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Ann and Una, Chapter 4

  • Posted on September 24, 2017 at 10:08 am

By Una

Ann brushed my reddened, tear-streaked cheek, kissed my sweaty forehead lightly and tiptoed back to her bed. She was gone before I knew. I lay listening to the whispering tide as it swished outside our window.

I couldn’t sleep after my excitement. Every part of me was tingling. In a trance, I put a hand on my chest. The damp patch showed it hadn’t been a dream: my sister’s mouth had been there, minutes ago, my nipple glazed with her saliva.

Her bed creaked. I wanted to whisper, to ask if she, too, was unable to sleep, but Mum and Dad were in the next room. The walls were thin. I put a finger and thumb on the wetness of the t-shirt. Oh my God. I never knew a nipple could feel so nice. No one had ever told me.

I pressed a finger and thumb on the hard bud through the damp t-shirt. My body reacted instantly. A flush started somewhere behind the ears, seeped into my cheeks, trickling down to warm my neck.

I relaxed my grip, astonished by the chorus of tingles. I squeezed again, cautiously, lightly — not expecting that strange response to be repeated. I’d never touched my nipple before — anyhow, not like that, pressing it sinfully between finger and thumb.

The reaction was so intense, I snatched my hand away as I squirmed in reflex action. Lying perfectly still, I tried to make sense of the combination of pulses that throbbed within me.

Slowly, the surging heat between my legs became an ache. I parted my thighs and raised my knees, then slipped a hand down. A curious middle finger traced the puffy lips. Suddenly it slipped between the soft segments. Inside was hot and slippery, but it was magic. A silken fairy elixir enticed my finger to further exploration.

I felt the raised dot Ann had fingered earlier. It was stiff, snuggling under the slick folds of my inner self. I parted the fleshy layers. Just a passing brush was enough.

The body music started again. Delicious sensations were simmering everywhere. I placed a hand on my chest and caught the nipple in a finger and thumb. I squeezed hard, then harder. How hard I could go before it became painful?

This was incredible. The finger between my legs seemed to have frozen all feeling in the nipple. And yet it was alive — and tingling. I pressed firmly into the juiciness down below.

Oh God! Pressing the dot between my legs harder only seemed to animate the nipple. The two were interconnected: the nipple and the secret bump floating in its magic elixir were sending unseen messages, urging each other to greater heights. No one had ever told me about this, not Mags, not Ellie, not Ann.

I stayed absolutely still. Ann’s bed creaked. I listened intently: she wasn’t asleep. For ages I lay quietly, hoping she’d think me asleep. I didn’t want her to know I was touching myself like this. I knew that this was the sin the nuns had warned us about.

My thoughts turned to Hell. I tried to stop. But the enchanted place held my finger like a magnet. Ann’s bed creaked again. And then I heard it: that distinctive sound she made. It was a barely audible sigh, almost a whimper. Then another sigh and a sudden intake of breath.

I was concentrating so much on the sounds from Ann’s bed that I hadn’t noticed how my fingers had started moving again — faster now. The right finger was circling, like a tiny machine out of control.

My t-shirt had ridden up. My fingers were squeezing the nipple, twisting, like tuning a radio. Oh my God, I can’t stop. Something out of this world had captivated me. There was another sigh. It was mine. My head tossed on the pillow, trying to escape the intensity of these sensations.

Something touched my forehead. Ann’s cool hand was calming, drawing me back to reality. She put her lips to my ear and hissed, “For Christ’s sake, Una! Be quiet or Mother will come!”

The moon through thin curtains showed her silhouette. Dim white light caught the contour of her bare breasts. She was only wearing knickers.

She leaned over, hand under the bedclothes. When she caressed my tummy it was reassuring. For a moment I thought I’d been having a dream. Then she was crouching at the bedside, asking, “Are you all right?”

I whispered, “Yes.” Suddenly, we seemed so close, my sister and me. It was as though, here, in this secret darkness, we were one and the same person.

Her hand moved lower, below my belly button. We were silent. She stroked my lower tummy. It began to tickle — rather, to tingle rather than tickle. The intense sensations that had made me swoon earlier were back in force.

The moving hand went lower. It reached the bump — my legs opened. I didn’t tell them to open, they seemed to have a mind of their own. I was amazed. What if I had told them not to part, would they have obeyed? I wanted to be in control, but wasn’t.

Ann’s palm was cupping the puffy lips of my sex. She put her mouth to my ear. “Did you get satisfaction, then?” she asked. As she spoke, her finger slipped into the wet cleft. Oh God. I squirmed like a trapped animal.

I said yes. I didn’t know what she meant, but at that instant I was wonderfully satisfied.

Ann whispered once more. “I didn’t — I didn’t get satisfaction. Not yet.”

She had taken my hand from under the bedclothes. The dim moonlight showed a thumb hooked in the waistband of her knickers, tugging them down. She widened her legs and guided my hand. I knew now what she meant by satisfaction.

Her knees bent against the bed. I was up on an elbow. She took my finger, steering it into her unseen thatch. The hair was sparse and silky, the sudden heat of her a shock.

My finger was squelching in her warm wetness. She was pushing it deeper into the juicy hole, until it could go no further. She held it there as she began to move her hips. They were rotating. Ann was working herself on my finger.

And then she stopped with a sudden shudder. She breathed deeply and sighed once. We stayed there, transfixed, my hand trapped between her clenched thighs. She gave another sigh, then bent to kiss me — and then she was gone.

*****

When my sister Ann and I headed to the dunes next morning, neither mentioned the night before. It was as though nothing had happened. Perhaps it hadn’t, it had been a dream, I thought. Mother was babbling while no one listened, Father was reading a book, Ann was staring out at the mountains sweeping down to the sea, blue in the far distance. Her eyes didn’t meet mine.

Was it all a dream — or had it been real and was she now immersed in shame or regret?

Although we’d been like two peas in a pod since childhood, there were some things she was unable or unwilling to talk about. I was never sure if it was simply because she thought, at two years younger, I was too juvenile, or that she had dark secrets she was unwilling to reveal.

She sat in the window seat, her face inscrutable, staring into space. I’d have given anything to see into her mind, to ask if she’d really regretted last night. I didn’t.

Ann walked ahead as we stepped onto the beach. Viewed from the back, there was something marvellously attractive about her perfect shoulders and long, light brown hair. I loved her hair — always fresh, with a hint of the apple-fragrant shampoo we used. It smelled different on her.

We were wearing sun-dresses, swim-suits under. It was too cold for the sea, too overcast for sunbathing, but we were prepared in case it changed. Ann swung the bulky shoulder-bag holding our picnic rug, snacks, drinks, towels and fresh undies, in case we had a swim.

She flopped down on the sheltered side of a high dune with a view of the empty beach and mountains. I followed suit. In the distance, we could see Mary and her mother approaching across the wide, flat, deserted beach. Ann and Mary had struck up a friendship two days earlier. They were both fourteen. They tried to exclude me because I was only twelve, at least that’s how it felt.

Mary sat beside us in the sand. Her mother said hello and went some distance off, setting up an easel and art pad to sketch. Mary chattered aimlessly. She was like her mother, I thought — empty-headed. I wanted to tell her to shut up, to go away, but Ann seemed delighted she had joined us.

I needed to talk to Ann, to steer the conversation to the events of last night. There were so many questions I had to ask.

Mary’s presence made me angry. I didn’t want a really serious talk with Ann — just a few words to reassure me about what happened between us. In my mind, I could still feel that special wetness, the silken-smooth hair between her thighs. Did I really hear her sigh as she squirmed on my hand, showing me where to touch, pressing my finger into her sinfully moist folds?

The sun came out. We took our dresses off and lay out, worshipping the radiant heat. Mary took off her polo shirt and shorts, lying back in her undies. She looked disgusting. Her bosom was too large for the bra she wore, and her tummy bulged over the top of faded, baggy knickers.

I disliked her. She was an intruder, and yet my eyes were drawn to the rounded form where her tummy met her legs. I wondered if she was like Ann down there — wispy and soft. I dragged my thoughts away. Why did I have to be so curious? What did it matter how Mary looked? I gazed out to sea.

My mind was racing, filled with unimportant thoughts about Mary and her mother. I desperately wanted not to think about last night, when Ann and I had touched each other in the dark, still bedroom.

I excused myself and walked down the deserted beach, collecting shells, paddling in the tide’s edge. The feelings of last night had melted away. I didn’t need Ann, I decided, not that way. Yes, it was nice to have her as a sister, to be with her, close to her. But I didn’t need to do the sort of things we’d done last night — not with her, not with anyone, not even with myself. Ann and Mary could chat until dark for all I cared. I was perfectly content to be on my own.

Here, in the morning sun, with a pleasant breeze wafting on my bare legs, the idea of touching someone like that seemed strange. I should really forget it all.

I collected some shells. Not many. I had nothing to carry them in.

Finally, I made my way back to the dunes. Mary was leaving, brushing sand from her legs, bent low. Her cleavage revealed that her bust was not that large after all. Who cares? I thought.

We opened our snacks, had a drink. Ann’s mood had changed with the arrival of the sun. She said she was sorry, that she hadn’t meant to sulk at breakfast. I pretended she had nothing to apologise for.

We lay silently. I needed some way to open the conversation, to ask about last night. I pointed to a plume of white smoke on the far mountains. We speculated about it. Casually, I asked if she had cramps. She’d had them before, bad enough to stay off from school. Mum kept her in bed with a hot water bottle.

Ann said no, that it wasn’t her time to have cramps. She was using her grown-up voice. I posed a few related queries about how her friends were affected by them. I already knew. She’d told me before, in whispers. But I was stalking my sister, taking her down a path I suspected she didn’t want to go.

I said I thought she’d had tummy pains last night, late. I’d heard her moan. She flicked a towel at me. We both laughed. The ice was broken. I pressed on. “Well, you were moaning!”

She laughed again, then called me a little bitch. Between us, it was a term of endearment. Mother would have been apoplectic if she’d heard. To her, bitch was an expression worse than one of those really rude words in Lady Chatterley’s Lover, which Mags and I had partially read — the naughty parts, anyhow — up the field one afternoon.

I fixed my gaze on Ann’s sparkling green eyes. They were her most unusual feature: Dad’s eyes. They didn’t match the rest of her. But they were beautiful beyond words when they flashed. She was flashing them now, projecting her smile with the intensity of a theatre spotlight.

Suddenly, the sun seemed warmer, the day brighter. The clouds over the mountains had drifted away and the sky was cobalt blue. I brushed loose sand from my legs and moved closer to her. Ann jumped up quickly. She was going for a dip — was I coming?

She took my hand as we rushed into the ice-cold water. I guessed it had been her way of cutting short our chat. She was so nice to me — and yet there was that gap between us. We were so close. We used to be able to talk about anything. But now, sometimes, she treated me like a child.

We were shivering when we reached the dunes again. Mary and her mother had gone. A lone car at the far end of the beach was the only other sign of human life.

Ann was towelling herself vigorously, teeth chattering as she faced away from the breeze. I dabbed myself dry. My wet shoulders and legs were cold, but I was happily immune. An inner heat was present that warmed me from within.

Ann took down her top, patting breasts and tummy dry, shielded from the chill breeze — and my hungry gaze. Her back was perfect, long and willowy. I could see vertebrae under smooth skin as she stooped. She was nature’s perfect creature. I knew I would never look like that.

When she turned, it seemed as if we’d stepped back in time to when we bathed together years ago. But she had changed, and so had I. This was not how it had been in the past, when we’d frolicked naked before bed.

As she wriggled, struggling free of the wet swimsuit, her full form was displayed — from pink buds on upturned breasts, to the dark triangle where a flat belly met her long legs.

I don’t know how long I stared at her. We both stood transfixed. The beetroot blush on my cheeks had spread to my throat. I was glad Ann couldn’t see my other parts. The tight, damp crotch of my swimming costume was uncomfortable and hot. This was all so new to me.

Ann transfixed me with her gaze. She looked so composed, two hands behind her head like a young Greek goddess, holding back wet hair. Her breasts were pushed forward, as if flaunting the allure of the rosebuds that were her nipples.

“You look scared,” she said at last. “You’d think you’d never seen me without clothes, Sissy.”

It was just one word, but it changed the scene. Ann hadn’t called me Sissy for ages. It was a pet name, used by no one but us. Sea-birds were wheeling and crying. The breeze died, shifting away from the mountains, becoming warm breath bearing the tangy scent of the Mother God of the Sea.

Ann staggered sideways, struggling on the shifting sand to step into her knickers. We giggled. Then her undies were sliding over her hips. It was like a slap on the face for me. This was not at all what I thought would happen. She was getting dressed. Had I read too much into the display of her nakedness?

She picked up her tennis shirt, shook sand from it and stretched it above her head. As she was about to pull it on I found my voice.

“Let’s sit down for a while,” I said, trying to sound off-hand. I really wanted to say, before you get fully dressed, but hadn’t the nerve.

Wordlessly, still topless, Ann shook the big tartan rug and spread it out neatly. I lay beside her, hardly daring to believe that this might lead to something intimate. My ache was intense. I had a hunger for something I couldn’t explain. I wanted Ann to hug me, that was all. Wasn’t it?

We lay with our hips touching. I was still in my wet bathing suit. The outside had been sun-dried, but the heat of the day and the closeness of my sister had it wet inside instead.

“Why don’t you get out of that suit?” Ann said, casually as anything. “I bet you’d feel better without it. Don’t worry — if anyone approaches, we’ll see them long before they’ll see us.”

Without a word, I sat up. Ann undid the halter-neck. I knelt up on the rug and struggled out of the clinging discomfort. I lay with a towel covering from waist to knees. I was breathing hard — I hoped Ann thought that was from the exertion of removing the swimsuit.

We were being bold as brass, stretched bare-breasted beside each other. But I wanted to be bold! It made me feel so free, so alive.

I glanced sideways. Ann’s buds were like raised pink buttons. Oh my God. A rush of sinful thoughts seared through me, flooding like a torrent into my swollen valley. Some devil’s urge made me want to touch one of Ann’s nipples, to smother it in kisses.

The sun was scorching. Ann rolled towards me. She pulled the side of the tartan rug over her upper body. I turned to face her. She covered mine as well, protecting us both from the burning rays.

We put our arms around each other — it was the most convenient way to lie. But this was about more than comfort or convenience. My arms were around Ann’s neck, drawing her face towards mine.

Her fingers were stroking my back, sending shivers along the spine. We hugged tight and wriggled closer. Her bare breasts pressed the swellings on my own chest. Soft and warm, this naked embrace was making me simmer down below. I raised my knee, pushing it against her closed legs, pressing upwards to part her thighs. It was instinct, pure and simple. I wanted to know if she was simmering too, like a juicy, aromatic casserole spreading an appetising aroma.

Suddenly, Ann was pushing me away. We parted, our faces inches apart, breathing as though we’d been playing tennis rather than hugging. She looked at me with troubled eyes. I wanted to agree with her when she said, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

It was the whispered suffix which betrayed her, showed that she didn’t mean what she said. Just one word, moaned in a plaintive voice — “Sissy.”

Then my head was gripped with frantic intensity. She was twisting it, drawing in close, guiding my lips to hers.

When it came, the kiss was more than a kiss. Her tongue entered my mouth like a dart. The tip circled my gums, dancing, exploring inside, settling into languid, deep, penetrating thrusts, repeated again and again.

I’d never been kissed like this. Mags had given me a passionate kiss, shown how lovers fenced with their tongues. It had been thrillingly new. But this was beyond anything she and I had done, beyond anything I could have imagined.

Sis sucked my lower lip, then bit playfully, nibbling like a rabbit. Without even thinking, I was returning her kisses, my tongue joyfully engaging with hers.

As we kissed, Ann stroked my tummy. A finger poked my belly button playfully, symbolically attempting penetration. Then her hand slowly moved lower. When it cupped my mound I jumped, startled at the intimate touch.

She put her lips to my ear. “I love you, Sissy.” I couldn’t reply. I was overwhelmed by affection for her and with the excitement that we had discovered, for this wonderful, special way we now knew to make each other happy.

I could feel it arriving, the Yellow Brick Road stretched ahead. Happiness was down there, and I was speeding ahead, breathless. Her hand pressed between my legs, opening a way for the finger I knew was going to follow.

The picnic rug rose as my knees went up, legs parting wide. When Ann’s finger swept into the wetness, I wanted to squeal with pleasure. Carefully, tenderly, she explored my childish slit. Her finger squelched, and squelched again, moving around until it touched the little man in the boat.

Every muscle in my body froze from the ecstatic effect. I was paralysed with pleasure. Nowhere else existed but this magical place where Sissy’s finger was circling my pink pearl. I knew then that for the rest of my life I’d be unable to go without this sweet intoxication.

Licking my earlobe, Ann whispered: “I want to satisfy you. Will we do it together?”

“Yes,” I breathed. She put my hand on her breast, placing a finger on her stiffened bud. I teased it with my middle finger, marvelling at its springy firmness.

Ann sighed — and sighed again. At another time, these could have been the sounds of boredom or unhappiness. But I knew now that her sighs were a song of pleasure. I was giving her the same deep thrills that were pulsing through me. I felt so close to her. It was as if my body and hers were one, as if our secret hunger was similar as the facial characteristics we shared as siblings.

Suddenly she drew away. For a moment I thought someone was approaching. But her hands were under me, raising my bottom, moving me to the centre of the rug.

She rolled on top, tugging her baggy knicks down her thighs in a one-handed frenzied move. Even that was erotic. This frantic lowering of her pants, her need to bare her downy cleft — it amazed me.

Our eyes met as she struggled into position. With palms on my hips, she lowered her mound until it was touching mine. Oh my God. This is so wicked — our bare cunnies are touching! She pressed into me again — harder this time.

My arms were around her neck. Her thigh went between mine. We rolled sideways, delirious, our legs meshing like scissors. Soft, silk hairs pressed against my naked cleft. My mouth found hers. I was sucking her lip, as she had done with mine.

Her pushing got harder. Each thrust sent a wave of electricity rippling through me.

My sister was in the throes of manic passion. She was clutching my bottom, a hand on each cheek, drawing me towards her with each shove. “You bitch, you lovely, teasing bitch, Sissy.” Her voice was fierce, yet sweetly tender. “I love you. You know that. You make me want to creep inside you — to be part of you always.”

The moisture between us would have been uncomfortable if we hadn’t been distracted by our passion. I felt at one with Ann as our secretions merged. Some had oozed into my groin as we writhed in loving affection. Years later, what I would remember most of all was the wetness of our embrace.

Ann’s strangled cries brought me back to earth. She was transfixed, her soft, puffy peach pressing hard on mine, motionless. I felt her shiver uncontrollably. Sighing, she whispered: “I love you, Una. I really, really love you, Sissy. Forever and always.”

We lay together in silence for several minutes. I could feel her soft breasts heaving against my bumps as Ann slowly got her breath under control. My tingles had gone. Her excitement had been enough to satisfy me.

My skin felt sticky when Ann rolled off. I closed my eyes. The sound of the seabirds and hissing, gentle waves reflected my magical mood.

I never wanted this moment to end.

I opened my eyes to the tickling on my forehead. Ann was leaning over, twirling a long piece of marram grass, teasing me. I remembered that I was still naked and hastily wrapped the rug around me. Her hand slipped underneath, cupping a budding breast, stroking the pale pink nipple with a slow, gentle finger.

I turned towards her. She leaned down to kiss me. Her voice was a barely audible. “I want you to be satisfied, too, Sissy. I’m sorry I was so selfish.”

I knew instantly what she meant. I no longer needed it explained in words. I had felt her being satisfied, shared her exquisite bliss as her naked body writhed against mine.

Now her hand was between my legs, travelling an open road into that special place where the fleshy pearl was to be found. My ache had returned. That inexplicable hunger had me in its grip. I needed to be touched, but was frightened of the intensity her touch would bring.

I wanted to study these things, to stay in control and observe what happened. But Ann was driving me headlong down the road to beautiful madness, determined to whirl me into space where I could share her experience. She wanted to satisfy me, the way I had satisfied her.

When she penetrated me, I felt shock. Not at her finger pressing into the opening, but the way that part of her body had entered mine so easily. One minute, the finger was dancing in the folds of my overflowing desire. The next, it had slipped inside.

She wriggled it into my entrance, creating the most delicious stretching sensation I’d ever known. It went deeper, deeper into the secret tunnel as if pathfinding for a future visit.

Ann shifted nearer. Lowering her face to my chest, she drew a nipple into her mouth and suckled, her tongue swirling around the tiny, incredibly sensitive bud. She purred with pleasure as she nursed from me. I felt like the most sinful girl in the world as I arched my back, thrusting my chest into her face.

Her finger was pleasuring me with slow caresses. At another time, I would have been embarrassed at the distinctively wet sounds it made. But the squishing only raised my hunger to new heights. My magic spring was overflowing.

Her voice was in my ear. “Let it go, Sissy… let it go! Let me take you somewhere only women can go.”

I was shivering, shaking, shuddering — my senses seem to have been invaded by some alien force. My head was thrashing from side to side. I wanted this to stop. I longed for it to go on forever. It was too much to accept, too powerful for any human to cope with.

Suddenly I was crying. Not sobbing tears of sorrow or hurt or anger or frustration, but weeping with joy and the sense of fulfillment that only a woman can give  to another. It would be years before I knew the word orgasm, years before I was challenged by a male who, to boost his ego, aggressively wanted to know if I’d “come.”

