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#Incest #Lesbian #Pregnancy #Threesome
By NotReallyAshamed
I have a confession. My sister and I used to pee on each other.
—
We grew up sharing a bathroom. Our bedrooms were at right angles to each other, and the bathroom was at the corner between, with a door opening into each room. There was nothing weird about that; when one of us was in there, we would just pull both doors closed, do what we had to do, then open the other one’s door a crack when we were done so they’d know the bathroom was free. Of course we could also tell when the other was in there because of the sounds and the light under the door, so we basically never intruded on each other by accident.
One day, though, my sister went into the bathroom and my door happened to be wide open. She didn’t close it, which was completely unexpected; we always shut the doors, even if the other bedroom was empty — it was ingrained habit. And my bedroom was NOT empty — in fact I was sitting on my bed, facing the bathroom, basically staring right at her as she pulled down her tights and plopped down onto the toilet. It’s not like she didn’t know; I was ten feet away from her. It was obviously an intentional act. I didn’t know what to make of it; it was completely out of character. Our family was, maybe not prudish exactly, but not really inclined to exhibitionism. I don’t think Emily and I had seen each other naked since we were preschoolers. Of course, she wasn’t naked now, either, and I couldn’t see all that much from ten feet away, but still — what the hell?! I thought. You go to the bathroom in private! Everyone knows that! My sister was violating an utterly inviolable rule. I was shocked — and of course I was intrigued.
At first I didn’t say anything at all. Partly because I couldn’t think of anything to say in the face of this absurdity, but also maybe because I was afraid of breaking whatever incomprehensible spell had come over her. I wanted to see what would happen next. I heard her stream of urine start (this, at least, wasn’t unfamiliar; the doors didn’t block sound very well) and finally blurted out, ridiculously, “Peeing, Em?” Our eyes met. She said, “mmm-hmm!” The whole exchange was so ridiculous that I couldn’t even laugh. I replied, “Oh, OK.” There was a pause, then she said, “wanna see?” I could already see, of course, but I took this as an invitation to get a closer look, got up off the bed, and quickly went over to catch what I could before the spell broke.
Emily was sitting on the toilet with her legs slightly spread. The stream was just petering out as I got there and I stood in front of her, looking down at the last few drops dribbling from her slightly spread labia. She wasn’t making any move to get up, so I knelt down on the bathmat to get a better look. Emily obligingly spread her legs even further apart. I’d never seen female anatomy up close, and stared intently. Her labia were glistening. There was an interesting odor, not at all unpleasant. It wasn’t really the smell of urine; it was something else. Because she hadn’t objected to having me staring at her parts from close up, I allowed my curiosity to get the better of me and ventured: “Can I touch?” Emily said, unhesitating, “OK!”
Hardly believing my luck, I gingerly reached out and lightly touched her vulva. A few stray drops of urine transferred themselves to my finger. Her labia felt soft and pillowy. It was nice. I kept feeling around for maybe thirty seconds — it seemed much longer, as if time had frozen — until Emily finally stood partway up and, startled, I jerked my hand away. She tore off a few squares of toilet paper and wiped, perfunctorily, then pulled up her tights. Not knowing what to say, I again came out with something absurd: “Thanks!” Em didn’t reply — what was there to say, really? But she didn’t look unhappy about the encounter. Which seemed to be over for now. It would have been polite, perhaps, for me to reciprocate by pulling down my pants and going in front of her, but I didn’t have to pee right then. And besides, I had a “temporary issue” down there which would have made it difficult.
(Later that evening when I did have to go, I pulled the doors shut out of habit. While I was peeing it occurred to me that perhaps I shouldn’t have, but I thought it would be awkward to fling Emily’s door open in the middle of the act. And the next morning she shut the door before performing her morning ablutions, to my slight disappointment.)
About a week later, on an evening that our parents were out, I was sitting in my room and Emily did it again. This time, she was more direct – she simply stood in the open doorway, wearing a pink nightgown, and called out “Wanna watch me pee?” I most assuredly did. We got into our positions, me kneeling on the bathmat, Emily lifting up her nightgown – she was wearing nothing underneath – lowering herself onto the toilet and spreading her legs. I could smell the odd, slightly pungent not-urine odor again as I placed my curious nose and eyes as close to the action as I dared. There was a short pause, almost as if she were waiting to be sure I was ready; then the flow began. When she seemed to be done, without asking, I put my hand on her vulva, and was slightly taken aback to be rewarded by a second gush of urine. Maybe she’d kept some in reserve? I believe I was pretty nonchalant; while I suspect my surprise must have shown on my face, I didn’t jerk my hand away, but left it there unflinching as the warm liquid flooded over my hand.
