Part 2: Burning Girls
Sandy’s pretty sure that Mum’s fucking her best friend. I’m not so sure.
My name’s Sally. Sandy’s my twin sister. They say that whenever twins are born there’s a sensible one and a not so sensible one. I’m the sensible one – or at least, that’s what I tell myself. She’d disagree. But whoever’s the sensible one Sandy’s the one that jumps to conclusions. That we can agree on. She’s actually pretty good at it, too. Well, most of the time.
So, our mother. Let’s be clear that I’m blowing my own horn a bit when I say our Mum is a fucking hot lady. I mean, for her age. Or even not, really – she’s a steamy-hot woman, there’s no doubt about it. Why’s that blowing my own horn? You guessed it: Sandy and I look pretty much exactly like she did when she was our age. Which means that as hot as she is, we’re that squared. Cubed, probably. Guys (and plenty of girls) go nuts for twins. Even twins that aren’t as good-looking as us.
And yeah, I guess people think we’re pretty vain. I sure would, reading that paragraph back. We play up to it, you know? In reality we both think we’re pretty plain – though Mum’s still hot, she’s got that cougar thing going on – a bit above average, sure, but the real appeal is what we look like when we’re both going down on a guy. Or at least, that’s what people think. Can you imagine? You’re looking down at the swollen head of your cock and two identical faces are licking at it, looking up every now and then? Looks fucking hot, doesn’t it?
Probably. We’ve never done that.
Well, okay. That’s a lie. We’d never done that by the time our story starts. We sure have by the time I’m writing this, though.
But not in this story. Sorry. Going to have to wait for that one.
I don’t really know why I’m writing this down. Sally’s not my real name, by the way. Sandy isn’t really Sandy, our Mum’s name isn’t Zinnia – you get the idea. Names have been changed to protect the guilty. Why those names? Mum’s written about our family before. Just silly little happy-family stories, stupid kids’ stuff. She doesn’t write any more but she’s said if she ever did that’s the names she’d use – Zinnia, Dane (our big dumb adorable brother), Sandy and Sally (I’m the youngest by three minutes). So they’re the names I’m using. If Sandy ever writes stuff down I’m going to make sure she uses the same names – she’s not really into writing, though. She’s into reading.
Maybe that’s why I’m writing this down? For her. I know she’ll read it after I’m done.
Are you reading this, sis? Have you got your fingers all nice and wet thinking about what’s going to happen? You KNOW what’s going to happen. You were there, after all.
But I’m writing it for you, too, the reader whom I don’t know. You’re a guy or a girl or maybe a couple. Maybe you’re transgender or intersex or gay or straight. I don’t know. I don’t care, either, to be completely honest. You’re welcome here, in the soft, tight, wet squishiness of my mind. Play with yourself while you read. I like imagining that. To tell you the truth I’m probably going to have to stop now and then to do the same.
And I’m writing it for me, too, so I’ve got something to look back on and smile. Not all our days are happy, in my little family. Not all of anyone’s days are. So having something fun and sexy to think about when days get dark, it’s nice.
I hope you enjoy yourself.
I know I did.
Imagine a couple of girls coming back from the shops on the corner.
We’re not that different from other girls, not really, there’s just two of us. Twice the trouble, twice the fun. Our Mum’s got this fantastic cute pixie cut that she adopted after she went completely bananas when our dad left. I mean we were all pretty crushed but she was just ruined. Crying when she thought we couldn’t hear her, shaking, starving herself, the whole works. She even shaved her hair completely off at one point. Okay, sure, she looked just as sexy with a bald head now that I think of it but it was terrifying at the time. She loved her long hair. But now she loves her pixie cut so that’s fine.
We’ve got the same red hair. Maybe that’s why we can act a bit unbalanced at times. Fine skin, freckles, the lot. We look Irish and considering that’s where a lot of our heritage comes from I guess that’s understandable. Our boobs are smaller than Mum’s but they’re tighter and younger too. A lot of the times we don’t bother with bras. Or panties, to be truthful. We like feeling sexy. Doesn’t everyone, from time to time?
Anyway, back on track. Imagine two girls. They look the same. Same red hair down to the shoulders. Same high tits with nipples that almost – but don’t quite – show through their tops. Tight t-shirts that show their chests off. Jean-shorts that make their legs look nice and long. Shoes with enough of a heel that their legs look yummy but not so much that they’re tripping over everything. That’s Sandy and me. We were both track runners in high school and we never really got over the running bug so we’ve got a kind of toned look. We also have light tans and we DO have heaps of freckles. We burn way too easily. I don’t like it that much. Sandy loves feeling burnt, total beach-bunny. I mean right down to the peeling and itchiness, it’s weird. She says she loves feeling like she’s too hot to touch the world. Gives her a buzz. Mum says it’s to do with endorphins. Dane thinks she’s just insane. Me, like I said I don’t like it but we do everything together so I get burnt a lot too. And I whine about it. Loudly. A lot.
Two girls, walking down the road, dressed the same, faces the same, haircuts the same. The only difference is that while we both have our hair pinned back on one side the pin in Sandy’s hair has a plastic daisy stuck to it while the one in my hair is a sunflower. There’s other differences but they’re way too subtle for most people to pick up on. Even Mum and Dane get us confused now and then. That’s a lot more fun than it should be.
The sun’s out and the birds are cheeping like little birdy bitches. It’s a REALLY pretty day. We’ve gone to the shops to get some drinks because Sandy wants sunlight and I’m feeling bored enough not to argue. The cute shop boy blushes when we walk in, tries not to stare at us and then fumbles our change when we pay. We flirt with him a bit just to watch his blood pressure rise and then we go out. His name’s… Well, we’ll call him Bob. Bob’s a couple years younger than us, making him a cute seventeen year old. He’s finishing off secondary school; we’re in university studying psychology and sociology (you didn’t fall for the little airhead ditz act, did you? For shame, reader, for shame).
Leaving the shop behind we walk hand-in-hand down the street. We hold hands a lot. We’ve done that since Dad left. When your world ends and you turn to those closest for comfort you tend to adopt little idiosyncrasies. Ever noticed how close-knit families that have experienced some kind of trauma act a little… weird? Yeah. That’s why. Then take into account that twins often tend to be close and you’ve got some serious hand-holding going on.
“Would you do him?” I ask her.
“Who?” she says, but she knows who.
“Bob?” She shakes her head. “Naaah.” After a few seconds, because she knows I know she’s lying through her teeth, she nods. “Yeeeeah.”
“Me too. He’s a bit young still but he’s cute.” I drink from the can I’m holding in my free hand. “Dane’s so boring,” I add.
She’s not expecting this and I know it. The two statements don’t mesh properly in her head but that’s okay because I did it intentionally. She looks at me, wrinkling her nose up in confusion. It’s cute.
“He’s boring. I mean, can you remember the last time he even had a girlfriend, let alone brought someone home?” I sigh. It’s a deep, affected sigh. It’s fake and over the top and it makes Sandy giggle, which was the goal, so I’m satisfied.
“Last girl he brought home,” she nods, “man she was dull. Mum hated her.”
Mum doesn’t get along with Dane’s girlfriends. You know how defensive fathers get of their little girls? Some mothers get like that about their little boys and let’s be real clear: Dane’s a softy. He gets walked over a lot. Some girls are really fucking mean and he seems to attract them like flies. I don’t think he’s ever stuck his dick in anything nice. Well, I didn’t think that then.
“I know,” I nod. “No tense dinners, no awkward conversation, it’s just so… uneventful.”
“We could bring some guys home that Mum hates,” Sandy suggested. Now it’s my turn to giggle.
We got home pretty soon after that. We got wolf-whistled once by some guys passing in a car but a couple of upward-turned fingers sent them driving off. Want to get to know us? Stop your car, get out and have a decent conversation with us. Sure, it’s nice to watch people drool a bit but it’s not actually something we’d ever go for. Wolf-whistles aren’t a compliment, boys.
Mum and Dane were in the kitchen. We banged our way in – we can be pretty boisterous – and headed straight through with only a brief ‘hello’. It was early and Dane was probably getting ready to go to work. We didn’t have classes that day – yay! – so it was talking about boys and lots of television for us.
