6 comments/ 200817 views/ 64 favorites How Jack Came To Fuck His Sister By: IncardineCool The noise of engines in the street below brought Jack back to the world. Seven a.m. and every bus in Manchester sounded as if it was using Lever Street to escape the city. Most had to stop at the lights on the junction with Great Ancoats Street and wait for the change that allowed them to turn and continue their journey. On green, the guttural combustion growls escalate in volume and rise through the icy November air and into his third floor room, through the small gap that the fixed double-glazing allows. To Jack's dehydrated half-sleeping mind, it is the sound Soviet armour massing in the suburbs of Berlin. The previous night he'd opened the window to let out the smoke, and later he'd pressed his face up to the meagre opening to try and sober himself by inhaling the brittle night air. Now, as he lies in the winter morning darkness in this box of a room, the engines outside agitate his nerves. The memories of last night replay and sober him. He can no longer delude himself it has not really happened, as he had done minutes ago in his half-awake state. His stomach is still churning but he keeps it down. He rises, blunders across the room and bangs the window shut. It hardly makes a difference; inside his skull someone is still riding the wall of death. He turns from the window and looks back at the naked female, foetus-curled, at the far edge of the bed. The sight of her there shames him. Soon he will have to face her and they will talk. What will he say? What can you say to your sister after a night like the last had been? He sits down on the bed beside her and strokes the length of her back. His touch is intended to awaken her, so that he can speak with her, to get it over and done and face this thing they had unleashed. But the closeness of her beauty and stark whiteness of her perfect skin re-kindles his lust for her. He lets his hand slide over her blatant curves and at the place where her flesh is most copious, he applies pressure and lets his fingers sink into her and become enfolded by her heavy flesh. He feels her heat there, along with tackiness that is her night sweat mixed with the drying spillage of their sibling cupidity. He becomes very still and holds his desire for her in check as he watches the waking flicker of half-dreams beneath her closed lids. When he sees that she is nearly back with him, he whispers, "Carla, please wake up, we have to talk." ****************************************** Jack Collier's road to incest had not been trodden lightly, he had not skipped and whistled his way to it. The first awareness that he had of his sister as a sexual being was when she was in her last year at sixthform. He was twenty-four and visiting the family home for a couple of weeks in summer. The memories of that first lust for her had become chiselled granite that he carried with him. Carla and her friend Vicki had been sharing a blanket on the lawn as they perused some teenage magazine together. The pair were bare-legged and shoeless in short summer skirts. Each wore vest tops. They chatted and giggled, bitching about the celebs featured in the mag. Squeezed close together on the blanket their sides and thighs touched. Each would pull their legs back, bent at the knees, and up ninety degrees, leaving their feet balanced high. As they fidgeted against each other, their raised calves would sway and sometimes entwine, their perched feet would slide over that of the others with a casual intimacy, like two family cats brushing together to confirm their bond. Vicki's skirt had ridden up revealing the peachy curves of her tanned buttocks and her fresh white cotton panties, which had become tightly enfolded in the crack of her buttocks. Jack peeked at the two girls from the sun-lounger as he read the newspaper. He tried to think of only Vicki's legs and arse, and tried very hard not to think about Carla's longer exquisitely formed white legs, and how he wished her skirt had gone high like her friend's. He tried to stop himself thinking what it would be like to go over to them and rub his face against the four feet tangled in an orgy of toes, then lick and suck them all. And then he was unafraid to let his thoughts go where they would. He thought of how he would take off their panties and knead girlish fleshy curves, a hand for each of them. Then he would spread their legs wide and fuck them as they lay face down. Neither would say anything to him, they would continue to chat and giggle to each other as he ploughed each of them in turn. Their young cunt juices would be thick, copious and oily. Maybe they would kiss each other while he hammered at them. But it was Carla's tight fresh cunt he imagined his hot cum would dribble from when the time came for them to stand up and leave. He really had tried so hard not to think those thoughts that first time. For the rest of that summer he had to be vigilant and not let her see him staring at her. She'd come to obsess him and he would watch her whenever he had opportunity. Once he had passed her bedroom and the door was open. It was morning and she was only part dressed, her breasts were bare. He could not help himself and he stopped and stared. Her back was to him but he could see her breasts reflected in the large dressing mirror at the far end of her room. The perfection