Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By Shay

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

The room was softly lit, like a church. Candles flickered on every surface. Mirrors reflected their yellow glow. Sandalwood incense burned and the fragrant smoke coiled up towards the high ceiling. It was warm, yes, quite warm.

Carolyn sat on a wide sofa in the middle of the room. It faced large oaken double doors with gleaming golden handles, which, as they reflected the candle flames, seemed almost to be made of fire themselves.

Next to Carolyn on the couch was her older sister Janet. You would not have guessed that they were sisters unless you looked into their eyes. In their eyes were vines and parrots, pools and wings; tigers crept in those eyes and waterfalls fell to earth. These were eyes that could stop your heart — or start it again.

Carolyn sat silently, occasionally chewing her lip. When she did this, Janet watched her silently. Janet, two years older and dark as a winter night. Like falling through the ice at midnight — if you touched her, she would touch you back, touch you in a way that you would never forget.

She watched Carolyn, thirty minutes short of her twenty-first birthday. Golden-maned Carolyn, bright as the sun on a lifeboat, bright enough to induce thirst and madness. Carolyn, tawny as a caramel candy, Carolyn, carrier of her mother’s beauty. You could die with her name on your lips and never know why. Carolyn, whose night this would be.

Two women sitting side by side on a sofa in a softly lit room; one having passed this way before, yet utterly unable to guide, and the other about to pass through an experience that would cleanse or destroy her.

Twenty minutes. Fifteen. A clock chimed the quarter hour. Janet reached across and squeezed her sister’s hand. Still, they were silent. That is to say, no words passed between them.

At twelve minutes to the hour, a sudden shiver passed up Carolyn’s slender body like a bird on an updraft. She took a deep breath and waited.

At two minutes before twelve, Janet stirred. Without letting go of her sister’s hand, she leant across and touched her delicate jawline. Their eyes met. Janet looked away for a moment and then kissed Carolyn on the lips, very softly and a bit longer than she ever had before.

Before Carolyn could recover from her surprise, her older sister had stood and, without a word or a backward glance, disappeared out of a side door, her steps muffled on the thick dark green carpeting.

Carolyn could feel her heart beating. She could feel her sister’s kiss on her lips. The room was warm, so very warm. And then it was midnight.

The clock chimed twelve and a handsome man in a tuxedo opened the double doors and walked towards Carolyn. He offered his hand and she took it. He led her to the open doors and to the moment she had come here tonight to meet.

The handsome man smiled enigmatically, and not unkindly, as he escorted her up to, but not through the doors.

“Stop,” she whispered, and did, stock still as a deer in the forest, sensing the wolf. She removed her pretty hand from his arm.

“It’s all right—” he began but she cut him off.

“I want…”

“This is not the time for—” but again she sliced through his words.

“…a woman. I want a woman.” She turned her tiger eyes on him and he simply nodded and left the room.

Carolyn held perfectly still, straining for any sound. She was aware of her own breathing, regular but with a slight ripple in it.

And then she appeared. A tall blonde woman in a green dress. She wore diamonds on her ears and hands. She was regal.

“I am Marlene,” she said simply, in a low and sensual voice.

The smallest of smiles appeared at the corners of Carolyn’s mouth, the lips her sister had kissed turning up in a subtle but unmistakable expression of small triumph. The two women closed the doors behind them and walked down a hallway.

Marlene gave Carolyn a look which invited, commanded her to follow. She did, willingly. As Marlene walked, the green dress hugged her generous hips like a wave over a mermaid’s tail. Carolyn watched, as if transfixed by tides. Her feet carried her without thinking. The woman’s body was fragrant with night-blooming Jasmine. Carolyn wanted to bury her face in her. And still, it seemed so warm.

They came to a doorway and her beautiful guide opened the door and waited for Carolyn to precede her into the room. A bedroom. The woman’s gown was low cut and her breasts were smooth and perfect. Carolyn blinked, then looked away. She had never been with a woman. Not like this.

And yet, that was the entire point. This was her Midnight, the experience every woman must have on the night of her twenty-first birthday. The choice to be made. Many choices. Choices which would reverberate through the rest of her life. Choices she must make… soon.

Marlene stood before her at the foot of the large bed. She ran her fingers through Carolyn’s long blonde hair. For several minutes she did this, almost as if calming a nervous mare. Then, at last—without stopping the stroking of her hands in Carolyn’s hair, she leant forward until the younger woman could feel her sweet breath on her face. Marlene searched her eyes with her own green ones, the green of a siren sea.

Then her cheek was touching Carolyn’s, feather soft. And still, her gentle breath on her skin. Still, the gentle stroking of fingers through her hair. And then… kisses, light as petals falling on her cheeks, next to her eyes… her forehead… soft lips on her closed eyes… and at last, settling on her lips like a perfect wordless phrase. Like music.

Carolyn had never been kissed this way. At least, not until just before the double doors had opened. What had…? But her thoughts melted away as Marlene’s kisses took her over. Marlene caught Carolyn’s lower lip gently between her teeth and then released. Then she kissed her over and over, unbearably gently, in a sensual allegro.

A little cry escaped her when Marlene’s tongue slipped into her mouth, like an angel folding her wings, like a succubus priming a sleeper. And still, softly, still so sweet.

Carolyn’s legs were getting weak and without realizing it she clung to Marlene for support, even as Marlene herself weakened her, made her pliable, dizzy with delight.

And then Marlene’s small hand grasped a handful of golden hair and held it, making Carolyn cant her head to the side. Marlene’s green eyes glowed and she smiled like a jaguar.

“Carolyn… what do you want?”

But before the blonde young woman could gather her wits, just as she opened her mouth to say, What? Marlene’s hungry mouth covered hers again and Carolyn’s knees buckled. Marlene smoothly laid her on the bed and then lay atop her, never breaking the kiss.

The easy weight of this woman’s body on hers felt delicious to Carolyn. Nothing at all like a man. Marlene’s kisses were demanding, yes, but with the sense of having the perfect right to demand. Marlene’s breasts, the same fine breasts that Carolyn had admired before, were now pressed to her own as Marlene’s tongue and lips explored hers.

So delicious, thought Carolyn, so marvelous to feel another woman against me. Her fullness, her softness, her knowing. Oh yes.

Marlene drew back and searched Carolyn’s eyes before lowering her lovely face again and using her left hand to firmly move Carolyn’s head to the side.

“What do you want?” she whispered, her breath warm in Carolyn’s ear just before Marlene’s tongue smoothly followed her words and Carolyn moaned beneath her. Marlene tongued and sucked her lover’s ears until the girl was squirming underneath her and moaning out her pleasure.

“What… do… you… want?” she asked again, letting her hands caress Carolyn’s breasts, her thumbs rolling across her nipples through her dress.

“I want to undress you.”

And with that, Marlene smiled and slowly released her prey and stood next to the bed. “Why don’t you, then?”

Carolyn got to her knees on the bed and gently turned Marlene around. She ran her hands over the bare skin, so smooth, so welcoming. She licked her lips without realizing that she was, and took the tiny green zipper in her hand and drew it down. The dress fell to either side, parting like a curtain when a play begins. She ran her hand over the beautiful exposed skin and was rewarded with the sensual sound of Marlene’s husky purr.

“You remind me of…” began Carolyn in a distracted voice.

“Of who, sweetheart?”

Carolyn shook her lovely head. “Of — of no one.”

In an instant Marlene’s hand was softly but firmly gripping Carolyn’s throat, then slowly stroking downward, lightening its pressure.

“Don’t lie,” warned Marlene.

“I’m sorry.”

Marlene shook her head slowly. “No, precious, tonight isn’t about me. This is your Midnight.” She trailed her perfect fingernail down Carolyn’s arm. “What you embrace or deny tonight is forever. People used to waste their lives agonizing over their secrets, the guilts, their hidden desires. That’s not for you, precious. Don’t lie to yourself. Don’t hide from yourself. I am only the canvas you will paint your desires on tonight. Your Midnight.” And with that, Marlene let her beautiful green dress fall like an outdated notion, and smiled as Carolyn reached out to touch her perfect, full breasts.

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

“I want these,” replied the younger woman eagerly as the shared sound of their soft laughter filled the air.

Marlene took Carolyn’s hands. “Touch them.” And she did, feeling their perfect lovely femaleness in her hands. So full, so sexy, so inviting. She caressed them and watched, fascinated, as Marlene’s large dark nipples puckered and stood up under Carolyn’s feminine touch. Marlene tilted her head back and sighed.

For the first time in her life, Carolyn bent down and took another woman’s luscious breast in her mouth. Could anything ever feel so heavenly? She instinctively knew exactly what to do as her pretty cheeks hollowed and she greedily enjoyed what Marlene was offering her.

“That’s right,” cooed Marlene, once again stroking the beautiful blonde mane of her younger lover. “Take what you want. Yes baby, mmmm, that feels so good.”

Carolyn sucked on each of Marlene’s nipples almost until they hurt, first surrounding each one with her soft lips and then gently pulling on them with her perfect teeth. Having teased them erect, she sucked them deeply until finally letting go with a sexy wet pop.

“So beautiful,” Marlene sighed. “You’ve never made love to another woman’s breasts before, have you, precious?”

“No,” Carolyn admitted while covering the curve of Marlene’s left breast with adoring kisses and laying her face against the hard nipple.

“But you’ve wanted to,” Marlene urged.

“Yes,” confessed Carolyn as her blonde hair fell over the smooth skin of Marlene’s shoulders, and she kissed her shoulders, her throat, her upper arms. “For a long time.” Marlene was not asking this time, her voice confident and sure as her hands explored and caressed Carolyn. Busy, happy Carolyn.

“Sweetheart,” whispered Marlene through her heightening pleasure. “What else have you been wanting?”

With that, Carolyn, gently rolled Marlene onto her stomach on the bed and feasted her eyes on Marlene’s ample, curvy, wonderful ass. The ass she’d been admiring all the way down the hall. But this time she was looking at bare flesh. Running her hands over the gorgeous soft swells. Her cheeks. Her lips.

Marlene moaned and lifted her ass in the air a bit, resting her head on her elbows with her eyes closed.

“Don’t deny yourself, precious,” she purred.

Carolyn didn’t intend to. She gasped with pleasure as she explored Marlene’s sexy hips and covered her rounded loveliness with kisses. She gently parted them and kissed and licked her intimately relished Marlene’s loud moans of pleasure as she did. Carolyn traced her fingertips over Marlene’s labia lips as she licked the woman’s anus as if she were starving, her urgent sounds of desire muffled against the flesh she was busy worshiping.