But what did it matter? Here in the secret place, with my soulmate sister, she’d taught me what satisfaction meant. I’d shared my satisfaction with her. We didn’t need any other word for it.

In later years, women who spoke to me of coming, or getting off, of orgasms and climaxes, would scoff at the simple childish word which my sister and I used to describe our sexual and emotional gratification. But it suited us — and it seemed appropriate for our relationship, which we thought was unique.

Soon to come: Chapter 5!

Sketching My Sister, Part One

  • Posted on September 19, 2017 at 2:29 am

By GrandMoff

{ This story was originally posted at the now-defunct Sisters in Love }

My name is Bara Kokovinis. I live in a little town called Rich Bar, in northern California. I’m American, with heritage that is mostly Japanese (my mom’s side) and Greek (my dad’s side.) I’m slim and petite, with long black hair which I usually wear up and light brown eyes. I’ll be seventeen in October.

Drawing and painting have been my favorite activities since I was seven or eight years old. Art requires concentration and solitude. I spent a lot of time alone — pencil, brush, or pen in hand. Some people called me strange, but it was how I had to work.

By the time I was thirteen, I drew people — women, men, girls, boys — more than anything else. But I noticed that my art wasn’t improving, and I grew frustrated. I wanted to be much better than I was.

I was sixteen when I decided I had to have a model. It was a dilemma. I didn’t have enough money to pay for one. I didn’t dare ask one of my few friends to do it.

My art teacher, Ms. Wallace, noticed my despondent attitude. At first I didn’t tell her what was wrong, but she insisted. She promised that she would keep it to herself, so I leveled with her. That turned out to be a great move, because she had a great solution. She said she had a few friends who modeled and would be happy to pose for me free of charge, though only for an hour or two per week.

“Oh, Ms. Wallace, thank you so much!” I told her.

“You’re welcome, but there still may be a problem. I met these friends in college, and they live in Chico.”

“But I… I can’t get to Chico,” I said quietly.

“Sure you can; I’ll take you,” Ms. Wallace said cheerfully. “If your parents will let you go, of course.”

“Oh, I couldn’t accept–”

“Please, come with me. I want to see your art improve and I want to help you.” She lowered her voice. “Don’t tell anyone. I know I shouldn’t have a favorite, but I do. You’re it.”

“Ms. Wallace, thank you. I mean it, thank you.”

*****

Saturday morning saw me in the passenger seat of Ms. Wallace’s sturdy F-150. I was grinning, and she caught me off-guard with her sudden statement. “You look happier than I’ve ever seen you,” she said.

“I am happy, Ms. Wallace, very happy!”

“Call me Korrina, okay?”

“Korrina? Your first name’s Roberta, isn’t it?” I asked.

“Yeah, and I don’t like it. Korrina’s my middle name, and it’s much better.”

“You said you’ve gotten a friend to agree to model for me? Who is she, Korrina? What’s she like?”

“Her name’s Rose–”

I giggled.

“What?” my teacher asked.

“It’s a coincidence. My name is the Japanese word for Rose.”

“That’s a coincidence, all right. Bara means Rose? Cool, I didn’t know that.”

“Sorry I interrupted,” I said. “Tell me about her.”

“Let’s see… she’s my age, 28. She’s over 5’7″ tall, and thin enough to make me envious. She’s an artist herself; quiet, but with an easy smile. I think she’ll like you a lot.”

“She doesn’t mind posing for someone as young as I am?”

“Not at all. She was in your position once.”

*****

Ms. Wallace took me to Chico every two weeks. It was great. She had three friends who took turns modeling for me: Rose, Sandra, and Aevry. I liked all of them. They and Ms. Wallace were fun to be with and they loved treating me to cake or pie and tea. My art improved, and so did my self-confidence. I was a bit embarrassed at the beginning, drawing a girl who was standing before me without a stitch of clothing — which is kind of backwards, I suppose! — but they quickly put me at ease.

*****

My sister Ame lived in an apartment in Paradise, but returned to my parents’ house nearly every weekend. She’s twenty, and a very private person, so I was surprised when I was drawing in my room one Saturday and heard her knock. I let her in and she sat across my table, in a comfortable old oak chair. She was in the mood to talk.

“Wow, that’s nice,” she praised, referring to the drawing I was making, a picture of a smiling young woman holding an umbrella.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Much better than a year ago.”

“Thanks,” I said again.

“What have you done to improve so much, Bara?” she asked casually.

“Just working harder, I guess.”

“Really?”

“Ame,” I said, looking her in the eyes, “I’m losing my concentration. Could you please talk about something else?”

“I’m sorry. Something else, then. Mom tells me you’re gone every other Saturday for several hours. Where are you going?”

“Just… out with friends,” I answered as calmly as I could.

“A guy, maybe?”

“No,” I laughed, “not a guy. I just go out — you know — talk, have pie, drink tea, that kind of thing.”

“Well, good for you,” Ame said. “You’ve changed, for the better. You’re happier and more assertive.”

“Am I?”

“Sure you are.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“I’ll have to meet your friends some time.”

I was tired of playing defense. “I’d like to meet some of yours too,” I said. “When are you going to let me come visit you at your apartment?”

“Suppertime, girls!” our dad called from downstairs.

*****

The school year was nearly over, so I asked Ms. Wallace if our next trip to Chico would be the last.

“No way!” she said. “I’m too selfish; I like being with you too much to stop our expeditions. And so do Aevry, Rose, and Sandra.”

I blushed. “Thank you. I love being with all of you.”

So our visits to the city continued through the summer. My art looked nothing like it had a year ago. I grew closer to Korrina, Rose, and the others. Sometimes we’d go shopping or swimming, or to the tennis courts after the modeling sessions. I was having the time of my life.

But nothing goes smoothly forever.

It was a Saturday morning in late July. I was riding with my eyes closed, enjoying the smell of the trees and the feel of the wind. Then I felt Korrina take a turn we hadn’t taken before. “What’s up?” I asked.

“Time for a little bad news,” my teacher said with a sigh. “Aevry called me yesterday. Her brother-in-law was killed in a car accident and she’s going to the funeral today.”

“That’s terrible,” I said.

“Oh, not really — Aevry and I hated him. She’s just going to support her sister. The guy cheated on her all the time, but she loved him.”

I didn’t know what to say. “Oh,” I muttered.

“But don’t worry about it, Bara,” Ms. Wallace said quickly. “I’m sorry; I wasn’t trying to bring you down. Anyway, none of that is the real point.”

“It’s not?” I was a little confused.

“There’s good news too, and that’s the point. Aevry called a friend of hers who agreed to model in her place. That’s why we turned early.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I don’t know her very well, but she’s beautiful and seems really nice. She’ll be a great model, I think.”

“How’s Aevry’s sister?” I asked.

“Not so good. We think she’ll get over it, though.”

“Does she have any children?”

“No — he wasn’t able to — well, let’s leave it at ‘No.’ It’s probably a good thing that they didn’t have kids; it would be hard on them. She’s said before that she wants children, but — damn! I think I just missed our turn!”

“Oops,” I said. “I’ll be quiet so you can concentrate.”

“Ah!” Korrina said triumphantly. “I didn’t overshoot after all. Here it is.”

In seconds, we were parked in front of a large yellow three-story house. I grabbed my stuff and Korrina led me into the building and up the steps to the top floor. She knocked. I felt a bit nervous, but excited.

A woman opened the door. I nearly dropped my bag.

“Hi,” Ms. Wallace said.

“Ame!” I said.

“Bara!” she said, just as shocked.

“You two know each other?” Ms. Wallace asked.

“Yes, we–”

“Not very well,” I interrupted. “But we get along when we do see each other. Still… are you sure you don’t mind posing for me, Ame? I mean, I’m sure you have other things to do.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” she said, mischief suddenly appearing in her eyes. “Surprised though I am, it’s really good to see you.”

I was suspicious. “It’s nice to see you too,” I answered warily.

“What kind of poses were you looking for?” Ame asked. “I’m new to this; I’m afraid you’ll have to direct me.”

“Should I leave?” Ms. Wallace asked. I’d forgotten she was there!

“No need, please stay,” my sister requested smoothly. “Do what you like — I have movies, books, magazines.”

“I brought my own. Thanks,” Korrina said. She pulled a paperback from her purse and sat on a padded chair near the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room.

This was a strange situation, but I was here to work on my art. “Could you show me around so I can judge the light and the settings?”

“Certainly.”

After the brief tour, I decided that the living room, with its large south-facing windows, would work the best. “Okay, this spot is quite suitable,” I pronounced. “Let’s try a lying pose first; you may want to use a few of those throw pillows for comfort.”

“Good thinking.” Ame collected four of them and set them on the carpet. She paused very briefly. She opened her robe and shrugged it from her shoulders in one smooth motion.

The last time I had seen Ame naked, I’d been five or six years old. She blew away all my other models. Her flawless skin was a shade darker than mine, with no tan lines. Under that perfect skin were strong, firm muscles. Her wavy black hair fell past her shoulders and gleamed with health. She had no body hair, so all her skin could be seen. Her hips weren’t wide or narrow; they were just very nice to look at. And her chest? I’m a little taller than she is, but she’s always had larger breasts. For the first time, I saw how much larger. They were true D-cups or maybe even a tad bigger, and shaped exquisitely. Her areolas and nipples were large and dark brown, very pretty.

Could this goddess possibly be my sister?

I wanted to stare, but this wasn’t the time. Once I had pencil in hand, I could look all I liked. And from all angles. I was going to have fun that day!

But what was I thinking? This was my sister! Gorgeous, but should I look at her as anything other than my sister? Wasn’t it wrong to feel pleasure from looking at her body, no matter how beautiful it was?

On the other hand, she’d offered to be my model. If she had no objection, why should I? I did want to improve. And she was the ideal subject.

I looked at her as objectively as I could. I put guilt out of my mind.

I started sketching.

I had her take six poses in all. I kept drawing.

“Bara, it’s been almost two hours,” Ms. Wallace said suddenly.

I couldn’t believe it, and Ame looked startled by the revelation also. But it was true. I had 21 sketches, all of excellent quality. The time had flown past.

My sister put on her robe. “Let me make you some tea before you go,” she offered.

“Korrina?” I asked.

“Sounds good,” my teacher said.

We talked idly before Korrina and I set off for Rich Bar. Just before we left, Ame let me know that this was anything but over. She said, “We’ll have to talk when I see you next, Bara. I want to know you better than I do.”

I didn’t think it would be long before I saw her again. I was right. Less than an hour after Ms. Wallace had dropped me off at home, I heard the front door open and close. Then she knocked at the door to my room. “Come in, Ame,” I said, sounding as bored as I could.

She entered and shut the door.

“You got so much better. Now I know how,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Uncertainty, I guess. I didn’t know what you’d think. But I know now, don’t I?”

“You have to let me see them!” she said, grinning evilly.

“They aren’t ready; they’re only sketches until I can finish them and turn them into–“

“Come on. I was the model; you owe me.”

“No way. Rose never makes any demands.”

“I’m not Rose.” Ame leaned nearer, her face a few inches from mine. “What’s the harm? Let me see.” She took the sketchbook from my suddenly weak hands.

“Wow! They’re very nice. You’ve made me look so beautiful,” she said, and I could tell she meant it. I blushed, which only embarrassed me more.

“I drew what was there and no more,” I said. “If they’re beautiful, it’s because you are.” She looked happy to hear it, not shocked. I went on. “Aevry is quite good-looking. So are Rose and Sandra. But they don’t compare to you. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I never noticed just how beautiful you are.”

“I’ll model for you again, if you’d like,” Ame offered. She gently took my hand and lifted it, touching each finger in turn. “I never noticed how much skill was in this hand of yours.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t understand why you didn’t want Korrina to know we’re sisters; care to tell me?”

I had to think, unsure of my own motives. “I don’t know. When I saw you, I thought — it seemed smarter to tell her when I was ready. Not right away.”

Ame looked askance at me for a moment. “Tell her when you’re ready, then. In the meantime, give me an answer. Do you want me to model for you again or not?”

“Of course I do.”

*****

Ame picked me up the next Friday and took me to Paradise and posed for me. She had rearranged some of the lights in her apartment, so the lighting was better this time around. She had moved some of the furniture too, I noticed. I drew sketches of her for more than two hours.

When we ended the session, I made tea for us and we started talking. I felt closer to her than I ever had. “I truly appreciate this,” I told her. “I’ll bet it’s hard, stripping for your kid sister.”

We both laughed. “No!” she said. “We are sisters, so I know I’m safe with you. Besides, I’m proud of my body. Showing it to an artist is satisfying.”

“Hm,” I mused, “if I had a body like yours, I’d probably like showing it off too.”

“What was that?” Ame asked slyly.

“I’m just saying it makes sense,” I said, turning red. “You’ve always turned heads. You said you’re proud of your body and you should be.”

“That’s sweet,” she said.

I prepared myself to ask what I’d wondered for a while. I cleared my throat and began. “It’s none of my business, but do you have a boyfriend?”

“What?” Ame’s eyes widened. “No, I don’t. I thought you would’ve talked to Aevry about me…”

“If I have a question about you, it’s you I’m going to ask,” I said. “I hate gossip.”

“Good for you; that’s rare among girls your age.” Ame took a deep breath. “Mom and Dad won’t like it, so please don’t tell them.”

I nodded.

“Aevry used to be my lover.”

I tried not to let my shock show. “Really? I mean, you and Jeremy–”

“I’m sorry to spring it on you, Bara-chan,” Ame said quietly, using the Japanese ending she’d used for me when we were kids. “I shouldn’t have blurted it like that, but I couldn’t think of a better way. Jeremy’s just a good friend; he always has been. I didn’t want to get harassed in high school, so he agreed to fake being a couple with me. There’s no need to pretend anymore. Since he moved to Oregon, we haven’t seen each other in quite a while.”

“Wow,” I breathed. “I mean, I had no idea!”

“Please don’t be mad. I’m the same Ame you’ve always known.”

“I’m not mad at all. But, it’s weird, I mean — I never guessed!”

“I wanted to tell you many times,” my sister said. “I was scared that I’d freak you out.”

“Give me a hug, Ame-chan,” I said.

I hugged her and she lightly held me. I wrapped my arms more tightly around her and she got the hint and hugged me normally, like she always had. “You’ll always be my big sister and I’ll always love you,” I whispered.

“I love you too,” she breathed.

We drew apart. I passed her a box of tissues and she wiped her face.

When she got her composure, she smiled at me. “You’re the best,” she said.

“You aren’t off the hook, you know,” I laughed. “You said Aevry ‘used to be’ your lover. What happened?”

“Seriously?” Ame asked. “We didn’t have enough in common, I guess. She doesn’t mind a mess; she’s kind of lazy; things like that. We just didn’t work out.”

“Are you seeing anyone now?”

“No, and I’m not looking. I’m fine by myself at present. But how about you? Anyone special I should know about?”

“Are you kidding? Not interested! Besides, there’s too much going on in my life.”

Soon to come: Part Two!

Ann and Una, Chapter 3

  • Posted on September 17, 2017 at 8:21 am

By Una

The afterglow of my thrill was still there as I undressed and sponge-washed. Cold water removed tell-tale redness on my cheeks and neck. I slipped on my once beautiful royal blue swimsuit. It was too tight, misshapen. I looked so childish in the mirror. I coveted my sister Ann’s shape. I longed to have her faultless figure, her long legs and quiet confidence about her body.

Thoughts of Ann’s shape inspired a new wave of desire. A mind picture of what I’d seen earlier appeared — Ann, stepping into her swimsuit, straightening slowly to display a dark triangle as she wriggled and tugged the stretch material to her knees.

Did I imagine it, or did she pause in that instant before it moved up her thighs to cover her secret parts? Of course I did. Sometimes my mind runs away — but why, then, did she turn to face me? Why did she flash that special smile as she gripped the swimsuit — her naked form held motionless for that few seconds? Was she flaunting her developed femininity to her skinny sister — or was she flirting?

Of course not! Ann wasn’t like me, wasn’t tortured by temptations of the flesh. Didn’t have silly, silent arguments with herself.

I thought of old Sister Agnes, the Deputy Head nun. She was the perfect counterweight to Ann. It was hard to tell what age she was. She had a moustache and was at least forty. I imagined Sister Agnes, naked, climbing into bed beside me, kissing me with her foul breath. Oh my God! The horror drove all impure thoughts about Ann from my mind.

I felt better. The temptation to give into impure thoughts had gone. My mind turned to a pleasant day on the sunny beach.

I checked my face again for revealing signs of redness. Mother had an unerring way of knowing when I had been bold. I looked fine. I greeted her briefly as I raced through the kitchen. The smouldering lust for Ann had gone. All I wanted now was some cool respite from the summer heat in the rock pool.

She was with another girl when I got there. Mary and I were introduced. The three of us frolicked, splashing and chatting before hunting for sea life at the far end of the rock pool. The tide was coming in. We had to move. Mary checked with her mother, relaxing in the sun some distance up the strand.

We found a suitable spot in the dunes and sprawled on the hot sand, discussing schools, clothes, hairstyles, music and the Beatles. Mary’s mother came up to meet us. Introductions, more chat, then finally, Mary and her mum were heading off to their holiday home a mile along the beach.

Ann and I lay back, lost in our own thoughts. Gentle Irish Sea waves hissed rhythmically on the beach. The rest of the world didn’t seem to exist.

I studied the fine blonde hairs on Ann’s shins. Strange, I hadn’t noticed them before. They were so sparse and white that without wet sand clinging to them they would be invisible. I didn’t mention them. She was easily offended.

I thought of body hair — of the darker hair I’d seen earlier, when Ann pulled on her swimsuit. But I thought of it merely with curiosity. It was as though she was a different creature now: my big sister, my companion for as long as I could remember, how could I ever have thought of her in such sinful terms? I loved her. But it was nicer to love her like this — more as a sister and friend for life than as an occasion of sin.

We talked. I sat up, arms hugging knees. Ann moved behind me. She brushed sand from my shoulders. Oh God, not again! A reflex on my neck made me shiver as her fingers delicately moved under the hairline. Temptation was back with a vengeance, the solitude, the stillness, heat beating down on my body — all were combining to fill my head with the most exquisite, sinful cravings.

Our eyes met for a moment. I knew from that smouldering look that Ann shared my thoughts. But seconds later she was saying we had to get back. We’d no idea of the time and it was near lunch.

*****

We went in the car with Mum and Dad after lunch. Ann and I sat in the back. Our knees touched as we swerved around corners on the winding road. It was stiflingly hot. I felt baked, like a cake in an oven. I was wearing a thin cotton dress, knickers and sandals. Sister Agnes had told us once that heat and immodest summer clothes invited the Devil to visit. I hadn’t understood. Neither had my friends. Now I knew. The warm sun beaming through the car window and my light clothes had me in a strange, excited mood.

I studied the symmetry of the toes peeping from Ann’s flip-flops. She was, I thought, a perfect creature. I wanted to look like her. I crossed my legs. I tried to think of Sister Agnes. But Ann was too close. I could feel her hip against mine.

I asked if she was hot. She waved a hand like a fan and pulled a face to show she was. She was lightly dressed like me. I had a mind-picture of the meeting point between her legs. Under that thigh-length sun dress was a pair of Aertex briefs. In my imagination the cotton clung to the warm dampness between her crossed legs.

I’d been there when she scrambled into her going-out clothes. She’d turned her back modestly as I entered the bedroom. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Now, in the car, my glance kept returning to her chest, a baby-pink nipple visible under the gossamer-thin white fabric. It seemed terribly daring. Mum would scold if she noticed.

I punished myself for having weird thoughts about my sister. Why do I think so differently from other girls? Why don’t I fantasise the way my friends do — about Elvis, or Mick Jagger?

My mind returned to the scene in the bedroom as we prepared to go out with Mum and Dad. I wandered into the room as Ann changed. She had turned her back. Was she sending a message — saying there could be nothing carnal between us — or did she thoughtlessly screen her naked body from my gaze? Was it an instinctive move that would have been the same if Mother had entered instead of me?

We had been sleeping in separate rooms for so long now that it was rare to see Ann dress or undress — and rarer still to see any part of her body unclothed.

The car bumped on. I looked out the window, bored. I had a flashback to our pre-departure preparations. I saw Ann’s womanly hips and buttocks as she stooped to draw those white Aertex pants up from her ankles. I hated Aertex knickers: they were cheap and uncomfortable. It was a myth of my mother’s that they were cooler in hot weather. But on Ann, they looked divine.

I stared at the passing green fields behind — preferring to think of my mother’s sometimes silly notions of what her girls should wear, inside and out, as a way of halting my sinful thoughts.

We stopped, then swerved onto a side road. Ann swayed towards me. Our knees touched. It felt as though a coiled spring had been released somewhere inside me. I had butterflies, unseen shivers along that sensitive part of my back.

I pushed my knee against hers in return. Oh my God. My mouth went dry as she pushed back, deliberately. I stole a glance at her face. She was staring fixedly out the window, as though nothing had happened.

I pushed my knee on hers again. As we rounded another corner, I drew it high along her leg before our knees parted, dragging the hem of her short sundress up to her groin.

