Introduction:
This is the fourth chapter. In it, they finally have sex, but it’s done in a way that shows the love they both share. It’s a bit more erotic than the previous two, but it’s also a short chapter. Read, enjoy, and PLEASE COMMENT. Thanks.
I own nothing. All belongs to Michael K. Smith.
Also, I’m assuming here hymen was broken during masturbation, so don’t complain that it isn’t mentioned. K?
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The First Time
by Michael K. Smith
[From Chapter 6; set in 1972; he’s 17, she’s 16.]
Alex and I went through a period of anxiety and self-doubt between Christmas and the New Year. In barely a week, I would be sixteen and she fifteen — old enough to marry in some states with parental consent. Our relationship had evolved so gradually that neither of us had felt any pressure about it. It was like taking a slow stroll through rising hills and coming abruptly to a halt at the brink of an unexpected chasm. We suddenly were realizing just how high we had climbed. In less than a single year, our physical relationship had progressed from separate masturbation, to jerking off in company, to making out like any other teenagers, to *really* making out, to mutual oral sex. And after Alex’s episode with Patty, the only thing it seemed we hadn’t done was The Deed itself.
As long as Alex was still technically a virgin, regardless of the amount of sex play we indulged in, perhaps we thought we could continue to pretend that this was all just fun and affectionate games. But we came to understand that soon, very soon, we would no longer be able to restrain ourselves. The sex play wouldn’t be enough. Though we didn’t discuss it in so many words, we both wanted very badly to spend an entire night fucking ourselves into exhaustion. Moreover, the opportunity was there every day and the lingering fear of taking that final step was dissipating. What were we going to do?
It all came to a head the third week in December. We were lying in her bed, naked, our bodies pressed hungrily together. My hands were squeezing and stroking her ass and her hands were manipulating my penis and my balls. We both were breathing hard. My cock was an inch away from where I knew it belonged, and I wanted so badly to slip it into that warm, moist opening! And I was convinced that Alex wanted me inside her, too. I knew I wasn’t the only one torn by physical desire when I gradually became aware that my sister’s body was shaking from some emotion other than lust.
Her face was buried against my chest and I had to pull back to see that she was sobbing in frustration. Her face was flushed and she looked terribly unhappy. I pulled her close to me again and cuddled her head beneath my chin and stroked her back.
Her fingers tried to kneed my chest. “I’m sorry, Michael. I just don’t think I can stand it any longer. I WANT YOU! Making love like this without *really* making love is driving me crazy!”
God, I wanted her, too. But I was worrying about it a lot lately, just as she was. I knew what “incest” was — we both had read quite a lot about its perils and traumas. But the cases we read about seemed to involve mostly young girls trying to deal with forced relationships by much older male relatives, whether father or brother, and that certainly didn’t apply to us.
Consenting sibling incest, if it was discussed at all, was seldom analyzed or tracked for its social and psychological consequences. No one approved of it, of course — most of the books we had read through didn’t seem to approve of sex at all — and again, there was always the assumption of a forced relationship.
We had found one case study in a popular magazine and read it together several times, trying to make sense of it. It concerned a couple in their late 20s who had met through friends, begun dating, and fallen in love. They had seemed almost magnetically drawn to each other from the first and they planned to be married in due course.
Then the woman, who was an adoptee searching for her biological family, finally uncovered explicit information about her long-lost siblings, all of whom had been adopted out to different families at a very young age — and there on the list of names was the man with whom she was in love.
Alex and I both thought this a terrible tragedy — to gain a sibling at the expense of losing a lover and spouse-to-be — but the couple in the magazine article had immediately shifted gears and romantic love seemed to instantly transform itself into traditional filial devotion.
Neither of us could quite believe that the couple had been able to undergo such a radical emotional transformation without severe psychological disturbance. Or were most people really such slaves to a primarily European tradition?