Now, I want to stress that I didn’t, and to this day still don’t find anything inherently sexually exciting about urine. I’ve never really wanted to engage in urine play, golden showers or whatever it’s called, with my adult sexual partners. I asked my wife to pee on me once, many years ago, and — while she was willing to try it — like so many things we imagine might be fun in our fantasies, it didn’t really do anything for me when we did it. It involved a lot of preparation, putting down a mattress protector and such, we had trouble not cracking up when we were doing it, and it was messy and annoying to clean up afterwards. So much for that. My wife didn’t know about my history with Emily, at the time.
I don’t really know for sure whether Emily has a urine fetish. Maybe, maybe not. I think, though, that — at least at first — all this wasn’t so much about the peeing per se as it was the exposure. Emily wanted to expose herself to me, wanted me to see her doing something private, and peeing is a very a private thing. And she wanted to see me, too, as it quickly transpired. When she was done she asked me if I would pee for her. I wasn’t going to say no, and — perhaps because of the surprise of having my hand peed on — I had lost the erection I’d sprung when she first invited me to watch, so, as she wiped and got up, I obliged by pulling down my pajamas. As Emily watched intently, I aimed squarely at the center of the bowl, but — oh, the embarrassment! — nothing came forth. I actually had to go, but under the circumstances, I just — couldn’t. It felt like an eternity, but was probably only a minute or so before I mumbled something about not needing to pee right now.
Emily, who had been studying my genitalia with great interest, was undeterred. She asked if she could touch me. Turnabout is fair play, so, while I felt uneasy at the prospect, I nodded assent. Her fingers felt warm and not at all unpleasant as they explored my penis and scrotum, but the strangeness of it all kept me from getting excited. However, I suddenly realized that I did, in fact, have to pee. Very much. I warned, “Em, I’m going to go,” but she didn’t take her hand away, just made an attempt to aim me at the toilet. Unfortunately, lacking my experience with the equipment, she wasn’t aiming very well. I’m not sure why I didn’t help her out, but I did do my part by letting go with a healthy stream, only some of which ended up in the water. It didn’t help that her hand was partly in the way.
When it was over, her hand, the toilet seat, the floor to the sides and even behind the toilet, and the pink nightgown were all lightly, but visibly besprinkled. Somehow my lowered pajamas had escaped, apparently unscathed, and I pulled them up. I was burning with embarrassment, but Emily didn’t seem too perturbed. We used a lot of toilet paper (we had to flush twice) to wipe up the toilet and floor. I remember, for some inexplicable reason, she had lifted her nightgown up around her waist as we got down onto our hands and knees to clean up, and I got to see her bare butt while we crawled about. Finally, when we were done and had stood up and finished flushing the dirty toilet paper, Emily, quite suddenly, shimmied out of her nightgown and dropped it into our shared laundry hamper. For a few glorious moments she stood still right in front of me and I stared at her completely naked body for the first time I could remember. Then she turned around and went into her room, and I took that as a sign that the fun was over; I retreated to my own room, closing the bathroom door behind me, completely bemused and befuddled. With the lights out, I sniffed the faint odor that remained on my fingers, pictured Emily’s body, and touched myself with my other hand. It felt unfamiliar, but it wasn’t long before I couldn’t hold back and the good feeling arrived; my legs spasmed with the intensity. Unsure of what to do next, I fell into a deep sleep.
Another week passed until our parents left us alone again for an evening. This time we were watching TV, me in my pajamas, Emily in her pink nightgown. As we often did after we discovered what was on the high cable channels at night, we’d picked a nondescript movie we probably should not have been watching, utterly forgettable, with cheesy music, no coherent plot to speak of, and plenty of nudity (but no actual visible sex; there was never actual visible sex on TV that we knew of). Despite the pointlessness of the movie, we watched avidly, but in the middle Em got up and fetched a soda, and when she returned, she made the first move in an obvious game, lifting her nightgown, seemingly accidentally, to above her knees as she sat back down on her chair. We were facing each other sort of catty-corner and if I looked away from the TV, I could see her thighs and, since they were spread, a hint of what was between. The lady on the screen, meanwhile, was boringly naked, so I snuck peeks at Em instead, as I was obviously supposed to, and she kept the game going by moving the hem of the nightgown up progressively higher while pretending not to know she was doing it. By the time the tastefully disguised sex scene began, the pink nightgown was up around Em’s bellybutton and I wasn’t even pretending to look at the screen any more.
