Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By Una

Years later, I shared a tiny flat at university with a girl who was nice, a great friend, very humorous. We both had boyfriends. Judith had a lovely figure. When I saw her dressing each morning I thought about my sister Ann. Maybe that was because of the intimacy of our shared life as roommates. It reminded me of the years I’d shared a room with Ann when we were children, maybe because she had such an erotic way of moving her body when she wriggled into her clothes.

One day there was a power cut. With no heat, we had to go to bed at 6 PM. That night, Judith came on to me, or maybe we came on to each other. That was the first night a woman ever went down on me.

Judith was an anarchist. She was influenced by her hippy-type boyfriend, obsessed with him and his drunken, pot-smoking friends. Underneath, I think she had a deep need to be accepted, and wanted to punish her parents for not giving her enough affection. They were both psychologists, but despite knowing better, they sent her to convent boarding school from age twelve until she went to university six years later. It messed up her head. That’s when we met up.

From the start, she was fun to be with. Really feminine in a student way, a neat dresser with a petite figure. She was tiny, about five feet two and size 10. We weren’t close friends, but sharing a small flat meant we were often thrown together socially.

I never thought about Judith’s sexuality before we slept together. Any time we talked about relationships, she seemed to make it clear that she was heterosexual. She slept with her boyfriend and with at least one other guy that I knew of, mainly because I was at the party when she went to bed with him. This was more or less the norm for undergraduate women in the Seventies.

A few times — mostly when Judith was dressing, or I was seeing her in her underthings, or occasionally naked — my mind would turn to Ann. I don’t know why. She and Ann were quite different, but Judith’s body aroused some deep feelings that put me in mind of my sister.

I hated to admit it to myself, but occasionally I would remain in bed in the morning, merely to glimpse Judith when she came from the bathroom naked. I’d study her perfect shape as she put on bra and pants in her coquettish way. I thought I was unique, that no other woman had ever felt aroused by seeing a person of their own gender in a state of undress. There was no hint whatsoever that Judith might be attracted to me.

Then came the big freeze and the power cut. It snowed for ages. The following day, the roads were frozen drifts, transport was off.

We stayed in the flat, two heaters and the electric cooker on full power. That afternoon, the power went off. By early evening, we were freezing. We huddled together on the sofa in our warmest outdoor clothes. It became clear the power was not be back that night.

I can’t remember whose suggestion it was that we go to bed in our clothes. We shared one bedroom with two single beds, well apart. We listened to the radio news and lit candles. By 7 PM we were feeling quiet comfortable, warmed under the duvets, gabbling back and forth across the room like two giddy schoolgirls.

We talked and talked, mostly about other people. It was as if before that night, neither of us wanted to get too close personally. We were flatmates, nothing more, each with her own life to lead. But that evening, with nothing else to do, we talked more than we had ever done.

The heavy woollen overcoat I was wearing became uncomfortable in bed. I took it off. Judith followed suit. As if we were playing strip poker without cards, we undressed, item by item, over the next ten minutes. When Judith hopped out of bed to remove the last of her outer clothes, my brief glimpse of her in bra and knickers changed the mood.

Although we’d often wandered around at other times in various states of undress, there was something naughty, childish almost, about the way I rolled out of bed and followed Judith’s lead in removing my sweater and skirt, then slid back under the covers in my undies.

I thought about dressing for the long cold night ahead, but I was too lazy to get my full-length winceyette nightie, which Mother had insisted I should have for cold weather, from the dressing table. Judith and I joked about the “granny nightie,” which I’d never worn. Then there was some juvenile banter about our respective mums.

Jokingly, I said if Judith was a true friend she’d hop out of bed in the cold room and fetch the nightie for me. Instead, she offered to come over to my bed to keep me warm. At Loreto boarding school, she told me, she’d kept her best friend warm on a cold night with an infusion of body heat. Sounded good to me. More than good: a little voice inside said Judith and I were about to enter the Occasion of Sin, as the nuns called it.

The talk turned to schools and discipline. About girls bunking up in the dorm. What Judith said was news to me. Bunking up in my school was considered a mortal sin. Murder was more quickly forgiven. But at the Loreto, it happened regularly among seniors who had their own rooms with locked doors on the dormitory floor.

In our school, it was a sacking offence to be found in another girl’s bed. Even sitting on the side of a best friend’s bed in nightclothes could bring expulsion. Everyone knew that, from first year to sixth form — and yet girls did it. Covertly, of course. But best friends were known to exchange hugs after lights out, especially in the junior and middle dorms, where beds were separated only by hospital style, pull-around modesty curtains.

Judith and I had reached a point in our exchanges where we were both curious. The swapping of notes about school relationships had changed the mood. There was a note of girly flirting in the air. No harm in that, I thought.

A few more words were tossed back and forward until Judith, to my delighted surprise, leaped from her bed and crossed the room to where I lay. I drew back the duvet and wriggled nearer the wall in a gesture of invitation.

She was cold. Her icy feet touched my shins. “Oh my God, you’re frozen!” I gasped, teeth chattering.

Her arm went around my waist and she drew me close. “I know,” she said, “that’s why I’m here.”

We giggled. At other times I would have been nervous — embarrassed, even — to have another girl in my bed, close to me, face to face. Being in bed with my sister was different. That didn’t count. Ann and I had slept together at various times since we were toddlers.

My only other experience of bed-sharing, sleepovers with my play-friend Mags, could be put down to a young girl’s version of doctors and nurses. Mags and I were too young to know what we were doing then.

But I was nineteen now, the same age as Judith. I wasn’t a novice. I’d been to bed with three different boys, and I’d had a number of close encounters with others without going all the way.

There was something delightful about Judith’s presence. We were both still in bra and pants, but we may as well have been naked. I could feel her small bust against mine as we cuddled like two lost children.

My hand was on her back; it slipped lower. I was stroking the warm roundness of her brushed-cotton knickers, absentmindedly at first, simply comforting myself, comforting her. It was enticingly strange to touch another woman so intimately. Judith’s buttocks were lovely — firmer, more rounded than I’d imagined. I wished mine was like that.

At this remove in time, try as I might, I can’t recall the precise sequence of events after I became aware of the tactile effect that touching Judith’s bum had on my libido. I think she wriggled in response to my touch. Maybe we talked a little. The streets outside were dark, there was no sound of road traffic because of the snow. It was as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

Did I pull Judith nearer? Or did she push her tummy against mine? All I recall is that our tummies were pressing together. One of us spoke. I don’t know who. I don’t know what was said, but the voice was different: lower, husky, whispered — pianissimo.

I think Judith may have said: “This is nice.” Or I may have said it. Who knows? But something like that was said — just before the kiss. Again, I’m unable to relate precise details. Suffice to tell, as my favourite nun used to say, it happened.

The kiss produced an instant effect. It gave me what, I think, 19th-century women called the vapours. I swooned. It was like those early morning faints in chapel, fasting during Mass. One minute you were aware of all around you, next you were sitting on a chair being fussed over, offered a glass of water.

It was the smell which brought on my first wave of delirium. As our mouths drew together, a delicious aroma of fresh strawberries came to me. I was aware of Judith’s bouquet of personal scents: lingering shampoo fragrance, a hint of scented powder, the delicate smell of freshly-washed skin — and a vague aroma of what I’d have to call femaleness. Judith’s presence had made my flaring nostrils hyper-sensitive. Suddenly, I was aware that snuggling with her was making me hot and wet.

Her lips brushed against mine — or had I made the first move? Who cares? Our lips met. The strawberry fragrance was replaced by taste. I’ll always remember that soft, luscious taste of ripe summer fruit as our lips met in that cramped bed in that tiny room.

It had been nearly a year since I’d kissed my older sister like this — passionately, on the mouth. A year in which I’d kissed only boys. Now, the delights of a real kiss were being brought home to me.

Her mouth was so different from what I’d grown accustomed to. The softness of Judith’s face, the moist passion seeping through her lips was so different from the frantic gobbling of the hungry male and his aggressive, thrusting, uncaring tongue.

We kissed slowly, softly, tenderly. It was as though Judith and I had all the time in the world, and we intended to kiss forever. In my overheated mind, Judith’s mouth seemed to gradually morph into something different, changing shape. It was no longer a place through which she spoke and ate: it had become an erotic organ, intent on stimulating me to the highest point of pleasure. I deepened our kiss.

It was clear that she’d done this before. Her lips put me in mind of dripping peach segments. The imagery was wrong: but I had to think of peaches to stop from admitting to myself what they really felt like — the lips of a vulva.

Perfectly positioned, projecting slightly, was a tiny bump. I licked it, flattening my taste buds against it, confirming that she was enticing me with the tip of her tongue. I’d never kissed a love button, but in my mind that tiny nub was a proxy for her passion centre, the secret place between her legs from where all thrills flowed.

How long the kissing went on, I don’t know. It seemed ages. I imitated Judith, shaping my mouth and projecting my tongue tip to spar lustfully with hers. We were learning about each other — about how we might lick, and be licked, elsewhere. I’d never tasted a woman; now it was all in the world that I wanted.

As our passions grew, Judith’s knee parted my thighs, eagerly pressing into my simmering mound. I squirmed, knowing Judith and I had passed the point of no return. There was no way now we were going to stop, not until we reached the end of our magical journey.

Her tongue plunged inside my mouth, thrusting mine aside, penetrating deep, priming the gurgling well of desire between my legs. Her expertise was amazing. This was no first-timer — Judith had travelled this women-only road before.

But I loved that. She was so confident, knew what she wanted. This lovemaking was much more assured than the shut-eyed, guilt-ridden fumblings with my sister Ann, beautiful as those were.

We thrashed about on the narrow bed, grinding our bodies together. Everything happening seemed to feed my madness, to urge me to new stages of eroticism. My heightened sense of smell and touch complemented the acute sensitivity of my ears. Each little gasp and sigh of pleasure from Judith brought another flush of desire between my legs. I wanted to do everything — everything any woman had ever done to another woman in the heat of passion. I wanted to lick her, to drink her scented love potion, to chew her until she was gurgling inside me.

The steaming warmth where Judith’s mound pressed into mine was beyond erotic. Was there no end to the new experiences to be had this night? Unable to resist for another second, my curious finger crooked into the softness of her sodden gusset.

Oh my God. Her cunt was dripping, those cotton knickers soaked with arousal. At that moment, no woman on earth could have felt as sex-starved as I did. And yet here was Judith, quiet little Judith, a paragon of heterosexuality, starved for love from another woman — opening her legs, inviting my finger-tip caresses, helpless with lust.

My other hand slipped beneath the elastic of her knickers. I pressed a finger into the hot pool of her cunt, which was fringed by feather-soft pubic curls. Like an adventuress travelling along a flooded ravine, I paused midway. Twirling, I churned up a maelstrom around her pinnacle of desire.

We were facing each other, our kissing fervent, manic. Suddenly Judith wriggled away, struggling to push her panties down and off. Then her hands tugged at my own knicks — she wanted us both naked.

Rising to her knees, she unhooked her bra. In the dying candlelight, her breasts were magnificent. Small, beautiful in proportion to the rest of her figure. I wondered why she even bothered with a bra under her thick winter clothes. The two perfectly symmetrical globes were embellished with succulent pink buds, ripe for sucking.

For a moment, envy and desire merged. My small, pear-shaped bosoms would never look like hers. But lust was there, too, reminding me of how much I’d hungered for a woman lover. Now I desperately, desperately needed to reach that point of satisfaction with Judith, just as I’d done so many times with my sister Ann.

She was back on her heels, naked, helping to unfasten my bra. I marvelled at how hot we were now, despite the coldness of the room. She leaned forward and kissed a stiffened nipple, like a mother kissing a baby. So soft, so tender. How wonderful that she knew so much about this kind of love.

Placing her legs on each side of me, Judith slowly lowered herself, stroking my left breast with her right hand then cupping it, making it feel weightless. The touch was magical. My womanly heat added to the tangy scent wafting around the room. The musk-like fragrance of our mutual excitement, blended in a heady perfume.

My senses were drifting. A hand was touching me, stroking, teasing, caressing the little man in the boat. But whose hand was it: Judith’s or mine? I didn’t care.

We were as one. As if in a trance, I put a hand between my legs. Judith’s was already there. I gripped it. Our fingers swayed and danced in the slippery cleft at the centre of my being. My hand was guiding hers, revealing my most intimate secrets, the special folds where her touch could bring me joy.

A shiver ran along my spine — a thrilling, unexpected shiver. My thigh muscles twitched. An uncontrollable convulsion of pleasure seized me. My back arched. I howled, wetting myself a little. Then contentment flowed everywhere — and I gasped in sublime satisfaction.

I was weeping. I told myself they were tears of embarrassment. The sheet was soaked. I could feel its dampness on my bare bum. What must Judith think? Did I squirt on her hand? Maybe she didn’t notice.

Indeed, Judith was lost in her private passion. Her woolly tea-cosy was pressing on my thigh. She began to kiss me again, passionately. Her hand was on my breast, cupping it, loving it. Her lower body writhed, her legs clenched my thigh frantically, drawing it tightly to her vulva.

I raised a knee and running a hand across her naked buttocks, pushed hard, grinding into her mound as she squirmed with desire.

She stopped abruptly, in full flight. I was certain I’d hurt her, bruised those soft, swollen lips with my knee. The pause seemed to last forever. She was teetering on a cliff-top.

She gave a deep sigh, like a runner getting second wind. Her whisper was barely audible. I strained to hear her. Instead of complaining, as I expected, that she was sore, she breathed, “Fuck me, Una. Fuck me with your leg.”

I hesitated, not shocked, but certainly surprised that a nicely brought up, convent girl like Judith would use such a word.

Then, like a boat swinging away from its berth until it was caught by the flow of a river, I slowly pressed my thigh into the ripe fruit of her sex, squeezing out the juices of her passion.

Gasping, she grabbed my face between both hands and kissed me, forcing her tongue roughly into my mouth. Shaking, she crested waves of satisfaction, clinging to me, squirming against my bare body, riding my leg as she gulped for air. Finally, she collapsed to one side, and I stretched out next to her.

For minutes, we lay quite still, side by side, each lost in our own thoughts. Her pleasure had anointed my skin. I circled a finger-tip in the slippery moistness, drawing a new wave of eroticism from it. My body responded.

I climbed over a dazed Judith and tiptoed naked to the bathroom. The water was ice-cold as I sponged my body, ridding myself of the reminders of our love. I was slowly returning to earth, but my brain was buzzing with echoes of excitement.

It was only 9 pm. So much had happened in three hours. I lit new candles, took a pair of fresh knickers from my drawer and stepped into them.

Judith’s gaze shifted from the ceiling to me, watching as I faced her, pulling up my pants. As I rolled back under the covers, I wondered if she thought I was making a gesture by putting on clean undies. I hoped not.

I snuggled against her warm body. She put an arm around me. The wonderful aroma of feminine passion was still there: her passion. I could smell it, wafting about the room like a cloud.

The fragrance of feminine love was like the aroma of delicious food to a hungry woman — but my hunger was deeper, more urgent, than any need for food.

Judith was kissing me, and pushing her knee between my thighs. It was as though I had just climbed into bed with her for the first time. We both still needed love.

She kissed my ear. “You climaxed really quickly,” she said in the most matter-of-fact voice. I didn’t know how to respond. I felt so ignorant. I knew what a climax was, but it was not something I’d really discussed, not even with Ann.

Judith placed my hand between her legs, stroking my finger along her cleft. It was as though her orgasm had never happened, and she was using my finger to masturbate. I lay there, enjoying her enjoyment, immersed in a warm bath of eroticism.

She pushed down the covers, then reached for the waistband of my knickers.Why had I bothered to put them on? By this time, the room seemed almost hot.

I lay like a baby being undressed, lifting my bottom to facilitate Judith’s tugging on my knickers, aware they were already warm and damp as she slipped them down to my ankles, then off. Kneeling, she looked like a mythical goddess in the flickering candlelight as she studied my face — and then her eyes drifted to my nakedness.

I parted my legs and slowly stroked a finger along my cleft, feeling its warm wetness, enticing her. She watched intently as I masturbated. Her enjoyment showed in a conspiratorial smile. She was sharing my passion.

I was floating on a placid ocean, drifting with a warm current. I could smell the thick, musky fragrance, stronger now than earlier.

Judith, still kneeling, moved her thighs apart and began to stroke herself. We shared a smile, then the moment grew hot and urgent, the two of us watching one another, bonding — relishing each other’s secret, self-induced pleasure, as only two women can.

She took my hand from between my legs and placed it on my bare breast, with the middle finger resting on my raised nipple. I pleasured it with soft strokes, pulling it now and then as if testing its elasticity.

Judith sat back, facing me. Her fingers were still moving down there, her gasps of pleasure like sweet music. Then she took the hand from between her legs and brought it my mouth, painting it with the warm honey. The scent of her passion was in my nostrils. I licked my lips, tasting her secret potion for the first time. The finger slid into my mouth. I sucked like a baby, swallowing her longing.

The tanginess of Judith’s nectar aroused a new desire. I wanted more — to drink from its source. She had me on fire. I’d never known lovemaking could be this imaginative.

And then she moved away — going down until her lips met my tummy, then lower still. I hugged her head to me, knowing what would come next.

When her mouth brushed my fuzz, I swooned. How could such bliss remain hidden from me for so long? Why had no one ever said, shown me before, that such happiness could be had so easily?

Judith parted my legs until my groin muscles creaked — then plunged her head deep between my thighs. Her tongue moved lazily, confidently, exploring every fold as though it had been there many times. Then the tip penetrated my opening, slipped out again — and swept upwards to my love button.

Her fingers rolled back the hood, exposing the hidden pearl to her attentions. That lovely tongue stabbed and flicked, moving from side to side, tossing the little man out of the boat and into the foam. Then her lips closed on the aching nubbin, drawing forth untapped pleasure.

I wanted to stop her. This was too intense, I needed a break. But she kept on, relentless, oblivious to my cries of, “Please, Judith, please” — driven by her need to witness my ultimate surrender.

When her finger went inside, I was dragged into a new world. Distracted by the intense sensations elsewhere, it had entered my cave before I knew — and I all but swooned. This was penetration of the sort I wanted again and again. Not the brutish thrust of a greedy cock, but the tender ingress of another woman.

When the finger crooked just inside the entrance, tugging with tenderness on the pubic bone, I rose to a higher level of ecstasy than I believed possible. Judith’s finger had found a place I never knew I had in there.

Oh my God. How could anything be so intense? My thighs snapped shut, trapping her hand. My body fought against the body-shaking convulsion I knew was coming. I held her wrist, desperate to escape the sensation between my legs. And yet I wanted it to happen. So did Judith.

She was prising me open, forcing my thighs apart — triumphantly stroking my fully exposed cunt, as if to say she was in control of my passion. Her finger withdrew with a delicious, sinful wet noise. How disgustingly dirty, I thought. How naughty of me to relish such a rude body sound. And yet it was wonderful.

Her head dipped down there again, Judith sucking the pink pearl between her lips, while a finger wriggled inside my cave. She was carefully, skilfully, driving me to the ultimate release of pleasure.

I held back — tried to, anyhow. But it was useless. Her finger, her lips, her tongue, all were lifting me to the pinnacle. I cried out, thrashed about like a landed fish, clenched my fists until the fingernails bit into my palms — and then it was over. I flopped back, breathless, exhausted.