We didn’t know, but it was frightening. And it was the most important reason that we went to such lengths to keep our own relationship secret. As brother and sister, we were utterly devoted to each other. But as members of the opposite sex, we were deeply in love. And not puppy love, either. I had a couple of acquaintances who had gone through a “crush” phase with an older brother or sister. They laughed about it later or maintained an embarrassed silence.
We had also read the theories of psychologists who argued that siblings went through a stage of infantile sexual attraction which they were physically unable to fulfill, so that the attraction turned to active rejection of each other as possible sex partners by the time they reached puberty. That sounded like crap to us, and it certainly didn’t fit our own case.
We also knew the hoary old biological arguments — that children born of incestuous relationships were likely to be congenital idiots with two heads, or worse. We knew *that* wouldn’t wash. The human gene pool was much too large for common parents in one generation to be statistically significant.
So we weren’t in a situation of child abuse, and there was no valid biological argument that we could see. Incest was simply a taboo, inherited from Neolithic ancestors with a different survival agenda. And we lay there in bed, holding tightly to each other, both of us in tears now, feeling conspired against by society. Our relationship, emotional and otherwise, was certainly different — we recognized that. But did that make it “wrong”?
Maybe we were *ahead* of the pack in terms of evolution. Maybe many other sibling couples felt as we did but were afraid of departing so far from the norm — or else thought themselves depraved. Perhaps we shared a common insanity. Or was everybody *else* nuts?
After awhile, we found ourselves sprawled on Alex’s bed in conversational mode, still naked, but not feeling very sexually aroused at the moment. The tears had gone but the depression hadn’t.
“Michael, what it comes down to is whether we’re going to listen to ourselves or to the rest of the world. Do we want — do we *need* — each other badly enough to tell everyone else to go to hell?”
“But we’re still minors, Alex. Unless we ran away, the State would keep us apart if they found out. We’d both probably end up in the nut house, under shock treatment. Remember the ending of “Cuckoo’s Nest”? And you know we’re not going to drop out of school and run away from home. We’d make lousy hippies. I think all we can do is to keep The Secret and wait until we’re old enough that no one can stop us, until we can protect ourselves.”
“But that’s *years* yet — and a year longer for me! Michael, I don’t want to wait that long — I can’t! I want to fuck you!” Her cheeks colored a bit at her own vehemence and she took a deep breath.
“I want to make love to you, Michael. And I want you to make love to me. *Love.* And I can’t wait too much longer. I’ve been waiting for months. I even started taking the Pill a few months ago — Janie’s father is a doctor and she got them for me — and I’ve just been waiting for the right time.” She gave me a look of such longing, I got flutters in my stomach.
She shifted to a kneeling position, which — even naked — seemed somehow more formal. Her expression became serious. “It all comes down to one question, Michael: Do you love me?”
I just looked at her for a moment, then sat up facing her. This didn’t sound like a rhetorical question; did she really need an answer?
“You know how I feel about you, Alex.”
She folded her hands together and tucked them between her knees, and studied them. “Maybe I do, but I have to hear it. Please.”
I leaned forward and covered her hands with mine. I looked into her eyes and said slowly and clearly, “Alex, I love you with all my heart.” She blushed a little but her smile seemed relieved. She caught my hand and squeezed.
“Michael, I love you more than anything. Anything. We *are* in love, for real, and it’s not fair that we can’t share it physically, like any other couple.”
I guess that’s what made up my mind. I was still nervous about taking the final step, taking my sister’s virginity, even though she was actively pressing it on me.
“Incest,” I decided at that moment, was just a word. An outmoded concept that had no relevance to us. I’d had one semester of psychology, though I was actually very widely read in that field already, and I suspected Freud and his crowd would have all sorts of significant things to say about us, but that simply didn’t interest me. It didn’t mean anything.
My sister and I might be unusual in our relationship, but that was all it was — “unusual.” If we had had two different sets of parents, we would have been just like any other teenage couple, and no one would care. So what was so perverted? What was so degenerate about us?
