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This is the story of how I fucked my 16 year old sister at a Masquerade party
The scent of pine needles and damp earth clung to the humid July air, a stark contrast to the saccharine perfume and clinking glasses inside the lake house. Tonight, July 20th, 2026, the old Montgomery estate, nestled deep within the whispering woods, pulsed with a rhythm alien to its usual quietude. A masquerade ball. Luke, nineteen, adjusted the black domino mask perched on his nose, the silk cool against his skin. He hated these things, the forced gaiety, the pretense. Yet, here he was, dragged along by friends, a dark suit feeling too constricting in the summer heat. The bass thumped a low, insistent heartbeat through the floorboards, mingling with the murmur of masked voices.
He nursed a lukewarm drink, watching the kaleidoscopic swirl of elaborate costumes and hidden faces. Everyone was a stranger, a mystery. That was the point, he supposed, the allure of anonymity. He caught glimpses of ornate masks – feathered, jeweled, grotesque – and flowing fabrics, the silhouettes of bodies swaying in the dim, colored lights. A hand brushed his arm, startling him.
“Lost in thought, are we?” a voice, low and husky, purred beside him.
He turned, his gaze snagging on the figure. She wore a dress the color of rich, dark wine, velvet cascading over her curves, sleeves wide and flowing, edged with intricate black lace. Her mask, a simple, elegant black, highlighted eyes that shimmered with an unusual intensity, dark and deep. Her lips, painted a deep crimson, curved into a knowing smile. He couldn’t place her, but the way she held herself, a certain confidence in her posture, intrigued him. Her hair, a dark cascade, had streaks of vivid crimson woven through it, a bold splash of color against the deep red of her dress.
“Just observing the chaos,” Luke replied, his voice a low rumble. He found himself drawn to her, an almost magnetic pull he couldn’t explain. Her frame, though not tall, carried a voluptuousness that was undeniably captivating. Her breasts, full and round, pressed against the velvet bodice, promising a soft weight beneath the fabric. Her waist nipped in, accentuating the generous swell of her hips and the delicious curve of her ass, clearly defined even through the heavy material. Her thighs, visible as she shifted, were thick and shapely, hinting at powerful, well-formed legs.
“Chaos has its own beauty, doesn’t it?” She stepped closer, her scent – something floral and spicy, intoxicating – swirling around him. “Or perhaps you prefer order?”
“Order is predictable. Predictable is boring.” He met her gaze, a challenge in his eyes.
A soft chuckle escaped her lips. “Then perhaps we’re kindred spirits.” She extended a gloved hand, the white silk a stark contrast to her dark attire. “Care to dance with the chaos?”
He took her hand, her fingers slender and surprisingly strong. The music shifted, a slower, more sensual beat filling the space. As he led her onto the makeshift dance floor, the press of her body against his was electric. Her hips moved with a natural sway, a fluid grace that seemed to invite intimacy. He could feel the soft give of her breasts against his chest, the warmth of her hand in his.
“You haven’t told me your name,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear, the warmth of his breath rustling a stray strand of her hair.
“Names are for the unmasked,” she whispered back, her voice a silken caress. “Tonight, we are whoever we want to be.”
He liked that. Liked the mystery, the freedom it implied. He tightened his hold, pulling her closer, feeling the delicate curve of her spine beneath his palm. The air grew thick with unspoken desires, the music a hypnotic thrum. He felt a primal stir within him, a need to shed the polite veneer of the party, to delve into the raw, untamed essence of this woman.
“And who do you want to be tonight?” he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.
Her eyes, dark and alluring, flickered up to his. “Someone who knows what she wants.” A faint smile played on her lips. “And isn’t afraid to take it.”
A shiver traced down his spine, a thrill of anticipation. This wasn’t just a dance. This was an invitation, a challenge. He steered her subtly towards the less crowded edges of the room, away from the glittering eyes and casual chatter. They moved with a synchronized rhythm, a silent understanding passing between them. The velvet of her dress rustled with each step, a whisper of luxury.
They found themselves on a secluded balcony overlooking the moonlit lake, the silver surface rippling under a gentle breeze. The air here was cooler, cleaner, yet the heat between them intensified. He turned her to face him, his hands finding the small of her back, pressing her body flush against his. He felt the full, round curve of her ass against his pelvis, a delicious friction.
“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, his gaze raking over her masked face, her tempting lips.
She tilted her head, a playful glint in her eyes. “You haven’t even seen my face.”
