True (forbidden) Love

All persons in this story are fictional and 18 or older. Any resemblance to real life parties is coincidental. This story contains elements of foot fetish, squirting, incest, and romance. It is slow to begin but I truly hope you enjoy reading it. I put a lot of time into this so please leave a comment.

You never really know what it is that is responsible for your desires. You cannot find the sculpting factor that determines whether you prefer small breasts or large ones, whether you have a fetish or particular fantasy, or even, if you like petite women or curvier ones. For reasons unknown to the wisest of all, there are certain things men and women find attractive about one another, this is the story of a young man who is awakening to the fact that there is a world of pleasures he has as of yet, been unaware.

It starts with, as most life changing events do, a girl. Really, at this point in her life, she has finished the delicate transitions which have widened her hips, elongated her legs, and left her with all the captivating power of a goddess. She was never crass, always dressing conservatively enough to preserve the "innocent" look with just enough skin to stimulate the imagination.

A few days out of her 18th birthday but she was still oblivious to the effect she had on the men, and yes a few women, who she happened to walk by, or heaven forbid, smile at and wave. Her hair fell in heavy red tresses that framed her face and amplified the sea green with flecks of blue which colored her eyes. Oh, her eyes...of all the features of this goddess, this angelic apparition, this muse of divine proportions, of all of her features, her eyes were the most captivating. Seemingly larger than the eyes of the normal girl, but in an attractive otherworldly fashion, her eyes had left many a hopeful young man, and again women too, speechless.

It wasn't only the nature of her eyes but also the hopeful completely engaged manner with which she focused them. To her, there was no such thing as a pointless conversation. She maintained eye-contact, her smile never wavering, completely wrapped up in whatever the other person may be saying, she gave the vibe that she was hanging on your ever word, that your story was her life or her death, her pain or her ecstasy. Her laugh, nothing more infectious, a giggle to full-blown laugh which melted the heart.

She was truly a goddess. From her head, her high B cup breasts, flat stomach, to her toned legs, and perfectly manicured feet she was a dream to most.

To Jericho, her brother, she was the world. He would honestly do anything for his sister without hesitation or thought of his own safety. Jericho carried within himself a burden. Being raised in a religious household, and being of strong faith in his own right, Jericho found himself wanting to worship only one being in existence. His heart, his soul yearned to bow before his sister and confess his love.

He knew that it could never be and as such he dedicated himself to her in the only manner he thought she could accept; her big, strong, guardian of a brother. All too often Jericho had fallen prey to those captivating eyes. He, unlike others, was not stricken silent by those eyes but he had vowed to himself that as much as was humanly possible, he would be responsible for the twinkle of joy reflecting in her twinkling eyes. To date, he had performed to an exceptional degree.

The problem which Jericho had seen coming, the problem he had tried to avoid for as long as possible was now staring him right in the eyes. He knew what he wanted to do, he knew how she would react if he did it, and therefore when the doorbell rand, and the high-school quarter-back asked if Samantha was home, Jericho swallowed the urge to kick his ass and instead allowed him into the house.

"Howzit going, my man?"

Try to be civil. "It. Goes." Jericho clenched his teeth.

"My name is Mark." The jock held out his hand. Jericho did not shake. "Uh, alright then." Mark said.

"My sister should be down in just a few minutes, before she comes down, I want you to be aware of something." Jericho began.

"Alright, shoot." Mark said.

"My sister is a wonderful woman, she is beautiful and pure. If you try anything she doesn't like. I will find you." Jericho threatened.

"Look man, I know how it is to want to protect your sister but let me tell you that she will enjoy everything I do. Furthermore, even if you found me you couldn't do anything to me with that puny-ass body of yours. Have you ever even seen weights?"