She ducked her head down to lick Marlene’s vulva — her very first taste of another woman — and a sweet shock ran through her entire body, a realization of the arousing combination of sexy familiarity and otherness, the pure delicious scent and taste of femaleness.

Marlene maneuvered them so that she was straddling the very willing younger woman, her blonde hair spread out around her lovely face.

“Yes, baby,” purred Marlene as she slowly lowered herself onto her eager lover. “What do you want? My pussy? My cunt, is that what you want?”

But Carolyn couldn’t answer. She could only barely breathe. And she was in heaven as Marlene smothered her in what she wanted.

Carolyn wrapped her hands around Marlene’s generous hips and moaned into her marvelous wetness with unfettered desire. She simply couldn’t get enough of this woman’s pussy, her aroma, her heat, her depths, her slick arousal. She felt a deep thrill as she had the thought, this is the most womanly thing I have ever done.

She felt as though she could climax herself, from pleasuring Marlene. And when Marlene reached casually back and began fingering her, she did exactly that.

“Tell me,” whispered Marlene as they lay kissing afterwards. Carolyn tasted of pussy, was marked by pussy, drenched with Marlene’s scent, as if Marlene were some magnificent female animal.

“Tell me, Carolyn,” Marlene urged softly, “who was it I reminded of you of?” She stroked Carolyn’s warm side, just under her ribs, “when you were walking behind me… when you were taking off my dress… I saw it in your eyes even before you told me. Who was it, precious, who were you remembering when you adored my ass… when you lost yourself in my cunt? Who? Tell me.”

Carolyn thought of all the times she had admired, envied, and yes, desired the woman who she had grown to resemble. She blushed, and her first instinct was to keep it from Marlene, even from herself, but then she remembered Marlene’s firm hand at her tender throat, and the wise words she had spoken. This is your Midnight.

“I was remembering my mother, ” she said softly in Marlene’s ear. “My mother,” she whispered again, finding a new pleasure in the words themselves.

Marlene kissed Carolyn again and murmured, “I know, precious. And did you want her to kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“And… did you want her to come to your bed and lay down next to you? Did you want her to make love to you?”

“Yessss, ” Carolyn answered through rising arousal.

“Of course you did, precious. How lovely, how beautiful.”

Marlene gently rolled over on top of Carolyn and moved her thigh up between her silken smooth legs while moving gently atop the younger female.

“What else, precious? There is more. More even than this.”

“Y-yes.” It was getting hard for Carolyn to think to respond in any way but a physical way. Something was breaking down within her, some useless barrier, and the remains of it were fueling a passion that was rising quickly within her.

“What do you want, sweetheart? Who do you want? Even more than the glorious woman you’ve been confessing to me about? Who speaks straight to your heart?”

Marlene had slipped her hand down to Carolyn’s wetness and she was fingering her expertly as she gently moved on her and inflamed the young woman with her words.

“I…I don’t—” Carolyn faltered.

“Tell me what you see… what you feel… in your heart and mind at this very moment, precious Carolyn. Tell me. Tell me while I’m fucking you. So sweet, so good. Yes, Carolyn, tell me what you see. What you want.”

Carolyn was trying to match her lover’s rhythm, and had her arms hooked up and around Marlene’s back with her fingers spread across Marlene’s shoulders, as if she were trying to hold on to something solid in a rushing current.

“I feel… Mom’s hand on the back of my head… in my hair….”

“Yes, baby… that’s right…tell me.”

“She’s—” Carolyn bit her lips and trembled as her pleasure became almost unbearable, her self control a memory as Marlene’s body and skillful fingers pushed her ever higher.

“She wants… she wants me to kiss…”

“Yes…?”

“She wants…”

“You want—”

“I want to kiss Janet! I want Janet!” Carolyn wrapped her legs around Marlene and bucked beneath her in a beautiful fury of joy.

As her orgasm overwhelmed her, Carolyn screamed, “I want my sister! I want her, ohhhhhh Janet, I love you, I love you….”

Her words, torn from the depths of her heart and desires, were shouted out in the same cadence as the delicious rolling orgasm that was seemingly tearing her apart.

“I want Janet,” she panted helplessly, broken and yet more whole than she had ever been. “I want my sister.”

Marlene propped herself on her hands and smiled down at Carolyn, laughing warmly.

“Yes, you do,” she said in a honeyed voice.

In the morning, after the two women had left each other’s embrace, after they had dressed; just a bare moment before Carolyn’s Midnight was over, Marlene took the younger woman in her arms one last time and stroked her beautiful blonde hair.

Smiling into her eyes, she said, “Precious? There’s something I didn’t tell you.”

Carolyn looked up at Marlene quizzically as she stood in her arms near the unmade bed.

“What I didn’t tell you was that two years ago, another young woman told me of her desire. A desire so very similar to your own.” Marlene kissed Carolyn on the lips, ran her hand up and down her bare arm and spoke one last time before they parted.

“That woman’s name was Janet. And she’s waiting right outside the door for you, to take you home.”

The End

By Marie Marshall

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

“When’s your flight?” I asked quietly, standing before my sister, hands awkwardly clasped behind me.

Helen shrugged. “Tomorrow morning – I forget what time. The taxi will be here at some ungodly hour.” She looked listlessly at her luggage, flicked at the catch on her case, then glanced up at me, a slight frown on her face.

“This time tomorrow, I’ll be in Canada,” she said. “You’ll finally be rid of me.”

“Don’t say it like that,” I protested halfheartedly.

“Come on, Ronnie,” she said, knowing how much I had come to detest that diminutive – I much prefer my full name, Veronica. “You know we don’t get along, you and I.”

It was true. Ever since the time she reached her teens, two years ahead of me, I’d been an irritant to her; I was her embarrassing little sister. Often when she wanted to go out, our parents would make her stay at home to keep an eye on me. And it was no use her trying to have friends round, or a boyfriend, because I was always in the way. Helen had blamed me ever since for her lack of success with the opposite sex. I suppose her bitterness had rubbed off; I had long felt resentment towards the big sister who always seemed to hate me.

Now that we were both in our twenties, there was no love lost between us. We were on totally different wavelengths, and hardly spoke anymore.

“It wasn’t always like that,” I said sullenly.

She shrugged again, her expression neutral. Why was she like this, damn it? Helen was the one who started all this ugliness between us; the one who turned cold first. No point in saying so, of course — she would simply shake her head and say I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Perhaps my memory was longer than hers; didn’t it stretch back to a time before our enmity, when we were simply playmates – our role playing games with dolls, our rambles on the beach, our sisterly laughter? Perhaps the years in between had blotted all this out for her, so great was her resentment towards me.

Now here we were, in our mother’s echoing house, the day after Mom’s funeral. She’d sold her half to me for a song, and was on the eve of leaving for Ontario, and a new life.

“I’d better say goodbye now, before turning in,” she said. “I don’t expect you to get up to see me off. In fact I’d rather you didn’t.”

Why was I surprised by this? Come to that, why was I hurt? Why didn’t I just tell her to fuck off to Canada and leave me in peace? I had to face it, a part of my life was about to disappear, and suddenly I felt more connected to the playmate of my youth than to this ill-natured half-stranger standing there fussing with her luggage. People said we didn’t resemble each other, but now I actually looked long at her, and began to see the likeness. Now she seemed more like a mirror image; apart from her face being thinner and her hair darker. It caused a pang to see echoes and shadows of my old playmate where I did not expect them.

Suddenly Helen surprised me by stepping up to me, putting her arms around my neck. Surprised? More like shocked, as I caught the scent of her perfume and her sweet breath.

For a moment neither of us spoke or moved. Then she kissed me.

It was a light, gentle touch on my lips. I’d never kissed a girl, so the softness of her mouth came as a complete surprise to me. She broke away and rested her forehead against mine, traced figure eights on the back of my neck with a fingernail, and sighed.

“Damn you, Ronnie,” she whispered, her eyes lowered.

I felt my heart banging against my ribs… but with excitement rather than anger.

Then she nuzzled my face, her lips searching for mine again. This time her mouth lingered as she kissed me. The strange thing was that, instead of pushing her away, I stood there wondering if my lips felt as soft to her; realizing that this must be what it would be like to kiss myself, thinking that she was my sister and we shouldn’t be kissing this way – but none of this seemed to matter. What mattered was to experience this thing, to hold onto her, to hold onto this piece of my past.

Her hand was still behind my head, but now our mouths were pressed together and open, tongue touching tongue, her lips nibbling mine. Helen’s eyes were closed, but I couldn’t close my own, still wide in disbelief — even denial.

I studied her face, her expression softer than I had ever seen it before, and with a shock I realised that she was beautiful. Having seen that, I closed my eyes too, and enjoyed the dancing of her tongue.

Thoughts danced around my head in time to her probing tongue. This is what it’s like to kiss a woman. It’s wonderful, and I never knew! Would it be like this with other women, or was there something special about Helen’s forbidden kiss?

Then suddenly I felt a panic, as I realised that I was falling into a lesbian passion for my own sister; but that very thought suddenly thrilled me! My emotions flipped and shifted this way and that. And all the time, that caress of tongue on tongue as our mouths slid sensuously together.

I now found myself with both hands up Helen’s sweater and cupped around her breasts, my thumbs flicking her nipples. Somehow I registered the thought that she wore no bra. Again her forehead was resting against mine, again her arms were around my neck, but now she had arched backwards to let my hands touch her body. She looked at me from under lowered eyelids.

“You fucking bitch,” she said.

“Shut up! Kiss me!” I gasped.

She did so, desperately, almost brutally, as though quenching a deep, deep thirst. And as she kissed me she seized my breasts, her hands stroking, fondling… her fingers telling me beautiful lies. My mind raced, rational thoughts battling with helpless arousal. She was doing wonderful things to me – had she done this sort of thing before? Had she practiced on herself? How could I think such things about my sister? And yet, here she was – here we were making out as though our lives depended on it. Over all this two thoughts hammered away in my brain: I hate her… I want her… I hate her… I want her…

More lost minutes, vaguely aware of tearing clothes from each other’s bodies, no words spoken but low growling through clenched teeth, and labored breathing. Then all too aware of where we were, how we were – naked and entwined upon my bed, our mouths pressed together in a kiss more passionate than any I’d ever shared with a lover. She was grinding herself against me, and I found myself matching her movements.

Suddenly she tore her mouth from mine, trailing her tongue down between my breasts. Then she took an aching nipple between her lips to suckle, and I cradled my sister’s face to my chest. Helen’s tongue circled the pink tip, and my head seemed to spin right along. I felt her hand slipping between my thighs, and a whimper escaped me as she palmed my now dripping vulva.