“I don’t need to. I see enough.” His thumb traced the line of her jaw, the soft skin beneath her ear. “The way you move, the way you speak… it’s all there.”
Her breath hitched, a faint tremor running through her. “And what do you see?”
“Desire,” he whispered, his voice dropping to a near growl. “A hunger that matches mine.”
He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers, a feather-light touch that promised more. Her lips were soft, full, parted slightly in anticipation. He deepened the kiss, a slow, deliberate exploration, tasting the sweet, spicy flavor of her lipstick. Her hands, still gloved, found their way to his shoulders, then tangled in his hair, tugging gently. He responded by pulling her even closer, his erection pressing hard against her belly, a clear declaration of his intent.
Her moan, a soft, throaty sound, vibrated against his mouth. He felt her tongue tentatively meet his, a shy dance that quickly escalated into a passionate duel. He sucked on her lower lip, then her upper, drawing out the taste, the sensation. Her fingers gripped his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss. He felt a dizzying rush, a wildness he hadn’t anticipated.
He broke the kiss, needing air, needing to see her eyes. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her lips swollen and glistening. Her eyes, still masked, burned with an unquenchable fire.
“You want this, don’t you?” he asked, his voice raw.
“More than anything,” she confessed, her voice barely a whisper, thick with yearning. “Show me how much.”
A dark smile touched his lips. “Oh, I will.”
He took her hand, leading her away from the balcony, through a dimly lit hallway. The house was vast, a labyrinth of rooms. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he needed a private space, a place where they could shed their masks, both literal and metaphorical. They found a bedroom, opulent and unused, the heavy curtains drawn, plunging it into near darkness. Moonlight filtered weakly through a gap, casting long, distorted shadows.
He kicked the door shut behind them, the click echoing in the sudden silence. He turned to her, his gaze intense. Without a word, he reached for her mask, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of the silk. She stood still, her breath held, allowing him to remove it.
The mask came away, revealing a face that sent a jolt through him, a strange, unsettling familiarity. Her eyes, large and dark, were framed by long lashes, her nose delicate, her cheeks dusted with a faint blush. Her lips, now free of the mask, were even fuller, more inviting. Her hair, dark brown with those striking red streaks, cascaded over her shoulders. He couldn’t quite place her, but the sense of recognition lingered, a phantom itch in his mind. He shook it off. The anonymity of the night still held its sway.
He dropped his own mask to the floor, letting it lie forgotten. He reached for the zipper of her velvet dress, his fingers brushing against the soft fabric, then the warm skin of her back. She arched slightly, a soft gasp escaping her. The zipper slid down with a gentle rasp, exposing the smooth expanse of her skin. The heavy velvet fell away from her shoulders, pooling around her waist. She wore a simple black camisole underneath, clinging to her ample breasts, showing off their generous cleavage. Her nipples, he could tell even through the fabric, were large and dark, pressing against the thin material.
He ran his hands over her shoulders, down her arms, feeling the smooth skin, the delicate bones. He pushed the camisole straps down, letting the fabric slide over her breasts. They spilled free, full and round, their dark, prominent nipples already firm and erect, beckoning his touch. Her breasts were a perfect handful, soft and heavy, the kind that would bounce and sway with every movement.
“You’re exquisite,” he breathed, his voice thick with desire. He cupped one breast, his thumb brushing over the firm nipple. She shivered, her head tilting back, a low moan escaping her throat. He took the other breast in his hand, kneading the soft flesh, feeling the nipple harden further under his touch.
He lowered his head, taking one dark nipple into his mouth, suckling gently. Her back arched, her hands gripping his hair again, pulling him closer. He suckled harder, drawing her deep into his mouth, feeling the intense pleasure radiating through her. His tongue swirled around the sensitive peak, then moved to the other, alternating between the two, lavishing them with attention. He heard her ragged breathing, felt the tremor in her body.
“Oh, God,” she whimpered, her voice strained. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t. He continued to tease and torment her nipples, his hands roaming over her waist, her hips, exploring the curves of her body. He felt the heat rising between them, a tangible force. He pulled back, his eyes dark with lust.
“Let’s get rid of this, shall we?” He gestured to the dress, which still clung around her hips.
