{"loaderData":{"4":{"story":{"id":"8b516036-5a5d-44c8-9baf-a50a4c0c8ade","seriesId":null,"seriesName":null,"currentUserId":"00000000-0000-0000-0000-000000000000","added":"2019-01-01T03:34:28.79Z","title":"One In The Same (full-story, Unabridged..)","slug":"one-in-the-same-full-story-unabridged","shortId":"ISrH5Z7d","authorNote":null,"disclaimer":null,"type":"Short","paidUrl":null,"synopsis":"","partCount":1,"parts":[{"partId":"4f45fc0e-cf62-42a5-8692-8f58005504c0","title":null,"summary":"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n It was all very likely inevitable anyway.\n\n \n\n After ","wordCount":14313,"readTime":72,"number":1,"state":"Published"}],"currentPart":1,"contentTitle":"Chapter 1","content":"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

It was all very likely inevitable anyway.

\n\n

After all, Maggie and George lived in the\nsame townhouse. Downtown and a mile\nnorth of the theater district, they owned the old stone upright outright, were\nits only occupants, and so had the entire place to themselves. They lived in the same building but in\nseparate apartments, on different floors, as a reluctant and ill-defined nod to\npropriety; she on the 2nd floor and he on the 4th, with the 3rd floor between\nthem sound-proofed and dedicated as a studio and the ground floor empty and\nclosed off to all but the property’s sole tenants. Maggie as well had a key to her brother’s\ndoor and occasionally liked to wander around inside and for hours while George\nwas either in the studio or on the rare occasion outside altogether. In his place alone, sipping cold wine that he\nkept only for drinking with her (George always ordered out for food; one\ncupboard held surplus whiskey and cartons of cigarettes, and within the\nrefrigerator the balance of room around the wine bottles was beer), Maggie\nwould tune in an oldies station through the stereo and smoke kools and roam\naround the furniture from room to room, half-listening for the songs she and\nGeorge had once recorded and lazily snooping through drawers and cabinets as a\nlover, albeit unconsummated, looking for evidence of infidelity.

\n\n

§§§

\n\n

George Lawrence & Geraldine Margaret\n(Maggie) Satellite were fraternal twins, rich and once celebrated, inarguably\ntalented and intelligent if not particularly schooled, still young and,\nespecially Maggie, attractive. Tall and\nsolid at 5`10`` and 137 lbs., heavy breasted and bouncy, with a trim waist and\na taut, meaty behind, Maggie moved with a graceful strength and sensuality that\nall men longingly noticed – rolling her buns with a provocative rocking\ntick-tock away from all whom she parted company, always happily\nunescorted. She was of gorgeous,\nAmazonian voluptuousness and she knew this (her face was by contrast only\nmelodious: large, inviting eyes and a\nstraight nose were all that were notable, her mouth unremarkable save for an a\nappealingly toothy smile). Maggie had\nnever really abandoned the breezy, cosmopolitan fashions of her adolescence\nand, favoring hoop earrings and clear fingernail polish, often barefoot and\nwearing her blond hair straight and waist-length above the beltline of\ncinching, threadbare denims, her dress complemented a serene cerebral posture –\nand yet she was proud of and notorious for being recklessly but casually\ndemanding and a harsh and seemingly omniscient judge of character. She was coolly contemptuous of men for their\npuerile, simpering advances and dismissive of their women for their envy.

\n\n

As Maggie was an alluring physical symmetry\nof plush curves and warm promise, George’s handsomeness was by comparison, and\ndefeating the genetic advantages he shared with his sister, all lanky straight\nedges and points and corners; with the lean, rawboned strength of corded steel\nor re-bar and murderously dark half-moons underscoring a starved, vacant\ncountenance, his features were largely honed sharp by hard drink, lost sleep,\nand an often black moodiness that lent him the irresistibly dangerous beauty of\nthe haunted and damned.

\n\n

Nonetheless, Maggie had always loved her\nGeorgie, desperately and protectively, and George as well loved Maggie – and\nwould have gladly killed in her defense, to safeguard what was his – however\nheavily veiled his avarice. Indeed, given\ntheir affluence and influence, their beauty, and the requisite intelligence to\nrationalize any indulgence (or sacrifice) – that they at best were politely\nconsiderate of outsiders and all but worshipped themselves and each other; as\none was the synonymous, opposite-sex approximate of the other and that they had\nlong fought a peer-sibling rivalry as to whom would possess the other – it all\nmay very well have been merely a matter of time.

\n\n

§§§

\n\n

Of course Maggie loved her brother, and was\neven in love with him, she supposed (her twin brother, she’d fondly emphasize,\nsuggesting to herself a cosmic simpatico between them she hoped would absolve\nher of the stigma of her creepy lusts) and had so much as vaguely entertained a\ncrush on him since they were teenagers; a seemingly innocuous crush that their\nfans and the media continued to dismiss, to her relief, as just the mutual\naffection of a brother-sister music act – just a couple of cute kids – still\nnow and despite their maturity; a caress, a teasing squeeze, a quick kiss on\nthe lips – the flirty, spirited one just being affectionately supportive\nof her brooding, reclusive brother\n(backstage before one performance many years ago, as the club emcee tried to\nassuage a half-drunk and rowdy, almost violently skeptical house – really,\nthese kids rock! – a beered-up George gave Maggie’s ass cheek a lingering\nlittle squeeze and whispered to her “wish us luck …,” a gesture from then on\nthat Maggie outwardly allowed with a smile but secretly welcomed). However, for the years since they last toured\nand having settled surely and amiably into the “Hey, didn’t you used to be …?”\ngenre of obscurity, Maggie had been of the disturbing certainty that she\nharbored a lust for her brother that was unsettlingly sexual, far more than\nmere familial possessiveness. And the\nlong evenings spent together in his apartment – now and then, at first, and\neach party propped up on separate furniture, just lounging about, drinking and\ntalking and watching t.v. – had become inordinately frequent and decidedly more\nintimate with Maggie cuddling with George on the overstuffed sofa, lying back\nagainst his chest and cradled between his legs, his arms draped loose about her\nmidsection. He had begun resting his\nhands under her shirt and playing with her navel and sometimes softly and\nunexpectedly kissing her throat and neither, least of all George, minded. These evenings had thrilled them both but\ndespite their tacit practice of being always direct with each other,\nprofessionally and personally and regardless of how cruel the honesty –

\n\n

“Try not to re-write ‘Imagine’.”

\n\n

“Big talk, coming from the Cute Beatle.”

\n\n

“Genius is knowing ‘She loves you,\nyea-yea-yea’ works; you’d have written ‘She loves you, indeed’. And Lennon wasn’t a hillbilly.”

\n\n

“Your feet are dirty, Your Highness.”

\n\n

– for the first time in\ntheir lives they only jokingly addressed what they were really doing and how it\nmade them feel. George would remark how\nher nipples poked ridiculously prominent from behind her shirt, even through\nher bra, and Maggie would disingenuously note that she’d complain of his\nerection against her lumbar if the boorish lump weren’t so small, and in the\nwee a.m. hours they’d sleepily disentangle, yawn, listlessly mumble their\ngoodnights to each other, and Maggie would go downstairs to her apartment and\nGeorge would pour himself a nightcap or four to calm the nervy charge running\nthe length of his body.

\n\n

In time, their game was not so\nplatonic. Languidly draped over one\nanother on the couch, George would fondle Maggie’s breasts until, finally\ndiscarding any pretense of innocence, he one evening put his hand between her\nthighs and scrubbed at her vagina through her bluejeans. She drew up a leg in acquiescence and he\nscratched and dabbed at her clitoris through the denim while she ground her\nhips between his legs, neither of them watching the television they were\nlooking at, his erection threatening so much greater now than when they were\nkids; when they were both thirteen and George was outweighed and out-muscled by\na coltish, teenaged Maggie and she could, and would regularly, wrestle him down\nat will; when he was still unaccustomed to wet dreams and a thought of sex, or\narithmetic, or Spring, or the wind equally could make his penis stiffen, and\nMaggie’s breasts were still just blossoms and her cupcake-butt only boyish as\nhis, and rough-housing with his boy-crazy sister at night in front of the t.v.\nalways happily resulted in her playfully dry-humping him through their\nnightwear during commercials and they had enjoyed each other’s company alone\nthose evenings far too much for even their own comfort. This evening though, years later and each\novertly predatory of the other, she arched heavily and agreeably against her\nbrother, her head thrown back on his shoulder and her face to his throat. He rubbed and tugged at her harder and then\nwhispered to his sister in a once-ambiguous lyric from one of their own songs a\nparticularly unnatural desire of his for her and she abruptly crushed back into\nhim in one violent, involuntary writhe: \nan ‘uhuh’, and then a trembling rush of breath past his ear, Maggie came\nand her crotch went damp, the sky-blue cotton between her legs darkening, and\nshe dissolved back again against George. \nShe kissed the underside of his jaw line and they continued to cozy,\nwatching the news and comfortably saying nothing.

\n\n

An hour later, before leaving for her own\napartment and still without a word between them regarding her glow, they bid\ngoodnight with a loose embrace and an unhurried kiss, their tongues slowly\nswirling about at the heart of their incest.

\n\n

§§§

\n\n

Maggie found George’s porno stashed in an\notherwise empty third drawer of a dresser set back against the far wall of his\nwalk-in closet. She stood inside over\nthe open drawer, among his clothes and amusedly thumbing through a back-issue\nof Abased Babes, a fringe publication of explicit photos exclusively of\npopularly pretty college girls being boned in the ass: triple-x still-frames from motel room\nproductions of anonymous cocks rooted up the butts of ambitious co-eds, too\nfabulously fast-track to wait tables – moonlighters, going for the bonus pay,\nfirst-timers – hastily buttered belly-down over a pillow and put to the\nwhite-knuckle work, their expressions wide-eyed and focused acutely on an\nunseen astonishment.

\n\n

“Eeew-yuck goddamn, Georgie,” she lamented,\nlaughing, out loud and un-sticking some of the magazine pages and imagining her\ncritically-acclaimed brother masturbating over these pictures – her masculine\ntwin, bug-eyed and hunched over his poor wiener, squirrelly self-absorbed and\ntossing-off over this vacuous loveless-ness – and she quickly ignored an\narrantly jealous annoyance with him for not approaching her with his need,\nhowever inconceivable the concept. Taking a long pull from her cigarette and then\na longer swallow of wine, she set the magazine aside and pulled from the drawer\nfrom beneath some videotapes a framed photograph of herself.