Jericho felt his body coil, ready to spring into action. It was true that he was, in appearance, tiny. What others didn't know about him, except for those in special circles, was that Jericho only looked tiny. Just as the anger was beginning to color his field of vision, he could feel her enter. The atmosphere swirled around her, seemed to lift with her, as if the breeze only moved so that it could brush against her skin, tickle her neck, or swirl in her hair. Jericho did not blame these mischievous winds, if he could, he would join them in their celebration of her. He understood, just as the wind must, that the world turned for her. The jealous constellations, even the moon and the stars (Sun included) could not decide whom should get to shine upon her for all of eternity and therefore the Earth spins so that they may all dote upon her.

She descended the stairs, heels in hand, her bare feet gliding over the carpeted landing. She stilled the breath in his lungs. Jericho wished only to capture the perfection of her in his mind. Barefoot, fully clad, it did not matter. Every fabric that touched her skin seemed fashioned specifically for her. His eyes followed her as she took Mark's hand and stepped from the house, her dress swishing delicately behind her.

His heart fell for one moment. Then the door was thrown open and there she was again.

"Almost forgot the most important thing." she said.

"Wha..." he started but her lips on his cheek silenced him. One kiss and he knew he would always be hers and hers alone. Just as quickly as the kiss, she was bouncing from the house once more.

Samantha stepped outside and immediately wished she had worn some leggings, or maybe just stayed home all-together. She had been in the mindset that something in her life would change at some point. Something had to give. She woke up every day and painted a smile on her face but it seemed more and more that the only person who seemed to make her truly happy were the members of her family. Her mother was her best friend, her father was her inspiration, and her brother...well, he was a complicated issue for her.

She shook her head trying to get the image of him out of her mind. More and more he was the standard by which she judged the guys who wanted to date her. Not surprisingly, none of them matched up. When Mark had asked her out, she had contemplated saying no out of hopelessness but had decided that an evening away from home might actually help her get Jericho off her mind. That plan, so far, was an epic failure.

Other than his work out schedule and the football plays he planned to run, or had run, she hadn't really been paying attention, Mark was a dull and uninteresting specimen of human life. Not only did he fail to keep her attention, he also failed to keep Jericho from returning to her mind. She found herself thinking of the kiss she had given him as she left the house, how she had meant to run back in, throw herself into his arms, and kiss him full on the lips. She had chickened out at the last minute and because of that she felt that she had left a part of herself behind; with him.

She often felt this way and though she did not admit it to herself, not even to her diary in which she confessed almost everything, she knew that she loved him far more than a sister should love a brother. She knew that what she wanted, the life that she dreamed of when she looked into his eyes, was something that she should not want, something which should disgust her. For far too long her brother had been the man of her dreams, she had tried dating and to no avail. She had even tried kissing a few times but no matter the lips she tasted, she dreamed of his. The feelings she got from the kisses were mere shadows of the tingling shock she received just from kissing his cheek, or feeling his rock-hard abs beneath his shirt.

She unconsciously bit her lip and the pain brought her back to reality just in time to hear the details of another mind numbing anecdote about "taking a knee to save the game." This was going to be a long night.

This was going to be a long night. A long, long, loooooonnnnnnngggggg night. Jericho had spent the first century (15 minutes to be exact) pacing the room allowing his emotions to run free. First he felt anger, anger at himself for not taking her in his arms, then happiness returned as he thought of her lips on his cheek, then desire as he thought of those plump, delicate, blood-flushed lips on other, more private parts of his body. By the time 20 minutes had passed, Jericho felt as if he would lose his sanity, grow old, and die before he saw her face again. Time and time again his feet carried him to the counter where his keys and wallet lay, taunting him. They seemed to say, go get her, go get her, you won't go get her, you aren't man enough, I bet he is getting her he he he he he he .. . .. . .

His next conscious feeling was the ache of sore muscles and the lightning fast punches and kicks he launched into the punching bag in his basement. Sweat was pouring from his body, his muscles flexing and rolling as he dodged an invisible haymaker, only to snap tight as he launched himself into a hard uppercut. Ding Ding Ding, match over. The heavy canvass split in a straight line from his impact to the top of the bag. Sand poured from the destroyed enemy and Jericho fell to the ground, exhausted.