I realized that my conclusions had been coalescing for months. I knew I loved a girl named Alexandra. And that it wasn’t a crush, or puppy love, or anything so trivial. Those things were all we were *supposed* to be capable of feeling at our age, but I was convinced that our feelings for each other were much, much deeper. Perhaps we were simply more mature in certain ways than most of our peers . . . or maybe it was our slowly developing love and resulting closeness that had matured us. However cause and effect worked, the result was the same.
These thoughts rushed in and piled atop one another in my mind as we sat there in bed holding hands and gazing longingly at each other. It was almost an epiphany. My nervousness about the resolution of our sexual involvement was still there, of course, but now it was the natural nervousness of any young male contemplating sex with a girl he cares for deeply. That “I-word,” the one we never used aloud, no longer entered into it.
The few seconds’ pause in our conversation seemed like an hour. I had to think back to recall the last thing Alex had said. Ah. Yes.
“You’re right,” I replied. “It’s not fair. And I think we’ve just decided to do something about it, haven’t we?” Alex looked faintly surprised at the sudden resolution in my voice.
“But I think we should treat this as a special occasion — special for both of us. Why don’t we give each other a very special, very private birthday gift?” Her eyes were bright, now.
“I also think we should give up all this foreplay with no ‘last act’ until then. Sweets taste a lot nicer when you haven’t had any for awhile.”
“Yeah,” she said with a smile. “I think you’re right. Looking without being able to touch will make us anticipate the Big Day all the more.” She hesitated. “We don’t have to avoid each other, do we?”
“Alex, we’re still brother and sister; what else have we been agonizing about? We just won’t be lovers for a week, not actively anyway. But I still get a kiss in the morning, okay?”
My sister looked and seemed happier than she had in months. This was a deep river for us to cross, but I thought things would be all right, now that we had decided to blow up the log jam.
It was a long week . . . like trudging across a desert, even though you know when and where the waterhole is going to be. We continued the same friendly affection we had developed over the years, and we still exchanged quick kisses of greeting and departure. We held hands when we went shopping out of our neighborhood.
But each of us adopted a careful modesty around the other. Clothing changes were made with bedroom doors shut, and we knocked on the bathroom door, just like other people. All showers were solo. We stopped our intimate but casual sex play. In some ways, of course, it was godawful frustrating, but it also heightened the sexual tension, like tightening a guitar string. For some years, I had had regular dreams about Alex — always very nice ones, too — but now the dreams came every night.
She was still doing most of her studying on my bed, though she was wearing more than just underwear these days. But neither of us was getting a lot of studying done; we spent much of our time looking at each other and smiling. The mounting anticipation became almost overwhelming.
The morning of January 6th, my — our — birthday, as I was putting my keys and coins in my pockets, I discovered a neatly sealed square envelope propped on top of my chest of drawers.
On the front was “An Invitation,” lettered in my sister’s precise script. Inside was a folded sheet of her monogrammed notepaper which read:
“The Joy of Your Presence Is Requested at a Grand Opening to Be Entered Into
at Approximately 9:00 p.m. on the Evening of January 6th and Ending Whenever
the Revelers Are Exhausted. No R.S.V.P. Required, No Excuses Accepted.
Dress: Optional.”
I had a great deal of difficulty concentrating on school that Friday.
We had a leisurely supper with Mother and Dad, who wished us both Happy Birthday and gave us our presents. Our family had never made a big deal of birthdays, especially after we each passed the plastic toy stage.
That suited us, too. Each January, Alex and I gave each other small, highly personalized gifts carefully selected or handmade. The more unusual and unexpected, the better; no unimaginative boxes of candy or bottles of cologne.
This year, our folks gave us each very nice new wristwatches in matching style, relatively modest in price but a lot better than the old Timexes we both were wearing. Our gifts to each other would come later.
