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Frenching Lessons by The Cummander [ Fiction ] [ Young ] [ Teen Female / Boy ] [ Consensual Sex ] [ Incest ]
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I fell in love the first time at age 12.
My four brothers and I, the only girl and the youngest, had grown up in a very conservative home. Our politics were conservative, as was our religious faith. We were taught to think clean thoughts and use clean and polite language, and to always honor the moral and ethical codes of our beliefs.
By the time I was 10, and had started to (very properly) ask certain questions, Mom and Dad realized it was time to teach me the facts of life. They kept it all very clinical and matter-of-fact, but admitted when I asked that yes, sex was very pleasant, but it should still be kept to married couples. Mom explained periods (which I still hadn't started by the time I got to 12), and what a douche was and how to use it. (I didn't say so, but suddenly understood why "douche-bag" was such a nasty insult.) Above all, they explained that it wasn't a bad thing to touch yourself in certain places, but that it should always be done in private, never in public.
Shortly thereafter, I decided to try it, and one night in bed reached under my pajamas and started brushing my chest with one hand and stroking my slit with the other. Well, it felt O.K., in maybe the same way a massage would feel good. But at the time, there was nothing really special about it, so I gave up.
When my breasts started to grow - frustratingly slowly it seemed - I decided to try it again. Sure enough, I began to respond, and was delighted when I had my first orgasm. Liking this new feeling, I made sure to do it every night, but always when I was in my own room, in my own bed.
The next child up the line was Sean, four and a half years older than me. We were the only ones left at home, with our other brothers having already started their careers or away at college. We had always been close and never really fought much while growing up. Maybe it was because I was the only girl in the family, and the boys were all taught to treat girls with respect. Or maybe it's because we discovered that we could talk to each other about anything. That's how I found out that he didn't really date much - in fact, at the time, he hadn't dated for probably six months.
It was with this in mind that I entered our family den one afternoon after school. Sean was there, watching T.V., as was usual for both of us. I plopped casually down on the sofa and started watching the show - a re-run of an old sitcom that one of our local stations broadcasted in the afternoon. Right about my 12th birthday, Mom decided that we were old enough to look after ourselves - at worst, Sean could look after me - and accepted our Uncle's offer to take her on as a bookkeeper in the afternoons. So we were alone in the house, which to us wasn't really a big deal.
I had earlier in the day heard some of the girls at school talking about "Frenching". When I had heard about other things - eating a girl out, or giving a blow-job - Sean had been more than happy to explain. So after a minute or two, I turned to him. "What's 'Frenching'?"
He started in surprise before looking at me with a puzzled expression. "Where did you hear that?"
"At school. Some of the girls were talking about 'Frenching' their dates, or that how their dates all wanted to 'French' them."
He smiled. "It's short for 'French Kiss.' It's a particularly . . . pleasant type of kissing. It's also referred to by some people as 'deep kissing' or 'necking'."
I shifted on the couch to face him. "How is it done?"
"You use your tongue."
That sounded weird. "Use your tongue? How?"
He looked at me, struggling for the right words. "Well . . . you stick your tongue in the other person's mouth and . . . well, kinda move it around in there."
The weirdness escalated for me. "Huh?"
He responded with a serious look. "Look - it might be easier, if you want me to, to show you instead of trying to explain it."
I thought about it for a moment. Hey, he was my brother - any kind of kiss from him wouldn't really do anything to me, wouldn't make me excited like it was a date. "O.K."
He shifted over to me, and I scooted back around so we were sitting parallel. "Well, you start with a kiss, and you go from there. Like this." He bent his head down, and I moved mine to match. His lips touched mine, and our eyes closed. As I had thought, it didn't really do anything for me, but I had to admit that kissing was pleasant, in its own way. He started kissing me harder, and I saw no harm in responding in kind.
As we kissed, I noticed him opening his mouth, the connection with our lips causing my own to open. Gently, I felt his tongue come into my mouth and touch my tongue.
