. As Melite hastily pulled down her undergarments, exposing her dark pubic mound and the swollen cleft of her womanhood, Agathon felt his own erection attempting to rend itself out of its confines. He dropped his underwear to the floor, and Melite's eyes widened as Agathon's manhood throbbed angrily before her.
"Oh my... I didn't expect..."
"What?"
"N-nothing..."
Agathon grasped his girth and aligned his glans with her folds. As if unable to believe this was happening, he glided his glans upon and down between her soft folds and relished in the sensation.
"Ugh... Melite..." He grit his teeth and grunted.
The explosive emotional and physical pleasure was almost too much to handle. He heaved a great sigh as he varnished himself in Melite's honeyed arousal, coating his glans and frenulum until he too was drenched with her lust. Her plush labium activated every muscle in his loins, and his cock began to throb with unfettered need.
He gave her no warning when he finally plunged himself inside.
"Ah!" Melite soughed through her teeth. "Care--"
Agathon dug his thumbs into her waist and bucked his length into her hips, inching himself little by little into the warm embrace of her vaginal walls, until he had settled himself deep within.
"Ahhh... Gods..." Melite arced her back. "Alexander is not nearly as..."
He was slow at first. Agathon peered down at their connection, mesmerized by the image of his own penis sliding in and out of her vulva. His girth spread her lips wide open, exposing her swollen clitoris and inner lips. Her lattice of fine pubic hair meshed with his own as he drove himself in, feeling every delightful bump and curve of her depths. And when he slowly withdrew, he felt the vacuum of her womanhood drawing him back in as if taking him prisoner.
"Melite...!"
Agathon thrust into her again and again, increasing his pace with his own breaths. The goblet of wine on the table shook with his every thrust, the red liquid within violently oscillating back and forth. Faster and faster he impaled her, as if attempting to penetrate her womb.
*whud* *whud* *whud*