Dad was working on weekends at least half the time these days, in addition to his frequent business trips, but I was concerned that he might be inconveniently present that night. Not *that* night, of all nights, please!
As it turned out, he was taking Mother for a rare night out: They were going to a show and then to visit some friends across town who had recently returned from a winter vacation in the Caribbean. Mother absolutely hated lugging her wheelchair to other people’s homes, but these friends had known her a very long time, long before her arthritis became crippling. Anyway, they didn’t expect to be home until well after Midnight, which was fine with us.
We each took an hour in the bathroom, trying to make ourselves perfect for the occasion. I had problems deciding what to wear. Or should I just show up naked, wearing a bow tie? I finally settled on a pair of slacks and a reasonably new dress shirt with the top few buttons undone. Then I slipped on my loafers without socks. This was almost formal attire by Upstairs standards, but it was nothing I couldn’t get out of in a hurry. As I was brushing my hair and wondering how to approach our rendezvous, the question was answered by Alex’s soft knock at my door.
“Michael? Don’t open the door yet — but it’s ten to nine, and I’d like you to come and open MY door at exactly nine o’clock. All right?” I agreed and heard her bare feet hurry back down the hall. Whatever she was preparing, it was going to be interesting.
At ten seconds before 9:00 by my new watch, I stepped across the hall. Alex had taped a big red satin bow to the middle of her door, with a printed note just above it: “ENTER WITHOUT KNOCKING.”
I turned the knob and walked into the nearly dark room. Alex was waiting across the room, but I was struck for a moment by how neat and tidy the place was. No dirty laundry, bed newly made, closet door shut. She had swept and dusted, too. This really WAS a special occasion. The lights were off and the window shade was drawn, but a soft illumination was provided by a dozen candles set at intervals around the room.
Alex stood by her dresser wearing a blue velveteen mini, dark blue hose, and a pair of shiny black patent high heels that must have been borrowed. She had beautiful legs in any outfit, but tonight the effect was stunning. A gold-orange satin scoop-necked blouse provided an electric contrast to her long, deep-red hair. She wore no jewelry — the colors did the work very nicely. And she certainly looked older than just-turned-fifteen! I stood just inside her door, rooted to the spot in amazement, tinged with awe. I had never seen my sister looking more beautiful and desirable. My face must have shown my reaction clearly because she blushed and looked very pleased. Then she almost giggled but managed to control herself.
She reached over to her dresser and switched on a Wollensak tape recorder I hadn’t noticed (also undoubtedly borrowed), and began walking across the room, swaying her hips gracefully and provocatively. The music was for slow-dancing and we slipped into each other’s arms and moved around the small, empty center of the room in no particular pattern or step.
Rather than going into a clinch as we usually did during a slow number, we found ourselves examining each other’s face minutely. Alex seldom wore much makeup except lipstick; she simply didn’t need it. Tonight, the lipstick was absent; she knew it wasn’t much good for serious kissing. Her lips were covered only by a thin sheen of gloss which made her mouth appear moist and inviting.
Her eyes had gotten much more attention, however. The shadowing was faint but effective, making her brilliant green eyes appear even larger and more magnetic. The effect was that I felt myself falling in love with her all over again, as if I had just met her at a school dance. She was looking at me a little differently, too, and I was glad I had shaved after supper (though I’d had to search diligently for stubble).
After a few minutes, she sighed in contentment and slipped her arms possessively around my neck. Her soft cheek brushed mine and she whispered “I love you” close to my ear. I scattered slow kisses down her cheek and along her jawline and she purred and shivered a little.
I popped open the little pearl buttons down the back of her blouse one at a time as we continued to move in our unhurried dance. She wore no bra and when the blouse fell open I smoothed my hands over her soft, sleek skin, enjoying the shifting of muscles under my fingers. She stepped back almost bashfully and let the blouse slide off her arms. As I covered her breasts with my open hands, she unbuttoned my shirt and pushed it off my shoulders. Both garments were tossed in a chair in the corner and we went back to dancing, pressed breast to breast, four hands caressing two bodies.
