They Named Her Risten

This is fiction and involves consensual incest between mature adults, pregnancy, pregnancy sex, terminal illness, marital infidelity, and a reconciliation.

I'm aware that all of these are third rails to some people. If this isn't your thing, please move along. This isn't the story you're looking for.

***

I was sitting in the den of the family farmhouse holding onto Aaron's hand for dear life while he cried and raged.

Aaron was the younger of my two older brothers and my lifelong best friend. He asked me to go with him to the doctor earlier that week to get the diagnosis. His fiancée Kelly should have gone with him, but she refused. She claimed that she'd watched her mother waste away from lung cancer and couldn't handle the stress of it. He called me up and asked me to go with him instead.

The diagnosis was bleak. The gamma knife, which had excised the brain tumor years ago had missed a tiny kernel of cells, which had reformed the tumor. It was now out of control. Not even the gamma knife could stop it now. The doctor said he would live six to nine months. During that time, the tumor would steadily impair his mental faculties until it shut his body down.

When we came home and told Kelly, she had a panic attack. She left to visit her sister for a few days. His phone calls, emails, and text messages to her over the next two days weren't returned. When Aaron came home from work on the third day, she had moved out during the day. Her clothes, toiletries, and half of furniture she accumulated with Aaron were gone. She left her house key and engagement ring on the kitchen table. There was no note.

When Aaron called me shortly afterwards, I was in the car with my husband Steve on the way to pick up the kids from his mother's house. We could tell from Aaron's voice that it was bad. He was so broken, he couldn't even tell us what had happened. Steve didn't even ask. He went straight to Aaron's house and dropped me off.

That's where I found Aaron raging. The house felt strangely uninhabited when I walked in and it was immediately obvious to me what had happened. Aaron didn't have to tell me. Of course, he was destroyed. I tried my best to comfort him.

Since his diagnosis, Aaron had been screwing up his courage to ask Kelly to have his baby so that some part of him would live on after he died. Kelly's departure robbed Aaron of that faint comfort. He saw her departure as betrayal and abandonment. I saw it as abject cowardice. I despised cowardice. Our parents had been exceptionally brave people and had raised their children to be the same.

I owed Aaron so much I couldn't express it. He was my best friend my whole life. We formed a united front against my oldest brother Wayne, who we both loved, but was a bit of a bully. I was in tenth grade in high school when my parents were killed while trying to stop a mad man with a gun at the elementary school where mom was the principal. Mom put herself between the shooter and the door and paid the ultimate price. Dad was the first officer on the scene and the shooter ambushed him. Dad put three bullets into the shooter's center mass after he'd been shot in the back twice. After he was certain the shooter wasn't going to get back up, he sat down in the front entry hall next to mom and ran his fingers through her hair. He bled out before he paramedics got there.

At the time, my oldest brother Wayne was in the Navy working as a fire fighter on a helicopter carrier cruising in the Pacific. He couldn't even make it home for the funeral. Aaron was in his second year at Georgia Tech. He dropped out of college to become my full-time guardian. When the insurance company held out and money got tight, Aaron took a job cleaning up toxic waste spills. It was the best paying job he could find with just a high school degree. He spent years in a hazmat suit ankle deep in PCB-impregnated soil to pay for groceries, my clothes, and eventually for my college. He laughed at the risks he was taking. To him, I was worth it. Family stuck together and that was that.

Wayne died while fighting a fire after a helicopter crash in my second year at college. His actions saved the lives of twelve marines at the cost of his own. He was posthumously awarded a Bronze Star. He was brave like mom and dad. Somehow, Aaron and I kept each other from falling to pieces. When I graduated from college, Aaron put in a word for me and got me hired on as an accountant with his employer. When I married Steve, my college sweetheart, a month after I started working, Aaron paid for the entire wedding out of his own pocket. As my last living relative, he gave me away. He was the happiest man in the church.

