Sibling Sex Ch. 01

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All the characters in this story are over the age of 18. A big thank you to SecondSamuel for his support and encouragement with my writing!

What you’re about to read is the entirely factual recounting of how my sister and I became something… more. I realize that might sound ridiculous, but what I’m about to tell you is 100 percent true. I’ve kept it secret for almost 20 years and only just recently decided I should share the story – anonymously, of course! I hope you enjoy and encourage you to leave feedback!

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Hello there, and thanks for finding my story!

My name is Jeremy, and if you have the time, I’d like to tell you the story of how I became sexually involved with my sister. This story’s true, but like the show says, “the names have been changed to protect the innocent.”

My sister, Shelly, is a year-and-a-half younger than me, and without a doubt, my best friend. She’s an incredible person – smart, funny, easy to talk to and insanely attractive. Long before I saw her in a sexual light, I knew my sister was something special. She’s a tall brunette, probably 5’10, with an athletic body; you know the kind – strong, toned legs like a track star with gorgeous shoulders and arms. Luckily, her athletic figure doesn’t diminish her sensuality. She’s also got an amazing ass and small, pert breast. If you’re into large tits, you might be disappointed, but as we’ll get to later, their quality can’t be denied!

Even when we were younger, Shelly got a lot of attention. Before her body blossomed, her gorgeous face would stop people dead in their tracks. Even though our parents wouldn’t let her wear makeup or tight-fitting clothes, her beauty shone through. Objectivity is hard, if not impossible, but trust me when I say she’s one of the most attractive, non-Photoshopped women you’ll ever see.

Now, I don’t want you to think I’m a troll; like Shelly, I’m also tall, athletic, and if you’ll pardon the humble brag, decently attractive. I’m not trying to be cocky, and I’m definitely not saying I’m as good looking as my sister, but as the saying goes, the mirror doesn’t lie!

On those rare occasions when I got to see my sister in casual clothes or sleepwear, such as a Saturday morning when we weren’t rushing to school or church, I couldn’t help but take notice of how beautiful she was. I felt conflicted, looking at my sister with lust in my heart, but in a strange way, it made sense. How could you not appreciate someone so sexy?

I’ve alluded to the fact that my parents were strict, but I think a more in-depth explanation will help you understand our circumstances. My family is very, very well off. Without getting too specific, my father, Gary, found a way to become obscenely wealthy. The son of an alcoholic electrician, he grew up dirt poor in Oklahoma and nearly killed himself in his quest to become rich. You’d think that someone who rose from poverty to become a multi-millionaire would feel a sense of accomplishment, but no – the man is never satisfied and rarely happy. Given his constant irritation, my sister and I constantly walked on eggshells.

My mother, Janet, is an attractive but shrill woman who, thanks to her husband’s income, never had to worry about a career. Instead, she focused her overbearing attention on her children and church. Even now, as an adult, I have no clue what my mother likes, only what she doesn’t. “This world is full of temptation and sin,” she’d always say. “If you let your guard down, even for a minute, then you’ll lose your soul.”

With their success and good looks, my parents could have been the king and queen of the local social scene. Sadly, they had no interest in making friends. Their religious mindset caused them to constantly judge Shelly and me; even the smallest offense or curse word was met with harsh punishment. We weren’t allowed to spend the night at our friend’s houses and we certainly weren’t allowed to date. Our only social opportunities were organized sports and youth group at church.

My sister and I are both strong athletes. Shelly played volleyball and ran track and I swam competitively. But outside of those settings, we didn’t have a social life. Our parents were regarded as strange, and sadly, we all got thrown in together in the gossip mill. People assumed we were as uptight as our parents. Shelly and I didn’t help the situation much; it’s impossible to be raised by weirdos and not wind up a little quirky. But despite being quiet and socially immature, my sister and I were relatively well-adjusted. We were polite to everyone, got good grades and were well liked by our teachers and youth ministers.

My sister and I were also exceedingly polite to each other. Even as kids, we didn’t bicker. In fact, we wound up as each other’s support system. If our mom yelled at Shelly, I’d go out of my way to make her laugh and she’d do the same for me. As we grew up, we came to rely on each other more and more.