Alex took the initiative next, unhooking my slacks and sliding down the zipper down far enough to allow them to fall to the floor. I pushed down my briefs, stepped out of my loafers, and kicked the whole mass to one side. We embraced and our hands continued to move over each other, as if exploring for the first time.
Alex reached down and squeezed my penis, stretching it upward between us. Because she was still wearing her heels, I was able to reach around, push up her skirt, and grip her ass, one cheek in each hand. I think both of us wanted badly to simply throw ourselves on the bed, but we had tacitly agreed to spend a little time tormenting ourselves. Foreplay with a vengeance.
Alex stepped away, turned her back to me, and pushed her mini and her hose slowly to the floor, swinging her bottom as she did so. She stepped out of her heels one at a time, to get rid of the hose, and then put them back on. She turned back to face me, a beautiful, naked girl in heat and heels. I was barely able to breath.
She paced the few steps back to me with smoke drifting out of her eyes. I unconsciously backed up to the bed. “I’m not going to suck you this time and you’re not going to eat me,” she said in a low, intense voice. “We’ve had nothing BUT foreplay. Tonight, we’re going to fuck!” Her crooked smile seemed very determined.
She pushed me relentlessly onto my back on the bed and crawled sinuously on top of me. My cock was erect and straining and she rubbed her pubic mound against it as she covered my body with hers. She nudged the inside of my calves with her feet and I spread my legs wide and straight. She followed exactly, keeping her legs balanced atop mine.
Then she stretched my arms out to the sides and again followed my movement, laying her palms flat against mine, fingers spread. Her loose hair fell around my face as she touched the tip of her nose to mine and began licking my lips with her tongue. I thought we must look like wrestling starfish, with the curvy one pinning the larger one. I knew I could slip my cock into her pussy easily in this position, but Alex apparently had her own program and kept the instrument trapped between us. She moved against me as we kissed deeply — just an inch or so in different directions, but the experience of *really* full body contact was extraordinarily sensual.
Finally, with Alex’s prompting, we brought our limbs back together and intertwined our legs and held each other very tightly. Then we rolled over, assuming the classic missionary position. Alex was flushed now — so was I — and I felt the moisture in her crotch filtering through her pubic hair. She raised her knees and spread her legs.
Taking my head in her hands, she began kissing my eyes, my chin, my mouth, and whispering over and over, “Fuck me . . . fuck me . . . fuck me. . . .” She was so aroused in anticipation, her whole body was trembling seismically.
I stroked my cock against her cleft, bringing little gasping noises from her as it passed over her clit like a violin bow. Then I eased it into her a little at a time, savoring the pauses. It was as if all my nerve endings were concentrated in my cock, which felt a foot long and six inches thick. Finally, I was all the way into her and my backbrain wanted to climb in behind it. This was where both of us had wanted to be for months, and now we were here and we almost couldn’t believe it.
As I began stroking slowly in and out (I was determined not to come too soon), Alex wrapped her legs high on my back and curled her pelvis hard against me. She wanted me to fill her up completely and I tried hard to comply. Her eyes fluttered open and shut and she made rhythmic moaning sounds in the back of her throat.
My sister’s leg-lock was so persistent, I found I could barely move. I pushed her long legs up over my shoulders, with her ankles against my ears, and took a more vertical position, like I was drilling a well. I plunged into her at an increased pace, pulling out almost completely each time so as to make the longest possible strokes. Each time I felt an orgasm beginning to build, I slowed my pace to prolong the action. But it still wasn’t enough — as if anything *could* be enough. But I wanted all of this fantastic girl, and she wanted to give all of herself to me.
