I never planned to fuck my sister. But the summer I turned twenty-five, home from college for good, the house felt too small and our bodies too close. Mom and Dad were gone for a week, leaving just me and Lena in the old place. She was twenty-three, all long legs and that same smart mouth she'd had since we were kids. The first night alone, we drank on the back porch and talked about everything except the way her tank top clung to her tits when she leaned forward.
By the second night the air was thick. We were in the living room, lights low, some old movie on mute. Lena sat on the floor between my knees, painting her toenails, and every time she shifted her ass brushed my calf. I got hard so fast it hurt. She noticed. Of course she did.
"You're staring," she said, not looking up.
"You're not wearing anything under that shirt."
She glanced down at the thin cotton stretched over her nipples. "So?"
"So if you keep rubbing against me I'm going to do something we'll both regret."
Lena set the polish aside and turned, kneeling right there between my spread thighs. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown. "Maybe I want you to."
I grabbed her hair and pulled her up into my lap. The kiss was messy, teeth and tongue, years of pretending we didn't want this boiling over. Her tongue tasted like cherry vodka and something sweeter. She ground down on my cock through my shorts, soaking the fabric with her pussy. I yanked the tank top down and sucked one stiff nipple into my mouth, biting just hard enough to make her gasp.
"Fuck, big brother," she moaned, and the words shot straight to my balls.
I stood, carrying her to the couch, and stripped us both in seconds.
Her body was perfectsoft tits, narrow waist, a trimmed patch of dark hair above a slick, puffy cunt. I pushed her legs open and buried my face between them, licking long and slow from her asshole to her clit. She tasted like sin. Lena bucked against my tongue, fingers in my hair, begging.
"More. Suck it. Make me come on your face."
I did. Two fingers inside her, curling against that spot while I sucked her clit, and she came hard, thighs clamping my head, juices running down my chin. Before she finished shaking I flipped her onto her stomach, yanked her hips up, and drove my cock straight into her dripping hole.
She was tight, hot, perfect. I fucked her like I hated her, like I loved her, long deep strokes that made her scream into the cushions. Every thrust slapped my balls against her clit. She pushed back, meeting me, chanting my name.
"Harder. Fuck your little sister harder."
I reached under and rubbed her clit in tight circles. She came again, cunt pulsing around me, and I followed right after, flooding her with thick ropes of cum. We collapsed, sweaty and shaking.
But that was only the beginning. We spent the rest of the week using every room in the house. Morning blowjobs in the kitchen while coffee brewed. Slow, deep fucking in the shower, her legs wrapped around my waist. One afternoon on the dining table she rode me reverse, watching herself take every inch in the big mirror on the wall, telling me how wrong it felt and how good it was.
By the time our parents came home we were experts at sneaking quickies. A handjob under the blanket during movie night. Her sneaking into my room at 3 a.m. to sit on my face until she squirted. We never talked about stopping. The fantasy had become real, and neither of us wanted it to end.
On the last night before I moved out she climbed into my bed naked, straddled me, and whispered, "Promise me this isn't over."
I slid inside her one more time, slow and deep, and answered with my body. We came together, quiet and intense, holding each other like we could keep the secret forever.
We didn't stop. We just got better at hiding it. And every time she called me "big brother" in that filthy little voice, it felt like the hottest, dirtiest, most perfect thing in the world.