She didn’t respond. I thought about Sister Agnes, wondering why she was always cross. She had puffy hands. I’d felt them once, when she’d grabbed my bare arm to warn me for running on the stairs. Funny, how I’d never forgotten that clammy grip.

Ann was asking if we could stop somewhere. She was dying to pee. Father said we were near the hotel, she could wait till then. Mother said no. “Stop somewhere quiet, Jim, and she can go behind a hedge.”

We both climbed over a five-bar gate into a pasture field. Ann had her dress up and pants down before I’d scrambled to join her. I took up position like a sentry, peering this way and that along the deserted road in case of interruption. Even squatting in an undignified pose, Ann looked strangely attractive.

The sight of her exposed, rounded hip made me think there was something special about the shared intimacy between sisters. We’d bathed together for years as children. I knew her body as well as my own then. But now there were different rules. We had to behave modestly in private moments, according to the nuns, my mother and everyone else in the world. We were forbidden the closeness we had as children.

Relieving our bladders together was something we’d done since we were toddlers. But this seemed different. There was an air of expectation in the air as Ann stood, fumbled her clothes into place and gave me another of her enigmatic smiles. Her glance around emphasised that some bond between us had been renewed that day.

She seemed to be checking that her moment of necessity — this moment of private business for both of us — had not been observed by anyone else. But really, her gestures and shy smiles said this was more. This was a conspiracy between sisters.

I was crouching now, following Ann’s example. She picked some wildflowers from the grassy bank as I stood and fixed my clothes. We turned to go. Suddenly, she swept her dress above her hips as if she was alone, and tugged at her pants, making them more comfortable.

A tidal wave of desire washed over me. In the blink of an eye, I’d seen the outline of her sex. The forbidden cleft, that wonderful secret crevice, that opening to her inner self had been profiled on her damp knickers in the instant before she had pulled them clear. Her dress fell as quickly as it had risen.

Breathlessly, I settled back into the car. Had Ann done that deliberately? Had she contrived that gesture, or was my imagination running going wild again?

I tried to think of Sister Agnes and her horrible features. But the picture wouldn’t appear. All I could see in my mind were disjointed images of Ann, secret images that no one else had ever seen.

That full-fronted nakedness as she put on her swimsuit this morning; the teasing glimpse of her unclothed rear as she dressed for our car journey; the pink shape of a nipple under her white sundress, the tantalising view of those peach segments between her legs after we peed — all were overwhelming me.

I bumped my knee against Ann’s, no longer concerned that, as the younger sister, my role should be passive. My forehead was moist and sticky, but it was as nothing compared with the heat and damp elsewhere. I uncrossed my legs and parted them, placing one foot on the seat ahead — feeling air from the open car window rush to cool my ardour. I nudged Ann again with my knee, frantically this time. I wanted a sign that she shared my feelings.

But she didn’t return the gesture. The bitch. I was in a high state of excitement, and she was playing with me, pretending she hadn’t noticed. All my life she had been doing that — teasing, taking toys from me, excluding me when she had friends with her.

I clenched my teeth and stared out the window. I wanted to do something awful to her. I thought of some mad ideas. I’d steal her boyfriend. I’d seduce him. But she didn’t have a boyfriend, and I couldn’t seduce anyone anyhow. I’d only just learned from Margaret how to French kiss.

I decided that I would have an affair with Sister Agnes. That would really embarrass Ann with her friends. They’d say they saw Agnes holding my hand behind the refectory, kissing. Oh my God. I shuddered at the thought of touching my lips the the nun’s wrinkled, moustached mouth. Besides, Ann and her friends would laugh at me, not at her.

We arrived at the hotel. Ann had to go to the loo again. She invited me. I sulked. When she came back, I went alone. I sat quietly during our meal. Mother wanted to know what was wrong. So did Ann. I stayed silent, merely shrugging.

Back at our holiday home, after a couple of hours sulking and listening to the radio, I went to bed. At least Charlie was nice to me. I climbed into bed naked except for a t-shirt. I hugged Charlie chastely. I was still so angry with Ann that I couldn’t even seek comfort in my ragged panda.

I must have fallen asleep. I woke to hear Ann moving quietly about the darkened room. I could see her silhouette as she undressed. She pulled back the covers and climbed into bed without a nightie. I wondered if she had kept her knickers on, or if she was naked.

Oh God, those old thoughts were back again. I fell asleep, exhausted. It must have been midnight when I heard Ann whisper. She was kneeling beside my bed. She wanted to know if I’d been able to get to sleep.

I wasn’t sure, I said. I knew what was next. She agreed it was cold when I pointed out she had no nightie on. I threw aside the bedclothes and she squeezed in. We cuddled as though this was an every-night occurrence.

Her arms were around my waist, drawing me towards her. I was clinging to her neck. Her bare breasts were pressing my chest through the t-shirt.

She regretted offending me today. I said I was sorry. Over and over I told her how bad I felt about sulking. I punctuated my apologies by squeezing close, pushing my knee into the soft damp softness of her knickers.

We were whispering so low that we had to put lips to each other’s ears. Her tongue touched my earlobe, so softly at first that it seemed an illusion. My shoulders rose in a squirm and uncontrollable desire welled up like a magic spring in a steaming, volcanic valley. Her tongue withdrew, leaving its wetness behind.

I pushed my head against her mouth — and was thrilled as the tip of her tongue flicked across the nub of flesh below my ear. I tightened my arms around her neck. She drew my waist to hers, flattening her tummy against my hip, moving subtly as if we were dancing a slow rumba. Oh my God. If this ends now it will have been the most memorable, the most thrilling night of my life.

But it wasn’t going to end. It seemed like hours since Ann first climbed into bed, but it was probably merely minutes since she had licked my earlobe. We hugged, tighter and tighter, wriggling into various positions for mutual pleasure.

Ann had sucked my lobe into her mouth, tonguing it, spreading tingling rivulets of sinful desire to every part of me. I wanted more. My instinct drove me on. I turned my face towards hers. Our mouths met like two magnets. Her tongue was inside me, penetrating, probing, fencing with mine. All that Margaret had taught me about French kissing was there, and more.

I was lost in a misty world of passion now. I wanted to do everything, to feel everything. We tossed, we turned, we squirmed, we wriggled. Each move seemed to inspire in my sister to some greater passion, as it did me.

She rolled on top. My bare mound was pressing on the peach-shaped prominence inside her knickers. Our pleasure centres rubbed — like Eskimos rubbing noses, I thought.

Ann’s grinding had parted my secret lips, revealing the wetness there, tugging some inner part, sending wave after wave of lust crashing over me. My God, how could anything be so intense? I was intoxicated, uncaring about the time or the place — all I wanted was this joy with Ann to last forever and ever.

My hand was on her breast. I kneaded its balloon-like softness with a feather touch. The nipple was firm, as solidly stiff as the rubber on the end of our school pencils. My curious thumb explored its shape, Ann sighed — then sighed again.

Her palms were pressing on my ears. She was kissing my lips sweetly, pushed my head lower, leaning away, her breasts thrust forward. She whispered. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” then she steered my head lower, until it rested in the folds of her small but beautiful cleavage.

I didn’t answer. I was too far gone. I couldn’t speak. But I knew what she wanted. I turned my mouth, lightly kissing her soft skin. She lifted one breast and guided the nipple to my mouth.

I devoured it like a lost soul finding water in a desert. The surge of heat and pleasure which convulsed me as I sucked part of my sister’s body into mine was indescribable. We were flying in the face of every taboo that had ever existed. But here, in this dark room in an unfamiliar room in the middle of the night, it felt sublime.

Wave after wave of pleasure kept crashing over me. Ann sighed and gasped as we drifted, apart yet together, towards our forbidden gratification.

For a moment, I was forced to pause. I had reached the cliff-edge where I often wandered with Charlie. When his knee was between my thighs, then I whirled into a wonderful parallel world, like Dorothy being whirled away from the Yellow Brick Road, over the rainbow.

The bubbling cauldron down below told me I could fly off the cliff at any minute, falling into a warm sea of satisfaction. But I didn’t want any pleasure of mine to interfere with Ann’s thrilling journey. I pulled my mouth from her breast and moved away, breathing deeply to regain control.

Her head was on my chest at once, lips seeking my nipple. Her mouth had latched onto me with a suddenness that made me jump. Her sucking was intense, manic. Her lips tightened on the tingling nub, drawing it deep. She was love-biting my nipple. Oh God. What more can there be?

I held her head, attempting to control her frantic desire. She licked, she sucked, she coated all of my budding growth in delicious, slippery saliva. My little nipple seemed huge as she flicked it inside her mouth. Oh God. I can’t hold back. Charlie never felt like this.

Ann’s hand was on my mouth, covering it, whispering. Shush, shush. I wasn’t aware that I was making any sound. I had left the world and was spinning in space. I dragged Ann’s head away from my breast and whispered, “I love you. I really love you, for always.”

Her hand was between my legs, like a magic wand about to wave me into an enchanted, fairy world. My thighs opened instinctively. My body was ready, I needed a finale, needed to have my sister’s fingers consummate our love.

She parted my hidden crevice so deftly, so expertly, that I knew she’d done it before. A finger slithered along my wetness. It investigated the bumps and bits which I’d only ever seen in a hand-mirror in the bath.

It drifted upwards, rolling back the squishy flesh covering the tiny, swollen, purple triangle which epitomised my desire. I heaved and wriggled. The sensation of bliss was so intense that it was almost painful.

I gasped loudly, so loud that even I was aware of it. But I didn’t care who heard. No one could ever take the memory of this pleasure away. I was hooked on love, a special love, secret sisterly love.

I snuggled against Ann. Resting my head on her shoulder, I cried. I don’t know why I cried. I’d never been so happy in my life.

Continue on to Chapter 4

The Descent of Venus

  • Posted on September 12, 2017 at 8:50 am

By Mr. Toasty

{ This story was originally posted at the now-defunct Sisters in Love }

Are you ever under the impression that you’re always the last one to know? I was definitely one of those people. No matter what was going on, be it of global significance or private matters in my own house, I usually didn’t hear about it until the very end, when the next flavor of the month is rearing its myriad of heads. Obviously this wasn’t true all the time. I heard about a few things right before everyone started chatting about them, and sometimes I even got to play the part of the informant or the educator, and would be the one to fan the flames and start the gossip. But more often than not, I felt tragically left out of the loop. The greatest example so far was the time when I discovered my cousin and my aunt on Mom’s side were coming over to visit — about three hours before they arrived.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Mom said, looking at me with innocent confusion. “I thought I told you. Salome and Sabine are coming here today. I could’ve sworn I told you!”

“No, Mom, this is the first I’ve heard of it.” She made a face that indicated she had genuinely believed I knew, and was puzzled to discover something to the contrary.

See what I mean? The worst part is that I discovered this bit of information by accident: I heard Mom on the phone talking to her sister, arranging a meeting. Now, normally this wouldn’t be a big deal, and far be it from me to discourage family members from getting together every once in awhile. But Aunt Salome and her daughter Sabine lived in another state, and the infrequency of our encounters — the last time I saw them was when I was still in middle school — gave me good reason to feel surprised, if not offended that Mom should neglect to reveal all this. They were coming over now?

“I really thought I told you,” she said — gently but firmly, if that makes sense. “Well, all the same, could you get the house ready, please?”

“I—I guess.” I’ve got nothing against doing chores — my poor silly mother needs all the help she can get! I just wished I’d had more time to prepare.

Since, after our striking conversation, I immediately set to work ‘doing’ the house (and I have no doubt you’d rather not know all the mundane details), this might be a good time for me to go over my relationship with Aunt Salome and Sabine. Don’t get me wrong: I was thrilled they were coming over, and in spite of the shock, I was clearly excited.

Sabine had been my best friend during the years we spent growing up, and I might even (might being the key word here) have had an innocent little crush on her. She was about three years older than me, and from what I remember and from what the occasional photograph could tell, she was a very pretty young lady — a beauty with sincerity, the kind of person that can be naturally attractive all the way through. She was intelligent and kind and she treated me like an equal… and how could anybody not think a name like that was cool?

Aunt Salome — I also loved her name — had been forced to move away due to a job transfer, and Mom had fought it all the way. She just couldn’t be separated from her little sister, but who could really blame her? Aunt Salome was as pretty and honest as her daughter, and she never spoke down to me or called me a child. She was a wee bit eccentric (aren’t we all?), and she had that same lovable scatterbrained look my mom sometimes sports, but she was cool and generous and charitable and wise.

She and Mom were best friends; it only seemed fitting that their daughters be so close. My only regret is that I never heard a mention of Aunt Salome’s husband (my own father passed on some time ago). I asked, of course, but she usually pretended she didn’t hear me, or changed the subject. I have the feeling that Sabine came into this world under disreputable circumstances, but I just figured it really was none of my business.

Words are slow. My thoughts rolled through my head at a breakneck pace; I was already planning on how I’d spend these precious days with my family, vacuuming the floors in the process. I definitely wanted to hang out with both of them, but I figured Mom would rather spend time with her sister, which was cool. I’m an only child, so I wouldn’t know what having a sister is like: Sabine’s the closest I’ll ever have. We wrote each other constantly (about once a week at first, then once a month), and when our houses caught the Internet bug, we emailed each other all the time. Sabine and I grew up together even though we were separated by miles and miles; I read (and sometimes watched) as she turned into a beautiful young woman. We rarely fought and  were always able to keep things fresh and interesting. It would be a strange experience to actually speak to her in person again, but as I said, I looked forward to it like Christmas and birthday and summer vacation all at once.

When I reached the kitchen, confident that my slipshod plans would be approved by my arriving cousin, I started cleaning the refrigerator and noticed, to my great dismay, that we didn’t have enough food for the four of us, not even if Sabine and Aunt Salome stayed for a day. I figured Mom would handle the groceries, but I asked her just to be sure.

“Hey, Mom, we don’t have enough to eat. You getting groceries?” She came into the kitchen drying her hands and gave me a glowing smile.

“Actually, I was hoping that you and Sabine could handle that.”

“Uh, sure, but you know I don’t have any money.” Not for lack of trying, I promise you: most of it was spent for college-related purposes. I would be a freshman that fall, so every dollar seemed to slip right out of my fingers. I knew Mom had the money, but I didn’t dare ask her.

“Don’t worry,” she replied, smiling enigmatically, a sure signal that she was about to show her generosity. “I’ve already made a list, but feel free to get anything else you think you’ll need. I want them to have at least one home-cooked meal while they’re here.”

“Yeah.” I was the chef of the family, so it would be my responsibility to feed these girls. I suddenly realized I had no idea what Aunt Salome liked, and made sure to ask Mom before I took another breath. She told me that Salome was no longer a vegan, but I should watch the meat and cheese in case she suddenly changed her mind. I personally have no objection to eating meat, and I knew Sabine shared my enthusiasm, despite the torturous diet her mother pushed on her. I suppose being that finicky paid off, since they were both stunning, healthy, glowing women, the kind poets write about. But that doesn’t mean I’m not attractive! I just can’t survive for long without bacon and burgers, that’s all.

I was right in the middle of dusting the den when the doorbell rang, so I was the first to welcome my relatives into the house. I saw Aunt Salome first; she squealed like a kid and picked me into her arms, spinning around until we were both nearly dizzy. I coughed as she let me go and said, “It’s good to see you too, Aunt Salome, but please don’t ever do that again!”

We hugged properly and she kissed my cheek; I felt at ease now that she was being her reliably warm self again. But what can I say about Sabine that I haven’t already said? I felt like I wanted to kiss her — a real kiss, mind you, not the chaste peck of a cousin. I wanted to hold her and not let go, I wanted to undress her and feel her cool naked skin against my own, I wanted to fuck her and fall in love with her. I have no idea why I was thinking these outrageous thoughts, but I didn’t do anything to push them away. I kept them safely hidden, like treasures for me to pull out and cherish.

Our lips nearly touched as I kissed her cheek. Her face glowed with love; she was just as happy to see me as I was to see her.

“You cut your hair,” she said.

I laughed. “Is that all you can say after all this time?”

“And you got your ears pierced.”

“Ah, brilliant observation. What else has changed about me?” My eyes sparkled with hope and wonder; I didn’t think she could guess this one. You see, Mom got a tattoo for me when I turned eighteen and I never told Sabine. This wasn’t a surprise I was storing up for a special occasion, I just kept forgetting about it. She put her finger to her cheek, furrowing her brow in concentration. Finally she shrugged. “Okay, okay, I give.”

I showed her my prize and she squealed. I’ve heard tell that only a slut get a butterfly tattoo on the small of their back, but I think that’s just nonsense. Some of the chastest people I know have sexy tattoos. “Now I wish I had one,” she sighed, then inevitably directed her attention to her mother, who was chattering nonsensically with her sister. “Mom, can I get a tattoo? Something with skulls and flames and knives?”

“We’ll see,” she stated, before resuming her babbling conversation.

“Can we at least have some money to buy groceries?” I said. I love my mother, but she has a fairly short attention span, and she needs to be reminded of things. My eyes bulged out as she laid two fifty-dollar bills in my palms, and my heart jumped when she said Sabine and I could keep the change.

I really can’t tell you what happened after that because my head was off in the clouds and it didn’t come back until Sabine and I drove out of the garage and onto the street.

*****

The one thing I genuinely didn’t see coming was Sabine’s warm silence. She barely said a word during our journey — I specifically had the radio off so we could chat — and seemed content to sit there, drinking the world in, her hands folded in her lap and her face glowing with beauty and patience. She was like the statue of Pygmalion, a perfect and faithful creation, silent and eerily lifelike. So lifelike, in fact, that I felt I could revive her with a kiss, just like Ovid’s hero.
At the first traffic light we ran into, I tested this theory and leaned over, pressing my mouth against her cheek. “Wake up,” I chirped.
She grinned, laughing softly. “I’m too happy to talk,” she replied. She took my short hair in her fingers and played with it. I really did wear it long once upon a time, but it was so irritating to keep and care for, and I really wanted a new look for college. I almost regret it now, since it makes me look smaller and “cuter” (I don’t want people to think I’m cute), but if Sabine liked it, it was fine with me. She hadn’t changed her hair at all; it was just as long and luxurious as it always had been, a shade somewhere between gold and brown, scented like the wild outdoors.

“Pretty,” she said, her eyes squinting from her broad smile. I blushed and tried not to lag behind as the light turned green again.

When I reached the parking lot, I wanted to play the chivalrous cousin and open her door for her, but she got it herself. That independence comes from Grandpa’s side and it is something I was blessed with as well. (Grandma gave us our endearing ditziness and natural beauty.) I also had Grandpa’s bravery and boldness, and reached to take Sabine’s hand as we walked up to the store. I’m a little shorter than she is, because of our age difference, so I could literally and figuratively look up to her and smile; she smiled back and even winked.

“So are we going to talk at all? We haven’t seen each other in five years.”

“I know. But you know how there are some moments that are so beautiful and pure, you don’t want to ruin them. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“No, I think it was just what we needed. But now that we’re talking again, does this mean you’re no longer happy?”

She smiled playfully and winked again. ”I’m definitely happy, but it’s different. There’s happy and there’s happy, you know. One is more fleeting than the other, and because it’s so brief, we can’t afford to be distracted by anything else when it comes. It’s overwhelming; too much of it would hurt us. But there’s also the ordinary kind of happiness we see all the time.”

“And that’s where we are now,” I concluded. She nodded, and we walked into the store, our hands now freed. Holding her hand, being in such close intimate contact with her, had been one kind of happiness, but hanging out with her in the store was the other kind. The difference was delicate but clear; I felt my heart soaring out of love for Sabine and her wisdom. That she chose to spend her time with me was even more amazing.

“So what do we get first?” she wondered, peering over my shoulder at the list Mom gave me.

I scanned down the paper and pursed my lips anxiously: there was a lot there! It would be impossible for me to do this by myself, so I asked Sabine to take a cart and half the list with her so we could finish this quickly.

No, I want to do it with you!” she protested, caressing my arm. “You were the one who said we should talk more. Let’s do this together. Our moms can wait.”

“I guess we could,” I answered, “but you have to help me. Let’s go get everything in aisle one first.”

Sabine had not been to that grocery store in years, so I had to step up and show her where everything was. This is another long stretch of time where not too much happened, except that we did talk and catch up on things, we spent good times together and had a lot of fun and became even closer. We loaded the groceries until the cart nearly overflowed, and worked as a team to bag them all. We stuffed everything in the car and put the cart away, then looked at all our change. Sabine and I both made a face as we realized just how little we had left.

“And here I thought Mom was trying to be generous,” I grumbled. It was mostly pocket change and singles; we split it between the two of us and headed back. I prayed quite hard that all the trouble I went through cleaning the house was not in vain: Mom could get pretty messy when she was excited.

*****

Home, I quickly came to the rescue and started cooking for my hungry troops. Mom and Aunt Salome had actually started prepping the kitchen, but were too busy interacting to get much done. I had no choice but to forgive them: Sabine and I would’ve done exactly the same thing. As punishment, they volunteered to wash the dishes while she and I were let free to do as we pleased, but that was little comfort while I was in the trenches. Sabine took care of the simple things I was too busy to handle, like organizing the groceries, finishing what our mothers started, and retrieving whatever I needed, while Mom and Aunt Salome set the table. We went through a lot of trouble, but really bonded as a family, cheesy though that may sound.