She nodded, her eyes glazed over with desire. He helped her step out of the velvet, the material a dark pool at her feet. She stood before him in only her black lace panties, her body a masterpiece of curves and soft flesh. Her skin was smooth, unblemished, glowing in the dim light. Her stomach was flat, but her hips flared out, a beautiful, womanly shape. Her pubic mound, hidden beneath the lace, promised a lushness he was eager to uncover. Her thighs, he noted again, were thick and strong, tapering down to elegant calves.
He knelt before her, his gaze fixed on her panties, the dark lace a thin barrier to the treasure beneath. He ran his hand over the fabric, feeling the dampness seeping through. She gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
“You’re already so wet for me,” he murmured, his voice a low growl.
“I can’t help it,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You make me feel… things.”
He pulled the lace down slowly, savoring the anticipation. Her pubic hair, dark and soft, peeked out, a delicate triangle. He pushed the panties past her hips, down her thighs, until they lay discarded on the floor. Her pussy was revealed, plump and rosy, her inner labia swollen and glistening with wetness. A tiny bead of pre-cum glistened at the mouth of her vagina, a clear sign of her intense arousal. Her clit, a small, sensitive pearl, was already hard and prominent.
He leaned in, inhaling her scent, a musky, sweet aroma that made his head spin. He touched her, his finger tracing the swollen folds of her labia, feeling the slick wetness. She cried out, her hips thrusting forward instinctively.
“You like that, don’t you, little slut?” he whispered, his voice laced with a cruel edge. “Being touched, being teased.”
Her breath hitched. “Yes. Please. More.” The word was a plea, a desperate confession.
He lowered his head, his tongue flicking out, tasting her. She was sweet, musky, intensely arousing. He licked her clit, a slow, deliberate sweep, then sucked it gently into his mouth. She screamed, a raw, uninhibited sound, her legs trembling. He heard the bed frame creak as she gripped it, trying to steady herself. He continued to tease her, his tongue dancing over her clit, swirling around it, occasionally dipping into her wet folds. He loved the sounds she made, the way her body responded to his touch.
“Oh, God, yes! Fuck, yes!” she cried out, her voice breaking. “I’m going to… I’m going to come!”
He intensified his ministrations, his tongue working furiously, his fingers spreading her open, allowing him deeper access. Her body convulsed, a powerful orgasm shaking her from head to toe. Her hips bucked against his face, her cries echoing in the dim room. He felt the warm gush of her release against his tongue, a sweet, salty taste he devoured greedily.
He rose, his own erection throbbing, aching for release. He quickly stripped off his suit, letting his clothes fall to the floor. He stood before her, his cock, thick and hard, jutting out from his pubic hair.
Her eyes widened, a mixture of awe and hunger in their depths. “You’re so big,” she whispered, her voice still shaky from her orgasm.
“And it’s all for you,” he growled, pulling her to the bed. He pushed her down onto the mattress, her body sinking into the soft sheets. He climbed on top of her, positioning himself between her legs. He spread her thighs wide, his gaze fixed on her pussy, still glistening and swollen from her recent orgasm.
“Please,” she begged, her hands reaching for him, pulling him closer. “Fuck me.”
He leaned down, his mouth claiming hers in a brutal, passionate kiss. His cock, thick and engorged, pressed against her wet opening. He pushed forward, slowly, deliberately, feeling the stretch, the tight resistance of her pussy. She cried out, a mixture of pain and pleasure.
“Tight,” he grunted, his voice hoarse. “So fucking tight.”
He pushed deeper, inch by agonizing inch, until the head of his cock was fully buried within her. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. He held still for a moment, allowing her body to adjust, to stretch around him. He felt the exquisite warmth of her, the slick wetness, the pulsing contractions of her walls.
“Ready for more?” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.
She nodded, her eyes squeezed shut, tears pricking at the corners. “Yes. Give it to me.”
He pulled back almost completely, then thrust forward, a powerful, piston-like motion. His balls slapped against her ass with a wet *smack*. She screamed, a primal sound of pure sensation. He began to thrust, deep and hard, a relentless rhythm that rocked the bed. The bed frame groaned under the strain, the springs protesting with every impact.
“You like this, don’t you?” he gritted out, his voice a low growl. “Being taken, being fucked hard.”
“Yes! Oh, God, yes!” she screamed, her hips bucking to meet his thrusts. “Don’t stop! Fuck me harder!”
He grabbed her hips, lifting them higher, exposing her pussy even more to his relentless assault. He drove into her, feeling the thick head of his cock scrape against her cervix with each deep thrust. A shriek tore from her throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure mixed with a hint of pain.