I wanted to be the aggressor now. Sitting up, I roughly flipped my sister onto her back, then got on top of her, claiming her mouth in a crushing kiss. I reached down for her cunt, needing to take my bitch of a sister, to make her mine. I thrust two fingers into her vagina and began fucking her, hard and fast. A scream broke from her lips, and her nails bit into my back. We were sharing rough, unrestrained love that was definitely flavored with hatred… but that only made our incestuous coupling so incredibly, unbelievably hot. And we kissed again and again, as if we were passionate lovers instead of fighting sisters.

Somehow Helen and I got into a 69 position… legs thrust apart, faces buried deep in each other’s pubic curls, licking at the pink flesh we both found there, no longer caring that we were sisters, simply wanting, needing, desperate… I could think of nothing now but how wonderful she tasted, how beautiful her pussy was, how much I loved what she was doing to me.

Was it hours or mere minutes that we fucked like that? I couldn’t tell, lost as I was in her heat, exploring a black nebula of lust with two burning women right there in the middle. It felt as though we were melting; sweat poured off us, mingling with the juice of our arousal, and I felt as though I was drowning in it.

But there was nothing we could have done to stop this, as we plunged headlong towards orgasm. Helen was making a continuous keening noise, trembling uncontrollably. We clasped our arms around each other’s bodies as tight as iron bands cooling around a barrel, and forced our faces between each other’s soft thighs, licking, licking, tasting one another’s essences; we clung desperately as we both heaved in climax, Helen screaming, me gasping. Then we collapsed in a hot, sticky heap.

Rolled away, feeling cold air on my body, gooseflesh beginning to rise. I looked at the ruin of my bedclothes and at my sister. She had one hand over her face, weeping. I put my arms around her, as tenderly as I could. She reached out and pulled me close to her; now she was giving out great sobs, and with each one she thumped a fist ineffectually on my shoulder-blade.

“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” she said, through gritted teeth, each great sob seemingly torn from her lungs.

“Shh, Lennie, Lennie,” I said, remembering and using her own nickname from all those years ago, kissing her cheek, brushing her tears away with my lips, tasting my own cunt on her. “It’s all right. It’s all right. Shush now!”

I stroked her and talked to her until her sobs subsided into whimpers. She no longer hit me, but lay close, snuggled in my arms, warming herself on my body. I felt her lips gently brush my cheek. I drew back to gaze into her eyes… and before I knew it, we were kissing again.

We fucked over and over again that night. No words were spoken, just the sharing of pleasure. My sister and I explored every inch of each other’s bodies, and it was utterly wonderful. I marveled at having grown to adulthood without making love to another woman.

Finally, utterly spent, my sister and I lay quietly, our naked bodies curled together. Eventually her breathing became regular and quiet, and I could see that she was asleep. She looked relaxed, young, beautiful, and I kept myself awake for hours just to look at her, in wonder at her beauty and almost in disbelief at what had just happened between us.

I must have fallen asleep at some time, because my next recollection is of waking. I was alone. The duvet had been drawn over me, and I could hear Helen moving around somewhere else in the house. I got up and struggled quickly into an old rugby shirt and a pair of jogging pants. In the hall Helen was fussing with her luggage again, and putting on her shoes. We didn’t speak. I kept watch at the front window until headlights drew into our avenue.

“Your taxi’s here.”

The taxi driver took her bags out to the car. Without a backward glance my sister said, “’Bye, then,” and walked out of my life. Forever, except for a Christmas card every year. And that’s the end of the story.

Except it’s not really the end. I’ve been haunted by this episode ever since – when two playmates of long ago gave way to a flood of emotion so strong that they could not find a name for it, and had to find another way to reach one another. And except also for this: as Helen left without looking at me, for a brief second she took hold of my hand. She let it go quickly, but traced her fingers across my palm, down my own fingers, right to their tips. Her last touch – I can feel it to this very day, and feel as though I am branded…

Five years later, not a day goes by when I don’t think of my sister, remembering that night when we shared our bodies as lovers. Not a day when I don’t long for her kiss, her touch. I’ve taken other partners since then, both male and female, but none have lasted for long… none have truly satisfied that deep, deep hunger I feel for Helen.

Somehow I know — and I’m not sure how I know — that my sister and I are destined to be together again. One day, the need I feel for her will become too great to bear… or perhaps she can’t take another sleepless night, dreaming of me. Then one of us will go to the other, and the two sisters who were enemies will be lovers once more.

The End

By Una

When summer came, I joined Ann in Edinburgh. I’d hadn’t seen my sister since Christmas. It had been more than a year since we had “been together,” a euphemism she used for our sisterly intimacy. On that occasion, our lovemaking had been hurried. It was as though we were both frightened of  — yet we couldn’t do without.

Our strong emotional attachment was still there, but we were growing apart. We had different friends, were separated by hundreds of miles as we studied, and our passionate trysts were confined to clandestine embraces, a few stolen kisses and hurried fumblings whenever we were out of Mother’s sight.

The only chance we had to be together was at home, whenever we returned for Christmas or Easter. The last contact that had satisfied us both had been in Ann’s bedroom, where she stood with her back to the door, leaning on it in case Mother chose to enter. Fully clothed, we kissed hungrily, hands fumbling under our clothing until we reached and fondled the moist centres of each other’s passion.

That night, as Ann and I sat with our parents for the last dinner we would share for another few months, I wondered about my sanity. What was it that made me so desperate in my craving for the pleasures I got from embracing and kissing my sister?

Why did her touch thrill me like nothing else? Why did every stroke of my finger in her wetness etch itself in my memory, so that when in those half-asleep moments in bed, when reaching into my inner being for comfort, it was Ann’s wetness I felt, not my own? Why, when I took myself to the summit of satisfaction, was it always Ann who I dreamed of — lying beside me in my lonely bed, her fingers magically turning my raised legs to jelly as she plumbed the sinful depths of my soul?

I had a boyfriend, of sorts. Other girls envied me. Sean was attractive, the life and soul of any party — and he had money, or his father had. At least that was the myth at that time.

He was also sexually undemanding, which I found his biggest attraction. We could go to the cinema, and I wouldn’t be harassed by his wandering hand. He would sit in my flat for ages, talking to Judith and I — and never attempt to entice me into bed. Even when we were alone in the flat, he seemed indifferent to such things.

Later, I discovered that far from being a gentleman and respecting my person, he was a repressed gay. For all the time we were a couple, he never got up the courage to explore intimacy with a man, so far as I know. He simply avoided all sex.

I needed far more than Sean was capable of giving. I got fed up trying to excite him — soon relying on pleasuring myself in times of need, which was most nights. It wasn’t possible to touch myself without a picture of my sister Ann appearing. Oh, I’d fight it, and try to conjure up some lustful fantasy of a virile, handsome man to stimulate my brain and arouse my body.

But always, always, memories of my adventures with Ann would appear, until I finally had to surrender and allow myself to enjoy them. Sometimes they were highly erotic, other times they were mental snapshots of my sister’s nakedness, of the parts of her that made me shiver to recall. The gentle slope of Ann’s back, the curve of her hips, the creamy globes that were her breasts.

I’d see us both, giggling conspiratorially as we pleasured ourselves, staring intently into each other’s eyes, seeing the blissful thoughts reflected there until, with barely audible sighs, we would both ascend to our peaks — sharing a secret moment of satisfaction.

These images would intrude as I struggled to concentrate on some more acceptable daydream. But as a finger moved among my folds, the picture would be replaced by one of Ann emerging from the bathroom, topless, tight knickers silhouetting the rift valley along her mound. It was a vision that never failed to grant me the sweet release of orgasm.

Ann was on a five-year course in Edinburgh. Now 22, she had settled in well. It looked as though she would live permanently in Scotland upon graduation. I missed her desperately. We’d been so close at one time. I missed her sisterly comfort and affection, but most of all I missed our forbidden love.

During our late teens, our secret romance had waxed, then waned. Looking back, it’s clear that both of us felt that we should leave behind the carnal part of our relationship — the sly touching, the clandestine looks, the forbidden embraces, the mutual masturbation.

Invariably, when I lay with Ann, glowing in the aftermath of our lovemaking, guilt and fear would well up in my mind. Ann’s hunger for me was huge. I worried that she would be unable to have a family relationship later in life — a husband and children. I didn’t want her to rely on only me for love, for satisfaction.

I was different, I felt. I could marry Sean, and still retain my secret longing for Ann. I couldn’t marry my sister, but I was happy to imagine her face, to smell her excitement, to remember the warmth of her naked body against mine as I drifted off to sleep, face down, a comforting pillow tucked between my thighs.

I’d sit with my boyfriend for hours in his car looking out to sea, occasionally kissing, sometimes even petting. All the while, my mind would be filled with sexual thoughts of Ann. I’d see us in some exotic setting — kissing, hugging, fondling, using fingers and mouths to gratify each other.

These thoughts were on my mind as I hung up the phone and noticed that I was breathless. Ann had just told me that her housemates were going to a festival. She would be alone for the weekend. Making my way into the bedroom, I took down a suitcase and began to pack. I had to be there, with my sister.

*****

Ann greeted me in prim, sisterly fashion — a warm hug, a kiss on the cheek, an inquiry about my flight, and the offer of coffee. We sat in the kitchen, catching up with the latest news and gossip.

Later, she showed me around the house. It was huge compared with the dingy little flat I shared with Judith. The bathroom was delightful, if a little untidy. But it was Ann’s bedroom that thrilled me most. It was large and airy, with a big bay window and a double bed.

We stood awkwardly for a moment in the centre of the room. She didn’t need to tell me that I would be sleeping there. Although there were spare beds, I knew that was what she wanted, and what I wanted.

I turned to her, and our eyes met. Love and desire were there to see in Ann’s gaze, as well as the sweet dark fire of lust.

Wrapping both arms around my sister’s neck, I drew her mouth to mine. My tongue entered her like a lance. Her hands cradled my face between them as she responded to my kiss with a hunger so intense that it felt like fury.

Our breasts were pressed tightly together as we thrust against each other. Then her hands were on my arse, raising the back of the new skirt I’d bought to wear for her until my knickers were exposed. She slipped a hand beneath the front of them, her fingers seeking and finding my sex.

I felt a finger press against the soft, wet warmth between my legs. Then Ann flung her head back and laughed — not the soft, girly giggle which used to mark our secret touchings, but a loud guffaw of unrestrained mirth.