of her tits left him unable to move; they were large silky and white, delicately upturned at the ends in the way that youth permits for only such a short time. She became aware of him and turned fully to face him. She was not abashed and returned his stare. There was no outrage in her eyes, she had not spat "perve!" as she would have two years ago. No, she had absent-mindedly wished him good morning, then turned away and continued to dress herself. She had not closed her door. The following year had been the wedding of their older sister Catherine. Carla had been a bridesmaid. That summer day he had been stunned to see how even more beautiful she had become. He had not seen her since the previous summer. He watched silently in awe of her as she guilelessly stole from the bride much of the attention. Her personality had matured, she was eager and warm, socially adept, her love of people obvious. It was Carla in shoulderless-bridesmaid-white that guests' eyes were drawn to as the wedding party stood for photographs. Later as she circulated at the reception with her warm smile and easy manner, it was Carla they all wanted to spend time with. In the evening the uncles vied with each other to be with her on the dance floor. Because he was leaving the country later in the week he had made her promise to keep the last dance for him. After, when he was away in the States, he had often thought about that final dance, her body pressed against him, her head on his chest. His left hand had rested on her bare shoulder, his other at the curve of her spine. The touch of her exposed skin excited him, it felt softer than any he'd touched before. He pulled her closer and when he felt her against him he allowed his lower hand to slide down to where on her hips the flesh becomes denser. He'd had to use all his will to not let it glide lower. The heat of her body after a night of dancing caused her fragrance to rise from her and envelop him. He could almost taste the essence of her in the air, it was her fully ripe sexuality that he inhaled. He'd held many women before, but his sister's body - so familiar by sight - was strange and long forbidden. She was pliant in his arms and her closeness was exciting him like he had never before experienced. He knew she was not available to him, and the people around only emphasised this fact. But he wanted to push at this taboo, to see how far he could take it without breaking it. She was quite drunk by now and held herself against him immodestly. His cock became hard, his mouth dry, his head humming. He allowed himself to press against her hips and then drew back from her. She followed and continued to make contact. Had she felt his arousal against her? He hoped the long dress she wore would protect her from his screaming erection. He tried to push awareness of the other dancers away and imagine they were alone. He savoured the intimate burden of her growing heavy in his arms. He became aware of the depth of his need for her and knew that if acted on it now he would be a ruined man. When the music finally stopped he'd not released his grip on her, and she'd had to call his name to break his trance. It had taken real effort to disengage from him, and she had asked if he was okay. He could only stare at her blankly. When he regained his composure, her reaction convinced him she had seen through him, and he felt guilt. It was a look of wide-eyed incredulous knowing that for a second hijacked her beauty. In that instant of that look, he became sure she would have allowed him anything. She smiled, leaned into him and gave his lips the curtest of kisses, and afterwards said; "Jack, please take care of yourself when you're away. I will miss you more now." As she walked away, she turned and looked back at him from over her shoulder. He thought he saw a new cruelty alive in her eyes. He had not moved an inch. He did not see her again after the reception, she and the rest of the family had travelled home that night. He had pre-booked himself a room in the hotel, as he had travelled from London to attend the wedding. Unable to sleep, the thoughts of Carla harrowed him, finally it had come too much and he used his iphone to look up an escort agency. When the receptionist had asked what kind of girl he would like he had now qualms of specifying the look he required; young, red-haired, long legged and very pale white skinned. Just like Carla. Two days later he flew out to California to begin his new job. The thought of his sister travelled with him. For weeks he beat himself blue over his thoughts that night. He read her emails looking for signs that she had felt his lust for her. But all they contained was family news. When she started university he heard from her less. But on his birthday he received a package. Inside was a gift-wrapped book, with a card printed by Amazon letting him know it was from Carla. The large folio was a study of pre-Raphaelite art. He had no interest in art and wondered why she had chosen it for him. He put the book aside and did not look at it again for twelve months. Gradually he was able to put the memory of his lust for her aside, and denied himself the reality of it. Months later, when he was packing his things and getting ready for his return home, he came across the book again in one of the bedroom draws. He took the volume and sat on the edge of the bed and