She spread her legs as far apart as she could, hands behind her knees. As I continued to screw myself into her, I pressed her legs as flat against the bed as I could, trying to increase the friction against her clit. She made a little mew of discomfort, and I sure didn’t want to hurt her in any way. I was breathing too hard to talk, but I raised my eyebrows in a question.
She gasped a reply. “No — it’s okay — harder — harder and deeper — oh, God — it feels so good — I can’t stand it.”
So I really went to it, slamming into her like a piston in a steam engine. Her head was jogged forward by two inches on each stroke, but if she felt any strain it was lost in her sexual delirium. I hadn’t even touched her nipples, yet they stood up stiffly and seemed to pulsate.
My climax started as a tingling in the soles of my feet. I wanted very much for us to share our first “official” orgasm, and the thin, wailing moan coming from my sister’s writhing mouth made me pretty sure we could do it.
She suddenly wrapped her legs around my waist again and clung frantically to my arms and shoulders, as if she were about to fall off a cliff. Her shuttering, gasping climax might indeed have thrown her off the bed, except that she triggered my own orgasm. My paroxysms continued for half a minute and she jerked and trembled again with each new spasm.
As our hot-wired bodies slowly coasted to a halt, I rolled carefully off Alex, who turned on her side to face me. Both of us ran with rivulets of sweat. We kept touching each other’s faces and bodies, gently, hesitantly, awed by the intensity of what we had just experienced. Both of us were bright red in the face and struggling to get our wind back.
I was finally able to speak. “I was afraid I might hurt you, Sweetheart — I kind of lost control for awhile there. . . .” I laid my hand on her soft, damp cheek and she placed her hand over mine. “It felt a little like I was killing you.”
Alex kissed me softly and lovingly. “Michael,” she murmured, “if I’m dead then I’ve sure gone to heaven!” Then she got that look in her eye again. “That was a beautiful birthday present — just what I’ve always wanted! But I have a present for you, too.”
She scooted toward the foot of the bed until her face was level with my crotch and slid her hands under my ass, squeezing and kneading. My cock had shriveled considerably already, but when she began to lick at it and suck the remaining white fluid from its tip, it recovered quickly enough.
My cock was covered with my semen and her own juices, but she seemed to enjoy the combination of flavors, and I certainly enjoyed the attention. I wasn’t sure I could gobble her pussy under similar circumstances. It was temporarily so soft, she was able to stuff my entire penis into her mouth and both my balls as well. She swallowed a couple of times, and I could sense my equipment edging down her throat.
Then she applied *real* suction and clamped her mouth around the base of my genitals, without biting. Her eyes twinkled when she tugged her head back, and the strain, physical and emotional, became exquisitely erotic. In less than thirty seconds, Alex found she could no longer hold all of me in her mouth.
She began to lick up and down the stem like a lollipop and I responded with more sexual energy than I would have thought possible. The head of my penis, especially, was still very sensitive from my first orgasm and the flicking of her tongue gave me a restless twitch.
“Alex, if you don’t sit on it quick, it’s gonna leave without you!”
She grinned and bounced up to straddle my hips. Taking her cue from my earlier method, she grasped my penis between her legs and rubbed the head briskly against her pussy. I moaned from the electricity she generated.
She settled herself onto my cock and pressed her crotch down and forward, pushing me into herself as far as she could. She moved up and down experimentally, shifting her hips from side to side. My penetration was greater than before, and since Alex was in control each movement and change of pace was a surprise. It felt wonderful.
I took one perfect breast in each hand and massaged them, finally tugging her down to me. She braced herself on locked arms, leaning forward so I could suck on her swaying nipples. I chewed gently on the little corks and she closed her eyes and hummed in the back of her throat.
My hands on her ass pressed her clit against my grinding cock, which made her lips curl back. Her back was arched, her stomach flat against mine, her breasts brushing my face. I urged her on and she flattened herself against me, her hands squeezing my shoulders. Her ass swung up and down as I moved down and up, both of us stretching to obtain the longest stroke. Soon we were slamming together, both gasping for breath, and then I felt the spasm of climax building rapidly in my groin. I squeezed her ass tightly and shot off into her steaming cunt again. Alex launched herself a few seconds behind me, gasping and shuddering. The contraction of her vaginal muscles milked the last drop of semen from me.
