I never planned on fucking my sister again, but when she showed up at my apartment that night with her suitcase and that same hungry look in her eyes, every boundary we swore to keep melted away in seconds.
She had transitioned two years earlier, hormones and surgery turning her body into something even more addictive than before. The last time we touched, she was still my older brother, both of us drunk and curious in the basement of our parents' house. Now she stood in my doorway with fuller lips, softer skin, and a thick cock that strained against her tight jeans the moment I let her inside.
We didn't speak much at first. She dropped her bag, kicked the door shut, and pulled me into a kiss that tasted like the years we had spent pretending nothing happened. Her tongue was insistent, her hands already tugging at my shirt while mine slid down to grip the heavy bulge between her legs. She moaned into my mouth the second I squeezed, hips pushing forward like she had been waiting for this exact touch.
Clothes came off in a messy rush. Her breasts were small and perfect, nipples dark and stiff under my palms. I dropped to my knees in the hallway, yanking her jeans down, and her cock sprang free—long, veined, already leaking at the tip. I wrapped my lips around the head and took her deep, tasting the salt of her pre-cum while she gripped my hair and thrust shallowly into my throat.
"Fuck, little brother," she groaned, voice rough and low. "You always sucked me so good."
I worked her shaft with my tongue, one hand stroking the base while the other reached between her legs to cup her smooth balls. She was trembling by the time I pulled off, spit dripping down her length. I stood, spun her around, and bent her over the back of the couch. Her ass was round and firm, the tight pink hole already twitching when I spread her cheeks and licked. She pushed back against my tongue, begging without words.
I slicked my own cock with spit and pressed inside her slowly, feeling her stretch around me. She was hot and tight, gripping me like she never wanted me to leave. I fucked her in steady, deep strokes, one hand reaching around to stroke her throbbing cock in time with my thrusts. Every time I bottomed out she gasped my name, her voice cracking on the syllables.
We moved to the bedroom after she came the first time, her cum splattering across the couch cushions. She climbed on top of me, sinking down onto my cock again while she rode, her own erection bouncing between us. I watched her face—eyes half-lidded, mouth open—as she ground down harder, taking every inch. When she leaned forward to kiss me I could feel her cock trapped between our stomachs, slick and leaking.
Later she flipped me onto my stomach and pushed inside me without warning, her cock thicker than I remembered. The stretch burned in the best way. She fucked me hard, hips slapping against my ass, one hand fisted in my hair while the other reached under to jerk me off. We came almost together—her flooding my ass, me spilling across the sheets—both of us shaking and swearing we would stop after this.
We didn't.
By morning she had me on my back again, legs over her shoulders while she drove into me slow and deep, whispering how much she had missed her little brother's hole. Her cock felt perfect inside me, hitting every spot that made my vision blur. When she pulled out and slid into my mouth I tasted myself on her, swallowing around her until she filled my throat.
We spent the next three days barely leaving the apartment, bodies tangled in every room. She let me fuck her in the shower, water streaming over us as I pounded her from behind. She woke me up with her mouth on my cock, sucking until I was hard enough to take her again. Each time felt dirtier and more necessary than the last.
On the final night she sat on my lap facing me, riding slow while we kissed like we were trying to memorize each other's mouths. Her cock was trapped between us again, rubbing against my stomach with every roll of her hips. I wrapped my hand around it and stroked in time with her movements until she came across my chest, her inner walls pulsing around me. I followed seconds later, pumping deep inside her one last time.
She left the next morning with a kiss on my forehead and a promise that this was the last time. We both knew it was a lie. The pull between us had never been about reason. It was raw, filthy, and ours alone.
Every time my phone lights up with her name now, I know exactly what is coming. And I always answer.