We were at an impasse, though, because Emily wasn’t saying anything, so finally I broke the silence: “Hey Em, do you need to pee?” She nodded, and without any further discussion we got up, switched off the TV, and retreated to the bathroom. I didn’t want to clean up pee again and I also wanted to see Emily naked. An idea was starting to form in my head. “Hey, maybe we should just go in the bathtub then wash it down.” Emily looked a bit dubious. “I mean — so we don’t have to clean up like last time, you know?” She saw the logic and clambered into the dry tub, standing in the middle. I took off my pajama pants and then, after quick reflection, my top, and got in with her. Emily hiked her nightgown back up to her waist and spread her legs apart a little, but I said, “hey, you should take that off so it doesn’t get wet” — rather illogically as she wasn’t at any risk of peeing upwards, but in any case she did what I suggested and tossed the gown in the general direction of her room. There we stood, brother and sister, both naked, waiting to see who would pee first. Finally, Emily’s stream started, and, since we seemed to have already established that it was OK for me to put my hand there, I just stuck it right into the flow. Little drops of pee splashed everywhere; on Emily’s legs, on my legs, and of course all over my hand. Emily giggled but kept going. Finally, when she was done, she said “Now you.” I was half-hard, but this time I didn’t find it too hard to start. I tried politely to aim away from her, at the side of the tub, but she grabbed me and started playing with it, aiming at my legs and then her own; soon we were both just as wet with my urine as we already were with hers.
When we were done, we both stood there kind of uncertainly. It wasn’t really obvious what the next step was supposed to be after peeing all over each other. This wasn’t covered in any guidebooks that I knew of. We just kind of looked at each other, and I slowly got hard, and Em stared at it as I tried to take in the sight of her nude body, glistening here and there with splashes of my urine and her own. Finally, she asked, “Does it always stand up like that after you pee?” I laughed nervously at the absurdity of the question. “No, sometimes it just gets hard like that. For no reason,” I lied, then added, slyly: “but then when I touch it, it feels good.” Emily looked very interested all of a sudden. “I… when I need to pee, it gets itchy and it feels good when I touch myself” I didn’t really understand what she was getting at — I’d never really associated my penis’s ability to make me feel good with its urinary function. We stood there awkwardly a little longer, and then I said, “Well… better clean up,” and turned on the shower. We stood in the warm water for a minute, then grabbed towels and retreated to our own rooms to ponder what we’d just done.
It was a couple of weeks before our parents went out again, so of course we didn’t repeat this bizarre pee-fest. But Emily was acting very weird. Every time she went to the bathroom, if I was in my room, she closed her own door, but left mine wide open. By silent assent, I would go over and kneel down, she’d spread her legs, and I’d watch closely, breathing in that curious not-pee scent of hers that intermingled with the faint odor of the urine. When she was done I would reach between her legs and touch her for a while then, I guess when she’d had enough touching, she’d stand up and wipe. She didn’t pee outright on my hand again, but of course it was always wet down there. I didn’t wash my hands because I wanted to save the odors for later.
A couple of times, she had to do number two. On the first occasion, I had my hand on her vulva when she began to strain, and when she suddenly farted in preparation for the act I jerked my hand back in shock and, I’m afraid, a little bit of disgust. Pee was one thing, but I didn’t want anything at all to do with her defecation. I got up and went back to my room without saying a word. The next time, she spoke up when she finished peeing, before I began touching her: “I have to poo, too.” She spread her legs even wider, as if encouraging me to look, and I watched with mixed apprehension and curiosity as the turd emerged. The odor was tolerable, but not by any means pleasant and by the end I had satisfied whatever curiosity I had and realized that I didn’t really want to observe that particular act any more. I guess Emily understood because, after that, she’d close my door when she had to defecate, but leave it open when she only had to pee.
Beyond this strange toilet ritual, she was behaving oddly at other times, too. In the evening, if the two of us were watching TV (it wasn’t soft porn when our parents were around, of course), she’d sit there in a nightgown and put her legs up so that I could see everything. Or, if she was wearing a bathrobe, she’d let it slip open casually. All this was done in such a way that it wasn’t too obvious if Mom or Dad happened by; if they did, she’d shift her legs, or pull her robe closed, so that everything looked completely normal. But there was no question that she was showing off for me. And I didn’t really know what to make of it. Until all this had started, I’d never really been actively curious about my sister’s body, let alone had sexual thoughts about her. When you grow up with someone, familiarity overrides that kind of thinking. It never would have occurred to me before to wonder what Emily looked like naked. But now that she had begun, almost aggressively, showing herself off to me, I could think of nothing else. Looking at her exposed genitalia, I imagined that I could sense her excitement right there in the den, but it was probably just scent-memory.