\n\n

It was an 8x10 inch glossy original of her\nmodeling an indiscreet blue bikini for the celebrity swimsuit edition of a\nsports & fitness magazine last summer on a remote South Pacific island\nshore 2 minutes after sunset: she was\nspread wide and low on froggy all-fours and pointed toward the ocean and\ntropical twilight – her knees planted firmly in the sand and granules spilling\nthrough her fists, holding onto the planet and the soft crack of her luscious\ntush a gaping shadow beneath the sheer blue fabric of the tiny bikini\nbottom. Loop earrings shone like small\nhalos and her hair hung pooled at her breasts brushing the beach. For good measure, she was gazing over her\nshoulder and smiling dreamily into the camera. \nA string of murky spots diagonally dotted the glass pane covering her\nimage.

\n\n

Maggie’s heart began wildly thumping and her\nknees were wobbly with adrenaline; the shirts and slacks and jackets that hung\nabout her and packed close on their hangers suddenly smelled so strongly of\nGeorge that he might just as well have been present. She reached back into the drawer and removed\nwith one grasp the three boxed videotapes that had been stacked on her\nportrait: Anal Blondes – Vol. 7,\nPoop-Chute Cuties (8 Ass-Blasting Scenes! Blonde Voy`age!) and, somewhat\nincongruously, The Art Of Anal Sex.

\n\n

Maggie’s breathing had condensed to coarse,\nrapid pants and with considerable effort she inhaled a roomy breath to clear\nher head and slow her pulse. \nReflexively, still unable to think anything, she took the plastic\nvideocassettes from their boxes and placed them aside, returning the shiny\ncardboard, the off-Hollywood rag, and the photograph of herself to the back of\nthe drawer. Reconsidering, she reached\nback into the drawer and, retrieving her portrait, she as well discovered an\nunopened 13oz. squeeze-dispenser:

\n\n

Pipe Grease™

\n\n

Petroleum-Based Anal Lubricant

\n\n

Active Ingredients: \nBenzocaine (Topical Anesthetic) 11%

\n\n

Maggie gathered the videocassettes, the\nphotograph, and the tube of lubricant together and carried them out to the main\nroom and dropped them into her tote bag on her way out the door and back\ndownstairs to her own apartment.

\n\n

§§§

\n\n

The following Friday had been leaden and\ncoolly overcast, then alternately heaving and steadily raining throughout the\nafternoon, and would do so all that evening, when Maggie dialed the downstairs\nstudio number:

\n\n

“Hey love …” he answered.

\n\n

“Hey baby, \nI’m calling from your place. You\ncoming up soon?”

\n\n

“Yeah. \nAnything on cable?”

\n\n

“I haven’t checked. Ten minutes?”

\n\n

“See ya then.”

\n\n

Maggie closed the phone and opened a\nwindow. She took a last look through the\nvideo camera’s view glass, made sure the sound was on, and poured herself some\nwine. She preemptively poured a tall\nscotch & ice for George. She took\nseveral lengthy drinks from her glass, lit a cigarette, and refilled. She left George’s whiskey at the bar and\ncarried her own drink across the room to the bookcase that stood directly\nfacing the front door fifteen feet away. \nShe placed her glass on a shelf beside a pill bottle and, facing the\nbook bindings, she stood with her back to the front door, as relaxed as she\ncould manage, wearing only the tiny blue bikini and earrings from the swimwear\nlayout, pensively inspecting her fingernails, sometimes clenching her fists,\nand listening to her heartbeat kick at her ribs while a cool scent of rain rode\na clean breeze past the curtains from across the room and throughout. She couldn’t find the other ring, her\nkeepsake, but she had combed cocoanut bath oil through her hair.

\n\n

Conceding the evening’s only consciously\ncontrived gesture, when she heard the door finally open behind her she\ndeliberately paused for one long moment to allow for George’s mind to register\nthe presence of his sister’s scrumptious, blue-bottomed near-nakedness – and\nall it implied she now knew – before evenly looking over her shoulder and\nmeeting the expression of abject dismay in his eyes. However, in his desolation Maggie saw her\nbrother ill with instinct and desire, sick with a singularly and ferociously\ndepraved and wretched lust for her that abruptly whetted her crotch and very\nnearly buckled her knees from beneath her.

\n\n

“Come here, baby” she said gently and turned\nback towards the bookcase.

\n\n

George stood numb in the doorway for a short\neternity before an astonishingly indecent arousal brought him around and he\ncrossed the floor to her and stood at her bare back, firmly resting his hands\non her hips, and she smiled quietly to herself. \nHe drew Maggie’s yummy butt against the fat erection unfurling within\nhis jeans and she in turn gave her ass a friendly little wiggle. She turned inside his embrace to face him and\nunabashedly grinned up at him. They\nkissed once, tenderly, before she pulled away and reached back for the pill\nbottle on the bookshelf behind her. She\nshook out two 50 mg doses of Viagra and put the pills to George’s lips.

\n\n

“Take these; your drink `s on the bar. We’ve a long night ahead of us.”

\n\n

§§§

\n\n

A half-hour later George stood naked before\nher, very close and still, freshly showered and again in the main room. His balls hung from him like powder\nkegs. He waited while Maggie fondled\nhim, sizing him up; his cock in her hand pointed well beyond just erect – now\nan angry and achingly swollen and purplish tool of 10¼ inches, a broad and\ngnarled menace as big around as her wrist and with the single-minded\ndisembodiment of a wrench. He had cut\nback his pubic hair to bristles. He put\nhis hands to her shoulders and nudged her to move to her knees.

\n\n

“Not just yet. Have a seat.”

\n\n

She led him by his appendage over to the\ngiant recliner and straddled his lap, she seated upright and facing him square,\nthe moist crotch of her bikini all that separated her vagina from direct\ncontact with the length and breadth of his shaft. Her tan had paled almost entirely since last\nsummer, but before she could prompt him he was already affectionately smoothing\nhis palms along the faint flesh of her thighs. \nAs well adoring, she took his face in her hands.

\n\n

“I want us to be lovers” she began.

\n\n

“Okay” he agreed grandly, taking a sip of\nhis already second scotch from his right and a draft from a Marlboro from his\nleft. He was feeling much better.

\n\n

“Listen,” she said, taking the cigarette\nfrom his fingers and crushing it out. \nShe leaned forward and kissed his lips. \n“I’m in love with you; and you’re in love with me. I know this”.

\n\n

Now serious, he admitted “Yes, I am in love\nwith you, Maggie.” So far, so good.

\n\n

She studied his eyes, then said “What do you\nwant?” her nipples as hard as glass marbles through her bikini top. From her tote bag beside the recliner, she\nbrought out and showed him the swimwear portrait of herself.

\n\n

Escaping her scrutiny, he looked long at the\nfantasy photograph and said, somewhat honestly, “I want you …inside you, to\nmake love to you gently and lovingly forever.”

\n\n

‘Amen’, she almost laughed at him, but she\njust smiled, and content with his prose, George renewed his caress of her\nthighs. He took her left breast in his\nhand and brushed a thumb across her nipple, a small rock.

\n\n

“I love you so much, George” she said\ngenuinely, a little sadly.

\n\n

“I love you too, Maggie” George said, also\ngenuinely, emphatically.

\n\n

Maggie reached back into the bag and\nretrieved the first two videocassettes and held them up one after the other,\ntheir titles labeled in bold print and unmistakably legible at a glance. The How-To video she dismissively left\ndownstairs.

\n\n

“Read these to me – aloud, sweetheart” she\nsoftly demanded. George swallowed, a\ngulp.

\n\n

“’Anal Blondes’” and Maggie offered an unmindful\ntoss of her pretty head, “…and ‘Poop-Chute Cuties’” George said, hoarse, and\nshe felt a twitch of his cock against her glove, her satin astride his\nsteel-incarnate.

\n\n

“Tell me what you want, Georgie” unsmiling\nbut her eyes shining delightedly.

\n\n

“Maggie, I do love you …” he said,\nbeseeching, acknowledging the sound he’d heard her make the last time, when\nthey were sixteen, before he quite knew what he was doing or how to do it – but\ndid anyway – and she hadn’t quite not screamed when he did.

\n\n

Maggie withdrew from the bag the last\ntorment, the tube of lubricant, and held it a little too closely to his face.

\n\n

“Read the label to me, baby.”

\n\n

“’Pipe Grease’” he coughed.

\n\n

“And …?” she persisted.

\n\n

“’Petroleum-Based Anal Lubricant.’”

\n\n

“Tell me what you want, baby” the crotch of\nher bikini slick, sopping, her vagina having graduated to cunt. Unmercifully, smiling knowingly, she answered\nfor him:

\n\n

“You want to buttfuck me” she purred to him\nin a taunting little singsong, “ – you want to sodomize your own sister” she\nsang quietly, leaning closer to his face and kissing him. George leaned forward as if to return her\nbuss and slid his hands from her thighs to her buttocks, and massaging her tush\ndivided wide, he swiftly slipped his hand under the waistband of her bikini and\nwith his forefinger gave her anus a thick dry gouge, a vengeful little stab at\nher pucker. Maggie started sharply and\nslammed the heels of her hands against his chest, banging him back into his\nseat. He watched her eyes and caught a\nspark of searing lust and fury within her, a white-hot desire of which he\nthought only himself capable. She leaned\nin close again, her breathing ragged and clipped, panting. He could smell her control: smoke and soap, wrath and arousal.

\n\n

“Don’t\nrape me before we’re ready” she distinctly threatened, then just as suddenly\nsoftened. George carefully, cautiously\nkissed her and Maggie rejoined with a smile, foxy.

\n\n

“You do want to hurt me” she ventured.

\n\n

“No. \nThe lubricant would make it easier” reassuring himself.

\n\n

“You lie. \nThe grease would make it easier, better, for you” she stressed\nsweetly, “and you bought oil-based, at\nthat” challenging him with what he knew to be her irrefutable insight, “because\nyou want a long, thorough ride, merciless and leaving nothing to our\nimaginations.” Maggie leaned in very\nclose and put her lips to his ear, still not wanting, after all these years, to\nmeet his eyes when she stated their only one, really, terrible truth; she spoke\nto him in a whisper so soft as to be just this side of a private thought:

\n\n

“I think you kinda liked it that I bled\nsome” she breathed, and held her face to the side of her brother’s, waiting\nuntil the moment passed when she thought they could both bear to look at each\nother again.

\n\n

George was silent, his truths indefensible.