Seconds later Judith had seized my shoulders, guiding me onto my back. She straddled me, placing a knee by each ear. Slowly, precisely, she lowered herself on my face, positioning the furry wetness of her sex on my mouth.

Instinctively, my tongue emerged, snake-like, to flick at her womanly parts. I longed to repay her, to bring Judith to the heights she’d brought to me.

The fragrance was divine, the taste unbelievable. For the first time, I was drinking the nectar of love, smearing it over my taste buds with each lick of a flattened tongue.

Judith lifted one knee, drawing back, holding her cleft open. I whimpered, cheated of my treat. Lowering herself again, she breathed, “Put your tongue inside me.”

Happy to oblige, I slid it as far into her opening as it would go. It wasn’t far, but I could taste a difference, swallowing the thick wine of her inner desire as it flowed down my throat.

I tried to push my tongue in even deeper, but it was impossible. Judith’s hand slid down, a finger circling her bud. I placed my tongue on a fold at the side of her clitoris, my senses reeling as her moving finger joined my tongue in pleasuring the hardened pearl. This was the two of us acting as one, masturbating my lover to a thrilling finale.

Almost as an afterthought, my other hand went between my legs and I pleasured myself, twirling a finger around and around inside, my body shaking as Judith neared climax. When she convulsed, she dragged me with her. Her moaning gasps as she pushed down hard on my flattened tongue — they sent me whirling.

The sheer exhilaration of sharing this special, secret pleasure sent me over the edge of a cliff. I was falling, falling, falling. And then, as though saved by a magic parachute, I was drifting down and down, into a warm and welcoming sea.

Dismounting my face, Judith bent down and kissed me — pausing to sample her own tangy honey, which coated my lips and chin. The aroma of womanly passion was everywhere, a thick haze that tickled the nostrils.

We lay in each other’s arms. I thought of my sister Ann, of how many roads we had yet to travel, how many ways I had discovered to bring new pleasure to her.

Continue on to Chapter 6

By LF

{ This story was originally posted at the now-defunct Sisters in Love }

I’ve never gotten along with my sister Amy. We always seemed to be fighting when we were kids, and when we grew up and started dating boys, it just got worse. Maybe it was a simple personality conflict at first, but after all the stolen boyfriends and all the humiliations, it became a nasty little war.

One of the problems is that we’re both pretty hot and can have just about any boy we want. I’m a year older, a little taller than her, and the smarter one. Amy might be a bit cuter than me, she has bigger breasts and a curvy figure, and she’s the athletic one. We’re both popular in school, although we never hang out together. Everybody knows we don’t like each other. Rebecca and Amy, the fighting sisters. When we cross paths, something bad always happens.

One day a few months ago I thought I was alone in the house, but I heard something when I walked past my sister’s room. I stopped and listened — she was fucking some boy. It was just like Amy to sneak a boy into her bedroom; I wished that Mom and Dad would catch her doing it, but they never did.

As I stood by her door I heard her moan a name. “Oh, Jack…”

Jack? My Jack? I had been dating Jack for three weeks. Rage swept over me. She was doing it again!

I threw open the door. Amy was on her hands and knees, Jack was fucking her from behind. He looked up, saw me, and said, “Oh shit, Rebecca.”

Amy opened her eyes and screamed at me, “Get out!”

Jack stumbled off the bed and started pulling on his pants, mumbling, “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

Amy sat up on the bed, yelling, “You bitch! Get out of my room!” Jack looked like he wanted to crawl away and hide.

I was beyond anger. This was the final straw.

When I moved away from the door Jack darted past me. Lucky for him. I heard a door slam, then I saw Jack through the window, barefoot, half-dressed, running across the front yard.

Amy was gloating, sitting naked on the edge of her bed. “I didn’t even have to try,” she sneered as I walked up to her. “Guess he couldn’t get what he wanted from you.”

“You fucking slut!” I hissed, and slapped her face, fast and hard.

Usually we just yelled and screamed at each other. Sometimes we threw things. I couldn’t remember the last time we had a physical fight; we haven’t hit each other since we were kids. But I’d gone over the edge. That’s how angry I was.

Amy jumped off the bed, screaming. She grabbed my hair and tugged – it hurt like hell. So I went for her own hair, bunching it in my fist, making her squeal. With my other hand I tried to twist her fingers out of my hair, and she did the same. I don’t know how long we struggled in this position, arms locked, snarling, cursing, faces inches from each other. She kept pushing against me, her bare breasts rubbing against mine. I could smell sex in the room.

Maybe I went a little crazy. Maybe I was getting excited. Maybe. But Amy was the one who started the kiss. She was the one who stuck her tongue in my mouth.

It was a shock. One moment she was pulling my hair, the next her lips were melting against mine, and I was still angry with her, even as our tongues slid together. What the hell was going on? I had never kissed a girl before. Now I was kissing my sister. My sister! This was deeply, deeply perverted.

I’d never been more excited in my life.

God, I think I was coming as we kissed… my knees were shaking, I couldn’t get my breath, I was out of control, I couldn’t believe what was happening. She slipped her hands under my shirt and pawed my breasts. I ran my hands over her naked body. A wild, twisted desire was building inside me, it was unstoppable. I was frantic, out of my mind.

I pushed her back onto the bed, shoved her legs apart and attacked her pussy with my mouth.

I fucked her with my tongue. She screamed, I wanted her to scream, I wanted to drive her insane, like she drove me insane. I wrapped my arms around her ass as she pulled my face into her pussy. I couldn’t believe how good she tasted.

She bucked on the bed as I ate her, gasping, pleading. I kept licking, I don’t know how long, I couldn’t stop. I did my best to drive her wild with pleasure. She screamed, I only licked harder. She screamed louder, I went faster, deeper. Suddenly she was silent, thrashing, shaking helplessly on the bed. I held on, gripped her, ran my tongue over her pussy as she came.

I thought she would never stop — hips thrusting, her cunt a river, the wetness dripping from chin. She caught her breath, body twitching, my tongue exploring her, inside and out. She moaned as I licked her clean.

I couldn’t stand it, my body was on fire. I needed her to lick me now.

I sat up and tugged off my shirt while Amy tore off my jeans. My panties were soaked, I threw them to the floor. I leaned back on the bed and my sister was kneeling between my legs.

Jesus, her mouth was on my pussy. Her tongue found my clit. She slipped a finger deep inside me. How could it be so good? How could we be doing this? Oh God, I was coming. She kept on licking as my body thrashed in ecstasy. She muscled another finger inside me, and I couldn’t breathe. My body shook, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over me, bright white explosions bursting in my head. She didn’t let up as I came, her tongue only moved faster and faster. I lost control of my body. I lost my mind.

My sister! I screamed, exploded. I hate her! Oh God! I love her. My sister. Her mouth on my pussy. Feasting on me, drinking from me. It was so good. I couldn’t believe it. Fuck, I couldn’t believe it…

Afterwards we were two soaked bodies, a tangle of arms and legs, her face against my neck.

I couldn’t move, thoughts came slowly. What had just happened? It was like a dream. Did it make sense? No, it didn’t, not at all. She was my own sister. I’d had sex with my sister. Unbelievable, incredible sex with my sister. They’d put us both into therapy if they found out. But it had been amazing. Totally wrong… and amazing. What were we going to do now? How was this going to work? How do we live the rest of our lives?

“What happens now?” I whispered.

She nuzzled my ear. “We do it again,” she said.

“That’s not what I meant,” I said. But suddenly I wanted to do it again too; I wanted to feel her mouth on my pussy, I wanted to taste her again. I wanted to fuck her hard.

“We have to figure out how to handle this… thing between us,” I told her. “And we have to make sure nobody finds out.”

Amy made a face. “Well, duh. Do you think I want everyone to know I’m fucking my own sister?”

“I can just imagine you telling your friends some night when you’re drunk.”

She sat up. “How stupid do you think I am?” she said, suddenly angry.

I thought we were going to start another fight — and then, suddenly, we were kissing again.

Now I understood. Fighting with each other, hearts beating faster, breath quickening, faces blushing — is there really such a huge difference between anger and desire?

All those years of yelling and screaming at each other… we’d both been fighting something else, something deep inside ourselves, something forbidden. Anger was the only way we could deal with it. Now our feelings were all mixed — anger blended with desire, a hot, twisted lust between us.

I knew it was bizarre, knew it might be unhealthy, but didn’t care. I longed to be swept away by this newly realized passion. Sex with my sister was the most incredible thing that had ever happened in my life. Even as we kissed, I knew that we weren’t going to give it up. Not ever.

We kissed long and slow for a while. I trailed my mouth down her neck. She leaned over me, her breasts falling onto my face. I moved my head back and forth between them, savoring her skin… so soft, so smooth, her nipples big and hard. I reached down to stroke her pussy. She sighed, rocked against my hand. I flicked my tongue over her nipples. My fingers slipped inside her. God, I was going crazy again. My pussy ached. I needed her tongue. I needed her.

“Let’s sixty-nine,” I said, the idea suddenly coming to me.

She smiled and nodded. We scrambled into position, with Amy on top. Awkward at first, then it was perfect, perfect! Faces buried in each other’s pussies, moaning as we licked and sucked, barely taking time to breathe. I knew her pussy now, and she mine; but as it went on I lost myself in her. I couldn’t tell which body was whose, which pussy was hers, which tongue was mine. It was like we shared a single orgasm, circling round and round between us, pulsing like electricity through our bodies. We rested for a long while, kissing gently.

Then our desires grew sharp yet again. This time, we explored each other’s assholes. I had never had a boy lick me there, but my sister did. I remember how she moaned as my tongue probed her dark cleft, my finger pumping in and out of her cunt all the while. She brushed my clit with her fingers as she ate my ass.

We came again. We rested. We made love again.

Our pleasures seemed to last forever. How could we stop? Nothing could make us stop.

But finally, our bodies gave out. We were exhausted. And our parents would be home soon. We had to clean ourselves up and get dressed. We had to compose ourselves, act normal, so our parents wouldn’t find out that their daughters had been making love all afternoon.

That night, Amy crept to my room… and my sister and I fucked again.

*****

We’ve kept our secret since then. We still date boys and yell at each other, just to keep up appearances. Actually, she still drives me crazy, and the fights are sometimes real; then afterwards we have to sneak off and make love before we both explode. Amy has a talent for devising schemes so that we can meet secretly somewhere and fuck.

We both love the thrill, the craziness, the danger of it all, and are perfectly happy with our relationship as both sisters and lovers. We can’t wait until we are old enough to move to a new town and live together openly, as a couple.

The End

By GrandMoff

Because I went to Chico with Ms. Wallace and to Paradise with Ame, I piled up sketches fast. I went through book after book, filling each. Korrina and Ame said they were excellent and I accepted the praise graciously.

On the last Friday in July, I was at Ame’s apartment again. She wanted to show me something before the session, but made me promise not to laugh.

“Drawings of yours?” I asked coolly.

Her eyes widened.

“I know you too well, Ame. I promise not to laugh at your work. I’m sure it’s very good stuff, and I’d never laugh at you. Don’t you know that?”

“You do know me too well!” She pulled a sketchbook from her top shelf. “Here they are.”

“They’re good,” I said as I turned the pages slowly. “For the work of a beginner, they’re very, very good.”

“They’re based on your sketches — not much more than copies,” she said. “I know how much you improved, working with a model. Do you think I could learn faster that way too?”

“Without a doubt,” I said.

“Then could you model for me after I have for you?”

“Me? Me?”

“Please, Bara? Just once?”

Her brown doe eyes were impossible to resist. “All right. I owe you. You’ve done so much for me; I’ll do it.”

“Thank you!” She smiled warmly. “Give me a minute and I’ll pose for you first.” She put away her sketches, slipped out of her clothes, and let me direct her. I had her try six poses in an hour and a half. She was perfect, as usual.

She put on her robe while I set down my pencils and paper. “My turn, I guess?” I asked with a nervous laugh.

“I’ll get my book and pencils. I have a robe and hangers waiting for you on my closet door.”

I went to her bedroom and began to undress. It seemed a little more difficult than usual, but I soon had my shirt and shorts hanging on the doorknob, my underwear folded neatly, and one of Ame’s comfortable cotton robes draped loosely on my body. I rejoined Ame in the living room.

“Ready when you are,” she said. “I’d like to start with a kneeling pose, right knee up, next to the bookshelf, looking out the window.”

I swallowed hard. I undid the sash, opened the robe, and let it slide off my body. As I got down on one knee, I stumbled just a bit. Ame noticed.

Her voice was concerned. “Bara, hold out your hand.”

I did.

Next thing I knew, she was kneeling beside me, holding me securely. “Oh my poor Bara-chan; you’re shaking like a leaf! Please forgive me. I had no idea this would upset you so much.”

Her compassion moved me. I forced a smile onto my face. “Thank you, Ame-chan, but let me pose for you. I want to. I need to have more courage. It’s not like you’re asking me to do something painful or embarrassing. I want to do this for you; I’ll get used to it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. But we can stop any time.”

My smile became genuine. “Right.” I was still a bundle of nerves, but I got into the pose that Ame wanted. I could feel her eyes on me. I felt flushed. My heart thumped.

“So beautiful,” she murmured. I don’t think she thought I could hear her. I didn’t agree, but now wasn’t the time to argue. I kept my mouth shut.

Ame had me adopt four more poses before she was finished. I was right: I stopped trembling a minute or two after we began and felt at ease in her presence. But I didn’t forget my nudity. Indeed, I stayed excited as her depthless dark brown eyes studied me. I found myself enjoying her gaze while she saw all my secrets, and that was a little shocking. But I guessed it was normal. Otherwise, who would ever model?

“I’m done,” Ame said, setting down her book. “Thank you very much.”

I put on the robe she’d given me. “No problem. It was fun.”

She turned to look at me. Her eyes were wide with surprise. “Bara… you’re amazing, you know that?”

My cheeks grew hot. “No, I’m not,” I said, looking at my toes.

“You are. Believe it.” She gently lifted my chin. “You have the concentration, the patience, the confidence; you’re remarkable. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

I couldn’t talk, but I beamed at her, showing my gratitude.

“Come on,” she said. “We’ll have chocolate cake with our tea and we’ll show each other our sketches.”

I made the tea. She served the cake. We sat next to each other at her table, looking at our work. She praised mine — and they were good, if I say so myself. Then we looked at her drawings.

“They’re good, but don’t exaggerate so much,” I said.

“What do you mean?” Ame asked.

“You’ve made me look too good. In this facial study, for example,” I held up the sketch and pointed, “the lips, the eyes and the lashes, they aren’t–”

“Come on, I want to show you something,” she said, grabbing my arm and leading me to her bedroom. She brought me to her mirror and stood behind me.

Her little finger gently touched my face, moving as she talked. “These lashes are beautiful,” she said quietly. “They have to be: they frame the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. These lips, they’re gorgeous — so full, so exquisite. I — I can’t help wanting…” She fell silent.

“What, Ame? You can say it.”

She gazed at me with pleading eyes. “Bara-chan, I know you might hate me for asking, but just once… may I kiss you?”

Her intensity was frightening, exciting, and completely irresistible. My sister, yes — but she was alluring. I longed to be kissed by her. She had me. “Yes,” I squeaked.

Oh, she knew how to kiss! Her delicious, tender lips slowly caressed mine, a small bit at a time, leaving no part neglected. I grew weak in the knees as her heavenly mouth made pure contact with mine. I did my best to follow her lead.

Apparently, she liked what I did. “Oh, you’re a great kisser,” she whispered after we’d separated. “I’m really glad I asked. Bara, was that too wrong of me?”

“It wasn’t wrong at all,” I said, reaching out and running my fingers through her hair. “I’m happy. I love you, and I know you love me. I’m so…”

Before I knew what I was doing, I leaned forward and kissed her again! She relaxed into it, and I was overwhelmed. Her smell, her feel, her taste — in that instant, she was a part of me.

I released her. She smiled at me with true joy. “You’re right,” she said. I do love you. The night I left for Chico, I cried, because I missed my sister.”

“I cried too,” I admitted, “each of the first three nights you were gone.”

“Would you come to lunch with me next week, before our next drawing meeting?” she asked.

“Of course,” I said.

*****

We had sandwiches and lemonade in Chico at 1:00, then we went back to her place in Paradise. She was wearing CoolWater — a wonderful fragrance — and as she drove, my glance kept drifting to her. She looked gorgeous in her tight red-and-white halter top and black denim miniskirt.

Was she trying to turn me on? She knew I loved that perfume. She kept shifting in her seat, causing her skirt to creep up toward her hips, revealing her lovely legs. She’d put a Keiko Matsui CD in her stereo and let it play softly. Every now and then, I’d catch her looking at me with a glimmer in her eye. She was affecting me, whether she meant to or not.

As soon as we entered her apartment, I had my answer. “Bara, I know I said ‘just once,’ but–” She leaned and brought her face to within inches of mine, never breaking eye contact.

I nodded, answering her unfinished plea.

We kissed. Her divine lips breathed sweet air into my lungs. She sighed into my mouth. I was aware of her chest pressed into mine, the strong, slender body I held in my arms. I knew that body by sight. Now I was learning it by touch also. Being with her was exciting. My heart was racing.

We separated, breathing heavily. “Like wine,” my sister said. “You’re intoxicating.” She shook her head, as if trying to clear it. “So! Shall I pose first?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I have three poses I know I need to see.”

She posed for me, and looked more gorgeous than ever. Two hours later, she put on her robe. I laid down my paper and stood. I shed my robe.

“Your tan lines are very appealing,” Ame said abruptly. “They highlight your skin tone and your innocence.” My cheeks and ears grew warm.

“You blush so easily; it’s adorable!” she continued. She advanced. I stood, not able to move. Her right index finger lightly touched the thin line of untanned skin between my breasts.

I gasped at the contact.

That seemed to wake her. She pulled away violently, as if she’d been electrocuted; and she turned her face away from me. “Please get dressed. I’ll take you home,” she said in a voice filled with pain.

“But Ame, we–”

“Don’t argue! You have to go. We have to stop doing this.”

I embraced her from behind. She struggled weakly, but I needed her reason, so I held her. “Why, sister? Have I done something wrong?”

“Because I want you.” Her voice quivered. “I thought I’d be able to control myself, but when I’m with you — I want to be your lover! I want to kiss you everywhere. I want to take you to bed. Let me go!”

I kissed her ear. She stood completely still. “I love you, Ame. If we separate now, when will we see each other next? Being away from you would hurt me. Wouldn’t it hurt you?”

“But… I want you. Not being able to have you hurts, too,” my older sister said softly.

I swallowed. “Then, please be gentle,” I stammered. I let my hands start wandering, very lightly, over her voluptuous body. I kissed each earlobe. She rested her hands on mine and relaxed into the front of my body.

“This is big, you know,” she groaned. “It’s serious. It means something. Are you sure you want to make love with me?”

And I did know, just then. “I want nothing else.”

Ame turned around. Her arms clasped my waist. “I’ll teach you,” she murmured into my neck. “Let me, my adorable young lover.” She pulled the barrettes from my hair and it fell free.

I wish I could say I remember it all, but I was overwhelmed. I burned beneath her touch. I didn’t know I could feel so much pleasure. I asked her to break my hymen and she did; I don’t remember any pain at all. I remember her lips, her tongue, her palms and fingers, her hair, her breath even. She used all she had to make me climax over and over. I was not even close to ready for this orgasmic deluge.