leafed through it. He flicked past one of the full-page colour plates and something caught his eye that caused him to back-pedal. What he saw there opened the box in his head that he though he had closed tight and bolted. It was a reproduction, a painting by Burne-Jones, entitled, The Beguiling Of Merlin. In the painting were two figures, a male and female. The female had a book in her hands and was looking over her shoulder at the male who was helpless under some spell. But the thing that rattled him was that there in the picture stood Carla; the female figure had the same lithe long boned physique, the elegant well defined neck and visage and identical clean lined features. She had hair of a reddish hue. He sat and gaped at the picture. He wondered if after their dance at the wedding, when she turned back to look at him, whether his own eyes had become dark and his features wan like those of Merlin. He read the caption on the facing page. This painting is all about love, infatuation, power, entrapment and betrayal. Nimue was a Lady of the Lake who had been introduced to Camelot by King Pellinore. She enchanted an infatuated Merlin into a deep sleep. He is shown trapped in the tangles of a hawthorn bush, helpless to act. Nimue, now in the position of power, reads from his book of spells. He did not have a good feeling about this. He thought about the stupor that had come over him as he had held Carla. And hadn't the name of the hotel where the reception was held been The Hawthorn? He tried to imagine why she had sent him this book. Was she aware of her likeness to Nimue in the painting? She had always loved art; did it have a deeper meaning or was she was trying to educate him? Was he seeing too much into an innocent gift? The next day, thirty-two-thousand feet over the Atlantic, Jack decided that as soon as he could he would go and visit Carla in Manchester, where she was now studying. Lights were coming on in the city centre as Jack stood waiting for his sister to arrive. They'd arranged to meet by The Queen Victoria Memorial in Piccadilly Gardens. She was late, and so to pass the time he watched the students coming and going and gave his mind free rein. Manchester had the largest student population in Europe and in term time the city centre was awash with youth. They dressed to let the world know who they were, or thought they were, or wanted to be. He looked in part envy and wondered about all their young lives. Each one of them thought they would make a difference, perhaps change things; and maybe some would. So many faces passed him by, then merging with all the others. But more would appear to take their place, and he wondered from where they materialised. Was there an endless source hidden away, a place where they were generated and sent out onto the streets? They could not be real people surely, all with lives, loves, and dreams of their own. He started to think of them as NPCs in a video game, there just to fill and authenticate his week in this strange city. He wondered if he approached some fresh-faced-young-thing and said the right words, whether they would offer him clues to use during his stay? He was brought out of his reverie by her voice calling his name. He looked around and saw the unmistakable shock of her red hair. It was the thing about her people always saw first, what they noticed, what they would remark on. He watched Carla approach and her conspicuous beauty hit him again, but differently than at Catherine's wedding. Now it was Nimue, the enchantress depicted in the painting that was walking towards him Yesterday, on his drive from London to Manchester, he'd taken a detour and visited the Lever Art Gallery at Port Sunlight on Merseyside. The painting that had come to obsess him was housed in their collection. Although the reproduction in the book was excellent, and he had looked at it incessantly over the last week, when he had stood before the actual canvas, he had been disconcerted. Unprepared for the physical size, and the power emanating from the real thing, the murdering green hues close up disorientated him. As he looked at the figure of Nimue in the painting, he knew he himself was now enchanted and that he would not be free of her spell until she'd had him completely. She was there, life size in oils before him, her look told him this. She waved to him and he returned her gesture and she smiled a great wide smile just for him. They exchanged kisses, embraced, and held each other for a moment. "God, Carla, look at you... I don't know you any more. Where's the farmer's daughter I remember and love?" "She's back at the home. This girl is setting this city alight with her beauty, style and wit." She laughed and kissed his cheek again, happy for him to be there. "I bet they don't know what's hit them." "I make sure they do." She laughed again and then was saying to him: "L.A. has been good to you Jack, you look more seasoned and alive. You've lost weight too!" "They're health and exercise crazed over there. Some of its rubbed off." They walked together, arm in arm, looking to find a bar. But for all her beauty he thought he'd seen weariness in her eyes that was new to him. Something about her face had changed, like a flower that has just turned from bloom and will now begin to wilt. Only someone intimate with her would have noticed. Over drinks they caught up with each other's