\n\n

“I know you don’t want to ‘gently, lovingly\nease your engorged member through my dainty ideal, my most teasing breech’” she\nsaid, now wistfully, famously regaining her composure and mocking his\nmollifying, ostensibly considerate, courteous depiction of ‘blasting’ her\nass. “I watched the tapes, Georgie; I\nknow you want to buttfuck me – painfully and unconscionably, ferociously and\nforever – and I want you (too or to?, he thought, pouncing on this crucial\npoint; what did she just say?)” George\nsmiled. “I want to ride you, Georgie –\nlike that, even – as long & often as you like” she allowed, “ – tonight\nwe’ll mean it.” It was too late for coy.

\n\n

“Prescription-strength sodomy” he mused, “ –\nyour idea. Blush for me, Margaret.”

\n\n

Ignoring him, “We only get one chance at a\nfirst time – you’re still too big, even bigger, and I’m as good as brand new\nsince then …we’ll set a timer; an hour should be forever enough, for tonight\nanyway” she said, disguised as if an afterthought, feigning calm. She took George’s hand between her own, first\nkissing then wetly sucking his middle finger. \nShe brought his hand around her waist and again down the back of her\nswimsuit and between her cheeks, encouraging his forefinger to salve her anus\nwith her saliva. Drawing his hand back\nout, she then placed the tip of that same middle finger between his lips.

\n\n

“Wound me well, my love” she whispered. “Poke me, Georgie; I’ll help.”

\n\n

Maggie dismounted George’s lap, and without\na word or a glance back she walked over to the L-shaped couch and knelt wide in\nits corner, setting the lubricant to one side and resting her forearms on the\nsofa back, her rounded backside lurid and pouting beneath the blue swim panties,\nher blonde head bowed and, again, absently inspecting her nails, waiting. George came up behind her and held her by the\nhips, motioning her, feeling his grip. \nHe ran his palms up and down the sides of her waist and ribs, massaging\nher entire upper and lower back and she parted her knees farther on the sofa\nseat, relaxing, casually bracing. George\npulled Maggie’s shoulders upright to his chest and embraced her, unfastened her\nswim bra and, slipping the string straps off her shoulders and removing the\ngarment altogether, he kneaded, hefted and caressed her fresh breasts a pound\napiece, pointed and pillowy, each half-again more than his hands could hold,\nand alternately petted her bare midriff. \nHe slipped a finger down the steamy front of her swim panties and\ntouched and toyed with her clitoris, kissing her throat and shoulders and the\nfragrance of her hair and scalp intoxicating and wafting about his mind and she\nswallowed, a gulp, and moaned and writhed within his hug. He hooked his thumbs in her waistband and\nMaggie leaned forward again against the sofa back and scooted her knees\ntogether. George reverently disrobed her\nof the swim panties and laid them aside. \nShe reassumed the position and kneeling behind her, he held her firmly\nby her hips and felt her body tense, clutch.

\n\n

He said “I know you’re virgin, Maggie” and\nthrew her over onto her back to a slouching, half-seated position and stepped\nbetween her legs, “…and ovulating” and she as suddenly tried to bring her knees\ntogether. Unable to guard herself, she\nput her hand to his abdomen – an uncertain, trembling touch, suggesting she\ncould be scared of him, a new drama to be played out.

\n\n

“ …no baby, please; not this way – not yet”\na soft plea, but he thought she might cry.

\n\n

George dropped to his knees between her legs\nand Maggie grabbed him by the shoulders, neither pulling him toward her nor\npushing him away, just trying to steady the chaos around her. He kept his hands at her waist and, her panic\nlessening, she let him draw close enough to kiss her and he whispered in her\near:

\n\n

“You wanted me to, and you were afraid I\nwould; you lie too, precious” he said, and she bit down on his earlobe hard\nenough to draw blood. He remained\nmotionless until she had finished injuring him, unclenching her teeth and then\nsucking his wound, nursing the injury she had inflicted on him. George then held Maggie away from him at arms\nlength and saw her furious with emotion, no less than the storm outside their\nwindow.

\n\n

“I’m gonna fuck you dead” she spat, both a\nsob and a hiss.

\n\n

“Shhh …” soothing, conciliatory, and he put\nhis mouth to her left breast, and then her right, sucking her nipples gently,\ndeliberately, not as a hungry child but rather as an animal relishing its prey. Lowering his head, he slung his arms under\nher legs and kissed and licked her lower belly, where her legs joined her hips,\nand along her inner thighs; he would not concede her real pleasure just yet and\nshe knew he was stalking her and her warm aroma grew ever more moist. Maggie finally placed her hands at the back\nof his head and George allowed her his undivided attention, luxurious and\nexcruciating. Stroking his hair and full\nof his face, when she felt his tongue bathe and then probe her rectum – a\ndeeply wet and grotesque shame she could not discourage – she rocked her pelvis\nup against his mouth, demanding she be ravaged.

\n\n

Resurfacing, he uncapped the tube of\nlubricant and Maggie raised her knees toward her ears. George inserted the plastic nozzle into her\nanus and emptied ¼ of its contents up her lower intestine and she\nshivered. He set aside the dispenser and\nsmeared the jelly over her surface and rim and inserted one finger to the first\nknuckle, snug and stubborn, then two and three fingers, somewhat more so, and\nsliding up to the last knuckles he turned and twisted his fingers around inside\nher, coating her orifice and ensuring she was agape and gooey and seeping with\npreparation. They watched each other’s\neyes while they both readied her and said nothing, only listening to the\nrainfall outside and the moist noises of her being delicately reamed.

\n\n

He withdrew his fingers from her and stood,\nand she lowered her legs and sat up. \nGeorge placed a hand behind his sister’s head at the base of her skull;\na bitter, saline dollop of pre-semen had gathered and now hung from the end of\nhis erection and then Maggie took her brother into her mouth, sucking and\nsipping, softly tasting his flesh and fluid. \nThey did this without thought, an unconscious obedience to their base\ninstincts as a man and a woman, consensually alone and naked in the other’s\npresence, a harbinger to their impending communion, however vile.

\n\n

George withdrew from Maggie’s mouth and\nhanded her the tube of lubricant, disallowing her any illusion of passivity. She squeezed another ¼ of the jelly into her\npalm and slathered his cock with a slippery, gelatinous finish. She wiped the excess from her hands on his\nbuttocks and along the length of his thighs and looked up into his eyes.

\n\n

“Get on your knees & elbows” he said, “\n…bend over, Maggie – and beg for it.” An\nugly, lame assertion, and so she instead stood nude before him.

\n\n

“You’ll earn me this time, boy” and she\nsmacked him hard across the mouth. He\ngrabbed her by the wrists and yanked her close, looking far into her eyes with\na frightening, lightening-sky strike of violent carnality – and George so\ndesperately loved her all over again for so far having so wonderfully played\nalong, since this would be, they both knew, from now on all too real. He wiped his tongue once, wet and thick, up\nthe front of her face.

\n\n

“I’m going to make an awful lot of room back\nthere, sweet-seat” he told her, brushing his lips against hers, “ – powerfully,\nprodigiously …”

\n\n

“ – ‘ease me your meat’? ‘People my peep-hole – impolitely’? Say it, coward” she told him, struggling,\nferal and forcing him to further force her. \n“Tell me what you want.”

\n\n

“I’m going to so buttfuck you, Maggie” he\nsaid low and tonelessly, and she hung on his promise no less than she hung from\nhis arms, her breathing harried, fitful huffs, and as well licking his face\nwhile he assured her of his love as combat. \n“I’m going to so cornhole you, my love; fuck you anally far up your\npretty ass like I’ve always wanted to. \nI’m gonna cram my cock hard up your butt and screw you long after you’ve\ncried ‘no’ and until ‘yes’ means I’ve cum inside you and popped your beauteous\nass for only the first time for the rest of our lives. Yes, I want to buttfuck you, Maggie; you – my\nown sister, my brave, brash girl” and he swung her over onto her hands and\nknees inside the corner of the couch back and with a stinging swat of her\nhaunch. George knelt behind Maggie and\nlocked his knees to the inside of hers, spreading her legs apart and her\nbackside wide, exposing her pristine pink squint. He started the timer and it began counting\ndown the minutes in electronic silence from sixty. He wedged the head of his cock between her\ncheeks and, pressed blunt against the fragile aperture of her anus, he held her\nhips inescapably in place.

\n\n

Until this moment, sexplay with her brother\nfelt as if she had awakened underwater to discover that she could still\nbreathe, or that she were asleep and yet aware she was dreaming. However, their fun now no more just abstract\nspeculation and her bare ass sacrificially held fixed in his grip, his scored,\ncalloused palms parting her seat cheeks, Maggie knew with terrifying clarity\nthat what she had meticulously incited her brother to do she would indeed next\nendure and that with George formidably and irreparably set sledgehammer at and\nin appallingly voluminous contrast to her access – her hopelessly, vainly\nunyielding elasticity – there were finally no tricks or curses or bullying that\nwould stop him – her once reliably expert, scheming femininity, any attempt to\nexploit her brother’s love for her no longer of any consequence. She felt him push and she knew ruefully he\nwould next be supremely inside her and make her yell and that she desired it,\nthat she wanted his intimate hurt of her, and this atrocity would then be now.

\n\n

Until this moment, sexplay with his sister\nwas a playful if volatile exchange of control, each alternately seducing the\nother, their mutual manipulation of one another swinging back and forth as a\nfeather floats to earth until their instincts alighted onto their purest\nground. However, his wettest dreams now\nmade real – Maggie’s creamy, bare rump ceremoniously held firm in his hands,\nher buns vulnerably separated soft, dividing her crack and redoubtably, inexorably\nset rock-cock hot against her elasticity – her sweetly, vainly unyielding\naccess – George could see that he was really, criminally, too broad for her\nthis way and that, worse, this savagery of her by his size would not stop him. He began to push and knew ruefully he would\nnext be supremely inside her and make her yell and that he would enjoy it, that\nhe craved his intimate hurt of her, and this atrocity would then be now.

\n\n

When she felt him begin to pull her onto\nhim, pry and pack himself into her, feeling the endlessly exponential stretch\nthen helpless give of her sphincter – this secret, indelible branding of Maggie\nby his distension of her forever marking her as his (though in truth she knew\nshe now owned him) – she triumphantly and in defiance of her own well-being sat\nback hard onto his post. In that instant\nthe whole of George’s mass solidly disappeared up Maggie’s behind: a thick squish of lubricant and a crashing slap\nof flesh, they withdrew just shy of his entire length and, repeating the ferocity\nof their first thrust, there was again another clap as his lap slapped her\nseat.