I woke in her arms in the early evening. She was awake, stroking my hair. My body ached everywhere, but it was a wonderful, dull ache that reminded me of my sister’s passion.

“How do you feel?” Ame asked, kissing my forehead.

“Oh,” I groaned. “Ah. I’m so worn out!”

“I might have overdone it,” she chuckled. “Sorry.”

“I love you,” I said.

“I love you too,” she answered.

“I want to do that for you, but I know I couldn’t do as much as you’ve done for me.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Ame laughed. “You’ve always been a quick study.” She gave me a sly wink.

I crept up her body and kissed her perfect lips. “Let me know what you like. I want to make you happy,” I murmured. My muscles burned delightfully as I moved to lie full-length on top of her. I kissed her neck lightly.

“Mm,” she sighed, “very nice… but I like kisses on my upper chest even more.”

I did as she asked. I blanketed her shoulders and chest with kisses, though I left her areolas alone for the time being. Each time I kissed, the touch of my lips became a little lighter. Ame noticed.

“Losing interest?” she jibed between pants.

I grinned secretly. I knew I was getting to her.

“Come on, Bara!” she said at last. “You said you wanted me to tell you… what I liked.”

“But I never said I’d do it,” I whispered. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“I should have known you’d be a tease!” she said, laughing breathlessly. “How about my poor pussy? When’s she gonna get some love, huh?”

In answer, I crawled down her body, keeping my tongue in contact with her soft, smooth skin all the while. For the moment, I somehow resisted the temptation and bypassed her sweet-smelling, delicious-looking delta and worshipped her beautiful legs with my mouth. She seemed to like that, particularly when I kissed the hollows behind her knees.

“Oh, Bara!” Ame said quietly, her voice like an angel’s to my ears. My pulse raced. I lost all my patience. My hunger for my sister’s pussy surged. I put my shoulders beneath her legs and moved up. Her scent was so heavy it was tangible.

My tongue touched her lower lips. It was incredible. She gasped her delight. I went crazy with her taste and…

…Here again, my memory isn’t good enough. I can say this: my pleasure at making my sister come was as great as my orgasms had been earlier! I don’t expect anyone to believe it, but it’s true. Hearing her trying to speak my name — I can’t tell you the feelings it gave me.

At last, she had to push me away, and we both lay on her bed, in blissful union. We were totally aware of each other. I held her tight. We fell asleep.

Let me say here that I’m not self-absorbed. I know I’m not the first girl in history to make love with her sister. But I wondered if anyone had ever felt the way I did then. I woke with Ame in my embrace.

For an instant, I wondered if it had all been a dream. Then I felt a bit of guilt. But after that, I felt only gratitude. I’d found what most people never will, though they might spend their whole lives searching. I’d found the love of my life.

I lay there with my sleeping sister until she awoke. It might have been an hour or more.

I watched her as she woke up. She didn’t appear to go through the conflict I’d had. She gave me her dazzling smile. “I know your parents pretty well. I don’t think they’ll worry if you spend the night,” she offered.

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “This bed’s comfy, and I’m sure we’ll be able to think of something to do to entertain ourselves.” I leaned down and kissed her.

“I love you,” Ame said when she could.

“I love you,” I answered.

“And I love you.”

“I love you too!”

“I love you — now come on; we need a shower.”

“’We need a shower’. I like how you’re thinking,” I said with a broad grin. “Ame, I can’t tell you — I mean, I love you so much…”

“I know, Bara-chan,” she said. “I don’t think there are any words for it.”

I stayed the night, all right. Ame and I had just discovered our passion, and we were insatiable.

The End

1

Error happened.

By Una

Ann brushed my reddened, tear-streaked cheek, kissed my sweaty forehead lightly and tiptoed back to her bed. She was gone before I knew. I lay listening to the whispering tide as it swished outside our window.

I couldn’t sleep after my excitement. Every part of me was tingling. In a trance, I put a hand on my chest. The damp patch showed it hadn’t been a dream: my sister’s mouth had been there, minutes ago, my nipple glazed with her saliva.

Her bed creaked. I wanted to whisper, to ask if she, too, was unable to sleep, but Mum and Dad were in the next room. The walls were thin. I put a finger and thumb on the wetness of the t-shirt. Oh my God. I never knew a nipple could feel so nice. No one had ever told me.

I pressed a finger and thumb on the hard bud through the damp t-shirt. My body reacted instantly. A flush started somewhere behind the ears, seeped into my cheeks, trickling down to warm my neck.

I relaxed my grip, astonished by the chorus of tingles. I squeezed again, cautiously, lightly — not expecting that strange response to be repeated. I’d never touched my nipple before — anyhow, not like that, pressing it sinfully between finger and thumb.

The reaction was so intense, I snatched my hand away as I squirmed in reflex action. Lying perfectly still, I tried to make sense of the combination of pulses that throbbed within me.

Slowly, the surging heat between my legs became an ache. I parted my thighs and raised my knees, then slipped a hand down. A curious middle finger traced the puffy lips. Suddenly it slipped between the soft segments. Inside was hot and slippery, but it was magic. A silken fairy elixir enticed my finger to further exploration.

I felt the raised dot Ann had fingered earlier. It was stiff, snuggling under the slick folds of my inner self. I parted the fleshy layers. Just a passing brush was enough.

The body music started again. Delicious sensations were simmering everywhere. I placed a hand on my chest and caught the nipple in a finger and thumb. I squeezed hard, then harder. How hard I could go before it became painful?

This was incredible. The finger between my legs seemed to have frozen all feeling in the nipple. And yet it was alive — and tingling. I pressed firmly into the juiciness down below.

Oh God! Pressing the dot between my legs harder only seemed to animate the nipple. The two were interconnected: the nipple and the secret bump floating in its magic elixir were sending unseen messages, urging each other to greater heights. No one had ever told me about this, not Mags, not Ellie, not Ann.

I stayed absolutely still. Ann’s bed creaked. I listened intently: she wasn’t asleep. For ages I lay quietly, hoping she’d think me asleep. I didn’t want her to know I was touching myself like this. I knew that this was the sin the nuns had warned us about.

My thoughts turned to Hell. I tried to stop. But the enchanted place held my finger like a magnet. Ann’s bed creaked again. And then I heard it: that distinctive sound she made. It was a barely audible sigh, almost a whimper. Then another sigh and a sudden intake of breath.

I was concentrating so much on the sounds from Ann’s bed that I hadn’t noticed how my fingers had started moving again — faster now. The right finger was circling, like a tiny machine out of control.

My t-shirt had ridden up. My fingers were squeezing the nipple, twisting, like tuning a radio. Oh my God, I can’t stop. Something out of this world had captivated me. There was another sigh. It was mine. My head tossed on the pillow, trying to escape the intensity of these sensations.

Something touched my forehead. Ann’s cool hand was calming, drawing me back to reality. She put her lips to my ear and hissed, “For Christ’s sake, Una! Be quiet or Mother will come!”

The moon through thin curtains showed her silhouette. Dim white light caught the contour of her bare breasts. She was only wearing knickers.

She leaned over, hand under the bedclothes. When she caressed my tummy it was reassuring. For a moment I thought I’d been having a dream. Then she was crouching at the bedside, asking, “Are you all right?”

I whispered, “Yes.” Suddenly, we seemed so close, my sister and me. It was as though, here, in this secret darkness, we were one and the same person.

Her hand moved lower, below my belly button. We were silent. She stroked my lower tummy. It began to tickle — rather, to tingle rather than tickle. The intense sensations that had made me swoon earlier were back in force.

The moving hand went lower. It reached the bump — my legs opened. I didn’t tell them to open, they seemed to have a mind of their own. I was amazed. What if I had told them not to part, would they have obeyed? I wanted to be in control, but wasn’t.

Ann’s palm was cupping the puffy lips of my sex. She put her mouth to my ear. “Did you get satisfaction, then?” she asked. As she spoke, her finger slipped into the wet cleft. Oh God. I squirmed like a trapped animal.

I said yes. I didn’t know what she meant, but at that instant I was wonderfully satisfied.

Ann whispered once more. “I didn’t — I didn’t get satisfaction. Not yet.”

She had taken my hand from under the bedclothes. The dim moonlight showed a thumb hooked in the waistband of her knickers, tugging them down. She widened her legs and guided my hand. I knew now what she meant by satisfaction.

Her knees bent against the bed. I was up on an elbow. She took my finger, steering it into her unseen thatch. The hair was sparse and silky, the sudden heat of her a shock.

My finger was squelching in her warm wetness. She was pushing it deeper into the juicy hole, until it could go no further. She held it there as she began to move her hips. They were rotating. Ann was working herself on my finger.

And then she stopped with a sudden shudder. She breathed deeply and sighed once. We stayed there, transfixed, my hand trapped between her clenched thighs. She gave another sigh, then bent to kiss me — and then she was gone.

*****

When my sister Ann and I headed to the dunes next morning, neither mentioned the night before. It was as though nothing had happened. Perhaps it hadn’t, it had been a dream, I thought. Mother was babbling while no one listened, Father was reading a book, Ann was staring out at the mountains sweeping down to the sea, blue in the far distance. Her eyes didn’t meet mine.

Was it all a dream — or had it been real and was she now immersed in shame or regret?

Although we’d been like two peas in a pod since childhood, there were some things she was unable or unwilling to talk about. I was never sure if it was simply because she thought, at two years younger, I was too juvenile, or that she had dark secrets she was unwilling to reveal.

She sat in the window seat, her face inscrutable, staring into space. I’d have given anything to see into her mind, to ask if she’d really regretted last night. I didn’t.

Ann walked ahead as we stepped onto the beach. Viewed from the back, there was something marvellously attractive about her perfect shoulders and long, light brown hair. I loved her hair — always fresh, with a hint of the apple-fragrant shampoo we used. It smelled different on her.

We were wearing sun-dresses, swim-suits under. It was too cold for the sea, too overcast for sunbathing, but we were prepared in case it changed. Ann swung the bulky shoulder-bag holding our picnic rug, snacks, drinks, towels and fresh undies, in case we had a swim.

She flopped down on the sheltered side of a high dune with a view of the empty beach and mountains. I followed suit. In the distance, we could see Mary and her mother approaching across the wide, flat, deserted beach. Ann and Mary had struck up a friendship two days earlier. They were both fourteen. They tried to exclude me because I was only twelve, at least that’s how it felt.

Mary sat beside us in the sand. Her mother said hello and went some distance off, setting up an easel and art pad to sketch. Mary chattered aimlessly. She was like her mother, I thought — empty-headed. I wanted to tell her to shut up, to go away, but Ann seemed delighted she had joined us.

I needed to talk to Ann, to steer the conversation to the events of last night. There were so many questions I had to ask.

Mary’s presence made me angry. I didn’t want a really serious talk with Ann — just a few words to reassure me about what happened between us. In my mind, I could still feel that special wetness, the silken-smooth hair between her thighs. Did I really hear her sigh as she squirmed on my hand, showing me where to touch, pressing my finger into her sinfully moist folds?

The sun came out. We took our dresses off and lay out, worshipping the radiant heat. Mary took off her polo shirt and shorts, lying back in her undies. She looked disgusting. Her bosom was too large for the bra she wore, and her tummy bulged over the top of faded, baggy knickers.

I disliked her. She was an intruder, and yet my eyes were drawn to the rounded form where her tummy met her legs. I wondered if she was like Ann down there — wispy and soft. I dragged my thoughts away. Why did I have to be so curious? What did it matter how Mary looked? I gazed out to sea.

My mind was racing, filled with unimportant thoughts about Mary and her mother. I desperately wanted not to think about last night, when Ann and I had touched each other in the dark, still bedroom.

I excused myself and walked down the deserted beach, collecting shells, paddling in the tide’s edge. The feelings of last night had melted away. I didn’t need Ann, I decided, not that way. Yes, it was nice to have her as a sister, to be with her, close to her. But I didn’t need to do the sort of things we’d done last night — not with her, not with anyone, not even with myself. Ann and Mary could chat until dark for all I cared. I was perfectly content to be on my own.

Here, in the morning sun, with a pleasant breeze wafting on my bare legs, the idea of touching someone like that seemed strange. I should really forget it all.

I collected some shells. Not many. I had nothing to carry them in.

Finally, I made my way back to the dunes. Mary was leaving, brushing sand from her legs, bent low. Her cleavage revealed that her bust was not that large after all. Who cares? I thought.

We opened our snacks, had a drink. Ann’s mood had changed with the arrival of the sun. She said she was sorry, that she hadn’t meant to sulk at breakfast. I pretended she had nothing to apologise for.

We lay silently. I needed some way to open the conversation, to ask about last night. I pointed to a plume of white smoke on the far mountains. We speculated about it. Casually, I asked if she had cramps. She’d had them before, bad enough to stay off from school. Mum kept her in bed with a hot water bottle.

Ann said no, that it wasn’t her time to have cramps. She was using her grown-up voice. I posed a few related queries about how her friends were affected by them. I already knew. She’d told me before, in whispers. But I was stalking my sister, taking her down a path I suspected she didn’t want to go.

I said I thought she’d had tummy pains last night, late. I’d heard her moan. She flicked a towel at me. We both laughed. The ice was broken. I pressed on. “Well, you were moaning!”

She laughed again, then called me a little bitch. Between us, it was a term of endearment. Mother would have been apoplectic if she’d heard. To her, bitch was an expression worse than one of those really rude words in Lady Chatterley’s Lover, which Mags and I had partially read — the naughty parts, anyhow — up the field one afternoon.

I fixed my gaze on Ann’s sparkling green eyes. They were her most unusual feature: Dad’s eyes. They didn’t match the rest of her. But they were beautiful beyond words when they flashed. She was flashing them now, projecting her smile with the intensity of a theatre spotlight.

Suddenly, the sun seemed warmer, the day brighter. The clouds over the mountains had drifted away and the sky was cobalt blue. I brushed loose sand from my legs and moved closer to her. Ann jumped up quickly. She was going for a dip — was I coming?

She took my hand as we rushed into the ice-cold water. I guessed it had been her way of cutting short our chat. She was so nice to me — and yet there was that gap between us. We were so close. We used to be able to talk about anything. But now, sometimes, she treated me like a child.

We were shivering when we reached the dunes again. Mary and her mother had gone. A lone car at the far end of the beach was the only other sign of human life.

Ann was towelling herself vigorously, teeth chattering as she faced away from the breeze. I dabbed myself dry. My wet shoulders and legs were cold, but I was happily immune. An inner heat was present that warmed me from within.

Ann took down her top, patting breasts and tummy dry, shielded from the chill breeze — and my hungry gaze. Her back was perfect, long and willowy. I could see vertebrae under smooth skin as she stooped. She was nature’s perfect creature. I knew I would never look like that.

When she turned, it seemed as if we’d stepped back in time to when we bathed together years ago. But she had changed, and so had I. This was not how it had been in the past, when we’d frolicked naked before bed.

As she wriggled, struggling free of the wet swimsuit, her full form was displayed — from pink buds on upturned breasts, to the dark triangle where a flat belly met her long legs.

I don’t know how long I stared at her. We both stood transfixed. The beetroot blush on my cheeks had spread to my throat. I was glad Ann couldn’t see my other parts. The tight, damp crotch of my swimming costume was uncomfortable and hot. This was all so new to me.

Ann transfixed me with her gaze. She looked so composed, two hands behind her head like a young Greek goddess, holding back wet hair. Her breasts were pushed forward, as if flaunting the allure of the rosebuds that were her nipples.

“You look scared,” she said at last. “You’d think you’d never seen me without clothes, Sissy.”

It was just one word, but it changed the scene. Ann hadn’t called me Sissy for ages. It was a pet name, used by no one but us. Sea-birds were wheeling and crying. The breeze died, shifting away from the mountains, becoming warm breath bearing the tangy scent of the Mother God of the Sea.

Ann staggered sideways, struggling on the shifting sand to step into her knickers. We giggled. Then her undies were sliding over her hips. It was like a slap on the face for me. This was not at all what I thought would happen. She was getting dressed. Had I read too much into the display of her nakedness?

She picked up her tennis shirt, shook sand from it and stretched it above her head. As she was about to pull it on I found my voice.

“Let’s sit down for a while,” I said, trying to sound off-hand. I really wanted to say, before you get fully dressed, but hadn’t the nerve.

Wordlessly, still topless, Ann shook the big tartan rug and spread it out neatly. I lay beside her, hardly daring to believe that this might lead to something intimate. My ache was intense. I had a hunger for something I couldn’t explain. I wanted Ann to hug me, that was all. Wasn’t it?

We lay with our hips touching. I was still in my wet bathing suit. The outside had been sun-dried, but the heat of the day and the closeness of my sister had it wet inside instead.

“Why don’t you get out of that suit?” Ann said, casually as anything. “I bet you’d feel better without it. Don’t worry — if anyone approaches, we’ll see them long before they’ll see us.”

Without a word, I sat up. Ann undid the halter-neck. I knelt up on the rug and struggled out of the clinging discomfort. I lay with a towel covering from waist to knees. I was breathing hard — I hoped Ann thought that was from the exertion of removing the swimsuit.

We were being bold as brass, stretched bare-breasted beside each other. But I wanted to be bold! It made me feel so free, so alive.

I glanced sideways. Ann’s buds were like raised pink buttons. Oh my God. A rush of sinful thoughts seared through me, flooding like a torrent into my swollen valley. Some devil’s urge made me want to touch one of Ann’s nipples, to smother it in kisses.

The sun was scorching. Ann rolled towards me. She pulled the side of the tartan rug over her upper body. I turned to face her. She covered mine as well, protecting us both from the burning rays.

We put our arms around each other — it was the most convenient way to lie. But this was about more than comfort or convenience. My arms were around Ann’s neck, drawing her face towards mine.

Her fingers were stroking my back, sending shivers along the spine. We hugged tight and wriggled closer. Her bare breasts pressed the swellings on my own chest. Soft and warm, this naked embrace was making me simmer down below. I raised my knee, pushing it against her closed legs, pressing upwards to part her thighs. It was instinct, pure and simple. I wanted to know if she was simmering too, like a juicy, aromatic casserole spreading an appetising aroma.

Suddenly, Ann was pushing me away. We parted, our faces inches apart, breathing as though we’d been playing tennis rather than hugging. She looked at me with troubled eyes. I wanted to agree with her when she said, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

It was the whispered suffix which betrayed her, showed that she didn’t mean what she said. Just one word, moaned in a plaintive voice — “Sissy.”

Then my head was gripped with frantic intensity. She was twisting it, drawing in close, guiding my lips to hers.

When it came, the kiss was more than a kiss. Her tongue entered my mouth like a dart. The tip circled my gums, dancing, exploring inside, settling into languid, deep, penetrating thrusts, repeated again and again.

I’d never been kissed like this. Mags had given me a passionate kiss, shown how lovers fenced with their tongues. It had been thrillingly new. But this was beyond anything she and I had done, beyond anything I could have imagined.

Sis sucked my lower lip, then bit playfully, nibbling like a rabbit. Without even thinking, I was returning her kisses, my tongue joyfully engaging with hers.

As we kissed, Ann stroked my tummy. A finger poked my belly button playfully, symbolically attempting penetration. Then her hand slowly moved lower. When it cupped my mound I jumped, startled at the intimate touch.

She put her lips to my ear. “I love you, Sissy.” I couldn’t reply. I was overwhelmed by affection for her and with the excitement that we had discovered, for this wonderful, special way we now knew to make each other happy.