news, and while the wine flowed Jack watched her. The alcohol animated her and as they talked and drank the changes in her began to slip through cracks in the little sister persona that she had put on for him. She spoke of friends, holidays, and parties, but was disinclined to talk about her course and studies. She was cynical and worldly now. At the wedding, she had been eager and fresh, a delightful young girl emerging into womanhood. "I know you're here to check up on me, Jack," she said without warning. "Check up...what do you mean?" "You've come to see that I'm handing in my homework on time; that I'm mixing with the nice children and that I still go to church on Sundays. Will you be seeing the headmaster on Monday too?" "Christ, Carla, you know me better than that. I thought it would be good for us to get together. We've not been alone without the others since you were a kid. Remember how you always wanted to hike with me, and that last time we did. Three Monks Hill, wasn't it?" "That's one of my favourite times Jack. I did really look up to you back then - I still do - you were everything I wanted to be; intelligent, confident, good with everyone. A beautiful person." "You're all those things now, Carla, no one could be any more than you have become. Don't throw it away." "See, I knew you were here to sort me out!" "No, I want get to know the person you've become, not the little girl I remember. I want to be your friend." "You might not want to be the friend of this person I am now." He paused and wondered if he should tell her more about his own past and the things he had experienced since leaving home ten years ago. "I was no saint at you age. I did stuff...stuff I'm not proud of. I still do." "Ooh! I bet that time you went to Amsterdam you smoked soooo much dope that you were so out of it man! I bet you paid to get you cherry popped in a whore's window while your mates watched and cheered you." Her spleen was complete and it cut him. "Sorry Jack." She reached over and touched his arm; "It's just that I'm sick of it. This summer, while I was home for a few weeks, I had them on at me all the time. I'm grown now, but you all still think of me as a sixteen-year-old." She drained her glass, then continued: "Listen Jack, I could devote my life to looking after sick children or donkeys, or whatever. Or I can go to work in a burlesque bar, or fuck my way around Europe. It would be my choice... Understand? My choice, no one else's." Her anger surprised him and he had second thoughts of opening to her, for now at least. It might not be a good time to tell her of his nine months lost to cocaine and anything else intoxicating that happened to be at hand. And all the days, nights and weekends wasted fucking any female he could talk into his bed. He stood and picked up their empty glasses. "Okay, let's start again. I want you to show me your life and who you have become. You ready for another?" "Bring the whole bottle this time," she laughed. Waiting to be served, he watched her. Sitting alone, she cast her gaze over the other drinkers sitting nearby or standing in small groups. He soon realised that anyone who noticed her passing glances would be drawn in to her orbit and steal looks at her. Not in the sense that they would stop and stare, rather he could tell that her look had lodged itself somewhere in their mind and discomforted them. And although they would continue to speak with their companions, friends or lovers, their eyes would continually be returning to her, hoping for something from her, perhaps a sign or the favour of a smile. While she was present they would be distracted by her, unable to give themselves fully to their companions. It wasn't only men who were drawn by her, girls and mature women too would fall under her subtle incomprehensible glance. How Jack Came To Fuck His Sister He returned with the drinks and thought about how, without dressing provocatively or flaunting her body, she affected this magic. An aura was radiating from her that spoke to the sexual core of those that she had glanced at. Eyes would be drawn to something about her and he searched to find what that something was. The obvious thing that got her noticed was her hair; it was styled exquisitely and it hung and blazed about her. Partly it was in the eclectically impossible rightness of her style. She could take some outlandish item and make it no longer odd, but impeccably right for her. It was also in the poise and easy sensuousness that the tiniest of her gesture had. But he concluded that in her eyes, that was where the thing that drew people to her lived. They were no longer the eager bright eyes of a sixth former, but were now alive with a lasciviousness that he hoped was not as infinite as he imagined. They talked, all the while he was looking into her eyes and he felt her sexuality reach out to him. Her eyes burned him without her seeming aware of what she did. By the time they had put on their coats and made their way out of the bar the something in the box was pushing hard to come out. Out in the street she stopped to light a cigarette -- a new affectation he thought - he watched her inhale and look skyward as she exhaled, and suddenly she was cheap and ordinary to him, his earlier imaginings now seemed ridiculous. She inhaled again and noticed the look he gave her: "Sorry, Jack! I know you'll think me a