\n\n

An obscene strain, bright and profound – her\nagony hard and as clean as a new dime, steely and exact, and an impulsive\nattempt to twist free, arrested at her hips – and yet Maggie sounded only a\nhusky grunt in acknowledgement of his colossal inhabitancy of her among those\nfirst furious fifty strokes – their lunging, colliding strides through her\ninsubordination, George’s every crisp, flat spank of Maggie’s beautiful bottom\na further punishing penetration deep up her delicious ass until her arms folded\nand she dropped her shoulders onto the sofa back, her will to even contribute\nto, let alone resist, her brother’s sodomy of her at last defeated.

\n\n

“Ooow-uhaaah!” Maggie finally wailed, a\nsonorous, suffering, surrendering howl of protest and release and from the\nfloor of her lungs. And with this\ncollapse of her resolve and her mind and muscles slack with whole\nsubmissiveness, George halved the rate and redoubled the power of his pace up\nher backside from a gallop to a march, gloriously parading them both through\ntheir intercourse while the rainfall outside applauded their sin.

\n\n

Maggie held on as George pumped at her,\nplied and lay waste her bum’s prim obstinacy, and she laid her head between her\ngrip of the couch back and squeaked and whimpered in time to her brother’s\nrelentless abuse of her bottom. \nShoe-horned into her and invulnerable to reason, he compulsively fucked\nher butt with both a heartless indifference to and an impassioned prejudice of\nher outrage: his girlfriend, best\ngroupie, and lover, the co-author of his success and now his mate, she was all\nof these and as well his sister, and if she were to know him she would be made\nto endure all of him. Twenty minutes and\n900 thrusts later, her trauma polished smooth of its splintered anomalies and\nher discomfort largely abated, George had gradually eased back his assault of\nhis sister’s plump duff from those first brutal, initiating plunges to a\nroutine of seamlessly pistoning penetrations, settling into a full-length\nloping rhythm of level, measured strokes up Maggie’s ass. With the hurricane of their sex circling\nabout them in ominous calm, Maggie could now hear over her shoulder the\nelements of this storm of theirs’\nindoors – hearing, absorbing the juicy, metronomic pump and squelch of George’s\nefforts behind her, the fleshy bell toll of his repeated impact with the fat\ncompact of her loaves, and then the throaty mummers of his own dissolution:

\n\n

“ …umh, ahh; oh, Maggie – my lovely, naughty\nMaggie” he groaned as he sawed at her, grinding away at both of them of what\nlittle remained of their modesties and sensibilities and enkindling some primal\ndesire of hers to enjoy her brother’s own enjoyment of his so unlawful use of\nher.

\n\n

“Do me, Georgie” she crooned back to him,\nand so ended the civility of their dialogue for the next several minutes as\nthey spoke to each other, at and over each other, in expletive barks and slurs\nand fractured declarations of raw want realized – coaxing, cajoling, each\nbuilding on the other’s last vulgarity, exclaiming the exquisite filth of their\ndesires for one another, their voices ringing off the walls and out the window\nand all but inaudible from the street four floors below.

\n\n

Whirling shouts of you/me this and give/take\nthat – speech coherent only in the context of lovemaking or warmongering –\ntheir flurried verbiage culminated when George felt the warm, warning roar of\nnear-orgasm within his loins, and he told Maggie that he was finally about to\ncome. Maggie’s experience until this\nmoment, an ascension from sacrifice to exertion and then to even this weird,\ndirty pleasure, had still been far less sure of climax than the tidal certainty\nof orgasm throbbing within her brother’s groin; but hearing his words – this\nknowledge that their act, this taboo, a so unspeakably forbidden crime against\nnature that nature so casually suggested of them, would indeed be done – as if\nher first piercing weren’t enough – she now knew suddenly that she too would\nsoon come as irrevocably as would her brother behind her and she cried out her\ndiscovery to him with an alarming urgency. \nHe grappled her hips and incessantly bored open her rose-hole and she\nclung tight to the couch back and squatted aft, a rebounding bump back inbound\nat the end of each thrust for an extra fraction of depth, and George grimaced\nskyward and called out her name and came hard with a wrenching landslide of\nsour, seminal momentum: a splashing gush\nof semen, loathsome and bestial, he spilled tumbling, weighted ropes and curds\nof sperm up Maggie’s bowels, heating her guts and invisible to all but\nGod. And feeling his hot mess pour into\nher, Maggie responded in kind – shrieking and flailing and calling to George at\nthe crest of her climax to be more completely, impossibly deeper and harder\ninside her and she as well came wildly with a writhing, spasmodic cloudburst of\nher every whorey need sated, her secretions tracing from her pussy shiny lines\ndown the inside of her thighs and her ripe, dense stench suddenly clouding the\nimmediate air.

\n\n

They washed ashore from their orgasms as if\nsurvivors of a shipwreck: breathless and\nclumsily, their stumbling thrusts into/onto each other staggered and halting. “Don’t stop, baby …” Maggie mewed over her\nshoulder, sensing her brother might try to spare himself any further guilt by\nway of a dishonest mercy for her – and lose the renaissance of a new affinity\nfor each other from the ruins of their old selves – but, chemically sustained and\nstill sound inside her, his desires revived by her humid, pheromonal odor,\nGeorge resumed his angular command of her ass with an easy, gliding precision\nand they swung along together in unison like this for some time more,\nblissfully, like sweethearts hand-in-hand down a boulevard in any weather on a\nday made beautiful by the other’s presence. \nRelieved of his lust’s frenzy, George could savor his idling ride of\nMaggie hugged over the corner of the couch back and her similarly assuming the\nposition in which she had appeared in the photograph. From his hold of her pelvis, he could\nobserve, relish, his penetrations of her – her venerably heart-shaped tush –\nand between her buns feel the more muscular, strangling slick-friction of her\nwrap of him within as he stirred and churned his semen inside her, her depths\nsoupy, sloppy with sperm and lubricant; his thrusts compounded would amount to\na short ton of his meat packed up her ass before they were through, he\nimagined, ponderously piling his bulk into her pound after pound, one brick at\na time: building on their blasphemy,\nerecting their sacrilege – this deliciously unlovely buggery of his sister’s\ndelightful fanny.

\n\n

She felt her brother still huge and invasive\ninside her, a plowing, cylindrical enormity crowding her aft-cache replete\nbeyond his actual dimensions, his pubic stubble prickling, and Maggie laid her\nface again alongside the upholstery between her grips of the sofa back. Glancing at the timer, she saw their hour\nwell over half-elapsed but, at this rate, still hundreds of thrusts from\nfinished; his accumulative strokes would amount to a half-mile ride before they\nwere through, she thought, 10 long inches after another: his hands steering her hips, and herself,\ntheir journey – her brother as a bus smoothly bombing up her backcountry. On the far wall, she saw their play-rape\nartfully framed and reflected in full in the mirror across the room and she\nwatched their bodies move in tandem, his pole alternately laid bare then buried\nbig back up her rump, she leisurely meeting his lengths, his lines leveraging\nand her curves swaying, their forms beautifully functioning together – a\nsurreal brew she immersed herself in as both voyeur and participant. Aware of a dull, vague ache of her sphincter\nmuscle, she readjusted her stance and tried in earnest to further relax and\naccept, envelop even, George’s penetrating tonnage and this private little pain\n– and the math, the imagery – that hurt so good she giggled, and she looked\nover her shoulder to watch his face until he looked up from his work of her and\nmet her eyes, seeing her grinning at him brightly, knowingly.

\n\n

“How dare I enjoy this so” he smiled back at\nher, blushing, despite everything, and she laughed.

\n\n

“I know what you mean” she said, “me too,” and\nresting her head again, she watched their incestuous harmony in the mirror for\nanother minute before George, realigning his aim into her, inadvertently knelt\non the stereo’s remote that had been lost between the sofa’s seat cushions. The radio pre-set suddenly lit up and the\nroom swelled with low volume lite-rock and Maggie began to hum and then quietly\nsing to her brother about how she as well could feel the earth – move – under\nher feet, feeling the sky tum-ba-lin’ down, a-tum-ba-lin’ down.

\n\n

“Mmm, so very good” George groaned,\nlistening to his sister solicit him:

\n\n

“’ – I’ve just got to have ya, baay-beh’”

\n\n

“’ – uhuh-uhuh, uhuhh – ’” he reveled,

\n\n

“’ – uhuh-uhuh, uhuhh, yeah-yeaah’” she\nrallied,

\n\n

and so they randomly,\ndiscordantly, parried back and forth, song after bastardized song – a steely,\ndon’tch-ya-need-me-heyhey-oooyeah free-fall bridge, then a bitch/tease\ngoddess-on-her-knees riff – and fucking with renewed vigor until the radio\nplayed one of their own songs and they serenely slipped mutually, heartfelt\ninto their own music, singing, serenading in innuendo along with themselves\ntogether to one another a lyric, ethereal groove from their earlier days that\nthey had written – each secretly regarding the other – about the peacefulness\nof familiar love and, conspiratorially, how that might be in the wake of\nfamilial sex.

\n\n

A pause in the action, and then the room\nwent silent, their fucky-lovemaking as suddenly void of music as if they’d both\ngone stone deaf. George had stepped up\nonto the couch, standing on the sofa cushions and ponyed atop Maggie’s back,\nand the sight of this reflected in the mirror she thought looked a little silly\nuntil she saw her brother’s face stricken with a dangerous ardor and she heard\na dreadful resolve in his voice as he told her, repeating several times, that\nhe so dearly loved her, that he was in love with her, and afraid for her\nbrother she answered him as many times that she as well very much loved him,\nit’s alright Georgie, but he seemed inconsolable, saying only I love you,\nMaggie, I’m so in love with you.

\n\n

Then, his fingers closing over her wrists, “\n– but now I’m going to rape you, love, as I said I would; really, awfully fuck\nyour sweet butt like I’ve always wanted to” and in their reflection she saw him\nhide his face in her hair, felt his breath steamy at her throat, and watching\nGeorge’s hips rise high toward the ceiling, his marbled pillar bridging their\nbodies, she barely got out ‘ok – ’ before he broke back into her ass with 180\nlb. drives bigger than all the past hour’s thrusts as one.