I could feel it arriving, the Yellow Brick Road stretched ahead. Happiness was down there, and I was speeding ahead, breathless. Her hand pressed between my legs, opening a way for the finger I knew was going to follow.

The picnic rug rose as my knees went up, legs parting wide. When Ann’s finger swept into the wetness, I wanted to squeal with pleasure. Carefully, tenderly, she explored my childish slit. Her finger squelched, and squelched again, moving around until it touched the little man in the boat.

Every muscle in my body froze from the ecstatic effect. I was paralysed with pleasure. Nowhere else existed but this magical place where Sissy’s finger was circling my pink pearl. I knew then that for the rest of my life I’d be unable to go without this sweet intoxication.

Licking my earlobe, Ann whispered: “I want to satisfy you. Will we do it together?”

“Yes,” I breathed. She put my hand on her breast, placing a finger on her stiffened bud. I teased it with my middle finger, marvelling at its springy firmness.

Ann sighed — and sighed again. At another time, these could have been the sounds of boredom or unhappiness. But I knew now that her sighs were a song of pleasure. I was giving her the same deep thrills that were pulsing through me. I felt so close to her. It was as if my body and hers were one, as if our secret hunger was similar as the facial characteristics we shared as siblings.

Suddenly she drew away. For a moment I thought someone was approaching. But her hands were under me, raising my bottom, moving me to the centre of the rug.

She rolled on top, tugging her baggy knicks down her thighs in a one-handed frenzied move. Even that was erotic. This frantic lowering of her pants, her need to bare her downy cleft — it amazed me.

Our eyes met as she struggled into position. With palms on my hips, she lowered her mound until it was touching mine. Oh my God. This is so wicked — our bare cunnies are touching! She pressed into me again — harder this time.

My arms were around her neck. Her thigh went between mine. We rolled sideways, delirious, our legs meshing like scissors. Soft, silk hairs pressed against my naked cleft. My mouth found hers. I was sucking her lip, as she had done with mine.

Her pushing got harder. Each thrust sent a wave of electricity rippling through me.

My sister was in the throes of manic passion. She was clutching my bottom, a hand on each cheek, drawing me towards her with each shove. “You bitch, you lovely, teasing bitch, Sissy.” Her voice was fierce, yet sweetly tender. “I love you. You know that. You make me want to creep inside you — to be part of you always.”

The moisture between us would have been uncomfortable if we hadn’t been distracted by our passion. I felt at one with Ann as our secretions merged. Some had oozed into my groin as we writhed in loving affection. Years later, what I would remember most of all was the wetness of our embrace.

Ann’s strangled cries brought me back to earth. She was transfixed, her soft, puffy peach pressing hard on mine, motionless. I felt her shiver uncontrollably. Sighing, she whispered: “I love you, Una. I really, really love you, Sissy. Forever and always.”

We lay together in silence for several minutes. I could feel her soft breasts heaving against my bumps as Ann slowly got her breath under control. My tingles had gone. Her excitement had been enough to satisfy me.

My skin felt sticky when Ann rolled off. I closed my eyes. The sound of the seabirds and hissing, gentle waves reflected my magical mood.

I never wanted this moment to end.

I opened my eyes to the tickling on my forehead. Ann was leaning over, twirling a long piece of marram grass, teasing me. I remembered that I was still naked and hastily wrapped the rug around me. Her hand slipped underneath, cupping a budding breast, stroking the pale pink nipple with a slow, gentle finger.

I turned towards her. She leaned down to kiss me. Her voice was a barely audible. “I want you to be satisfied, too, Sissy. I’m sorry I was so selfish.”

I knew instantly what she meant. I no longer needed it explained in words. I had felt her being satisfied, shared her exquisite bliss as her naked body writhed against mine.

Now her hand was between my legs, travelling an open road into that special place where the fleshy pearl was to be found. My ache had returned. That inexplicable hunger had me in its grip. I needed to be touched, but was frightened of the intensity her touch would bring.

I wanted to study these things, to stay in control and observe what happened. But Ann was driving me headlong down the road to beautiful madness, determined to whirl me into space where I could share her experience. She wanted to satisfy me, the way I had satisfied her.

When she penetrated me, I felt shock. Not at her finger pressing into the opening, but the way that part of her body had entered mine so easily. One minute, the finger was dancing in the folds of my overflowing desire. The next, it had slipped inside.

She wriggled it into my entrance, creating the most delicious stretching sensation I’d ever known. It went deeper, deeper into the secret tunnel as if pathfinding for a future visit.

Ann shifted nearer. Lowering her face to my chest, she drew a nipple into her mouth and suckled, her tongue swirling around the tiny, incredibly sensitive bud. She purred with pleasure as she nursed from me. I felt like the most sinful girl in the world as I arched my back, thrusting my chest into her face.

Her finger was pleasuring me with slow caresses. At another time, I would have been embarrassed at the distinctively wet sounds it made. But the squishing only raised my hunger to new heights. My magic spring was overflowing.

Her voice was in my ear. “Let it go, Sissy… let it go! Let me take you somewhere only women can go.”

I was shivering, shaking, shuddering — my senses seem to have been invaded by some alien force. My head was thrashing from side to side. I wanted this to stop. I longed for it to go on forever. It was too much to accept, too powerful for any human to cope with.

Suddenly I was crying. Not sobbing tears of sorrow or hurt or anger or frustration, but weeping with joy and the sense of fulfillment that only a woman can give  to another. It would be years before I knew the word orgasm, years before I was challenged by a male who, to boost his ego, aggressively wanted to know if I’d “come.”

But what did it matter? Here in the secret place, with my soulmate sister, she’d taught me what satisfaction meant. I’d shared my satisfaction with her. We didn’t need any other word for it.

In later years, women who spoke to me of coming, or getting off, of orgasms and climaxes, would scoff at the simple childish word which my sister and I used to describe our sexual and emotional gratification. But it suited us — and it seemed appropriate for our relationship, which we thought was unique.

Continue on to Chapter 5

By GrandMoff

{ This story was originally posted at the now-defunct Sisters in Love }

My name is Bara Kokovinis. I live in a little town called Rich Bar, in northern California. I’m American, with heritage that is mostly Japanese (my mom’s side) and Greek (my dad’s side.) I’m slim and petite, with long black hair which I usually wear up and light brown eyes. I’ll be seventeen in October.

Drawing and painting have been my favorite activities since I was seven or eight years old. Art requires concentration and solitude. I spent a lot of time alone — pencil, brush, or pen in hand. Some people called me strange, but it was how I had to work.

By the time I was thirteen, I drew people — women, men, girls, boys — more than anything else. But I noticed that my art wasn’t improving, and I grew frustrated. I wanted to be much better than I was.

I was sixteen when I decided I had to have a model. It was a dilemma. I didn’t have enough money to pay for one. I didn’t dare ask one of my few friends to do it.

My art teacher, Ms. Wallace, noticed my despondent attitude. At first I didn’t tell her what was wrong, but she insisted. She promised that she would keep it to herself, so I leveled with her. That turned out to be a great move, because she had a great solution. She said she had a few friends who modeled and would be happy to pose for me free of charge, though only for an hour or two per week.

“Oh, Ms. Wallace, thank you so much!” I told her.

“You’re welcome, but there still may be a problem. I met these friends in college, and they live in Chico.”

“But I… I can’t get to Chico,” I said quietly.

“Sure you can; I’ll take you,” Ms. Wallace said cheerfully. “If your parents will let you go, of course.”

“Oh, I couldn’t accept–”

“Please, come with me. I want to see your art improve and I want to help you.” She lowered her voice. “Don’t tell anyone. I know I shouldn’t have a favorite, but I do. You’re it.”

“Ms. Wallace, thank you. I mean it, thank you.”

*****

Saturday morning saw me in the passenger seat of Ms. Wallace’s sturdy F-150. I was grinning, and she caught me off-guard with her sudden statement. “You look happier than I’ve ever seen you,” she said.

“I am happy, Ms. Wallace, very happy!”

“Call me Korrina, okay?”

“Korrina? Your first name’s Roberta, isn’t it?” I asked.

“Yeah, and I don’t like it. Korrina’s my middle name, and it’s much better.”

“You said you’ve gotten a friend to agree to model for me? Who is she, Korrina? What’s she like?”

“Her name’s Rose–”

I giggled.

“What?” my teacher asked.

“It’s a coincidence. My name is the Japanese word for Rose.”

“That’s a coincidence, all right. Bara means Rose? Cool, I didn’t know that.”

“Sorry I interrupted,” I said. “Tell me about her.”

“Let’s see… she’s my age, 28. She’s over 5’7″ tall, and thin enough to make me envious. She’s an artist herself; quiet, but with an easy smile. I think she’ll like you a lot.”

“She doesn’t mind posing for someone as young as I am?”

“Not at all. She was in your position once.”

*****

Ms. Wallace took me to Chico every two weeks. It was great. She had three friends who took turns modeling for me: Rose, Sandra, and Aevry. I liked all of them. They and Ms. Wallace were fun to be with and they loved treating me to cake or pie and tea. My art improved, and so did my self-confidence. I was a bit embarrassed at the beginning, drawing a girl who was standing before me without a stitch of clothing — which is kind of backwards, I suppose! — but they quickly put me at ease.

*****

My sister Ame lived in an apartment in Paradise, but returned to my parents’ house nearly every weekend. She’s twenty, and a very private person, so I was surprised when I was drawing in my room one Saturday and heard her knock. I let her in and she sat across my table, in a comfortable old oak chair. She was in the mood to talk.

“Wow, that’s nice,” she praised, referring to the drawing I was making, a picture of a smiling young woman holding an umbrella.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Much better than a year ago.”

“Thanks,” I said again.

“What have you done to improve so much, Bara?” she asked casually.

“Just working harder, I guess.”

“Really?”

“Ame,” I said, looking her in the eyes, “I’m losing my concentration. Could you please talk about something else?”

“I’m sorry. Something else, then. Mom tells me you’re gone every other Saturday for several hours. Where are you going?”

“Just… out with friends,” I answered as calmly as I could.

“A guy, maybe?”

“No,” I laughed, “not a guy. I just go out — you know — talk, have pie, drink tea, that kind of thing.”

“Well, good for you,” Ame said. “You’ve changed, for the better. You’re happier and more assertive.”

“Am I?”

“Sure you are.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“I’ll have to meet your friends some time.”

I was tired of playing defense. “I’d like to meet some of yours too,” I said. “When are you going to let me come visit you at your apartment?”

“Suppertime, girls!” our dad called from downstairs.

*****

The school year was nearly over, so I asked Ms. Wallace if our next trip to Chico would be the last.

“No way!” she said. “I’m too selfish; I like being with you too much to stop our expeditions. And so do Aevry, Rose, and Sandra.”

I blushed. “Thank you. I love being with all of you.”

So our visits to the city continued through the summer. My art looked nothing like it had a year ago. I grew closer to Korrina, Rose, and the others. Sometimes we’d go shopping or swimming, or to the tennis courts after the modeling sessions. I was having the time of my life.

But nothing goes smoothly forever.

It was a Saturday morning in late July. I was riding with my eyes closed, enjoying the smell of the trees and the feel of the wind. Then I felt Korrina take a turn we hadn’t taken before. “What’s up?” I asked.

“Time for a little bad news,” my teacher said with a sigh. “Aevry called me yesterday. Her brother-in-law was killed in a car accident and she’s going to the funeral today.”

“That’s terrible,” I said.

“Oh, not really — Aevry and I hated him. She’s just going to support her sister. The guy cheated on her all the time, but she loved him.”

I didn’t know what to say. “Oh,” I muttered.

“But don’t worry about it, Bara,” Ms. Wallace said quickly. “I’m sorry; I wasn’t trying to bring you down. Anyway, none of that is the real point.”

“It’s not?” I was a little confused.

“There’s good news too, and that’s the point. Aevry called a friend of hers who agreed to model in her place. That’s why we turned early.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I don’t know her very well, but she’s beautiful and seems really nice. She’ll be a great model, I think.”

“How’s Aevry’s sister?” I asked.

“Not so good. We think she’ll get over it, though.”

“Does she have any children?”

“No — he wasn’t able to — well, let’s leave it at ‘No.’ It’s probably a good thing that they didn’t have kids; it would be hard on them. She’s said before that she wants children, but — damn! I think I just missed our turn!”

“Oops,” I said. “I’ll be quiet so you can concentrate.”

“Ah!” Korrina said triumphantly. “I didn’t overshoot after all. Here it is.”

In seconds, we were parked in front of a large yellow three-story house. I grabbed my stuff and Korrina led me into the building and up the steps to the top floor. She knocked. I felt a bit nervous, but excited.

A woman opened the door. I nearly dropped my bag.

“Hi,” Ms. Wallace said.

“Ame!” I said.

“Bara!” she said, just as shocked.

“You two know each other?” Ms. Wallace asked.

“Yes, we–”

“Not very well,” I interrupted. “But we get along when we do see each other. Still… are you sure you don’t mind posing for me, Ame? I mean, I’m sure you have other things to do.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” she said, mischief suddenly appearing in her eyes. “Surprised though I am, it’s really good to see you.”

I was suspicious. “It’s nice to see you too,” I answered warily.

“What kind of poses were you looking for?” Ame asked. “I’m new to this; I’m afraid you’ll have to direct me.”

“Should I leave?” Ms. Wallace asked. I’d forgotten she was there!

“No need, please stay,” my sister requested smoothly. “Do what you like — I have movies, books, magazines.”

“I brought my own. Thanks,” Korrina said. She pulled a paperback from her purse and sat on a padded chair near the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room.

This was a strange situation, but I was here to work on my art. “Could you show me around so I can judge the light and the settings?”

“Certainly.”

After the brief tour, I decided that the living room, with its large south-facing windows, would work the best. “Okay, this spot is quite suitable,” I pronounced. “Let’s try a lying pose first; you may want to use a few of those throw pillows for comfort.”

“Good thinking.” Ame collected four of them and set them on the carpet. She paused very briefly. She opened her robe and shrugged it from her shoulders in one smooth motion.

The last time I had seen Ame naked, I’d been five or six years old. She blew away all my other models. Her flawless skin was a shade darker than mine, with no tan lines. Under that perfect skin were strong, firm muscles. Her wavy black hair fell past her shoulders and gleamed with health. She had no body hair, so all her skin could be seen. Her hips weren’t wide or narrow; they were just very nice to look at. And her chest? I’m a little taller than she is, but she’s always had larger breasts. For the first time, I saw how much larger. They were true D-cups or maybe even a tad bigger, and shaped exquisitely. Her areolas and nipples were large and dark brown, very pretty.

Could this goddess possibly be my sister?

I wanted to stare, but this wasn’t the time. Once I had pencil in hand, I could look all I liked. And from all angles. I was going to have fun that day!

But what was I thinking? This was my sister! Gorgeous, but should I look at her as anything other than my sister? Wasn’t it wrong to feel pleasure from looking at her body, no matter how beautiful it was?

On the other hand, she’d offered to be my model. If she had no objection, why should I? I did want to improve. And she was the ideal subject.

I looked at her as objectively as I could. I put guilt out of my mind.

I started sketching.

I had her take six poses in all. I kept drawing.

“Bara, it’s been almost two hours,” Ms. Wallace said suddenly.

I couldn’t believe it, and Ame looked startled by the revelation also. But it was true. I had 21 sketches, all of excellent quality. The time had flown past.

My sister put on her robe. “Let me make you some tea before you go,” she offered.

“Korrina?” I asked.

“Sounds good,” my teacher said.

We talked idly before Korrina and I set off for Rich Bar. Just before we left, Ame let me know that this was anything but over. She said, “We’ll have to talk when I see you next, Bara. I want to know you better than I do.”

I didn’t think it would be long before I saw her again. I was right. Less than an hour after Ms. Wallace had dropped me off at home, I heard the front door open and close. Then she knocked at the door to my room. “Come in, Ame,” I said, sounding as bored as I could.

She entered and shut the door.

“You got so much better. Now I know how,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Uncertainty, I guess. I didn’t know what you’d think. But I know now, don’t I?”

“You have to let me see them!” she said, grinning evilly.

“They aren’t ready; they’re only sketches until I can finish them and turn them into–“

“Come on. I was the model; you owe me.”

“No way. Rose never makes any demands.”

“I’m not Rose.” Ame leaned nearer, her face a few inches from mine. “What’s the harm? Let me see.” She took the sketchbook from my suddenly weak hands.

“Wow! They’re very nice. You’ve made me look so beautiful,” she said, and I could tell she meant it. I blushed, which only embarrassed me more.

“I drew what was there and no more,” I said. “If they’re beautiful, it’s because you are.” She looked happy to hear it, not shocked. I went on. “Aevry is quite good-looking. So are Rose and Sandra. But they don’t compare to you. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I never noticed just how beautiful you are.”

“I’ll model for you again, if you’d like,” Ame offered. She gently took my hand and lifted it, touching each finger in turn. “I never noticed how much skill was in this hand of yours.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t understand why you didn’t want Korrina to know we’re sisters; care to tell me?”

I had to think, unsure of my own motives. “I don’t know. When I saw you, I thought — it seemed smarter to tell her when I was ready. Not right away.”

Ame looked askance at me for a moment. “Tell her when you’re ready, then. In the meantime, give me an answer. Do you want me to model for you again or not?”

“Of course I do.”

*****

Ame picked me up the next Friday and took me to Paradise and posed for me. She had rearranged some of the lights in her apartment, so the lighting was better this time around. She had moved some of the furniture too, I noticed. I drew sketches of her for more than two hours.

When we ended the session, I made tea for us and we started talking. I felt closer to her than I ever had. “I truly appreciate this,” I told her. “I’ll bet it’s hard, stripping for your kid sister.”

We both laughed. “No!” she said. “We are sisters, so I know I’m safe with you. Besides, I’m proud of my body. Showing it to an artist is satisfying.”

“Hm,” I mused, “if I had a body like yours, I’d probably like showing it off too.”

“What was that?” Ame asked slyly.

“I’m just saying it makes sense,” I said, turning red. “You’ve always turned heads. You said you’re proud of your body and you should be.”

“That’s sweet,” she said.

I prepared myself to ask what I’d wondered for a while. I cleared my throat and began. “It’s none of my business, but do you have a boyfriend?”

“What?” Ame’s eyes widened. “No, I don’t. I thought you would’ve talked to Aevry about me…”

“If I have a question about you, it’s you I’m going to ask,” I said. “I hate gossip.”

“Good for you; that’s rare among girls your age.” Ame took a deep breath. “Mom and Dad won’t like it, so please don’t tell them.”

I nodded.

“Aevry used to be my lover.”

I tried not to let my shock show. “Really? I mean, you and Jeremy–”

“I’m sorry to spring it on you, Bara-chan,” Ame said quietly, using the Japanese ending she’d used for me when we were kids. “I shouldn’t have blurted it like that, but I couldn’t think of a better way. Jeremy’s just a good friend; he always has been. I didn’t want to get harassed in high school, so he agreed to fake being a couple with me. There’s no need to pretend anymore. Since he moved to Oregon, we haven’t seen each other in quite a while.”

“Wow,” I breathed. “I mean, I had no idea!”

“Please don’t be mad. I’m the same Ame you’ve always known.”

“I’m not mad at all. But, it’s weird, I mean — I never guessed!”