I freed my arms from about her neck and she stepped back. Smacking me playfully on the backside, she said, “You’re a dirty bitch, Una. Your cunt is dripping!”

To which I replied, “It was you doing the fingering, sister!”

We were still laughing as we went downstairs to eat the meal Ann had prepared. My ankles seemed to have wings. I couldn’t remember when I’d last been so happy. Ann and I were going to sleep together for the first time since I was about sixteen.

We’d had our moments since then, of course: but they were mere passing flights of passion, stolen moments in unsatisfactory surroundings, when we lived in fear of discovery and wrestled with the torments of guilt.

A stranger would have known from our babbling over dinner how excited we were. We pretended, to each other and ourselves, that we were two sisters who hadn’t met for ages, having a leisurely meal. But it was hard to pretend — my beetroot cheeks and lobster-pink neck were giveaways. Ann knew me well enough to read the signs. Thankfully, she could not see the other clue to my lustful anticipation: the uncomfortably hot moisture between my thighs.

I needed a shower and an early night. I said so as I laid my fork and knife to one side.

Ann agreed. I ignored the way she was twirling one finger around another, trying not to look directly at me — a sure signs that her libido had gone into overdrive. I knew how she felt down there. I’d felt that warm, hidden puddle before, many times. Especially right then.

I offered to do the dishes. She wouldn’t hear of it. She offered a dressing gown. I told her it wasn’t necessary. I was hoping she’d join me in the shower. The thought of that was thrilling, but she didn’t.

After drying myself, I padded barefoot across the big room and sat at the dressing table fixing my long hair for bed. Ann arrived, fussed about, asked if I needed anything. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to tell her about going to bed with my flatmate Judith. I wanted to say to her, Yes, by Christ, I need a fuck. But I didn’t. This was not the time or the place. I would choose my moment in bed.

She asked about Charlie, my stuffed toy panda. In a moment of madness when I was about fifteen, I’d told her how I pleasured myself with Charlie — lying in bed, face down, his leg stuck between mine as I thrust. At the time, she’d laughed: a superior, big-sister sort of laugh.

Now Ann was teasing me about Charlie. I suspected that it made her feel better about her own passionate hunger. I gave a snort of laughter and called her an old bitch. It was a term of endearment, but I knew she didn’t like to be reminded that she was the older sister, even if it was only by two years. My sister would never be a teen again, but then neither would I.

The bed was crisply fresh. Cool linen sheets. They smelled newly laundered. I knew that Ann had prepared them for my visit. She’d left out a three-quarters-length traditional cotton nightie — for appearance’s sake, I supposed. We were still playing girlish games, pretending each time we made love that we weren’t having sex, merely indulging in a unique game we’d invented during childhood.

I climbed into her bed naked, smiling at the very thought of wearing a nightie.

I was almost asleep when she came to bed. The tiredness from a long day and the flight had me exhausted. I watched from under drooping lids as she undressed. It was like old times. Sharing a room, sharing a bed, sharing love with my sister.

But things had changed since we were children. Ann’s shape was different, the fuller figure of a mature woman — hips wider, buttocks broader. When she removed her bra and faced me, I could see that the high, perfect spheres had been replaced by two pear-shaped breasts. They were still small enough to belong to a fourteen-year-old, but they had lost their pyramid shape.

Who cares? I thought. They are part of Ann, an intimate, wonderful part of my sister.

Keeping her knickers on, Ann slipped into bed beside me. I took her into my arms, starved for her embrace. We kissed; a subdued, sisterly kiss. I was breathless with excitement, instantly wanting more.

Her hand was on my back — tenderly stroking me, as a mother would her baby. We kissed again, our lips parting, just a little at first.

Oh, my God. Ann’s hand had slipped down to my bare bum, and she was caressing it in the most indescribable way. Her thigh ground steadily against my crotch, making my nectar flow.

I was lost in a world of helpless lust. How could I have forgotten how sweet, how perfect this was? Why had I allowed what I had with Ann to fall by the wayside?

I’d had enough of these gentle kisses. My lips parted like a wild animal about to devour its prey. I bit her lower lip, then plunged my tongue deep into her mouth.

She responded by thrusting into my mound, moving her thigh so my cleft was parted, then closed, then parted again. The most wonderful sensations rolled over me, like an ocean wave lifting, carrying me away, tossing my quivering body hither and thither.

My hand was between Ann’s legs — cupping her, pushing against the warm moistness of her gusset. I wriggled a finger lower, seeking to part her, to open her inner sanctum to my probing. The humidity of her sex was soooo… arousing. It was as though my finger had been wrapped in a warm, soaking washcloth.

We thrashed about, turning, twisting — Ann on top, then me, then her again, like two cats fighting. We were struggling to get her wet knickers off, me tugging at one side, she at the other. Never had so much energy been spent trying to roll a pair of light cotton panties down a woman’s thighs. We were giggling, laughing in our frantic haste, the two of us almost hysterical.

She had no sooner kicked them off her ankles than I took charge. Kneeling alongside, I parted her raised knees. We had fallen silent. Ann sensed that what we used to call the Sacred Kiss was about to happen again for the first time in years.

I lowered my head until it was between her legs, kissing one thigh and then the other. She shivered. Delicious. I could smell her need, that wonderful musky fragrance so like my own, a natural scent I recalled from our earliest days.

I teased her. I wanted to tease her — as she’d done to me many times when she was Big Sister, the one who had to be obeyed. I licked to one side of her slit, a long slow lick like a fat, lazy cat drinking milk.

She shivered as my mouth passed by, tensing herself for the warm wetness of a lover’s tongue on her cavern. But it didn’t arrive. Instead, I placed my cheek on her vulva, using it as a resting place while my tongue traced a thin line on her inner thigh.

She groaned. The sweet sighs of earlier were gone — now she was articulating her hunger, desperate to rise to the heights of rapture.

I relished the plaintive moans, savored the convulsive squeezes of her thighs on either side of my head as I continued to toy with Ann. Was I being needlessly cruel? Or was I taking her further, prolonging her anticipation, promising with each kiss that she would soon be transported into a world where she’d never been before, not with any other lover.

I turned my head slowly. So slowly that I doubt if she felt my lips on her vulva. her thatch was well-trimmed but prickly. I didn’t mind. Her scent was assailing my nostrils, intoxicating me. Was there anything naughty, anything bold, that I hadn’t yet tried to please my sister?

I wriggled my nose, easing the stubbled lips apart, feeling the hot wetness on its tip. I slowly drew my tongue upwards, parting the inner folds, uncovering the tiny pearl of Anne’s clit.

Above me, Ann’s voice was muffled. Her thighs obscured my hearing, closing my ears as they spasmed — tightening, then relaxing. I could hear my name, along with repeated cries of, “Please.”

I knew she was near the point of no return. Her back was arching, hips squirming, her buttocks moving this way and that. I put my hands between her legs and parted the lust-puffed lips with two fingers.

It lay before me, the nerve centre of her sexuality. Parting my lips, I placed a tiny kiss on the love button. Slowly, as if drinking through a straw, I drew it between my tightened lips.

She cried out on the second intake. I held the fleshy pearl in my mouth, tickling it with the tip of the tongue. I pushed as if to expel, to relieve her agony of passion. But it was a tease. As she relaxed in anticipation of regaining her senses, I sucked the slippery nub hard, as if intending to swallow it, to eat her inner core.

She climaxed instantly, nearly throwing me aside as a violent orgasm overwhelmed her.

Soon, I lay between my sister’s legs, listening to her breath-catching gasps. Once Ann had returned to me from the ether, I crawled into her arms.

I’d never felt so close to anyone, before or since. We spoke of love, of how only sisters could love each other in such a special way. We talked of an upside-down world, where people killed and were killed, where cruelty and evil were everywhere, a world that would not allow us to openly express our closeness as sisters, as lovers.

That night, the barricades of guilt and shame were finally broken down for good. Until then, we had been held back by our inhibitions, our loving mired in a juvenile, eyes-shut world. But now it was as if my sister’s clitoris had become a magic button — once pushed, it opened doors in her mind, and in mine.

We were no longer clumsy, impressionable teens — Ann and I were two women in love, mature enough now to know it, eager to explore every side of our grownup needs and desires. I told Ann about Judith, how my roommate and I had made love on the night of the power cut. She seemed a little jealous at first. But as we lay together naked, stroking one another, my fingers running through her hair, Ann teasing my nipple, a wonderful calm descended on the room.

We listened to a distant church clock chime. Ann said it was nine PM. I marvelled that we’d been in bed only two hours.

We spent another couple of hours baring our souls to one another, exchanging thoughts. Men were okay. They were simple creatures, really — good for giving babies and sharing a home, bad to share a bed with. Women were lovely in bed. Some women were wonderful, the only source of real sexual thrills and satisfaction. Sisters were best, Ann declared, nuzzling my cheek.

I wanted to know how Ann could say this. Had she been in bed with other women?

“Not for a while,” she said. I quizzed her. Ann told me that she and her best friend Maura had made love many times.

It happened, she told me, during sleepovers. But Maura had to go to England. We all knew the story about her aunt needing her in London wasn’t true. She was expecting. She’d fallen pregnant at seventeen, when she and my sister were leading lights in a chastity group.

I felt my own pangs of jealousy, but it would hardly be fair to become angry, not after my relationship with Judith.

We lay silent. The special fragrance of the sex we’d had was everywhere: our faces, our fingers, our skin, on the bedclothes. It was the aroma of nature, of womanly love and desire.

I snuggled closer to Ann and put a hand between my sister’s thighs, dipping a finger into the humid valley of her cunt. There was an instant reaction. Like an underground spring, she began to flow freely, baptizing me with her essence.

Languidly peeling the fleshy hood back, I tipped the pearl of Ann’s clitoris. It felt so like mine. And why not? We were sisters, alike in so many ways.

The Goddess of Lust tempted me. I began to caress my own clit with my unoccupied hand, sighing as the need for satisfaction turned to passion.

Removing my fingers from her sex, Ann got on her knees beside me. “Let me watch you,” she whispered. I moved to one side and opened my legs. She shook her head. “No, let me see you, properly. Kneel up.”

I turned to face her, as wide open as could be. I looked into her eyes as she took in the view, enjoying the spectacle of her young sister masturbating. I felt like a slut — an unbridled slave to sex. But I needed this adventure with Ann. We hadn’t done this since we were kids, yet it was so much a part of what made us lovers.

I closed my eyes, surrendering myself to the pleasures of the flesh, warmed by Ann’s gaze. The escalator was climbing, carrying me step by step toward blissful release. I cupped my left breast, teasing the excited nipple between finger and thumb.