After I turned 18, I noticed that things between Shelly and myself ankara escort began to change. We were still just as polite and friendly to each other, but a shy distance grew between us. At the time, I didn’t understand why she’d blush when I joked with her, or why, when our eyes would meet from across the dinner table, she’d look down in shame. I became paranoid that I’d done something to make her uncomfortable and worried I was losing my only friend.

Looking back, it’s obvious that our parents’ obsessive vigilance and unwillingness to let us venture out in the world contributed to the unconventional evolution of our sibling dynamic. When horny kids can’t leave the house to find people to “play” with, they’ll find someone closer to, or actually in, home. It’s ironic really, how completely my parents failed in their attempt to keep us pure and sin-free. Thankfully, their loss turned out to be my gain!

Now that we’ve got the exposition out of the way, let’s get to the good stuff!

Things between Shelly and I came to a head on her 18th birthday. Shelly had spent her entire life counting down the days to when she’d become an adult and gain the freedom she’d been longing for. I’ll never forget her excitement when she asked our mom if she could have a coed party and her heartbreaking disappointment when our mother flatly denied her request.

“We’ll be visiting your grandparents that weekend.”

Stung, my sister took a moment, then attempted a counterargument.

“It’s not that I don’t want to see Mimi and Pop Pop, I’m always excited to see them…” I could tell Shelly was being careful not to betray her frustration. “But it’s my 18th birthday! I really wanted to go to a movie or maybe have some friends over for dinner or…”

My sister found herself on the receiving end of one of our mother’s patented glares and immediately stopped talking. She knew protesting would only make things worse.

After a long, awkward pause, my mother’s glare turned to a smile. “I know your grandparents are excited to spend your birthday with you. And don’t forget, they’re the only grandparent’s you’ll ever have.”

“Yes, mom.”

Properly shamed, Shelly turned and walked out of the room. As she retreated, she glanced over to where I was sitting at the table, pretending to be invisible so as to not get dragged into their awkward exchange. I could see the hurt burning in her eyes and my heart broke for her.

Both my sister and I were accustomed to our parent’s overbearing methods and we’d both learned how to cope. Awful though it was, I knew Shelly would bounce back quickly. Sure enough, an hour later, I heard her singing in her bedroom, which was right across the hall from mine.

As great as it was to visit our grandparents, getting there was a pain. The trip was comprised of a mind-numbing three-and-a-half-hour drive through rural Oklahoma. My grandparents lived two miles outside a small, rural town on a hay farm. As you’ll learn later in this tale, my sister and I had to find unique was to entertain ourselves.

The one nice aspect of the trip was that we rode in style. Like clockwork, my dad bought my mom a new SUV every two years. Even though we were young adults, my sister and I would ride in the third row, as far away from our parents as possible. We were allowed very few opportunities to express our autonomy, so it was fun to hide away in the back and feel some small semblance of independence.

During one of these boring Friday night drives through the sticks, Shelly and I got a little restless and out-of-hand, or as it were in this case, feet. We were both on opposite ends of the far-back bench seat, facing each other in the dark, and we were play-wrestling – using our feet (socks, no shoes) to kick and annoy one another. It was all in good fun; we were laughing at our immaturity while simultaneously trying to stay quiet and avoid annoying our parents.

I remember clearly, I had one of my feet on her inner thigh and was attempting to turn her sideways when my foot slipped up her leg and landed squarely on her crotch.

We both froze, my foot still pressed between her legs. I still remember the heat radiating from her thighs. After a long moment, my brain clicked back on and embarrassment overtook me. I started to remedy the situation, but before I could pull my leg back, and to my everlasting surprise, Shelly gave me a wicked grin and pressed herself forward.

Unnerved by her bold behavior, I quickly jerked my leg away. But, the damage was done. The inadvertent contact triggered something deep within her and she resumed our game of footsie. However, instead of hastily jabbing at my legs and stomach, she began maneuvering her feet into my crotch.

In my shame and annoyance, I tried to swat her away, but she refused to back off. After a few minutes of aggressive pursuit, she leaned toward me and whispered, “please.” I looked over and found her grinning from ear to ear. I remember shrugging, as though to ask, ‘what escort ankara do you want me to do?’ In a move that made my heart pound, she pointed down at her crotch and whispered, “do that again.”

