I never planned on fucking my sister. It just happened one sticky summer night when the power went out and the house felt like it was breathing heat. We were both twenty-three, home from college, stuck in the old family place with Mom and Dad gone for the weekend. The air was thick, the kind that makes clothes feel like a mistake.
We started drinking on the back porch, just us, swapping stories about school and bad hookups. Then the talk got dirtier. She told me about her roommate who liked it rough, how she got off on being held down.
I told her about the girl who begged me to talk filthy while I pounded her. The more we drank, the closer we sat. Her leg brushed mine and stayed there.
When the lights flickered off, we moved inside to the living room, the only light coming from the moon through the blinds. She stripped down to her tank top and panties right there, saying it was too hot. I did the same, down to boxers. We laughed at first, but the laughs turned low and rough. She asked if I ever thought about her that way. I told her the truth: every time she walked around in those tiny shorts. She crawled over, grabbed my cock through the fabric, and said she'd been wet thinking the same thing for years.
No slow build. She yanked my boxers down and took me in her mouth like she'd been waiting. Hot, wet, sucking hard while her hand worked the base. I groaned and pushed deeper, fucking her throat until she gagged and pulled off with spit dripping down her chin. "Fuck me," she said. "Right here on Mom's couch."
I ripped her panties aside and shoved inside. She was soaked, tight, gripping me like she owned it. We fucked raw and nasty, her legs locked around my back while I slammed into her. Skin slapping, her tits bouncing out of the tank top, both of us cursing and moaning. "Harder, big brother," she growled, and that filthy word made me pound her until the couch creaked. She came first, clenching and soaking my cock, then I pulled out and painted her stomach and tits with thick ropes.
We didn't stop. We moved to the floor, then her old bedroom. She rode me reverse, ass bouncing, telling me how she'd fingered herself thinking about this. I flipped her, spread her legs wide, and ate her pussy until she screamed, then fucked her again, this time slower but deeper, holding her wrists down the way she liked. Sweat everywhere, sheets ruined, the whole house smelling like sex.
By morning we were still at it in the shower, her bent over the sink while I took her from behind, watching in the mirror as my cock disappeared into her. We came together, her begging for it inside this time. We cleaned up, made breakfast like nothing happened, but the secret was there between us.
Every family visit after that had the same charge. Quickies in the laundry room, her sneaking into my room at night, sometimes with her whispering the dirtiest shit about how wrong it was and how good it felt. We kept it just between us, two adults who knew exactly what they wanted and didn't care about lines anymore. It was ours, raw and real, and it never stopped feeling that good.
