How interesting my correspondence has become since I started posting stories here. I'm happy to say that most of the comments I've received have been positive, and some of the personal experiences you've shared have been real eye-openers. Please send more details. I'd be more than happy to write them up.
But nothing I've seen arrested my attention more than this:
"Thanks for the wonderful stories you write. I've been fantasizing about my brother for years, and your stories really help me let off steam. Will there be more about Amy? Thanks."
It was not what she wrote that was remarkable, but the return e-mail address -- my sister's.
This stunned me; I've lusted after Arlene since she was fourteen (we're in our mid-thirties now), about the time her rather substantial breasts developed. Not to mention her smooth tawny legs, rich red lips and long, thick dark brown hair, so dark it could almost be black -- matching her wide flashing eyes. As often as not when I make love, it is Arlene I imagine moving and moaning underneath me. The day I got this little missive, I gave my current wife the ride of her life.
But what to do with this information? I've been imagining incestuous encounters with Arlene all my life, but to actually do it? I write the stories for the same reason Arlene likes to read them -- to let off steam. More to the point, and more likely, was that if I approached Arlene with what I knew, she'd just haul off and break my jaw.
But the thoughts and scenarios tortured me for weeks. One way or another, I had to know.
Because we didn't see each other often at the time, I needed a solid excuse to meet with her alone. Our mother's upcoming sixtieth birthday provided the ideal opportunity. I called Arlene and asked her to meet at a local hotel restaurant.
She looked fabulous. It was June, and Arlene wore a bright red halter top that outlined every curve to perfection, bright white shorts that clung to the curvature of her ass, and white sneakers. I wore casual summer clothes -- polo shirt, Bermuda shorts, sandals, clothing that could be quickly removed if my dreams came true. The sun glinted off the diamonds in her wedding band -- something I hadn't thought of, but I figured I would burn that bridge when I got to it.
I managed to straighten my dick in time before rising and giving her a hug. She gave me a strange look, but let it go. We ordered, chatted idly about plans for Mom's birthday, and when cocktails arrived, I slid a piece of paper over to her.
"I found this in my e-mail a few weeks ago."
Arlene unfolded the paper, saw what she had written, and blushed so brightly her skin almost matched her halter top.
"You?" she gasped. "You're Uncle Bert?"
I nodded. "I've felt the same way about you for the longest time," I said.
"I-- I-- I don't know what to say. We can't talk about this here."
"We can talk upstairs. I booked a room." (I told my wife an urgent business matter had come up, requiring me to stay away overnight.)
Her head snapped up and our eyes locked. Everything depended on what she would say next. If she marched out, then it would be years, if ever, before we spoke again.
"We're only going to talk, all right?" she whispered. "Just talk."
"Of course."
It took every effort to keep the elation off my face. We finished our drinks and walked across the lobby, nervous as cats. My heart raced in my ears, my breath felt hot, and I could have used my dick to lift a car. I guided Arlene to the elevator by her elbow.
On the ride up, we did not touch. She did not look at me or say a word, not until we were inside Room 313. Taking no chances, I had registered us as man and wife, picked out some clothes and toiletries for her, and a few other things, all stashed in one of the overnight bags I had placed on the caddy. Not to mention an ice bucket with two bottles of cold champagne.
Arlene sat down on the bed, while I took a chair opposite. She looked at me, tried to speak, but put her face in her hands and started sobbing. I gave her a minute and took her in my arms. She did not push me away. I stroked her hair and cuddled her until the storm passed, then handed her some tissues.
"It's been so strange, you know?" she said finally. "When we were growing up, I could hear you through the wall. I could hear you--" she blushed again "--jacking off and whispering my name. I could hear you bouncing on your bed."
I nodded. "I'm sorry. I never intended to embarrass you."
"You didn't. It really turned me on. You were the first boy I ever had a crush on. Didn't you ever hear me?"
I had, but I just thought she was playing in her room. "You never called my name, Arlene."
"I was afraid of what you'd do if I did."
Time stopped. The room filled with the sound of slow, rhythmic breathing. Arlene unconsciously twisted her wedding band while I sat still and watched her. I wanted to take her in my arms again, but didn't dare until her eyes rose to meet mine.
Now I stood up. My cock, angry and impatient after years of frustration and denial, came within inches her Arlene's hot, florid cheeks. Arlene only looked up at me, though she felt the heat radiating from my pants. I took her hands and pulled her to her feet.
She spoke my name and we shared a tight embrace. Her tears flowed a little slower now. I stroked her soft dark tresses and whispered, "Arlene, Arlene." I pulled her closer, kissed her hair softly, then I took her ear lobe between my teeth. From there, I ran the edge of my teeth along her tan neck, relishing the abrupt intake of breath and the sharp, sensuous movements of her body in my arms.
I lifted her face to mine on the tip of a burning finger. Again we stared into each other's eyes, knowing that this, after nearly twenty years of fantasy and longing, was the moment of truth. We could walk away now, patting ourselves on the back for having resisted the strongest temptation, or …
First I tenderly kissed her tears away. With gentle hands I explored her tense body while pulling her closer to me. Volcanoes of passion erupted when our lips finally met. Arlene thrust her pelvis against mine and moaned softly as my tongue madly danced with hers inside her mouth. As she arched her body against me, I found a gap behind her shorts and slid my hand down her shorts, cupping a buttock. A soft "mmmmm" came from her and traveled down my tongue, electrifying my balls.
Arlene reached between us and squeezed my dick, sending me into purest rapture. She explored the head with her fingertips, then the shaft, and finally cupped my tight, frustrated testicles in her palm.
With my free hand I caressed her breast, which caused Arlene to break the kiss for a second. Then she lunged upward, surprising me. I fell backward on the bed, taking my sister, my beautiful, lusty sister, down in my arms.
Arlene was on top of me now and it was her turn to nibble, bite and explore. She ground her cunt against my dick through our clothes, dry-humping me on the hotel bed. Her hair fell around my face, making a soft jasmine-scented canopy; for the rest of my life, I'll always think of jasmine as the scent of passion. My tongue flew to her neck and my hands to her ass. I pressed Arlene close as I thrust my dick up against her.
"Jesus, Bert!" she cried as I wriggled and humped against her. "What are you doing to me?"
"Not half what I'd like to," I breathed, kissing her again.
Now I rolled over, and drove my dick against her as hard as I could. Her sharp fingernails dug into my ass and her legs wrapped around mine when, suddenly, I felt dampness against my iron dick.
"Bert! Bert!"
"I love you, Arlene."
Her dark blazing eyes widened as Arlene had her first orgasm with me, and we hadn't removed a single garment. I drove harder against her, and she came again. Once more, and she rolled us onto our sides, her tension released.
I was becoming frantic with lust. I was very close to spraying my shorts, and probably would have if she hadn't come. But that proved to be the crisis moment; the urgency subsided after that, and my prick was ready for a full performance.