By the end of an evening of TV and voyeurism I’d be so aroused I was ready to explode. I’d stumble back to my room and sit on my bed until Emily came into the bathroom; we’d take our positions and I’d watch, taking in the intoxicating odor, then touch, getting my hands moist with a mixture of her scent and stray drops of urine. I’d learned to touch her with my left hand. When we finished and went back to our rooms, I’d turn out the light and, breathing Emily in with my left hand and thinking of what I’d just seen, I’d bring myself to a swift climax with my right, then fall asleep almost immediately. I must have smelled pretty strong the next morning, with both Emily’s wetness and my own semen dried onto my hands, but of course there was no one there to notice before I got into the shower and washed all the evidence off.
The long-awaited day arrived: our parents had an evening out again. It was obvious from the way Emily kept looking at me that she was anticipating something happening as much as I was. Almost as soon as we were alone, I suggested to her that we both get undressed and stay that way the whole evening. She was game and we both stripped, then stood about awkwardly: it was too early for the soft porn on cable; we still hadn’t even eaten. We microwaved our TV dinners and sat in front of the tube to pretend to eat them and watch some inane sitcom while we looked at each other’s nakedness. Eventually we abandoned all pretense and just stared at each other, wondering what to do next I guess. Emily asked about what it felt like when it was hard and I told her it felt nice and invited her to touch it. She did so, getting right up close, touching it gingerly at first and then with increasing vigor, until I finally had to pull her hand away as I was afraid I’d lose it all over her face. I asked to look at her close up and she got on her hands and knees and spread herself a little so I could examine her vulva and her butt from behind. This was a view I’d hadn’t yet seen up close and I looked intently, trying to commit it all to memory along with the enticing scent. To this day I can remember it all vividly.
Eventually Em said it was getting itchy down there and she had to pee. I was a bit disappointed. The whole pee thing was weird and I wasn’t really sure, now that it came down to it, that I really wanted to end up in the bathtub peeing on each other again. I was enjoying just looking at her. But nature couldn’t be denied, I guess. We headed for the bathroom. Emily got in and sat on the side of the tub, spreading her legs. She explained, “It’s itchy, I need to rub a little and then it’ll come.” I didn’t know what to make of that, but sure enough, she reached down and began to rub herself. I assumed this was the equivalent of me jerking off, but I didn’t understand the connection with urination. When I masturbated, it didn’t help me pee — quite to the contrary. Em was rubbing and squirming about a bit and I watched with fascination as she began to breathe hard and turn a little pink. Finally, after a minute or so, she gasped and, sure enough, the pee came in a great gush, reaching as far as the opposite wall of the bathtub.
When it was over, Emily said “Now you pee!” This posed kind of a dilemma. I was hard and there was no way I’d be peeing for a while. I could show her how I masturbated, but the result wasn’t going to be urine. Finally, I decided that masturbating for her would be the fairest thing, so I stood in the tub, facing the drain, right in front of where she was sitting so she could get a good look. She watched, engrossed, from mere inches away as I pulled my erection back and forth. I didn’t last very long; within a minute I groaned and spurted all over my hands. When I was done, I felt instantly awkward and embarrassed. What the living hell was I doing standing naked in a bathtub with my naked sister, with my semen dripping from my hands and the tub wet under my feet with her urine? I sighed and turned on the shower to wash the confusion and bodily fluids away. Emily stood up and got under the warm water with me. As I softened, I realized that I actually did need to pee. Doing it in the shower seemed expedient and I figured Emily had asked me too anyway, so I aimed at the drain and let loose as Emily watched.
That was pretty much the end of the fun for the evening. We put on bathrobes and went back to watching sitcoms on TV. Emily didn’t tease me by letting her robe slip open; there wouldn’t have been much point. Teasing hints at bigger things to come; what more could come after we had just gotten stark naked, examined one another up close, then masturbated for each other? When 10:00 rolled around neither of us was particularly motivated to watch the soft porn movie, and without saying much we called it a night.
After that, it was pretty much a standard ritual for us. When our parents went out, which averaged about once a week, we’d masturbate and urinate together in the bathtub. Emily was much more into the urination part than I was. She kept asking me to pee first, before we masturbated, and eventually made it clear that she wanted us to pee on each other. I guess for her, because she’d always pee when she orgasmed, she associated the two things much more closely. I on the other hand, perhaps because of the obvious physical difficulty of peeing while aroused, didn’t find urination inherently exciting, except insofar as it had led Emily to initiate these adventures. However, I was perfectly happy to play along. After a lot of experimentation that included things like Emily crouching down in the bathtub and me peeing all over her (she seemed to like it OK, but I felt kind of gross doing it and was a bit put off by the sight of her literally drenched in urine) and our hugging in the shower with the water running and peeing on each other’s legs (this was fun, but difficult for me because I’d get an erection when we embraced each other) we eventually settled on a routine. We’d stand up together and I’d go while she held my penis. She found it endlessly diverting to be able to aim the stream and would get herself thoroughly wet while doing so, but it didn’t feel so gross to me because I wasn’t just standing there peeing on her; she was an active participant.