The lounge room is really nice. There’s a couple of big squishy chairs – the kind you can sink into, recliners that you can lean back, too – and a matching squishy-comfy couch. Our whole family’s ended up sleeping on that couch more than once – separately, you know. Dad slept there when he and Mum started having trouble, Dane’s fallen asleep there before, Mum’s done the same thing. Hell, Sandy and I have shared it, wrapped up in each others’ arms and snuggled under a blanket. I know, you’re getting turned on again, right?
Anyway, we plonked down on the couch. It’s kind of our place. When the whole family’s watching TV we commandeer the couch. It’s big enough for three people but Sandy and I don’t tend to sit separately if we can avoid it.
Your next question’s probably going to be, ‘Oh, but have you fucked someone together before?’ Well, yes and no. We’re sure as hell not virgins and we’ve fucked in the same room before, but different guys. We’ve ALMOST fucked a girl together but she chickened out.
The sight of Mum holding a bag of… something, peas I think… to the back of her head came back to both of us at the same time. We stopped and looked at each other.
I watched Sandy’s face get nasty. I shook my head because I thought the same thing she did.
“Oh, come on Sandy, he wouldn’t.”
It was too late. She’d climbed off the couch and stormed out. Best I could do was follow her.
“If you hit Mum I’ll cut your fucking dick off and feed it to you,” Sandy told Dane.
It was a mess. Well, it was almost a mess. Dane looked hurt, Mum told us she’d fallen out of bed, I sang a bit. You know how I told you Sandy tends to jump to conclusions? Yeah. Sometimes she long-jumps to them. But we got it all cleared up, anyway. Sort of. Mum still looked weirdly embarrassed and Dane looked like Sandy really HAD cut his dick off – poor guy was shattered his little sister could think he’d EVER hit Mum.
“You have to apologise to him,” I told Sandy as we went back into the lounge room. “Holy fuck, Sandy. Dane? He wouldn’t hit a nail if his hands were made of hammers!”
Sandy made some kind of angry noise. She was embarrassed. She doesn’t react well to feeling stupid.
We plonked back down on the couch. You know how you don’t really sit, you kind of let your body drop and bounce a bit? That’s how we tend to sit down. Plonk.
I put my arms around her neck. “Come on.” My best encouraging tone. Sandy calls it my ‘wheedling’ tone. “You gotta. I mean it was like you’d kicked him in the business. Doesn’t have to be now but you’ve got to apologise to him, right?”
Sandy didn’t say anything but she relaxed a bit in my arms and leaned against me.
“Right?” I repeated, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
She leaned on me some more and then she nodded, sniffed a bit and put her arms around my waist. I lay back and pulled her on top of me, her head snuggled on my chest. I kissed the top of her head and just let her be.
Dane left. That’s when Mum came in. She was still in her dressing gown and looked kind of… rumpled. She also looked like she had a headache. Considering she’d fallen out of bed – though something about that didn’t sound quite right to me and I couldn’t work out why – I guess the headache was understandable.
“Sandra,” she said. Uh oh. She doesn’t use Sandy’s full name (fake full name, I guess, in this context) unless she’s INCREDIBLY pissed off.
We both sat up.
“I know, Mum,” Sandy said immediately. She was wiping away tears. I glanced down and was, I have to admit, a bit surprised to see my t-shirt was wet. Salty-wet.
“He’s a good man,” Mum tried, but let me tell you from years of experience that it’s hard to stay angry at Sandy when she’s got tears on her face. She doesn’t cry much (except over movies). She was REALLY sorry.
“You need to -”
“I know, Mum!” Sandy sounded like she was being stabbed. There was anguish going on, the real stuff. I kind of shifted awkwardly and all three of us fell quiet. For a little bit there was just the sound of Sandy sniffing now and then. Awkward…
“What do you have planned for today?” Mum asked eventually.
“Nothin’,” Sandy replied, a bit sullenly. I just shrugged. “No classes,” my sister added, “so we’ll probably just hang around. Go out tonight.”
“Do you have classes tomorrow?” Mum asked.
“Yeah, of course,” Sandy nodded.
“Which you’ll go to hung over,” Mum guessed, her voice sounding affectionate but tired.
Sandy and I nodded readily. That was the plan. Go out, get drunk, go to university badly hung over, ignore the majority of what was going on until lunch time. It’s funny but the innate senselessness of that didn’t really occur to us at the time. That’s what university is about, I guess. Plus, you know, all those classes and stuff.
Mum just nodded and kissed Sandy’s forehead, then kissed mine.
“I need to talk to Linda,” she said as she straightened up. Linda’s her best friend. You know, the one Sandy thinks Mum is fucking. Of course we didn’t think so then.
But we were about to.
“And I suggest,” Mum added as she walked out, “that you stay away from Dane’s dick.”
University isn’t really built for developing and maintaining discipline. Oh, they’ll TELL you it is but it’s a pretty lie. In truth it’s built for screwing up those people who don’t have discipline. If you have it you’ll sail through as long as you study and have a halfway decent memory. If you lack even one of those – discipline, study or memory – then unless you can pick them up on the way you’re pretty much screwed. And not in the good way.
But one thing university does impart, if you’re even slightly social, is a knowledge of the best clubs.
Go on, tell me that’s not ironic, because it is. One of the first and most thorough things you learn at university is how best to avoid it. Whether you do or not, I guess that’s the part where it becomes important to have self-discipline. Never been our strong point. I mean we weren’t failing but we weren’t doing as well as we could have either. But that’s fine; there’s no real difference between scraping through and getting through with flying colours unless you plan on taking the education further and we didn’t. Get in, get degrees, get out. That was the mission.
If there’s one thing being in a single-parent family gives you it’s perspective. We don’t work, you see. Mum and Dane, they don’t make a fuss, but they’re supporting us. So we figure it’s our duty to get degrees, get into decent jobs and then help support them for a change. We owe them both. If it weren’t for them we’d likely be screwing people to get through our courses.
Not that that wouldn’t have a certain… dangerous appeal.
Okay, now I’m seriously off-track. We were talking about Mum and Linda.
The rest of our day was boring. It usually is when you’re waiting for something, though. We spent most of it with our rear ends on the comfy couch, cuddled into one another, watching dumb movies. Generally when one of us is upset then we’ll snuggle up so I spent most of the day sitting behind Sandy with my arms around her and her leaning back against me.
It wasn’t until night-time that she really started to perk up. Remember how I said she cries mostly during movies? She cried a lot that day so the night was a relief to both of us. She bounced off the couch – I kind of peeled myself off, half-dragged by my twin sister – and we went upstairs to change. I pulled my top off over my head as we went through the kitchen and that was when we saw Dane coming in the front door.
Don’t get the wrong idea, here. I don’t generally walk around the house topless – UNLESS I’m sure that nobody except my sister is going to be home. Dane wasn’t supposed to be. He was working. He SHOULD have been working late. But for some reason he was coming in the front door just as I was pulling my t-shirt off.
There’s no way he hadn’t seen me. Or, more accurately, there’s no way he hadn’t seen my tits. It’s not the first time he’d seen them, of course, but it’d been a few years and, well, I’d grown since.
He and I stared at one another in shock. No, wait. Let me be more precise: I stared at him in shock while he stared at my bare tits in shock.
Hilariously enough Sandy hadn’t seen me take my top off. Twisting her hands together she went right up to him and opened her mouth – to apologise, probably, I dunno really because I was a bit preoccupied – and it wasn’t until he failed to hear her say his name that he turned around and let out a shriek.
That broke the spell. Nothing quite like Sandy shrieking to bring life back into a room. I held my t-shirt up and Dane looked away, going crimson, stuttering some apology or other. Sandy dragged me upstairs and all but threw me into our bedroom, slamming the door closed behind us before leaning heavily against it like she was keeping out a horde of zombies.
My nipples had gotten hard. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, but it wasn’t like that. They’d gotten hard because of the action of my t-shirt over them and because the little episode had my blood racing. But I’ve gotta tell you for a moment there I was completely confused by it. My nipples? Hard?? From my brother looking at me? What kind of pervert was I?
Then reality reasserted itself.