Years later, when Aaron's boss, Mr. Felton, put his toxic soil remediation business up for sale, Aaron and I worked together to come up with a buyout offer. I used my finance knowledge to work the banks for the loan. We put the family farm up as collateral. Mr. Felton turned down much higher offers to sell to us, because we agreed to keep all his employees working. The loan had been a huge risk, but it paid off. Thanks to Aaron's ability to bid jobs accurately, we paid the note back in full before my third child was born.

When Aaron was diagnosed with a glioblastoma tumor five years ago, he was facing death within the year and I was facing the loss of the last of my family. We decided we'd face it bravely together. I left no stone unturned. Through the V foundation in North Carolina, I found out about a clinical trial in Durham using something called a gamma knife. I bullied him into signing up. The miracle cure that we'd prayed for happened. He was in competed remission three months later.

He came out of that experience profoundly changed. He saw how my husband and children had been a source of strength for me in the chaos. He decided he wanted nothing more in life than children and a legacy to pass on to them. He abandoned his thrill-seeking bachelor lifestyle and looked for someone to settle down with.

He thought Kelly was the one. So did I. Everyone did. When the going got tough, she folded up like a cheap tent.

The evening that Kelly moved out, Aaron fell into a fitful sleep on his couch. I cleaned up the kitchen and spent hours trying to scheme a way for him to leave this earth with a genetic legacy of his own. I considered it all: sperm banks, surrogate pregnancy, adoption, and all the alternatives. They ranged from completely impractical to impossible for a man facing death within the year.

In the end, I could think of only one way, but it would take an uncommon level of commitment. Innocent people would pay a price. I considered what Aaron had done for me and realized that if he could give up so much for me, I could do the same for him. The only thing that was lacking was decisiveness and courage. I had plenty of that to spare.

When he finally woke up, I was already naked and his erection was in my mouth. He fought it at first, but men are not naturally inclined to fight anything that feels that good. I was talented enough that I overwhelmed his defenses. When I straddled him and put him deep inside me, I had his full attention. I explained to him what I was doing and why. I promised him I would do this as often as I needed to until I was carrying his child. He would leave a genetic legacy though my womb. He did his best to resist at first, but men aren't naturally inclined to resist anything that felt that good. As I spoke, I saw his gradual acceptance of what I was saying, and he relaxed.

I knew I was risking my marriage for this, and I wanted to remember it fondly, so I completely abandoned myself to passion. It wasn't hard. My brother was very attractive and his work cleaning up toxic soil had given him a tremendous physique. He had the body of a professional baseball player. Aaron responded to my passion. Unlike me, he was a deeply experienced lover. While I was on top of him and rode him, he thumbed my clit with one hand and teased my nipples with his mouth. I came a three times while he pounded on me from below. During the last one, he saw my build up and growled into my ear, "Come on my cock for me, sis!"

Steve is not a talker, and Aaron's dirty talk lit up my brain like a Christmas tree. A wave of excitement seared through me and it hit me like a hot flame. My orgasm was massive. I contracted so hard, I thought my body was actually trying to expel my vagina. The deep muscles around my uterus ached for days afterwards.

My contractions around his cock gave him facial expression of shock, awe, and beatific rapture. Aaron made a wordless groan as he exploded into me. I'd never experienced a simultaneous orgasm before, nor had I ever experienced any sex that intense. I'd certainly never given Steve make a facial expression like that.

In the aftermath, I collapsed down onto him. I whispered into his ear, "I love you brother. We'll face this together and I will give you a child."

Aaron began to cry. I was worried that he regretted making love to me. When I asked him about this, he confessed that his concern wasn't over sex with me, but over what we were doing to my marriage with Steve. Although Aaron had more than his share of women, sleeping with a married woman was against his personal code and he'd never done it before. On top of that, he'd come to think of Steve as his brother. As he talked through what he was feeling, I was suddenly sick with remorse. I knew the risk I was running in terms of divorce and the loss of my family, but I hadn't given any thought to how much this would hurt Steve personally. I felt shame to my core.

I'd long suspected that I was the shitty partner in our relationship. Now I had indisputable proof.