Wanting a glimpse of my sister, I allowed my eyes to open again. Ann was lying back on the pillow, her face flushed. I couldn’t see, but knew her hand was between her legs, enjoying what I was enjoying, experiencing it with me.

A stab of intense pleasure gripped me. My finger slowed and paused, resting on the magic button. I’d almost gone overboard, drowned in a sea of satisfaction before my head was ready for it.

I raised myself up on all fours, crouching in a most unladylike manner. Of course, at that moment I had no intention of behaving like a lady.  I turned myself around, bringing my face towards Ann’s lower half. My feet were on each side of the pillow behind her head. I placed my knees near her ears — then slowly, like guiding a ship into dock, lowered my cunt to Ann’s mouth.

I could sense her breath, cool on the fiery wetness along my cleft.

Her head lifted from the pillow. Gripping my hips, she drew me down and plunged her tongue between the vulva lips, forcing them apart so the tip slithered about in my hidden folds.

Gasping, I thrust a hand between my legs, using two fingers to spread myself open for Ann. I wanted her tongue to love me, to match its wetness with mine, to caress the tingling pearl until my brain went out of control.

I don’t know for how long Ann licked, sucked and kissed me. I was lost in dreamland, running to catch a will-o-the-wisp that appeared and then disappeared in the most unusual places, carrying me along in its wake.

My climax frightened me. I don’t know why. I was safe, comfortable, there with my sister. And yet it hit me like an express train. As its might swept through me, I ascended to the ultimate heights of ecstasy. When it passed, tears were rolling down my cheeks.

Ann and I lay awake for hours. We talked and made love, then talked again, made love again. Our hunger seemed boundless.

When morning came, Ann and I knew that what we’d found in each other’s arms was the real thing. That we were meant to be as one. We still are.

The End

By Cathy Uy

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

My name is Cathy, and this is all about how my older sister Sandy and I became much closer than sisters normally are.

Sandy is three years older than me and we don’t look too much alike. She’s much taller (around 5’5″) while I’m only 5’2″. We’re both blonde, though, with small breasts, just like our mom.

Growing up, we were never really close. She’s quiet and introspective, while I like going out and talking for hours with my friends. She has her own room and I have mine, and she had her own group of friends and I had mine.

Anyway, fast forward to high school, my junior year. I was a party animal and very pretty, but most of the guys I went out with always seemed kind of intimidated by my looks. They always assumed they wouldn’t have a chance with me, while I wasn’t good-looking enough for the really popular guys. So despite my party-girl reputation, I never had a serious relationship for that whole year.

Sandy, on the other hand, started one when she was a junior in high school and it lasted till college. Since she and her boyfriend went to the same school beside our home, I’d regularly see these two lovebirds and I’d always be jealous that I didn’t have a similar relationship.

Fast forward again to how things changed for the better between Sandy and me. I had just been dumped by a guy I was dating. I felt so betrayed. All this time, I thought he liked me enough to be loyal, instead… Anyway, I was devastated. I went home to our empty house and cried my eyes out in my room. I used the last of my tissues, so I went into Sandy’s room to get some more.

While there, I noticed something on her unkempt bed, half-hidden by the sheets. It was a Penthouse magazine! And it was open to a photo spread of two girls naked and having lesbian sex. The girls were Sandy’s age and very attractive. I was shocked. I wondered what Sandy was doing with the magazine. Could it belong to her boyfriend? I doubted this, because Dad was very strict and he was never allowed to go upstairs in our house — he always stayed in the game room when visiting.

Anyway, I was terribly curious what this meant. Then I heard sounds from downstairs and knew Sandy was back. Rather than flee from her room, I hid in her huge closet behind her coat-hangered dresses, putting my feet up on top of the shoe cabinet, leaving the door open just a teensy bit so I could see her bed and the magazine.

Sandy came into her room, put down her bag and books and saw the magazine on her bed. She got it, sat on the bed, and thumbed through it. Then she got her cellphone from her bag and called up her best friend Linda who lived just a few blocks from us.

They talked for a while in low tones, and I couldn’t hear much except Linda’s name. She finished with her phone call and then went to the bathroom. I started wondering what I should do. Should I leave or wait to see what happened when Linda came over? To be honest, looking back, I don’t know what came over me. I wasn’t sure why I hid in Sandy’s closet or what I expected to see. It was just pure curiosity and excitement.

After awhile, Linda came up to Sandy’s room. Sandy was still in the bathroom and Linda just called out to tell her she was there. Sandy hollered that she’d be out in a minute.

Linda sat on Sandy’s bed and got the Penthouse herself. She started flipping through the pages. “Aren’t you afraid Cathy’s gonna catch you with this?” Linda asked Sandy loudly to penetrate her bathroom door.

“With what?” Sandy asked from the locked door.

“Your dirty magazine,” Linda said.

The bathroom door opened and Sandy came out in a bathrobe, brushing damp hair. “I’ll kill her if I catch her snooping in here.”

Linda smiled at Sandy. “Can I be the one to punish her? I think she’s a babe!”

Sandy gave Linda a big mock-scowl. “Hey! Watch it!”

“C’mon. Don’t you think she’s hot?”

“Quit talking like that. She’s my sister.”

“And she’s a hottie. What I wouldn’t give for a threesome with you two sexy blondes!”

Sandy grinned wryly. “You are so perverted.”

My mouth was hanging open at that point, I’m sure. I couldn’t believe that my sister’s best friend was turned on by me! I’d never given much thought to even kissing another girl before, but something about Linda thinking dirty thoughts about yours truly had me tingling all over.

As Sandy brushed her hair, Linda tugged at Sandy’s towel and pulled it off, leaving my sister completely naked while she continued her brushing. “C’mon, Sandy. You’re the one who got me into playing with girls. Wouldn’t you love to have her touching you down there while I’m up touching you here…” and she leaned down to kiss my sister right on the mouth as she placed a hand on Sandy’s right breast!

My heart was pounding like crazy.

Sandy dropped her brush and took Linda in her arms as they kissed like lovers. Linda finally broke their embrace and continued with her narrative: “I’d be licking your gorgeous boobs while your little sister would be fingering that hot pussy of yours…” and she dipped down to take my sister’s nipple into her mouth.

Sandy was now facing Linda and away from me, so I could only see her side and her bare bottom. I saw Linda’s face on her chest and the shadows of Linda’s fingers appearing and disappearing from between Sandy’s legs as she slowly started spreading them.

Suddenly Sandy pushed Linda on the bed and climbed on top of her, then my naked sister kissed her still fully-dressed friend — lover, I corrected myself. They began to press their bodies together, pushing their thighs between each other’s legs, their bodies now moving in unison.

I just sat there and watched them make love, feeling scared, confused — and totally turned on.

Looking back, I must have been totally naive to not see any of the signs. Linda was always sleeping over, but since Sandy had her boyfriend, it never occurred to me for a second that anything was happening between my sister and her friend. And yet…

Anyway, what I saw was too much for me to process. I really wanted to leave the closet and get out of Sandy’s room before they caught me, or I gave myself away.

I rationalized that any warm-bodied human being would feel the same way I did with that kind of action happening in front of them, although I’d never thought of girls in that way. At least, never before.

Not thinking, just wanting to escape, I quietly and slowly stepped out of the closet and was tiptoeing out of Sandy’s room when I saw Linda looking at me. “Cathy!” she gasped.

Sandy jerked her head back and saw me. All the blood drained from her face and she jumped out of the bed and grabbed me by the shoulders. “What the fuck are you doing here?” she hissed.

I started crying and tried to wrench myself free, but Sandy was taller and stronger and she held on to me with both hands.

Linda got up and put a hand on Sandy’s shoulder. “Hey Sandy, take it easy. I guess she was curious, weren’t you, Cathy?” I just kept on crying, but I managed a nod.

Eventually, Sandy let me go, and I just continued bawling. The day’s rejection from the guy I was going out with, the shock of finding out about Sandy and Linda, the embarrassment of being caught spying them — I let it all out, crying buckets.

Linda took me by the shoulder and slowly and gently led me to the bed. She sat me down and hugged me and kept saying, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“I’m so s-sorrryyyy…” I wailed, tormented by guilt. Sandy hated my guts now, I was sure of it. Linda continued to comfort me.

After a while, my tears stopped and I became aware of Linda slowly kissing my cheek as she continued to say, “It’s all right, no harm done.”

Linda and I cuddled like this for what seemed like ages, then she took my chin with her fingers and slowly, gently kissed me on the lips. Then she looked at me and smiled. I gazed back, not knowing what was about to happen or what I should do.

She started kissing me again, this time allowing her lips to linger against mine. I couldn’t see my sister, but I felt her eyes on me. What was she thinking?

Linda continued with her kissing, and eventually it became more serious. She started taking longer kisses. I’ve made out with boys before but this was exquisite. It was soft and gentle and passionate, like she knew exactly what I wanted. Eventually she put her arms around me, I wrapped mine around her, and that was when our tongues came into play.

We kissed like lovers for I don’t know how long, then she eventually pushed me down onto Sandy’s bed. She started removing my t-shirt and unbuttoning my jeans. Soon, I was left in just my panties. Linda stood up and took off her own clothes, then she climbed on top of me and started kissing me again and then began to nuzzle my face, my ears, then my neck, gradually moving further down.

I could sense Sandy’s presence somewhere in the room, but didn’t know what she was doing.

My eyes drifted shut as Linda started kissing my breasts. Then I felt her pull away. I looked up and saw Sandy sitting next to us, Linda touching her bare shoulder. “Go on, Sandy,” she said. “Give your little sister a kiss. Show how much you love her.” Then Linda bent down to suck my nipples.

Sandy’s kisses were more voracious than Linda’s. In fact, my sister was downright aggressive, sometimes sucking at my tongue. Surprising myself, I began to kiss her back.

Linda was pulling down my panties, and I lifted my bum to help her out. Meanwhile, Sandy continued to kiss me, then started caressing my breasts. Her touch was smooth as silk. It was wonderful, all of it, but I really went into the stratosphere when I felt Linda’s tongue on my pussy. It was explosive. I started moaning and panting, burying my face in the curve of my sister’s neck. Linda was doing all kinds of things to my pussy — kissing the lips, licking gently all over, probing me with her tongue, sometimes teasing my clit.

I was about to come… and its rising, like a tidal wave growing from the ocean’s swells, told me it was going to be huge.

I guess they noticed, because Linda started licking me even harder. Then I felt Sandy get up, and I opened my eyes just in time to see her straddle my face and slowly lower her wet, shaved pussy to my mouth.

