I still get wet just thinking about the first time I flashed my brother. I was twenty-one, he was twenty-three, and we were both home from college for the summer, stuck in the same house where we had grown up. Our parents worked long hours, so the afternoons were ours. I had always been the quiet one, the good girl who never caused trouble, but something had shifted inside me that year. I wanted to be seen. Not by strangers, not at first. By him.
It started small. I would walk around the house in just a thin tank top and panties, pretending I did not notice how the fabric clung or how my nipples showed through. One afternoon I bent over in front of him while he was on the couch, reaching for something on the coffee table. My shorts rode up so high the lower curve of my ass was completely bare. I stayed there longer than necessary, heart hammering, and when I glanced back his eyes were locked on me. He did not look away. That was all the permission I needed.
The next day I went further. I wore a button-down shirt with nothing underneath and left the top three buttons open. We were in the kitchen making sandwiches. I reached up into a high cabinet on purpose, stretching so the shirt lifted and my breasts came into full view. I could feel his stare like a hand on my skin. My nipples tightened instantly. I pretended to struggle with the cabinet, letting him look for a long count of ten before I dropped my arm and turned around like nothing had happened. His face was flushed. He adjusted himself in his jeans when he thought I was not watching.
By the end of the week I was flashing him every chance I got. In the living room while our parents were in the next room, I would pull my shirt up quickly and flash my tits, then cover them again before anyone else could see. The risk made me soaked. One night after dinner I followed him into the hallway, lifted my skirt, and showed him I had no panties on. I spread my legs just enough that he could see everything. His breath caught.
He reached for me but I slipped away, smiling. I wanted him desperate.
The night it finally happened, the house was quiet. Our parents had gone to bed early. I was in my room wearing only an oversized t-shirt when I heard him in the hallway. I opened my door a crack and flashed him again, this time holding the shirt up so he could see my bare pussy. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him without a word.
We did not speak. He pushed me against the wall and dropped to his knees. His mouth was on me immediately, licking and sucking like he had been starving for it. I had to bite my wrist to stay quiet. When he stood up and shoved his cock inside me, it was fast and rough and exactly what I needed. We fucked standing there, then on the floor, then on my bed. I came twice before he finished deep inside me. Afterward we lay there breathing hard, knowing we had crossed a line we could never uncross.
After that, the flashing became our secret game. We did it whenever we could. In the backyard at dusk I would lift my dress while he watched from the porch. In the car on the way to the store I would spread my legs and let him see how wet I was. Once, on a family trip, I flashed him in the backseat while our parents drove, my fingers sliding between my folds while he tried to keep a straight face. The danger of being caught only made it hotter.
We kept it going for the rest of the summer. Sometimes he would flash me too, pulling his cock out when no one was looking and stroking it until it was hard. I loved seeing him that way, knowing it was because of me. The incest part never felt wrong to us. It felt inevitable, like we had been building toward it for years.
By the time summer ended we had a routine. Every night after everyone went to sleep he would come to my room and we would fuck until we were both shaking. Sometimes I would make him watch me masturbate first, spreading my legs wide on the bed while I touched myself, making sure he saw every detail. Other times he would bend me over the dresser and take me from behind while I watched us in the mirror.
When we both went back to school we kept texting each other pictures and videos. I would send him shots of my tits in public restrooms or videos of me flashing in my dorm hallway. He sent back videos of himself jerking off to the thought of me. The distance only made the next visit home more intense.
We still do it when we can. It is not every day anymore, but when we are together the old hunger comes back fast. I still flash him whenever the chance appears. The thrill has never gone away. Knowing he is the only one who gets to see me like that, knowing how wrong it is supposed to be and how good it feels anyway, keeps it burning.
Every time I pull my clothes aside and show him everything, I remember that first summer. The way his eyes changed when he realized I wanted him to look. The way we both stopped pretending. Those amateur flashes turned into the best sex of my life, and I would not trade them for anything.