“That’s it, scream for me,” he commanded, his voice dark and possessive. “Let everyone know what a good little slut you are.”
He continued his brutal rhythm, his body slick with sweat, her pussy gripping him like a vice. The sounds of their bodies colliding filled the room – the wet *shlicking* of his cock sliding in and out, the soft *squelch* of air being pushed from her folds, the heavy *thud* of his hips against hers, the rhythmic *creak* of the bed. Her moans and cries escalated, her voice becoming hoarser, more desperate.
He reached down, his fingers finding her clit, still swollen and sensitive from her earlier orgasm. He began to rub it, gently at first, then with increasing pressure, coordinating his movements with his thrusts. She screamed again, her body arching off the bed, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist.
“Oh, fuck! I’m going to come again!” she gasped, her voice raw.
He choked her, his hand wrapping around her throat, not enough to cut off her breath completely, but enough to make her gag, to make her eyes water, to make her feel utterly helpless. Her struggles were weak, her body consumed by the dual sensations of choking and relentless pleasure. Her breath hitched, a strangled sob escaping her lips.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his eyes burning into hers. “Look at me while I take you.”
Her eyes, wide and unfocused, met his. He saw the terror, the desperation, but also a deep, dark pleasure that thrilled him to his core. He kept his hand on her throat, pressing lightly, feeling the frantic pulse beneath his fingers. He continued to thrust, deeper, harder, faster, his cock a relentless piston inside her.
Her body convulsed again, a second, even more powerful orgasm racking her frame. Her legs tightened around him, her nails raking down his back, leaving faint red marks. Her hips bucked violently, her cries turning into incoherent whimpers as she rode the wave of her climax. He felt the intense contractions of her pussy, milking every drop of pleasure from his cock.
He watched her, a dark satisfaction blooming in his chest. He felt his own climax building, a powerful surge of heat and pressure. He pulled his hand from her throat, gripping her hips instead, driving into her one last, powerful time.
“Fuck!” he roared, his body tensing, then releasing. He pumped his seed deep inside her, a hot, thick gush that filled her. He collapsed on top of her, his breath ragged, his body trembling.
They lay there, tangled together, for what felt like an eternity, their chests heaving, their skin slick with sweat. The scent of sex, musky and primal, filled the room. He felt her soft body against his, her heart pounding against his chest.
“That was…” she whispered, her voice still hoarse, a hint of awe in her tone. “Incredible.”
He kissed her shoulder, then her neck, a possessive gesture. “You liked being choked, didn’t you?”
A shiver ran through her. “More than I should have.” She turned her head, her lips brushing his cheek. “You’re… terrifying.”
“Is that a bad thing?” he murmured, his fingers tracing the curve of her hip.
She chuckled, a soft, breathless sound. “No. Not tonight.”
He pulled her closer, spooning her body against his. He felt the warmth of her ass pressed against his still-hard cock, a comforting weight. He drifted off to sleep, the scent of her, the memory of her cries, filling his senses.
The morning light, pale and hesitant, filtered through the gap in the curtains, painting the room in soft hues. Luke stirred, a groan escaping his lips as he stretched. His muscles ached, a pleasant soreness from the exertion of the night. He felt a soft weight beside him, a warm body pressed against his. He turned, his eyes still heavy with sleep, and his gaze fell upon her.
Her hair, those striking dark strands with the crimson streaks, fanned out on the pillow. Her face, unmasked now, was relaxed in sleep, her lips slightly parted. He stared, a slow, dawning horror creeping into his mind. The delicate nose, the full lips, the familiar curve of her jaw…
His breath hitched. No. It couldn’t be.
His eyes darted to the discarded velvet dress on the floor, the black lace panties beside it. Then back to her face. The mask, the anonymity, had been a cruel trick of fate.
“Lucy?” he whispered, his voice barely audible, a strangled sound of disbelief.
Her eyes fluttered open, dark and sleepy. She blinked, once, twice, then her gaze met his. Her eyes widened, a dawning comprehension, then horror, spreading across her face.
“Luke?” Her voice was a choked gasp, a mirror of his own.
The silence that followed was deafening, thick with unspoken questions, with the crushing weight of their actions. He saw the recognition, the terror, the confusion in her eyes. And something else, something he couldn’t quite decipher, a flicker of… longing?
He sat up abruptly, running a hand through his hair, his mind racing. His sister. His sixteen-year-old sister. The girl he had just spent the night with, the girl he had choked and degraded and fucked until the bed groaned in protest.