Sorry if that disappoints you. You were probably hoping that I’d realised some deep-seated desire to fuck my brother that I’d been harbouring since before puberty and all that jazz. Some people do get that way, as I understand it. But not me. No, I was just freaked out at my body responding to basic physical stimulation and attributing it to the wrong thing.
“You stay here,” Sandy ordered, pointing at me, “and find some clothes. I’m gonna go talk to him. What the fuck’s he even doing home at this hour?”
I shrugged, mute, and headed to the wardrobe as she went out. My head was spinning. I knew how I felt… But how did he feel? He was staring pretty hard.
It’s funny, really, the sort of things that can plant an idea in your head.
Let’s be clear: I had no desire to fuck my brother. But the thought of him watching me… That idea had taken root without me noticing it. I wasn’t dwelling on it, not then, but the seed had been sown.
That’s really when it all started. For me, anyway. Not that I realised it then.
I could hear them talking downstairs but I couldn’t make out the words. Just the tone. It was quiet, hurt, tense.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, two pairs of them, and a knock sounded at the door. I knew it was Dane – Sandy didn’t do extravagant things like bothering to knock on the door when I was on the other side – and I called for him to come in.
Clothes were strewn everywhere. We own a lot of them and plenty are suitable (or, perhaps, sufficiently unsuitable) for going out in. I was favouring a basic black dress but we’ve got these green latex skirts and tube-tops that really turn heads. I was standing in front of the wardrobe – it has a mirrored front, it’s one of those – scratching my head when Dane came in.
Surprisingly Sandy wasn’t with him. That confused me. And kind of unnerved me, I have to admit.
We stood there staring at each other for a while.
“You made up with Sandy, then?” I asked finally, busying myself with clothes to hide how weird the whole thing felt. And you know, I wasn’t sure why it felt weird. Dane saw my tits, I misread my own body, then I realised what was going on. Big deal. But something was eating at me and I couldn’t work out what.
Dane nodded. “Yeah. I get it,” he answered softly, “she’s protective. But I’d -”
“I know, you’d never hit her,” I said, sighing. “Sandy knows that too but you know how she can be.” He nodded again and I shrugged. “So no big deal, right? She thought the wrong thing but it’s all cleared up now.”
My brother nodded again. He still looked wretched. I had some idea why but it still kind of irritated me. He can be infuriatingly soft, in an adorable kind of way.
“What? What is it?” I insisted. I had an urge to hug him – like I said, close-knit families can get like that – but something stopped me. Somehow I knew it’d be the wrong thing to do. “Is it because of what happened downstairs?”
He nodded and looked at his feet like he was being scolded.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. And then I did go over to him but instead of hugging him I punched his arm. Quite hard, actually.
“Stop being an idiot,” I said, a bit harshly now that I think of it. “You saw my tits, it’s not like you -” I stopped myself, the thought going way further than I expected, and shook my head. “It’s not a big deal. You wander around shirtless all the time.”
“Yeah, but -”
“But you’re not a girl,” I nodded, getting angry. Not at him, not really. It’s just such a fucking double standard! “Because you’re male and your nipples are somehow inherently less confronting than -”
Dane held up his hands like he was warding off a tiger. “Okayokay, it’s no big deal,” he assured me hurriedly. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
I turned the sentence over in my head a few times. “Um. Why wouldn’t I be? You saw me topless, it’s not the end of the world.” There, there it was again, the nagging feeling like I was missing something important. There must have been something about the way I was looking at Dane, too, because something flashed across his face and he all but backed out.
“Okay, good. Just… making sure,” he muttered before all but running from the room.
I know what guilt looks like. What I couldn’t understand was why it flashed across my brother’s face like that.
Oh well, no point dwelling on it, I figured. I’d find out what it was about. I could wait.
EDIT NOTE: This is the bit where I write about what happened that night at the club. Now, I should point out that originally I’d named the club something different but there’s been… New information, I guess you could say. So I’ll call it Avenue 8.
You know. For consistency.
It’s not the club we usually go to and the reason for that is about to become pretty obvious. It is, however, in our list of top 5 places to go when we’re sufficiently bored and so we decided to take a chance. A short taxi ride and there we were, paying half of the ridiculously low cover charge because the girl who’s usually at the door has a thing for us and insists that because we’re twins it’s kind of fitting we pay as one person.
Hey, I’m one of those twins and I don’t get that logic. But it means half-price entry so I wasn’t complaining.
Avenue 8. It’s a typical nightclub, really – half watering hole, half meat-market. It’s in a pretty good part of town and the crowd is varied so it’s also where a lot of the older crowd mingle with the younger crowd – ‘cougar hunting ground,’ one of our friends calls it. Which is why he’s usually there.
But he wasn’t that night. I thought that was a bit of a shame, really. I like him – largely because while he doesn’t hesitate to flirt with us and make us feel a bit sexy, he doesn’t actually have any serious interest in us. He likes the older women. He’s our age but young women just don’t push his buttons. Gotta be over 40 to make him bulge.
Anyway, Avenue 8. Sandy and I, we love to dance, but more than that we love to people-watch. That night was no different so I perched on a seat by a wall while Sandy pushed off through the (relatively light) crowd to furnish us both with alcoholic beverages. Sure, we CAN get guys to buy us booze but we prefer not to. I prefer not to, anyway, and Sandy’s never really argued with me. Pride aside I really doubt my twin sister’s going to dose my drink. Safety first, right?
Josh is a bouncer at Avenue 8 and the older brother of a guy I used to date in high school. One thing that I can say for that club is that we’re well looked-after. The one time anyone tried to get too hands-on with us Josh – who is built like someone put three smaller guys together like a kind of organic Voltron – threw him out quick-smart. He’s married – and gay, though I assume his wife doesn’t know that – so again, we were safe with him. Now THAT was a strange marriage.
“Everything okay?” he yelled to me over the noise of the music, coming close and putting a huge hand on my shoulder. If he weren’t gay (and married)…
“Only just got here!” I called back, beaming up at him happily. I pointed through the crowd to my sister who, returning, passed me a drink and slapped Josh playfully on the backside. “Anything good going on?” I asked as Sandy settled beside me and put a proprietary hand on my thigh.
Josh shook his head. “Quiet night, supposed to get noisier later on, though.” Catching a wave from the bartender he nodded in response and then grinned at the two of us. “I’ll come by and check on you later, if you like!”
“See you then!” Sandy was in a much better mood. She even smacked his butt again when he left. Then she turned to me. “If he weren’t gay…”
“And married,” I agreed.
“Tall guy, probably originally blonde, skinny.”
“Meh. Kind of blah.”
“Muscle shirt guy, nine o’clock, dancing with a blocky-looking dude.”
“Not bad. Not sure he’s got the body for that shirt, though.”
“Hot blonde sitting at the bar.”
“Know her. She’s straight.”
“Ohh, shame. Neckbeard at the door.” Sandy’s grin was impish. She knew what my response would be.
“Eww!” I made a face. Guys, if there’s something that I just gotta say doesn’t look good, it’s a neckbeard. I’m fine with a bit of extra weight and I can dig nerds just as much as I can fit jocks, but a neckbeard looks like you’ve got a normal beard that’s kind of slipped a bit. Shave that motherfucker off. I’ve heard some women like them but I haven’t actually met a single one.
A friend of Sandy’s once made the pretty stupid comment that men tend to sit around evaluating the ‘local talent’ and that women don’t. What the hell, guys? Do you really think all we do is wait around passively for you lot to show up? Hell no. We’re judging your muscle shirts and neckbeards.
We’d been there a couple of hours. Both of us were pretty juiced up by that stage (by which I mean somewhat past tipsy) so when Sandy got off her stool to go get more drinks I was precisely pissed enough not to mind. Josh would look after us and we’d made it home dead drunk more than once. People say it’s a sign of the times that young people are getting drunk too often. Yes, yes it is. And yet we still do it.
I’d been staring at her for a good minute or so before I realised that I knew who she was – Mum’s best friend, Linda. I groaned inwardly. You wanted to know why, with the awesome bouncer and cheap entry, this isn’t our number one spot? Linda is it. She’s a nice lady, lovely really, but neither Sandy or I particularly need our doings being reported back to our mother.