It was like flipping a switch, and I felt my pulse instantly double. I felt a strange but pleasant sensation start down deep within me, and pulled myself closer to my brother. It felt better than a typical kiss as his tongue gently brushed against mine, bringing intense feelings that made me want it to continue.
Sean, however, knew better, and broke the kiss. He looked at me with almost an uncertain air, and I realized that he was breathing pretty deeply himself. He sighed heavily, and said, "that's how it's done . . . although usually, both people stick their tongues in the others' mouth."
"That felt really good," I breathed, forcing my pulse to slow, and trying to ignore the wonderful sensations down below.
"Yeah. That's why couples do it."
He turned back to the T.V. as I looked at him for a moment. The strange sensations seemed almost attached to my big brother . . . but no, that was ridiculous. I returned my attention to the show.
That night, as I felt myself up, I remembered the French kiss, and came harder than usual.
The next afternoon, I stepped back in to the den. Sean was there - no surprise. I sat down and, again, started watching the show.
After a few minutes, I tentatively asked "Sean?"
I had been thinking about this all day. "Could you . . . I mean, would you show me how to French kiss again?"
I faced him again. "Well, you did it to me and I just want to make sure I can get it right."
He smiled and snuggled over to me. Our heads again bent, and we kissed. This time, as our mouths opened, I slipped my tongue into my brother's mouth at the same time he slid his into mine. This time, the sensation was back almost immediately, and started to grow. It was definitely a warmth in my lower quarters, and was building. I felt a pleasant light headedness begin, and brought my arms around his neck. He responded almost immediately, slipping his around my back and pulling me into him. My young breasts, only the size of small oranges, pressed against Sean's chest. I could feel my nipples, hard and jutting, pressing into him. The warmth started to radiate into waves, what felt like waves of the purest pleasure I had ever felt.
The kiss continued far longer this time. We held each other, kissing, for several minutes. Each motion of our tongues as they darted past each other and caressed each other thrilled me. The last thing I wanted at that moment was to let go; the pleasure was just too powerful.
Eventually, Sean broke the kiss, but still held me, his head resting on my shoulder. We both were breathing hard, and I got the sensation he, too, didn't want to let go . . . which was just fine with me.
He pulled back and looked at me for a moment, my arms still around his neck. There was a brief moment of . . . something . . . appearing on his face before he reached up and disengaged my arms. "I think you've got the idea," he panted. Standing quickly, he said "excuse me", and left the room.
That night, I didn't bother rubbing myself. Instead, I thought back on the wonderful, pleasant feelings my brother had given me with his touch, with his tongue. I fell asleep feeling happy.
The following day, the routine once again repeated. Once again, I asked Sean if he could help me practice Frenching.
He smiled at me. "You really like it, don't you?"
"Yeah. It really makes me feel good."
"Me too." He bent his head down, and once again we let our mouths and tongues mingle.
From that point on, when I got back from school I would immediately head into the den and, without words, we would start Frenching. Each time I found that the anticipation of practicing with my big brother added to the pleasure once we started. Every day we continued longer and longer, always stopping when Sean would break the kiss and the embrace, excuse himself and duck down the hall. After a few days of this (and a break for the weekend, when Mom and Dad would definitely have discovered us), I stopped sitting next to him and sat right on his lap. Each time, I would feel the hard length of his penis press into my leg through our jeans. Each time we would keep going longer.
It was three days later when I skipped into the den and plopped down on his lap. It was a serious shock when he put his hands into my armpits and stood up, pulling me off his lap in the process. He sat back down with a soft "no."
"Why not?" I sat back down, on the sofa this time.
Now he looked at me. "We shouldn't be doing that. It's not right for a brother and sister."
"But it feels so good."
"That doesn't make it right. It's something that should only be done by people who are dating, or married. Not siblings."
He looked at me seriously. "Those good feelings you get? You couldn't possibly have known beforehand, but that's sexual arousal. Frenching gets people aroused."