“I wanted to tell you many times,” my sister said. “I was scared that I’d freak you out.”

“Give me a hug, Ame-chan,” I said.

I hugged her and she lightly held me. I wrapped my arms more tightly around her and she got the hint and hugged me normally, like she always had. “You’ll always be my big sister and I’ll always love you,” I whispered.

“I love you too,” she breathed.

We drew apart. I passed her a box of tissues and she wiped her face.

When she got her composure, she smiled at me. “You’re the best,” she said.

“You aren’t off the hook, you know,” I laughed. “You said Aevry ‘used to be’ your lover. What happened?”

“Seriously?” Ame asked. “We didn’t have enough in common, I guess. She doesn’t mind a mess; she’s kind of lazy; things like that. We just didn’t work out.”

“Are you seeing anyone now?”

“No, and I’m not looking. I’m fine by myself at present. But how about you? Anyone special I should know about?”

“Are you kidding? Not interested! Besides, there’s too much going on in my life.”

Continue on to Part Two

2

Error happened.

By Una

The afterglow of my thrill was still there as I undressed and sponge-washed. Cold water removed tell-tale redness on my cheeks and neck. I slipped on my once beautiful royal blue swimsuit. It was too tight, misshapen. I looked so childish in the mirror. I coveted my sister Ann’s shape. I longed to have her faultless figure, her long legs and quiet confidence about her body.

Thoughts of Ann’s shape inspired a new wave of desire. A mind picture of what I’d seen earlier appeared — Ann, stepping into her swimsuit, straightening slowly to display a dark triangle as she wriggled and tugged the stretch material to her knees.

Did I imagine it, or did she pause in that instant before it moved up her thighs to cover her secret parts? Of course I did. Sometimes my mind runs away — but why, then, did she turn to face me? Why did she flash that special smile as she gripped the swimsuit — her naked form held motionless for that few seconds? Was she flaunting her developed femininity to her skinny sister — or was she flirting?

Of course not! Ann wasn’t like me, wasn’t tortured by temptations of the flesh. Didn’t have silly, silent arguments with herself.

I thought of old Sister Agnes, the Deputy Head nun. She was the perfect counterweight to Ann. It was hard to tell what age she was. She had a moustache and was at least forty. I imagined Sister Agnes, naked, climbing into bed beside me, kissing me with her foul breath. Oh my God! The horror drove all impure thoughts about Ann from my mind.

I felt better. The temptation to give into impure thoughts had gone. My mind turned to a pleasant day on the sunny beach.

I checked my face again for revealing signs of redness. Mother had an unerring way of knowing when I had been bold. I looked fine. I greeted her briefly as I raced through the kitchen. The smouldering lust for Ann had gone. All I wanted now was some cool respite from the summer heat in the rock pool.

She was with another girl when I got there. Mary and I were introduced. The three of us frolicked, splashing and chatting before hunting for sea life at the far end of the rock pool. The tide was coming in. We had to move. Mary checked with her mother, relaxing in the sun some distance up the strand.

We found a suitable spot in the dunes and sprawled on the hot sand, discussing schools, clothes, hairstyles, music and the Beatles. Mary’s mother came up to meet us. Introductions, more chat, then finally, Mary and her mum were heading off to their holiday home a mile along the beach.

Ann and I lay back, lost in our own thoughts. Gentle Irish Sea waves hissed rhythmically on the beach. The rest of the world didn’t seem to exist.

I studied the fine blonde hairs on Ann’s shins. Strange, I hadn’t noticed them before. They were so sparse and white that without wet sand clinging to them they would be invisible. I didn’t mention them. She was easily offended.

I thought of body hair — of the darker hair I’d seen earlier, when Ann pulled on her swimsuit. But I thought of it merely with curiosity. It was as though she was a different creature now: my big sister, my companion for as long as I could remember, how could I ever have thought of her in such sinful terms? I loved her. But it was nicer to love her like this — more as a sister and friend for life than as an occasion of sin.

We talked. I sat up, arms hugging knees. Ann moved behind me. She brushed sand from my shoulders. Oh God, not again! A reflex on my neck made me shiver as her fingers delicately moved under the hairline. Temptation was back with a vengeance, the solitude, the stillness, heat beating down on my body — all were combining to fill my head with the most exquisite, sinful cravings.

Our eyes met for a moment. I knew from that smouldering look that Ann shared my thoughts. But seconds later she was saying we had to get back. We’d no idea of the time and it was near lunch.

We went in the car with Mum and Dad after lunch. Ann and I sat in the back. Our knees touched as we swerved around corners on the winding road. It was stiflingly hot. I felt baked, like a cake in an oven. I was wearing a thin cotton dress, knickers and sandals. Sister Agnes had told us once that heat and immodest summer clothes invited the Devil to visit. I hadn’t understood. Neither had my friends. Now I knew. The warm sun beaming through the car window and my light clothes had me in a strange, excited mood.

I studied the symmetry of the toes peeping from Ann’s flip-flops. She was, I thought, a perfect creature. I wanted to look like her. I crossed my legs. I tried to think of Sister Agnes. But Ann was too close. I could feel her hip against mine.

I asked if she was hot. She waved a hand like a fan and pulled a face to show she was. She was lightly dressed like me. I had a mind-picture of the meeting point between her legs. Under that thigh-length sun dress was a pair of Aertex briefs. In my imagination the cotton clung to the warm dampness between her crossed legs.

I’d been there when she scrambled into her going-out clothes. She’d turned her back modestly as I entered the bedroom. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Now, in the car, my glance kept returning to her chest, a baby-pink nipple visible under the gossamer-thin white fabric. It seemed terribly daring. Mum would scold if she noticed.

I punished myself for having weird thoughts about my sister. Why do I think so differently from other girls? Why don’t I fantasise the way my friends do — about Elvis, or Mick Jagger?

My mind returned to the scene in the bedroom as we prepared to go out with Mum and Dad. I wandered into the room as Ann changed. She had turned her back. Was she sending a message — saying there could be nothing carnal between us — or did she thoughtlessly screen her naked body from my gaze? Was it an instinctive move that would have been the same if Mother had entered instead of me?

We had been sleeping in separate rooms for so long now that it was rare to see Ann dress or undress — and rarer still to see any part of her body unclothed.

The car bumped on. I looked out the window, bored. I had a flashback to our pre-departure preparations. I saw Ann’s womanly hips and buttocks as she stooped to draw those white Aertex pants up from her ankles. I hated Aertex knickers: they were cheap and uncomfortable. It was a myth of my mother’s that they were cooler in hot weather. But on Ann, they looked divine.

I stared at the passing green fields behind — preferring to think of my mother’s sometimes silly notions of what her girls should wear, inside and out, as a way of halting my sinful thoughts.

We stopped, then swerved onto a side road. Ann swayed towards me. Our knees touched. It felt as though a coiled spring had been released somewhere inside me. I had butterflies, unseen shivers along that sensitive part of my back.

I pushed my knee against hers in return. Oh my God. My mouth went dry as she pushed back, deliberately. I stole a glance at her face. She was staring fixedly out the window, as though nothing had happened.

I pushed my knee on hers again. As we rounded another corner, I drew it high along her leg before our knees parted, dragging the hem of her short sundress up to her groin.

She didn’t respond. I thought about Sister Agnes, wondering why she was always cross. She had puffy hands. I’d felt them once, when she’d grabbed my bare arm to warn me for running on the stairs. Funny, how I’d never forgotten that clammy grip.

Ann was asking if we could stop somewhere. She was dying to pee. Father said we were near the hotel, she could wait till then. Mother said no. “Stop somewhere quiet, Jim, and she can go behind a hedge.”

We both climbed over a five-bar gate into a pasture field. Ann had her dress up and pants down before I’d scrambled to join her. I took up position like a sentry, peering this way and that along the deserted road in case of interruption. Even squatting in an undignified pose, Ann looked strangely attractive.

The sight of her exposed, rounded hip made me think there was something special about the shared intimacy between sisters. We’d bathed together for years as children. I knew her body as well as my own then. But now there were different rules. We had to behave modestly in private moments, according to the nuns, my mother and everyone else in the world. We were forbidden the closeness we had as children.

Relieving our bladders together was something we’d done since we were toddlers. But this seemed different. There was an air of expectation in the air as Ann stood, fumbled her clothes into place and gave me another of her enigmatic smiles. Her glance around emphasised that some bond between us had been renewed that day.

She seemed to be checking that her moment of necessity — this moment of private business for both of us — had not been observed by anyone else. But really, her gestures and shy smiles said this was more. This was a conspiracy between sisters.

I was crouching now, following Ann’s example. She picked some wildflowers from the grassy bank as I stood and fixed my clothes. We turned to go. Suddenly, she swept her dress above her hips as if she was alone, and tugged at her pants, making them more comfortable.

A tidal wave of desire washed over me. In the blink of an eye, I’d seen the outline of her sex. The forbidden cleft, that wonderful secret crevice, that opening to her inner self had been profiled on her damp knickers in the instant before she had pulled them clear. Her dress fell as quickly as it had risen.

Breathlessly, I settled back into the car. Had Ann done that deliberately? Had she contrived that gesture, or was my imagination running going wild again?

I tried to think of Sister Agnes and her horrible features. But the picture wouldn’t appear. All I could see in my mind were disjointed images of Ann, secret images that no one else had ever seen.

That full-fronted nakedness as she put on her swimsuit this morning; the teasing glimpse of her unclothed rear as she dressed for our car journey; the pink shape of a nipple under her white sundress, the tantalising view of those peach segments between her legs after we peed — all were overwhelming me.

I bumped my knee against Ann’s, no longer concerned that, as the younger sister, my role should be passive. My forehead was moist and sticky, but it was as nothing compared with the heat and damp elsewhere. I uncrossed my legs and parted them, placing one foot on the seat ahead — feeling air from the open car window rush to cool my ardour. I nudged Ann again with my knee, frantically this time. I wanted a sign that she shared my feelings.

But she didn’t return the gesture. The bitch. I was in a high state of excitement, and she was playing with me, pretending she hadn’t noticed. All my life she had been doing that — teasing, taking toys from me, excluding me when she had friends with her.

I clenched my teeth and stared out the window. I wanted to do something awful to her. I thought of some mad ideas. I’d steal her boyfriend. I’d seduce him. But she didn’t have a boyfriend, and I couldn’t seduce anyone anyhow. I’d only just learned from Margaret how to French kiss.

I decided that I would have an affair with Sister Agnes. That would really embarrass Ann with her friends. They’d say they saw Agnes holding my hand behind the refectory, kissing. Oh my God. I shuddered at the thought of touching my lips the the nun’s wrinkled, moustached mouth. Besides, Ann and her friends would laugh at me, not at her.

We arrived at the hotel. Ann had to go to the loo again. She invited me. I sulked. When she came back, I went alone. I sat quietly during our meal. Mother wanted to know what was wrong. So did Ann. I stayed silent, merely shrugging.

Back at our holiday home, after a couple of hours sulking and listening to the radio, I went to bed. At least Charlie was nice to me. I climbed into bed naked except for a t-shirt. I hugged Charlie chastely. I was still so angry with Ann that I couldn’t even seek comfort in my ragged panda.

I must have fallen asleep. I woke to hear Ann moving quietly about the darkened room. I could see her silhouette as she undressed. She pulled back the covers and climbed into bed without a nightie. I wondered if she had kept her knickers on, or if she was naked.

Oh God, those old thoughts were back again. I fell asleep, exhausted. It must have been midnight when I heard Ann whisper. She was kneeling beside my bed. She wanted to know if I’d been able to get to sleep.

I wasn’t sure, I said. I knew what was next. She agreed it was cold when I pointed out she had no nightie on. I threw aside the bedclothes and she squeezed in. We cuddled as though this was an every-night occurrence.

Her arms were around my waist, drawing me towards her. I was clinging to her neck. Her bare breasts were pressing my chest through the t-shirt.

She regretted offending me today. I said I was sorry. Over and over I told her how bad I felt about sulking. I punctuated my apologies by squeezing close, pushing my knee into the soft damp softness of her knickers.

We were whispering so low that we had to put lips to each other’s ears. Her tongue touched my earlobe, so softly at first that it seemed an illusion. My shoulders rose in a squirm and uncontrollable desire welled up like a magic spring in a steaming, volcanic valley. Her tongue withdrew, leaving its wetness behind.

I pushed my head against her mouth — and was thrilled as the tip of her tongue flicked across the nub of flesh below my ear. I tightened my arms around her neck. She drew my waist to hers, flattening her tummy against my hip, moving subtly as if we were dancing a slow rumba. Oh my God. If this ends now it will have been the most memorable, the most thrilling night of my life.

But it wasn’t going to end. It seemed like hours since Ann first climbed into bed, but it was probably merely minutes since she had licked my earlobe. We hugged, tighter and tighter, wriggling into various positions for mutual pleasure.

Ann had sucked my lobe into her mouth, tonguing it, spreading tingling rivulets of sinful desire to every part of me. I wanted more. My instinct drove me on. I turned my face towards hers. Our mouths met like two magnets. Her tongue was inside me, penetrating, probing, fencing with mine. All that Margaret had taught me about French kissing was there, and more.

I was lost in a misty world of passion now. I wanted to do everything, to feel everything. We tossed, we turned, we squirmed, we wriggled. Each move seemed to inspire in my sister to some greater passion, as it did me.

She rolled on top. My bare mound was pressing on the peach-shaped prominence inside her knickers. Our pleasure centres rubbed — like Eskimos rubbing noses, I thought.

Ann’s grinding had parted my secret lips, revealing the wetness there, tugging some inner part, sending wave after wave of lust crashing over me. My God, how could anything be so intense? I was intoxicated, uncaring about the time or the place — all I wanted was this joy with Ann to last forever and ever.

My hand was on her breast. I kneaded its balloon-like softness with a feather touch. The nipple was firm, as solidly stiff as the rubber on the end of our school pencils. My curious thumb explored its shape, Ann sighed — then sighed again.

Her palms were pressing on my ears. She was kissing my lips sweetly, pushed my head lower, leaning away, her breasts thrust forward. She whispered. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” then she steered my head lower, until it rested in the folds of her small but beautiful cleavage.

I didn’t answer. I was too far gone. I couldn’t speak. But I knew what she wanted. I turned my mouth, lightly kissing her soft skin. She lifted one breast and guided the nipple to my mouth.

I devoured it like a lost soul finding water in a desert. The surge of heat and pleasure which convulsed me as I sucked part of my sister’s body into mine was indescribable. We were flying in the face of every taboo that had ever existed. But here, in this dark room in an unfamiliar room in the middle of the night, it felt sublime.

Wave after wave of pleasure kept crashing over me. Ann sighed and gasped as we drifted, apart yet together, towards our forbidden gratification.

For a moment, I was forced to pause. I had reached the cliff-edge where I often wandered with Charlie. When his knee was between my thighs, then I whirled into a wonderful parallel world, like Dorothy being whirled away from the Yellow Brick Road, over the rainbow.

The bubbling cauldron down below told me I could fly off the cliff at any minute, falling into a warm sea of satisfaction. But I didn’t want any pleasure of mine to interfere with Ann’s thrilling journey. I pulled my mouth from her breast and moved away, breathing deeply to regain control.

Her head was on my chest at once, lips seeking my nipple. Her mouth had latched onto me with a suddenness that made me jump. Her sucking was intense, manic. Her lips tightened on the tingling nub, drawing it deep. She was love-biting my nipple. Oh God. What more can there be?

I held her head, attempting to control her frantic desire. She licked, she sucked, she coated all of my budding growth in delicious, slippery saliva. My little nipple seemed huge as she flicked it inside her mouth. Oh God. I can’t hold back. Charlie never felt like this.

Ann’s hand was on my mouth, covering it, whispering. Shush, shush. I wasn’t aware that I was making any sound. I had left the world and was spinning in space. I dragged Ann’s head away from my breast and whispered, “I love you. I really love you, for always.”

Her hand was between my legs, like a magic wand about to wave me into an enchanted, fairy world. My thighs opened instinctively. My body was ready, I needed a finale, needed to have my sister’s fingers consummate our love.

She parted my hidden crevice so deftly, so expertly, that I knew she’d done it before. A finger slithered along my wetness. It investigated the bumps and bits which I’d only ever seen in a hand-mirror in the bath.

It drifted upwards, rolling back the squishy flesh covering the tiny, swollen, purple triangle which epitomised my desire. I heaved and wriggled. The sensation of bliss was so intense that it was almost painful.

I gasped loudly, so loud that even I was aware of it. But I didn’t care who heard. No one could ever take the memory of this pleasure away. I was hooked on love, a special love, secret sisterly love.

I snuggled against Ann. Resting my head on her shoulder, I cried. I don’t know why I cried. I’d never been so happy in my life.

Continue on to Chapter 4

By Mr. Toasty

{ This story was originally posted at the now-defunct Sisters in Love }

Are you ever under the impression that you’re always the last one to know? I was definitely one of those people. No matter what was going on, be it of global significance or private matters in my own house, I usually didn’t hear about it until the very end, when the next flavor of the month is rearing its myriad of heads. Obviously this wasn’t true all the time. I heard about a few things right before everyone started chatting about them, and sometimes I even got to play the part of the informant or the educator, and would be the one to fan the flames and start the gossip. But more often than not, I felt tragically left out of the loop. The greatest example so far was the time when I discovered my cousin and my aunt on Mom’s side were coming over to visit — about three hours before they arrived.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Mom said, looking at me with innocent confusion. “I thought I told you. Salome and Sabine are coming here today. I could’ve sworn I told you!”

“No, Mom, this is the first I’ve heard of it.” She made a face that indicated she had genuinely believed I knew, and was puzzled to discover something to the contrary.

See what I mean? The worst part is that I discovered this bit of information by accident: I heard Mom on the phone talking to her sister, arranging a meeting. Now, normally this wouldn’t be a big deal, and far be it from me to discourage family members from getting together every once in awhile. But Aunt Salome and her daughter Sabine lived in another state, and the infrequency of our encounters — the last time I saw them was when I was still in middle school — gave me good reason to feel surprised, if not offended that Mom should neglect to reveal all this. They were coming over now?

“I really thought I told you,” she said — gently but firmly, if that makes sense. “Well, all the same, could you get the house ready, please?”

“I—I guess.” I’ve got nothing against doing chores — my poor silly mother needs all the help she can get! I just wished I’d had more time to prepare.

Since, after our striking conversation, I immediately set to work ‘doing’ the house (and I have no doubt you’d rather not know all the mundane details), this might be a good time for me to go over my relationship with Aunt Salome and Sabine. Don’t get me wrong: I was thrilled they were coming over, and in spite of the shock, I was clearly excited.

Sabine had been my best friend during the years we spent growing up, and I might even (might being the key word here) have had an innocent little crush on her. She was about three years older than me, and from what I remember and from what the occasional photograph could tell, she was a very pretty young lady — a beauty with sincerity, the kind of person that can be naturally attractive all the way through. She was intelligent and kind and she treated me like an equal… and how could anybody not think a name like that was cool?

Aunt Salome — I also loved her name — had been forced to move away due to a job transfer, and Mom had fought it all the way. She just couldn’t be separated from her little sister, but who could really blame her? Aunt Salome was as pretty and honest as her daughter, and she never spoke down to me or called me a child. She was a wee bit eccentric (aren’t we all?), and she had that same lovable scatterbrained look my mom sometimes sports, but she was cool and generous and charitable and wise.