“So what colleges have you applied to?” my cousin asked me. She helped put everything on the table and served everyone, while I was given a chance to sit down and rest my feet. I couldn’t complain since Mom works hard to support the two of us, and she said I needed the experience, whatever that meant. I could already take care of myself very well and had even played the role of caretaker for my dear mother. Moving out wouldn’t be difficult; I just wasn’t really ready yet.

But I digress. I answered Sabine and she replied with that prizewinning smile of hers. ”Why not move in with me? My last roommate bailed out on me and I can’t cover the rent anymore. I’ve had to live with Mom for a few months and — no offense, Mom — it’s really driving me crazy!”

I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Her offer sent me soaring, and I barely managed to nod my head, the idea enraptured me so. I didn’t hear Aunt Salome’s tart response (something about “How could I drive you crazy?”), I was thinking how wonderful it would be to live with Sabine. I knew for a fact that Mom wouldn’t mind; it seemed only a matter of time now.

“You two can worry about that later,” Salome said to us in her peaceful, sweet matronly voice. “We haven’t eaten at the same table together in years. Rikki, tell me: have you finally decided to start dating?”

Whoops, I almost forgot to introduce my side of the family! I was so obsessed with Sabine that I forgot to make introductions! My mother’s name is Rochelle, but her sister always called her Rikki, and my own name is Cory, which is short for Corrina. I was thankful every day that no one in our family had very common names; it definitely made life nicer.

“And who says I’m not dating now?” Mom answered vaguely, wiping her mouth.

Salome snorted. ”You do, in all the emails you send me. It’s nothing to be shy about, Rikki. A beautiful woman your age needs to go out and socialize.”

“Yes, but where would I find anybody who’s interested — or interesting, for that matter? I’m a single mother, remember?”

“Cory’s going off to college soon,” Salome pointed out. “If that’s all that’s holding you back, you can start once she and Sabine move in together. You two were serious about that, right?”

“Definitely,” I said, as Sabine replied, “Yes, indeed.”

“All right, there you go,” she gestured.

Mom wasn’t the type of person to let things go like that, so she turned the question right back at her little sister. ”What about you, Sal? You haven’t been with anyone since high school. Don’t tell me you’ve given up.”

“I haven’t,” she insisted, sipping her drink gracefully. “I just don’t make it common knowledge. You obviously don’t know your little sister very well, Rikki. I’ve had plenty of — opportunities.”

“But no big prospects?”

“Plenty of those, too,” she answered clearly, looking her sister right in the eye.

Things had become very serious and intimate all of a sudden, and I felt I was imposing on a very personal conversation. I wanted to leave, but Sabine was still eating and had tuned out the conversation. I resolved to excuse myself and touched Sabine’s shoulder, indicating it was time for us to go. She understood and finished her meal, and our mothers said they would clean up as promised, but not yet. We left them to finish their conversation and made our way upstairs, where my sanctuary awaited.

*****

I shivered once we reached my room. “That was weird,” I whispered.

“Yeah.” We grinned and the tension was forgotten. “But now that we’re thinking about it, what sorts of romantic prospects have you been through?”

“None,” I answered with a shameful grin. “I’ve been way too busy. I spent all of high school with the soccer team. You?”

“I don’t date,” she said, shaking that luxurious russet mane of hers. “It’s not even a question of time for me; I’m just not — well, not interested in the prospects. I don’t know. I guess I’m waiting for that special someone to sweep me off my feet. I just don’t feel inspired with anybody in the local area.”

“So what do you spend your time doing?”

My beautiful Sabine couldn’t restrain her embarrassed smile as her cheeks flushed scarlet. ”Watching cartoons and playing video games. My spare time, of course.”

“You don’t exercise?”

“Mm, about once or twice a week at home. I can’t afford the local gym. I guess that’s why you’re in better shape than I am.”

“But you grew up with a vegan mother. My mom’s not like that at all.”

“But dinner was very nice.”

I smiled gently and thanked her. The peaceful silence returned and I felt this was becoming one of those especially happy moments Sabine had described to me earlier. Not wanting to ruin it, I shuffled over to my bed and motioned for her to join me. As she laid down, it felt like a summer afternoon in my room all of a sudden: the warmth of her body, the thrill in my own heart, her fierce, pleasant scent drifting across the room, her gentle touch as she rested her head on my shoulder, the smile that was just for me—

“I love you.” I couldn’t keep it in; I had to say it. Have you ever felt like your own inner dam won’t be able to hold something in anymore? That if you keep it locked in, you’ll just burst? I was overflowing with love for my precious Sabine and couldn’t bear for it to be a secret anymore. I had typed it a thousand times in our corresponding letters and emails, of course, but I’d never actually said it.

I put my moist lips to hers and inhaled quietly; summertime was never better.

I lingered, my mouth still, greedy for Sabine’s taste and the invisible aura of love glowing from her. She moved her head imperceptibly and I felt a soft tenderness touch me, my heart skipping a beat as I realized that my innermost desire had been fulfilled.

I pulled away before anything further could develop and studied her face, wondering just what she was thinking. That had certainly felt like a harmless kiss from her end, but I know I erupted inside when I tasted Sabine’s lips. I’d never kissed anyone like that before, not as a polite gesture or an intimate action, not even my own mother, so of course it was a wonderful sensation. I had prayed — hopelessly at times — that my first kiss would be with someone I loved, so lo and behold! But did she kiss me out of a reflexive action, or a friendly motion, or was it the act of a woman in love?

We grinned at each other as we realized what happened. The happiness between us was so pure and beatific that I feared anything else we did would destroy it. We didn’t even breathe. I kissed her again, pressing my lips upon hers, reaching the impossible treasure I’d wanted ever since we were reunited — and this time, there was no holding back. Sabine drew me into a loving embrace, and I could feel a gust of air push through her nose as she sighed for joy. Her fingers went for my short dark hair again — how enraptured she was by this mane of mine! — and our lips parted, closed, and opened again as we gasped breathlessly.

I felt Sabine’s soft warm moist tongue slide through my lips as I let my defenses slip, and my senses went into overload. The sensation of another woman’s tongue — my own cousin’s tongue inside my mouth, caressing and massaging with the most tender love and desire — it’s something one has to experience for herself. It was beautiful and sweet and erotic and even naughty, all at once. I knew my Sabine loved me, but I had no idea she was that interested. It made a lot of sense, though, to overflow with so many feelings like that, pouring them out for the one you love the most. I loved Sabine more than anyone else in the world, even more than my own mother; I was soon expressing this as only a headstrong young woman intoxicated with lust can.

We were forced to stop, however, to catch our breath. As I’ve said, words are slow; Sabine and I must’ve been French kissing for about ten minutes, maybe less. The time she spent with her head on my shoulder, just absorbing the peace in my room, had gone on even longer. But it felt like years since we came down from our clouds and realized we were two cousins in a room together and not goddesses in the Elysian Fields.

I didn’t want to break the moment with my clumsy words, but I really felt it was necessary. ”Umm—wow! That came out of nowhere.”

“Are you sure?” Her wisdom and intimate understanding sliced through my innocence. I knew I was in love with Sabine now. I had been in love with her long before today. In that sense, my affection for her didn’t “come out of nowhere,” it had been inside me since we were children.

“I didn’t know you felt that way about me,” I answered. I swallowed down my nervousness and bared my soul. “I’ve always been in love with you, Sabine. I didn’t think you—” Her eyes glowed with very quiet love; it was tender and patient and it made me feel like a whole person. I know that nothing I’m saying makes any sense, but that’s how I felt. She didn’t even have to tell me she was in love for me to know; I just knew. I chuckled and caressed her pretty face. “I’m always the last one to figure these things out.”

Our kisses inflamed us, our passions took over, throwing away all reason and logic. This was no longer another woman, or my cousin, or even my best friend — this was Sabine, my lover, exposed for what she was, every last honest inch of her.

I undressed her with careful consideration. I exposed her skin, that sensual field of pale pink. Her breasts were revealed before my startled eyes, two cute nipples pointing towards the sky. Pervert that I was, I inhaled the rich scent of her panties as I liberated her from the last formality, and sniffed the air wafting from her maidenhood, intoxicating myself. Sabine had a timid look on her face, but her shining eyes told me she was loving this.

She undressed me, but her lips roamed everywhere. I had merely touched my love, and memorized her scent. My skin is more tanned than hers, thanks to years of playing and working outdoors, and even I have to admit that the enticing layers of plump sensuality coating her muscles were more prominent than my own. Not that Sabine is at all fat, she just has a very shapely body that I adore. I could feel her enviously worshiping my muscles and my taut limbs. She put all my toes in her mouth, nibbling playfully, and in turn I sucked at her fingers. I had no firm idea what sex or lovemaking was supposed to be like. I just did what came naturally, and although it may sound strange or even perverse, it felt very natural making love to my darling Sabine.

“Oh, Cory!” she wailed, sliding up my body. Our breasts came into contact and I squealed as the delicious friction of it stabbed through my core. I squeaked as I felt her body descend upon mine — our sexes were nearly touching now — and we kissed and held each other for what seemed like eons on end.

When we stopped to catch our breath and cool off, I flipped her so I was on top again and thrust my tongue into her beautiful mouth. If this were any other woman, I don’t think I could’ve gone through with it. There was no way I could possibly love anyone more than Sabine. I called her name out again and again and trailed my tongue down her body, over her gorgeous breasts, dipping it into her belly button until at last I came to the end of my journey. There would be plenty of time for me to lavish attention on her magnificent legs, but I wanted to taste my Sabine’s sacred area.

“Pretty,” I purred, echoing her earlier flattery as I caressed her pubic hair. She had a sexy womanly patch of mousy brown curls, and I begged her never to shave it all off; the sight of it drove me crazy with lust.

I was about to indulge myself, but my lover stopped me. ”Corrina, wait. Hold on, sweetheart.” Sabine only calls me by my full name if something serious is going on, so I obeyed and looked up, my face still comically hovering over her entrancing vagina. “I really am in love with you, sweetie, and I want to — to be with you like this. It’s what I’ve always wanted. But I don’t want this to just be about sex. I love you and I want to be with you. I want to go through life with you and share it with you. There’s no point in going any further if we don’t do that. We’ll be happy and we’ll suffer, too. We’ll have good days and we’ll have really rotten ones as well. We may even fight. But you’re the only person I could bear to do any of that with. It’s either you or nobody. Do you understand?”

Moving to lie on top of her once more, I kissed Sabine’s lips until she understood that I felt the same way. Her tears came freely; they moistened her bare body. I kissed them all away, and she cooed softly as she felt the depths of my love. What also pleased me was that I was the first one — the only one, really, as far as I knew — to love my precious Sabine in this way. I made sure she knew for certain that I would be her soulmate forever before I resumed my ministrations.

“Time to finish what I started,” I growled sensually. Sabine squealed with delight and braced herself. My head was swimming; time and reason seemed to be ripping each other apart. I was really going to go down on Sabine! I was going to put my tongue in another woman’s vagina! For the briefest moment I hesitated.

My lover, however, was impatient. ”Cory,” she whispered softly, “fuck me. Cory, please, fuck me. Fuck me, please.”

I looked up at her heavenly face, so innocent and kind, so wrought with need, and wiped the tears from my own eyes. She had whispered a vulgar word, but in this context, it seemed the most beautiful expression I’d ever heard. I was going to fuck my Sabine — so softly, so sweetly, until her essence flowed forth for me to treasure.

There’s no point describing what I did to her. What could anybody possibly gain from it? I lapped clumsily at her womanhood; I touched it and suckled it, prodding and experimenting, praying that my work would bear fruit. Sabine’s golden moans were melodic; she clasped the sheets with a vice grip and parted her legs as far apart as they could go until her feet hung over the sides of the mattress. My senses were overwhelmed; I was focusing everything on her glorious vagina, wondering if my personal experiences of self-pleasure would work here. It was an adventure to find out what drove Sabine crazy and what made her beg me for more. She whispered until she screamed, all the while whispering, “Please, please fuck me, Cory. I love you. Oh, God, I love you!”

I left Sabine’s vagina to its own devices for awhile — the poor girl actually cried out how mean I was — but her cries became stifled very suddenly as I kissed her rear end. I gently lifted my cousin’s bottom into the air and, as disturbing as this might sound, actually darted my tongue out and licked her puckered little hole. I’m sad to say there’s no civilized or romanticized way of saying that I stuck my tongue up her butt, but I was feeling uncharacteristically wicked and wanted to drive Sabine wild. She gawked and tensed up for a moment as she realized what I was doing, but calmed down and even sang out wonderfully as the sensations overpowered her.

I alternated between this opening and her vagina — still reeling from the incredible wonder of doing this to another girl — until her body twisted and shivered in ecstasy, Sabine not quite able to muffle her cries.

Finally she lay limp and dazed, a gentle smile on her lips. I made sure to clean her up, kissing and slurping as gently as I could. I knew how sensitive she must have been, and didn’t want to put her in overdrive.

I cuddled and caressed my darling cousin as she came down from her pinnacle. I’d experienced a few fairly good orgasms in my time — all by my own hands, so to speak — but I could only imagine what she was going through. The girl of her dreams had delivered her to heaven’s doorstep and her mind was just wrapping itself around that. Nothing else in the world seemed to matter, other than our love. Our shared genders and bloodline, and even our mothers, who had no doubt heard some of what we’d been doing and prudently decided to wait before confronting us… all faded away as Sabine recovered, and I kissed her breasts and jaw, awaiting the moment when she returned the favor.

“Come here, beautiful,” she begged me. Our lips touched sweetly several times and I felt her hands wandering. She had been given full access to my body earlier, but went back there again, tickling and squeezing, trying to find new ways to please me. Her hands folded over my bottom and groped — then she slapped me, quite firmly, giving me an impish smile.

“You bitch,” I giggled, blushing furiously. Mom raised me to never swear, and I followed this rule implicitly, but now I couldn’t help it. We laughed out loud and I asked her to spank me again.

It wasn’t long before I had my tongue around one of her fingers, then she slipped it inside my rear and I saw stars as I was penetrated from behind. Our eyes locked as she used her other hand to explore my maidenhood. I crumpled in her arms and groaned so deeply and hungrily that for a moment, I thought I’d turned into an animal.

“Touch my pussy,” I whispered, feeling empowered by my surprising vulgarity. “Put your fingers in my pussy. Touch me. Sabine, please—”

“I want to hear you say the f-word, lover,” she murmured. I nearly lost control right then and there.

“Fuck me!” I squealed, as she solemnly kissed my shoulders. “God, fuck me, Sabine! Sabine, please fuck me! I want to — to feel you—inside of me!”

I felt my virginity break suddenly and clung to her as tightly as I could; the pain and pleasure of it all was extraordinary. I bit down where Sabine’s neck met her shoulder and suckled it numbly. She shushed me and resumed her work, going slowly and carefully.

I hit orgasm but didn’t dare scream; instead I kissed her to stifle my cries.

“I love you, Cory,” she whispered in my ear.

I wept and hugged her tightly. ”I love you too, Sabine! But you know, it’s really not nice to take things without permission!”

“Sorry,” she giggled, her cheeks rosy. I couldn’t help but love her when she made that face, and I caressed her as the brightness of my love shone out.

“It’s all right. I wanted you to have it anyway.”

“Oh? Was this before or after I came over?”

“You’re evil!” I squealed, piling on top of her. I wouldn’t let Sabine get away with being such a naughty girl — umm, yeah, I actually said that to her — and pinned her hands to the bed. I wanted to scare her a little and make her feel defenseless, but that perverted girl just smiled at me, her eyes glistening with lust and longing.

My free hand got straight down to business as my legs wrapped around one of her thighs, and I rubbed up against Sabine while penetrating her at the same time. It was harder than I thought, and it completely drained me, but it was so worth it in the end. Her virginity was mine in a matter of moments — our eyes met and she gave me leave without saying a word — and soon we were both too exhausted to move. I’d never attempted back-to-back orgasms in my life, but with Sabine in my life — well, I would have to get used to them.

*****

It wasn’t until seven o’clock in the morning when I realized Sabine and I had fallen asleep together. I lay there in bed, naked from head to toe, the sheets covering my legs and dear Sabine cuddling me protectively, and thought about what had happened.

So, I’d made love to another woman — my own cousin, no less — and was no longer a virgin. It had all happened so quickly; the dam had burst too fast. I’d been blinded by my own passions and had lost my mind. But I didn’t regret one second of it, not even for an instant, and if I had to do it all over again, I would definitely repeat everything we’d done and more.

Well… I’d have Sabine ask before she deflowered me, but other than that…

I lightly massaged her back and shoulders as she rested against my body, still lost in slumberland and dreaming about me, I hoped. Making love to Sabine and watching as she slept were two kinds of the most sublime happiness; being with her as we shared the sorrows and joys of life would be the simpler kind.

Inevitably, I wondered how our mothers would take this. I know my mom would be okay if I came out as a lesbian, but revealing my affection for my cousin was another matter. I didn’t know how open-minded Aunt Salome would be, but I resolved that I didn’t care: come what may, Sabine and I would spend the rest of our lives together. I did hope that my aunt would be okay with it, though. I didn’t want to create a rupture in the family.

A bleary-eyed Sabine woke up and smiled. “Good morning, sexy,” she quietly said.

“Morning, pretty girl,” I replied, and we rubbed our noses and nipples together in greeting. I so badly wanted to kiss my love, but brushing my teeth came first, and I stated that Sabine wouldn’t be “getting any” until she did the same. The little sneak just laughed and slithered underneath the covers, deciding to bury her lips in my womanhood. I shrieked, I laughed, I sang for joy; I came right in her mouth. She even gave my rear end a few kisses and licked my butthole; I almost hyperventilated from the sensation. No wonder Sabine had erupted like that!

“You’re awful,” I murmured as she climbed back up. But I couldn’t pout at her for long; she was the most amazing woman in the world, and I knew she only teased me like that because she loved me so deeply.

I slapped her gorgeous rear end as she bounced out of bed and, as she moaned and squealed so cutely, I kept smacking her butt as we put some bathrobes on and marched into the bathroom. Our house only has one, which makes sense because there’s only two people in this house most of the time, but I prayed Mom or Aunt Salome hadn’t beat us there. And just how had they spent their night?

“Maybe they had sex too,” my perverted cousin suggested. I slapped her on the rear again, but soon came to realize she hardly considered this punishment. What was worse was that if they had indeed made love — which just might have explained why they didn’t hear us as we shrieked the night away — I would once again be the last one to know. But since that had nothing to do with our trek to the bathroom, we pressed on.

The lights were on, which didn’t startle me. Mom sometimes forgets and keeps them on all night, but that comes in handy in case either of us needs to make a “midnight run”. Someone had beaten us to the shower, which was not very surprising either. Despite her quirks, Mom is an early riser and makes sure I follow her example. She usually wakes me after she takes her shower, leaving me with just enough time to make breakfast, eat, and wash up. I even saw Mom’s silhouette behind the glass curtain and raised my eyebrows. I’m not afraid to admit that my mother is a gorgeous lady and I hope to look as good as her when I reach that age.

The thing that shocked me, though, was the telltale signs that Mom was not alone in there. She clearly had company and it was obvious to both of us who it was. It was also very obvious what they were doing. We heard moans of passion and the sound of wet bodies rubbing together; we saw the blurry shape of two very naked women, sharing a very passionate kiss.

“Oh, my God,” I breathed. We slipped outside, thankfully without being noticed.

Sabine’s mouth was hanging open. ”I… I was just kidding!” she blurted. “I didn’t think they’d do it for real!

I, on the other hand, couldn’t help but laugh. I also couldn’t let this moment pass without making a truly tasteless joke. ”Well, like mother like daughter, I guess.”

So with the arrival of my cousin and my aunt, the goddess of love came with them. Sabine and I were now lovers and would spend the rest our lives together. And apparently, Mom decided she couldn’t spend another minute without the love of her little sister, a love that Salome was all too happy to give. It dawned on me that this was quite possibly the healthiest relationship either of them could enter into, and I prayed, as Sabine and I crossed over to the kitchen, that they would be together forever.

Eventually the new couple emerged from the shower, still wearing their bathrobes and glowing as lovers are apt to do. They giggled, flirted, and teased each other; we both watched them enter the kitchen with quiet, understanding smiles. With one exception, I’d never seen anything more adorable and beautiful in all my life — that exception being my beloved Sabine — though I’m sure Mom and Aunt Salome believed we didn’t suspect a thing.

We went through the motions that morning and spent the entire day together, and eventually, the truth came out for all to hear, and there was not an unhappy face in the crowd. Well, maybe that’s exaggerating things.

“Um, care to run that by me again?” I demanded. Mom and Aunt Salome, holding hands as they snuggled close, smiled at each other, and at me.

“It’s not the first time we made love,” Mom said. “It happened once before, when we were even younger than you two. But this is the first time we’ve — considered it seriously.”

“That’s right, girls,” Salome said, pausing to kiss Mom’s cheek. “We want to be a real couple.”

“Oh, jeez.” I rubbed my face wearily, but luckily I had an angel there to unravel my stress.

“It’s okay, Cory,” Sabine whispered. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t know either.”

I had to laugh, hearing that. We shared a family hug, and I reflected on how being the last to know what’s up really isn’t that big a deal.

The End

Ana and Una, Chapter 2

  • Posted on September 10, 2017 at 9:15 am

By Una

Ann was folding her things into the drawers of the ancient dressing table when I came into the bedroom. She was fourteen, two years older, and the care with which she was unpacking showed she thought of herself as a sophisticated young lady now, no longer the giddy girl who was here last summer.