Aaron fell asleep, but I couldn't. I had made the mother of all betrayals. I had acted impulsively. I wrestled with it all night long. I accepted that I would have to pay the cost and own it. I felt like I owed this to Aaron.

The question I'm certain most people would want to ask is whether having sex with my brother was any different than sex with my husband. The fact that Aaron was my brother did make it spicier. There was a feeling of doing something wrong that ramped up the excitement considerably. My brother was also a more experienced lover than my husband, so that played a role also. The bottom line, however, was that having sex with a sibling was a love-filled experience, just like sex to a committed partner is a love-filled experience. They were closer in feeling to each other than having sex with someone you didn't love. I'd done that a couple of times in my senior year of high school and vowed I'd never do it again.

The other question that I'm certain most would want to ask was whether I suffered from long term guilt over having sex with my brother. Looking back on it, years later, I find that I was never bothered by the incest aspect of what I did. I never regretted that once. I was, however, extremely guilty over being unfaithful to my husband. Steve was a good man and didn't deserve for an unfaithful wife to carry another man's child.

In the morning, Aaron and I made love again. This time was slow and sweet. Before I left Aaron's house, I sat down and counted out my cycle using a calendar. I would ovulate in the next two days. We made plans to have sex every day until my next period was due. We decided to do it in the afternoon while my kids were at the day care and Steve was at work. We also talked about how to handle it with Steve. I was relieved that Aaron agreed with me that we should be open and honest with Steve. He told me that Steve would never accept what I was doing, but hiding it was not the right thing to do.

I went home and told Steve. It was the worst day of my life. As expected, he was devastated and disgusted. He didn't understand why what I was doing was so important to me. I told him that I understood if he had to divorce me, but I begged him to wait until after Aaron was dead. I was surprised when he agreed to wait. I didn't ask him to keep what I was doing a secret, but he did anyway. I will be eternally grateful for that. The next day, when he came home from work, he told me that he had arranged to be out of town for six weeks on a long-term business assignment. When he left, I wondered if he'd ever return.

I sent out an announcement that I'd be working half days for the next several weeks. I left the office at lunch time. Steve would step out every afternoon and meet me at his house, which had been my parent's small farm. Our love making was intense and passionate. There was always an air of desperation when Aaron was inside of me, as if he wanted to savor every instant that he had left.

By mutual consent, we allowed ourselves to take pleasure in what we were doing, but we never once sought pleasure for pleasure's sake. It was all about making a baby. I think it is important to say that neither of us ever orgasmed except when he was inside of me trying to make me pregnant. I know some will say this is nothing more than sophistry and rationalization, but it was a distinction that was deeply important to me. I felt so guilty about what I was doing to Steve that I had to set up this boundary to protect myself.

Steve had been gone nine days and I was still a week away from the due date of my next period when I received an unexpected text from Steve. He hadn't talked to me once since the day he left. The text read, "I still don't understand. I cannot stand to be apart from the kids and I'm ready to come home. Let me know when it is done."

I cried for two hours. When I told Aaron, he cried too.

I took my first pregnancy test the day my period was due. It was positive already. Aaron and I agreed that all sex would stop the moment that we found out, so that was it. We'd made love 33 times in 14 days.

Two weeks after the date of my missed period, I went to the doctor and had the blood test done. I was morning sick by then, so this was just a formality. I texted Steve that afternoon. It read, "It's done. Please come home."

Steve came home that weekend. We arranged for his parents to take the kids on Saturday so that we could talk. I had spent the last week researching how to handle and survive marital infidelity. What I had read scared the shit out of me. I had acted without considering any of the likely consequences. I'd come across an online post from a woman who was unfaithful and managed to keep her marriage. She gave a list of twelve things she did that made reconciliation possible. I took her lessons to heart and did every single one. Even so, I knew the odds were against us.

Steve told me that he was angry and betrayed and had never been so hurt in his life. He did not understand what I had done and never would understand. At the same time, he expressed to me that he did not want to be with me, but neither did he want a divorce. He told me that he considered divorcing me and taking the kids from me, but he did not want to deprive the children of their mother. Neither did he want to paint me with incest brush publicly because it would make the kids guilty by association. He said that even if we didn't make it as a couple, he loved me too much to consider leaving me in a lurch when I was with child. He was going to wait until after the birth to make his decision. He moved into the guest room.