\n\n

They both heard the microscopic crack of her\nsphincter and Maggie screamed weakly once as she briefly hurt virgin-again\ntwice in as many hours, her asshole not-quite accommodating her brother’s\nbloodlust. The weight and strength of\nhis split of her spread her stance flat, driving her pussy to the upholstery\nand stifling her voice in mid-sentence – elementary masculine violence, too\nrough at this late stage, she thought; last winter she’d slipped and sat down\non the ice softer than this – and so as he slammed-home hurtled in & out of\nher, she told him what women know all men want to hear, oh-no, oh-no, your so\nbig and strong, it’s too much, blah-blah.

\n\n

George listened to Maggie recite the\nporn-queen script, barreling into her what felt like from across the room, and\nwaited for her to really speak to him. \nThe scary buttfuck he’d promised her wouldn’t begin for another ten\nminutes of these race-engine industrial thrusts – 20 inches per cycle, 50 feet\nper minute – and not until long-after their scheduled hour had expired; when as\nthe oil began to fail and feeling his cock chaff with the building friction, he\nheard his sister begin to talk less and say more, her face a crimson mask of\nincreasingly contorted grimaces, her wrists twisting within his grip –

\n\n

“georgie? \nbaby? – it hurts.”

\n\n

“I love you, Maggie” drop-hammering granite\nand titanic into her astride her hips and from almost a foot overhead

\n\n

– and what was her still\nsilky if frayed rosebud at the agreed-upon end of tonight’s romp was, now\ntrespassing well into the 2nd hour, fast becoming a tired crater, her anus\nbeaten loosed and unmoored from it’s diamond-tight maidenhood of so many years,\nher beautiful if common enough behind a home for his dragon in which to behave\nor breathe flame, in which to delight or damage.

\n\n

Maggie had felt her asshole cooked. Then dry and burning as it got raw as\nsalt. Now afire. And alighting her behind as bright as a match\nhead – and so soon since his especially thorough orgasm – this searing\nfuck-bludgeoning of her rectum from above could potentially continue for …\nuntil when? the nightly news? midnight? 1 a.m.?

\n\n

She began to beg George to stop, spilling\ntears – please georgie, stop – then bribe him, offering to suck him off clean,\nunwashed shit-filthy fresh out of her ass, and swallow every drop of his\nsperm. She tried somewhat to fight him,\nsquealed ‘rape’ twice, then bit him, sinking her teeth into his forearm, and\nthought suddenly she might vomit – throwing-up or pissing herself would\ncertainly stop him, she was as suddenly sure; but she then felt one thin hot\ntrickle that she knew to be neither semen nor lubricant slip down the back of\nher leg, and she instead just laid her head to one side and began to openly bawl,\nmournfully giving up.

\n\n

George didn’t go any easier on her, but he\nsobbed into the back of her neck at the scent of blood, and she wept a little\neasier. And in the closing moments of\ntheir tear they together wrung from themselves the last of the evening’s lusts\nwith a Herculean dribble and a tumultuous trickle, George ejaculating again\ninto his sister, and Maggie, in spite of herself, as well cumming with him\nwhile the timer to their right blindly blinked zeros at them with mute, digital\nimpassiveness, it’s exact signal for them to quit having another hour ago\nimperceptibly passed unacknowledged.

\n\n

George managed only another dozen or so\nchops with his diminishing erection until he could finally remain only still to\nthe hilt inside Maggie, deflating, and she felt her brother at last softening\nand then doughy inside her before he reluctantly, sloppily, uncorked from her\nbutt and stepped down. Maggie turned\naround, gingerly, and seated herself upright with her leg tucked under her.

\n\n

“I need a towel” she whispered, as if to not\nbe overheard by even herself, and he stood and instead gathered his cock into\nhis sister’s mouth for her to briefly suck anyway, then gathered her into his\narms slightly higher than to her feet to hold her off the floor in his embrace\nuntil she conceded to wrap her legs around him and let herself leak. George carried Maggie to his bedroom and\ndropped her into bed among his giant pillows and sweat-soured sheets and\npillowcases, not letting her hide from him. \nHe asked her to not escape him, to not wash off their iniquity, and she\ntold him there was a wedge of cheese in the fridge. He returned from the kitchen after a minute\nwith eats and drinks and smokes, and they talked for a long time: friendly, facetiously chiding – there was a\nsmall swollen split at the corner of his lip, lavender fingerprints\npolka-dotted her buttocks, and they’d both walk funny for a day or two – and\nwhen they did sleep, finally and for the first time their bodies enfolded naked\nin the other’s, George especially slept restfully and for more consecutive\nhours than he had in years.

\n\n

In the main room, their smells remained awake\nand all over; the camera could record only the still for the next hour, then\nran out of tape.

\n\n

§§§

\n\n

Maggie sat straddling her brother, wearing\nonly one of his dress shirts and twirling her bikini panties around her index\nfinger, watching him wake up. It was the\nfollowing afternoon and she was hungry. \nStirring from sleep, trying to roll onto his side between her thighs,\nGeorge opened his eyes and confusedly wondered if this all hadn’t already\nhappened before exchanging morning breath with his sister when she kissed him.

\n\n

“Meet me at my place, love; we’re going out”\nshe said, and got off of him to leave for her own apartment.

\n\n

George\nshowed up forty-five minutes later, freshly showered and groomed, and Maggie\nwide-open answered the door two raps into the first knocks, her hair still\nhalf-damp since her shower, and of course conspicuously too-late closing her\nrobe, the game still afoot. Smiling, she\nwatched his eyes while he held her gaze for the ten seconds he could effect\nbefore his sight irresistibly swept her exposure and, having won another point,\nshe casually covered up.

\n\n

“Grab a beer, have a seat (yours, my\nmaggie-luv, he thought)” she said, “I’m almost ready (for you again,\ngeorgie-sweets; we’re just gettin’ started)” and she left him in the doorway to\ngo finish dressing, closing her bedroom door behind her. Maggie bought fussy beers that could not be\njust twisted open and in lieu of a bottle-opener he cleanly clipped off the cap\nof his beer from a protruding brick from the fireplace (sharp; hot; her).

\n\n

She re-emerged obsolete-chic, dressed in a\nfitted black turtleneck sweater, a short plaid skirt, and knee-high boots;\nGeorge was dressed to not kill, conservative-blah this side of invisible. Maggie left a kiss print on his throat as\nthey departed, her mark, corvette red, that he’d wear loud and pristine for the\nrest of the day. They had rented a\nlimousine and rode miles out of town to one of the city’s surrounding hamlets,\nthe whole way keeping the partition between them closed and having tipped the\ndriver well up-front to mind his own damn business. They held hands while idly strolling the\nnarrow streets and window-shopping, their waning folk-rock recognition for once\nwelcome, and talked of movies, music, the weather, the store-front displays,\nlively speaking of anything except last night, thinking only of it. She knew with a smile every time he stole a\nglance at her backside and he thought all the while, with great satisfaction,\nof the scar of last night’s sex, the evidence of his presence, curtained under\nher skirt and tucked neatly between her cheeks. \nWithout discussion they’d decided on the same bistro, the same heavy\nfood, and as they ate she was pleased that rather than having cooked the meal\nshe had at least figured considerably into his improved appetite. During a pause in their chat, she caught and\nheld his eyes between bites and made a slow show of adjusting her seat,\nshifting her weight from one womanly-broad bun to the other.

\n\n

“Ouch” she grinned, “ – nice work, stud” but\nhe didn’t blanch. He instead reached\ninto his jacket and brought out the tarnished, low-gold band he’d given to her\nwhen they were kids but had secreted from her some time ago. Checkmate. \nGin. Game, Set, Match. He took her left hand and placed the ring\nover her third finger, incanting softly “With this ring, I do thee wed …” It had been re-sized, fit perfectly, and was\nstill junk. Maggie got teary. George said they’d shop for one worth a small\nmortgage tomorrow, and she told him to shut up, I want this one.

\n\n

They both felt far more comfortable for now\nnot really mentioning last night but for eye contact between them and its\npromise of the sex they knew they would someway do with each other, brother and\nsister, tonight and in subsequent nights, their perversity for now still\nclandestine even in the light of day and among normal people: regular guys and gals and other decent folk,\nand, paradoxically in spite of the sex-shop two blocks down the street in the\nother direction that they didn’t know was there – striping, raw-hide leather\nwhips, drop cloths, locking fur-lined steel handcuffs, and rubber masks and\ngags Since 1981– they assumed themselves for as long as they were anywhere but\nhome to be the whole goddamn world’s sole freak show. And relishing their deceit of all humanity,\nthey paid their bill and stole away from the restaurant and into the limo that\nthey had unnecessarily had parked hidden in back, slowly climbing\nover-around-and-again-over each other sealed within the confines of the\nbackseat, the car doors closed about them and the gravel parking lot crunching\nunder the tires as the limousine lumbered onto the asphalt road, wrestling\ngently, their quiet play novel given that they both knew, fully clothed and\nthis time well in advance of the act, that sex between them tonight would\nhappen as legitimate lovers would anticipate, this moment unbeknownst to either\nof them as an unnerving celebration of the twenty hour anniversary of when\nGeorge was first infinitely inside Maggie and she was trying to catch her\nbreath so she could then spend the ensuing forty seconds piteously suppressing\na cry to him to stop, it still doesn’t fit.

\n\n

Facing him, Maggie sat saddled in George’s\nlap and they smooched while the Cadillac rode them home through the rain. “I owe you a blow when we get back” she told\nhim, “and later we’ll make love properly; but don’t gag me, I’ll swallow” and she\nthen happily belched a hot fume of wine & garlic in his face.

\n\n

“While you’re so generously ingesting my\nseed – fruitlessly spent up your butt or down your throat – when do you mean to\nget pregnant?” George said and Maggie looked at him for a long moment,\nsilently, now her truths indefensible. \nShe curled up beside him, laying her head in his lap, and George petted\nher, massages segueing into molestations – rubbing her shoulder so as to\nsqueeze her breast, stroking her hip so as to pat her fanny – caressing and\ncopping feels, the two of them quietly listening to the wet road-noise humming\nup through the floorboards.

\n\n

“When did you know?” she asked after a time,\nthumping his knee with her fist.

\n\n

“You were too good last night – so much, so\nsuddenly. I’d have done anything for you\nanyway – and will; indebting me to you with what I’ve always wanted from you\nwas ambrosia. Banging your ass is a\nbribe I’ll be glad to exact from you regularly and frequently from now on.”

\n\n

“I’ll be healed in a few days; feel free.”