She let herself collapse completely, her cunt still filled to capacity. She gave a low moan that communicated pleasure, satisfaction, and exhaustion. My cock was shrinking from overwork, too, and as it withdrew itself from her, I felt my come oozing out with it. Alex finally let herself roll off and lay beside me, her knees still slightly bent and her legs apart. I slipped my arm behind her head and she leaned over and kissed me and stroked my chest.
I squeezed my cock, coaxing the milky residue out, and gathered the mixture of her juices and mine that had soaked into my pubic hair. Then I carefully smeared it across her belly. She peered down when she felt the stickiness and smiled benignly. Then she gathered a handful of the stuff from between her legs and spread it just as carefully across my stomach. I grinned back at her and put my arms around her, and held her close to me. She folded her hands against my chest and nibbled at my throat.
After a few warm minutes catching our breath and basking in the heat we had generated, Alex nuzzled me. “Michael, we need to get up and take a shower, before we get stuck together . . . as much as I hate to leave your arms right now. God, I love you. But I can love you in the shower, too. C’mon . . .”
She began sliding toward the side of the bed, trying to drag me after her. I mumbled a protest as she rolled me over on the sweat-soaked sheets. The clock read just after midnight. I knew Alex was right, but she’d worn me out and I wanted to just lie there. She finally got my attention by tugging firmly on my flaccid penis; she giggled and I moved.
We wandered the few yards down the hall to the bathroom, arms around each other’s waists, hips bumping together. I turned the shower up to hot-as-hell while Alex dug out a stack of thick towels. The bathroom was already filling up with steam as we climbed into the big shower stall and closed the glass door.
We shared showers often in those days, soaping each other up and down and sliding out bodies against each other. We always loved to handle each other’s bodies, tracing the curves and planes with our fingertips and the palms of our hands.
I enjoyed kneeling behind my sister and shampooing her thick hair — and I knew she enjoyed it, sitting cross-legged on the tile floor with her head leaning against my chest. That position also made it easy for me to cup her breasts in my soapy hands, to lift them and play with them, pinching her nipples between thumb and forefinger. She always enjoyed that, too.
There was something particularly romantic and erotic about sharing a lengthy deep kiss, naked under the hot cascade from the shower head, our sweat mixing with the steam, the water splashing from her body to mine and back to hers. We did that now, but there was the new, added element of fulfilled sex. No more holding back, no more being careful to maintain control. As long as both of us were willing at any given moment, we could fuck all we wanted. It was a very liberating realization. And though we were both a bit exhausted — and very stiff — we hadn’t lost interest.
Alex flattened her body against mine under the spray, one arm tight around my neck and her other hand tangled in my hair as her tongue tickled my palette. Her thighs pressed against mine, her crotch grinding against my cock (which was, unbelievably, already showing renewed interest), her navel trying to form a suction with mine. Her breasts were mashed hard against my chest, as if she were trying to get inside my skin with me.
Admittedly, I helped, massaging her beautiful ass and rubbing the base of my cock against her clit. I backed her against the wall and shifted my hands to her thighs. Her legs parted and, with a little squirming and maneuvering, I was able to get my reinvigorated cock into a position where it suddenly slid up the channel into her cunt.
She sighed and tried to hold me even closer. Her right foot hooked behind my knee. I tried bending at the knees to get some friction started, but my sister was too close to my own height and too heavy to lift, especially in the slippery shower. I was only able to move an inch or so in and out of her and both of us were becoming frustrated.
Finally, she reached down and squeezed my balls and slid off of me. “Fuck me from behind, Michael,” she said urgently.