I sat back hard, my mind whirling. "Oh." I looked at him, confirming in his face that he wasn't joking, or lying. "Really?"
"That's why we shouldn't do it. It's not right to make another person aroused unless you're married." He took a deep breath. "And it's especially not right to arouse your own sibling."
His eyes returned to the T.V. as my mind whirled. I had experienced sexual arousal at the hands of another. I now understood what Mom had meant when she said that yes, sex is pleasant. The sensations were wonderful and overwhelming. Lost in my thoughts, I tried to watch T.V.
Sean shifted into a more comfortable position, and I glanced at him. Suddenly, I felt the same type of rush, the same type of arousal. Looking at him reminded me of how good my big brother had made me feel; the fact that it was illicit and sinful just made feelings harder to suppress, but I tried.
More and more, I found it hard to be around Sean without remembering the sensations and, frequently, starting to feel them again. I knew it was wrong, that I shouldn't, but somehow I just couldn't help but keep thinking about them. After two weeks of us remaining physically separated, it had grown to the point where just thinking about my wonderful brother started getting me hot and bothered. And most often now, when I masturbated (it had gotten so intense an urge that I was rubbing myself off in the afternoon as well as at bedtime) I would find myself thinking of Sean.
One morning, I had just finished my morning shower before getting dressed for school. Our downstairs bathroom, the one closest to my room, had a door up near the ceiling that served as our laundry chute. I stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, starting (as usual) with my hair. I continued drying myself thoroughly and then grabbed my bathrobe from the hook near the shower. As I tied it around my waist, I heard a soft click. I looked in the direction of the sound, only finding the closed laundry chute door.
The next morning, I subtly paid close attention to the chute door, looking out of the corner of my eye as I exited the shower. Sure enough, I could see a crack at the top, and two eyes peering through. It didn't make any sense that it was Mom or Dad; they would simply have let the door open all the way. The only other option . . . was Sean. My big brother was peeping at me, watching me nude! I continued drying myself off, trying to look like this was part of my normal routine. As I reached my budding breasts, I discovered that my nipples were hard, and that my pussy was starting to tingle.
After I calmed myself down and dressed, I went up to the breakfast table. Sure enough, Sean was sitting there with a guilty look on his face, and he went even further to avoid my gaze. Yup, suspicions confirmed. And suddenly, as I watched my brother push the cereal around in his bowl, I realized: he was my brother, but he was also a sexual being. What he had said about the kissing now made even more sense than normal - I wasn't the only one who was getting aroused. He must have exited the den to go down to his bedroom and masturbate. He was feeling the same things I was. It made me feel even closer to him than we had before.
Dad called from their bedroom, and Mom went to help him find something. I got up from my cereal bowl, walked over to Sean and whispered in his ear, "I saw you looking at me."
He looked at me with a sudden, alarmed look on his face. "Don't worry," I continued softly. "I won't tell."
The fact that my brother was peeping had gotten me starting my day aroused. This continued uncomfortably at school, made even worse by one of my friends telling a few of us that she had let her boyfriend touch her breasts, and had beaten him off. It brought back to mind Sean's tongue, and I found to keep from touching myself, even in the girl's room.
When I entered the den that afternoon, I deliberately sat right next to Sean, our hips, thighs and arms touching. I reveled in the sensation of physical contact after so long with none.
After a moment, Sean shifted. I figured it was the prelude to him moving away, once again denying the forbidden pleasure. Instead, I began to tremble as his arm moved up and then reached around my shoulders, the flesh-to-flesh touch conveying almost an electric feel. I wondered if it was just my imagination that had him pulling on that shoulder, pulling us closer together. I wanted to look at his face, but realized he might misunderstand. I moved one hand up and rested it against his, welcoming his gesture. Then I looked at him.
To find him looking at me.
At the time, I had no idea how far things could go. For that matter, at age 12 I didn't know what even could happen. As it turns out, neither did Sean - he simply knew where things could go, but didn't necessarily have to go. And we both, despite ourselves, despite the iron-clad moral code we had been taught, wanted so desperately to go there.