\n\n

“Not always, but another time you’ll have to\ngenuinely fight me; we’ll be arguing and mad at each other, and when we’re most\nloud and insulting and pissed-off, you’ll at that moment have to guess as to\nwhether we’ll reason out our differences – or I force you over something and we\nlisten to the crack of a paddle on your bare ass for a half-hour and I ass-rape\nyou between your stung buns for an hour after that – and afterwards agree only to\ndisagree with you. Between feedings, of\ncourse, or even before you’re too pregnant.”

\n\n

“I’ll bear that in mind tonight while you’re\ncumming in my mouth” and she gently closed her teeth over his thumb.

\n\n

They arrived in front of their building and\nthe driver assisted Maggie out of the car as if she were a queen. George tipped him half-again more and he gave\nGeorge his card and an assurance that he could be available again as ordered.

\n\n

Hand in hand, at Maggie’s door George\nstarted to continue upstairs to his apartment, pulling her along. “I’ve got drink and smokes” she said, pulling\nhim back. “As for the other, I’m still\nsore, and you’ve still other work to do. \nC`mere.”

\n\n

Her apartment smelled clean and fresh, and\ngiven the discrepancy he could only conclude that his place stunk. George imagined making Maggie cry out in his\nown bed, her face in his unwashed sheets, before this time next week and he\nhardened. She told him to make himself\ncomfortable as she left him in the main room, so he stripped naked and went to\nthe refrigerator for a beer. He this\ntime looked for a bottle opener and after a swig of brew he snooped for\nsomething slick and yet reasonably fit for oral consumption. He decided against vegetable oil in favor of\neither maple syrup or Cool Whip; Maggie had been stark naked from the bathroom\nsome thirty seconds before and had been watching George smear his erection with\nthe whipped cream, swirling the tip of his cock in the plastic tub, and\ngiggling she indicated he follow her into her bedroom.

\n\n

She turned on the stereo, and following her\ninto her room George turned it back off. \nA bell in the back of her mind rang with the feeble, imprecise alarm of\na wind-up clock, and listening to it weakly un-spring, she reminded herself\nthat given their origins, better her brother tonight – whatever he had in mind\n– than those hill-country pigs when she was twelve – their uncles, after their\nfather of course, if they hadn’t together run – and she stood hundreds of miles\nand a million dollars away at the head of her high, giant bed, facing George in\nthe failing light.

\n\n

“I’d have done you unadorned, ba – “ she\nstarted to say before he suddenly kissed her with a passionate strength that\nsurprised and dazed her enough for her to only somewhat register that he’d said\nthat he was in love with her and that this wasn’t going to be what she had\nexpected. He turned her facing from him\nas gracefully as if they were dancers and, lowering himself the length of his\nerection, he slipped the tip of his cock between her buttocks for the second\ntime in as many days and stood up through her newly compliant back-pocket –\nforgiving, subordinate yield born of last night’s carnage – as easily as if it\nhad always belonged there, embracing Maggie from behind and lifting her to just\noff her toes by the base of his meat at her anus.

\n\n

Maggie gasped and kicked and when the crown\nof her head crashed back against his cheekbone, George tasted a drop of his\nsister’s tear splash into his mouth.

\n\n

“Georgie…we have other business” she\nsniffled, still tender.

\n\n

He lowered her so she stood flat-footed\nagain but still held her close. She’d\nstopped clawing at him.

\n\n

“I want you to suck me off, Maggie, like in\nthe videos you know I’m so fond of; right after it’s been deep up your ass” he\nwhispered to her, and pumped her twice long and slowly for emphasis.

\n\n

“This isn’t the scary buttfuck you promised\nme?” stalling, delaying the fellatio; maybe he’ll finish this way and I’ll make\nhim wash, she thought.

\n\n

George thrust twice more, lifting Maggie off\nher heels. He let her back to her feet\nand stood behind her, motionless inside her, for a full minute, soaking himself\nin her implicit filth, she knew.

\n\n

When he spoke he thrilled and defeated her\nin one fell swoop. “My cock’s up your\nass, Maggie, and then it’s going to be in your mouth and you’re going to suck\nit and taste yourself and then I’m going to cum in your mouth and then you’ll\ntaste me, my sperm, your own brother’s semen, and then swallow it – all of\nit. Ready?”

\n\n

“Yes, baby, I will – but, really Georgie, I’m\nserious; you force me…you choke me, I chew. \nCareful?”

\n\n

George unhooked from his sister’s ass and\nwhen he sat at the edge of her bed she spun around and strode toward the\nbathroom. Maggie was in possession of a\nblued, snub-nose, five-shot .357 magnum – and a box of hollow-point rounds –\nthat he knew she knew how to, and had before, fired, egregiously so, one time\nyears ago when they were kids in defense of themselves, after money for which\nthey’d performed, for food and a room, had been denied them and their mere\nsurvival was in question. She fisted her\nmedicine cabinet and scattered everything but what she walked away with, and\ncircling back she curtsied in her closet for some other items and flung the lot\nof her gatherings at his face as she walked back through the bedroom into the\nkitchen: the crass tube of lube, an\nequally vulgar butt-plug – a D-cell, 9 volt quaker, unchristened – and a wooden\nping-pong paddle and two pairs of novelty handcuffs variously bounced and\nclanged off George’s forehead into his lap. \nMaggie dragged a narrow, straight-back chair into the bedroom and\npropped it firmly to the foot of her bed. \nShe straddled it backwards and folded her arms over the chair back,\nresting her chin, not shooting him.

\n\n

“Tonight won’t be so easy for either of us,\nhuh Georgie?”, she told him while locking each of her own wrists around the\nchair back to the iron rungs of the footboard, either cuffs’ trigger within a\nfingertip’s touch of the other, and gripping the bars as if jailed. “’Gimme, gimme, gim-meh the honky-tonk blues–\nawlright’” she sang to him and let him unclip then clap the free ends of the\nhandcuff clasps each one rung farther apart and out of her reach. He put a pillow between her head and the chair\nback and tied Maggie’s ankles to the chair’s forelegs with neckties she’d\nstolen from him, dumb ones she knew he’d just as soon not wear anyway.

\n\n

Maggie laid her face to the side of the\npillow and so luxuriated in her restraints that he had to re-secure her ankles,\nand he watched her muscles again tense, smooth tensility running from her\ncalves up her thighs and over her buttocks through her back and shoulders. He kissed the nape of her neck and liberally\nre-greased her anus, doping the blued, still-oily wreckage of her rectum’s\ncrushed virginity and her hole twitched at the touch. George fell to his knees behind Maggie and\nkissed both of her buns – cool, soft and smooth, as tenderly as if each were an\ninfant’s forehead, especially smooching the teeth-prints he’d left in her a\ndozen years ago when they were each last innocent of the other’s body and\nfirst, if obliviously, wild for the other’s sex – and licked her anus in and\naround like lapping the icing off a donut, tonguing her asshole, her\neye-wide-open then emitting a methane puff of exhaust in his face (he heard her\nabove him smile to herself) and he burrowed further, inhaling from her furrow,\ntasting crude and breathing-in her rich, rural soil.

\n\n

“I’m gonna mark you again, Maggie” and so\nshe rolled the meat of her buttocks off the chair’s seat and into his mouth,\nand George slowly sank his teeth into the most outward fleshy aspect of\nMaggie’s left ass-cheek, leaving a neat set of bite marks opposite the perfect\nscars he’d left on her right that had years ago healed into faint indentations\nthat only a doctor could get close enough to question and only a lover would\nrecognize. “Bite me, Georgie” she\nwhispered to him without the least hint of humor or venom, “ – mark me again”\nwhile her rump quivered in his jaws. He\nun-punctured his teeth from her, having forever precluded her modeling of a\nthong bikini, or otherwise have to explain those perfect bite marks to all who\nalready silently suspected almost worse than their own sick thoughts regarding\nthemselves to the extent that no one ever said anything (unthinkable; as clouds\npassing behind the sun, as wanton a suggestion that the Olsen Twins are queer\nfor each other) of her own brother’s taste for her that she knew she’d never\nreally deny if asked, nor even deny she loved and courted. He kissed away his boo-boo of her with the\ngreedy covetousness of an animal.

\n\n

§§§

\n\n

Maggie had held the gun that they’d brought\ndown with them, and George had carried the guitar, a twelve-string – their\nvaluables in lieu of provisions. They\nlay wrapped together in army surplus overcoats, hidden from yesterday and\ntomorrow both for that one first night without a roof over them, bordering\nsomewhere that wasn’t home, breathing no louder than cooing to one another\nrequired; thirteen, and a small cannon resting armed, un-hammered, between\nthem.

\n\n

They survived well, though: $300 dollars a night, cash money, for three\nhours Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights – no questions asked, and the\noccasional complementary case of cheap beer that back-when would last them a\nmonth – performing at roadhouses where roughnecks cashed their checks and\ncollege kids went slumming with their allowances.

\n\n

Maggie couldn’t really beat-up her brother\nanymore after they were fifteen but she didn’t stop trying until one night when\nthey were sixteen. They’d all their\nlives slept together under a common blanket, and still for years after George\nhad stolen them away from off the mountains a long time ago – a Saturday night\nor two before any of their uncles, and maybe even their own father, might have\nher – and as children had clung to each other in the same bed in any lonely\nmotor inn that would admit them.

\n\n

They’d begin sleep every night appropriately\nenough, lying away from the center of the bed, but awake the next morning\ngenerally together in the middle – sprawled at odds and tangled in each other’s\nlimbs and hair, dried drool adhering their lips, their noses touching – and in\nthe interim, for the hours of their most still, unconscious dream state, fit\nclose and flush as spoons but for the ten minutes, 2 or 3 times a week,\nsomewhere in the early, quietest part of the dark, when Maggie would dimly\nawaken and become drowsily aware of George bumping at her backside. His wet dreams hadn’t involved her until they\nwere fourteen and he was waking up hard against his sister’s newly nubile booty\nwith what felt like a croquet mallet down the front of his underwear, and\ntugging his bulge out stiff through his briefs, he’d rub and nudge his wand\nbare against the soft weave stretched taut across Maggie’s beautifully\nbroadening girly butt. For the first\nmonths she’d just wait him out, pretending to sleep through it until his loamy\nwet-heat happened and they could both sleep again, her inseams gluey and his\ndrying stain starching her panty’s seat and padded cotton crotch (he wet the\nbed, she’d chide, for the three days each month she was bitchy and off-limits\nto any more than ‘goodnight ’ and a handshake). \nBut used to it and hidden from him alongside his front, she’d begun to\nparticipate: snaking her forefinger\nthrough the lower leghole of her panties and discreetly twiddling herself off\nwith her brother, cumming her tidy orgasms – cute, as she thought of them,\npretty chirps of pleasure unlike the racking, tacky messes her brother’s dick\nsicked-up and left coagulating between them – that were no more than squeezing\nher thighs and arching as if stretching in her sleep while George polluted\nher.