complete degenerate. I picked the disgusting habit up when I was in France, last Easter, with Colette. She corrupted me." But she laughed and looked pleased with her own thoughts. Later they ate a meal in Chinatown and she seemed more the country girl again, his little sister. He decided to ask her about the book. "Oh, and thank you for the book. I've been looking at it a lot this last month. What made you buy it for me." "I've always loved the Pre-Raphaelites; such a dissipated clique of hedonists...don't you think? All those wives, girlfriends, brothers and sisters" "I didn't know anything about them till I got that book from you." "There was one picture in it I thought you might appreciate. Can you guess which one?" His blood chilled, his throat was dry. He took a drink. "Don't worry Jack, I'm not going to test you. But one of the pictures contains a likeness of you. "The Beguiling Of Merlin," by Burne-Jones. That night we danced, when I looked back at you as I was leaving, that painting came into my head. It was one that I have always loved. You had the look of an spellbound Merlin About you." She looked around for a waiter to ask for water. Then brazenly, "Why did you have that look, Jack?" "I didn't know I did." "Oh yes, I have never seen anyone look as you did that night. You don't have to lie to me Jack. I felt you pressed against me when we danced." "Carla, you shouldn't say stuff like that." "But you were." "I tried to not let you feel it." She waited for him to say more, and when he didn't, she asked, "Jack, were you beguiled?" "I'd had to much to drink, that's all." "Colette says, older brothers always lust after their little sisters. She told me how her brother used to ask her for a blow job." "And did she give him one?" "She said she did." "She sounds adorable! Is this the same Colette who got you smoking." "The very same. She's taught me a lot. Opened me up to all sorts of new shit." "Is she your girlfriend now?" "You can make you own mind up. I'll phone her, you'll like her. It'll be fun." She dug in her bag and retrieved her mobile. "Hi, Colette. Remember how I told you Jack was in town.... That's right. Well I think it would be good if we three got together." She laughed at something her friend said. "Yes, I'll let you play with him, but only if you are nice to me as well. Meet you at the Print Works: Hard Rock Cafe. Say half an hour?" Half an hour later they were standing near the bar waiting for Colette to turn up. Carla was attentive to her surroundings again, sexual and haughty, a caged cheetah released back onto the savannah. Even though she was obviously in his company, guys would try to talk to her, chat her up. She would give them her look, then deny and confuse them. The interruptions began to spoil the flow of their conversation, and Jack said so to her. She came closer to him, resting her hand on his arm as they talked her thigh just pressing against him. She reached up and brushed a lock of his hair back into place and said, "If I stay close to you, guys will think we are lovers and leave us alone." She kissed him softly on the cheek. And it worked, men stopped interrupting them, but people still looked and he imagined they envied him. They stood and drank larger from bottles, she held onto his arm, and occasionally she was jostled and got pushed against him. When this happened she would not pull away embarrassed as she might have a few years ago, but lingers against him, then would slowly draw back, but not far. When she was pressed against him he could feel the heat again, like when they danced at the wedding, but it carried a different scent to him now. "How do you usually cope with all the attention, Carla?" "When I'm out, there's usually with Colette. We look after each other." "Don't you ever cop off?" he asked, trying to sound not that interested. "Jack, if I want a guy I have him. But it's me that decides." She took a drink from her bottle and looked around the room. Then she was waving to a dark skinned girl who had just entered the bar. She moved quickly off to greet her friend as if she were someone long lost to her and unexpectedly returned. Jack watched from a distance as they spoke to each other just out of his earshot. When things looked settled between them, Carla led her friend by the hand and introduced her. When the niceties were done with, Colette said, "Carla has told me a lot about you, Jack. I feel I already know you. She keeps promising to tell me more about the Collisters and their secrets." "We have no secrets in our family, do we Jack?" There was a conspiracy in the air. He did not feel a party to it. "None at all." It was lame, but what cold he say. He felt busted. "Carla, you don't know, Jack might have secrets of his own." "No, he could never keep a secret. Could you Jack?" They were playing with him and he could not understand to what end they were leading him. Did they intend to humiliate him? He made an excuse and made a trip to the toilets. Inside he wet his face and took time out to calm his nerves. As he made his way back to them he saw them breaking from each other. They had obviously been kissing. He was momentarily stunned. His little sister really had changed, become grown and more sexual than he could have ever thought. He did not judge, he just had not expected it and so pretended not to have seen. When he was back, he was the centre of