Sean removed the hand on my shoulder and reached it out to gently rest against the back of my head. I felt the pressure as he gently moved it forward, and as his own head bent as it had the days before. The flutters in my belly and crotch had already started with the unknown possibility of feeling those wonderful sensations, and we kissed eagerly, passionately.
This time, he immediately pulled me to him, onto his lap, and our kissing didn't stop. We kept going and going, our tongues dancing together as our hormones flooded us. The good moral girl inside me knew that there was something wrong with this, with my feeling these feelings with my brother deeply kissing me, now running his hands over my young body. Little by little, my internal sensations kept getting more and more intense. The internal warmth had now expanded into waves of sensation and a deep internal pleasure that was unlike anything I could have possibly imagined.
After what could have been a few minutes or a half an hour, I felt Sean reach down and pull my t-shirt from my pants. It puzzled me a bit until he reached underneath the shirt and began touching my bare skin. It felt almost like a series of small shocks as his fingers rubbed against my back and my belly. His hands went up behind my back to brush against my training bra. Our kissing continued, despite the voice slowly being drowned out by an increasing flood of hormones.
Sean moved his hands around my sides, following the path of my bra. Suddenly, the lightheadedness became even more pleasantly intense as his hands cupped my tiny mounds within. This was one of those places you were only supposed to touch yourself in private, and I had absolutely no idea how good it could feel to have someone else touch you there. Through the kiss I began panting, and I could tell my crotch was growing seriously wet. It felt like it did when I -
The good moral girl voice suddenly asserted itself, and I broke the kiss. "This . . . this is . . . "
Then Sean squeezed my breasts as his lips slapped against mine, and the waves redoubled, again silencing the inner voice. My brother's hands left my breasts and again slid behind, finally reaching the back of my bra. I could tell his fingers were trembling against the material, and then it suddenly loosened. His hands slid underneath the bra, and the knowledge of him doing so made me want even more to press against him, and to have him press against me.
I openly gasped as my brothers hands reached the naked flesh beneath the bra, brushing and cupping my tiny globes. I began to tremble uncontrollably, a high-pitched moan escaping my lips. This was too pleasant, too powerful for me to ever have expected.
Sean reached down, pulling up the shirt. Instinctively, my arms went up, and he pulled it completely off me, along with the bra. Feverishly, I pulled his shirt free and up, and he broke the kiss only long enough for it to come past his head and be thrown to the floor. He pulled me into him. As I had suspected, the flesh on flesh contact of our naked torsos was impossibly intense, as my hard nipples pressed into his chest. The hardness of his penis began rubbing excitedly against my leg.
He resumed that wonderful kiss, pulling me even tighter. It somehow felt even better to have my brother's skin touching mine. Again, the good moral girl tried to get enough breath to protest when Sean lowered his wonderful lips to my breast and began to lick and suck at it. The inner waves redoubled, and I felt a compelling urge for . . . something . . . down at my crotch. My hand went down to my dear brother's head not only holding it in place but actually pushing it into my breast as one hand began cupping, squeezing and brushing the other. The skin-on-skin contact was unbelievable. It was something glorious, more pure intense pleasure than I ever could have expected.
As we writhed together, he shifted us until I was seated against the sofa. One of his hands disappeared, and I felt my belt loosen, then the button to my jeans, and then the zipper going down. A part of me, that morally pure, wait-until-marriage insistence of my upbringing surged again, only to disappear again as my breasts continued to be licked and rubbed.
Suddenly, I felt a shock of pleasure. Sean had with his free hand reached under my white cotton panties and slipped his fingers down until they made contact with my slit. He stroked them along the length of the slit, causing the waves to radiate from my crotch with an intensity I couldn't even have duplicated myself. An orgasm, far more intense than any I had given myself, approached rapidly. When it hit, I thrashed and moaned, rolling my hips into my brother's fingers. As I started to come down, His hands again disappeared, and I heard a zipper and a rustle of cloth. By then, I was having trouble seeing straight, panting for breath and gasping at my brother's attentions. I managed to open one eye, seeing my wonderful big brother, completely naked, his penis jutting up and looking like a solid rod of wood or steel.