Now, Linda is… free with her affections. Some people would call her a slut, in fact, but I dislike the term. She’s got control over her sexuality and I think that’s a good thing, particularly if it gets her laid a lot. Good on her, you know? More power to her. She’s married to a neat guy called Nate who’s cute as hell but a bit… wet. If that makes sense. From what I can gather their love life doesn’t involve much of a sex life so she’s given to getting a bit hands-on when she’s been drinking.
Right at that moment she was getting hands-on with that tall skinny guy Sandy had spotted earlier. I had to admit she was fun to watch. Live-action softcore porn, in a way. She’s not a tall lady so she had to stand up on her tippy-toes to kiss him and I could see her hands working at his (particularly flat) butt. She’s got these fantastic curves that she was pushing up against him like she wanted to get inside his skin – which maybe she did, I don’t know.
He seemed a bit stunned when she pulled away from him, grinning up at him wickedly, her face an invitation. That’s when one of his friends – and I use the term very loosely – dragged him away and out the door. Seems someone didn’t approve of him getting some action. Linda didn’t care, though – and a few seconds later I saw why.
An awkward-looking redhead was making her way through the crowd from the direction of the toilets. Or, to be entirely accurate, a smoking hot redhead moving like she didn’t frequent clubs much came toward Linda. It was no great guess on my behalf that the woman wasn’t much of a clubber because – you guessed it – she was my Mum.
Sandy got back then and handed me a drink. She reached over and closed my mouth which had, rather rudely without consulting my brain, fallen open. Then she looked in the direction I was looking and hers did the same thing.
We sat there sipping our drinks for a while.
“Holy shit,” Sandy opined. I nodded. Holy shit indeed.
Linda was all over our mother. Linda’s got great curves but our mother’s no slouch in that department, as I’ve mentioned, and Linda had her hands all over them. She actually tried to pull Mum’s tits out twice and the slapping her hands got only seemed to encourage her. There was a bit of space around the two of them on the dance floor – whether to give people room to watch or as a coincidental thing I’m not sure, but we had prime seats.
Mum’s eyes were rolling back as Linda necked her, a hand on her butt and the other very obviously massaging one of her nipples through the dress she (barely) had on. It was clear Mum was into it and I’ve got a feeling she had no idea how obvious it was. At one point Mum almost kissed back but seemed to stop herself, remaining content to pull Linda against her with her hands on her friend’s marvellous backside. Linda was beyond horny, all but grinding on her.
“So they’re fucking,” Sandy commented in a tone of disbelief.
“It’s Linda, she might just be teasing Mum,” I said doubtfully.
Sandy snorted. “She’s doing more than teasing, look. She doesn’t quite have her fingers wet yet but she’s damn close.”
“Should we go?”
“The way those two are at it? I doubt they’d notice us unless we started fondling them.”
“Are we okay with this?” I asked.
My sister shrugged. “Could be worse,” she pointed out.
“Could be Dane,” I nodded.
Sandy downed the rest of her drink. “Fuck it, I need another to deal with this.” I nodded my agreement but didn’t take my eyes off the pair. Sandy kissed my cheek and headed off as I tried, without any success whatsoever, to ignore the growing heat between my legs. This was hot stuff. That it was my mother and her best friend didn’t really register properly – alcohol, that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it. I was watching two grown women grope each other in public – sure, I probably SHOULD have been affronted no matter who they were, that’s generally what society expects, but there are reasons I’m studying sociology. I’ve watched people fuck against the pool table in one of my favourite bars and not batted an eyelid.
If anything, I was slowly discovering, I was kind of hoping they’d go a bit further. Come on Linda, get her breasts out… Pull her skirt up a bit, Mum, I can almost see her panties – wait a second, she’s not wearing any…
Mum froze just as Sandy was getting back with more drinks and I felt my heart leap. She’d seen me! A second later I realised she’d seen Sandy, too. Sandy, to her credit, clearly didn’t care. She handed me my drink, sat down beside me and stared at Mum. She’d missed a lot of the best parts.
Linda quickly found that trying to dance against someone who wasn’t moving was tricky and her attention swung around. When she spotted us, well, she loved that. This wicked little laugh that we could see but not hear, pulling Mum’s hands against her boobs, then all of a sudden Mum had her by the wrist and was dragging her outside.
I can’t say that surprised me. I can’t say it didn’t disappoint me, either.
It’s okay to think this way, I reasoned, I wouldn’t think this if I were sober…
Bullshit, of course. If I were sober I’d still think the same thing but I’d cover it up with bluster and false distress. I know that now. There’s a lot of stuff I know now that I didn’t before. The fact was that seeing my mother being fondled half to death in a club didn’t turn me on – seeing two grown women fondle one another was what got me raging and wet but, and this is the important bit, I didn’t care that I was directly related to one of them. That’s a subtle but important difference. I mean we’re talking about incest here, of course, but there’s two main ways of relating to it. You can get horny BECAUSE it’s someone you’re related to, or you can simply not care.
I simply didn’t care.
By the time Linda came back into the club without Mum I was all but wriggling on my chair. I was aching for some attention and Sandy and I had gone back to spotting good-lookers in the crowd, eliminating them one by one and contemplating the rest. If nothing else happened I knew there was a particularly large dildo with my name on it at home (literally with my name on it, written on the base) but there’s nothing like flesh against flesh. Wet flesh, preferably.
“You two enjoy the show?” Linda leered as she sauntered up. Seriously, this woman could leer like a champion. All of the rampant sexuality that Mum doesn’t display is more than made up for by her crazy friend.
Sandy blushed and looked away but I felt myself nodding before I could stop it. Linda laughed and put an arm around me.
“Let’s get out of here,” she suggested, “there’s a bar down the street. Quieter.”
Sandy and I looked at one another doubtfully. We did our best to avoid Linda at the best of times when we were out… but at the same time we were burning with curiosity as to how our mother’s relationship with her friend had… grown. And I was burning with more than just that. So was Sandy, though she was better at hiding it. Not from me, of course.
“Come on, I won’t bite,” Linda laughed, “and I’ll buy you both a drink.”
“Deal,” Sandy said immediately.
The bar. Um. Let’s call it Watchers, partly because it’s a vague reference to the Lord of the Rings but mostly because it’s what people do there. Watch one another.
Bars are different animals to clubs. In a club you basically go to dance and drink and be a dickhead. It’s too loud to be really social but if you want to be you’ve got to lean in close so that’s nice (until it’s not). Clubs are more physical, I guess you could say.
When you step into a bar, though, that’s different. You can talk a lot easier in a bar because most of them don’t have the music up as loud (there are exceptions, of course). There’s less dancing but more socialising so people tend to watch more – after all, there’s more chance you’ll end up talking to someone in a bar.
Also, depending on the bar, a lot of it seems to be those kind of guys with fast cars and fake tans checking out each other’s haircuts. At least that’s how it seems to me.
Watchers wasn’t one of those kinds of bars. It was a mid-range ‘alternative’ bar – not Goth but not exactly mainstream either. It was actually frequented pretty regularly by swingers but of course we didn’t know that at the time.
Linda walked in like she owned the place, waved to the bartender (who she obviously knew quite well) and headed straight for one of the more private booths up the back. She didn’t sit. Instead she pointed to the bench seat.
“Set your arses down, girls. What’s your poison?”
Really? ‘What’s your poison’? People actually say that, apparently. Anyway, we both ordered a black Russian and she sashayed off to get them. She came back with hers – something potent and clear – with the bartender in tow carrying our ‘poison’.
“June, this is Sandy and Sally, don’t ask me which, I always get it wrong.”
June put the drinks down and nodded to us. My God. June. How to describe June… Think of Annie Lennox in her younger suit-wearing days. Bleached blonde hair, short and spiky, face that was masculine and yet feminine all at once. Her bartender outfit was a masculine cut and I admit I actually thought she was a particularly cute guy when we walked in. Now that she was closer I could see very subtle lipstick and eye shadow.
Holy shit. If she’d asked me to go down on her right then and there I would have. Androgynes, girls or boys, just melt me.
“Breathe,” Sally,” Sandy whispered to me, “you’re staring.”
“Your girls?” June asked Linda, raising an eyebrow that I suddenly wanted to lick. “No, wait, that redhead friend of yours.”