She and Mom were best friends; it only seemed fitting that their daughters be so close. My only regret is that I never heard a mention of Aunt Salome’s husband (my own father passed on some time ago). I asked, of course, but she usually pretended she didn’t hear me, or changed the subject. I have the feeling that Sabine came into this world under disreputable circumstances, but I just figured it really was none of my business.

Words are slow. My thoughts rolled through my head at a breakneck pace; I was already planning on how I’d spend these precious days with my family, vacuuming the floors in the process. I definitely wanted to hang out with both of them, but I figured Mom would rather spend time with her sister, which was cool. I’m an only child, so I wouldn’t know what having a sister is like: Sabine’s the closest I’ll ever have. We wrote each other constantly (about once a week at first, then once a month), and when our houses caught the Internet bug, we emailed each other all the time. Sabine and I grew up together even though we were separated by miles and miles; I read (and sometimes watched) as she turned into a beautiful young woman. We rarely fought and  were always able to keep things fresh and interesting. It would be a strange experience to actually speak to her in person again, but as I said, I looked forward to it like Christmas and birthday and summer vacation all at once.

When I reached the kitchen, confident that my slipshod plans would be approved by my arriving cousin, I started cleaning the refrigerator and noticed, to my great dismay, that we didn’t have enough food for the four of us, not even if Sabine and Aunt Salome stayed for a day. I figured Mom would handle the groceries, but I asked her just to be sure.

“Hey, Mom, we don’t have enough to eat. You getting groceries?” She came into the kitchen drying her hands and gave me a glowing smile.

“Actually, I was hoping that you and Sabine could handle that.”

“Uh, sure, but you know I don’t have any money.” Not for lack of trying, I promise you: most of it was spent for college-related purposes. I would be a freshman that fall, so every dollar seemed to slip right out of my fingers. I knew Mom had the money, but I didn’t dare ask her.

“Don’t worry,” she replied, smiling enigmatically, a sure signal that she was about to show her generosity. “I’ve already made a list, but feel free to get anything else you think you’ll need. I want them to have at least one home-cooked meal while they’re here.”

“Yeah.” I was the chef of the family, so it would be my responsibility to feed these girls. I suddenly realized I had no idea what Aunt Salome liked, and made sure to ask Mom before I took another breath. She told me that Salome was no longer a vegan, but I should watch the meat and cheese in case she suddenly changed her mind. I personally have no objection to eating meat, and I knew Sabine shared my enthusiasm, despite the torturous diet her mother pushed on her. I suppose being that finicky paid off, since they were both stunning, healthy, glowing women, the kind poets write about. But that doesn’t mean I’m not attractive! I just can’t survive for long without bacon and burgers, that’s all.

I was right in the middle of dusting the den when the doorbell rang, so I was the first to welcome my relatives into the house. I saw Aunt Salome first; she squealed like a kid and picked me into her arms, spinning around until we were both nearly dizzy. I coughed as she let me go and said, “It’s good to see you too, Aunt Salome, but please don’t ever do that again!”

We hugged properly and she kissed my cheek; I felt at ease now that she was being her reliably warm self again. But what can I say about Sabine that I haven’t already said? I felt like I wanted to kiss her — a real kiss, mind you, not the chaste peck of a cousin. I wanted to hold her and not let go, I wanted to undress her and feel her cool naked skin against my own, I wanted to fuck her and fall in love with her. I have no idea why I was thinking these outrageous thoughts, but I didn’t do anything to push them away. I kept them safely hidden, like treasures for me to pull out and cherish.

Our lips nearly touched as I kissed her cheek. Her face glowed with love; she was just as happy to see me as I was to see her.

“You cut your hair,” she said.

I laughed. “Is that all you can say after all this time?”

“And you got your ears pierced.”

“Ah, brilliant observation. What else has changed about me?” My eyes sparkled with hope and wonder; I didn’t think she could guess this one. You see, Mom got a tattoo for me when I turned eighteen and I never told Sabine. This wasn’t a surprise I was storing up for a special occasion, I just kept forgetting about it. She put her finger to her cheek, furrowing her brow in concentration. Finally she shrugged. “Okay, okay, I give.”

I showed her my prize and she squealed. I’ve heard tell that only a slut get a butterfly tattoo on the small of their back, but I think that’s just nonsense. Some of the chastest people I know have sexy tattoos. “Now I wish I had one,” she sighed, then inevitably directed her attention to her mother, who was chattering nonsensically with her sister. “Mom, can I get a tattoo? Something with skulls and flames and knives?”

“We’ll see,” she stated, before resuming her babbling conversation.

“Can we at least have some money to buy groceries?” I said. I love my mother, but she has a fairly short attention span, and she needs to be reminded of things. My eyes bulged out as she laid two fifty-dollar bills in my palms, and my heart jumped when she said Sabine and I could keep the change.

I really can’t tell you what happened after that because my head was off in the clouds and it didn’t come back until Sabine and I drove out of the garage and onto the street.

*****

“Pretty,” she said, her eyes squinting from her broad smile. I blushed and tried not to lag behind as the light turned green again.

When I reached the parking lot, I wanted to play the chivalrous cousin and open her door for her, but she got it herself. That independence comes from Grandpa’s side and it is something I was blessed with as well. (Grandma gave us our endearing ditziness and natural beauty.) I also had Grandpa’s bravery and boldness, and reached to take Sabine’s hand as we walked up to the store. I’m a little shorter than she is, because of our age difference, so I could literally and figuratively look up to her and smile; she smiled back and even winked.

“So are we going to talk at all? We haven’t seen each other in five years.”

“I know. But you know how there are some moments that are so beautiful and pure, you don’t want to ruin them. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“No, I think it was just what we needed. But now that we’re talking again, does this mean you’re no longer happy?”

She smiled playfully and winked again. “I’m definitely happy, but it’s different. There’s happy and there’s happy, you know. One is more fleeting than the other, and because it’s so brief, we can’t afford to be distracted by anything else when it comes. It’s overwhelming; too much of it would hurt us. But there’s also the ordinary kind of happiness we see all the time.”

“And that’s where we are now,” I concluded. She nodded, and we walked into the store, our hands now freed. Holding her hand, being in such close intimate contact with her, had been one kind of happiness, but hanging out with her in the store was the other kind. The difference was delicate but clear; I felt my heart soaring out of love for Sabine and her wisdom. That she chose to spend her time with me was even more amazing.

“So what do we get first?” she wondered, peering over my shoulder at the list Mom gave me.

I scanned down the paper and pursed my lips anxiously: there was a lot there! It would be impossible for me to do this by myself, so I asked Sabine to take a cart and half the list with her so we could finish this quickly.

“No, I want to do it with you!” she protested, caressing my arm. “You were the one who said we should talk more. Let’s do this together. Our moms can wait.”

“I guess we could,” I answered, “but you have to help me. Let’s go get everything in aisle one first.”

Sabine had not been to that grocery store in years, so I had to step up and show her where everything was. This is another long stretch of time where not too much happened, except that we did talk and catch up on things, we spent good times together and had a lot of fun and became even closer. We loaded the groceries until the cart nearly overflowed, and worked as a team to bag them all. We stuffed everything in the car and put the cart away, then looked at all our change. Sabine and I both made a face as we realized just how little we had left.

“And here I thought Mom was trying to be generous,” I grumbled. It was mostly pocket change and singles; we split it between the two of us and headed back. I prayed quite hard that all the trouble I went through cleaning the house was not in vain: Mom could get pretty messy when she was excited.

Home, I quickly came to the rescue and started cooking for my hungry troops. Mom and Aunt Salome had actually started prepping the kitchen, but were too busy interacting to get much done. I had no choice but to forgive them: Sabine and I would’ve done exactly the same thing. As punishment, they volunteered to wash the dishes while she and I were let free to do as we pleased, but that was little comfort while I was in the trenches. Sabine took care of the simple things I was too busy to handle, like organizing the groceries, finishing what our mothers started, and retrieving whatever I needed, while Mom and Aunt Salome set the table. We went through a lot of trouble, but really bonded as a family, cheesy though that may sound.

“So what colleges have you applied to?” my cousin asked me. She helped put everything on the table and served everyone, while I was given a chance to sit down and rest my feet. I couldn’t complain since Mom works hard to support the two of us, and she said I needed the experience, whatever that meant. I could already take care of myself very well and had even played the role of caretaker for my dear mother. Moving out wouldn’t be difficult; I just wasn’t really ready yet.

But I digress. I answered Sabine and she replied with that prizewinning smile of hers. “Why not move in with me? My last roommate bailed out on me and I can’t cover the rent anymore. I’ve had to live with Mom for a few months and — no offense, Mom — it’s really driving me crazy!”

I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Her offer sent me soaring, and I barely managed to nod my head, the idea enraptured me so. I didn’t hear Aunt Salome’s tart response (something about “How could I drive you crazy?”), I was thinking how wonderful it would be to live with Sabine. I knew for a fact that Mom wouldn’t mind; it seemed only a matter of time now.

“You two can worry about that later,” Salome said to us in her peaceful, sweet matronly voice. “We haven’t eaten at the same table together in years. Rikki, tell me: have you finally decided to start dating?”

Whoops, I almost forgot to introduce my side of the family! I was so obsessed with Sabine that I forgot to make introductions! My mother’s name is Rochelle, but her sister always called her Rikki, and my own name is Cory, which is short for Corrina. I was thankful every day that no one in our family had very common names; it definitely made life nicer.

“And who says I’m not dating now?” Mom answered vaguely, wiping her mouth.

Salome snorted. “You do, in all the emails you send me. It’s nothing to be shy about, Rikki. A beautiful woman your age needs to go out and socialize.”

“Yes, but where would I find anybody who’s interested — or interesting, for that matter? I’m a single mother, remember?”

“Cory’s going off to college soon,” Salome pointed out. “If that’s all that’s holding you back, you can start once she and Sabine move in together. You two were serious about that, right?”

“Definitely,” I said, as Sabine replied, “Yes, indeed.”

“All right, there you go,” she gestured.

Mom wasn’t the type of person to let things go like that, so she turned the question right back at her little sister. “What about you, Sal? You haven’t been with anyone since high school. Don’t tell me you’ve given up.”

“I haven’t,” she insisted, sipping her drink gracefully. “I just don’t make it common knowledge. You obviously don’t know your little sister very well, Rikki. I’ve had plenty of — opportunities.”

“But no big prospects?”

“Plenty of those, too,” she answered clearly, looking her sister right in the eye.

Things had become very serious and intimate all of a sudden, and I felt I was imposing on a very personal conversation. I wanted to leave, but Sabine was still eating and had tuned out the conversation. I resolved to excuse myself and touched Sabine’s shoulder, indicating it was time for us to go. She understood and finished her meal, and our mothers said they would clean up as promised, but not yet. We left them to finish their conversation and made our way upstairs, where my sanctuary awaited.

I shivered once we reached my room. “That was weird,” I whispered.

“Yeah.” We grinned and the tension was forgotten. “But now that we’re thinking about it, what sorts of romantic prospects have you been through?”

“None,” I answered with a shameful grin. “I’ve been way too busy. I spent all of high school with the soccer team. You?”

“I don’t date,” she said, shaking that luxurious russet mane of hers. “It’s not even a question of time for me; I’m just not — well, not interested in the prospects. I don’t know. I guess I’m waiting for that special someone to sweep me off my feet. I just don’t feel inspired with anybody in the local area.”

“So what do you spend your time doing?”

My beautiful Sabine couldn’t restrain her embarrassed smile as her cheeks flushed scarlet. “Watching cartoons and playing video games. My spare time, of course.”

“You don’t exercise?”

“Mm, about once or twice a week at home. I can’t afford the local gym. I guess that’s why you’re in better shape than I am.”

“But you grew up with a vegan mother. My mom’s not like that at all.”

“But dinner was very nice.”

I smiled gently and thanked her. The peaceful silence returned and I felt this was becoming one of those especially happy moments Sabine had described to me earlier. Not wanting to ruin it, I shuffled over to my bed and motioned for her to join me. As she laid down, it felt like a summer afternoon in my room all of a sudden: the warmth of her body, the thrill in my own heart, her fierce, pleasant scent drifting across the room, her gentle touch as she rested her head on my shoulder, the smile that was just for me—

“I love you.” I couldn’t keep it in; I had to say it. Have you ever felt like your own inner dam won’t be able to hold something in anymore? That if you keep it locked in, you’ll just burst? I was overflowing with love for my precious Sabine and couldn’t bear for it to be a secret anymore. I had typed it a thousand times in our corresponding letters and emails, of course, but I’d never actually said it.

I put my moist lips to hers and inhaled quietly; summertime was never better.

I lingered, my mouth still, greedy for Sabine’s taste and the invisible aura of love glowing from her. She moved her head imperceptibly and I felt a soft tenderness touch me, my heart skipping a beat as I realized that my innermost desire had been fulfilled.

I pulled away before anything further could develop and studied her face, wondering just what she was thinking. That had certainly felt like a harmless kiss from her end, but I know I erupted inside when I tasted Sabine’s lips. I’d never kissed anyone like that before, not as a polite gesture or an intimate action, not even my own mother, so of course it was a wonderful sensation. I had prayed — hopelessly at times — that my first kiss would be with someone I loved, so lo and behold! But did she kiss me out of a reflexive action, or a friendly motion, or was it the act of a woman in love?

We grinned at each other as we realized what happened. The happiness between us was so pure and beatific that I feared anything else we did would destroy it. We didn’t even breathe. I kissed her again, pressing my lips upon hers, reaching the impossible treasure I’d wanted ever since we were reunited — and this time, there was no holding back. Sabine drew me into a loving embrace, and I could feel a gust of air push through her nose as she sighed for joy. Her fingers went for my short dark hair again — how enraptured she was by this mane of mine! — and our lips parted, closed, and opened again as we gasped breathlessly.

I felt Sabine’s soft warm moist tongue slide through my lips as I let my defenses slip, and my senses went into overload. The sensation of another woman’s tongue — my own cousin’s tongue inside my mouth, caressing and massaging with the most tender love and desire — it’s something one has to experience for herself. It was beautiful and sweet and erotic and even naughty, all at once. I knew my Sabine loved me, but I had no idea she was that interested. It made a lot of sense, though, to overflow with so many feelings like that, pouring them out for the one you love the most. I loved Sabine more than anyone else in the world, even more than my own mother; I was soon expressing this as only a headstrong young woman intoxicated with lust can.

We were forced to stop, however, to catch our breath. As I’ve said, words are slow; Sabine and I must’ve been French kissing for about ten minutes, maybe less. The time she spent with her head on my shoulder, just absorbing the peace in my room, had gone on even longer. But it felt like years since we came down from our clouds and realized we were two cousins in a room together and not goddesses in the Elysian Fields.

I didn’t want to break the moment with my clumsy words, but I really felt it was necessary. “Umm—wow! That came out of nowhere.”

“Are you sure?” Her wisdom and intimate understanding sliced through my innocence. I knew I was in love with Sabine now. I had been in love with her long before today. In that sense, my affection for her didn’t “come out of nowhere,” it had been inside me since we were children.

“I didn’t know you felt that way about me,” I answered. I swallowed down my nervousness and bared my soul. “I’ve always been in love with you, Sabine. I didn’t think you—” Her eyes glowed with very quiet love; it was tender and patient and it made me feel like a whole person. I know that nothing I’m saying makes any sense, but that’s how I felt. She didn’t even have to tell me she was in love for me to know; I just knew. I chuckled and caressed her pretty face. “I’m always the last one to figure these things out.”

Our kisses inflamed us, our passions took over, throwing away all reason and logic. This was no longer another woman, or my cousin, or even my best friend — this was Sabine, my lover, exposed for what she was, every last honest inch of her.

I undressed her with careful consideration. I exposed her skin, that sensual field of pale pink. Her breasts were revealed before my startled eyes, two cute nipples pointing towards the sky. Pervert that I was, I inhaled the rich scent of her panties as I liberated her from the last formality, and sniffed the air wafting from her maidenhood, intoxicating myself. Sabine had a timid look on her face, but her shining eyes told me she was loving this.

She undressed me, but her lips roamed everywhere. I had merely touched my love, and memorized her scent. My skin is more tanned than hers, thanks to years of playing and working outdoors, and even I have to admit that the enticing layers of plump sensuality coating her muscles were more prominent than my own. Not that Sabine is at all fat, she just has a very shapely body that I adore. I could feel her enviously worshiping my muscles and my taut limbs. She put all my toes in her mouth, nibbling playfully, and in turn I sucked at her fingers. I had no firm idea what sex or lovemaking was supposed to be like. I just did what came naturally, and although it may sound strange or even perverse, it felt very natural making love to my darling Sabine.

“Oh, Cory!” she wailed, sliding up my body. Our breasts came into contact and I squealed as the delicious friction of it stabbed through my core. I squeaked as I felt her body descend upon mine — our sexes were nearly touching now — and we kissed and held each other for what seemed like eons on end.

When we stopped to catch our breath and cool off, I flipped her so I was on top again and thrust my tongue into her beautiful mouth. If this were any other woman, I don’t think I could’ve gone through with it. There was no way I could possibly love anyone more than Sabine. I called her name out again and again and trailed my tongue down her body, over her gorgeous breasts, dipping it into her belly button until at last I came to the end of my journey. There would be plenty of time for me to lavish attention on her magnificent legs, but I wanted to taste my Sabine’s sacred area.

“Pretty,” I purred, echoing her earlier flattery as I caressed her pubic hair. She had a sexy womanly patch of mousy brown curls, and I begged her never to shave it all off; the sight of it drove me crazy with lust.

I was about to indulge myself, but my lover stopped me. “Corrina, wait. Hold on, sweetheart.” Sabine only calls me by my full name if something serious is going on, so I obeyed and looked up, my face still comically hovering over her entrancing vagina. “I really am in love with you, sweetie, and I want to — to be with you like this. It’s what I’ve always wanted. But I don’t want this to just be about sex. I love you and I want to be with you. I want to go through life with you and share it with you. There’s no point in going any further if we don’t do that. We’ll be happy and we’ll suffer, too. We’ll have good days and we’ll have really rotten ones as well. We may even fight. But you’re the only person I could bear to do any of that with. It’s either you or nobody. Do you understand?”

Moving to lie on top of her once more, I kissed Sabine’s lips until she understood that I felt the same way. Her tears came freely; they moistened her bare body. I kissed them all away, and she cooed softly as she felt the depths of my love. What also pleased me was that I was the first one — the only one, really, as far as I knew — to love my precious Sabine in this way. I made sure she knew for certain that I would be her soulmate forever before I resumed my ministrations.

“Time to finish what I started,” I growled sensually. Sabine squealed with delight and braced herself. My head was swimming; time and reason seemed to be ripping each other apart. I was really going to go down on Sabine! I was going to put my tongue in another woman’s vagina! For the briefest moment I hesitated.

My lover, however, was impatient. “Cory,” she whispered softly, “fuck me. Cory, please, fuck me. Fuck me, please.”

I looked up at her heavenly face, so innocent and kind, so wrought with need, and wiped the tears from my own eyes. She had whispered a vulgar word, but in this context, it seemed the most beautiful expression I’d ever heard. I was going to fuck my Sabine — so softly, so sweetly, until her essence flowed forth for me to treasure.