There was an air of unspoken excitement in the room. We had finally arrived at the beachside bungalow Father rented each July for our family holiday. Everyone was busy, anticipation was all around in the warm sun — and there were butterflies in my tummy as I thought of the month-long holiday ahead. Four weeks of bliss away from school, a month of freedom — a month when Ann and I would share a room together for the first time in ages.

I plopped my case on the little bed opposite and pulled out clothes, packing them into the small drawers in the tallboy that was allocated to me. I wondered if Ann was sharing my thoughts, or had the same sense of anticipation.

Probably not. She was too grown up now. We had drifted apart. She’d become more religious, joining a pious society, The Legion of Mary, dedicated to the Blessed Virgin and purity. The various nurses-and-nurses games we’d played down the years belonged in the past.

I had tried to exorcise the memories of how Ann and I had cuddled when we last shared a bedroom; how, clinging like two spoons in a drawer, we’d been overcome by feelings we didn’t understand. Some seismic eruption had overwhelmed first me, and then Ann as I hugged her tightly, pressing hard and squirming my mound against her buttocks.

Thoughts of that incredible experience were still there — sometimes vague, sometimes vivid, but always drifting, day and night, somewhere in the spaces of my mind. When alone, thinking of nothing special, a vision of Ann would appear. I would indulge myself for a few minutes, chasing the apparition this way and that. I would see us alone, somewhere splendidly isolated, marooned on a desert island, fending for ourselves — and spending long, balmy nights, naked under a moonlit sky with my sister.

I’d smell her personal fragrance, a hint of scented soap on her neck, stroke her luxuriant hair, taste the moistness of her soft lips as our mouths met.

And then, more often than not, the daydream would disintegrate. As my thoughts wandered into the byways of passion, our naked skins touching, Catholic guilt would rise up on the road ahead and block my progress.

I knew it was wrong to peer down these forbidden paths: wrong to recall glimpses of my sister’s willowy form as I wandered into her room, seeing her turn to face me, hands clutching a snow-white bra that was about to encase her new-found, perfect breasts.

I knew it was wrong to relish these secret mind-pictures. My God-conditioned brain told me as much. And so did my body. Always, when I reached a certain point, my body temperature would rise. I’d feel my cheeks flush and smouldering heat would flood my hidden parts. Beyond that was the ache — the hunger of sin, the point of no return — the pleasure place where I knew I could find that mysterious, sweeping release of tension.

I knew it was a sin. In confession, I had told the priest a diluted version of how Ann and I had touched. In this version, we had merely hugged, both frightened as a storm thundered outside.

There was no mention of how my mound had pressed so firmly against her bum that I gushed in blissful ecstasy. No mention of the thrills which returned as I lay exhausted beside her and felt the bed move, knowing Ann’s hand, hidden by a raised knee, was between her legs, speeding to a frantic finish as I softly tugged her hardened nipple with finger and thumb.

The priest didn’t seem to understand. How could he? I thought, as he mumbled questions through the grill in the pitch-dark cubicle at the back of the church. He was a man; he could never understand the feelings which led to Ann and me cuddling. He could never have such intensity of sensation and affection as Ann and I had experienced on that one, never-to-be-forgotten night.

The priest had warned of the pain of damnation for all eternity. It was a threat that worked. Ann and I were sent to confession each Saturday morning. I wondered if she had gotten the same message. But we couldn’t talk about that. Confession was secret.

Without discussing it, my sister and I avoided situations where we would be tempted. When Ann moved into her own room after the start of her visitor nearly a year ago, I assumed that there would never be a repeat of that wonderful night. It belonged in our childish past.

My idle thoughts — as the nuns called our pensive moods looking out the window during maths lessons — were taken up with Hillary. She was a fifth year school prefect who was beyond divine. Her hair, her nails, her figure, her voice, the way she wore her uniform, how she walked and her radiant smile compensated for my loss of Ann.

But while Hillary was a distraction, thoughts of Ann were always there. Sisterly thoughts, but sometimes more lustful thoughts as well. I guessed from occasional smiles and glances that Ann shared my feelings.

But God was watching. There was nothing we could do. My lust for my sister occasionally threatened to overwhelm, but a muttered prayer would send my thoughts back to Hillary, the object of my teenage crush.

The nuns, without any obvious sense of irony, had taught us what they called ejaculations. These were short pious phrases, to be mouthed silently in moments of temptation. “Jesus and Mary help me,” was typical. Thoughts of Mary in her blue-robed purity in Heaven were enough to trigger such a wave of guilt as to drive away the memories of that night — when Ann and I spooned in bed, my palm brushing her nipple, electric currents flowing from her hard, pink nub into my soul. But they always came back.

Now, remembrances of Ann’s warm body beside mine as she convulsed in pleasure were here again. The July morning sun had already made our holiday bedroom hot. I turned away from unpacking to see Ann changing into her swimsuit: she was going into a rocky pool to cool off, she said.

I gazed, dry-mouthed, as she got naked. Lifting the one-piece bathing costume, she turned. I saw her in all her natural beauty for the first time since we’d moved to separate rooms. The fluffy tuft of her womanhood was more obvious. It seemed to draw my eyes like a magnet. Before now, it had been a bare slit like mine. Now, it was though a painter had finished the picture.

Then the enticing triangle was gone as she wriggled the one-piece suit above her widened hips, stretching the emerald fabric over those peaches-and-cream contours as she slowly lifted one strap, then the other. She smoothed out the boned bust and ran her hands lightly over the bottom, tugging the swimsuit out so the shape of her mound was hidden. I continued to stare.

The silence was palpable. We, who had chattered like magpies for most of our lives, had nothing to say. We were lost in our own worlds. Ann gave me an enigmatic smile. The room had become stifling. I held my burning cheeks, as though cool hands on my face would douse the molten fire between my legs. Oh, my God!

The door opened and Ann was gone, calling out that she’d see me on the beach, which was literally on our doorstep. I was mesmerised: unable to move. My mind and body were overwhelmed with thoughts of my sister; of how I wanted to touch her beautiful body, to feel her against me, to push my sinful parts against hers until I was overcome by pleasure.

Moving to the window, I drew the curtains, a precaution against being seen by someone walking around the back of the single-storey house.

Ann had left her underclothes on the bed. Bringing it to my face with trembling hands, I smelled the small, white cotton bra, bought for the holiday. The fragrant signature of my sister’s body flooded my nostrils. Oh God! A flood of desire met a tidal wave of guilt.

The alluring scent of talc, a hint of perspiration mixed with a familiar aroma of the virgin, unwashed cotton of a new bra. It was overwhelming. Here was a proxy version of my sister. I gasped at my audacity, at the unstoppable urge which had me in its grip. Beyond the guilt zone now, beyond any help from the Blessed Virgin in response to a frantic ejaculation, I raised Ann’s knickers to my nose.

It must have been imagination, wishful thinking perhaps, but that heady perfume that clung to my gusset after my own sinful flushes was there. Faint, amid the blend of expected scents on Ann’s undies — but it was there. What if… what if she had been having thoughts like mine as we stood earlier for that few minutes in silence?

Impossible, I thought. No one but me has ever been this sinful, has ever been tortured by such thoughts, has ever felt their temperature soar to fever level at the sight of another girl’s nakedness. No one has ever had this kind of deep-down hunger for her own sister. Surely not.

I stood in the centre of the room, skirt around my waist, daring my hand not to go where it wanted. Ann was there in front of me — a vision of perfection, the most adorable creature in the world. Her image was huge, like Elvis Presley filling a giant cinema screen. I tried to think of Elvis, to remember the words of his songs, to distract myself. But Ann’s voice was haunting. I could see that dark, perfect triangle of soft, shining hair, the pinkness of her nipples.

I pulled my underwear aside and did what we’d been warned not to do. I touched. I’d taken a large step towards Hell, to eternal damnation. I was on the slippery slope, literally sliding into sin as my finger soothed the aching need.

Oh, my God. The pleasure, the delight, the guilt. All were mixed in confusion. I’d touched myself there before, at night in bed, and in the bath, I’d used fingers to familiarise myself with hidden body parts. But I’d quickly turned away when God had sent a warning deluge that I was heading into sinful territory.

I’d learned to cope with bath-time and bedtime temptations. To avoid touching, I’d cuddle Charlie. He was the almost life-sized stuffed panda cub who had been my bed companion since my sixth birthday. I glanced to where he was lying near my suitcase. God was offering a chance to deal with my ache, without committing the sin of touching.

Charlie had been my crutch since Ann had moved out of our shared room at home. I would cuddle and snuggle him and fall asleep, our arms wrapped around each other. Over time, Charlie met my need to keep from sinning with my fingers. I’d roll on top of him in the warm darkness and allow the knee of his almost threadbare body to rest between my legs.

Innocently, slowly, like a sailing boat drifting out of harbour on a windless day, my legs as well as my arms would encompass Charlie. And slowly, the desire to put a hand between my legs, to allow my fingers to intrude there, would dissipate — as the comfort of rotating my Mound of Venus on his leg took over.

I’d drift into a world of half-sleep, luxuriating in the sensation of Charlie’s knee on my most sensitive place. I became expert at finding the precise way in which the stuffed panda doll could maximise my secret pleasure. Often, I’d think of Ann as I moved into the world of dreamy unreality. And in my moment of ecstasy, I’d hold Charlie’s knee in a manic grip and thrust it hard between my legs, imagining Ann’s hand there as my back arched sending rivulets of pleasure flowing to every part.

Now, Charlie was looking at me with the same enigmatic stare I’d seen from Ann minutes earlier. Pushing off my pants, I lifted him onto the bed. Raising my dress to my chest, I threw a leg across him.

God gave me one more chance. Despite my hazy-eyed absorption with the awful ache and the burning heat between my legs, I remembered the bedroom door. It was unlocked. I staggered to my feet and locked it. In the distance there were sounds of Mother in the kitchen.

While I listened, the sinful finger found what it had lusted for. Leaning against the door, dress still above my waist, I parted my legs and bent my knees, astonished at how slippery it was down there.

Oh, how I craved Ann. I wanted her to touch me: I wanted to discover if she was the same, if I could bring her to the state of bliss I was in. I pulled upwards, drawing back the hood which sheltered the little man in the boat. He was sailing on a full tide. I’d never experienced such floods of excitement. My mind was filled with longing for Ann, but my body needed something more immediate.

I was still leaning awkwardly against the door, one foot raised as my finger caressed my secret parts over and over. The liquid excitement was flowing so copiously that it was wetting the palm of my hand.

This was wonderful, but I needed the familiarity of Charlie as I moved towards a state of nirvana. I pushed myself away from the door and hobbled towards the bed. As I flung myself face down, and reached for Charlie. I thrust my crotch hard into his knee. My eyes were tightly shut. Tingles rushed everywhere. Like a tidal surge on a flat beach, little eddies pulsed and flowed before sliding back to the main flow as slow rivulets of pleasure.

In my mind, Ann danced naked. I needed her as desperately as she needed me. Why should we deny each other the secret, forbidden delights that only two sisters could share? Her body and mine were so much alike. Surely we were as one in our desire, our love, our special need.

I slumped on top of Charlie, exhausted more in mind than in the body. A wonderful sense of satisfaction was everywhere. Colours were different, the air was fragrant — that enchanting perfume of my ecstasy seemed to fill the room. I rolled on my back, thinking of Ann.

Continue on to Chapter 3

Ann and Una, Chapter 1

  • Posted on September 4, 2017 at 7:17 am

By Una

{ This story was originally posted at the now-defunct Sisters in Love }

I regard myself as a lesbian, but my sexuality is more wrapped up with my sister Ann, who I have been in love with for most of my life. We grew up in Ireland and now live in London.

For a long time, I really believed that Ann and I were the only two females in the world, and in the whole of time, who had the sort of feelings we had for each other, and who got up to the things that we got up to.

Ann is two years older than me, we are both Pisces. We fought like cats at times when we were young, and yet we were really close, sharing a large bedroom with two single beds until Ann got her period at age 13 and mother moved her to an adjoining room. While we still slept in the same room, a fierce storm woke us one night.

Terrified of the lightning, I went to Ann’s bed and we snuggled together, huddled close because of the small width of the single bed. Long after the storm ended, I was still awake. So was Ann. I cuddled her back, spoon fashion, my arm around her, a hand on her tummy, resting on the puckered waistband of her knickers.

I couldn’t get to sleep. The smell of her freshly-washed long hair, a delicious apple-blossom fragrance, was really distracting. All of Ann seemed to enchant me. The softness of her skin, the vague hint of perfume where she had dusted Cussons talcum powder on her body after her bedtime bath, her warmth.

I snuggled close, pressing my tummy against her back, cuddling my nether regions against the roundness of her bottom. I pulled her towards me, driven by the urge which made me hunger for the sensation of being astride the spider’s web. As I unconsciously thrust my mound against her soft buttocks, she pushed back suddenly.

The sensation of her body pressing into me like that was overwhelming. I could feel my face burning in the darkness, and some little voice cried out for just one chance to feel that wonderful sensation again.

I pressed close against her, feeling my vulva flatten on the solid part of her buttock below her hip. She pushed back again. This time she didn’t say, “Go to sleep.” She merely wriggled, re-positioning herself so we were both comfortable with what was happening. From that point on, who pressed what and when is lost in the mists of time now.

What can never be forgotten, though, is the heat which we both generated and the wonderful feeling of an out-of-body experience which overwhelmed me as I humped my young Mound of Venus against Ann.

I must have orgasmed. I don’t know. At age nine, as I was then, I had never heard of an orgasm. What we were doing was a mystery: a secret mystery; a taboo that was so sacred that we couldn’t even think we were breaking it.

My most vivid memory was of rolling away from Ann, onto my back, breathing deeply and feeling so, so satisfied. The sensations which had convulsed my body had ebbed almost to the point of disappearing. But they were being replaced with a mood of satisfaction, every part of me seemed relaxed, the world felt a perfect place. I had never known such happiness and contentment.

I lay there listening to the rain beating against the dormer window of our room, thinking that I wanted to stay here, in this bed, always — with Ann. I wanted forever to be enveloped in her blend of personal scents, her perfumed soap, her girlie perspiration and her fragrant hair. Looking back, I wonder was there another aroma there — the heady smell of her female arousal that enticed me, but which was then unfamiliar. I was to savor it when my sister and I lay together in later times, but that stormy night must have been the first occasion when Ann’s excitement wafted on the air that I was breathing.

Still unable to sleep, I delighted in the heat of the bed and the after-glow of tingles in places I’d never had tingles before. The back of my knees, the small of my back, around my chest, all were still alive in a way which was new.

Ann was sighing softly, a whispering, tell-tale sigh which was to become familiar as we grew older. There were subtle vibrations under the bed-clothes. I put my hand on her cotton nightdress, and felt her tummy moving in a pulsing beat. Her forearm indicated that her hand was between her legs: one knee was holding the bed-clothes high.

Instinctively, I ran the hand upwards, across her bust, stopping to palm her budding breasts. My finger circled their roundness beneath the nightie, brushing the unfamiliar hardness of her nipple. I stretched the tiny bud, my finger and thumb pulling gently to test the elasticity of this new discovery of my sister’s erect nipple. She moaned, not in pain but in ecstasy — a moan that had my temperature soaring again. Sighing deeply, her hand moving faster as I tugged her nipple, she slipped into a paroxysm of shivers which would have frightened me a few days earlier. But I shared the joy I knew she was having. I knew that Ann was having the same wonderful out-of-body experience I’d had a short time earlier.

As her orgasm died, she hugged me and whispered: “I love you, Una.” She kissed me on the cheek, I brushed her hair back from her moist cheek and kissed her chastely back. Then we turned back to back, as though we felt we had already gone too far. The sense of peace, contentment and satisfaction I had from feeling and hearing Ann come alongside me was as great as I’d got from my own climax. Somehow, I knew that I was in the grip of something so intense that it would be with me for life. I loved Ann, from that night onwards, in a way that I could never love any other creature.

*****

It wasn’t my sister Ann who introduced me to the pleasures of passionate kissing, though; it was my best friend Mags.

We were both eleven years old when it happened. We were having a sleep-over at her house, sharing a double bed, as we had done many times for the four years we had known each other.

I always loved a sleepover. There was the adventure of being away from home, the sights and smells and atmosphere of a different family — and the giggling companionship which came from sharing a bed with a soul-mate.

Mags was more developed than I, she knew more of life. She was the youngest of three sisters, more street-wise. She’d been places and done things which I hadn’t yet got around to, like going to the cinema with her big sister. She’d also learned to kiss.

We huddled together chastely in the double bed, in long nighties and cotton knickers. Our talk of kissing and romance waxed and waned. The conversation roamed: there were singers we fancied — Elvis, Paul McCartney — songs we loved and some we didn’t. We talked of great films we had seen, of daring scenes when a heroine had been swept into the arms of a lover, of how he had kissed her while she lay back in surrender.

Then we were talking about kissing. Mags was bursting to tell me more, to show off her vast experience! I was curious, desperate for more information, intoxicated by the intimacy between us in the murmuring dark.

I told Mags about my first and only kiss, which had been an awful experience. Even then, I didn’t understand why anyone would want to do such things with boys. She had much to say in agreement with me, including revealing that one of her first kissing partners had put his hand under her clothes and had touched her knickers, “like this,” she said, before she pushed him away.

As we lay facing each other in the secret darkness, her hand moved under my nightdress and touched the back of my pants. I felt her fingers press into my buttock.

To say that I was thrilled would be wrong; stunned would be a better description. It was as though that soft girly hand had mesmerized me. Perhaps I felt aroused. I wasn’t aware of it. What I did feel was a vague sensation that was going down a road I wanted to explore more.

Margaret’s lips were close to my ear as she extolled the delights of real kissing which made you tingle. Her damp breath was moistening my ear lobe. I turned my face a little — and her mouth was on mine. We touched closed lips. Guilt swept through me. I’d have to tell this in confession. This awful sin would haunt me.

And then nature, and the common sense which has descended to all of us from countless generations of women, clicked in. This wasn’t a sin. I pressed my lips against Mag’s — then relaxed them, allowing her to take her turn at pressing against mine.

When she did, my temperature rose. My face flushed. Down there, some previously unknown hunger stirred. I was reminded instantly of the games my sister Ann and I played that one night when we shared a bed.

Margaret moved now, rolling on top, pushing back hair from my forehead, pressing her still-closed lips hard on mine. I opened my legs, arms around her neck. I could feel her tummy, warm and soft against mine. It gave delightful little goose-pimples around my budding bust and creeping tingles near my crotch where her thighs were holding mine open. I liked it. This was wonderful.

But there was more to come. As our heads moved from side to side, her lips slid across mine, and mine across hers. Then I felt the tip of Margaret’s tongue, teasing my lower lip. Oh my God! There was a flood of sensation within me. I was on fire.

I pressed my mouth against the wet, triangular sliver of flesh. Margaret pressed also, until the tongue forced its way in — penetrating my soul as well as my lips. We thrashed about, consumed by young, newly-found passion. Now I knew what a real kiss was.

My body heaved as our mouths devoured each other. My tongue had instinctively followed hers as it retreated. It explored every part of her mouth, as she had done with mine. Mags was pressing her tummy on mine. Of their own accord, my knees rose as my thighs opened wider to bring her nearer, before closing tight in a fierce hug on her hips.

Her hand was under my nightdress now, cupping my buttock, drawing me towards her as we clasped each other in a passionate embrace. Despite our thick undies and modest nighties, we could feel our mounds, touching, then pressing hard.

My forehead was moist with perspiration, my cheeks were on fire. But the heat and dampness of my face were as nothing compared with the warm wetness between my legs. I knew I was sinning, but I couldn’t stop. I wanted Mags to touch me everywhere — to stroke my bare skin inside my knickers. My hunger was unbelievable.

I took my arms from around her neck. Placing a hand under her nightclothes, I caressed her rounded bottom, as she was doing with mine. We must have been making sounds of some sort. I had gone beyond caring about where I was. I was not in Margaret’s bedroom a few steps away from her sleeping parents — I was in wonderland, in some magic place where only Mags and I existed.

And then our secret world suddenly turned upside down. The voice of Mags’s mother was moving across the room. The bedside light clicked on. How she had done it I didn’t know. One minute Margaret was writhing on top of me, the next she was lying alongside, innocently greeting her mother.

I knew my face was a dead giveaway. I could feel it burning with incredible heat. I knew my forehead and beetroot red neck were coated in perspiration. I hoped Margaret’s mother wouldn’t notice.

We were told it was long after midnight. We should have been asleep. Somehow, I had lowered my knees and was surreptitiously tugging the hem of my nightdress below my knee. I was terrified Margaret’s mother would pull aside the bedclothes and see our nightclothes had ridden up.

There was some scolding. We had been talking and making noise. In fact we had not been talking at all for at least five minutes, but I was conscious that one or both of us had been sighing and moaning in passion. We must have been overheard. Had she listened at the door before entering?

Mags remained uncharacteristically quiet. I wondered if this was the first time her mum had heard sounds during sleep-overs with other girls. And then, hands on hips, she was ordering Mags into her empty brother’s bedroom next door, so we both could get to sleep.