their attention again. It was when the three of them danced that Jack's mind descended once more into some dark imaginings. The idea of being watched dancing with these two gorgeous girls was evoking his lascivious side. As they all danced, he moved in-between the two of them and thought, no one will know the redhead is my sister. They both responded and were moving suggestively next to him. Carla was laughing and he could not tell if it was mock sexuality to her or if she was allowing him some new intimacy, but her friend did not hold back as she closed to be near him. Then she had a leg each side of his own leg. As they danced he imagined the onlookers thinking they were a ménage à trois and that later he would enjoy them both. For a moment he let his mind think what it would be like to be in bed with the two of them. He thought of Colette's boyish chest and imagined his sister's more substantial flesh and him touching the two to compare. There it was again, the thing in the box. It was banging again. The three danced and moved about each other, putting on a show for any onlookers, their bodies and hips suggestive, the girls brushing each other then surrounding him and holding him from either side. In spite of himself, his cock became a marble hindrance in his pants. They danced and talked for two more hours. At 2am they were out on the streets among the crowds that were moving from bar to club to home. "Where next?" Asked Colette. "There's Club Kudos," offered Carla. "It only opened last week." "Girls, I hope you don't mind, but I'm dead on my feet. You two go on, I'll call it a day." "Oh Jack, It won't be the same without you. Don't be a wuss!" pleaded Carla. Then resting her head against his shoulders, she allowed intoxication to take hold. "What about we all go back to Jack's room for a last drink. I'll phone a cab and while we wait we can have a last drink. It would be better than queuing at the cab-rank. It gets a bit rough down there about this time," offered Colette. The three walked the short distance to Jack's hotel arm in arm. He was between them both and as they walked he had still not summoned the will to close the box that had sprung open earlier. He wallowed in his position between them both. The night porter looked envious as they breezed past him. They wished him a good night. In the room jack poured three whiskies. Carla was at the far end of the long couch that could be opened out into a bed. Colette was on the double bed propped up by pillows, she was rummaging in her handbag and pulled out a small leather purse and commenced to roll a joint. Jack watched. His first thought was that it was a no smoking room. His second was, god, it's years since I smoked weed. "Good Skunk, this," said Colette, as she sucked on the spliff. "Pass that cup to catch the ash in, please, Jack." Carla was staring at him, waiting to see his reaction. "See what a gown up girl I am now, Jack, I have big friends who do drugs and shit!" He handed Colette her drink and when she offered him the joint he took it and reacquainted himself with its heat and astringency. He walked over to his sister, handed her the spliff and the whiskey glass and sat at the other end of the sofa from her. He took a mouthful of Scotch. Carla had passed the joint back to him, put her glass on the floor, then taken off her boots and socks, and was now rubbing her feet. She asked him, "Jack, could you do my feet, please? My boots have been killing me all night." Without waiting for his reply she stretched out her long legs and deposited both her feet in his lap. They were warm and very slightly damp, emerging from black leggings. He passed the spliff back to her then took her feet, rubbed her soles, and manipulated her ankles. He pushed down an urge to gently nibble at her toes. "I could do with some of that," said Colette, looking at them from the bed. "What? The Skunk, or your feet rubbing?" asked Jack. "Both." "My big brother's an Angel, I'm sure he wouldn't mind doing you too. Would you, Jack?" "Yeah, I can have a little foot orgy in my lap." "Come over next to me, I'll budge up." She moved over to make room for her friend. They both watched as Colette unsteadily rose from the bed. "I'll just take these off. Look away please, Jack, a girl has to maintain her dignity," she said as she reached under her skirt. They were all very intoxicated now, and as she tried to wriggle out of her opaque tights she lost her balance and fell back onto the bed. After a lot of kicking and giggling she eventually made her legs bare. She came over next to Carla and stretched out her dark naked legs and plonked her feet in his lap alongside her friend's. Colette's feet were chilled compared to his sister's. She'd not had the benefit of boots in the cold night, just a pair of inadequate ballerinas. His hands massaged one foot of each girl, then moved to the next foot of each of them. They passed the joint around and chatted. As he rubbed their feet, he thought of that summer afternoon three years ago when he had watched the girlish Carla, and Amie and thought of how he had fantasised about touching and licking their young feet. He was becoming reacquainted with a blurring of his edges bought on by the Skunk. The girls were whispering into each other's ears, then giggling and whispering some more. Their sounds became like serpents in a hole hissing. Then Carla