Thoughts of right and wrong disappeared. If there was a part of me that protested these incredible pleasures, that insisted that we stop when we had gone this far, it couldn't penetrate the irresistable passion and lust flooding through me.
He leaned into me, kissing me again deeply, passionately. As he did, he lowered my back onto the sofa, then broke the kiss to reach down with both hands to lift my hips and pull my jeans and panties free.
I had no illusions. Even at 12 years old, I knew where this was going, and knew that it was going to happen. What intellect still remained insisted that this was wrong on multiple levels, but couldn't stop it. At this point, it was a fact; it was going to happen, nothing could stop it now. That part of me and, I was sure, of Sean was long since buried under a primal passion, a wash of emotions and hormones that kept me from anything but what I needed, desired, craved, lusted for.
So when Sean slid around my outer leg and positioned himself hovering over me, I didn't see him just as my brother. I saw him also as a boy, as a man, and one who had a parallel need to my own. And he was here, and we both knew for a fact what came next.
He lowered himself to where our crotches met, and his dick nestled gently into my slit. It was an even more electric contact than what had happened before. He lowered his torso to me, and again my nipples pressed into his chest. He leaned down and kissed me deeply as he stroked his penis against my slit, creating waves that promised so much more.
One hand slipped under my shoulder, and my hands again went behind his neck. The other reached down, and I felt the rubbing stop. Instead, there was a singular pressure against my opening, and I felt it surrender. His cock head slid easily into my entrance, and the waves became as intense as if I was being hit by a series of pleasure bricks. Slowly, gently, he worked himself into me. Each gentle push caused a moan to escape me.
It wasn't long before he touched my hymen, and stopped. My wonderful brother raised himself up and looked me in the eye. I couldn't even speak at that point; I simply rolled my hips up to him, forcing more of his dick into me and tearing my hymen completely. I felt a ripping pain, but it wasn't as bad as I had heard it could be, and the pleasure seemed to mute the pain even more. It was only a moment that I tapped Sean's arm, indicating he should continue. Again, he began to work himself more deeply inside his 12-year-old sister. Again, I gasped and moaned with each bit of him stretching more of me inside.
Finally, his pelvis met mine and I realized that this was it - he was inside me completely. We had done the worst possible thing in the worst possible way, and there was no way we were going to stop now.
Gently, he pulled himself part-way out of me, and then slid back in with an equal gentleness. The waves crashed into me with each motion, with each in and out motion. The thrusts were ecstacy; the withdrawals were perfect delight.
He sped up slowly, the pleasure building beyond where I thought I could ever feel. Before long, he was thrusting hard and fast, and I sensed he had completely lost control. I felt the same way - this was impossibly good, it was impossibly intense.
I felt my orgasm approach, but impossibly intense. Sean thrust just as it hit. I stiffened and shook, my eyes bugging out as what seemed like an infinite pleasure raced through me again and again. My pussy walls gripped Sean, and he stiffened and shook as well, as I felt his dick pulse and felt his wet cum erupt into me.
As the tremors began to subside, Sean collapsed against me. We both lay there, panting, slowly but surely coming down off of the incredible pleasure of being together. After a minute or two, I could feel his penis shrinking and softening within me.
Sean levered himself up to look in my eyes. There were a lot of emotions and feelings there, as I'm sure there were in mine. He tried twice to say something, but then finally leaned down and kissed me again, tenderly.
It was an invitation I couldn't ignore. I returned the kiss, and our tongues met and intertwined gently. We continued the unbroken kiss and held each other for several moments. Then, I felt my brother start to get hard and stretch out inside me again. We broke the kiss only long enough for a significant glance, then resumed, our passion increasing.