I accepted the explanation that it was to prevent us talking and keeping each other awake. Years later, I wondered if Mags’ mother was more knowledgeable than I believed then. After all, she had been a curious young girl herself.

Margaret’s instruction in the art of passionate kissing was a lesson well learned… and a step along the road to a deeper, more intense relationship with my sister Ann.

Mags soon became mad about boys as we got older, although her passion could be, and was, directed at those who attracted her, of either gender. But Ann and I, while outwardly flirting with boys, and secretly having regular crushes on other girls, had something too precious between us for words. We had long been like that, from those times when, not much older than toddlers, we had fought in catty combat — and then found intense comfort in reconciliation cuddles and kisses.

Ann was apparently growing away from me. She was older now. We no longer shared a room since her monthly visitor had arrived. But despite that, we remained secretly close — trading special smiles when no one was around, sharing the bathroom from time to time, me peeing, stealing glances while she luxuriated in the bath preparing for the disco. It was as though we could read each other’s minds.

We could no longer share a bedroom, but there were ways we could get together intimately which no one knew about. By the time I was twelve, with the benefit of Mags’ tuition in kissing, I had discovered other things about my body. Having once learned the pleasures of self-examination of my budding breasts and swelling vulva, I was becoming addicted to the habit of self-satisfaction. And Ann had found a way to express her sisterly love. But I’m getting ahead of the story…

Continue on to Chapter 2

Pursuit of Happiness, Part Two

  • Posted on September 2, 2017 at 9:30 am

By Christene

Lauren was exhausted when she staggered into the room. Too many of her friends were sitting with similar expressions of exhaustion. She sank down into a chair.

They’d all seen so many patients that day. Some of them had been their boys, but some of them had been POWs left behind.

Lauren lifted her head. She ran her fingers through her long red hair. Her hands were shaking. She was so tired. Her deep green eyes reflected how long she’d gone without sleep. She could hear the loud chaos of the hospital, but she could also hear the sounds coming from the streets outside.

She could not help but remember that she had always wanted to see Paris, but never like this.

An excited nurse burst into the room. “Mail!” she cried. “We’ve got mail!”

So many nurses scrambled to their feet, hoping that there would be even the smallest news from home to keep their spirits alive.

“Lauren.”

Lauren lifted her head in surprise. “Yes?” she stammered.

The nurse smiled softly. “There’s one for you,” she said.

The others looked at Lauren in amazement. In all the time they had been away from home, the beautiful young woman had never received a letter. They had often wondered why. Lauren was so kind, so personable. It didn’t make sense for her not to have family, or even a special someone back home.

Lauren took the letter into her hands. They shook violently as she recognized the handwriting. She carefully opened the envelope. When she pulled out the letter, tears rose inside her eyes. It had been written on paper from her diary. She recognized the paper, but more than anything, she could clearly see her own words lingering on the page.

“Paige is in the backyard reading beneath a tree,” it read. “She looks so beautiful. I wonder if she knows. I try to hide what’s in my eyes, but Paige knows me better than anyone ever has or ever will. Does she know how deeply I love her? Does she know that I am madly, passionately, head-over-heels in love with her?”

Lauren blanched more by the moment. Paige must have read this and decided to send it to her as a means of telling her that she knew everything and could never forgive her.

Determined to see it through to the end, Lauren continued reading silently.

“I should tell her. I want to tell her. And yet… how do you tell your best friend that what you feel is more than friendship? For that matter, how do you tell your best friend that when she’s your sister?”

The handwriting suddenly changed as a few elegant lines were fluidly scrolled along the bottom of the page.

How do you say what cannot be said? You say it with the love inside your eyes, with the emotion inside your kiss and the beating of your heart when it lives for another.

Come home to me safely, my Love. Please.

The sudden sound of Lauren’s cries frightened the others. They flocked to her in a supportive guild. Their arms embraced her with a fierce protectiveness. They rocked her gently and smoothed her back as Lauren, their strong Lauren, cried with utter abandon.

* * *

August 1945

Cries rose up amongst the masses.

Strangers embraced one another for the sheer happiness of the moment. People wept. Sailors raced through the streets, kissing every woman within sight. Confetti rained from the sky that seemed all but suspended by joyous singing and boisterous cheers. The cheers grew thunderous, as if to announce to the very heavens that it was over. It was finally over.

* * *

Her heart was racing. Paige had dressed herself in an airy red dress, which brought out the excited flush of her cheeks. Among the many other women looking expectantly to the train station, she was a brilliant flash of color amidst a bevy of autumn colors.

Her flowing mahogany hair hung with satiny glory between her shoulder blades. Her eyes flashed as shimmering honey pools. Her body grew tense.

She and every other soul crowding the platform looked to the train coming proudly into the station. Cheers flooded the air. A band began to play loudly, welcoming their men and women home.

Her trembling hands clasped together. Paige held them close to her chest. The beautiful woman felt dizzy with happiness. Her sister was home. She was home!

Paige was lost inside an eerie sort of haze. She had seen the people beginning to disembark. Their colors blurred together in a vibrant smearing of colors. But all of that changed when one person, one solitary figure, took on the clarity of the sun rising as the dawn. Even among the others dressed in uniform, Lauren was unique in all the world.

Her long red hair was parted to the side. It was sleek with smoothly styled waves. Atop its glistening satin, a garrison cap sat at a slight angle. Her pale skin was glowing inside the olive green uniform housing her hour-glass body. The warm color brought out the intensity of her catlike eyes.

Lauren had never been so happy to see the hometown she had been so eager to escape. She turned. Her eyes scoured her surroundings, doing their best to memorize how things had changed and how exactly they had stayed the same. It was during that awe-filled gaze that her eyes fell on a woman in scarlet.

Her breath caught inside her throat. “Paige,” she exhaled. She wanted to launch forward, to rush into her embrace, but she could not trust herself while she was that close to Paige. Not after having dreamt being inside her arms for all this time.

Then somehow, they were standing directly before one another. They were so close that they could each feel the other’s breath against their tingling skin.

Paige extended her hands. Her movements were painfully slow. She’d never been timid while showing affection toward her sister before. Then again, she’d never been in love before, never ached to touch another person the way that she did now.

With feathery touches her fingertips grazed Lauren’s until they stood face to face, holding each other’s hands. Their eyes met for the first time. For a brief instant, Paige remembered all the times her sister had looked away. Would she now?

Lauren tightened her hold of the hands in hers. Her green eyes danced with tears. “Take me home,” she mouthed.

Around them, the chaos had yet to subside, but within each sister, an odd sort of serenity was sweeping throughout their beings.

Paige refused to release the hand in hers as she sauntered with a slow eroticism through the masses. She felt the eyes staring after her with love, but the thing which sent her core trembling was the heat of arousal warming her back.

They walked along the sidewalk, hand in hand. The lights from the street-lamps fell over them in sporadic pools of warm yellow. Their fingers wove together tightly, connecting them.

* * *

When they entered the front door of their home, it was quiet.

Lauren lifted her eyes as she removed her cap. They were soft as she stared around her childhood home. “Where’s Dad?” she asked absently. In truth, she had hoped he would be sleeping or locked inside his study.

“He was called away,” Paige answered as she took Lauren’s things. “You know how much he lives for invitations to speak at prestigious colleges.”

Lauren laughed quietly despite herself. Her laughter fell away as she thought of what her father’s absence would mean at the practice. “That must mean that Jeffery is—”

“I wouldn’t know,” Paige interrupted quietly. She waited for her sister at the top of the stairs.

The red-haired nurse moved to the foot of the stairs. Her hand rested elegantly against the dark wood railing. She stared up at the vision of her beautiful sister. The hall light at her back warmed the woman’s silhouette in an enchanting halo.

“He and I haven’t spoken since I called off the engagement,” Paige spoke softly.

Lauren felt herself slip into a state of shock. Her head lowered while she stared heavily at the imported rug centered along the stairs. She had not even realized that Paige was no longer at the head of the stairs. So many thoughts were whirling through her mind, but she pushed them back. All that mattered was the question raging throughout her mind. What does this mean? she wondered.

Lauren hurried up the stairs. She moved toward her room on the right. She stopped. A warm light flooded lovingly into the hall. It was coming from her sister’s room. She felt butterflies dancing manically inside her stomach. Her heels kissed the hardwood floors with each slow step she took toward her sister’s bedroom.

Lauren extended her hand. With her fingertips resting against the cool door’s surface, she pushed the door open.

The room was warm with candles. Paige lit the last candle before delicately blowing out the match within her hand. She turned her head as she caught sight of her sister standing inside the doorway. Slowly, she smiled.

“Did you know that the women working the assembly would spend hours talking about what they would do the moment their men came home?” Paige asked nonchalantly.

She strode across the room. Her fingers lightly clasped Lauren’s hands. She pulled her invitingly into the room while she backed further into it. Her honey eyes reflected the flames inside the candles. She turned Lauren gracefully, as if they were dancing to the subtle sound of the wind rustling through the trees.

Lauren felt the backs of her legs touch against the edge of the bed. She swallowed hard at the lump in her throat. Her breath trembled as it slipped past full lips. She held the eyes of the woman she loved, the woman she’d always loved. Her eyes never once looked away, even as Paige’s nimble fingers began unbuttoning the golden buttons of her jacket.

“The one thing that each woman seemed to have in common,” Paige continued in a throaty voice, “was a desperate need to touch, a need to pamper their lover. As if to say ‘thank you’, to say ‘I love you’, to say ‘I missed you’ and ‘I need you.’”

Lauren tried not to tremble. She closed her eyes, savoring the feel of Paige moving closer.

Paige tenderly pushed the jacket from Lauren’s shoulders. She allowed it to fall to the floor. Her fingers loosened the khaki tie around her sister’s neck. When Lauren took her face warmly inside her hands, her hand fell limply to her side. She could feel the tie slipping out of her grasp.

“Paige,” Lauren whispered. Her eyes said so much, even before her lips could utter a word. “Do you realize what you’re saying?” She gave a vulnerable frown. “I was so sure I’d lost you forever when you read my diary. I—”

Lauren’s words were brought to a dramatic end by the lips seizing hers with unending love and passion. The lips moving against hers were the softest she’d ever felt. They were sweet and supple. She parted her lips against them. She felt them part in response to hers. Tender flesh traced along the line of her top lip. She closed her lips around it, suckling lovingly at Paige’s tongue.

Paige tilted her head. She deepened their kiss with a moaned purr that reverberated deep within her throat. Her arms wrapped around Lauren’s body. She crushed her sister to her, feeling proud, shapely breasts crush against hers. Between impassioned kisses, she spoke:

“You’ll never lose me,” Paige promised. “I love you so much, Lauren. I always have.” Her body shivered with excitement as Lauren’s hand slid down from her jaw. They traveled over her shoulders, roaming down her arms until they found a home at her sides.

The slow sound of her dress being unzipped echoed in the air. It joined the sound of their heated breaths rasping in the night, their gentle purrs inspiring dull throbs.

The air came to rush against Paige’s exposed skin. She felt it caress her with each pair of teeth opening. Soon her dress released its hold. It fell to the ground, haloing her body in a lustful ring. She stood inside Lauren’s arms. Her breasts were housed inside a black lace bra. Her panties were of matching grace. Along the smooth length of her beautiful legs, her stockings shimmered. A delicate seam ran along the back of her as if pointing the way toward bliss.

Paige unbuttoned the khaki button-down shirt her army nurse wore. She released an appreciative groan as she glimpsed her sister’s sensuous breasts for the first time. They were full, restrained inside their ivory bra with a seductive pout.

Paige lowered her head. Her lips kissed over the tops of sweet-smelling orbs. She closed her eyes, feeling her sister’s fingers get lost in her dark hair. Her tongue dipped into the valley of her sister’s breasts. She grazed with a slow sweep across the flesh. Her fingers reached down, unbuttoning and unzipping the skirt that separated them. With a slight whoosh, it plummeted to the ground.

Lauren shrugged out of her shirt. She took Paige into her arms, then laid her sister upon the bed. The moment her body crushed to hers, she felt her pulse quicken.

Wrapping both arms around her sister’s neck, Paige claimed her lover’s mouth again. She kissed her deeply, growing lost in the emotions pouring from Lauren directly into her. All the love they had ever shared was heightened in the realization of attraction.

Lauren ran her hand along her sister’s body. She guided her sibling’s leg to wrap around her waist. With it close, she pushed off her sister’s heel, then tossed it to the floor. Her fingers traced the top of Paige’s stocking. She pushed it down slowly, feeling a gift unwrapped beneath her touch. As they kissed, she repeated the act once more on her sister’s other leg. The feel of smooth bare skin wrapping around her waist made her dizzy.

Holding herself up with her arms, Lauren looked down at the woman with mussed mahogany hair. Her red hair hung around her face. She was flushed with wanton desires, but she wanted to savor this night. She’d dreamt of it for so long.

Lauren sat up on her knees. She tossed her long hair over her shoulder absently, unaware that it sent a jolt through her lover watching below. Her arms reached behind her body. She unclasped her bra then removed it with slow eroticism.

Paige gripped tightly at the sheets. She strangled the moan inside her throat as enthralling orbs were revealed to her hungry eyes. She ravaged their flesh with her eyes. The peaks straining to new heights beneath her gaze caused her own nubs to arch painfully. She sat up on her elbows, never taking her eyes away from the woman moving to stand at the side of the bed. She followed the seductive air with which Lauren presented her leg. Then she watched as Lauren slowly removed her stockings.

The little striptease that her sister performed was somehow voyeuristic. Paige felt as though she were somehow glimpsing her sister as she readied for bed. The way Lauren confidently held her foot against the edge of the bed, the way her hands slid over her own leg. It was easy for Paige to imagine the sexy redhead smoothing lotion over her skin.

Lauren’s olive eyes suddenly lifted from her own thigh. She held her lover’s eyes while her thumbs hooked themselves inside her panties. She worked the fabric down, one hip at a time. At first she gave teasing glimpses of her smooth skin. The lower her panties were pushed, the slower their descent became.

Paige rolled onto her side, then commanded her body to rise. Her honey eyes never left the erotic show being put on for her eyes alone. She leaned forward. Her lips sensually covered her sister’s trembling abdomen with lingering kisses.

“Paige,” Lauren moaned as her head fell back. Her lashes fluttered closed.

The eldest sibling breathed deeply of the musky perfume rising in the air. Her lips trailed lower.

Lauren reached down. She grasped desperately to her sister’s shoulder. She stepped out of her panties, but was sure that she would fall if Paige’s lips moved even a breadth lower.

As if reading her sister’s mind, Paige took possession of the hips she craved. She held Lauren upright the instant her lips touched themselves to hers in their first intimate kiss.

Lauren’s chest rose and fell with the passion welling inside her. She moaned aloud as a soft tongue slipped between her lips. It explored her with unhurried ease, memorizing every silken inch of her. She began to shake uncontrollably. Her lips were covered in copious dew. She felt its hot nature turn cool with each moment her lover’s breath rushed to meet it.

“I love you,” Lauren panted.

Paige encircled Lauren’s waist in her strong embrace. She guided her baby sister to rest comfortably against the plush bed. Her hand slid to move the graceful length of Lauren’s leg over her shoulder. She lowered her head. Her lips captured a swollen lip between them, suckling with a hungered need. Her fingers parted the blooming petals until she exposed the bright heart of her sister. She explored its silken depths with the tip of her tongue. Then she pushed her tongue slowly and deeply inside of her sister.

Together, both women moaned lustfully into the night.

Lauren’s back bowed as her body raised off the bed. She parted her legs, offering up herself all the more to her sister’s famished mouth.

Paige reached a hand beneath Lauren. She cupped the sensual swell of her lover’s bottom, using her grasp to pull her lover closer. She fit her mouth to Lauren with greedy need. Her voice was muffled slightly, but Lauren felt her words tickle the throbbing parts of her.

“I love you, Lauren.”

Lauren felt tears stream soundlessly down her cheeks. Her breath grew more ragged. Her abdomen clutched violently. She closed her eyes tightly as a cry of unabashed pleasure burst from her.

Paige moaned into Lauren. She drank heartily from the fount offering itself up to her. As it flooded her, dribbling down the corners of her mouth to run hotly down her chin, she felt her own juices quicken.

A sweat had broken out over Lauren’s entire body. Her chest heaved mightily, but she felt alive. She reached out with shaking hands. She cupped her sister’s face. Insistently, she pulled her lover upward.

Lauren slid her tongue over anointed skin. She tasted herself so clearly against her sister’s face. Turning her head, she captured a pair of moistly fragrant lips. She kissed her sister deeply, caressing her tongue against the tongue that had brought such pleasure to her body.

Paige was trembling. She had never wanted anyone so much. She had never ached as much as she did in this moment. Her back arched with arousal. She relished the feel of Lauren’s hands moving over her. When the erotic redhead released her from the restraints of her bra, she shivered. When Lauren began kneading skillfully at her breasts, she moaned.

Lauren sucked with a quiet purr at the chin stained by her juices. Her hands moved down to the panties she both envied and resented for being so close to Paige. She peeled them away. The perfume their absence released was driving her mad with passion.

Her hand worked between their bodies. Lauren felt her palm purposely grind an erotic slope. She worked the heel of her hand against a hardened clit. She felt her sister’s heartbeat throbbing inside it. She massaged the hardened nub more diligently, spurred onward by the vocal encouragements flooding the air. She had never seen her sister so free. Paige was beautiful and untamed.

Paige rolled her hips, working to meet the hand grinding against her. When her sister’s middle finger dipped into her vagina, then delved deeper at its next attempt, her head fell back with a moan.

Together, they found a rhythm. It was growing more passionate with every wet-laced smack to toll their pace.

“I love you,” Paige said. There was a sudden urgency to her voice.

Unable to take her eyes off of the vision above her, Lauren responded in a raspy voice. “I love you,” she said.

Paige’s juices flooded out of her in time with climax’s cry. Breathless and shaking, she collapsed against her sister’s body.

Lauren wrapped an arm around Paige, holding her close. She remained deeply inside the woman. Her finger felt the persistent kiss of her lover’s inner walls as they involuntarily tightened and relaxed around it.

Weakly, Paige lifted her head. Her arms moved to rest on either side of Lauren’s head. Tenderly, she brushed back the woman’s long hair. She smoothed it gently. Its red roots were dark with sweat, making it appear more like the color of her own hair. She wanted to promise that she would never leave her. She wanted Lauren to promise that she would never leave her again, but none of that truly mattered. All that mattered was that they were together, finally truly together, as they had always secretly longed to be, but never had the courage to admit.

The olive green eyes gazing devotedly into hers would never turn away again. They would never hide what was inside them.

Paige leaned forward. She kissed Lauren with all the love she possessed in her heart. Complete and utter contentment came as the body molding itself to hers offered up that same love without hesitation.

The End

Pursuit of Happiness, Part One

  • Posted on August 23, 2017 at 4:22 pm

By Christene

{ This story was originally posted at the now-defunct Sisters in Love }


Mr. Vice President, Mr. Speaker, members of the Senate and the House of Representatives:

Yesterday, December 7, 1941 — a date which will live in infamy — the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan.


The year was 1944. The world was a very different place. Its surface had been forever altered by events sweeping across it.

Lauren wished that she could say she was brave. She ached to say that all her decisions had been for the right reasons, but the truth of it slapped her as bitterly as the cool wind rushing against her tearful face. She was running away.

The howl of the train drawing nearer warned that life as she knew it was about to change. She drew the collar of her flowing coat around her neck. Her haunted olive eyes blinked away the vision of the woman she thought she’d glimpsed emerging through the fog.

It wasn’t her, she thought. It couldn’t be her.

She released her coat collar just long enough to wipe away the tears rolling hotly down her porcelain cheeks. Two children playing along the platform made her smile through her tears. The little girls were doing all they could to defy the sleep creeping up to cloud their young eyes.

Then, after a moment, they raced by her in a whirl of vibrant colors.

“Come on, little sister!” she heard. Her heart thudded down into her stomach.

“Paige,” she whispered longingly.

She used to believe that whatever demons a person ran from would only pursue them with equal intensity, but she had abandoned that belief. She’d been forced to. After all, she could hardly throw herself into this war if she had any reservations about what she was doing.

Just then, Fate gave her one final reminder that it would not be ignored.

A radio perched inside the nearby ticket booth crackled loudly. From its small body, a voice fought to be heard:

“Night and day… you are the one. Only you beneath the moon and under the sun—”

Her skin blanched.

All around her, couples drew closer together with dreamy smiles alive inside their eyes. Others still cleaved to one another, cursing the threat brought to the world and how that threat was separating them. Possibly forever.

Another long, mournful howl came. It was closer than before. And yet, she did not hear its sound. Instead she further distanced herself from this moment and from the memory of eyes which rivaled the beauty of raw honey.

Numbly, she boarded the train. She was leaving. She was enlisting along with all these other souls leaving for the nearest recruiting office. And soon, she would be joining the other men and women doing their part to save the world from the devastation of the Second World War.

* * *

“What do you mean, she’s gone?!” Paige’s voice was filled with panic.

Her father gazed down at his newspaper with a furrowed brow. He appeared to be focused on an article of great importance, but the sheer truth of it was that he did not wish to think of it, did not wish to think of her. “She went to the station, Paige.” He sighed, folding the paper with a frustrated expression before roughly slapping the paper to his lap. “Why do I care? She’s never listened to me a day in her life. Why should I waste my breath thinking that she would now? Just let her go.”