Afterwards, I’d get hard and Emily would sit on the side of the tub, masturbating, with me kneeling in front of her, erection in hand, enjoying the sight and scents from close up. When she came the gush of urine would splash all over my face and chest. I’d do my best to hold off my orgasm, because if I came early, it was hard to stay still until Emily finished — kneeling on the cold, hard porcelain hurt my knees and I no longer looked forward to getting peed on. But before I came, it was completely different: I wasn’t thinking about my knees, and the inevitable wet-down seemed welcome. I got good at bringing myself right to the edge, then waiting until Emily began to pee on me, then giving myself those final few jerks and being rewarded with a huge climax just as she enjoyed hers. (This kind of practice helped me a lot later in life. I’ve always been able to delay my orgasm until my partner comes.)
With all this close-up masturbation it was inevitable that we’d eventually graduate to stimulating each other, but curiously it never really became a habit for us. We tried just sitting next to each other on the edge of the tub, rubbing each other. Emily would squirm in pleasure as I fingered her, but she always wanted to finish herself off. As for me, I actually didn’t like her jerking me that much; it always felt kind of rough. Once while kneeling in front of Emily in the tub I asked if I could lick her, and, after a little hesitation, she agreed. I found it very enjoyable but eventually Emily wanted to finish herself in the usual way. I settled for leaving my mouth right up by her and tasting her as she brought herself to a climax. The pee of course ended up largely in my mouth and I swallowed it, nearly choking. In bulk like that, it didn’t taste nearly as good as I’d imagined from Emily’s scent. Even still aroused, I found it a turn-off to flat-out drink pee, and we didn’t try that again; but on multiple occasions I’d lick her vulva while she was masturbating, before she came. In the end, though, the thing that we kept coming back to was the usual: she’d hold my penis while I urinated, then we’d masturbate together, with me kneeling in front of her, until she peed on me and I ejaculated, then we’d turn on the shower and wash ourselves off.
—
Years later, Emily, in her thirties, got pregnant with some asshole guy who promptly decamped, leaving her to deal with it on her own. She was a fiercely independent woman and was determined to have the baby. She had long ago come out as bisexual and indeed was more gay than straight as I understood it; the deadbeat boyfriend had been an anomaly in a series of woman partners. But she was single at the time, and also between jobs, and after I talked it over with my wife, who also happened to be pregnant with our first, I invited her to stay with us. My wife (who, as I’ve said, didn’t know about our past) was all for it; she had always gotten along well with Emily, and felt they could give each other moral support. Also, Emily had been complaining about her OB/GYN; the city we lived in had a fantastic obstetrics unit.
Emily was just about 12 weeks along when she arrived with a small suitcase, having wrapped up whatever she had to wrap up at home. My wife, Carla, was just a few weeks ahead. They spent the first few days going shopping for maternity clothes and transferring Emily’s care to my wife’s OB/GYN, a lovely older woman who had a way of calming any concerns a couple might have (sample concern: can having sex while you’re pregnant be harmful? OB/GYN’s answer: “No, absolutely not, and it’s a time when you’re likely to feeling all sorts of interesting things because of hormones, so you should go ahead and do whatever feels good!”) In the evenings, I would put together dinners to satisfy whatever cravings Carla and Emily were having, or pretending to have — I do think they were putting me on at least some of the time. Spaghetti with peanut butter? I mentally facepalmed, then dug up a recipe for Chinese cold noodles; it was a big hit with both of them.
It turns out that having your wife and sister pregnant at the same time and living with you, even if — especially if — they get along like a house on fire, can be… challenging. Carla and Em, unsurprisingly, talked about pregnant-woman stuff all the time. They’d talk openly about, say, how being pregnant made them feel horny all the time, and I’d be sitting there with my cheeks burning, and they’d tease me about it. I did my best to brush the talk off lightly and anticipate the evenings, when Carla, who, before she got pregnant, had generally preferred me to take charge during sex, would now nearly attack me in her eagerness to relieve her arousal. I loved how she would jump me with her increasingly heavy body and, almost growling in her excitement, impale herself on my erection and rock back and forth until she came with a moan loud enough that I knew Emily could hear in the next room. And indeed Emily would openly tease us about how much fun we’d been having in the morning, and complain lightly about not having anyone to get off with. Carla wasn’t taken aback, but would joke around with her, as I sat there in silence, trying not to reveal how nervous all this was making me.