The second time had no urgency, no pent-up frustrations fueling it. Sean was able to keep thrusting and pulling past my first orgasm, and my second. In fact, it was only after the third, with a fourth and fifth piling on top that he grunted and thrust hard, and again I felt the pulsing and the liquid spurting into me.
Again, as the pulsing stopped, Sean collapsed down on top of me. This time, though, he pulled my shoulders into a tight, welcome hug. And this time, after a few minutes, Sean pulled his softening dick out of me, and looked down at my crotch. No, he was looking past it, at the blood and cum starting to soak into the sofa cushion. "Oh, shit," he said quietly. "We need to get this cleaned up before Mom gets home."
The reminder that we were family stirred something uncomfortable in me. And the dripping liquids from my still-tingling pussy were an even more uncomfortable reminder. I dropped a hand down to keep the liquids from staining the floors or carpets as I got up and headed for the bathroom.
I douched three times, realizing during the third that what I was really trying to do was wash my blood and my brother's sperm out of me completely. As I finished up and flushed the toilet, I sat down heavily on the seat. The enormity of the sin, of the absolutely and completely forbidden act that we had just done started to come on me. It weighed heavily, along with the memories, now no longer pleasant but nightmarish. A sob escaped me as the truth took hold - I wasn't even a teenager, but I was no longer a virgin. I was no longer pure, at all. I could feel the tears well up, and I bent my head down to my arm, resting against the countertop as I began to sob with a ferociousness that spoke of my shame, of my utter degradation.
I'm not even really sure how long I sat there, weeping. Just as it started to fade, and I was able to sit up again, I realized I was nude, which brought it all back.
Eventually, I felt completely drained. Drained of energy, drained of enthusiasm. Drained of love. Drained of any positive emotion. I hated myself for being so weak. I hated myself for not heeding Sean's earlier warnings. And, in some small way, I hated Sean for . . . well, for also being weak, and for not stopping it in time.
I started to move for the door, then remembered my nakedness. Fortunately, there was a towel hanging on the rack, and I wrapped myself in it and opened the door. Down the hall I could hear the sounds of Sean, apparently cleaning up our mess. Our mess. What an appropriate phrase - after all, I had certainly made a mess out of my life.
After I had dressed (getting clothes from my room - I didn't ever want to see those clothes, or that room, ever again), I headed back upstairs, still not feeling clean. Sean was waiting in the living room, and called to me. Unsure of his intention, I sat down on the other end of the couch from him, and waited.
"That shouldn't have happened." He didn't look at me, and I wondered if my brother even could. "We should never have even started, let alone gone that far."
He locked eyes with me. Suddenly, the hatred I had been feeling disappeared. His eyes clearly showed that he was hurting, too . . . maybe as much as me. Maybe more. "We can't ever tell anyone," he said, swallowing hard. "And we can't ever do that again."
"How can we be sure?" My throat started to tighten. This was not a pleasant conversation at all, but I recognized how necessary it was.
"I don't know." I saw tears start to brim around the corners of his eyes. "But I know we have to try." One tear escaped, and my throat went sore. I wanted so much to hug him, to comfort him, but I knew that to do so would threaten to once again inflame our passions, draw us back into the forbidden desires we had fallen to.
"You're my sister, Danielle, and I love you. And I'll never do anything . . . " - I heard an unspoken "else" - "to hurt you."
A wetness ran down my cheek, and I realized that I too was crying again. He was in such pain. We were in such pain.
Dinner that night was especially difficult for us. We had to mask our pain, mask the incredible hurt we felt, from Mom and Dad. I forced food into my mouth, not really tasting it, not really having any appetite just so they would not suspect anything was wrong. All we needed now was to have them ask what was wrong. Mom would be devastated on such a deep level that I wasn't sure she would ever recover, and Dad . . . I didn't even know how he would react. Better not to invite unwelcome questions.