Paige tilted her head with a pained look on her face. She opened her rouged lips to speak, but the chime at the door silenced her.

“Well, answer it,” her father uttered in annoyance. “It’s Jeffery, come to take you to dinner.” He favored her with a stern look. “There will be a lot of important people there, so you be sure to make a good impression.”

Paige blinked, lost within her reeling emotions. She opened the door to see Jeffery standing in his finest suit. His right hand clutched the cane he heavily relied upon.

Jeffery entered the house with the air that he belonged there. He gently kissed Paige’s cheek before immediately pressing past her to join Paige’s father in the study. “Mr. Humphrey,” he greeted warmly. He extended his hand, receiving a firm handshake from his soon to be father-in-law. “How are you, sir?”

Mr. Humphrey nodded his head, never truly answering the question.

Jeffery was motioned to sit, which he did awkwardly. After a lengthy silence, he cleared his throat. “Terrible business about the war,” he said. “Why, if I didn’t have this bum leg—”

Mr. Humphrey nodded his head absently, then woke from his thoughts. “I know,” he said. “I’d love to—”

Their voices faltered when they each took note of Paige’s face.

Her skin was ashen. The intelligent depths of her eyes glistened with the tears clinging desperately to her thick lashes.

“Paige?” Jeffery prodded fearfully.

With a sudden burst of speed, Paige turned and ran out the front door.

Jeffery moved to rise from his chair, but he did not have the speed to catch her. He stopped when Mr. Humphrey motioned him to stay. The man with dark reddish-brown hair and white bands along his temples rose from his leather chair. He went to the liquor cabinet, removing a large crystal bottle of brandy. He poured himself a glass with a lowered head. Jeffery watched him anxiously.

“Sir, what’s going on?” Jeffery demanded.

“It’s Lauren,” Mr. Humphrey said. He drank heartily from his glass.

* * *

Paige moved with all the power her shapely legs could muster. She sprinted into the night, but the heels upon her feet were not meant for running. She angrily ripped them from her feet, then ran barefoot down the quiet streets.

Her burgundy dress should have been worn out on the town, but instead she was racing against hope, racing against the time she simply did not possess to reach the train station. If providence were was with her at all, then perhaps she would reach her sister in time.

The shining length of her dark mahogany hair was slipping from its usually elegant victory rolls. It was falling from its pins to tussle wistfully around her milky face. She breathed heavily through moistened lips, which trembled with the onset of tears.

She caught sight of the station in the distance. She spirited toward it just as she heard the first whistle sounding the train’s approach. Her heart thundered inside her chest.

“Oh, please,” she murmured. She ran faster with the memory of mesmerizing green eyes, eyes that would rather close than allow her to see too much into them. Why was Lauren hiding her eyes from her? What was in them that was different than all the other times they’d exchanged looks before?

Paige swallowed the lump in her throat. She knew what was different. Change had come in the small package of a leather-bound journal.

* * *

Lauren sat inside the study, scribing feverishly into her journal. Her red hair burned passionately within the candlelight as she worked at her desk.

Paige watched her curiously from the narrow crack remaining between the French doors left slightly ajar. She felt her heart all but burst as Lauren quickly stood. Paige hurriedly moved down the hall to avoid being seen.

* * *

Upon reaching the station, Paige maneuvered through the throng of people. At the far end of the platform, she glimpsed a breathtaking woman with crimson hair. She called out to her. Her voice was drowned out by the sound of the train whistling its arrival.

The people around her began to move as a booming voice said, “Now boarrrrr-ding!”

She struggled to close the distance between them. She had to stop her. She had to explain. It wasn’t what she wanted. It was what was expected. Lauren had to know that it was only out of that sense of obligation. Because her heart yearned for something so far from what others wanted for her.

“Lauren!” Paige screamed, trying to lift her voice above the chaos. “Lauren, here! I’m here!”

The steam coming from the train expelled as if it were the smoldering breath of a great beast. Its breath washed over her, drowning out the visions of her sister. When at last the copious fog had died away, she was standing in a meager gathering of others. All eyes were transfixed sadly upon the train. Her head turned toward the coaches. She quickly searched each set of windows, but Lauren was nowhere to be seen.

She watched, a horrified expression marring her beautiful face as the train began to power cumbersomely away.

The plush softness of old hands cupped her shoulders supportively. An old woman with a kind face smiled tenderly. “Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart,” she soothed. “I know times are hard, but our boys will be coming home before you know it.” She gentled her expression. “You’ll see.”

Bewilderment swept across her face as Paige stared at the old woman.

“Do you have a soldier shipping out?” the old woman queried softly.

Paige’s eyes welled with tears.

“Oh, he’ll be okay,” the old woman cooed. She held the tall woman close to her.

As honey eyes gazed after the train drawing further away, Paige spoke in a lyrical softness. “Not a soldier,” she sniffled. “A nurse. She’s my sister.”

The old woman flinched inwardly. She struggled not to shift in her awkwardness. “I’m sorry,” she stumbled. “I just assumed, based on the look in your eyes.” She paused, hoping to explain herself. “You looked like you had just lost the love of your life.”

Paige slipped out of the old woman’s arms. She turned away, slipping back into the night with a lowered head. “I did.”

* * *

They had been together every day of their childhood lives. They had gone to school together with two years separating them. They had attended the same college before ultimately returning home to where it had all began.

Paige had thought that with Lauren having newly finished nursing school, the beautiful young woman would take to being a nurse in their father’s practice. But Lauren had had very different ideas.

She wanted to make a difference. She wanted to ‘save the world,’ as their father had called it. Their father could not understand why Lauren felt the need to leave her hometown for the pursuit of happiness, or why she could not just settle down and marry a nice young man—a doctor, or perhaps even a lawyer.

At the time, Paige had been courted by a nice young man interning to be a doctor. And once he’d joined her father’s practice, they’d become engaged. Her father adored him for the sheer fact that he was so much like himself.

As Paige recalled those things now, that life seemed so far away. The time of her engagement was also, she remembered, around the time when Lauren began keeping her journal. The time when Lauren stopped meeting her eyes.

The surge of people moving forward woke Paige from her thoughts. She was another face within a sea of faces trudging toward the factory. This was her life now. The graceful young socialite was a worker on an assembly line.

She remembered her father’s reaction when he’d realized that she would be covered in soot and grime, working as a laborer. And yet, his rage had not mattered. All that was important was doing something to help Lauren. And right now, the only means of helping her was to do something to help their soldiers.

Each day, Paige lived in fear. She toiled through her work. It was hard work, but there was a certain sense of accomplishment in it, which she had not realized she was missing.

Each night, she spent crying into a pillow that still smelled of her sister’s hair. Within her dreams, she said so many things that distance and fear prevented her from saying now. What would she do when Lauren returned? She cried harder into her pillow, thinking something that made her blood run cold.

If Lauren came home.

She tightened her hold on the pillow.

Please, baby sister… come home to me.

* * *

The high-pitched whine of bombs falling from the sky sent shivers down their spines. It was another air-raid. The windows rattled loudly even as doctors and nurses lowered their heads with a determined air to continue treating their patients.

Lauren threw herself over her patient in unison with so many other nurses while the lights hanging from above shook wildly.

That one had been too close, they thought collectively.

With a slow reluctance, they eased away from their patients.

Lauren lifted her olive eyes. She felt her crimson hair falling from its pins beneath her nurse’s hat. Her thoughts ventured to those who had felt her healing touch. She understood that dire need for healing. She felt it each time she experienced the painful ache to be embraced. The bitter truth of her situation, and for so many others, was that she could not be consoled by any pair of arms. She craved a very special pair.

She sighed, then set to her work yet again.

* * *

It was late when Paige found herself wearily passing through her front door. It had been another late shift.

She wore a dark red bandanna over her thick, long hair in the hopes of keeping it from her elegant face. It had not, however, been able to shield her from dust. Her athletic body was hidden beneath the dirty navy-blue coveralls adorning her wiles.

Paige paused inside the foyer with a stunned expression upon her face.

Her father was sitting near the fire with her fiancé. Together, they were listening to the announcer speaking with a commanding tone about the allied forces.

She wanted to listen. She wanted to know, but something in her screamed not to. Slowly, Paige turned to leave.

“Oh, Paige,” Jeffery called, taking note of her for the first time. “How was… um… work?” He withdrew from her shabby appearance. She was not the woman he had affectionately taken in at his side, the woman who’d possessed a beauty to rival any silver-screen starlet.

“It was hard,” she admitted. “Then again, it will be until our soldiers are home.”

“Yes, of course,” he stuttered.

Paige favored them with a radiant smile that spoke of politeness, but someone who truly knew her would have recognized that it was also a mask. It hid what emotions brooded beneath her surface. “Please excuse me,” she said. “It’s been a very long day and I want to retire early.”

Mr. Humphrey nodded his head. Absently, he motioned her away while Jeffery rose to his feet with a gentlemanly air.

Paige heard the distant sounds of her own footsteps against the hardwood floors. She ascended the stairs, feeling her lithe hand slide over the polished railing. Once she’d reached the head of the stairs, she gazed longingly in the direction of Lauren’s room.

* * *

Lauren laughed as Paige peeked past her bedroom door. Her skin was glowing with happiness. Her olive eyes never failed to smolder while surrounded by the rich woods inside their home. The sultry waves of her crimson hair flashed in the light. “Another late night on the town, huh?” she teased.

* * *

Paige sighed. She closed her eyes, forcing her memories of Lauren to subside, if only for the moment.

She bathed and dressed for the night with an odd sort of absentmindedness. Before she had realized what was happening, she found herself slipping beneath the coolness of crisp cotton sheets. She breathed deeply. Her hand reached out and slid over the bed, exploring it with an intimate sense of discovery. She closed her eyes, letting the scents of Lauren’s room wash over her.

Paige knew she should not be there. She told herself that she should return to her own room, but she couldn’t leave. She needed to be there, needed to be as close to Lauren as she could. In her mind, the sheets caressing her body felt like whispering fingertips traversing her skin. Her hand slid underneath the pillows. Her fingertips grazed the leather-bound book hidden from the outside world.

Her heart thundered violently beneath her full breasts. She clasped the book inside her hand and pulled it from the comforts of its sleepy world. With the moonlight to read by, she opened her sister’s diary.

Paige bit her pouting bottom lip. She drew in a deep breath, then summoned the courage to read.

* * *

I’ve never been much of a writer. I feel a bit silly filling this book with all my innermost thoughts, but I was not left with any other option. Had I found myself in this situation a few years ago—Or less, even as little as a few months ago, a few precious weeks!—I would have unburdened my soul to my Sweet Paige. Things are so different now… so horribly, tragically different now. You see, she’s getting married.

I should be happy for her. I should be helping to plan the wedding and doing my part to be the best maid of honor this land has ever seen, but I’m not happy. I’m not!

It’s not that Jeffery isn’t a good man. He’s keen. A bit bland and boring for my tastes, but Paige seems sweet on him. Shouldn’t that be enough?

I hate him. I hate him so much because, more than anything, I want to be him.

* * *

Paige is in the backyard reading beneath a tree. She looks so beautiful. I wonder if she knows. I try to hide what’s in my eyes, but Paige knows me better than anyone ever has or ever will. Does she know how deeply I love her? Does she know that I am madly, passionately, head-over-heels in love with her?

I should tell her. I want to tell her. And yet… how do you tell your best friend that what you feel is more than friendship? For that matter, how do you tell your best friend that when she’s your sister?

* * *

When I came home, I found Paige inside my room. She was reading my diary! I don’t know what she saw. I’m almost scared to ask. Just thinking of it makes my stomach knot. What if she knows? She hasn’t said a word to me. She actually rushed from my room. She couldn’t even look at me. I’ve messed up. I’ve colossally messed up! Dear God, what am I going to do?!

* * *

We fought today. I’m not even sure what we were fighting about. We were yelling at each other before we even realized it. She was crying. I hate seeing Paige cry. It breaks my heart. I just want to take her into my arms and hold her. I want to kiss her tears away and make everything all right.

She knows. She knows everything now and she hates me for it. That’s why she’s going ahead with the wedding. That’s why she’s not speaking to me. That’s why we fought today over absolutely nothing!

I can’t stay here. I can’t stay here when she’ll be laughing and loving someone else. My heart can’t take it!

* * *

Paige lifted her eyes from the pages smudged by tears. She traced the handwriting she knew so well. Slowly, she lowered her head. With eyes slowly closing, she touched her lips to the lines making mention of Lauren’s heart. Paige could only hope that somehow, between the distance between them, Lauren could feel her.

The apology welling inside her throat could not surpass the lump sadness had placed there first. “That’s why you left,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “That’s why I lost you to this war.”

She hugged the diary close to her heart. Tearfully, she gazed out the window. She took in the starry horizon and the moon that reigned over the world. A sudden sense of purpose filled her. There was something she had to do, something she could not run away from any longer.

Continue on to Part Two

A Thing to Cling To

  • Posted on August 21, 2017 at 3:16 pm

By GrandMoff

{ This story was originally posted at the now-defunct Sisters in Love }

14 May

Dear Diary,

Where do you go?  Where can you turn when you’ve got a crazy, freaky dilemma like mine?  What can you do, and who can you confide in, when you realize (as I have today) that you’re in love with your own sister?  I’ve never been attracted to girls, but suddenly, there it is.

I don’t know when it started. I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I fell. Today is the day I awakened.

My stupid car died again while I was at work. Of course, I called home, but Dad wasn’t around so I thought I was stuck. Then I heard Amy asking Mom to give her the phone. She asked me (in that adorable concerned voice) what had happened. When I told her, she said she thought she could fix it, so she’d come on up to my store.

I knew she liked cars, but I didn’t know how much.  I was curious, maybe a bit skeptical.

She arrived like twenty minutes later. There was a lot of mist hanging around; it was a grey day. She opened the hood and set to work, doing whatever she was doing, and it started raining about a minute after she started. She just laughed it off and continued. I stayed out in the rain with her, because it was my car, after all.

In a little while, she told me to try it, and the car started right up. I got back out of the driver’s seat to thank her.

There she was, glowing with triumph, the only bright spot in a dreary world. Her dyed magenta hair was hanging in loose, wet curls.  She had a couple of smears of grease on her threadbare flannel shirt (which was buttoned with only three buttons.) The shirt was tied to show her abdomen. Her tight jeans were very dark blue and snug, thanks to the rain.

I can’t believe I’m writing this.

Anyway, my loudmouthed brain told me how sexy she looked.  Needless to say, I turned beet red at the thought. Luckily, she didn’t notice. Unluckily, there was a reason she didn’t. She said something like, “Um, sis, I can see your nipples…”  Sure enough, my white blouse was drenched and transparent. I grew even redder, and I didn’t really know why. For some reason, I was embarrassed. I shouldn’t have been, right? She’s my kid sister, not some hot guy.

Continuing, once I got home, I treated her to my famous chicken casserole. I kept thanking her for her help. She hugged me and said that, for me, it was no problem.

She hugged me… and it wasn’t like any hug she’d ever given me. I mean, it was, but I reacted different. I got a little stiff, though I tried to be natural. Could she tell?

I just can’t believe that I’m… in love with my younger sister.

 

15 May

Dear Diary,

What should I do?  When I saw Amy this morning, I knew that the feelings I had yesterday weren’t a one-time thing. She walked into my room asking if I’d seen her beige sandals. She was only wearing a towel! I’m sure that she knows something’s up. She’s a really smart girl; I was in a no-win situation. If I’d looked, I’d have stared. Obvious. Instead, I didn’t look. Just as obvious.

I can’t imagine how disgusted she’d be if she knew my thoughts. I’ve got to get her out of my mind. But how?

 

16 May

Dear Diary,

I took her to school today. It was like a war in my head. It started when she asked me for a ride because she was low on gas. She was wearing white shorts and this cute pink sleeveless top. I didn’t want her wearing that to school; I almost told her to go change. I can’t believe that I was jealous just because of her outfit.

So we got into the car. In about ten seconds, that sea breeze perfume of hers was driving me nuts.  I looked over at her. Those little shorts had ridden up her thighs so that she was just barely decent.  The waist was a little loose so I could see the band of her black panties.  I’m a year older, but she’s seven or eight centimeters taller, and she’s got great legs.  I was thinking about them wrapped around me two or three times—

—Then she said, “Keep it on the road, sis,” or something like that, and I was blushing majorly when I stopped staring and paid attention to what I was doing.

But I said, “I was on the road, Ame,” just so she wouldn’t suspect anything.

 

17 May

Dear Diary,

It’s Saturday. Amy surprised the heck out of me by suggesting that we go to the beach. And I’m a moron. I knew I’d be tortured if I went, but I just couldn’t refuse. I can’t say no to her.

When we got there, since it’s the off-season and it’s a remote beach anyway, we were alone, as we often are. She pulled off her shirt and shorts and she was wearing a tiny yellow two-piece.  I can’t believe something like that is legal. I stripped down to my red swimsuit, too.Then I looked over and saw her putting lotion on those long legs of hers. I was getting uncomfortable. And then she asked me to get her back for her.

I was so scared. I started rubbing the suntan oil on her skin. I was going so slow that she must’ve noticed, but I couldn’t force my hands to work any faster. I began talking to her about nothing so maybe she wouldn’t notice.  But then I lost my concentration; my hands strayed and rubbed the sides of her breasts (and wow, were they soft!)

She didn’t flinch, and she didn’t say anything, so she must not have noticed. I guess it was a miracle. After that, I hurried and finished and I didn’t trust myself to touch her again.

Then she offered to get my back.

Well, if I’d said no, she would’ve wondered why. She’s got strong but gentle hands. I somehow managed not to purr while she was massaging me.

While she was getting my neck, she said like, “Your hair’s so pretty, Vee.”

So I said, “You’re way prettier than I am.”

And she joked and said, “Yeah, I am, and a lot taller. But you do okay for yourself.” When I didn’t respond right away, she asked if I was all right. (She sounded concerned, and adorable again.)

Part of my brain said, “Hey! She loves you back!” But another part said, “She loves you like a sister. Which you are, even if you’re sick for wanting to sleep with her.”

That sobered me up.

Somehow, I survived the beach.

 

19 May

Hey Diary,

I dreamed about her.  I’m not going to write the details about it.I  think I really need professional help. I dreamed that she and I were lovers, and I… made her really happy, which made me really happy. She was about to return the favor when my alarm went off.

I’ve got to buy a new clock today.

Point is, I couldn’t meet her eyes all morning. What if she’d guessed what was in my head?  But I helped her with her geometry after school.

Then we watched Where the Heart Is right before bed. We were on the couch and she snuggled up to me like she hasn’t done in years.

Oh, I love her so much!

 

21 May

Dear Diary,

Should I tell her? With each passing hour, I’m deeper in love with her.

But I can’t tell her. How could I expect her, or anyone, to understand? On the other hand, not telling her is starting to hurt me. Every time she looks at me with those intense brown eyes… every time she calls me “Vee” (no one else calls me that, by the way) every time she does something nice for me…

I have to tell her. I just have to. But how do I do that?  I’m terrified just writing about it.

 

22 May

Me again, Diary.

Our parents left on a trip this morning.  I’ll miss them, but it’s the least of my worries.

I saw Amy with a guy today and I almost lost it. She was talking to him right outside the school doors. I practically ran over to her and I was like, “Come on, we need to get going,” and I dragged her to my car.

So then she asked me what that was all about. I said I didn’t like him. She asked why. I didn’t have a reason, so I said he gave off bad vibes.

Then she was like, “I get it; you’re jealous.”

It was true, but not the way she thought. I think I said, “Only someone really special deserves you.” Something like that.

Then she gave me a weird look, but then she smiled and said she was touched by my concern. She’s so beautiful when she’s blushing and smiling.

 

23 May

Dear Diary,

Amy’s a tomboy. I was shocked when she came to me today and said, “Teach me how to dance.” I guess I must’ve looked how I felt, because she went a little crimson and said, “It doesn’t have to be now. I just want to know how. In case.”

She always was a quick study. I showed her a few steps and it didn’t take her long to catch on. Soon, she was improvising her own steps and motions. Then she said something like, “How about if it gets hotter?” She started mashing her hips against mine. I could feel her chest pressing into my back. One of her muscular legs went between mine—

—I was feeling great, but I was so jealous that she might use those moves! I stopped. I think I said, “That’s enough for today.”

“Hey, don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not going to be using that last bit with just anyone.”

I can’t keep this up. I’ve got to tell her.

 

24 May

Beach again. I had a bad feeling. I still can’t say no to Amy, though. (It’s been that way for years, why would it change in a week?) I went with her.

Again, I found myself spreading lotion on her smooth back. Again, I accidentally brushed her breasts.

She didn’t ignore it this time. “You did that last week, too,” she accused me. “What’s going on, anyway?”

I was like, “I just slipped. I’m sorry.”

“You can’t lie to me. Really, what is it?” Then she chuckled. “What, do you want to have sex with me or something?”

I should have denied it right away, but I didn’t. In the short pause, her question transformed from a joke into a revelation.

Now she was only whispering. “You do.

She looked at me, her gorgeous brown eyes searching. I nodded miserably.  “I… I guess I do, Ame.”

“That is so wrong! It’s gross! What’s the matter with you?”