I guess I was a little afraid that Emily, who didn’t seem to have much of a filter these days, would reveal something about the way we’d once played around. I could rationalize that that was a long time ago and all brothers and sisters probably did weird things together, but I really didn’t want Carla to know that Emily and I had spent a few years regularly masturbating together — not to mention peeing on each other. So when, one night at dinner after Emily had been there about a month, the topic of how Carla had first suspected she was pregnant because she had to pee so often, I looked significantly at Emily, praying that she’d get the message: please, please stay away from this topic. No dice. She enthusiastically took up the thread, saying that it was ridiculous how often she still had to pee, and the two of them were off and running. At some point — it was inevitable — Emily let drop that orgasms always made her pee, and Carla — far from being scandalized at this intimate revelation — asked all about how that worked, and Emily explained that she’d always had to pee when she orgasmed, even when she was little, and I just sat there wondering how long I had left before our shameful secret came out.
Fortunately, Emily didn’t go there. After that evening, though, it was if some final ice dam had been broken. No topic was taboo any more, and their conversation almost always seemed to turn sooner or later towards sex. Carla listened fascinated as Emily talked freely and graphically about her sex life; mostly about the women she’d been with. I would mostly sit there silent, glad that at least she wasn’t bringing up our youthful sibling indiscretion. Of course, there was a significant benefit of all this talk; Carla, turned on almost to distraction, would throw herself at me every night. After a while both of them started being careless about their dress, walking around the house with just maternity underwear on. I tried studiously to look only at Carla and not Emily; it was difficult, because I really was intrigued to see how Emily’s body had changed since back then.
I must have been trying too hard, as Carla, one night as we lay in bed, teased me. “You know, you are allowed to look at your sister. I’m not jealous, I know she’s not going to steal you away.” I gulped, not knowing what to say. Carla went on, “I bet you wonder what she looks like naked.” I protested: of course I had seen her naked in my life, I didn’t need to, she was my sister, blah blah blah. Carla kept teasing me. “Her breasts are bigger than mine, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t like to have a look?” I said that Carla’s breasts were plenty enough for me. “Seriously, though, wouldn’t you like to see her naked?”
I’m afraid I kind of snapped at Carla, asking her to please drop the subject. She looked a bit hurt and I instantly regretted it. I began to caress her and we ended up with her on all fours on the bed. We hadn’t done anything in that position since she had begun to show — Carla almost always wanted to get on top. The sight of her vulva and butt from behind brought back, unbidden, ancient memories of my inspecting Emily as she kneeled in the same position, legs slightly apart. I was insanely aroused. Carla was expecting me to enter her from behind, but instead I dove in with my mouth and tongue, eating her out wildly, and even tonguing her butthole. She came hard, groaning loudly; then, though in the past she hadn’t usually wanted penetration so soon after an orgasm, she insisted that I finish with her in that position. I entered her wetness carefully, bending over her and feeling how her heavy belly and breasts hung down; then couldn’t help but wonder what Emily would look like, would feel like in this position. It was all too much for me and I came in a few strokes, filling her superfluously with my semen.
The next day when I came home from work, Carla and Emily were on the couch, topless. I asked them what they were doing and they said they’d been discussing lactation and had decided to compare their boobs. I couldn’t help but suspect that they had intended me to catch them in their deshabille and I refused to give them the satisfaction of looking nonplussed. I looked straight at both of them, said “well… looking good — both of you!” and, as they both giggled, went to the kitchen to prepare dinner. I wasn’t too surprised when both of them came to the table with their breasts still bare. I figured that commenting on it further would expose me to ridicule, so I said nothing and just nodded when Carla explained, unbidden, that breasts were sensitive during pregnancy and they felt more comfortable letting them go free. This didn’t seem right to me — both Carla’s small breasts and Emily’s medium-sized ones had gotten obviously bigger, and I imagined they’d want more support, not less. But something was obviously going on here. It was if Carla had caught a case of exhibitionism from Emily (who obviously had had that disease for a long time). I figured I might as well go along with it and see where it took us. I wasn’t going to look away any more — if they were going to get right up in my face like this, I’d watch. And I had to admit that it wasn’t at all unpleasant to see the two women I loved most in the world topless across from me at the dinner table.
That night in bed Carla let slip, all casual-like, that Emily had let her feel her breasts and that she, in return, had let Emily feel hers. I think Carla was testing me with this pronouncement. If I reacted negatively, she could say that it was all part of their comparing boobs in the context of lactation. I hadn’t actually thought about it, but of course it was hardly surprising that they would have touched, not just looked. Was I upset? Not really. Why would I be? I acted completely nonchalant and asked her what they felt like and she turned kind of pink — heh, embarrassed? I thought; turnabout is fair play — and said she envied how big they were compared to hers. I pointed out that Carla’s nipples were bigger than Emily’s and that all the sensation was almost certainly there, plus that was probably more convenient for breast-feeding too. I touched them to make the point, and said, “see, these are much bigger and stiffer than Emily’s,” and she got all hot and bothered, and we ended up with me sucking on her nipples while she masturbated, before she jumped on top of me and rode me to a satisfying climax.