called to him... "Jack, I've got a little secret just for you. Promise you won't tell mumsssy and dadssssy." Her slurred sarcasm irritated him. She took a deep draw on the spliff and reached over and offered it to him again. He shook his head and carried on rubbing their feet. "Your little baby sister has decided she likes girls, as well as boys. Yes girls, girlie-girls...really likes them; beautiful girls. I like boys too, but I might like girls more! I don't know yet. I haven't decided which is nicest." The two girls giggled; Stupidly he thought. "Me and Colette...we like to do it with each other you know. She's a girl too, like I am, and I like her." "Me too," added Colette, but not really keeping up. Neither was Jack. The two girls began to kiss, Jack watched them as his hands slowly alternated between the four feet in his lap. Colette's feet were also hot now. As the intensity of their passion for each other became obvious, Jack's hands had came to a halt, paralysed by disbelief and lust. "Don't stop, Jack," said his sister, taking time out from her kissing. "It was really nice, so nice to have my feet rubbed as we kissed." "He's feeling left out," said Colette. "I want to kiss him too. I want to see if he tastes like you do." "Jacky! Come and give my best friend a kiss...her lips are all wet and sloshy." Carla was loud now, her drunken laugh hinting at an inner abandon. He felt uneasy about the situation, but his lust fuelled him on. He moved from under their feet and placed them down on the sofa, and went to kneel by Colette's side. He kissed her full on, holding nothing back, his whiskey tongue an eager terrier in her smoky hole of a mouth. "Mmm. I've never snogged brother and sister," said Colette, as she now turned to Carla. The girls kissed again, and Jack began to stroke Colette's leg. She did not stop him, so he let it travel further. She allowed one leg fall off the side of the couch, making room for him to progress. "I wish I had some man-lips I could kiss," pouted Carla as her friend turned again to Jack. "Mmn, I can't make my mind up," Colette mused, "let me try again." She exchanged kisses with each of them and then was whispering to Carla, "Your brother is being a very naughty boy. He's pulling off my panties." "Let me feel," said Carla, as she placed her hand between Colette's legs only to encounter her brother's already there. His fingers were working the humid flesh. She rested her own hand on his and felt the motion of it as he rubbed between Colette's folds. "Mmm, nice rhythm Jack-boy. Here let me help," she slurred. Carla's hand was on his, piloting his movements, applying pressure as he rubbed. Oh, this is intense! He was breathing fast, too fast. Slow down. Breath deep. To give himself mental distance and break from his sister's touch, he stood up and pulled Colette after him, She spluttered and giggled as he supported her on the way across to the bed. "What about me?" protested Carla. They had left her behind on the sofa. He sat Colette down on the edge of the bed and quickly undressed her. Her brown flesh and dark nipples would be a new flavour to him. And for a moment he forgot about his sister and he became fully engrossed in Colette's exotic brown flesh. Carla undressed herself; she had not intention of being a voyeur, and was back with them licking at Colette too. He broke from them, stood and undressed himself, all the time watching the two girls kissing and rubbing each other. "Hurry up Jack, Colette wants some cock. She's not had any for weeks." Laughter again. They were both sitting up now, arms around each other and looking at him stood naked before them, his cock straining to be at work. "Carla, your brother is bloody gorgeous, isn't he?" "God, yes, Jack, I didn't know he had all that hidden away." "Would you like to suck it for him?" asked Colette, drunk and mocking. It wouldn't be like real sex...not incest or anything. After all, that president Clinton didn't have sex with that woman did he; she just sucked his cock. He said, it wasn't sex. And he was the president. He should know." More shrill laughter. He looked at them both on the bed, but his eyes were now more drawn to Carla. Try not to look at her red hair. Nor her long legs and curves. Nor her silk white breasts. She's your kid sister for Christ's sake. Oh God! Concentrate on Colette. That's right Colette, thinks of Colette, beautiful, dark, Colette. "Listen, Colette, I'm more than happy to have you between me and Carla. But that's all. Okay?" "Spoil sport!" He hoped Carla was joking. She seemed like she was joking, just banter, a bit of fun. He was with Colette now, kissing her, stroking her, pinching and nipping her. She was on her back and Carla was between her legs. They were a team and bought her to orgasm. It did not take long, being between brother and sister had excited Colette's every synapse and corpuscle. Now he was on his back and Colette was sucking at his cock, her tongue pressing firmly and sensuously as it travelled the length. Now her lips enfolded it all, he was deep in her throat, then her lips were on his end and her tongue flickering in and out. Carla stoked her friend's buttocks. Her finger began to explore her hot wet cunt from behind, smearing the thick cum about her dark flesh, up the crack of her arse and around her puckering. Colette crawled level with him and kissed him on the