God, the view of my sister’s cunt was breathtaking. It turned me on so much that I started to come right then. But that didn’t stop me from taking Sandy into my mouth, licking and sucking at the dripping flesh, tasting her delicious juices and letting them trickle down my throat.  and I just grunted and panted as Linda licked me to oblivion, her finger twirling about inside my cunt.

As my first orgasm slowly subsided, Sandy started panting, violently thrusting her groin against my face. She clutched the back of my head and started controlling my licking of her with quivering hands, guiding my mouth where she wanted it on her pussy, then she started to moan, “Oh God!” she cried out, and she started jerking about and spasming. Then she fell forward, spent.

I gazed in awe at Sandy’s pussy and anus, mere inches from my face, all pink and wet with her juices. I was never so turned on. I wanted them both to fuck me again. As if  I felt a finger enter me. Then two fingers, then three. They went in easily because I was so wet and relaxed. Then I felt Sandy’s tongue join her fingers, concentrating on my clit. God, I came again.

Linda later went over to my end of the bed and straddled my face. She said, “My turn, sweetie.” And she started feeding me her pussy, staring down at me from up above. I guess I really turned her on.

Within just a few minutes, Linda started moaning, then she came. She was quiet when it happened — she just took in a very deep breath, let out a sigh, then smiled. “Thanks for making my fantasy come true, babe,” Linda finally said, giving me a gentle kiss.

After that afternoon, Sandy and I became more than just sisters — we were also close friends and lovers. We continued to enjoy threesomes with Linda, of course. Eventually, Linda brought her own kid sister over, and we helped introduce her to lesbian sex.

The End

By Una

Years later, I shared a tiny flat at university with a girl who was nice, a great friend, very humorous. We both had boyfriends. Judith had a lovely figure. When I saw her dressing each morning I thought about my sister Ann. Maybe that was because of the intimacy of our shared life as roommates. It reminded me of the years I’d shared a room with Ann when we were children, maybe because she had such an erotic way of moving her body when she wriggled into her clothes.

One day there was a power cut. With no heat, we had to go to bed at 6 PM. That night, Judith came on to me, or maybe we came on to each other. That was the first night a woman ever went down on me.

Judith was an anarchist. She was influenced by her hippy-type boyfriend, obsessed with him and his drunken, pot-smoking friends. Underneath, I think she had a deep need to be accepted, and wanted to punish her parents for not giving her enough affection. They were both psychologists, but despite knowing better, they sent her to convent boarding school from age twelve until she went to university six years later. It messed up her head. That’s when we met up.

From the start, she was fun to be with. Really feminine in a student way, a neat dresser with a petite figure. She was tiny, about five feet two and size 10. We weren’t close friends, but sharing a small flat meant we were often thrown together socially.

I never thought about Judith’s sexuality before we slept together. Any time we talked about relationships, she seemed to make it clear that she was heterosexual. She slept with her boyfriend and with at least one other guy that I knew of, mainly because I was at the party when she went to bed with him. This was more or less the norm for undergraduate women in the Seventies.

A few times — mostly when Judith was dressing, or I was seeing her in her underthings, or occasionally naked — my mind would turn to Ann. I don’t know why. She and Ann were quite different, but Judith’s body aroused some deep feelings that put me in mind of my sister.

I hated to admit it to myself, but occasionally I would remain in bed in the morning, merely to glimpse Judith when she came from the bathroom naked. I’d study her perfect shape as she put on bra and pants in her coquettish way. I thought I was unique, that no other woman had ever felt aroused by seeing a person of their own gender in a state of undress. There was no hint whatsoever that Judith might be attracted to me.

Then came the big freeze and the power cut. It snowed for ages. The following day, the roads were frozen drifts, transport was off.

We stayed in the flat, two heaters and the electric cooker on full power. That afternoon, the power went off. By early evening, we were freezing. We huddled together on the sofa in our warmest outdoor clothes. It became clear the power was not be back that night.

I can’t remember whose suggestion it was that we go to bed in our clothes. We shared one bedroom with two single beds, well apart. We listened to the radio news and lit candles. By 7 PM we were feeling quiet comfortable, warmed under the duvets, gabbling back and forth across the room like two giddy schoolgirls.

We talked and talked, mostly about other people. It was as if before that night, neither of us wanted to get too close personally. We were flatmates, nothing more, each with her own life to lead. But that evening, with nothing else to do, we talked more than we had ever done.

The heavy woollen overcoat I was wearing became uncomfortable in bed. I took it off. Judith followed suit. As if we were playing strip poker without cards, we undressed, item by item, over the next ten minutes. When Judith hopped out of bed to remove the last of her outer clothes, my brief glimpse of her in bra and knickers changed the mood.

Although we’d often wandered around at other times in various states of undress, there was something naughty, childish almost, about the way I rolled out of bed and followed Judith’s lead in removing my sweater and skirt, then slid back under the covers in my undies.

I thought about dressing for the long cold night ahead, but I was too lazy to get my full-length winceyette nightie, which Mother had insisted I should have for cold weather, from the dressing table. Judith and I joked about the “granny nightie,” which I’d never worn. Then there was some juvenile banter about our respective mums.

Jokingly, I said if Judith was a true friend she’d hop out of bed in the cold room and fetch the nightie for me. Instead, she offered to come over to my bed to keep me warm. At Loreto boarding school, she told me, she’d kept her best friend warm on a cold night with an infusion of body heat. Sounded good to me. More than good: a little voice inside said Judith and I were about to enter the Occasion of Sin, as the nuns called it.

The talk turned to schools and discipline. About girls bunking up in the dorm. What Judith said was news to me. Bunking up in my school was considered a mortal sin. Murder was more quickly forgiven. But at the Loreto, it happened regularly among seniors who had their own rooms with locked doors on the dormitory floor.

In our school, it was a sacking offence to be found in another girl’s bed. Even sitting on the side of a best friend’s bed in nightclothes could bring expulsion. Everyone knew that, from first year to sixth form — and yet girls did it. Covertly, of course. But best friends were known to exchange hugs after lights out, especially in the junior and middle dorms, where beds were separated only by hospital style, pull-around modesty curtains.

Judith and I had reached a point in our exchanges where we were both curious. The swapping of notes about school relationships had changed the mood. There was a note of girly flirting in the air. No harm in that, I thought.

A few more words were tossed back and forward until Judith, to my delighted surprise, leaped from her bed and crossed the room to where I lay. I drew back the duvet and wriggled nearer the wall in a gesture of invitation.

She was cold. Her icy feet touched my shins. “Oh my God, you’re frozen!” I gasped, teeth chattering.

Her arm went around my waist and she drew me close. “I know,” she said, “that’s why I’m here.”

We giggled. At other times I would have been nervous — embarrassed, even — to have another girl in my bed, close to me, face to face. Being in bed with my sister was different. That didn’t count. Ann and I had slept together at various times since we were toddlers.

My only other experience of bed-sharing, sleepovers with my play-friend Mags, could be put down to a young girl’s version of doctors and nurses. Mags and I were too young to know what we were doing then.

But I was nineteen now, the same age as Judith. I wasn’t a novice. I’d been to bed with three different boys, and I’d had a number of close encounters with others without going all the way.

There was something delightful about Judith’s presence. We were both still in bra and pants, but we may as well have been naked. I could feel her small bust against mine as we cuddled like two lost children.

My hand was on her back; it slipped lower. I was stroking the warm roundness of her brushed-cotton knickers, absentmindedly at first, simply comforting myself, comforting her. It was enticingly strange to touch another woman so intimately. Judith’s buttocks were lovely — firmer, more rounded than I’d imagined. I wished mine was like that.

At this remove in time, try as I might, I can’t recall the precise sequence of events after I became aware of the tactile effect that touching Judith’s bum had on my libido. I think she wriggled in response to my touch. Maybe we talked a little. The streets outside were dark, there was no sound of road traffic because of the snow. It was as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

Did I pull Judith nearer? Or did she push her tummy against mine? All I recall is that our tummies were pressing together. One of us spoke. I don’t know who. I don’t know what was said, but the voice was different: lower, husky, whispered — pianissimo.

I think Judith may have said: “This is nice.” Or I may have said it. Who knows? But something like that was said — just before the kiss. Again, I’m unable to relate precise details. Suffice to tell, as my favourite nun used to say, it happened.

The kiss produced an instant effect. It gave me what, I think, 19th-century women called the vapours. I swooned. It was like those early morning faints in chapel, fasting during Mass. One minute you were aware of all around you, next you were sitting on a chair being fussed over, offered a glass of water.

It was the smell which brought on my first wave of delirium. As our mouths drew together, a delicious aroma of fresh strawberries came to me. I was aware of Judith’s bouquet of personal scents: lingering shampoo fragrance, a hint of scented powder, the delicate smell of freshly-washed skin — and a vague aroma of what I’d have to call femaleness. Judith’s presence had made my flaring nostrils hyper-sensitive. Suddenly, I was aware that snuggling with her was making me hot and wet.

Her lips brushed against mine — or had I made the first move? Who cares? Our lips met. The strawberry fragrance was replaced by taste. I’ll always remember that soft, luscious taste of ripe summer fruit as our lips met in that cramped bed in that tiny room.

It had been nearly a year since I’d kissed my older sister like this — passionately, on the mouth. A year in which I’d kissed only boys. Now, the delights of a real kiss were being brought home to me.

Her mouth was so different from what I’d grown accustomed to. The softness of Judith’s face, the moist passion seeping through her lips was so different from the frantic gobbling of the hungry male and his aggressive, thrusting, uncaring tongue.

We kissed slowly, softly, tenderly. It was as though Judith and I had all the time in the world, and we intended to kiss forever. In my overheated mind, Judith’s mouth seemed to gradually morph into something different, changing shape. It was no longer a place through which she spoke and ate: it had become an erotic organ, intent on stimulating me to the highest point of pleasure. I deepened our kiss.

It was clear that she’d done this before. Her lips put me in mind of dripping peach segments. The imagery was wrong: but I had to think of peaches to stop from admitting to myself what they really felt like — the lips of a vulva.

Perfectly positioned, projecting slightly, was a tiny bump. I licked it, flattening my taste buds against it, confirming that she was enticing me with the tip of her tongue. I’d never kissed a love button, but in my mind that tiny nub was a proxy for her passion centre, the secret place between her legs from where all thrills flowed.

How long the kissing went on, I don’t know. It seemed ages. I imitated Judith, shaping my mouth and projecting my tongue tip to spar lustfully with hers. We were learning about each other — about how we might lick, and be licked, elsewhere. I’d never tasted a woman; now it was all in the world that I wanted.