In that moment, she looked like a completely different person. She was still the same beautiful girl I’d known, but her unceasing insistence that I touch her in an inappropriate manner upset my emotional equilibrium. I did my best to shake my head ‘no,’ but I couldn’t think clearly.

Despite my resistance, the tension between us was making me really, insanely horny. You probably remember, or have witnessed, how little it takes for a young man to get turned on and the mindless fever of those raging hormones. That’s how it was for me; I was drowning in lust.

Her insistence, combined with my horniness, caused me to react. To my everlasting surprise, I turned in my seat, lifted my leg, and moved my foot forward until it was pressed into my sister’s crotch. Her reaction was immediate; for the first time, I watched someone use my body to pleasure themselves. Her expression was equal parts intense focus and enthralled ecstasy and she seemed to have no qualms about holding my gaze as she ground her crotch on my foot.

I don’t know if she came or not – it was all very surreal and my brain wasn’t able to fully comprehend the situation, but she rubbed herself on my foot with increasing speed and pressure until her eyes closed and she let out a small moan. I looked over my shoulder in terror but our parents seemed not to notice. When I looked back, Shelly was staring at me and biting her lip. I meekly smiled back, no clue what to do. Finally, after a blissful eternity, she shifted on the bench seat and returned the favor, sliding one of her feet into my crotch.

I’ll never forget the look of awe that enveloped her face when she first felt my erect penis. It was the first time a girl had touched me there and I was overwhelmed. The sensation was amazing – I felt like I was flying and paralyzed, all at the same time. Luckily, my sister was in full possession of her faculties. I didn’t know if she’d been planning this or if it was spontaneous, but she kept things moving. We pushed against each other, our feet exploring new horizons, for probably 10 minutes. We took our time, both of us savoring first contact.

Then, without warning, Shelly withdrew her foot, undid her seatbelt, and slid over to sit by my side — so close in fact that our legs were pressed together. I remember staring at her in disbelief. We sat there in quiet anticipation for a long moment until, at long last, she spoke.

“Can I see it?”

I remember feeling as though I was about to be torn in half. I was equal parts terrified and horny and could only sit there, motionless, as my thoughts played a vicious game of tug o’ war. Thankfully, my sister didn’t wait for me to decide; she reached her hand down and started rubbing my penis through my shorts. I remember looking at the front of the vehicle, terrified that our parents could see everything that was happening. But, as we were driving on a rural, two-lane highway at night, we were hidden by the dark and the middle bench seat.

Once I realized the coast was clear, my resistance died. Hands shaking, I unzipped my shorts and pulled out my penis.

I realized when I was younger that I’d been blessed with a large cock. I vividly remember looking down at my first few spontaneous erections and realizing I was blessed. In fact, I used to steal my mom’s sewing tape measure, lock myself in my room, and work up a massive erection so that I could measure myself. I’ve always had a bit of an exhibitionist streak, but we can discuss that some other time. Or, if your curiosity is getting the better of you, you’re welcome to ask me for a picture!

So, there I was, sitting next to my sister with my fully erect, decent sized cock freed from my shorts and pointing straight up. Without hesitation, Shelly reached down and started touching me. After our extended footsie session, she didn’t even have to stroke me; the touch of her hand as it circled around my cock was enough to bring me to a powerful orgasm. I was caught completely by surprise; I convulsed and pumped out at least three strong volleys of cum, most of which fell onto her hand.

Once she felt my cum land on her palm and fingers, she froze. A few seconds later, I was hit by an immense wave of shame. I pulled my still-hard cock from her hand and mashed it back into my shorts, all the while trying not to cry. She sensed my discomfort, and without saying a word, moved away from me to the far end of the bench seat. We rode the rest of the way to our grandparent’s house in total silence.

Sitting there in the dark, I prayed for forgiveness. I hoped that if I kept my mouth shut and refused to acknowledge what happened between us, she’d move on and nothing of the sort would ever happen again. But that wasn’t how things played out.