He could barely lift his hands, and yet, still Samantha danced, bare-foot and care-free through his mind. He consulted the clock on the wall, and found to his amazement that another 40 minutes had passed. He tried to rise, but his muscles refused. His anger resurged at being disobeyed by his own body and he forced them to comply. He rose to his full 6'2" height, his lean muscles belying the power he held, the power he had been trained to release when needed. Breathing heavily, he climbed the stairs to his room where he dropped his sweat soaked clothes and proceeded, naked, to the shower. He started the water running and set the heat to the highest setting. He loved watching the steam flow from the shower as he waited for it to get hot.

He studied himself in the mirror but he did not see the creature others saw, to him he was merely a guardian for his sister. To others, he was a thing to be worshipped in his own regard.

He stepped into the water, relishing the way the water burned at his skin while soothing his muscles. He stretched beneath the falling water, touching his toes, craning his neck from side to side, and in the fog of his super-heated shower, she danced in his mind. But now, she danced for him. She danced with him in her eyes, knowing the effect she was having on him, wanting to have that effect, commanding her power over him while moving her body to the sound of their hearts beating.

The heavy length hanging between his legs began to stir with signs of life. He groaned as the tingle intensified. He knew he shouldn't but he couldn't help himself as his fingers began to caress the hardening appendage. He moaned out loud when he closed his hand around his shaft, pretending it was her skin on him. He breathed out, hissing through clenched teeth as the feeling of his hand, combined with the images in his mind, combined to form a heavenly elixir of pleasure. He spent some time, thinking and stroking, but each time his orgasm approached, he denied the release. He wanted to have her as long as he possibly could. He did manage to tear himself away from thinking of her long enough to get showered and dried off. He brushed and flossed his teeth, and then, walking with his towel hanging from his hips, he swaggered into his room. He dropped the towel from his body and laid atop the blankets on his bed.

Here he lay and once more his mind turned to her. In his writhing thoughts of his true love, he lost himself in the joy he thought, surely, could never be his.

There are some benefits, Samantha thought, to going out on a date with a popular guy; he seemed to have no problem getting alcohol. She was half-way through her third strawberry margarita, deliciously fruity on her tongue, when she felt the urge to go to the bathroom. The pressure building in her kidneys now demanded release and she rose, unsteadily to her feet.

"Escuse me, I think, I think, hehehehehehe, imma go to the, hic, little girl's room." She grabbed up her purse and heels, and found her way to the bathroom. Once inside she allowed herself to walk normally again. The alcohol had not yet hit her as hard as she was letting on but being new to drinking at all she expected to be relatively out of it as the night progressed. This was her chance, she thought, to make a clean escape while she could still think at all. As she dropped her panties and lifted her skirt she hoped with all she had that her brother was not still awake waiting for her. She did not want him to see her like this.

Sitting bare in the tiny room made her feel the tingle she so often got right before she peed. She couldn't explain it, but for some reason, feeling the flow from between her legs left her feeling warm and breathing heavier than normal. This, naturally, turned her thoughts to Jericho but before those thoughts could get out of control she was finished. Wiping herself almost always brought him back to her mind but tonight, maybe because of the alcohol, he was not there.

She felt kind of bad about what she planned to do but she had already made it this far so turning back wasn't really an option any longer; at least that's what her inebriated mind told her. With one last thought about Mark the boring quarterback, she hauled herself out of the bathroom window, landed solidly on her bare feet in the grass, and flagged down a cab.

Mark was certain that tonight was his night. So many of his friends had tried to date the "Ice" princess before and had gotten nothing for their troubles. Though they made their jokes to preserve their egos, they all knew she wasn't a lesbian, so no one could figure out what her deal was. Mark had watched so many crash and burn and decided it was time that the little virgin be taken from her shell and shown a world where she actually has a purpose. He expected her to come willingly enough, but if he had to use force he would just enjoy it more. He had learned none-too-long ago that despite what his dad said about using power tools, sometimes forcing it was so much better.