As our passions grew, Judith’s knee parted my thighs, eagerly pressing into my simmering mound. I squirmed, knowing Judith and I had passed the point of no return. There was no way now we were going to stop, not until we reached the end of our magical journey.

Her tongue plunged inside my mouth, thrusting mine aside, penetrating deep, priming the gurgling well of desire between my legs. Her expertise was amazing. This was no first-timer — Judith had travelled this women-only road before.

But I loved that. She was so confident, knew what she wanted. This lovemaking was much more assured than the shut-eyed, guilt-ridden fumblings with my sister Ann, beautiful as those were.

We thrashed about on the narrow bed, grinding our bodies together. Everything happening seemed to feed my madness, to urge me to new stages of eroticism. My heightened sense of smell and touch complemented the acute sensitivity of my ears. Each little gasp and sigh of pleasure from Judith brought another flush of desire between my legs. I wanted to do everything — everything any woman had ever done to another woman in the heat of passion. I wanted to lick her, to drink her scented love potion, to chew her until she was gurgling inside me.

The steaming warmth where Judith’s mound pressed into mine was beyond erotic. Was there no end to the new experiences to be had this night? Unable to resist for another second, my curious finger crooked into the softness of her sodden gusset.

Oh my God. Her cunt was dripping, those cotton knickers soaked with arousal. At that moment, no woman on earth could have felt as sex-starved as I did. And yet here was Judith, quiet little Judith, a paragon of heterosexuality, starved for love from another woman — opening her legs, inviting my finger-tip caresses, helpless with lust.

My other hand slipped beneath the elastic of her knickers. I pressed a finger into the hot pool of her cunt, which was fringed by feather-soft pubic curls. Like an adventuress travelling along a flooded ravine, I paused midway. Twirling, I churned up a maelstrom around her pinnacle of desire.

We were facing each other, our kissing fervent, manic. Suddenly Judith wriggled away, struggling to push her panties down and off. Then her hands tugged at my own knicks — she wanted us both naked.

Rising to her knees, she unhooked her bra. In the dying candlelight, her breasts were magnificent. Small, beautiful in proportion to the rest of her figure. I wondered why she even bothered with a bra under her thick winter clothes. The two perfectly symmetrical globes were embellished with succulent pink buds, ripe for sucking.

For a moment, envy and desire merged. My small, pear-shaped bosoms would never look like hers. But lust was there, too, reminding me of how much I’d hungered for a woman lover. Now I desperately, desperately needed to reach that point of satisfaction with Judith, just as I’d done so many times with my sister Ann.

She was back on her heels, naked, helping to unfasten my bra. I marvelled at how hot we were now, despite the coldness of the room. She leaned forward and kissed a stiffened nipple, like a mother kissing a baby. So soft, so tender. How wonderful that she knew so much about this kind of love.

Placing her legs on each side of me, Judith slowly lowered herself, stroking my left breast with her right hand then cupping it, making it feel weightless. The touch was magical. My womanly heat added to the tangy scent wafting around the room. The musk-like fragrance of our mutual excitement, blended in a heady perfume.

My senses were drifting. A hand was touching me, stroking, teasing, caressing the little man in the boat. But whose hand was it: Judith’s or mine? I didn’t care.

We were as one. As if in a trance, I put a hand between my legs. Judith’s was already there. I gripped it. Our fingers swayed and danced in the slippery cleft at the centre of my being. My hand was guiding hers, revealing my most intimate secrets, the special folds where her touch could bring me joy.

A shiver ran along my spine — a thrilling, unexpected shiver. My thigh muscles twitched. An uncontrollable convulsion of pleasure seized me. My back arched. I howled, wetting myself a little. Then contentment flowed everywhere — and I gasped in sublime satisfaction.

I was weeping. I told myself they were tears of embarrassment. The sheet was soaked. I could feel its dampness on my bare bum. What must Judith think? Did I squirt on her hand? Maybe she didn’t notice.

Indeed, Judith was lost in her private passion. Her woolly tea-cosy was pressing on my thigh. She began to kiss me again, passionately. Her hand was on my breast, cupping it, loving it. Her lower body writhed, her legs clenched my thigh frantically, drawing it tightly to her vulva.

I raised a knee and running a hand across her naked buttocks, pushed hard, grinding into her mound as she squirmed with desire.

She stopped abruptly, in full flight. I was certain I’d hurt her, bruised those soft, swollen lips with my knee. The pause seemed to last forever. She was teetering on a cliff-top.

She gave a deep sigh, like a runner getting second wind. Her whisper was barely audible. I strained to hear her. Instead of complaining, as I expected, that she was sore, she breathed, “Fuck me, Una. Fuck me with your leg.”

I hesitated, not shocked, but certainly surprised that a nicely brought up, convent girl like Judith would use such a word.

Then, like a boat swinging away from its berth until it was caught by the flow of a river, I slowly pressed my thigh into the ripe fruit of her sex, squeezing out the juices of her passion.

Gasping, she grabbed my face between both hands and kissed me, forcing her tongue roughly into my mouth. Shaking, she crested waves of satisfaction, clinging to me, squirming against my bare body, riding my leg as she gulped for air. Finally, she collapsed to one side, and I stretched out next to her.

For minutes, we lay quite still, side by side, each lost in our own thoughts. Her pleasure had anointed my skin. I circled a finger-tip in the slippery moistness, drawing a new wave of eroticism from it. My body responded.

I climbed over a dazed Judith and tiptoed naked to the bathroom. The water was ice-cold as I sponged my body, ridding myself of the reminders of our love. I was slowly returning to earth, but my brain was buzzing with echoes of excitement.

It was only 9 pm. So much had happened in three hours. I lit new candles, took a pair of fresh knickers from my drawer and stepped into them.

Judith’s gaze shifted from the ceiling to me, watching as I faced her, pulling up my pants. As I rolled back under the covers, I wondered if she thought I was making a gesture by putting on clean undies. I hoped not.

I snuggled against her warm body. She put an arm around me. The wonderful aroma of feminine passion was still there: her passion. I could smell it, wafting about the room like a cloud.

The fragrance of feminine love was like the aroma of delicious food to a hungry woman — but my hunger was deeper, more urgent, than any need for food.

Judith was kissing me, and pushing her knee between my thighs. It was as though I had just climbed into bed with her for the first time. We both still needed love.

She kissed my ear. “You climaxed really quickly,” she said in the most matter-of-fact voice. I didn’t know how to respond. I felt so ignorant. I knew what a climax was, but it was not something I’d really discussed, not even with Ann.

Judith placed my hand between her legs, stroking my finger along her cleft. It was as though her orgasm had never happened, and she was using my finger to masturbate. I lay there, enjoying her enjoyment, immersed in a warm bath of eroticism.

She pushed down the covers, then reached for the waistband of my knickers.Why had I bothered to put them on? By this time, the room seemed almost hot.

I lay like a baby being undressed, lifting my bottom to facilitate Judith’s tugging on my knickers, aware they were already warm and damp as she slipped them down to my ankles, then off. Kneeling, she looked like a mythical goddess in the flickering candlelight as she studied my face — and then her eyes drifted to my nakedness.

I parted my legs and slowly stroked a finger along my cleft, feeling its warm wetness, enticing her. She watched intently as I masturbated. Her enjoyment showed in a conspiratorial smile. She was sharing my passion.

I was floating on a placid ocean, drifting with a warm current. I could smell the thick, musky fragrance, stronger now than earlier.

Judith, still kneeling, moved her thighs apart and began to stroke herself. We shared a smile, then the moment grew hot and urgent, the two of us watching one another, bonding — relishing each other’s secret, self-induced pleasure, as only two women can.

She took my hand from between my legs and placed it on my bare breast, with the middle finger resting on my raised nipple. I pleasured it with soft strokes, pulling it now and then as if testing its elasticity.

Judith sat back, facing me. Her fingers were still moving down there, her gasps of pleasure like sweet music. Then she took the hand from between her legs and brought it my mouth, painting it with the warm honey. The scent of her passion was in my nostrils. I licked my lips, tasting her secret potion for the first time. The finger slid into my mouth. I sucked like a baby, swallowing her longing.

The tanginess of Judith’s nectar aroused a new desire. I wanted more — to drink from its source. She had me on fire. I’d never known lovemaking could be this imaginative.

And then she moved away — going down until her lips met my tummy, then lower still. I hugged her head to me, knowing what would come next.

When her mouth brushed my fuzz, I swooned. How could such bliss remain hidden from me for so long? Why had no one ever said, shown me before, that such happiness could be had so easily?

Judith parted my legs until my groin muscles creaked — then plunged her head deep between my thighs. Her tongue moved lazily, confidently, exploring every fold as though it had been there many times. Then the tip penetrated my opening, slipped out again — and swept upwards to my love button.

Her fingers rolled back the hood, exposing the hidden pearl to her attentions. That lovely tongue stabbed and flicked, moving from side to side, tossing the little man out of the boat and into the foam. Then her lips closed on the aching nubbin, drawing forth untapped pleasure.

I wanted to stop her. This was too intense, I needed a break. But she kept on, relentless, oblivious to my cries of, “Please, Judith, please” — driven by her need to witness my ultimate surrender.

When her finger went inside, I was dragged into a new world. Distracted by the intense sensations elsewhere, it had entered my cave before I knew — and I all but swooned. This was penetration of the sort I wanted again and again. Not the brutish thrust of a greedy cock, but the tender ingress of another woman.

When the finger crooked just inside the entrance, tugging with tenderness on the pubic bone, I rose to a higher level of ecstasy than I believed possible. Judith’s finger had found a place I never knew I had in there.

Oh my God. How could anything be so intense? My thighs snapped shut, trapping her hand. My body fought against the body-shaking convulsion I knew was coming. I held her wrist, desperate to escape the sensation between my legs. And yet I wanted it to happen. So did Judith.

She was prising me open, forcing my thighs apart — triumphantly stroking my fully exposed cunt, as if to say she was in control of my passion. Her finger withdrew with a delicious, sinful wet noise. How disgustingly dirty, I thought. How naughty of me to relish such a rude body sound. And yet it was wonderful.

Her head dipped down there again, Judith sucking the pink pearl between her lips, while a finger wriggled inside my cave. She was carefully, skilfully, driving me to the ultimate release of pleasure.

I held back — tried to, anyhow. But it was useless. Her finger, her lips, her tongue, all were lifting me to the pinnacle. I cried out, thrashed about like a landed fish, clenched my fists until the fingernails bit into my palms — and then it was over. I flopped back, breathless, exhausted.