I wasn’t blind. I understood what was going on; Emily’s pregnancy hormones were raging and, being of a lesbian bent, she very clearly wanted to have sexy times with my wife. She was flirting with her, and letting her exhibitionistic tendencies run free, and Carla, being equally hopped up on hormones, was extremely turned on by all this and, not being so much of a lesbian bent, was converting the excitement into sexy times with me. I didn’t know if they had done anything but talk and touch each other’s boobs while I was gone. I rather doubted it; I was pretty sure Carla would have told me if they had. I knew Emily would gladly do stuff with Carla; I didn’t know how far Carla would want to go with Emily. I honestly didn’t mind at all if they did end up in bed, especially if I stayed involved, but I was wary of how it all might unravel. Sometimes it’s best if desires remain unfulfilled.
In the end, though, it seemed like this freight train was going to come roaring into the station if I didn’t stop it. And damn it, I didn’t want to stop it. I loved Carla, I loved Emily, I wanted them both to be happy. It was a huge, huge turn-on even just to see them topless together, let alone to think of what might happen if we yielded to the inevitable. I knew Carla way too well to worry that she was going to suddenly decide she preferred women and leave me for my sister. That worry never even occurred to me; I was mostly concerned that once the babies were born and all the hormones went back to sleep, we might feel awfully awkward about the whole thing. I wanted our offspring to see Aunt Emily and Aunt Carla behaving completely normally around each other, not end up in a situation where we couldn’t get together because we’d ended up in bed and ruined our hopes of ever having a normal family relationship again.
Finally, one night in bed as Carla was teasing me for the umpteenth time about how much of a turn-on it must be for me to see my sister walking around topless all the time — teasing that inevitably ended up with crazed lovemaking — she brought up that Emily must surely be terribly frustrated with no partner to get off with the way we did. I countered that she was almost certainly masturbating frequently, and Carla said that she knew she was, because Emily had confided to her that she brought herself off several times a day, always in the bathtub “because she pees when she has an orgasm.” I sighed and decided to take the bull by the horns. I explained that I knew all about that because when we were young, Emily and I had frequently masturbated together. Carla admitted that Emily had already told her, which actually did surprise me a little.
She asked me how I felt about it now and I said that it had been a part of growing up, and it had been lots of fun, but it hadn’t really affected me all that much. Carla asked if I’d thought about sleeping with Emily again and, rather shocked, I pointed out that I never had slept with Emily. We masturbated together, we’d touched each other a little; that was it. She asked me if Emily really did pee when she came. I sighed; I wasn’t planning on getting into this. I decided I might as well lay it out in the open, since I didn’t know how much Emily had already told her. “Carla, remember when you peed on me that one time?” She laughed, remembering what a fiasco it had been. “I really don’t get all that much out of being peed on, you know that. But Emily, umm… she started the whole thing by wanting me to watch her pee. We used to pee together in the bathtub, sometimes on each other, and Emily liked to pee on me when she climaxed.” I could see from the surprise on Carla’s face that Emily hadn’t told her this, and I was beginning to regret being so forthcoming with the details. But she seemed to be more intrigued than disgusted, so I explained that I figured that Emily, for whatever reason, had made an association early on between urination and sexual pleasure, and that I didn’t really know anything about how it was for her today, but I wasn’t surprised to hear that she was still masturbating in the bathtub. I joked that anyone who slept with Emily probably knew to put down a mattress protector, and reassured her again for good measure that I at least wouldn’t know because I’d never slept with her.
I’d intended for all this to be a serious discussion, coming to terms with the past so to speak, but by this point in the discussion Carla was breathing in quick, shallow gasps, her nipples were stiff — we were lying facing each other — and I could sense the odor of her excitement. She was ridiculously turned on, and it was time to stop talking and start doing something about it. I reached down for her vulva, marveling at how wet she was, and began to finger her as she put her hands around my erect penis. We looked into each others eyes and masturbated each other to a massive simultaneous orgasm.