“Mine? Hah! Can you imagine me birthing anything this good-looking? They’re Zinnia’s, yeah,” Linda nodded, slinging an arm round my shoulders and squeezing me to her side. “I’m like an aunt to them, really,” she confessed, melodramatically wiping away an imaginary tear.
June just snorted and nodded to us before heading back to the bar.
“Shit, Sally,” Sandy scolded me, “you’re like a deer in headlights.” She waved a hand in front of my face and I have to admit it was only then, when I blinked and looked away, that I realised how much I’d been staring.
“You’re just a bit horny, aren’t you?” Linda grinned, patting my leg as she squeezed in next to us.
“No,” I said, a bit defensively.
“You’re an awful lot horny,” Sandy commented drily. Androgynes aren’t her thing.
“Yes,” I admitted, in exactly the same defensive tone.
“Good,” Linda nodded, laughing lightly at my shocked expression. “Oh, come on. Horny is a healthy state of being for young women your ages. Or my age,” she added, winking at Sandy. Her hand was still on my thigh and, I noticed, was quite a bit higher now. “So you’re probably wondering…”
“If you’re fucking our Mum? Yeah,” Sandy said bluntly.
“Well, I’m not going to tell you,” Linda countered, just as bluntly. “But whether I am or not she’s not my girlfriend. Not in that sense, anyway. So IF anything’s happening between us it’s casual.” She smirked a little but her tone was serious when she added, “You know I’d never do anything to hurt her, right?”
We both nodded. It was an automatic nod, one that young people give older people to shut them up, but we knew she meant it. She seemed satisfied, anyway.
“Are there toilets here?” Sandy asked suddenly. “No, I’m fine,” she added when I tilted my head toward her, asking silently if she wanted company. We slid out and let her go. Then I slid back in place and Linda sat right next to me.
I’m not sure what we talked about but I felt her hand on my thigh with every word. I’ve got no idea when exactly she kissed me but I know I kissed back hard and then my skirt was pushed up and her fingers were between my legs, wet within seconds.
“Well,” she whispered in my ear, archly. “Aren’t you ripe for the plucking?”
“Shut the fuck up and get your fingers in me,” I growled back, and she laughed the most husky laugh I’d ever heard. Her fingers slipped up and down, teasing me relentlessly, and then –
And then Sandy got back.
“Really, guys? Here?” she muttered, sliding in next to Linda and hip-bumping her to get her to stop.
What the fuck, Sandra, seriously…
“No, you’re right,” Linda agreed, pulling her hand free and licking her fingers before picking up her drink. “We must be rational about this.”
I side-eyed Sandy with the meanest glare I could muster. She smiled her sweetest smile back, her ‘fuck you’ smile.
“I suppose we’d better get things clear,” Linda said airily. I could feel her straighten her skirt and she laughed when I sighed louder than I thought I had. “Like I said I’m not going to tell you if your Mum and I are fucking because, you know. That’s our business, not yours. But would you be okay with it IF we are? Or if we’re not but were to start in the future?”
I shrugged. I didn’t mind as long as we knew who it was. I know, that’s unfair. It’s her business, not ours and our mother has a right to her privacy, yeah? Yeah. Fuck that, I want to know if someone’s doing a bit of genital spelunking on my mother because if they don’t deserve her I’ll give ’em hell. No, it’s not fair. Watch the tears of guilt I’m not shedding.
Sandy, of course, was more direct. “Do you care?”
“What?” Linda, caught aback, leaned away from Sandy very slightly. Sandy being direct can unnerve people. As she did so, though, I felt her hand rest on my thigh again – but my inner thigh this time – and I shivered.
“Do you care what we think?” Sandy asked, frowning deep and dark. “I mean, let’s face it, you’re a bit shameless. Nonono, don’t look at me like that,” she hurried on, “you fuck who you want. More power to you, I say. But if you’ve been fucking Mum and we’ve only just found out do you really give a shit whether we’re okay with it or not?”
Linda was very quiet for a few moments. Sandy had insulted her – or almost insulted her – pretty bad. I knew the look on her face. It was the recalculation look, the look that someone has when they suddenly realise that this pretty redhead with the sexy clothes and round boobs is not only not YOUR bitch, but is in fact not ANYONE’S bitch.
She looked at me briefly. I shrugged. It was a good point, even if it was delivered on the end of a verbal hammer.
To her credit, Linda didn’t answer straight away. She gave the matter a fair bit of thought. Then, eventually, she nodded.
“Yes, I care. I like both of you, a lot, and if I were fucking your mother I’d want you both to be okay with it. If you weren’t okay with it then it most likely wouldn’t stop me,” she added, giving Sandy a sharp smile, “but I still think it would be a happier situation if everyone was fine with it.”
Sandy gave a curt nod. “I can respect that.” My sister doesn’t trust people who try to say the right thing rather than the honest thing.
Linda nodded at Sandy, approval writ large across her face. “Good! I’m glad we sorted that out. Or didn’t, as the case may be. And now, with great style and subtlety, I’m going to change the subject for unknown reasons.” She cocked her head at me. “So you’re pretty hot over June, huh?”
“What?” I asked, eyes suddenly as wide as a rabbit in the headlights on an oncoming car. My glance flicked guiltily to the aforementioned bartender who, thankfully, was busy serving beer to a couple of businessmen.
“No need to be coy,” Linda grinned. “It’s obvious you like her.”
I fidgeted, now far more aware of June’s presence half a room away than Linda’s hand on my leg. “Like, too obvious?” I asked, unable to keep the nervousness out of my voice. “Shit. Should I leave? I should leave.”
“Oh no you don’t,” Linda objected, her smile growing Cheshire-wide. “It’s okay. I think you’d be exactly to her tastes.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. It was a breath I hadn’t even realised I was holding. This is the curse of the redhead, you see – when we crush, we crush hard. It’s not like I wanted to move in with her or have a hot naked lesbian wedding together but just wanting her was bad enough.
“You know,” Linda said in a curiously slow, sly kind of way, “I think she’d probably like it if you came here more regularly.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to seem like a stalker,” I blushed, and even though I was drunk I couldn’t help but wonder at her tone. Still, more alcohol would cure that niggling feeling, so more alcohol is what I drank. “Does she, um, have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?”
“Got designs on her, do you?” Linda’s voice was a downright purr and even the alcohol couldn’t stave off the weirdness of it forever. I turned to look at her with a ‘wtf?’ look on my face and found her leaning oddly toward me, her breasts just millimetres from my body.
“I, um, maybe. Not as a girlfriend, I guess,” I added, the woman’s proximity heating me up. I leaned as well and the softness of her tits came into gentle contact with my arm. I felt her hand, the one on my thigh, squeeze. That certainly brought it back to my mind, I can tell you. I glanced at Sandy but she was staring off at nothing, sitting very still. “Um…”
“Hmm?” Linda looked over her shoulder and then glanced back at me, that grin ever-present. “Oh, Sandy’s just trying to pretend I’m not second-knuckle deep in her cunt, that’s all.”
“Oh, you bitch,” I breathed. Sandy just shrugged, blushing, not looking at me and very obviously fighting back a moan, a giggle or both.
Have I mentioned we were all pretty drunk? Yeah. We were all pretty drunk. I can’t figure any other reason how Linda managed to get us both to spread our legs so she could slip her fingers over our well-swollen lips while we tried, giggling madly, to drink our drinks and pretend nothing weird was going on. More than once I noticed June watching us and figured that chances were good she knew exactly what was happening.
No matter what you could or couldn’t say about Linda, here’s a truth: she’s a master at edging. She can read your body and halt just a whisper before you reach your peak, backing off and letting you cool down whether you want to or not, unless you’re willing to risk – given the context in question – shattering several public obscenity laws.
I was damn tempted. We both were. At one point she had me grinding up at her hand desperately, a hair’s breadth from saying ‘fuck it’ and getting up on the table for all to see, but Linda knew just how to stop the action. If it were a nightclub I probably would have but things are a bit different in bars. Most bars, anyway.
This bar was… confusing. I saw the businessmen June had been serving watching us for a while, blushing and looking away whenever we looked their way, though one almost absent-mindedly rubbed the swelling bulge in his pants. The action was hidden under a table but I was at just the right angle to be able to see. A few other people in the bar had noticed, too, giving us those puzzled glances that said they were moderately sure what we were up to but not quite certain.
