I was eighteen when it started with my older brother, Mark. He was twenty, home from his first year of college, and the house felt too small for both of us. Our parents worked late, leaving us alone most nights. One humid summer evening I caught him jerking off in the living room, his thick cock in his fist while some porn played low on the TV. Instead of walking away I stood there, pussy already wet, and asked if he needed a hand.
He looked up, eyes dark, and said, “Get over here and suck it then.” I dropped to my knees without thinking twice. His dick tasted salty and hot as I wrapped my lips around the head, tongue swirling the way I’d practiced on boyfriends. Mark groaned and grabbed my hair, pushing deeper until I gagged. “Fuck, sis, you’re good at this.” I moaned around his shaft, fingers rubbing my clit through my shorts. He came fast, thick ropes shooting down my throat, and I swallowed every drop like I’d been waiting for it.
After that we didn’t stop. The next night he bent me over the kitchen counter while Mom was in the shower. He yanked my shorts down, spread my ass, and shoved his cock straight into my dripping cunt. No slow build-up, just raw thrusts that made my tits bounce and the dishes rattle.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he grunted, pounding harder. I pushed back, meeting every stroke, whispering how I’d wanted his dick since I first saw him in the shower years ago. He reached around and pinched my clit until I came, walls clamping down on him. He followed right after, flooding my pussy with hot cum that leaked down my thighs.
We got bolder. In the backyard at dusk he ate me out on the picnic table, tongue fucking my hole while his fingers stretched my ass. I came so hard I had to bite my arm to stay quiet. Later that week, after a family dinner, we snuck into the garage. He sat on the old couch and I straddled him, sinking down on his cock in one smooth motion. We fucked slow and dirty, his hands gripping my hips, guiding me up and down while I whispered every filthy thought I’d ever had about him. “I used to finger myself thinking about this,” I told him. He growled and flipped me onto my back, legs over his shoulders, drilling me until I squirted around his shaft.
Mark taught me what I liked fast. He’d wake me up at night with his mouth on my nipples, sucking hard while two fingers pumped my pussy. I’d reach down and stroke him until he was rock hard, then climb on top and ride him reverse so he could watch his cock disappear inside me. One morning before school he bent me over the bathroom sink and fucked my ass for the first time, slow at first then rough once I begged for it. The stretch burned so good I came twice before he filled my ass with cum.
We kept it going through the whole summer. Every chance we got we were naked and grinding, his cock in my mouth, my cunt, my ass. He’d call me his little slut sister while he spanked me red and then licked the sting away. I’d text him from my room at night: “Come fuck me before they get home.” He’d sneak in, pin me down, and rail me until the headboard banged the wall. We didn’t use condoms; I loved feeling him throb and unload deep inside me, then watching the mess drip out when he pulled away.
By the end of August we were addicted. The night before he went back to college we locked ourselves in his room and didn’t come out until morning. He fucked me in every position we knew, missionary with my legs wide so he could watch my pussy swallow him, doggy with my face in the pillow to muffle the screams, and me on top grinding slow until we both shook apart. When he finally came the last time he stayed buried in me, both of us breathing hard, sweat-slick skin stuck together.
Those early incest sex stories are still the hottest thing I’ve ever lived. Even now, years later, I get wet just thinking about how raw and sudden it all was. Mark and I still hook up when he visits, but nothing beats those first filthy months when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.