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When we arrived at our grandparents’ ankara escort bayan house, I made short work of the customary hugs and hellos and excused myself for the evening by claiming I was tired and didn’t feel great. I retreated to the small bedroom that had been prepared for me and quickly climbed into bed. I clearly remember being terrified that my younger sister, in a moment of shameful humility, might confess what had happened. My pulse raced as I laid in bed, waiting for my father to kick the door open.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only half an hour, the kitchen light that shone under bedroom door was turned off and the house soon became still. Finally, I could relax. As my stress abated, my mind began to replay what had happened. The surprise and horny elation I’d experienced just an hour earlier began creeping back, and once again, my p became rock hard.

I replayed the entire incident, marveling at my sister’s audacity and how much I enjoyed it when she rubbed her crotch against my foot. I found myself wondering what she looked like without clothes. I also wondered what would have happened if we’d continued on after she made me cum. Would she have returned the favor and exposed herself to me? Would she have let me touch her?

The memory of her hand on my penis proved too intense to ignore and I reached down and began lightly stroking myself. It struck me how wonderful it was that someone had asked me to show them my penis and wanted to touch it. Did she like what she saw? Would she want to do it again? The memory of our encounter, combined my curiosity, proved too much. For the second time that evening, I came. I felt copious amounts of warm cum land on my stomach and reveled at the sensation.

It took only a few moments for my passion to recede and my shame to return. Concerned that my actions would be obvious if I didn’t clean myself, I slid out of bed and used the shirt I’d been wearing to mop up the effusive, warm mess dripping down my belly. I folded the stained shirt inward, shoved it to the bottom of my suitcase, then climbed back into bed and promptly fell asleep.

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I woke to find sunlight streaming through the windows and for a brief, oblivious moment, everything felt normal. Then, without warning, the memories of the prior night came rushing back. In the light of day, they seemed almost imagined. Had my sister really touched my penis? Had I really shot cum all over her hand? Surely that was all a dream, right?

The gravity of the situation began kicking a hole in my stomach. I wanted nothing more than to fall back asleep, preferably for the rest of my life. I knew I had no choice but to act like everything was normal and the longer I stayed hidden away, the more likely it was that my parents would become suspicious. So, after a few tedious minutes, I worked up the courage to leave the small bedroom and face my fate.

I still recall every detail from that morning. The feel of the cheap, corded carpet under my feet; the smell of homemade biscuits. Just beyond the door, my mother and grandmother were working together in the small kitchen to prepare breakfast. I was sure they’d be able to see the anguish in my eyes, so I smiled weakly as they greeted me and quickly moved on.

My grandfather was seated at the dining room table, and upon noticing me, he looked up from his newspaper and said, “‘morning, champ!”

We made small talk; he asked me routine questions about school and sports and I did my best to be polite and remain engaged. Just then, a motion from the next room caught my eye. I glanced over and saw Shelly lounging on a chair in the living room. My body tensed as a wave of nervous excitement washed over me. My grandfather continued talking, but I couldn’t tell you what he said.

Shelly had her head buried in a book and seemed not to notice me. I wondered if I was getting the cold shoulder and felt a pang of jealousy.

I also couldn’t help but regard my sister in a new, unconventional light. She was half-propped in the loveseat and her right leg was draped over the corresponding arm of the chair. She was wearing gym shorts and a t-shirt and it didn’t appear she was wearing a bra. I ran my eyes over her lifted leg, tracing the lines of her toned calf and thigh muscles, until my gaze moved to her crotch. A flush warmed the back of my neck, and fearing discovery, I forced my attention back to my grandfather.

“What’s the plan for today?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing much,” he replied. “Your parents want to go into town and visit the antiques store after breakfast. You interested?”

Even under normal circumstances, the thought of being stuck in a musty old antique shop would have been completely unappealing. I knew my parents would spend hours poring over junk they’d never buy and it’d be a complete waste of my day. As such, no one seemed surprised when I declined the offer. Whether or not my parents allowed me to refuse was another story.

Soon, the entire family was at the dining room table eating breakfast, and for the most part, it was business as usual. Routine dictated that I sit in my unofficial chair, directly across the table from Shelly. I kept my eyes down and my mouth shut.

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