He had spent the night, thus far, regaling her with his tales of heroism on the football field and knew that if she had any brains in her head at all, her panties were sticking to her by now. That probably explained her little bathroom visit. Well, that and all the alcohol laced with something special procured from a seedy friend, he had been giving her. He didn't need her to remember what happened, he would prefer if she did, but he would gain satisfaction from her waking up sore and having no memory of what happened the night before.

He scanned the room. Normally this local hotspot had all sorts of fine women walking around in short skirts and "do-me" tops, but tonight it was surprisingly dead. Could be the release of some new movie or a school function, Mark didn't really care. Since there was nothing else to occupy his mind, his attention turned to his watch. She had been in the bathroom a long time now. He wasn't an idiot, he knew girls had to poop as well, but you'd think if the girl had any manners she would do that on her own time. Oh, well, she would pay for making him wait. She just didn't know it yet.

The cab smelled of old popcorn, stale cigarette smoke, and rancid sweat. Still, it was a better scent to her than the over-powering cologne Mark had been wearing. Drakkar for Douches, she thought it must have been called. Her joke drew a drunken chortle from her throat and the driver looked at her skeptically in his rear-view mirror. Still, he minded his business and took her to the address she had given him. She could feel the world spinning around her and colors swam in a dizzyingly beautiful rainbow before her eyes. She traced the colors with her hands laughing to herself in a goofy manner.

The driver had seen this behavior before, often in the case of women who were stoned out of their minds. This girl didn't look the type but nowadays you couldn't really tell. He dropped her off at the curb in front of a nice suburban looking ranch house and after counting the money she had given him, pulled off and into the darkness.

Samantha could feel her cares slipping away. Her anxiety, her stress, even the knots in her muscles seemed to melt taking her into a world of care-free bliss. She pulled her keys from her purse, dropped them, picked them up, dropped them again, stomped her feet and then laughed as the world tilted around her. She didn't fall. Stooping to grab her keys once more she managed, with a bit of work and a fair amount of concentration, to get the door open. Once inside, she dropped her keys on the floor (thinking she dropped them on the entryway table) along with her shoes and purse. Barefoot, she climbed the stairs and danced the hallways to her room. She crawled into her bed, softer than it had ever been before, and tossed and turned trying to get comfortable.

It happened, as it always seems to, that the moment she found a comfortable position, she realized she had to pee. Sighing in mock frustration, she rose from her bed and danced to the bathroom between her room and her brother's.

Being at home brought a level of comfort to her that she never experienced anywhere else. Being drunk and at home made her comfortable and a bit daring. When she entered the shared bathroom, she decided that instead of being the good girl she always was, that she would do something she always wanted to instead. Looking into the mirror, she lifted her dress and tossed it to the floor. She shook her hair until it had, what she thought, was a "bedroom" mussed look.

She bit her lip seductively and slowly slid her bra to the floor. Her hands cupped her breasts, the nipples responding enthusiastically. She became flush, her blood rushing through her, pounding through her vascular system in a race to reach all the tingling parts of her anatomy. Standing before the mirror, she admired her toned body. Yoga every morning and cardio in the evening had melted the fat from her midsection leaving only toned tight muscle in its place. The panties she had worn, panties she had hoped to tease her brother with one day, were black, and lacey. Practically see through in all the right places. She sat on the toilet with the garment firmly in place. She didn't understand why it appealed to her and she didn't need to, she only needed to know that the idea made her unbelievably hot and that was enough. She released her muscles, allowing the feeling of need to run unabashed through her.

The first spurt was hot and barely enough to soak the light material of her panties. The second release was much stronger and she could feel the hot liquid splashing against the dark black lace back onto her skin as more and more poured from her. She could feel it dripping from her panties, feel it flowing to the back of the garment around her tight little star before dripping from there as well. The delicious sensations caused her to bite her lip and lightly moan as she gave in to a desire she had held for as long as she could remember. It was over far to soon but the memory remained.