Transcend

Both within me and beneath my hands, I could feel him quivering, shaking as his orgasm consumed him, his seed repeatedly shooting into me as he groaned aloud in his release. Simply feeling him filling me made my breath catch in my throat and my fingers curl into his sides while tears of happiness began to streak down my cheeks.

It was a perfect morning. It was Tuesday, so neither of us had classes at the community college down the street. Both of our parents were traveling: our father at a conference in Atlanta, our mother conducting a three-day training session at a company in Albuquerque. That had allowed my brother to slip into my bed during the night, awakening me briefly when he enveloped me in his protective arms, then awakening me fully as he undressed me shortly after dawn.

His orgasm abated, he lowered himself, careful not to press his full weight upon me even though I always enjoyed feeling him forcing me into the bed. His head dipped, and as I closed my eyes, his lips met mine once again. He was still hard inside me, and I purposely squeezed him firmly and repeatedly, wanting him to remain fully erect as long as possible, trapping his seed within me.

My eyes remained closed as my brother lifted his head, but he must have noticed the tears upon my cheeks, for he was soon kissing them away. It was sweet and romantic, yet knowing that he did not love me, not in a true relationship sense, made it slightly disconcerting. He had always been gentle and caring with me, always trying to ensure that I had the best of everything, always doing what he could so that I could truly enjoy whatever we did together, and these occasional sexual encounters were no different, but without the true love I felt for him being returned in full, they all felt slightly empty.

...which was perhaps why I wanted him to remain inside me as long as possible. One of the things our mother had drilled into my head was that I should never give my body to someone I did not truly love. Fortunately, she had never mentioned not giving myself to someone who did not truly love me, but still...

I knew that my brother did not love me beyond sibling love. I had confessed my feelings for him, and he seemed to understand, but he had admitted that he did not love me in the same way. Yet we still shared ourselves with each other, still occasionally connecting in the most intimate way possible. While we were mutually exclusive, it still hurt slightly to know that the love I was giving him was not being returned.

Still, I could deny my brother nothing. Whenever he needed to touch me, I made myself available for him. If he wanted me to tease him, perhaps with a lap dance, I was more than willing to oblige. And whenever his primal need was starting to consume him, I gladly spread my legs for him and allowed him the full use of my body in whatever way he wanted.

While I knew that he did not love me, there was definitely desire in my brother's eyes. He often described me as "beautiful," "stunning," or " alluring" -- he even once called me "intoxicating." Part of me liked the fact that he found me "intoxicating," as that meant he was likely to keep returning to me, to keep fulfilling at least my sexual needs even if he could not fulfill my romantic needs.

At last, the tears having all been kissed away, he lifted himself up and slowly withdrew from me, leaving me feeling empty in more ways than one. I looked up at him, the desire still evident in his eyes. He had achieved his conquest, yet he still desired me, he still wanted more of me. Fortunately, being a Tuesday morning and our parents both far, far away, he had plenty of time to partake of me before I would be forced to get ready for my class at Noon.

Without the thickness of his erection stretching me, I felt incomplete, a feeling which was enhanced as I felt his seed emerging from my body. I watched his eyes as they tracked from my face down my chest, over my stomach, and ultimately settling between my thighs. There was no doubt that I would need to wash the bedding before our parents returned, and I knew even without looking that the white would seem somewhat obscene upon the green fitted sheet.

...just as obscene as what we were doing, if others were to see us. Hopefully the neighbors had not heard us, specifically me.

His eyes returned to mine. "You had a good strong cum, sis," he said softly, a hint of pride in his voice.

It was true: My climax had indeed been powerful. No longer did I masturbate, and I had not dated anyone in well over a year. My only sexual releases were because of him. I enjoyed an orgasm because he caused it, whether by eating me or masturbating me or penetrating me. The orgasms he caused were much more powerful anyhow, their strength magnified by the wait between them. Sometimes we would have sex several times in a day, but often we would be forced to wait a week or longer. This time, it had been nearly three weeks since my previous orgasm, which had made this one so intense that my brother had kissed me fiercely to muffle my screams at a time when the neighbors would be leaving their houses and going to their cars or walking down the street to the bus stop.

I smiled in return. "Yours was rather copious," I countered, somewhat amused by the topic of our conversation.

He smiled in return as he began to crawl up my body, ultimately straddling my chest. What he wanted was evident, something he liked from time to time after we had just had sex: He wanted me to clean him. Even as he thrust his hips forward, I lifted my head from the pillow, using a hand to guide his manhood into my willing mouth. Tasting the combination of my tangy love and his sweet lust thrilled me, and hearing him sighing contentedly above me satisfied my soul in a way which I could never express in words.

Not surprisingly, my cleaning reinvigorated my brother's arousal, and as he thickened and lengthened in my mouth, my task transformed from cleaning him to preparing him to ease into me again -- or so I hoped. Using my mouth and my hands, timing the bobbing of my head with the slow thrusts of his hips, cleaning became fellatio, his sighs morphing into soft moans of pleasure.

...and then his cell phone rang. it was the ringtone he used whenever one of our parents was calling, so we both knew that the encounter had to end, that he had to go answer the phone. With a groan of frustration, my brother dismounted me and the bed, his erection bobbing before him as he hurried out of the bedroom, dashing to his room to answer the cell phone.

It was the perfect mirror of our not-quite-relationship: I was available whenever he needed me, and always left behind as he took his potential love elsewhere. Yet while I lay there feeling empty and somewhat discarded, I knew deep in my heart that I would suffer that emptiness and discarding willingly, however many times it had to occur, in the hopes that someday, ideally someday soon, his love for me would transcend the purely sibling love which already linked us.