\n\n

She’d have missed it if it had stopped;\nhell, they had always been rubbing uglies and discovering new touchy-feely\nhandfuls of each other while growing up – hair-pulling and more hair-pulling\nbegat breast-grabbing begat ball-squeezing then break! until the next time\neither needed an advantage over the other (and one morning just last week she’d\nawakened with her nose in his fly, rolling off without his knowing) – but this\nuse and indulgence, somnambulate or not, they both knew, crossed some line\nbeyond what either could fake as anything but adult: unclean and as good as only being blessedly\nbad can feel, particularly the night they knew he wanted to wear her and their\npretending ended; when he reached under her head and held her across the chest\nat her bosom, and clamped his left hand atop her hipbone – strapped into him,\nfor driving power – and rocking her back and forth onto him, he began jabbing\nat her some harder with rude, rutting prods perpendicular to her crescent and\ncrevice both: haphazardly, vainly,\nknocking at her cracks upper and lower behind her sheathed in a film of\nundergarment that blocked the direct access into Maggie that he suddenly had to\nhave – in turns squashing her breast and buns and riding her with jarring\ngouges at her backside that were now no mere masturbatory amusement and sought\nto rip past her underpants and barge into her body. She reached back for his hand and squeezed as\nhe was finishing on her, then unbelted from him and got out of bed as though an\nunrelated thought had just occurred to her: \nis the door locked? were the\nblinds drawn?

\n\n

“What’s this?” she said, nervously, not\nasking, standing in the dark and brushing at her seat bottom over the wet spot,\nas if she’d been out-cold all those times before.

\n\n

“Come back to bed, Maggie” not answering, he\nsaid, mortified, re-packaging himself, “ – I’m sorry (i got caught and it’s\nback to beating-off by myself over lingerie ads; but i do so dearly love you).”

\n\n

“(i’m not ready) Be nice” she said, cowed,\nand climbed close again under the covers with him, and the next day turned the\nroom’s air unit down to sixty on her way out the door to buy them each a pair\nof heavy flannel pajamas and a family-size quart bottle of cocoanut oil. George was in a pawnshop across the street\nbuying her a promise ring.

\n\n

From then on for the next year, every third\nor fourth night, she’d emerge from the bathroom cupping a pool of the bath oil\nin her hands and clap over his lap while he was in bed watching monster movies,\nand they’d as well do battle. Wearing\nthe small cheap diamond these nights – on her right hand and still not letting\nhim lay her – Maggie always won in the beginning: sitting on his chest with her ass in his face\nand farting up his nose when she could manage, pinning him beneath her and\nwatching TV while oily jacking-off her brother and trying not to be fascinated\nwith his penis any more than what it took to relieve them both of his\nmiddle-night emissions (“Leak now, Georgie, or forever hold your piece!”). He stayed happily trapped under her while her\nbejeweled right fist pumped him and as he outgrew her hand, but his discharge\nstill just a pubescent sploog, a dribble she’d smear back down his dick and\nthen go wash her hands of before she’d crawl under the covers with him so they\ncould both sleep.

\n\n

By the time they were fifteen, he knew to\njust lay there quietly those nights, shirtless, while she jacked him off\nthrough his pajama fly and he’d lazily squeeze her buns through her pajama\nbottoms, and she subsequently found herself not trying to pass gas in her dumb\nbrother’s face, now disinterested in the joke. \nMaggie had begun wearing a designated tee shirt as George’s drips grew\nto become greater geysers, leaping out at and all over her front, and in their\nsixteenth year, globs of her brother’s spunk were getting caught in her hair;\nwhen one night his whole load was dripping off her face and from the end of her\nnose, she from then on lay at his side to masturbate him.

\n\n

After months of this – handling him, and for\nthe past year having watched and felt him get longer and stronger, all over and\nin every sense – as thick as her wrist, and wiry hair even, in places where he\nwas once as smooth as she – and aware he had been, for more time than she was\nwilling to admit knowing, letting her win – Maggie was frustrated with him for\nreasons neither of them were old enough to know anything about, and fisting her\npalm oily over her twin brother’s cock, teasing him for being so\ndisproportionate (when her tits didn’t really fit on her own frame, let alone\npressed under the old shirt she wore) George swirled his tongue inside Maggie’s\near, and instead of playing away from him – in the throes of ovulation, herself\nespecially horney – she spent the first nicest five minutes of her brother’s\nlove life bruising his lower throat with a hickey. When she wouldn’t let him sex her neck in return,\nfor appearance’s sake, he strong-armed her around and over the bed’s edge,\nhooked down her pajama bottoms, and bit her caboose, her cool,\nsixteen-year-old’s buttermilk booty; she yelled at him, laughing, without\nreally trying to stop him, not even when she felt his penis recklessly poking\naround behind her, and she let him pull her shirt up her back and over her head\nand off. Maggie threw the crusty shirt\naside off the foot of the bed and rolled over to slap George’s face for letting\nhim make her naked; but they instead just looked at each other for a long time\nafter what a laugh was worth while the 10 p.m. news droned on in the\nbackground. George began kissing Maggie,\na salivating series of honest passions and their first that wasn’t just a\nsmoochy excuse to belch in the other’s face – cupping one of her bare breasts\nin his hand and for the first time in his life putting his tongue in her mouth\nas a gesture of affection rather than to bother her – and Maggie as sloppily\nkissed him back, their first as lovers and their eyes wide open throughout, he\nsearching hers for permission and she, his, for signs of intent. She then quietly rolled back over with her\nface in the bedsheets, topless and with her pajama bottoms still bunched around\nher knees. George tripped out of his own\npajama pants and mindlessly, too-quickly jammed his bone forward slick between\nMaggie’s buns and through her butt’s clenched-fist virginity. He stood from his knees to his heels,\nanchored inside his sister and hearing her plead with him in hushed shouts that\nhe was in the wrong hole, it’s too big, georgie, you’re in the wrong hole, and\nhe’d never heard her – guttural – so need him to summarily do – or stop doing –\nanything before with such choked urgency. \nMaggie clawed at the bed mattress for the first several seconds, even\nthrowing herself deeper onto him to buck him off, before she reached back with\nboth hands to push him out of her body. \nHe grabbed her wrists and brought them around toward her head, only to\nhave her cooperatively pull their hands together beneath her between her\nbreasts as if they were in tandem prayer to ensure as well he stayed\ninside. He squatted flat-footed over her\nhips and, pile-driving his weight from his feet 45 degrees down into her,\nGeorge began inexpertly cannonballing up his twin sister’s ass twice as fast as\ntime is generally measured and Maggie barked hoarse-voice cries of shock –\nyelps, ‘ah-ah-ah’ – at each of his 180 or so punches up her can in only the\nminute and a half they fucked before he abruptly stopped deep, blew her full\nwet-cement molten inside her, and fell out. \nMaggie bolted to her feet from him, clutching at her back crack and\nhurrying toward the bathroom. He heard\nher lock the door behind her and turn the bathtub spigots on full.

\n\n

She didn’t reappear until after the\nlate-movie had begun, tied into a heavy bathrobe, shielded within two pair of\npanties, and wearing a tampon two weeks in advance of her period, tucked-up\ninside her in the wrong hole.

\n\n

“I bleed often enough without any help from\nyou” she said with weepy, forced cheer, climbing back into bed with her brother\nas he lay huddled, bewilderedly apologizing to her, and rolling over into her\nembrace, he nosed open the front of her robe and suckled from her tit and she\nlet him. Eight years would pass before\neither of them would again take a serious run at the other; she kept the ring\non her person, but didn’t wear it anymore.

\n\n

§§§

\n\n

The cartoon grease had numbed her anus and\nMaggie didn’t know it wasn’t George’s cock again inside her until the base of\nthe conical butt-plug popped past her rectum and her ring snapped closed over\nit. She couldn’t reach it and she\ncouldn’t excrete it, her wrists comfy-cuff shackled to the footboard of her own\nbed one-too-many rungs apart, the easy-releases just beyond her\nfingertips. She gripped the wrought-iron\nbars, listening to her brother move around behind her. George then flicked-on the switch.

\n\n

The toy rattled loud, louder, even snuffled\nup Maggie’s ass, than either of them thought discreet, and they both startled,\nlaughing at the racket. George kissed\nthe back of her neck, patted her right butt cheek, and left the room, leaving\nher to the device.

\n\n

For the first few minutes, Maggie bumped and\nground her pelvis in some rhythm of her own in lieu of music in time to the\ntoy’s buzz in her butt; by the fourth minute she was trying to pry the\nfootboard’s bars free of their welds and her pussy had hopelessly stained the\nchair’s upholstery. After the fifth\nminute Maggie had already cum once and was calling over her shoulder to George\nto fuck her ass, we’ll get me pregnant tomorrow, just buttfuck me now, georgie,\nfuck me, please fuck my ass georgie, she begged her brother while he waited in\nthe kitchen, smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer. She heard him rummage through a drawer and\nrun the ice machine and thought she had no whiskey.

\n\n

George listened to Maggie groan, wail, then\noutright beg him for two minutes more before he returned to her with a small\nbowl of shaved ice and stood behind her over the sweaty, panting neediness that\nused to be his sister’s willfulness. He\ncrossed his left arm over her chest, holding her steady to him, her right\nbreast in his cold palm, and he made clear to her what he wanted. She didn’t try to see the small oar he held\nin his right hand.

\n\n

“You’ll suck my cock, Maggie” of course you\nwill, love.

\n\n

“No; make me” yes, of coarse I will georgie,\negging, begging him on.

\n\n

Spank; as he’d wanted and she’d\nexpected. George had brought the\npaddle’s sandpaper surface down flat on Maggie’s right bun; it got her\nattention, stinging more so than she had thought it would, but she kissed his\nforearm instead of chewing off a bite.

\n\n

The toy still hummed Maggie’s anus, less so\nhowever, as the batteries began to run down.

\n\n

Spank, again. A pink sunburn partially eclipsing her right\nwhite moon, and the long ago love-bite grinned back at him from its center in a\nkind of smiley-face from their adolescence that stood out against the blush\nsolar backdrop.