That hurt so much that I ran back to the house, to my room, and locked my door. That’s where we are now, four hours later. Our parents won’t be back until next week; it’s just me and my tormentor in the house. And she hasn’t even come near me.

I knew this would happen.

I’ll probably kill myself tonight.

Later.

 

24 May

It’s night. She knocked. I didn’t answer. She said she was sorry.

But I’m the one who’s sorry.

She asked to talk. I still didn’t answer. She begged me to let her in. I could hear her crying.

I can’t let my baby sister cry.

I opened the door. I tried to wipe away her tears, and she shied away from me. Then I started to cry.

I guess she doesn’t want me crying either.

She hugged me and we sobbed on each other’s shoulders. I just wanted to die. She said it wasn’t my fault. “I reacted so horribly,” she told me. “That was mean. I’m so sorry, Vee. I wouldn’t have done anything that awful to anybody… I’m—well, it’s—you’re my big sister. You’re one of the few people I try to imitate. I trust you. Hearing that—I was shocked. I was scared.”

“I know,” I told her. “I don’t blame you.”

“Thanks. But you should. I’ve got no excuse. I know I hurt you, and I never want to hurt you.”

“It’s okay,” I said.  I shouldn’t have creeped you out. Believe me, I’ve had nothing but guilt and doubt since I realized I love you.”

She said then that she had a lot to think about, and she went to her room.

What will happen to us? What will happen to her? I’m still scared.

 

25 May

Dear Diary,

Things are a little better. She seems to be avoiding me. It might be my perception, since she’s not being aggressive about it. Still, I really didn’t see much of her today.

 

26 May

Diary,

I don’t think it’s just me.  I hardly saw her today, same as yesterday.

But someone said, “No news is good news,” right?

 

29 May

Dear Diary,

Nothing to report, except that I was wrong. This is worse than talking, even arguing.

 

30 May

Dear Diary,

She came to my room this afternoon.  Has it really been less than a week?  It felt like she’d been giving me the silent treatment for years and years. I did my best not to let my pain show.

She said something like, “I know what happened. I’ve thought about how I was acting.  I was all over you, Vee; now I see that. I’m really, really sorry about that.”

“‘S’okay,” I mumbled.

“You don’t sound like it’s okay,” she said.

“I’m mad at myself, not at you, Ame. I’m wrong, and I know it… but I…”

Then she said something like, “Don’t you dare start crying on me.” So of course, I did. She still cared about me, after all that had happened, and it was just too much. I bawled like a baby.

I felt her arms around me. “You’re breaking my heart,” she whispered. “Please don’t cry.”

I told her that I had to be the worst sister ever.

She said that I was more like the coolest. I was really happy to hear that. It meant a lot of things. She wasn’t still mad at me, for one. She’d probably stop avoiding me, too. She didn’t want me to be sad.

“You’re the best,” I told her. My crying tapered off. “I’m glad you don’t hate me.”

“Smile for me,” she said (sounding adorable as always.)

I was still too overwhelmed, too confused. I wanted to do it, but I couldn’t. She was determined, however. She suggested that we go get some ice cream from down the street.

We walked over there — it’s only like three blocks — and she got two scoops of banana and I got two of orange sherbet.

As we were walking back, it abruptly began raining, and I mean pouring. We started jogging back to the house, shielding our cones.

When we were almost there, I decided to take a shortcut, but Amy stuck to the sidewalk. She was smarter. I slipped on the slick lawn and landed on my butt. I was soaked and muddy and I got a lot of sherbet on my shirt.

And then my dear sister started laughing at me! I couldn’t resist how cute she looked, and I started laughing too. She came over and held out her hand to help me up.

Or so I thought. Right before I got to my feet, she let go and I fell back down, and then she really laughed!

I lunged and tackled her. Normally, I maybe couldn’t have, since she’s bigger than I am, but with the ground being so slippery, she fell easily. But she wasn’t going to take that. By now we were shrieking and laughing and wrestling around, totally drenched, on the grass.

All of a sudden, she used one hand to unbutton my pants and slid them down just a little. I couldn’t tell if we were still playing or not, so I tried to pull them back up. Like I said, she’s bigger and stronger. She grabbed my wrists and held them down on the turf.

She looked deep into my eyes with her own wonderful brown eyes. We both stopped laughing. She said, “You’re brave, Vee. You’re smart and beautiful. I could do a lot worse than you, huh?”

I couldn’t reply, because her lips were suddenly approaching mine. She kissed so shyly that I could feel myself sinking deeper in love with her with each moment.

The rain and the kiss got more intense. She took hold of both my wrists with one hand.  With her other hand, she pushed up my tee shirt and tentatively felt my breasts through my bra. I was so turned on that even with the cloth and rain, even though her touch was so light, I squirmed and moaned.

She looked surprised. For a second, I was terrified that I’d broken the spell. But then she put her fingers under the front of my bra, in the center of my chest, and gently pulled the thin garment over my small breasts, making me gasp. I struggled a bit, but she held me down.

“Not here,” I pleaded. Her fingers gliding over my wet, chilly skin were about to drive me insane.

“Why not?” she teased. Her hand left my chest and she began stroking my belly, going lower very slowly. My eyes shut and would not open. I could feel her just a few centimeters below my navel and above my favorite spot.  Her hand took at least a decade to slip under my panties.

She softly rubbed my lower abdomen and hips but carefully kept away from my labia. I began wriggling and bucking, trying to get her to touch me there, but she was too quick. I was sure I couldn’t take this exquisite suffering. “I can’t bear it!” I shouted. “Please! Do it to me, baby!”

She came even closer to my vulva but still didn’t touch it. I screamed in protest.

She stopped suddenly and let go of my wrists. I wanted to grab her, but I was still weak, trembling with need. “Ame!”

“Make yourself decent, a cop car’s coming,” she hissed at me. I fixed my pants while she pulled down my shirt.

The car drove past a little more slowly than I figured was usual, but I could’ve been wrong. I watched it go past in the downpour. I stood.

The car was barely half a block beyond us when Amy tore my pants down again, this time all the way to my ankles. She pushed me to the ground. I took her with me. We grappled fiercely.  It didn’t take long for me to lose. I was face down, my pelvis over her thighs, like I was waiting to get a spanking. She ripped off my panties, and I mean that literally; she ripped them right off my body. She shoved two fingers in to me. She pumped fast and hard. I came within seconds, crying her name for the world to hear.

When I was descending, she pulled up my pants and rolled me off her legs. She got up and dragged me to my feet (I wasn’t much help — my lower body felt like gelatin.)

“I love you, Ame,” I rasped.

“I… I… love you too, Vee,” she responded. “I really do.”

She supported me as we entered the house.

I’ll tell you the rest tomorrow, diary.

 

31 May

Dear Diary,

A lot more happened today, and I haven’t even told you all of yesterday. Let me just summarize it; there’s too much otherwise.

Yesterday, when we got back into the house, we went to the bathroom to get towels. I pretended to still be weak from her attack. She bought it, and I launched my own attack on her.  All I’ll say is that I was successful and she tasted good — ooh, so good!

We woke up on my parents’ bed (it’s the biggest in the house) and when I’d cooked breakfast and she’d thrown the sheets in the washer, we ate and talked. There are definite advantages to your sister becoming your lover. It was like we’d known each other all our lives, because we have. She is so sweet; she does so many little things to show her love.

We headed to the beach again. No one was there but us. I guess my willpower is stronger than hers; after about ten minutes, she pounced on me. No preamble.

Bikinis are designed to stay on in the water, but they can’t hold up versus relentless fingers.  It’s always faster to untie a knot than to tie one. “Wait till we get home, you hornball!” I yelled as the bottom half of my suit vanished.

“We got interrupted yesterday. I’m making you mine. Now. Here,” she growled.

I was so wet I was dripping.

I knew I couldn’t stop her, but I could retaliate. While she was busy between my legs, I used my few seconds of free movement to undress her. I got done just before pleasure incapacitated me. As my first climax was subsiding and my second was building, I got between her legs and started my counterattack. I love it when she screams out, “Vee!”  She’s normally so quiet, it lets me know I’m really ringing her bell.

Our parents are due back from vacation tomorrow night.  For the first time in my life, I’m not looking forward to it. I love them, but there’s no way they’ll understand Amy’s and my relationship. Will they?

Tonight I’m sleeping with her again. It feels so good, being held in her strong arms, feeling the press of her chest and pelvis against my body. It’s better than our “playing,” better than our kisses. I feel so safe with her.

Time for bed.

 

1 June

Hey Diary,

Amy sat me down for our first little talk today, and you know what I mean by that. What’s cool is that there was no arguing; we agreed on everything. She was like, “How serious are you?”

I told her the truth. I told her that I wanted to spend my life with her. She told me that she loved me too. Then she wanted to talk about our parents. We decided that we’d have to hide it from them, but it wouldn’t be too tough, at least not right away. I’m graduating school this year and she is next year.  I told her that I was moving out and she could live with me. She loved the idea. I’ve already got a place lined up, since graduation is July 10th. We’d only have to keep our secret in the house for a little more than a month. It’ll be way easier once we’re out on our own.

She said she didn’t want us to be a secret forever. I told her not to worry about it yet. Then she was like, “Mom and Dad will be back in a few hours.”

I said that they’d be the best hours of her life. I laid her down on the dining room table and (in my smoothest, sexiest voice) asked her to let me take care of her. Hey, if she can be irresistible, why can’t I, right? And I was. She lay back, closed her eyes, and submitted. We were in the dining room, so I figured it was time to eat. I got some chocolate syrup and caramel topping and… let’s just say that I devoured my delighted sundae. She was sticky after that, so we took a long bath together, during which I made love to her again. Before 3:00, we’d tried every room in the house. It was a hell of a finale before our parents returned.

When they came back at about 4:30, we were pretty tired. Still, the four of us talked for a long time. It seems they had a great vacation. (Ours was pretty incredible too.) We finally all got to bed at about 11:00.

As I write this, Amy’s sleeping in my bed. Like 20 minutes after we went to our rooms, she sneaked into mine. I asked if it was a smart move, but I still can’t say no to her. We just had our weirdest sex yet. I had to put my nightshirt in her mouth so Mom and Dad wouldn’t hear her screaming. I used her sweatpants myself…

 

2 June

Dear Diary,

I drove Amy to school. Sounds easy, right? It wasn’t. She was all up on my lap; I had to pull over twice and we had fast, frantic sex right there on the side of the road.

I think my sister might be a goddess.

We got to school just barely on time, but when we got out of the car, Amy held me back for a second.  She was like, “Let’s trade panties.”

I was like, “We can’t here!” Because we were in the middle of the parking lot.

But she insisted.

Taking mine off wasn’t hard, but it was a little tougher to get hers back on. Some chick walked past while we were finishing up and I think she suspected something. Like we cared.

I guess that Amy wanted me to think of her all day. It worked.

   

Sadly, dear readers, that’s all there is… GrandMoff left a note at the end suggesting the story might be continued, but never picked up the thread. A pity, although we’re sure you’ll agree that what we have is lovely, well worth preserving at Juicy Secrets.

Lucky Charm

  • Posted on August 14, 2017 at 6:15 pm

By Shay

{ This story was originally posted at the now-defunct Sisters in Love }

When my love came home to me,
Pleasant summer bringing,
Every tree was out in leaf,
Every bird was singing.

There I met her in the lane
By those waters gleamy,
Met her toward the fall of day,
Warm and dear and dreamy.
Did I loiter in the lane?
None was there to see me.

Only roses in the hedge,
Lilies on the river,
Saw our greeting fast and fond,
Counted gift and giver,
Saw me take her to my home,
Take her home forever.

 – “In The Lane” by Christina Rossetti


The windshield wipers flailed against the ice as I idled in front of the Greyhound bus terminal. I rubbed my red-mittened hands together and tried to see if Janeen was getting off the big creaking silver coach, which had just pulled up in a cloud of exhaust and racket of air brakes.

Janeen, Janeen. Mom and Dad are waiting to twirl you on a spit and feed you to the wolves. You changed your major again. Then withdrew from all your classes entirely. And then lost your job, and with it your income. And now you have come home.

Suddenly I see you. Yes, there is your long, unruly dark hair and a blue scarf draped over the front of your army jacket. You’re wearing jeans and boots and struggling with a backpack and bag whose rollers won’t work on the snowy pavement.

I throw open the door of my little Honda and go half-skipping, half-sliding across the street towards you, leaving the car running.

“Janeen!” I shout to you and your face turns toward the sound of my voice and then you see me, your dopey little sister coming to get you. A tired but sweet smile crosses your face.

I run to you and throw my arms around you, hugging you tightly.

“Oh, Shammy,” you say, calling me by the nickname you’ve always had for me. Your lucky shamrock, your four leaf clover. And there we are, arms wrapped around each other in the middle of the sidewalk, me in my bright red jacket, hat and mittens, you in your slept-on-the-bus things.

I grab your bag as you hoist your backpack in place, and we hurry as best we can to the semi-warmth of my car, which, mercifully, has not been stolen.

So there you are, all five-feet one-inch of you, tired and coming home to face the music — and you know what? When I look at your sweet face, at your mind-of-its-own hair, hear your husky voice… I have the same reaction that I have always had. My heart twinges sharply with love for you. I want to stand between you and anything or anyone who might harm you, I want to bask in your presence and just relish the Janeen-ness of you. I have always admired you, and I do right then, even at your lowest point. To me, you shine, and the world finds you at its center.

You look at me and smirk and slap me playfully on the arm. “Do you even have a license or what? Can you drive this toy car?”

And my heart sinks a little, because I’m always just your dopey little sister, catching on to things a beat late, always running to catch up in your wake.

As I drive, I notice you eyeing me slyly. “Sooo,” you begin, “break any hearts lately? Any swains?” You say the word “swains” in your teasing voice.

I shake my head and look at my hands on the wheel. “No. No swains.”

Shall I tell you that when I’ve been with boys my mind has wandered, so much so that I don’t bother with them anymore? How my mind always turns to you? What it might be like if I could take you in my arms and kiss you, and tell you with my kisses how I feel about you, have always felt, will always feel? Just to be able to reach out and really touch your body…

My hand fidgets on the wheel at the thought and I have to bring myself back to reality. It will never happen. And where does that leave me?

*****

At dinner, the atmosphere is tense. Dad suddenly sets down his fork with a metallic clank on the plate, and starts in. “I just don’t understand how you could just… quit like this!” There is horror of your failure in his face. You have done this to him, it is clear. Mom studies her salad. You have taken your life and cut him with it. You have cost him money, time, hopes, pride. Bad girl. Evil girl.

I have a headache. I am no longer hungry. He wants to extract a price for this. You have cost him, and now it will cost you. It will cost us all. Shall I say, “Please, pass the butter?” It would be like trying to stop the iron clouds in the sky outside the window. They will do what they must, and we will look up helplessly or hunker down someplace and wait it out.

*****

We used to have tea parties. Our dolls and animals arrayed around a little table. We made forts. Inside, under the blanket walls, we would share our secrets and laugh till our sides hurt. Once, piled in a mound of stuffed animals, there in the cozy dark, you hugged me and said, “Shammy, you bring me luck, I swear you do. You are this human rabbit’s foot or something.” And you laughed at your own joke and sighed and squeezed me tightly. And I felt special to be your shamrock, your charm.

I have trailed along after you, down the years of our growing up. You have been this beautiful star, unattainable, but so near at the same time, warming and tantalizing me. And despite your lovely light, a thousand thousand miles out of reach.

*****

I pad down the hall to your old bedroom. My stomach is upset and I am worried for you. I am wearing this big pink nightshirt. You always tease me for my love of things pink.

I turn the knob carefully. I don’t want to disturb you if you have managed to go to sleep. I step in.

And there you are sitting on the bed. The lamp is on, casting a yellow glow across your face, and I see it is stained with tears. There is a razor in your hand. And a long thin cut on your arm, weeping red blood.

At first I think the worst, and my breath stops short and my heart lurches in my chest. And then I understand — you are letting the pain out.

Tears fill my eyes, but I can still see your shoulders start to shake as you sob helplessly by yourself on the bed, with your bleeding arm. In an instant I am at your side, gathering you into my arms, covering you with kisses and rocking you and making shushing sounds.

“I… I just…” you try to explain, but your pain won’t let you. I hold you and we cry together there in the dim glow of the small lamp.

“Don’t do this,” I whisper urgently to you, and lightly touch your hurt arm.

You roll your tear-filled eyes and squirm as if you were caught in a trap. “Oh, just one more failure, what’s the difference? I—”

I place my fingers gently across your lips and shake my head. I look into your eyes and everything shifts. I have always idolized you, felt myself a little admirer in your shadow. But now, I suddenly feel strong, like a mother grizzly bear. I am going to stop this, I am going to claim you, bring you back to yourself. I will show you yourself through my loving eyes.

“No, sis. You’re beautiful. Always were… always will be.” And I lean in and kiss your hairline and your cheeks and you let me.

Then I take your arm tenderly in my hands. I lean down and kiss where you have hurt yourself. You try to draw away, but I hold you firmly.

“Never again,” I say to you, a drop of your blood on my lips. “I won’t allow it,” in my very softest voice. Then I strip off my nightshirt and wrap your arm with it. I lick my lips clean, and lean close to you.

“Janeen,” I say in a tone I have longed to use with you. “You are more beautiful than anything that may have gone wrong.” I stroke your collarbone with my thumbs as if I were handling a precious artifact. “You are more beautiful than anyone’s anger, more beautiful than anyone’s disappointment.” I kiss your ears lightly, and whisper to you, “You are more beautiful than anything or anyone.”

With my heart pounding in my chest, I move your hair aside and cup your face in my hands and kiss you long and lingeringly on your mouth. You hesitate at first, but I keep kissing you, tenderly, lovingly, putting all of my emotion into it. And then with a little cry deep in your throat, you begin to respond to me.

“Oh Janeen,” I breathe, and feel as if I will start to cry for joy. I hold your small body close to mine and kiss you over and over. Slowly, we lie down together on the bed — me naked, you still dressed in your jeans and dark blue t-shirt, wrapped in each other’s arms and sharing a long, deep, soulful kiss. You are crying, but your tears now are entirely different from what they were a few minutes ago.

I pull away gently and smile at you as I slowly swing over on top of you, then scoot up and lean over you so that my breasts are near your face. “I love you,” I say. Then I cup my right breast in my hand and say, “Please, Janeen… it’s all right now… go ahead, sweet wonderful Janeen. You’re safe with me now.”

And then you take my breast in your adorable small hands and invite my waiting nipple into the warmth of your mouth. Oh, my God, the pleasure is so intense, and not just physical. I gather your head in my arms, relishing the feel of your hair on my skin as I nurse you.

“Yes, Janeen, oh it feels so good.” I close my eyes and concentrate on suckling you. I feel I am healing you. I am letting all my love flow through me and into you, restoring you, filling you with needed warmth. I begin to rub my hips against your body.

Your suckling becomes more and more urgent until you simply abandon yourself to the joy of the moment, and then you are unabashedly moving from one breast to the other, sucking, nipping, kissing and licking me. I am in ecstasy. I coo my approval and love to you.

After a very long time — and after I have left a very wet spot on your shirt where I’d been straddling you — we part just enough for me to help you to undress. I am glowing with pleasure at the light I see now in your eyes. I have to make love to you. I have to make you mine. Right away.

The feeling of our bare skin mingling is electric and we both cry out in delighted surprise. We love moving against each other, slowly, sensuously. We cover each other in loving kisses.

I don’t think you’ve ever been with a woman before, and your surprised joy ignites my passion. I climb gently atop you, and begin moving against your body in a steady rhythm. We are perfectly synchronized, in total unison and harmony. As our passion increases, I begin to whisper in your delicate ear.

“I love you, Janeen.”

“I treasure you.”

My words are in time with my loving movements, making them part of my lovemaking.

“You’re safe now, you’re with me.”

“Open yourself completely, sis, let me love you completely, like I’ve always wanted to do.”

“Janeen, Janeen, I love you.”

“We’re so close.”

Janeen had begun to thrash beneath me, clearly nearing her first climax as my lover.

“I’m your sister, Janeen,” I purred, tightening my embrace, “and I adore you with all my heart, forever.”

With that, my precious older sister bucked wildly underneath me, and I held her for dear life as she orgasmed, calling out to me in her pleasure. Her joy sealed our bond and I knew we would always be together now, my wildest dream come true. This thought pushed me over the edge and I climaxed — what I can only describe as a heart-gasm, my body expressing the deep excitement and satisfaction of my soul.

Janeen and I lay together, breathing hard, toying with each other’s hair as we slowly recovered.

*****

In the morning, I’d already packed things for us both when my father knocked on the door and, seeing my bags open and full, asked where I thought I was going.

I’m tall and I looked him right in the eye as I told him, “I’m taking Janeen someplace safe.”

“Safe?” he blustered. “What kind of crazy talk—”

I didn’t hear the rest because Janeen and I had swept past him, hand in hand, and I was drinking in the defiant smile she gave him, her strength and beauty fully returned.

*****

I love my sister. I make love to my sister. And it is the most fulfilling thing that I have ever done.

One day in summer I came back to our apartment to find Janeen up on a ladder, placing something over the doorway. It was wooden. It was green.

“It’s a lucky shamrock,” she said to me, smiling her gorgeous smile.

I embraced her. “I’m the lucky one,” I whispered.

The End