That night was equally bad. After getting into my pajamas (trying fiercely not to equate my nakedness then with my earlier nakedness), I crawled under the covers and turned out my bedside light. And promptly failed completely to fall asleep. The memories kept coming back, now mingled with the realization that I was in the same bed where I had fantasized about what had finally happened, the same bed where I had brought myself such sexual pleasure.
Eventually I fell into a fitful sleep.
Somewhere during the night, I awoke crying. It surprised me until I realized: I had awoken after a dream about . . . what had happened. I brought my pillow around and hugged it tightly, letting the tears fall silently. After a few moments, I threw my pillow to the other side of the room, realizing that I had started to imagine the pillow as Sean.
I don't honestly know what was worse - the memory of sinning so thoroughly, or the fact that we were in such close proximity so much of the time. The reminder of a cousin's wedding, scheduled for three weeks later, didn't help but only reminded both of us of what weddings were for, and what occurred on the wedding night.
Eventually, we started to talk again, like we did before. Sure, there was now an absolutely forbidden topic, but slowly, haltingly, gradually we rediscovered the friendship we had, the openness. After a few days, Sean told a joke, and I found that I could laugh. I told him one in return, and he too laughed. Suddenly, the memories didn't seem so nasty; suddenly, things were becoming right with the world again.
And in some ways, it seemed like our friendship was becoming even deeper. Even though it was forbidden and sinful, our experience had shown us that we were compatible in ways we hadn't even thought. We discovered a tenderness, a caring, in the other that hadn't been there before.
When the wedding day came around, we discovered that we were both comfortable around each other again, even if we still didn't touch, aside from casual and accidental contacts like bumping into each other.
So there was no tension between us as we got into our family car. Sean looked dapper in his suit, and I was wearing a simple dress that was modest, but allowed for a comfortable level of bare flesh. We chatted with ourselves and our parents as we drove the short distance to the church.
I found the wedding itself very moving, very touching. Just like in the stereotype, the exchange of vows and rings started a pleasant but powerful ache inside me and, while smiling, I began to cry. This, I thought at the time, was really what I wanted - true love, not just the rutting physicality of sex.
Afterward, of course, were the photos. Even though we were only cousins, the married couple wanted pictures of our family, in various groupings. So, we posed with the parents, and watched as they posed.
Then it was our turn.
As I stepped close to my brother, I suddenly felt his proximity inside myself. A surge of desire leapt forward, and I fought from grabbing him and kissing him suddenly. The moral wall within me helped keep control as I moved in front and slightly to the side of him and we both faced the camera. I felt my pulse race as I smiled and fought to keep myself from moaning. Then Sean, sensing a good photo opportunity, reached up and placed a hand on my opposite shoulder.
My bare shoulder.
Instantly, I felt the electric contact, and my pussy started to feel damp. I wanted to run, to shout, to scream, to burn off these feelings before the unthinkable happened again. Instead, I had to just stand there while the photographer fiddled with his dials, my sexy brother's hand pulling me back to the forbidden land.
Desperately, I fought to keep my composure on the ride home. He was sitting right there, and every time I glanced over at him I couldn't help but see what he looked like and remember how he felt like without anything covering him.
We got home quite late, and all went straight to bed.
Interestingly, even though I still hadn't completely come down from my unwelcome arousal, I fell asleep quite quickly and deeply. Later in the night, something woke me. I couldn't quite tell what it was, only that it had made me instantly awake and alert.
My door clicked, and I heard a rustle of cloth. Not sure what exactly was happening, I remained motionless, facing away from the door. The sheets raised, and I felt a weight gently lower itself down onto my mattress. The weight shifted until it was right behind me, "spooning" me. A long hard rod pressed into my butt crack through my pajama bottoms, and a hand reached over me to cup one breast.
"Sean - what are you doing?" I whispered, trying to ignore the pleasant sensations of my brother's hand on my tit. On their own, despite my wishes, I felt my nipples harden, and the pleasant but forbidden sensations began to grow within me again.
"I just want to be with you," he whispered back. "I don't ever want to be apart from you again."