\n\n

“I’ll get you pregnant, Maggie” George\nsaid, “and you’ll have our babies; but first you’ll suck my cock when I bring\nit to your mouth, fresh out of your ass, and you’ll swallow my cum when I\nspunk.”

\n\n

Spank, “Say you’ll suck my cock clean,\nMaggie” and another spank, “…and drink my sperm.”

\n\n

Three more spanks in quick succession\n(sharp; hot; him) and Maggie agreed to her brother’s demands, verbatim. George pressed a handful of the crushed ice\nto her moon glow, handling, cooling her cheek, melting the ice-shavings over\nher fevered buttock, and then plucked the plug from her anus and spread her\nbuttocks; he stepped up inside her as easily as boarding an elevator,\nre-inserting his cock completely back up her ass and thrusting three times\nhard, holding the third stroke stuck far up inside her for a full minute –\nmarinating, she knew – then another several, slower, thorough pumps, and he\nbacked out. He unshackled her wrists and\nunknotted the ties at her ankles, eased Maggie off of the chair standing, and\ntook the seat facing her; she started to re-secure herself around him to the\nbed rungs, but he drew her by her waist to him and kissed her womb, then tugged\nat her hips for her to kneel before him, freed and of her own volition, while\nhis cock was still ripe with her lower bowels. \nShe knelt close into his lap, sitting on her heels, her mouth hesitating\nat his tip, and he cradled her head in his hands, careful to not pull. She brushed his point across her lips,\npainting her mouth with a trace of seminal gloss and the discolored goo she\nknew to be the tainted white George had used to facilitate this unorthodox\nseasoning of her next feed, and she thought again that far better this –\npreferable, even righteous – than her uncles or her father had the boy and girl\nnot stolen away one night forever, and reaching around his waist, holding on to\nhis buttocks, Maggie then took the bulbous head and first four inches of her\nbrother’s cock into her mouth and began sucking hard as if she intended to pull\nhis semen directly from his testicles well in advance of his ejaculation: like trying to drink a particularly thick\nmilkshake through a huge but peculiarly narrow straw, failing to forget that\nthis moment’s mouthful had just moments before been parked up her shitter.

\n\n

George felt his sister suck his fat cock,\npulling, as if she meant to uproot him – as much vacuum as motion, using the\nentire inside surface of her mouth and her lips and tongue to draw strong and\nhard, jawing and swallowing on him with slow, untiring sucks – looking on his\nsister’s pretty blonde head bobbing dutifully deeper between his thighs as she\nbecame better acquainted with her brother’s big dick touching the back of her\nthroat: servicing him, a slurping,\nslobbering oral wash of his penis clean of her own bowel’s residual\ncream-sweetened mucus, her breath steamy, sweating his stem, and her palate\nsoft and her tongue lolling and circling, her lips pursing over him in an\never-varying embouchure – her mouth was animated around his cock with motions\nall its own from the bounce of her face between his legs and he looked on while\nshe blew him and dusk devolved day into dark; seeing, feeling Maggie blow him,\nhis sister, his twin sister, tasting his beef thick-twitching and feverish in\nher mouth, and inhaling through her nostrils the musk his loins generated in a\nfume right under her nose so pungent he was sure she was tasting that also.

\n\n

George kept his hands on Maggie’s head in\nsome form or another the entire time – stroking her scalp or cupping her face\nin his palms, hanging her hair behind her ears so as to better see his fuck of\nher sweet face – and in the last moments, when he felt his reservoirs roiling\non the verge of another unique sexual reckoning with his own sister, she felt\nhim firmly ease her head and mouthful of him back to no more than two inches –\nbut no less; her face immobilized by him at the base of her skull and with a\nhard half-pound of penis throbbing in her mouth, she resisted the urge to\nclutch at his wrists and instead dug her nails into his ass-flesh. She rolled her eyes up to meet his and they\nlooked into each other’s souls as his fingers tightened behind her neck and his\nevery muscle tensed.

\n\n

“Start swallowing, Maggie” panting, George\ngasped as his orgasm charged up his piss-stalk toward his sister’s face, and\nMaggie felt her brother’s cock in her mouth pulse three times in one-second\nintervals before – ‘uuuaahh’ she heard him heave – on the fourth it disgorged a\nfibrous, liquid wad of sperm – syrupy brine and pooling over her tongue, then\nlumpy cream-of-vinegar and filling her mouth – and she momentarily held, then\nswallowed, each hot glut sequentially as she was fed them – five loads in all,\nand a sixth shuddering squirt – struggling to taste then eat her brother’s\nacrid ejaculations as they threatened to either drown her or overflow from\naround her lips.

\n\n

She milked his softening erection afterward\nfor another while longer – hungrily, not unlike how he’d nursed from her\nbreasts after their disastrous first fuck years ago – taking larger and larger\nmouthfuls of his penis as it went flaccid until she could roll it around whole\nin one fat mouthful.

\n\n

Maggie then leapt into George’s lap, and\nholding him by the base of his skull, locking her mouth against his, she jammed\nher tongue between his lips into his mouth and forced him to taste with her his\nsperm and the latent dirt of her lower intestine.

\n\n

“I want to watch you… I want to see you do\nyourself” he confessed, their meld still fresh on his breath.

\n\n

Maggie danced off his lap and into bed,\nplopping spread-eagled onto pillows and bedsprings, and awaited her audience of\none as he was seated, away, at a distance by the footboard.

\n\n

“Oooo,\nbaby” she began, stoking her pussy and wetting her lips, showing-off, “ – ooo-yeah, Georgie, I love you spunking your cum hot & salty in my mouth, sticky and – “.

\n\n

“Shhh” George smiled, “Just touch yourself,\nand watch me watch you” he said,

\n\n

the stimuli arcing as\nelectric ticks and twitches disbursed from her pussy to her face and between\nher silky jumping inner thighs, half bicycling her legs parted akimbo as if to\nrun to or escape her own hand, in full view of her brother looking in on this\nparty with herself that no one should be privy to – when we cause ourselves\nrevealing noises and motions no one should hear or witness, involuntary bodily\noccurrences and their accompanying sounds and smells, however necessary, let\nalone happily, pleasurably indulgent – and sinking into self-consciousness as\nher fingers sank through her vulva, shy at what was happening to her while she\nwas doing herself, she looked away, closing her thighs tight over her fingers,\nunable to continue watching George watch her while his cock just there lay\nthere, sated and sleepy.

\n\n

She looked up again at him when he put his\nhand to her knee, sitting at her feet, and she rested her hand on his shoulder\n– he holding her open while she held on, leaning into him, steadied but\nsquirming, inclined to double-over or thrash-about – hide or perform – but not\nto be just…observed… and her leg parted aside he kissed her mouth, her lips\nslack, she kissing back as if an afterthought, moving her lips as some read to\nthemselves, while she busied with this new humility, this vulnerable excess.

\n\n

Her body was a live collage, her nipples candied\nstones atop cinnamon wafers; her pubic hair trimmed short and sculpted, a mousy\noff-blond doormat welcoming his face for a visit; drumming at her clitoris, her\neyes inky, dilating black, and her smile lost as her concentration narrowed.

\n\n

George laid her back against the headboard\nand she drew her heels up to near her butt, her brother’s face descending\nbetween her legs, and she wished wrong could never be so tortuously right.

\n\n

George licked Maggie, legato, match-strike\nspikes and surges of almost-fire desire at her clitoris. Her bun smarted and her anus complained still\nof last night’s pummeling, but her pussy got the apology and she let him atone;\nnothing’d be exacted of her for the rest of the evening, she knew, but to lay\nback and enjoy for as long as his mouth worked or she fell asleep, one. Her brother’s lips and kisses swam her\nsurface every few minutes round-trip from her crotch across her abdomen\nundulating to her breasts, tip-nipple pebbled areolae, detouring to lift her\narms in turn and suck her armpits, drinking in all her smells this evening;\nlicking her neck, ears, and kissing her mouth, his cock dragging heavily\nbetween her legs and over her belly like a wet mop, then the return round-trip\ndirect to her vulva and the knob of her clitoris.

\n\n

She watched her brother’s blond scalp nod\nand turn within the peace-V her thighs made, finding that she wanted to as\nselfishly pump him full of her as he’d been lately filling her body, and she\nlaced her fingers behind his head, rough-riding him as marvelously hard as he’d\nbeen on her ass the other night.

\n\n

“oooo, your spunk’s so good – hot down my throat,\nand up my butt, georgie…eat my pussy, baby…fuck me with your mouth, luv”, etc,\netc, …porn-queen script, and yet the purest of heats, as old as humanity.

\n\n

When it was time, she\npulled hard his nose and mouth inside her and tightened her thighs around his\nhead – her brother smothered in cunt, hers – and she felt her groin go off –\nrack-rack, shudder – like a pillow-fight burst of down.

\n\n

§§§

\n\n

But\nmorning for them arrived an hour before sunrise as they wordlessly moved on\neach other in the dark. He had been\nlistening to her breathing, uneven, betray her wakefulness (as it had when they\nwere kids), and rolling her onto her back she opened her legs. He saddled between her thighs, her limbs\neasing around him, and posting his arms to either side of her ribs, he slowly\nbore into her body with the persistent momentum of a braking locomotive,\nfeeling her hymen give way like wet kleenex, though she flinched at the\nfour-inch mark on his way to the bottom. \nShe had hooked her heels under his buttocks, but couldn’t place her\nhands, wandering the stringy, bunching muscles of his chest and upper back and\narms for a hold of him – an eager apprentice unsure of how to assist – then\nstraight-arm planted her palms to his shoulders, pinning herself under him and\nher breasts floating, flopping atop the lazy waves of their ride while he\nrepeatedly nailed her pelvis to the mattress, drilling her with the unaltered up-down\nrigidity of an oil rig, reliably mining her well, bringing a single drop of\nblood to the surface.

\n\n

It didn’t last long and the Earth remained\non its axis, her orgasm just a quietly gratifying whoosh of comfort, as subtle\nas a furnace suddenly alive with warmth, and he as well came inside her as\npeacefully as a sigh, impregnating his sister, she conceiving.

\n\n

§§§

\n\n

At noon they were at High Mass at St.\nPeter’s. They’d made bad confessions and\nwere sure the other parishioners knew. \nLovers recognize other lovers, and their body language gave them away;\nbut only God remembered them.

\n\n

The End

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