He could act civilly to to me, but our interpersonal relationship was slow to thaw. He was utterly uninterested in me physically. He could not even bring himself to kiss me on the cheek. I didn't think it would ever get back to where intimacy was possible between us again. I was almost all the way through the first trimester when pregnancy hormones kicked my libido into overdrive. With our first three children, Steve and I made love three times a day during this stage. This time it was masturbation or nothing. I mail ordered a high-end vibrator and used it several times a day.

One afternoon, I was masturbating furiously when Steve walked in on me. I stopped in horror and shame. He was just as embarrassed as I was and told me to keep going as he went into the closet to do whatever it was that brought him into the bedroom. After considering it, I started back up and did my best to ignore the fact he was in earshot.

A few minutes later, I heard him breathing. I looked up and he was standing there watching me. Lust was all over his face. I pulled my shirt off and kicked the covers off of me and did my best to give him a good show. I was very excited by what I was doing and his unexpected interest and I came very hard while growling out his name. He smiled and said, "I forgot how horny you get in the second trimester."

He kissed my slight belly pooch and walked out, closing the door behind him. It wasn't what I wanted, but I was elated by the unexpected progress. The next day, I was masturbating again when he walked in. It was no accident this time-- he was waiting for it. He came over and sat on the side of the bed, just inches from me. I again pulled my shirt off and kicked the covers away. This time, just when I was about to come, Steve bent over and sucked on my left nipple very hard. I came so hard I screamed. My vagina clamped almost as hard as it had on the first night with Aaron. When the orgasm wound down and I could think again, I saw Steve string down at me and smiling with a proud smirk on his face. I turned the vibrator off, dropped it on the floor, and begged Steve to fuck me.

He sat there for what seemed like five minutes. He made some sort of internal decision, then stripped his clothes off in a frenzy. The next thing I knew, he was on top of me and in me. I wrapped my legs around him. At first he pounded into me, but after a few minutes, he began to slow down and fuck me more slowly and sensually than he ever had before. It felt so amazing to be intimate with him again. When he finished, I wrapped my arms and legs around him with all of my strength. I cried while whispering, "Thank you Steve" over and over.

After that, things slowly returned to normal for us. His family and close friends knew we'd hit a rough patch in our marriage, common to couples with three small children, and thought that my new pregnancy had brought us back together. He kept our problems to himself.

I know how many men will think that Steve's response to my infidelity was weak and inexcusable. In the company of what passes for men these days, he would be ridiculed as a "simp" or a "cuck". I didn't see it that way. Steve was a man of strength who stood up to societal pressure to do what was right for his children. It was self-sacrifice defined. He did not understand or agree with my decision, but he stood by me anyway. In my eyes, he was a hero and a giant among men. I thought I'd loved him before. I would do anything for him after that. Anything.

I will confess that I love being pregnant. There is nothing better than second semester hormones. I was extremely grateful to Steve for putting up with my selfishness and I did my best to make sure he was generously rewarded.

Half way into my pregnancy, I was fucking him with wild abandon when I said to him, "Steve, my hero. I will do anything for you, I will never tell you no. My body is your property. I'll do anything you want whenever you want."

This got him riled up, and he started asking me if I would do specific things for him. He'd never talked in bed before. My pleasure centers shot off the scale as I answered "yes" to each one.

When he asked me if I would suck his cock while he was driving. I screamed out, "Yes!"

When he asked me if I he could tie me up and do anything he wanted to me, I screamed out, "Yes, Steve!"

When he asked me if he could stretch my anus so he could fuck my ass, I screamed out, "Yes, Steve! I beg you to fuck my ass!"

When he asked me what I would do for him, I told him I would pierce my nipples for him. I told him I would tattoo his name on my pussy. In one passion filled moment, I told him that if he wanted me to, I'd find other women to bed him and eat their pussies out in front of him to get them ready for him.