She went quickly down on her hands and knees, facing away from the shower head. I immediately knelt behind her and spread her upper thighs with my hands. She angled her ass upward and her pussy showed itself invitingly. I slid my hand between her legs and grasped her whole crotch. She made a sound in the back of her throat and increased the angle of her spine even more.
I moved up closer and slid my fully erect cock smoothly into her yet again. Alex’s head whipped back and a tremor traveled down her body. As I began plunging away, she contracted the muscles in her vagina in counterpoint. Soon, she was down on her elbows, bracing herself against the tile as I slammed into her. Her body was being jolted so much, I was afraid she might bang the top of her head against the wall. But when I tried to ease off a little, Alex only insisted, “No! Fuck me harder! Harder!”
I held onto her hips and when I squeezed, she moaned and gasped even louder. But the floor of the shower was slippery and so were we, and Alex’s knees gradually slid out from under her. When it became obvious that she was going to wind up on the floor of the shower, I pushed into her as far as possible and settled her carefully, face down.
The hot water splashed off my back and my pubic hair was tickling her asshole. She twitched her buttocks against my belly as a signal to recommence our activities. I began fucking her again, hoping my cock wouldn’t slip out, but that turned out not to be a problem. In fact, when she pressed her thighs together, with my legs on the outside, I discovered that the friction had improved — even with my sister’s naturally snug cunt. It also was obvious that the friction against her clit had increased.
As I speeded up my strokes, shoving her whole body forward each time, she emitted little sobs of passion. She stretched her arms back and spread her hands along my sides, and I laid my full weight along her body, pulling her shoulders and arms back.
Though I didn’t really think about it until later, there was a certain amount of domination/rape fantasy going on. I wouldn’t have hurt Alex for anything, and she trusted me absolutely, which allowed her to at least pretend to give up some of her control, to be submissive in her fantasies. Whatever the case, we both got off on it.
As we speeded up again, I definitely began to feel that I was “using” her and my reaction to that was a bit uncertain, but Alex seemed to be enjoying herself enormously — this was our third time around this evening — and that knowledge kept me aroused.
Finally, as we began the climb to another orgasm, I moved one hand between our bodies so that my thumb insinuated itself between her buttocks and pressed against her rectum. I was taking a chance since I had no idea how my sister would react to ass-play. I wrapped my other hand in her hair and tugged back just enough to make her arch her neck.
My hesitancy was answered when she shivered under the hot shower and my hot body and her ass trembled. I slammed into her the last two times and ejaculated more heavily than I would have believed. At the same time, I pressed my thumb a half-inch into her rectum and twitched it from side to side. I pulled a little harder on her hair.
She stiffened and I thought I had gone too far. But then she took a deep breath, sighed loudly, and let her whole body relax, almost seeming to sink into the tile. Still lying on top of her, covering her body with mine, I felt I was both dominating and protecting her. I stroked her arms and flanks and kissed the back of her neck and her shoulders. I wanted to wrap her up in my arms and just lie there.
Eventually, though, I levered my weight off her and climbed unsteadily to my feet. Now the water was splashing on Alex and she moaned a little and came back to the real world. She stood and we clung to each other without speaking. There was nothing more to be said that we hadn’t already communicated with our bodies. My penis was sore and numb and her vagina was filled to the brim with my sperm, and the world seemed perfect to us.
We finished our shower — or, rather, we started over again — and dried each other lovingly, pausing for kisses which were filled with love and affection now, rather than raw passion. It was nearly 2:00 in the morning when we finally slid wearily into bed, naked, me spooning in behind her. One of my arms supported her head and the other wrapped itself around her torso. Alex sighed happily and wiggled back against me. I kissed the back of her head and murmured, “I love you . . .”
She stroked my arm a few times. “Oh, Michael, I love you, too. . . .” We drifted off to sleep, stiff and tired and a little dazed, but happier and more content than we had ever been before.
— END —

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