“Oh, God,” he muttered, his head in his hands. “Oh, my God.”
Lucy sat up too, pulling the sheet instinctively over her bare breasts. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape.
“I… I didn’t know,” she stammered, her voice trembling. “The mask… the dark…”
“I know,” he cut her off, his voice flat. “Me neither.” He looked at her, really looked at her, his sister, the girl he had watched grow up. And suddenly, he saw her in a completely new, terrifying, and undeniably alluring light. The full, soft breasts he had suckled, the generous curve of her hips, the thick thighs that had wrapped around him. All of it was Lucy.
A strange, conflicting mix of shame and a dark, forbidden thrill coursed through him. The memory of her screams, her pleas, the way her body had convulsed beneath him… it was all playing back in his mind, vivid and explicit.
“What do we do?” she whispered, her voice small, fragile.
He looked at her, really looked at her. Her lower lip trembled slightly. He saw the fear, but also, disturbingly, a lingering spark of that same intensity he’d seen in her masked eyes last night. The same desire.
“I don’t know,” he said, the words heavy with confusion. He reached out, his hand hovering over her arm, unsure if he should touch her.
She flinched slightly, then leaned into his touch, a faint tremor running through her. His fingers brushed against her skin, still warm from sleep, and he felt a jolt, an undeniable pull. The memory of her scent, her taste, flooded his senses.
“It was… intense, wasn’t it?” she whispered, her gaze fixed on his, a fragile courage in her eyes.
He swallowed hard. “More than intense.” His eyes dropped to her lips, still swollen from his kisses, then to her breasts, partially covered by the sheet, but he could still see the dark, firm outline of her nipples.
A blush crept up her neck, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned closer, her breath mingling with his. “I… I liked it, Luke.” Her voice was barely a murmur, a confession. “I liked how rough you were. I liked when you choked me.”
His eyes snapped back to hers, a shock of recognition, a dark understanding. She was a masochist. And he… he was a sadist. The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow. Their bodies, their desires, had aligned in the most forbidden way imaginable.
He reached out, his hand finding her jaw, his thumb brushing her lower lip. Her lips parted slightly, an unspoken invitation. He saw the hunger in her eyes, mirroring his own. The shame was there, yes, but it was battling with something far more powerful, far more primal.
“You liked it,” he repeated, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “You liked being my slut.”
Her eyes closed for a moment, a shiver running through her. “Yes,” she breathed, her voice thick with emotion. “I did.”
He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers. The kiss was hesitant at first, then deepened, a slow, searching exploration. It wasn’t the frantic, desperate kiss of the night before, but something more deliberate, more knowing. He tasted the lingering sweetness of her, the faint tang of arousal. Her hand, tentative at first, found its way to his chest, then his neck, pulling him closer.
He pulled back slightly, his gaze fixed on her. “We can’t,” he whispered, the word a weak protest against the surging tide of desire.
“Can’t we?” she challenged, her voice barely audible, her eyes burning with a dangerous light. She reached down, her hand finding his still-hard cock, wrapping her fingers around him. Her touch was hesitant, yet firm, sending a fresh jolt of electricity through him.
He groaned, his body responding instantly. The warmth of her hand, the soft pressure, was intoxicating. The rational part of his brain screamed at him, but it was a distant, fading sound against the roar of his desire.
“What are we doing?” he asked, his voice raw, pleading.
She looked at him, her eyes dark and full of a forbidden knowledge. “What we were meant to do, apparently.” She squeezed him gently, her fingers stroking the length of his shaft. “You want me, don’t you? Even knowing who I am?”
He couldn’t deny it. The desire was a living, breathing entity within him, clawing at his insides. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted anyone. The taboo, the forbidden nature of it, only intensified the craving.
“Yes,” he confessed, his voice a choked whisper. “God, yes.”
A slow, triumphant smile spread across her lips. She leaned in, her tongue flicking out, tracing the outline of his mouth. “Then take me again, Luke. Fuck me until I can’t think straight. Make me yours.”
He looked into her eyes, seeing the depths of her desire, the willing submission. The world outside, the masquerade, the lake house, his family, all of it faded away. There was only her, only him, and the dark, tangled web of their mutual, forbidden desire. He pulled her against him, his lips claiming hers in a brutal, possessive kiss. The bed groaned under their shifting weight. The morning had brought clarity, yes, but it had also brought a terrifying, exhilarating truth: they were just getting started.
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