I knew I was fucked the first time my sister climbed into my bed and wrapped her lips around my cock. It was supposed to be one drunk mistake after a family party, but the second her tongue dragged up my shaft and she moaned like she needed it more than air, something snapped. We were both adults, both living at home, both pretending the tension wasn't there until it exploded. Now I can't stop. Neither can she.
Every night she sneaks into my room after our parents go to sleep. She doesn't knock. She just drops her panties at the door and crawls under my sheets, already wet. "I need it," she whispers, voice raw. "My pussy's throbbing again. Fuck me like last night." I don't answer with words. I grab her hair, shove her face down on my dick, and thrust until her throat bulges. She gags but pushes deeper, spit running down my balls. She's addicted to the taste, to the way I stretch her mouth until tears streak her cheeks. I'm addicted to watching her do it.
We don't make love. We fuck like animals that forgot how to be human. She rides me reverse so I can watch her ass bounce and her tight hole wink every time she slams down. Her cunt grips me like it was made for my cock and nothing else. "Harder," she begs, grinding her clit against my balls. "Use me. Make it hurt." I slap her ass red, then flip her onto her back, pin her knees to her ears, and pound until the headboard slams the wall. She comes first, always, squirting around my shaft, soaking the sheets. Then I unload deep inside her, filling her until cum leaks out around my still-hard dick.
The addiction grew fast. Mornings before work she'd corner me in the shower, drop to her knees, and swallow every drop while hot water pounded our backs. Afternoons when the house was empty she'd bend over the kitchen counter, pull her shorts aside, and hiss, "Quick. Fuck my ass before Mom gets home." I'd spit on her hole, push in slow at first, then ram until she clawed the granite. She loved the burn, loved feeling stretched and used. I'd finish in her ass and she'd walk around with my load inside her all day, smiling like she had a secret.
We tried to quit once. She cried in my arms and said we were sick, that the guilt was killing her. We lasted four days. On the fifth she texted me a video from the bathroom: two fingers buried in her pussy, whispering "I can't stop thinking about your cock. Please." I met her in the garage after dark. She bent over the hood of Dad's car, skirt flipped up, and I fucked her standing until her legs shook and she came so hard she almost collapsed. We didn't speak after. We just cleaned up and went back inside like nothing happened.
The sex got dirtier the deeper the addiction went. She started begging for things we used to pretend we wouldn't do. "Cum on my face and make me wear it to dinner." "Finger my ass while you fuck my cunt." "Call me your dirty little sister while you breed me." I did all of it. I held her down and pumped load after load into her until she was overflowing and still asking for more. Sometimes she'd wake me in the middle of the night already riding me, eyes glassy, whispering that she couldn't sleep without feeling full.
We both knew it was wrong. The risk of getting caught only made it hotter. One weekend our parents were out of town and we didn't leave the house. We fucked on every surface: the couch, the dining table, the floor in the hallway. She let me tie her wrists to the bedposts and use her for hours, only stopping when she was too sore to walk straight. Even then she'd crawl back and suck me clean, eyes begging for the next round.
The addiction doesn't fade. It feeds on itself. Every orgasm makes the next craving stronger. She texts me during the day now, filthy messages about how wet she is thinking about my cock. I send her videos of me stroking, telling her to touch herself but not come until I say. When we finally get alone again the release is violent and loud. She screams into a pillow while I rail her from behind, one hand around her throat, the other rubbing her swollen clit until she shatters.
We don't talk about the future. We just keep feeding the need. She's my sister. I'm her brother. And we're both hooked on the way our bodies destroy each other every single night. The guilt is there, buried under the hunger, but the hunger always wins.
She walks into my room tonight like every night before, already naked, already dripping. I don't ask questions. I just pull her down and start fucking her again, because stopping isn't an option anymore.