There’s no point describing what I did to her. What could anybody possibly gain from it? I lapped clumsily at her womanhood; I touched it and suckled it, prodding and experimenting, praying that my work would bear fruit. Sabine’s golden moans were melodic; she clasped the sheets with a vice grip and parted her legs as far apart as they could go until her feet hung over the sides of the mattress. My senses were overwhelmed; I was focusing everything on her glorious vagina, wondering if my personal experiences of self-pleasure would work here. It was an adventure to find out what drove Sabine crazy and what made her beg me for more. She whispered until she screamed, all the while whispering, “Please, please fuck me, Cory. I love you. Oh, God, I love you!”

I left Sabine’s vagina to its own devices for awhile — the poor girl actually cried out how mean I was — but her cries became stifled very suddenly as I kissed her rear end. I gently lifted my cousin’s bottom into the air and, as disturbing as this might sound, actually darted my tongue out and licked her puckered little hole. I’m sad to say there’s no civilized or romanticized way of saying that I stuck my tongue up her butt, but I was feeling uncharacteristically wicked and wanted to drive Sabine wild. She gawked and tensed up for a moment as she realized what I was doing, but calmed down and even sang out wonderfully as the sensations overpowered her.

I alternated between this opening and her vagina — still reeling from the incredible wonder of doing this to another girl — until her body twisted and shivered in ecstasy, Sabine not quite able to muffle her cries.

Finally she lay limp and dazed, a gentle smile on her lips. I made sure to clean her up, kissing and slurping as gently as I could. I knew how sensitive she must have been, and didn’t want to put her in overdrive.

I cuddled and caressed my darling cousin as she came down from her pinnacle. I’d experienced a few fairly good orgasms in my time — all by my own hands, so to speak — but I could only imagine what she was going through. The girl of her dreams had delivered her to heaven’s doorstep and her mind was just wrapping itself around that. Nothing else in the world seemed to matter, other than our love. Our shared genders and bloodline, and even our mothers, who had no doubt heard some of what we’d been doing and prudently decided to wait before confronting us… all faded away as Sabine recovered, and I kissed her breasts and jaw, awaiting the moment when she returned the favor.

“Come here, beautiful,” she begged me. Our lips touched sweetly several times and I felt her hands wandering. She had been given full access to my body earlier, but went back there again, tickling and squeezing, trying to find new ways to please me. Her hands folded over my bottom and groped — then she slapped me, quite firmly, giving me an impish smile.

“You bitch,” I giggled, blushing furiously. Mom raised me to never swear, and I followed this rule implicitly, but now I couldn’t help it. We laughed out loud and I asked her to spank me again.

It wasn’t long before I had my tongue around one of her fingers, then she slipped it inside my rear and I saw stars as I was penetrated from behind. Our eyes locked as she used her other hand to explore my maidenhood. I crumpled in her arms and groaned so deeply and hungrily that for a moment, I thought I’d turned into an animal.

“Touch my pussy,” I whispered, feeling empowered by my surprising vulgarity. “Put your fingers in my pussy. Touch me. Sabine, please—”

“I want to hear you say the f-word, lover,” she murmured. I nearly lost control right then and there.

“Fuck me!” I squealed, as she solemnly kissed my shoulders. “God, fuck me, Sabine! Sabine, please fuck me! I want to — to feel you—inside of me!”

I felt my virginity break suddenly and clung to her as tightly as I could; the pain and pleasure of it all was extraordinary. I bit down where Sabine’s neck met her shoulder and suckled it numbly. She shushed me and resumed her work, going slowly and carefully.

I hit orgasm but didn’t dare scream; instead I kissed her to stifle my cries.

“I love you, Cory,” she whispered in my ear.

I wept and hugged her tightly. “I love you too, Sabine! But you know, it’s really not nice to take things without permission!”

“Sorry,” she giggled, her cheeks rosy. I couldn’t help but love her when she made that face, and I caressed her as the brightness of my love shone out.

“It’s all right. I wanted you to have it anyway.”

“Oh? Was this before or after I came over?”

“You’re evil!” I squealed, piling on top of her. I wouldn’t let Sabine get away with being such a naughty girl — umm, yeah, I actually said that to her — and pinned her hands to the bed. I wanted to scare her a little and make her feel defenseless, but that perverted girl just smiled at me, her eyes glistening with lust and longing.

My free hand got straight down to business as my legs wrapped around one of her thighs, and I rubbed up against Sabine while penetrating her at the same time. It was harder than I thought, and it completely drained me, but it was so worth it in the end. Her virginity was mine in a matter of moments — our eyes met and she gave me leave without saying a word — and soon we were both too exhausted to move. I’d never attempted back-to-back orgasms in my life, but with Sabine in my life — well, I would have to get used to them.

It wasn’t until seven o’clock in the morning when I realized Sabine and I had fallen asleep together. I lay there in bed, naked from head to toe, the sheets covering my legs and dear Sabine cuddling me protectively, and thought about what had happened.

So, I’d made love to another woman — my own cousin, no less — and was no longer a virgin. It had all happened so quickly; the dam had burst too fast. I’d been blinded by my own passions and had lost my mind. But I didn’t regret one second of it, not even for an instant, and if I had to do it all over again, I would definitely repeat everything we’d done and more.

Well… I’d have Sabine ask before she deflowered me, but other than that…

I lightly massaged her back and shoulders as she rested against my body, still lost in slumberland and dreaming about me, I hoped. Making love to Sabine and watching as she slept were two kinds of the most sublime happiness; being with her as we shared the sorrows and joys of life would be the simpler kind.

Inevitably, I wondered how our mothers would take this. I know my mom would be okay if I came out as a lesbian, but revealing my affection for my cousin was another matter. I didn’t know how open-minded Aunt Salome would be, but I resolved that I didn’t care: come what may, Sabine and I would spend the rest of our lives together. I did hope that my aunt would be okay with it, though. I didn’t want to create a rupture in the family.

A bleary-eyed Sabine woke up and smiled. “Good morning, sexy,” she quietly said.

“Morning, pretty girl,” I replied, and we rubbed our noses and nipples together in greeting. I so badly wanted to kiss my love, but brushing my teeth came first, and I stated that Sabine wouldn’t be “getting any” until she did the same. The little sneak just laughed and slithered underneath the covers, deciding to bury her lips in my womanhood. I shrieked, I laughed, I sang for joy; I came right in her mouth. She even gave my rear end a few kisses and licked my butthole; I almost hyperventilated from the sensation. No wonder Sabine had erupted like that!

“You’re awful,” I murmured as she climbed back up. But I couldn’t pout at her for long; she was the most amazing woman in the world, and I knew she only teased me like that because she loved me so deeply.

I slapped her gorgeous rear end as she bounced out of bed and, as she moaned and squealed so cutely, I kept smacking her butt as we put some bathrobes on and marched into the bathroom. Our house only has one, which makes sense because there’s only two people in this house most of the time, but I prayed Mom or Aunt Salome hadn’t beat us there. And just how had they spent their night?

“Maybe they had sex too,” my perverted cousin suggested. I slapped her on the rear again, but soon came to realize she hardly considered this punishment. What was worse was that if they had indeed made love — which just might have explained why they didn’t hear us as we shrieked the night away — I would once again be the last one to know. But since that had nothing to do with our trek to the bathroom, we pressed on.

The lights were on, which didn’t startle me. Mom sometimes forgets and keeps them on all night, but that comes in handy in case either of us needs to make a “midnight run”. Someone had beaten us to the shower, which was not very surprising either. Despite her quirks, Mom is an early riser and makes sure I follow her example. She usually wakes me after she takes her shower, leaving me with just enough time to make breakfast, eat, and wash up. I even saw Mom’s silhouette behind the glass curtain and raised my eyebrows. I’m not afraid to admit that my mother is a gorgeous lady and I hope to look as good as her when I reach that age.

The thing that shocked me, though, was the telltale signs that Mom was not alone in there. She clearly had company and it was obvious to both of us who it was. It was also very obvious what they were doing. We heard moans of passion and the sound of wet bodies rubbing together; we saw the blurry shape of two very naked women, sharing a very passionate kiss.

“Oh, my God,” I breathed. We slipped outside, thankfully without being noticed.

Sabine’s mouth was hanging open. “I… I was just kidding!” she blurted. “I didn’t think they’d do it for real!”

I, on the other hand, couldn’t help but laugh. I also couldn’t let this moment pass without making a truly tasteless joke. “Well, like mother like daughter, I guess.”

So with the arrival of my cousin and my aunt, the goddess of love came with them. Sabine and I were now lovers and would spend the rest our lives together. And apparently, Mom decided she couldn’t spend another minute without the love of her little sister, a love that Salome was all too happy to give. It dawned on me that this was quite possibly the healthiest relationship either of them could enter into, and I prayed, as Sabine and I crossed over to the kitchen, that they would be together forever.

Eventually the new couple emerged from the shower, still wearing their bathrobes and glowing as lovers are apt to do. They giggled, flirted, and teased each other; we both watched them enter the kitchen with quiet, understanding smiles. With one exception, I’d never seen anything more adorable and beautiful in all my life — that exception being my beloved Sabine — though I’m sure Mom and Aunt Salome believed we didn’t suspect a thing.

We went through the motions that morning and spent the entire day together, and eventually, the truth came out for all to hear, and there was not an unhappy face in the crowd. Well, maybe that’s exaggerating things.

“Um, care to run that by me again?” I demanded. Mom and Aunt Salome, holding hands as they snuggled close, smiled at each other, and at me.

“It’s not the first time we made love,” Mom said. “It happened once before, when we were even younger than you two. But this is the first time we’ve — considered it seriously.”

“That’s right, girls,” Salome said, pausing to kiss Mom’s cheek. “We want to be a real couple.”

“Oh, jeez.” I rubbed my face wearily, but luckily I had an angel there to unravel my stress.

“It’s okay, Cory,” Sabine whispered. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t know either.”

I had to laugh, hearing that. We shared a family hug, and I reflected on how being the last to know what’s up really isn’t that big a deal.

The End

1

Error happened.

By Una

Ann was folding her things into the drawers of the ancient dressing table when I came into the bedroom. She was fourteen, two years older, and the care with which she was unpacking showed she thought of herself as a sophisticated young lady now, no longer the giddy girl who was here last summer.

There was an air of unspoken excitement in the room. We had finally arrived at the beachside bungalow Father rented each July for our family holiday. Everyone was busy, anticipation was all around in the warm sun — and there were butterflies in my tummy as I thought of the month-long holiday ahead. Four weeks of bliss away from school, a month of freedom — a month when Ann and I would share a room together for the first time in ages.

I plopped my case on the little bed opposite and pulled out clothes, packing them into the small drawers in the tallboy that was allocated to me. I wondered if Ann was sharing my thoughts, or had the same sense of anticipation.

Probably not. She was too grown up now. We had drifted apart. She’d become more religious, joining a pious society, The Legion of Mary, dedicated to the Blessed Virgin and purity. The various nurses-and-nurses games we’d played down the years belonged in the past.

I had tried to exorcise the memories of how Ann and I had cuddled when we last shared a bedroom; how, clinging like two spoons in a drawer, we’d been overcome by feelings we didn’t understand. Some seismic eruption had overwhelmed first me, and then Ann as I hugged her tightly, pressing hard and squirming my mound against her buttocks.

Thoughts of that incredible experience were still there — sometimes vague, sometimes vivid, but always drifting, day and night, somewhere in the spaces of my mind. When alone, thinking of nothing special, a vision of Ann would appear. I would indulge myself for a few minutes, chasing the apparition this way and that. I would see us alone, somewhere splendidly isolated, marooned on a desert island, fending for ourselves — and spending long, balmy nights, naked under a moonlit sky with my sister.

I’d smell her personal fragrance, a hint of scented soap on her neck, stroke her luxuriant hair, taste the moistness of her soft lips as our mouths met.

And then, more often than not, the daydream would disintegrate. As my thoughts wandered into the byways of passion, our naked skins touching, Catholic guilt would rise up on the road ahead and block my progress.

I knew it was wrong to peer down these forbidden paths: wrong to recall glimpses of my sister’s willowy form as I wandered into her room, seeing her turn to face me, hands clutching a snow-white bra that was about to encase her new-found, perfect breasts.

I knew it was wrong to relish these secret mind-pictures. My God-conditioned brain told me as much. And so did my body. Always, when I reached a certain point, my body temperature would rise. I’d feel my cheeks flush and smouldering heat would flood my hidden parts. Beyond that was the ache — the hunger of sin, the point of no return — the pleasure place where I knew I could find that mysterious, sweeping release of tension.

I knew it was a sin. In confession, I had told the priest a diluted version of how Ann and I had touched. In this version, we had merely hugged, both frightened as a storm thundered outside.

There was no mention of how my mound had pressed so firmly against her bum that I gushed in blissful ecstasy. No mention of the thrills which returned as I lay exhausted beside her and felt the bed move, knowing Ann’s hand, hidden by a raised knee, was between her legs, speeding to a frantic finish as I softly tugged her hardened nipple with finger and thumb.

The priest didn’t seem to understand. How could he? I thought, as he mumbled questions through the grill in the pitch-dark cubicle at the back of the church. He was a man; he could never understand the feelings which led to Ann and me cuddling. He could never have such intensity of sensation and affection as Ann and I had experienced on that one, never-to-be-forgotten night.

The priest had warned of the pain of damnation for all eternity. It was a threat that worked. Ann and I were sent to confession each Saturday morning. I wondered if she had gotten the same message. But we couldn’t talk about that. Confession was secret.

Without discussing it, my sister and I avoided situations where we would be tempted. When Ann moved into her own room after the start of her visitor nearly a year ago, I assumed that there would never be a repeat of that wonderful night. It belonged in our childish past.

My idle thoughts — as the nuns called our pensive moods looking out the window during maths lessons — were taken up with Hillary. She was a fifth year school prefect who was beyond divine. Her hair, her nails, her figure, her voice, the way she wore her uniform, how she walked and her radiant smile compensated for my loss of Ann.

But while Hillary was a distraction, thoughts of Ann were always there. Sisterly thoughts, but sometimes more lustful thoughts as well. I guessed from occasional smiles and glances that Ann shared my feelings.

But God was watching. There was nothing we could do. My lust for my sister occasionally threatened to overwhelm, but a muttered prayer would send my thoughts back to Hillary, the object of my teenage crush.

The nuns, without any obvious sense of irony, had taught us what they called ejaculations. These were short pious phrases, to be mouthed silently in moments of temptation. “Jesus and Mary help me,” was typical. Thoughts of Mary in her blue-robed purity in Heaven were enough to trigger such a wave of guilt as to drive away the memories of that night — when Ann and I spooned in bed, my palm brushing her nipple, electric currents flowing from her hard, pink nub into my soul. But they always came back.

Now, remembrances of Ann’s warm body beside mine as she convulsed in pleasure were here again. The July morning sun had already made our holiday bedroom hot. I turned away from unpacking to see Ann changing into her swimsuit: she was going into a rocky pool to cool off, she said.

I gazed, dry-mouthed, as she got naked. Lifting the one-piece bathing costume, she turned. I saw her in all her natural beauty for the first time since we’d moved to separate rooms. The fluffy tuft of her womanhood was more obvious. It seemed to draw my eyes like a magnet. Before now, it had been a bare slit like mine. Now, it was though a painter had finished the picture.

Then the enticing triangle was gone as she wriggled the one-piece suit above her widened hips, stretching the emerald fabric over those peaches-and-cream contours as she slowly lifted one strap, then the other. She smoothed out the boned bust and ran her hands lightly over the bottom, tugging the swimsuit out so the shape of her mound was hidden. I continued to stare.

The silence was palpable. We, who had chattered like magpies for most of our lives, had nothing to say. We were lost in our own worlds. Ann gave me an enigmatic smile. The room had become stifling. I held my burning cheeks, as though cool hands on my face would douse the molten fire between my legs. Oh, my God!

The door opened and Ann was gone, calling out that she’d see me on the beach, which was literally on our doorstep. I was mesmerised: unable to move. My mind and body were overwhelmed with thoughts of my sister; of how I wanted to touch her beautiful body, to feel her against me, to push my sinful parts against hers until I was overcome by pleasure.

Moving to the window, I drew the curtains, a precaution against being seen by someone walking around the back of the single-storey house.

Ann had left her underclothes on the bed. Bringing it to my face with trembling hands, I smelled the small, white cotton bra, bought for the holiday. The fragrant signature of my sister’s body flooded my nostrils. Oh God! A flood of desire met a tidal wave of guilt.

The alluring scent of talc, a hint of perspiration mixed with a familiar aroma of the virgin, unwashed cotton of a new bra. It was overwhelming. Here was a proxy version of my sister. I gasped at my audacity, at the unstoppable urge which had me in its grip. Beyond the guilt zone now, beyond any help from the Blessed Virgin in response to a frantic ejaculation, I raised Ann’s knickers to my nose.

It must have been imagination, wishful thinking perhaps, but that heady perfume that clung to my gusset after my own sinful flushes was there. Faint, amid the blend of expected scents on Ann’s undies — but it was there. What if… what if she had been having thoughts like mine as we stood earlier for that few minutes in silence?

Impossible, I thought. No one but me has ever been this sinful, has ever been tortured by such thoughts, has ever felt their temperature soar to fever level at the sight of another girl’s nakedness. No one has ever had this kind of deep-down hunger for her own sister. Surely not.

I stood in the centre of the room, skirt around my waist, daring my hand not to go where it wanted. Ann was there in front of me — a vision of perfection, the most adorable creature in the world. Her image was huge, like Elvis Presley filling a giant cinema screen. I tried to think of Elvis, to remember the words of his songs, to distract myself. But Ann’s voice was haunting. I could see that dark, perfect triangle of soft, shining hair, the pinkness of her nipples.

I pulled my underwear aside and did what we’d been warned not to do. I touched. I’d taken a large step towards Hell, to eternal damnation. I was on the slippery slope, literally sliding into sin as my finger soothed the aching need.

Oh, my God. The pleasure, the delight, the guilt. All were mixed in confusion. I’d touched myself there before, at night in bed, and in the bath, I’d used fingers to familiarise myself with hidden body parts. But I’d quickly turned away when God had sent a warning deluge that I was heading into sinful territory.

I’d learned to cope with bath-time and bedtime temptations. To avoid touching, I’d cuddle Charlie. He was the almost life-sized stuffed panda cub who had been my bed companion since my sixth birthday. I glanced to where he was lying near my suitcase. God was offering a chance to deal with my ache, without committing the sin of touching.

Charlie had been my crutch since Ann had moved out of our shared room at home. I would cuddle and snuggle him and fall asleep, our arms wrapped around each other. Over time, Charlie met my need to keep from sinning with my fingers. I’d roll on top of him in the warm darkness and allow the knee of his almost threadbare body to rest between my legs.

Innocently, slowly, like a sailing boat drifting out of harbour on a windless day, my legs as well as my arms would encompass Charlie. And slowly, the desire to put a hand between my legs, to allow my fingers to intrude there, would dissipate — as the comfort of rotating my Mound of Venus on his leg took over.

I’d drift into a world of half-sleep, luxuriating in the sensation of Charlie’s knee on my most sensitive place. I became expert at finding the precise way in which the stuffed panda doll could maximise my secret pleasure. Often, I’d think of Ann as I moved into the world of dreamy unreality. And in my moment of ecstasy, I’d hold Charlie’s knee in a manic grip and thrust it hard between my legs, imagining Ann’s hand there as my back arched sending rivulets of pleasure flowing to every part.