‘Could they be..? No, surely not.’ Those kinds of looks.
One thing I was certain on, though: if Mum ever did end up sleeping with Linda we’d be able to tell. She wouldn’t be walking the next day, she’d be floating.
June was watching, too. After a few glances back and away, playing eye-tag with one another, we finally settled for giving the pretence away. I was being frigged almost to orgasm in her bar and she was watching it happen. And I mean it when I say she was watching me; she hadn’t spared more than a glance for my sister and not much more for Linda. She was watching me, specifically me, and that made everything so much hotter.
So there I was, legs spread so wide it would be utterly obscene if anyone could see it, two fingers up my pussy, feeling the seat get wetter under me by the second. June was watching me, frozen in place with a dish towel in one hand and a glass in the other, her hunger so obvious I swear the air between us must have been several degrees hotter than the rest of the room.
I felt my pussy convulse as the foreshocks of an orgasm started, Linda’s fingers pulling back as much in surprise as to cool me down, and my eyes rolled back. I bit my lip, let out a soft moan and then –
Not an orgasm, sadly. Nope. June dropped the glass. By the time I’d recovered and opened my eyes, realising release wasn’t going to hit me, I couldn’t see her – she was crouched behind the bar picking up the pieces of the glass as patrons hooted and hollered their good-natured jeers.
“I think it’s time we were going,” Linda commented in a heavy voice. She was breathing almost as raggedly as we were.
The air outside the bar was almost as effective as a cold shower. The day might have been hot but no cloud cover means nothing to trap the heat in; the night was so cold I expected to spot a brass monkey coming down the street at any moment looking for a welder.
“You’re coming home with us, right?” I asked as Linda forged a path toward a nearby taxi rank.
She turned to smile at me, a bitter and somewhat tired smile, and I knew the answer before she said it. My heart sank.
“I’m afraid not. I’ve got to get home. Besides, I’d like to think my friendship with your Mum could extend to coming home to spend the night with her delicious daughters but…” She shrugged helplessly. “I’m not sure. And until I’m sure I don’t want to fuck things up.”
We made sullen, disappointed noises but we didn’t argue the point. Linda was like – well, okay, no. She wasn’t like an aunt to us. Um. Obviously not. But as I’ve pointed out we’re a close family and that includes our friends. We were both pretty damn sure that Mum wouldn’t object too much to Linda coming home to crawl into HER bedroom but crawling into ours… It wasn’t worth the risk. Dammit, we were both so horny we were all but on fire, yet we knew it wasn’t worth the risk of upsetting anyone.
So, after a series of very lingering kisses and a complete and intentional lack of making future plans, we went our separate ways. Linda got into her taxi, waved and she was gone.
The place we live in has seatbelt laws so we weren’t snuggling in the taxi home but we did hold hands. We didn’t say anything more than a few words, not even when the taxi driver tried to chat to us, so the trip home seemed a lot longer than it probably was.
What could we say? We didn’t want to talk about it in front of a stranger. Hell, sometimes Sandy takes a couple of days to process enough to talk about things at all, even with me badgering her. I had things to think about, too. We might be twins but we’re individuals; some things a girl just wants to mull over to herself for a while.
When we got out of the taxi and stood together looking up at the house, though, that’s when it became really clear we were both still, um, bothered by the experience. Sandy’s arm went around my waist and she pulled me in for a close hug. For a while we didn’t do anything or say anything, we just… stayed there.
“That was fucking hot.” I felt as much as heard Sandy whisper it, so close to my ear was her mouth, the movement of her breath tickling my skin.
“Yeah, it was,” I replied, letting my fingers slip up into the hair at the base of her skull. It took me a few seconds to realise what I was doing – caressing her. My hand froze and I tensed, quickly evaluating Sandy’s grip – it was firm. If I pulled back she’d know something was wrong. So I didn’t, I stayed there, slowly relaxing again.
After a moment she spoke. “You going to fuck that bartender? June?”
I didn’t reply for a few long moments. Then I nodded. “Yeah. I hope so.” She wasn’t Sandy’s type and I knew it. A lot of twins compete with one another but not us; if anything we tend to work together, which makes us more dangerous. “I mean, if she wants to.”
Now Sandy drew back with a laugh. “What? If she wants to? She was glued to you, Sally, don’t be dense. Whatever’s going on in that head of yours, if it’s about her, I’d bet your left kidney that it’s mutual.”
“Don’t,” I said, the automatic response coming immediately, the familiarity comforting. “I need that kidney. Bet your own.”
“Come on,” Sandy said briskly, leaning over to kiss me on the cheek. She missed and her lips touched my earlobe instead; the damp mess between my legs got warmer before my drink-addled brain really registered whose lips they were. The next day I’d wonder whether I my sister kissing me had turned me on because it was her, because I was already horny, because I was thinking of June or whether it was coincidental. Frankly, I’m still wondering.
The house was dark when we went in, quiet in that heavy kind of way when a place isn’t empty of people, they’re just not currently making any – or much – noise. There was evidence of past merry-making in the lounge room, though – two shot glasses, an empty bottle of wine and a half-empty bottle of vodka. Some expensive brand that Dane likes. Sandy frowned at it but I smothered a giggle and pointed at the ceiling. After a few seconds what I’d heard repeated itself – a very faint shuddery moan. Sandy’s eyes lit up in delight and she grabbed my shoulder.
“Should we go up, rattle the door handle, freak ’em out a bit?” she suggested. My sister can be very mean when she wants to be – but it’s all in fun. Nonetheless it was too much for me.
“No way!” I shook my head firmly, cutting off the coming argument. “She might be nice and it’s about time Dane got someone into his bed.”
If only we knew…
“Yeah, okay.” Sandy nodded, mock-pouting a little, and on an impulse I leaned over and kissed her generous lips. The look of surprise on her face certainly removed the pout and I tugged her hand, feeling an odd rolling in my gut.
“Come on,” I said quietly but cheerily, covering up the odd sensation of kissing my sister by treating it like the most normal thing in the world. “Let’s go get some bedtime before the booze wears off.” I pulled on her hand again, easing her out of the room. “We’ve already got plenty of water up there.”
“Okay,” Sandy nodded, letting go of my hand briefly to step across the room and grab the bottle of vodka. She shook it experimentally to watch the contents swirl about, nodded approvingly and took my hand again. We got glasses and Coke on the way through the kitchen. The night’s drinking wasn’t over.
The conversation we had as we devoured the last of the vodka went as rapidly downhill as the drink did. I won’t bother repeating it – I’m sure you’re probably interested but to be honest I can’t remember more than a third of it. I went on for a while about June, we talked a bit about university, we kept our voices down so that we could listen to the thump and moan from Dane’s room. Whoever was in there was really getting it and, by the sound of it, really loving it.
I was burning. It just really wasn’t fair, that was the problem, that I should come home so fucking wet and then hear my brother giving it to some woman right nearby. And it sure didn’t help that when I snuggled down in bed, mostly drunk and trying my hardest (which wasn’t very hard) to keep my fingers out of my pyjama bottoms, Sandy decided that curled up against me was where she most wanted to be.
Yeah, I bet you think you know where this is going. Well, this time you’re probably right.
Sandy had her fingers wet well before I realised what she was doing. Curled up behind me, the big spoon to my little spoon, her hand slipped under mine and down into my pyjama pants. Up and down my swollen lips they curled, the tips slick and warm, swirling circles around my clit that made me moan. I was so drunk that it wasn’t until she put her other hand over my mouth to muffle the horny sounds I was making that I even realised the fingers dancing at my pussy weren’t mine.
I tugged my head to the side and up, leaning back until it was resting against Sandy’s shoulder, my mind a fog of need and confusion.
“Wh-what th’fuck are y’doing?” I demanded in a harsh, husky whisper. In answer she stuck two fingers in my mouth and another two in my cunt, trapping me against her as she lay a pattern of butterfly-soft kisses along my shoulder. My g-spot was thick, swelled with blood and lust, and her fingers found it perfectly. A bizarrely sober part of my mind (or, at least, a part that probably still thought it was sober) wondered if our bodies were so similar that it felt like fingering herself. For a brief, hilarious moment I had an image of Sandy finger-fucking me in the mistaken belief that she WAS fucking herself, and I felt giggles rise in my belly.