Seconds later Judith had seized my shoulders, guiding me onto my back. She straddled me, placing a knee by each ear. Slowly, precisely, she lowered herself on my face, positioning the furry wetness of her sex on my mouth.

Instinctively, my tongue emerged, snake-like, to flick at her womanly parts. I longed to repay her, to bring Judith to the heights she’d brought to me.

The fragrance was divine, the taste unbelievable. For the first time, I was drinking the nectar of love, smearing it over my taste buds with each lick of a flattened tongue.

Judith lifted one knee, drawing back, holding her cleft open. I whimpered, cheated of my treat. Lowering herself again, she breathed, “Put your tongue inside me.”

Happy to oblige, I slid it as far into her opening as it would go. It wasn’t far, but I could taste a difference, swallowing the thick wine of her inner desire as it flowed down my throat.

I tried to push my tongue in even deeper, but it was impossible. Judith’s hand slid down, a finger circling her bud. I placed my tongue on a fold at the side of her clitoris, my senses reeling as her moving finger joined my tongue in pleasuring the hardened pearl. This was the two of us acting as one, masturbating my lover to a thrilling finale.

Almost as an afterthought, my other hand went between my legs and I pleasured myself, twirling a finger around and around inside, my body shaking as Judith neared climax. When she convulsed, she dragged me with her. Her moaning gasps as she pushed down hard on my flattened tongue — they sent me whirling.

The sheer exhilaration of sharing this special, secret pleasure sent me over the edge of a cliff. I was falling, falling, falling. And then, as though saved by a magic parachute, I was drifting down and down, into a warm and welcoming sea.

Dismounting my face, Judith bent down and kissed me — pausing to sample her own tangy honey, which coated my lips and chin. The aroma of womanly passion was everywhere, a thick haze that tickled the nostrils.

We lay in each other’s arms. I thought of my sister Ann, of how many roads we had yet to travel, how many ways I had discovered to bring new pleasure to her.

Continue on to Chapter 6

By LF

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

I’ve never gotten along with my sister Amy. We always seemed to be fighting when we were kids, and when we grew up and started dating boys, it just got worse. Maybe it was a simple personality conflict at first, but after all the stolen boyfriends and all the humiliations, it became a nasty little war.

One of the problems is that we’re both pretty hot and can have just about any boy we want. I’m a year older, a little taller than her, and the smarter one. Amy might be a bit cuter than me, she has bigger breasts and a curvy figure, and she’s the athletic one. We’re both popular in school, although we never hang out together. Everybody knows we don’t like each other. Rebecca and Amy, the fighting sisters. When we cross paths, something bad always happens.

One day a few months ago I thought I was alone in the house, but I heard something when I walked past my sister’s room. I stopped and listened — she was fucking some boy. It was just like Amy to sneak a boy into her bedroom; I wished that Mom and Dad would catch her doing it, but they never did.

As I stood by her door I heard her moan a name. “Oh, Jack…”

Jack? My Jack? I had been dating Jack for three weeks. Rage swept over me. She was doing it again!

I threw open the door. Amy was on her hands and knees, Jack was fucking her from behind. He looked up, saw me, and said, “Oh shit, Rebecca.”

Amy opened her eyes and screamed at me, “Get out!”

Jack stumbled off the bed and started pulling on his pants, mumbling, “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

Amy sat up on the bed, yelling, “You bitch! Get out of my room!” Jack looked like he wanted to crawl away and hide.

I was beyond anger. This was the final straw.

When I moved away from the door Jack darted past me. Lucky for him. I heard a door slam, then I saw Jack through the window, barefoot, half-dressed, running across the front yard.

Amy was gloating, sitting naked on the edge of her bed. “I didn’t even have to try,” she sneered as I walked up to her. “Guess he couldn’t get what he wanted from you.”

“You fucking slut!” I hissed, and slapped her face, fast and hard.

Usually we just yelled and screamed at each other. Sometimes we threw things. I couldn’t remember the last time we had a physical fight; we haven’t hit each other since we were kids. But I’d gone over the edge. That’s how angry I was.

Amy jumped off the bed, screaming. She grabbed my hair and tugged – it hurt like hell. So I went for her own hair, bunching it in my fist, making her squeal. With my other hand I tried to twist her fingers out of my hair, and she did the same. I don’t know how long we struggled in this position, arms locked, snarling, cursing, faces inches from each other. She kept pushing against me, her bare breasts rubbing against mine. I could smell sex in the room.

Maybe I went a little crazy. Maybe I was getting excited. Maybe. But Amy was the one who started the kiss. She was the one who stuck her tongue in my mouth.

It was a shock. One moment she was pulling my hair, the next her lips were melting against mine, and I was still angry with her, even as our tongues slid together. What the hell was going on? I had never kissed a girl before. Now I was kissing my sister. My sister! This was deeply, deeply perverted.

I’d never been more excited in my life.

God, I think I was coming as we kissed… my knees were shaking, I couldn’t get my breath, I was out of control, I couldn’t believe what was happening. She slipped her hands under my shirt and pawed my breasts. I ran my hands over her naked body. A wild, twisted desire was building inside me, it was unstoppable. I was frantic, out of my mind.

I pushed her back onto the bed, shoved her legs apart and attacked her pussy with my mouth.

I fucked her with my tongue. She screamed, I wanted her to scream, I wanted to drive her insane, like she drove me insane. I wrapped my arms around her ass as she pulled my face into her pussy. I couldn’t believe how good she tasted.

She bucked on the bed as I ate her, gasping, pleading. I kept licking, I don’t know how long, I couldn’t stop. I did my best to drive her wild with pleasure. She screamed, I only licked harder. She screamed louder, I went faster, deeper. Suddenly she was silent, thrashing, shaking helplessly on the bed. I held on, gripped her, ran my tongue over her pussy as she came.

I thought she would never stop — hips thrusting, her cunt a river, the wetness dripping from chin. She caught her breath, body twitching, my tongue exploring her, inside and out. She moaned as I licked her clean.

I couldn’t stand it, my body was on fire. I needed her to lick me now.

I sat up and tugged off my shirt while Amy tore off my jeans. My panties were soaked, I threw them to the floor. I leaned back on the bed and my sister was kneeling between my legs.

Jesus, her mouth was on my pussy. Her tongue found my clit. She slipped a finger deep inside me. How could it be so good? How could we be doing this? Oh God, I was coming. She kept on licking as my body thrashed in ecstasy. She muscled another finger inside me, and I couldn’t breathe. My body shook, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over me, bright white explosions bursting in my head. She didn’t let up as I came, her tongue only moved faster and faster. I lost control of my body. I lost my mind.

My sister! I screamed, exploded. I hate her! Oh God! I love her. My sister. Her mouth on my pussy. Feasting on me, drinking from me. It was so good. I couldn’t believe it. Fuck, I couldn’t believe it…

Afterwards we were two soaked bodies, a tangle of arms and legs, her face against my neck.

I couldn’t move, thoughts came slowly. What had just happened? It was like a dream. Did it make sense? No, it didn’t, not at all. She was my own sister. I’d had sex with my sister. Unbelievable, incredible sex with my sister. They’d put us both into therapy if they found out. But it had been amazing. Totally wrong… and amazing. What were we going to do now? How was this going to work? How do we live the rest of our lives?

“What happens now?” I whispered.

She nuzzled my ear. “We do it again,” she said.

“That’s not what I meant,” I said. But suddenly I wanted to do it again too; I wanted to feel her mouth on my pussy, I wanted to taste her again. I wanted to fuck her hard.

“We have to figure out how to handle this… thing between us,” I told her. “And we have to make sure nobody finds out.”

Amy made a face. “Well, duh. Do you think I want everyone to know I’m fucking my own sister?”

“I can just imagine you telling your friends some night when you’re drunk.”

She sat up. “How stupid do you think I am?” she said, suddenly angry.

I thought we were going to start another fight — and then, suddenly, we were kissing again.

Now I understood. Fighting with each other, hearts beating faster, breath quickening, faces blushing — is there really such a huge difference between anger and desire?

All those years of yelling and screaming at each other… we’d both been fighting something else, something deep inside ourselves, something forbidden. Anger was the only way we could deal with it. Now our feelings were all mixed — anger blended with desire, a hot, twisted lust between us.

I knew it was bizarre, knew it might be unhealthy, but didn’t care. I longed to be swept away by this newly realized passion. Sex with my sister was the most incredible thing that had ever happened in my life. Even as we kissed, I knew that we weren’t going to give it up. Not ever.

We kissed long and slow for a while. I trailed my mouth down her neck. She leaned over me, her breasts falling onto my face. I moved my head back and forth between them, savoring her skin… so soft, so smooth, her nipples big and hard. I reached down to stroke her pussy. She sighed, rocked against my hand. I flicked my tongue over her nipples. My fingers slipped inside her. God, I was going crazy again. My pussy ached. I needed her tongue. I needed her.

“Let’s sixty-nine,” I said, the idea suddenly coming to me.

She smiled and nodded. We scrambled into position, with Amy on top. Awkward at first, then it was perfect, perfect! Faces buried in each other’s pussies, moaning as we licked and sucked, barely taking time to breathe. I knew her pussy now, and she mine; but as it went on I lost myself in her. I couldn’t tell which body was whose, which pussy was hers, which tongue was mine. It was like we shared a single orgasm, circling round and round between us, pulsing like electricity through our bodies. We rested for a long while, kissing gently.

Then our desires grew sharp yet again. This time, we explored each other’s assholes. I had never had a boy lick me there, but my sister did. I remember how she moaned as my tongue probed her dark cleft, my finger pumping in and out of her cunt all the while. She brushed my clit with her fingers as she ate my ass.

We came again. We rested. We made love again.

Our pleasures seemed to last forever. How could we stop? Nothing could make us stop.

But finally, our bodies gave out. We were exhausted. And our parents would be home soon. We had to clean ourselves up and get dressed. We had to compose ourselves, act normal, so our parents wouldn’t find out that their daughters had been making love all afternoon.

That night, Amy crept to my room… and my sister and I fucked again.

*****

We’ve kept our secret since then. We still date boys and yell at each other, just to keep up appearances. Actually, she still drives me crazy, and the fights are sometimes real; then afterwards we have to sneak off and make love before we both explode. Amy has a talent for devising schemes so that we can meet secretly somewhere and fuck.

We both love the thrill, the craziness, the danger of it all, and are perfectly happy with our relationship as both sisters and lovers. We can’t wait until we are old enough to move to a new town and live together openly, as a couple.

The End