Now, Charlie was looking at me with the same enigmatic stare I’d seen from Ann minutes earlier. Pushing off my pants, I lifted him onto the bed. Raising my dress to my chest, I threw a leg across him.

God gave me one more chance. Despite my hazy-eyed absorption with the awful ache and the burning heat between my legs, I remembered the bedroom door. It was unlocked. I staggered to my feet and locked it. In the distance there were sounds of Mother in the kitchen.

While I listened, the sinful finger found what it had lusted for. Leaning against the door, dress still above my waist, I parted my legs and bent my knees, astonished at how slippery it was down there.

Oh, how I craved Ann. I wanted her to touch me: I wanted to discover if she was the same, if I could bring her to the state of bliss I was in. I pulled upwards, drawing back the hood which sheltered the little man in the boat. He was sailing on a full tide. I’d never experienced such floods of excitement. My mind was filled with longing for Ann, but my body needed something more immediate.

I was still leaning awkwardly against the door, one foot raised as my finger caressed my secret parts over and over. The liquid excitement was flowing so copiously that it was wetting the palm of my hand.

This was wonderful, but I needed the familiarity of Charlie as I moved towards a state of nirvana. I pushed myself away from the door and hobbled towards the bed. As I flung myself face down, and reached for Charlie. I thrust my crotch hard into his knee. My eyes were tightly shut. Tingles rushed everywhere. Like a tidal surge on a flat beach, little eddies pulsed and flowed before sliding back to the main flow as slow rivulets of pleasure.

In my mind, Ann danced naked. I needed her as desperately as she needed me. Why should we deny each other the secret, forbidden delights that only two sisters could share? Her body and mine were so much alike. Surely we were as one in our desire, our love, our special need.

I slumped on top of Charlie, exhausted more in mind than in the body. A wonderful sense of satisfaction was everywhere. Colours were different, the air was fragrant — that enchanting perfume of my ecstasy seemed to fill the room. I rolled on my back, thinking of Ann.

Continue on to Chapter 3

By Una

{ This story was originally posted at the now-defunct Sisters in Love }

By Christene

Lauren was exhausted when she staggered into the room. Too many of her friends were sitting with similar expressions of exhaustion. She sank down into a chair.

They’d all seen so many patients that day. Some of them had been their boys, but some of them had been POWs left behind.

Lauren lifted her head. She ran her fingers through her long red hair. Her hands were shaking. She was so tired. Her deep green eyes reflected how long she’d gone without sleep. She could hear the loud chaos of the hospital, but she could also hear the sounds coming from the streets outside.

She could not help but remember that she had always wanted to see Paris, but never like this.

An excited nurse burst into the room. “Mail!” she cried. “We’ve got mail!”

So many nurses scrambled to their feet, hoping that there would be even the smallest news from home to keep their spirits alive.

“Lauren.”

Lauren lifted her head in surprise. “Yes?” she stammered.

The nurse smiled softly. “There’s one for you,” she said.

The others looked at Lauren in amazement. In all the time they had been away from home, the beautiful young woman had never received a letter. They had often wondered why. Lauren was so kind, so personable. It didn’t make sense for her not to have family, or even a special someone back home.

Lauren took the letter into her hands. They shook violently as she recognized the handwriting. She carefully opened the envelope. When she pulled out the letter, tears rose inside her eyes. It had been written on paper from her diary. She recognized the paper, but more than anything, she could clearly see her own words lingering on the page.

“Paige is in the backyard reading beneath a tree,” it read. “She looks so beautiful. I wonder if she knows. I try to hide what’s in my eyes, but Paige knows me better than anyone ever has or ever will. Does she know how deeply I love her? Does she know that I am madly, passionately, head-over-heels in love with her?”

Lauren blanched more by the moment. Paige must have read this and decided to send it to her as a means of telling her that she knew everything and could never forgive her.

Determined to see it through to the end, Lauren continued reading silently.

“I should tell her. I want to tell her. And yet… how do you tell your best friend that what you feel is more than friendship? For that matter, how do you tell your best friend that when she’s your sister?”

The handwriting suddenly changed as a few elegant lines were fluidly scrolled along the bottom of the page.

How do you say what cannot be said? You say it with the love inside your eyes, with the emotion inside your kiss and the beating of your heart when it lives for another.

Come home to me safely, my Love. Please.

The sudden sound of Lauren’s cries frightened the others. They flocked to her in a supportive guild. Their arms embraced her with a fierce protectiveness. They rocked her gently and smoothed her back as Lauren, their strong Lauren, cried with utter abandon.

August 1945

Cries rose up amongst the masses.

Strangers embraced one another for the sheer happiness of the moment. People wept. Sailors raced through the streets, kissing every woman within sight. Confetti rained from the sky that seemed all but suspended by joyous singing and boisterous cheers. The cheers grew thunderous, as if to announce to the very heavens that it was over. It was finally over.

Her heart was racing. Paige had dressed herself in an airy red dress, which brought out the excited flush of her cheeks. Among the many other women looking expectantly to the train station, she was a brilliant flash of color amidst a bevy of autumn colors.

Her flowing mahogany hair hung with satiny glory between her shoulder blades. Her eyes flashed as shimmering honey pools. Her body grew tense.

She and every other soul crowding the platform looked to the train coming proudly into the station. Cheers flooded the air. A band began to play loudly, welcoming their men and women home.

Her trembling hands clasped together. Paige held them close to her chest. The beautiful woman felt dizzy with happiness. Her sister was home. She was home!

Paige was lost inside an eerie sort of haze. She had seen the people beginning to disembark. Their colors blurred together in a vibrant smearing of colors. But all of that changed when one person, one solitary figure, took on the clarity of the sun rising as the dawn. Even among the others dressed in uniform, Lauren was unique in all the world.

Her long red hair was parted to the side. It was sleek with smoothly styled waves. Atop its glistening satin, a garrison cap sat at a slight angle. Her pale skin was glowing inside the olive green uniform housing her hour-glass body. The warm color brought out the intensity of her catlike eyes.

Lauren had never been so happy to see the hometown she had been so eager to escape. She turned. Her eyes scoured her surroundings, doing their best to memorize how things had changed and how exactly they had stayed the same. It was during that awe-filled gaze that her eyes fell on a woman in scarlet.

Her breath caught inside her throat. “Paige,” she exhaled. She wanted to launch forward, to rush into her embrace, but she could not trust herself while she was that close to Paige. Not after having dreamt being inside her arms for all this time.

Then somehow, they were standing directly before one another. They were so close that they could each feel the other’s breath against their tingling skin.

Paige extended her hands. Her movements were painfully slow. She’d never been timid while showing affection toward her sister before. Then again, she’d never been in love before, never ached to touch another person the way that she did now.

With feathery touches her fingertips grazed Lauren’s until they stood face to face, holding each other’s hands. Their eyes met for the first time. For a brief instant, Paige remembered all the times her sister had looked away. Would she now?

Lauren tightened her hold of the hands in hers. Her green eyes danced with tears. “Take me home,” she mouthed.

Around them, the chaos had yet to subside, but within each sister, an odd sort of serenity was sweeping throughout their beings.

Paige refused to release the hand in hers as she sauntered with a slow eroticism through the masses. She felt the eyes staring after her with love, but the thing which sent her core trembling was the heat of arousal warming her back.

They walked along the sidewalk, hand in hand. The lights from the street-lamps fell over them in sporadic pools of warm yellow. Their fingers wove together tightly, connecting them.

When they entered the front door of their home, it was quiet.

Lauren lifted her eyes as she removed her cap. They were soft as she stared around her childhood home. “Where’s Dad?” she asked absently. In truth, she had hoped he would be sleeping or locked inside his study.

“He was called away,” Paige answered as she took Lauren’s things. “You know how much he lives for invitations to speak at prestigious colleges.”

Lauren laughed quietly despite herself. Her laughter fell away as she thought of what her father’s absence would mean at the practice. “That must mean that Jeffery is—”

“I wouldn’t know,” Paige interrupted quietly. She waited for her sister at the top of the stairs.

The red-haired nurse moved to the foot of the stairs. Her hand rested elegantly against the dark wood railing. She stared up at the vision of her beautiful sister. The hall light at her back warmed the woman’s silhouette in an enchanting halo.

“He and I haven’t spoken since I called off the engagement,” Paige spoke softly.

Lauren felt herself slip into a state of shock. Her head lowered while she stared heavily at the imported rug centered along the stairs. She had not even realized that Paige was no longer at the head of the stairs. So many thoughts were whirling through her mind, but she pushed them back. All that mattered was the question raging throughout her mind. What does this mean? she wondered.

Lauren hurried up the stairs. She moved toward her room on the right. She stopped. A warm light flooded lovingly into the hall. It was coming from her sister’s room. She felt butterflies dancing manically inside her stomach. Her heels kissed the hardwood floors with each slow step she took toward her sister’s bedroom.

Lauren extended her hand. With her fingertips resting against the cool door’s surface, she pushed the door open.

The room was warm with candles. Paige lit the last candle before delicately blowing out the match within her hand. She turned her head as she caught sight of her sister standing inside the doorway. Slowly, she smiled.

“Did you know that the women working the assembly would spend hours talking about what they would do the moment their men came home?” Paige asked nonchalantly.

She strode across the room. Her fingers lightly clasped Lauren’s hands. She pulled her invitingly into the room while she backed further into it. Her honey eyes reflected the flames inside the candles. She turned Lauren gracefully, as if they were dancing to the subtle sound of the wind rustling through the trees.

Lauren felt the backs of her legs touch against the edge of the bed. She swallowed hard at the lump in her throat. Her breath trembled as it slipped past full lips. She held the eyes of the woman she loved, the woman she’d always loved. Her eyes never once looked away, even as Paige’s nimble fingers began unbuttoning the golden buttons of her jacket.

“The one thing that each woman seemed to have in common,” Paige continued in a throaty voice, “was a desperate need to touch, a need to pamper their lover. As if to say ‘thank you’, to say ‘I love you’, to say ‘I missed you’ and ‘I need you.’”

Lauren tried not to tremble. She closed her eyes, savoring the feel of Paige moving closer.

Paige tenderly pushed the jacket from Lauren’s shoulders. She allowed it to fall to the floor. Her fingers loosened the khaki tie around her sister’s neck. When Lauren took her face warmly inside her hands, her hand fell limply to her side. She could feel the tie slipping out of her grasp.

“Paige,” Lauren whispered. Her eyes said so much, even before her lips could utter a word. “Do you realize what you’re saying?” She gave a vulnerable frown. “I was so sure I’d lost you forever when you read my diary. I—”

Lauren’s words were brought to a dramatic end by the lips seizing hers with unending love and passion. The lips moving against hers were the softest she’d ever felt. They were sweet and supple. She parted her lips against them. She felt them part in response to hers. Tender flesh traced along the line of her top lip. She closed her lips around it, suckling lovingly at Paige’s tongue.

Paige tilted her head. She deepened their kiss with a moaned purr that reverberated deep within her throat. Her arms wrapped around Lauren’s body. She crushed her sister to her, feeling proud, shapely breasts crush against hers. Between impassioned kisses, she spoke:

“You’ll never lose me,” Paige promised. “I love you so much, Lauren. I always have.” Her body shivered with excitement as Lauren’s hand slid down from her jaw. They traveled over her shoulders, roaming down her arms until they found a home at her sides.

The slow sound of her dress being unzipped echoed in the air. It joined the sound of their heated breaths rasping in the night, their gentle purrs inspiring dull throbs.

The air came to rush against Paige’s exposed skin. She felt it caress her with each pair of teeth opening. Soon her dress released its hold. It fell to the ground, haloing her body in a lustful ring. She stood inside Lauren’s arms. Her breasts were housed inside a black lace bra. Her panties were of matching grace. Along the smooth length of her beautiful legs, her stockings shimmered. A delicate seam ran along the back of her as if pointing the way toward bliss.

Paige unbuttoned the khaki button-down shirt her army nurse wore. She released an appreciative groan as she glimpsed her sister’s sensuous breasts for the first time. They were full, restrained inside their ivory bra with a seductive pout.

Paige lowered her head. Her lips kissed over the tops of sweet-smelling orbs. She closed her eyes, feeling her sister’s fingers get lost in her dark hair. Her tongue dipped into the valley of her sister’s breasts. She grazed with a slow sweep across the flesh. Her fingers reached down, unbuttoning and unzipping the skirt that separated them. With a slight whoosh, it plummeted to the ground.

Lauren shrugged out of her shirt. She took Paige into her arms, then laid her sister upon the bed. The moment her body crushed to hers, she felt her pulse quicken.

Wrapping both arms around her sister’s neck, Paige claimed her lover’s mouth again. She kissed her deeply, growing lost in the emotions pouring from Lauren directly into her. All the love they had ever shared was heightened in the realization of attraction.

Lauren ran her hand along her sister’s body. She guided her sibling’s leg to wrap around her waist. With it close, she pushed off her sister’s heel, then tossed it to the floor. Her fingers traced the top of Paige’s stocking. She pushed it down slowly, feeling a gift unwrapped beneath her touch. As they kissed, she repeated the act once more on her sister’s other leg. The feel of smooth bare skin wrapping around her waist made her dizzy.

Holding herself up with her arms, Lauren looked down at the woman with mussed mahogany hair. Her red hair hung around her face. She was flushed with wanton desires, but she wanted to savor this night. She’d dreamt of it for so long.

Lauren sat up on her knees. She tossed her long hair over her shoulder absently, unaware that it sent a jolt through her lover watching below. Her arms reached behind her body. She unclasped her bra then removed it with slow eroticism.

Paige gripped tightly at the sheets. She strangled the moan inside her throat as enthralling orbs were revealed to her hungry eyes. She ravaged their flesh with her eyes. The peaks straining to new heights beneath her gaze caused her own nubs to arch painfully. She sat up on her elbows, never taking her eyes away from the woman moving to stand at the side of the bed. She followed the seductive air with which Lauren presented her leg. Then she watched as Lauren slowly removed her stockings.

The little striptease that her sister performed was somehow voyeuristic. Paige felt as though she were somehow glimpsing her sister as she readied for bed. The way Lauren confidently held her foot against the edge of the bed, the way her hands slid over her own leg. It was easy for Paige to imagine the sexy redhead smoothing lotion over her skin.

Lauren’s olive eyes suddenly lifted from her own thigh. She held her lover’s eyes while her thumbs hooked themselves inside her panties. She worked the fabric down, one hip at a time. At first she gave teasing glimpses of her smooth skin. The lower her panties were pushed, the slower their descent became.

Paige rolled onto her side, then commanded her body to rise. Her honey eyes never left the erotic show being put on for her eyes alone. She leaned forward. Her lips sensually covered her sister’s trembling abdomen with lingering kisses.

“Paige,” Lauren moaned as her head fell back. Her lashes fluttered closed.

The eldest sibling breathed deeply of the musky perfume rising in the air. Her lips trailed lower.

Lauren reached down. She grasped desperately to her sister’s shoulder. She stepped out of her panties, but was sure that she would fall if Paige’s lips moved even a breadth lower.

As if reading her sister’s mind, Paige took possession of the hips she craved. She held Lauren upright the instant her lips touched themselves to hers in their first intimate kiss.

Lauren’s chest rose and fell with the passion welling inside her. She moaned aloud as a soft tongue slipped between her lips. It explored her with unhurried ease, memorizing every silken inch of her. She began to shake uncontrollably. Her lips were covered in copious dew. She felt its hot nature turn cool with each moment her lover’s breath rushed to meet it.

“I love you,” Lauren panted.

Paige encircled Lauren’s waist in her strong embrace. She guided her baby sister to rest comfortably against the plush bed. Her hand slid to move the graceful length of Lauren’s leg over her shoulder. She lowered her head. Her lips captured a swollen lip between them, suckling with a hungered need. Her fingers parted the blooming petals until she exposed the bright heart of her sister. She explored its silken depths with the tip of her tongue. Then she pushed her tongue slowly and deeply inside of her sister.

Together, both women moaned lustfully into the night.

Lauren’s back bowed as her body raised off the bed. She parted her legs, offering up herself all the more to her sister’s famished mouth.

Paige reached a hand beneath Lauren. She cupped the sensual swell of her lover’s bottom, using her grasp to pull her lover closer. She fit her mouth to Lauren with greedy need. Her voice was muffled slightly, but Lauren felt her words tickle the throbbing parts of her.

“I love you, Lauren.”

Lauren felt tears stream soundlessly down her cheeks. Her breath grew more ragged. Her abdomen clutched violently. She closed her eyes tightly as a cry of unabashed pleasure burst from her.

Paige moaned into Lauren. She drank heartily from the fount offering itself up to her. As it flooded her, dribbling down the corners of her mouth to run hotly down her chin, she felt her own juices quicken.

A sweat had broken out over Lauren’s entire body. Her chest heaved mightily, but she felt alive. She reached out with shaking hands. She cupped her sister’s face. Insistently, she pulled her lover upward.

Lauren slid her tongue over anointed skin. She tasted herself so clearly against her sister’s face. Turning her head, she captured a pair of moistly fragrant lips. She kissed her sister deeply, caressing her tongue against the tongue that had brought such pleasure to her body.

Paige was trembling. She had never wanted anyone so much. She had never ached as much as she did in this moment. Her back arched with arousal. She relished the feel of Lauren’s hands moving over her. When the erotic redhead released her from the restraints of her bra, she shivered. When Lauren began kneading skillfully at her breasts, she moaned.

Lauren sucked with a quiet purr at the chin stained by her juices. Her hands moved down to the panties she both envied and resented for being so close to Paige. She peeled them away. The perfume their absence released was driving her mad with passion.

Her hand worked between their bodies. Lauren felt her palm purposely grind an erotic slope. She worked the heel of her hand against a hardened clit. She felt her sister’s heartbeat throbbing inside it. She massaged the hardened nub more diligently, spurred onward by the vocal encouragements flooding the air. She had never seen her sister so free. Paige was beautiful and untamed.

Paige rolled her hips, working to meet the hand grinding against her. When her sister’s middle finger dipped into her vagina, then delved deeper at its next attempt, her head fell back with a moan.

Together, they found a rhythm. It was growing more passionate with every wet-laced smack to toll their pace.

“I love you,” Paige said. There was a sudden urgency to her voice.

Unable to take her eyes off of the vision above her, Lauren responded in a raspy voice. “I love you,” she said.

Paige’s juices flooded out of her in time with climax’s cry. Breathless and shaking, she collapsed against her sister’s body.

Lauren wrapped an arm around Paige, holding her close. She remained deeply inside the woman. Her finger felt the persistent kiss of her lover’s inner walls as they involuntarily tightened and relaxed around it.

Weakly, Paige lifted her head. Her arms moved to rest on either side of Lauren’s head. Tenderly, she brushed back the woman’s long hair. She smoothed it gently. Its red roots were dark with sweat, making it appear more like the color of her own hair. She wanted to promise that she would never leave her. She wanted Lauren to promise that she would never leave her again, but none of that truly mattered. All that mattered was that they were together, finally truly together, as they had always secretly longed to be, but never had the courage to admit.

The olive green eyes gazing devotedly into hers would never turn away again. They would never hide what was inside them.

Paige leaned forward. She kissed Lauren with all the love she possessed in her heart. Complete and utter contentment came as the body molding itself to hers offered up that same love without hesitation.

The End