Those skilled fingers, though, chased them away. I sucked on the digits in my mouth, rocking my head, licking them like they were a cock. I heard Sandy moan behind me and I let out my own muffled agreement.
A deep part of me pulled frantically at my brain, telling me that I was sick, that this was my sister. My cunt didn’t care, closing hard around those welcome invaders, my hips rocking hard as my twin frigged me like she had a grudge.
I felt the twitching start as my first orgasm, treacherously close after Linda’s teasing and the sound of Dane fucking that lucky girl in his room, rose up. My legs trembled, my back arched, pushing my tits and their rock-hard nipples against the fabric of the pyjama top I’d changed into. Sandy’s hand clamped down over my mouth hard and I bit at the soft muscle of her fingers, fighting back the shriek as pleasure burst – finally! – through me.
With a liquid gush I squirted hard, my cum splashing into the palm of my lovely, wicked twin sister’s hand, wet and sweet and hot. She didn’t stop, didn’t give me a moment to pause, toying with me hard until I convulsed a second time… Or maybe I just never stopped. I have no idea. All I know is that I came fucking hard, eyes screwed shut, fireworks bursting in my brain as I let my sister have her incestuous way.
“Can you imagine what it feels like?” she whispered hoarsely, slowing her fingers down and pulling out of me to stroke circles around my aching button. The hand that was muffling my cries transferred to my chest, toying and twisting and pulling at my nipples. “That big thick cock, pushing into you, fucking you…”
“H-he’s… He’s our…”
“I just made you cum like a demon and you’re getting precious about who’s related to whom?” Sandy smirked, her diction and grammar strikingly good despite her sodden state. “Besides, listen.” Her teeth clung at my earlobe and I shivered, rocking back against her, waiting for her to continue.
When she didn’t I worked out, kind of slowly and stupidly, that she didn’t mean I should listen to her. I sat still and pricked up my ears as she leaned away and fumbled for something in the bedside drawer.
Moaning. Rocking. The distinctive creak of a bed protesting as someone got the utter shit fucked out of them in it. The headboard bumping the wall now and then. The occasional sobbing.
I frowned and concentrated. “Is he doing her up the arse or something?” I wondered aloud, but that tone, that sound, was too familiar. It made my belly churn and my own eyes prickle with sympathetic tears. I’d heard that sound too many times over the last few years though, of course, under very different circumstances.
“Is that… Mum?” I whispered as Sandy finally got my favourite Feeldoe seated and pushed it between my legs. The moan I let out was half-strangled with lust. Rocking my hips back and forth, spreading my (considerable) wetness along the deep purple shaft, I angled myself and arched my back, waiting for Sandy to push into me.
“I think so, yeah.” Sandy’s voice was rough in my ear. “She hasn’t fucked anyone in ages, imagine how tight she must be…” She laughed when I made a soft, anguished noise, pressing back onto to find her drawing away. “What? You want something? Tell me what you want,” she purred.
“Dammit, if you don’t fuck me I’m gonna pop,” I moaned, pushing back again just as unsuccessfully.
“Are you suuuure?”
“Sandy, don’t be such a fucking bitch!” I was so horny, so angry, so desperate. My pillow was wet with tears from hearing my Mum; I had a pretty good idea how much guilt she was feeling. My voice came out as a half-choked sob and that, perhaps more than anything, shocked Sandy deeply.
“Sally, I didn’t mean -”
I sat up sharply and pushed at her until she rolled over and got out of bed. In the dark I could see the silhouette of her, punctuated by the bold shape of that synthetic cock, and I guess she thought I was going to kick her out completely until I rolled over myself and got up on all fours, my backside pointed right at her.
“Shut up! Just… Shut up! You started this,” I spat, certainly rather unfairly, “now fuck it!” And to make it completely clear what I meant, I slid my hand under my body and blocked off my soggy pussy with my fingers. My other hand pulled at one of my buttocks, accentuating the remaining available hole, my torso balanced precariously and my face, well, planted on the bed.
There was a long pause. I wondered for a moment if she’d backed off but then I felt her hands on my rear. Then the tip of the Feeldoe rested at my puckered butt and pushed, slowly but determined. It was a lot more slick than I’d expected – she must have lubed it up. Still, with no prep time it was going to hurt in the morning. I could hear myself moaning into my pillow, muffled as much as I could; Sandy didn’t stop until she had the whole glorious length buried in the magma-hot depths of my butt. I could feel the warmth of her hips resting against my arse before she began to pull out again.
It’s got to be said: women don’t have a natural sense of rhythm when it comes to wielding a cock. We can learn it, that’s sure as hell true, and a skilled lesbian can fuck a girl as well as, often better than, any man. My sister and I have been with men and women before but Sandy had far more enthusiasm than she did skill. I’m not saying that to be mean, it’s just that she hadn’t had a lot of opportunity to learn how to fuck someone’s arse.
Certainly not my arse. But she was clearly intent on making up for lost time.
The thing about a Feeldoe is that it’s strapless. It’s secured with a shorter ‘dick’ that slides up into the pussy of the wielder, has a textured pad that sits right over the clit and the main cock, I guess you could call it, juts out at a delicious angle. Mine is deep purple and has a wonderful curve; I could feel it pushing against my already-stimulated g-spot right through the wall between my backside and my cunt.
It’s got to be said: I. Fucking. Love. Anal. Once upon a time it was the taboo of it but then it was just because being arse-fucked the right way feels damn good and crazy-intense. My best and hardest orgasms have all been anal. Besides, considering it was my twin sister bent over me, her breath ragged from the combined sensation of the Feeldoe and the knowledge that she was fucking her sister, the taboo of anal had been well and truly trumped.
Can you imagine it? The feeling of something that long and thick pushing into you, filling you up, thrilling nerves deep inside you. The feeling of your lover crouched over you, trying to maintain an even pace despite their own pleasure, the sweat beading on your skin and your lover’s breath awash over your back. Every thrust pushes you closer to the brink, every inch is achingly, blissfully welcome. Shivers break out over your body and your skin prickles into gooseflesh despite the heat in your body simply because you want it SO DAMN MUCH.
Then throw in the dual awareness that you want it all the more because it’s someone you shouldn’t be fucking, and that you should hate yourself for wanting it from that person.
Welcome to incest. The early stages, anyway.
I came screaming and crying all at the same time, the sound muffled by my pillow, though I guess Dane and Mum must have fallen asleep already or surely they’d have heard it. Sandy, over me, buried her face in the crook of my shoulder as she fucked and humped her way to her first orgasm of the night – not simultaneous to mine, nothing so idyllic, but not that long after. The knowledge that the whole household was fucking itself spurred me on and when I recovered from the afterglow it was a heady combination of lust and self-hatred that spurred me on.
Down went Sandy, on her back, gasping on the bed. I grabbed the Feeldoe in one hand and wrenched it free, tossing it aside – I wasn’t so drunk as to use it on her after it’d been in my arse. But I did grab my second-favourite Feeldoe (I have three) and slid it in. The powerful muscles of my hungry cunt closed around the short bulb like they were trying to throttle it. A couple of quick squeezes with the lube bottle I kept in the same drawer and my hand was pumping lazily over thick, bulbous ‘meat’.
You know, I think I get why men like playing with themselves so much. There’s something about pumping your hand down your cock, looking down at the pussy you’re about to fuck, that’s a hell of a lot of fun.
Sandy bit the hand I put over her mouth when I penetrated her slick hole, plunging too quickly and too deeply. I felt the Feeldoe bounce off her back wall and felt her flinch in pain but I just didn’t give a shit. She started it, she was going to get the shit fucked out of her whether she liked it or not.
All lies, of course. Circumstance had started it and neither of us had stopped it. We were both to blame. If she’d had said she wanted me to stop I’d have done so instantly – but for a moment the fantasy was fun.