"You know this is wrong." I took a gamble. "If you don't leave right now, I'll start yelling and wake Mom and Dad." Their room was directly above mine. "When they find out what you're doing -"
His mouth moved to my ear. "They'll start asking questions. Do you really want to lie to them? More than we already have?" I could hear the smile in his voice as my bluff failed. "And I don't want sex - I just want to be here, next to you."
"Is that why your penis is hard?"
"It does that sometimes whether I want it to or not."
Suddenly, I realized that my arousal wasn't going anywhere. I had gotten hot from his contact in both places, but nothing more. His hand didn't move, only held my breast, and his dick was resting motionless. My arousal was starting to fade into just a pleasant, comfortable feeling. In a way, I was surprisingly disappointed.
I didn't respond, but just lay there, listening to his light breathing. He was telling the truth, and somehow it felt good just to have him there, holding me. I shifted slightly, forming my body more closely to his.
My hand made contact with something fleshy. Without consciously willing it, it was stroking the hard flesh. With a shock, I realized it was my brother's penis. My hand had started rubbing it on the other side from my butt. Sean's breathing started to deepen. A moment later, a thrill ran through me as his hand began kneading the breast through my pajama top, and the penis started stroking my butt crack.
My brother released the breast and slipped the hand through the buttons of my pajama top and began caressing the bare flesh, brushing against the hardened nipple. I knew this was wrong, but somehow also knew I wanted to please him, and that he also wanted to please me.
I disengaged my hand and removed my brother's delightful fingers, and rolled over to face him.
"Danielle," he said softly with the tenderness I had just recently discovered, "I love you."
A rush of both desire and emotion sped through me. I realized just then, noticing that Sean hadn't continued touching me, how he had said it. It wasn't as brother to sister - it was as boy to girl, as man to woman. He was in love with me.
"I love you too." I let my hand drop down to his balls, lightly dancing across them. "I guess that makes this right, doesn't it?"
In response, my big brother pulled me to him and kissed me, softly, tenderly. I felt my hormones rush up to meet my emotions as I embraced the boy I loved. Our kiss was simple, no Frenching, but I still found myself responding just as powerfully, if not more so.
After a moment, Sean surprised me by climbing out of bed, and I saw his full nakedness in the dim light through my window. Then he pulled the covers off me and picked me up as my arms instinctively went around his neck. We kissed tenderly, and I knew this was meant to be. As a lover, as a bridegroom with his bride, he carried me down to his room.
I'm still surprised that Mom and Dad never discovered us. From that day on, from the moment we got home to just before Mom (or, in some cases, Dad) got home we rutted like rabbits. After those first few occasions, when Sean came inside me, we started using rubbers. It didn't feel quite as good, but we didn't mind. And frequently I would slip out of my room as soon as I was sure Mom and Dad were in bed and asleep and make my way to my brother's room. During these sessions, we tried experimenting. 69ing was fun and satisfying, although I really didn't like the taste of cum and would usually spit it out. We also tried anal once, but it was way too painful for me, so we gave up and satisfied ourselves the typical way. We also tried multiple positions, finally deciding that the best was us lying parallel, one leg thrown over the other's hip. It left us comfortable, but still able to exchange our passions.
And as we got older, I discovered that my growing breasts became more and more sensitive, and Sean discovered there was more and more to touch and lick. Likewise, I discovered that Sean was still growing in the most important way, and the pleasures just kept growing for both of us.
After I graduated from high school, we both moved into an apartment in the city. There are two bedrooms, but only for show - only one is used at any given time. We also came upon a solution for the marriage situation as well. We each (without letting Mom and Dad know) changed our names, and, with this little trick, were easily able to convince a justice of the peace that we weren't siblings. I love my ring, and the man who gave it to me.
It's now been 10 years, and we're still deliriously happy. Our sex life has never faltered or been anything but incredibly intense and wonderful. We're talking now about having kids, although we'll have to disappoint Mom and Dad as, to them, they'll be illegitimate.
But that's O.K. - we'll know the truth.