mouth again, but he could still feel lips and tongue on his cock; only now the movements and technique had changed. In his drunken confusion it took a few seconds for it to register just what that meant. He had to break from his kissing and look down at himself before he could make his brain compute this new data. Colette looked confused and followed his gaze. They both sat transfixed and watched Carla as she mouthed her brother's cock with fevered disregard. "God Carla! I never really thought you would. Jesus girl!" Carla did not stop; she was in another headspace, her brother's meat stuffed fully in her fine middle class, butter-wouldn't-melt, mouth. Colette's incredulity and shock burst from her in a broadside of disgust. "Oh no, no! I was just skitting you Carla! I never seriously thought you would...oh, god! You dirty fucking slut! How could you do that? Your own fucking brother. Fuck. Oh no, stop, Carla stop. Jesus! I'm going to hurl." Carla did not stop. Colette jumped up, tried to run to the bathroom, fell, and had to crawl on all fours. Her retching was loud and abrasive and echoed around the tiles. It was not until after Jack's cum had filled her mouth, and been swallowed, that Carla called to her friend. "Oh Colette, don't be mad." She was now aware of her friend's reaction, but was barely able to articulate her words. The room was spinning for her, she rested her head on her brother's flat hard stomach, traces of his spunk on her chin and between her mouth and nose, his spent cock still inches from her lips. Colette was still in the bathroom water was splashing. She re-entered the bedroom, and without another word, or even looking in their direction, hurriedly dressed and left them. Jack could think of no words to say as he watched her go. When she had gone, he looked down at his sister. She was far-gone. She had drunk no more than he had; perhaps she'd had a little more from the joint, but not that much. It occurred to him that she might have had something stronger than the skunk. He sat her up and brushed the hair out of her eyes. She was crying and mumbling. How Jack Came To Fuck His Sister "Colette hates me now, she will tell everyone what I did. I only wanted to taste a bit of cock. Is that so bad? Is it Jack? I just wanted to see if I liked pussy more than cock. I still don't know. You liked it didn't you? You looked so nice. I just wanted to taste it in my mouth. I liked the taste Jack. Hold me Jack. Please. She said it would be okay, said I should try it. Don't hate me too." He put his arms about her and tried to comfort her, but her mouth was on his neck now. For one moment he thought to push her away, but the thing that had been in the box was now free and on the rampage. The dam that had held his incestuous lust burst and carried him on to her. His tongue was forcing its way between her teeth to ram against hers. They scuttled the ship of their inhibitions and morals, and were overboard with just each other to cling to. She was as enflamed as he, and held him, enveloped him with a vicious need. They explored the new pleasures of each other's now unfamiliarity. He closed his eyes as the kissed her, and in his mind he pictured her body as his hands travelled over it. He could see the furnace of her hair flowing over the white of shoulders and breasts. His hands conjured the sight of her other curves below, and the tallness of her and length of her silk-soft legs. He caressed her buttocks and pictured their roundness as he probed her crack. Then he had spread her legs and was pushing into her. He was not gentle but shoved hard and was all the way inside her in one thrust. She moaned loud and scratched his back as he entered. He started to fuck her without remorse or guilt, and she was a surging mass of female lust beneath him. Her legs were about him, forcing down on his back, making him know she wanted him deep inside her. Her cum streamed from her and dribbled down into her arse. With The explosion of his orgasm his body became epileptic, he quaked, his head shook maniacally. Then he was still and she was pounding his back for him to continue. But he was done. He rolled from her and she turned from him and said nothing. He lay on his back and the reality of the taboo they had transgressed pushed at his mind. He was burning up, he stood and tried to force the gap in the window wider, hoping to inundate the room with stinging iced night air. But it would not give any further and he pushed his face up to the gap and breathed deep. "Come back to me, Jack." "God Carla, what have we become?" "Come to bed and hold me. Please, Jack." "We have to talk." "Tomorrow. Just hold me." He lay next to her and felt her strange familiar flesh. He was already nearly fully hard again. They enfolded each other in arms and legs. She was soon asleep. Jacks mind would not find the peace of sleep for another two hours. ******************************* "Carla, wake up. We have to talk." She stirred and looked at him. For a moment she was a startled animal. Then the appetence he had first seen in her eyes yesterday returned. She said. "Jack, its Okay. Before we talk there's something I want you to do for me." "What is it?" " I want you to fuck me in the arse." As Jack slowly pushed his cock all the way into her rectum, he thought about Kerry his youngest sister, and how next year she would be at university too.