I stared down at her magnificent tits, half her body lit moodily by a streetlight outside that was gleaming through a gap in the curtains, and I felt a deep thrill as I thought back to Dane that morning. He’d stared at my breasts just like I was staring at Sandy’s. Fuck, I wanted him to see me then, kneeling over my hotheaded sister, about to pound the Charles Dickens out of her. And I hated myself for wanting it.
Sandy felt the practical effect of those conflicting feelings as I plunged into her. My hands clamped around her wrists and I held her down on the bed, feeling the stiff phallus push past her walls on every inward thrust. They resisted every time I slid into her, then sucked hungrily every time I pulled out, as if reluctant to admit they didn’t want me to leave. Sandy’s body arched and bucked under me, her gasping threatening to break into a cry, and when I pulled myself out her eyes opened wide at the feeling of abandonment.
It wasn’t for long. I scrambled for something in my drawer, found the wrong thing, tossed it aside. Two more goes and I had what I was after – a cherry-red rubber ball gag on a black rubber strap. I held it up and her mouth formed a perfect ‘O’. Then she grinned wide and nodded her head, opening her mouth obediently for me to secure the gag in place.
Her lips settled around that little sphere and I ached at how perfect she looked. She didn’t move from her spot, her wrists as firmly against the bed as if I were still leaning on them, legs wide and her wanton cunt glistening in what little light could get to it. When I pushed back into her she let out a groan of relief that almost broke my heart in two.
I’m no better than Sandy at wielding a cock but together we managed to rock and roll our way together until Sandy creamed hard, her fingers curling into fists, still trapped my my grasp as her legs tightened around my waist and trembled fiercely. Sweat ran down her skin and made her nipples gleam; her legs trembled again when I licked those nubs clean but when I moved to start fucking her once more she shook her head, freed her wrists and dragged me down on top of her.
The gag’s job was done so I took it off and threw it aside. The whole room stank of sex. Sandy doesn’t gush as often as I do but she was breathing hard, kissing me desperately with her legs still wrapped around me.
“Thank you,” she whispered between kisses, “I’m sorry, thank you, I’m sorry…” I didn’t ask what she was sorry for. I already knew that. She was crying too, legs unwilling to let me go, kisses those of an impassioned lover rather than any kind of sister. It was touching, bitter-sweet and deeply, profoundly sexy.
One major advantage of synthetic cocks over real ones: when you go to sleep there’s no danger of going soft and slipping out of your lover during the night.
When I woke up I felt like I was smothering. My memory was misbehavin’ as memories can after a long night of drink and it took me a few moments to work out that Sandy was lying on top of me. A few more seconds of horrified analysis had me realising that the bulk I could feel in my pussy was a Feeldoe (my second-favourite Feeldoe) and the business end of it was wedged deep in my sister who, of course, was lying on top of me and drooling slightly on my cheek.
It’s an odd feeling when humour, horror and arousal all batter at one’s head for attention. I lay quite still and waited it out, wracking my brain to try and figure out what had happened.
That didn’t take long and I studied the previous night hard. We went out. During the course of that we saw Linda feeling our Mum up. Then she’d turned up at the club again and taken us out for drinks. Linda had fingered us, we got back without her and drank some more, Sandy had started getting frisky while we listened to Dane fucking someone, and then…
Then it turned out to be Mum and things went way off the beaten track.
What I couldn’t work out, though, is how Sandy had ended up on top of me (I couldn’t work out what I felt about the whole thing, either, but I was carefully ignoring that part). Surely if we’d rolled over the natural course of wriggling and adjusting during the night would have led to us lying side by side?
At first I tried to roll her off without waking her up. Then, once I realised that wouldn’t work, I tried to wake her up and couldn’t. With her face as close to mine as it was I could feel her breath (damn, she needed to brush her teeth) and after a momentary frustrated urge to headbutt her from point blank range I decided that the hangover that was even then pushing in at my awareness would probably kill me if I did.
I fell asleep again.
When I woke up the second time we were, indeed, side by side. Sandy was awake and (a bit creepily, I have to say) watching me.
“Hey,” she said, smiling awkwardly.
“Hey,” I answered with a tongue that felt like cardboard.
“So, last night -”
I pushed her away, got up (to find the Feeldoe had already been removed) and ran to the ensuite where I was gloriously, messily and very loudly sick. That went on for some time, Sandy coming in and holding my hair back until I was done.
“You okay?” she asked as I sat back, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand.
I let out a noise that would probably be spelled “Eurugghh.”
“That good, huh?” she asked, amusement heavy in her voice.
“Don’t laugh too hard,” I snapped, “if you’ve gotten me pregnant then it’s your arse paying for Child Support, boyo.”
The absurdity of it kind of short circuited the moment and we dissolved into laugher. Well, Sandy dissolved into laughter. I dissolved into hiccups. You know those hiccups you get that taste of vomit? Yeah, those. It wasn’t my best moment.
“We need to talk about this,” I began, but Sandy cut me off.
“Maybe when we’re not both hung over,” she suggested.
I nodded. That sounded good. Of the very short list of noises that could possibly sound good when one has a pounding hangover, that was – at that moment – right at the top of my list.
There wasn’t a breakfast table for us that day. I was well after eleven o’clock before we went down. Dane was gone already but Mum was there, looking strangely cheerful and… glowing a bit. If we hadn’t connected the dots last night, I gotta say, that would have confused the remaining fuck out of us, that bit of fuck we hadn’t already fucked out.
“Morning girls,” she said in that sing-song voice we hadn’t heard for way too long.
“Only just,” Sandy scowled. “Where were you last night, hmm? You had us worried all night, young lady.”
Mum just laughed and headed to the stove. Sandy and I sat down at the table, the assumption that Mum was going to cook already proven right; she even had breakfast stuff ready – eggs, strips of bacon, that kind of thing.
“We heard Dane with someone last night when we got back in,” I said, eyes going wide when I realised what I’d just said. Mum had her back to us by then but we both saw her freeze. Not long, just a moment, but it was there.
“Really?” she asked.
“You didn’t hear?” Sandy asked, feigning surprise. “She must’ve been enjoying it. He was giving it to her pretty hard -”
“Sandy,” our mother scolded, carefully choosing not to turn around. “Saying such things at the table.”
“So… you didn’t hear?” I pressed, echoing Sandy’s question.
Mum shook her head. “No, I got in very early this morning. I spent the night at Linda’s.”
Sandy and I exchanged a glance. Normally the lie would have cut pretty deep but I think both of us understood the need for it. ‘This isn’t the time,’ that lie seemed to say. If Sandy and I were still coming to grips with what we’d done it wasn’t hard to imagine how much worse it must have been for her. For both of them.
So instead of pushing things Sandy had a flash of, quite frankly, brilliance.
“Ohhh, Linda,” she said, her tone dripping with innuendo. In YOUR end-o. “Yeah, we saw some of that action…”
“It’s not what you think,” Mum said, spinning around. Her face was aflame, scarlet and shame-stricken. “We’re not… I mean it wasn’t…”
“Mum. MUM!” I waved a hand to get her attention. My other hand was holding Sandy’s on the table; the two of us holding hands was nothing new in the house. “It’s okay. She’s nice, we like her. And it’s your body. So if you’re playing about with her or you’re not, either way is fine with us.”
“As long as you don’t want us to call her ‘Dad’,” Sandy put in, her tone quite neutral.
“Ewww,” I agreed.
Mum sat down shaking. Sandy looked at me, worried now, but after a few moments Mum smiled an uncertain smile and nodded. She sat there for a while, taking our free hands in hers, and we waited as she worked out exactly what it was she was going to say.
“Thank you,” she said after a long, long pause, “for understanding.”
I keep going back to that moment and wondering if she’d guessed that we already knew she was lying. If she was thanking us for not pushing, rather than the whole Linda thing (which, we knew anyway, was largely a non-event). I think that maybe she suspected.
The rest of the morning was actually fairly normal, even if Mum was pretty, um, distracted. We left not long after the brunch she cooked us and made our way out. Hangovers had mostly abated so we took off and gave her some space. The idea was that we’d go somewhere and talk about what had happened but we didn’t. We just wasted the day talking about shit that doesn’t matter and enjoying the sunshine.
And if we sat a little closer than we normally would, if our hands lingered over each other for comfort more than normal, well.
It’s not like anyone noticed.
– (Not) The End