The next day, Saturday, we had some housework piled up and decided it was time to get our act together and tidy up a bit in the morning. Carla did the laundry as she usually did these days (it was her chore-of-choice because she didn’t have to bend down), I did some serious floor- and tile-scrubbing, and Emily swept and vacuumed. Emerging from our en-suite bathroom just as Carla was stretching the last corner of a fresh sheets over the bed, I noticed that she’d put the plastic mattress protector down first. We’d last used that mattress protector when we experimented that one time with Carla peeing on me; it hadn’t really done much for either of us, so we’d never tried that again, and after we’d stripped the bed and done the wash, the mattress protector went into the back of a drawer somewhere. Fortunately Carla didn’t seem to notice that I had seen the protector, but, thinking back to how I’d come clean with her the night before about Emily’s and my past, I realized that she must have something in mind, and I felt myself stiffening as I thought about the implications. I realized she must intend for Emily to end up in our bed and, moreover, to have an orgasm there, one way or another, and she was planning ahead for the inevitable flood. I just hoped she planned on my being there too. I decided I wouldn’t say anything and would let Carla’s scheme, whatever it was, unfold and see what happened.
I spent the whole day in a kind of pleasant, slightly feverish anticipation. Carla and Emily were walking around in just their pregnancy briefs, as usual; these days they were almost always topless. Emily, in her usual brash way, had complained multiple times to Carla that she kept “leaking down there” and needed the briefs and a pad to stay dry. In fact I could see the outline of the pad under the stretched fabric. Carla wasn’t using a pad but otherwise was wearing the same briefs as Emily; I guess they had bought them on one of their shopping trips. I loved watching the two of them together, looking both so similar and so different; almost the same height, with almost identically-sized baby bumps; my wife with her dusky skin, her petite (but growing) breasts, her long, dark, kinky hair; my sister with her short hair, bleached and dyed purple, her heavy, swollen breasts, her pale skin. I couldn’t help but wonder what Emily looked like down there now. From those years of looking up close, touching, smelling, even tasting, I knew my sister’s genitalia better than anyone’s except Carla’s — they were burned into my memory. I could still recall everything vividly, the look, the feel, the odors. But it had been almost two decades since those encounters. As used as I was now to seeing Emily’s naked breasts — I’d long since stopped pretending not to look, and merely tried to divide my gaze equitably between Emily and Carla — she hadn’t been fully naked in front of me the whole time she’d been staying with us. I had no idea whether Carla had seen her nude — almost certainly yes, I thought; they probably tried on stuff all the time when I wasn’t around. The thought of them both nude together, looking at each other — maybe even touching — was tantalizing.
That evening, I cooked a nice dinner, this time with bold but fairly conventional flavors — the weird food cravings seemed to have tapered off — and afterwards we sat together on the couch, watching TV and talking. Emily was sitting right up close to Carla, even leaning on her a bit, and the sight of them touching each other, even in such a superficial, innocent way was driving me crazy. I felt like the three of us were a pile of tinder ready to catch fire, although I was realistic enough to consider that it might all be in my head. I briefly considered trying to find a softcore porn movie such as Emily and I used to watch, passing it off as a joke; but I chickened out. I didn’t want to force anything and besides I wasn’t even sure if there was softcore porn on cable any more. Instead I slung my arm nonchalantly around Carla’s shoulders, allowing my hand to rest on Emily’s neck. The first contact felt like a little bit of electricity in my fingertips. We all shifted a little, comfortably, Carla sliding a little closer to me, and Emily snuggling in just a bit to Carla, giving me more reach with my hands. I could almost have brushed the top of Emily’s bare breasts, but instead I began to massage the back of her neck lightly. She made low, appreciative noises. Carla obviously had to be aware of what I was doing; I wasn’t being furtive about it, but I was intentionally avoiding any overtly erotic contact. A guy could massage his sister’s neck, no, especially if we were already all so comfy together? I put my other hand on Carla’s baby bump. I figured I could be a little more forward with my own wife. Slowly, I rubbed her belly in widening circles. After a while, I began to graze the bottom of her breasts and the top of her briefs.
Emily, I noticed, was side-eying my hand on Carla’s belly. I was sneaking glimpses at Emily watching Carla. Carla seemed to be paying more and more attention to the tent in my shorts. The TV was blaring away, oblivious to what was going on on the couch in front of it. Its role was to provide a plausible alibi. I shifted my right hand action up a little so that I was caressing Carla’s breasts as much as her belly. Her long brown nipples were stiff and she was breathing noticeably quicker. I thought, as I often had, about how beautiful she was. How had I ended up with someone so stunning? Emily had told me the first time she’d met Carla, when we were dating, that I’d better marry her or she’d call me an idiot and kick my ass. She was right and I proposed a few months later. They’d always gotten along. Emily was definitely watching Carla now. I realized I’d always known she was attracted to Carla. How could she not be, my own flesh and blood, half of the same genes as me if I remembered high school biology correctly? Actually, how could anyone not be attracted to Carla? I was totally OK, I decided, with the two of them touching each other more intimately. If they wanted to. I wasn’t sure if either of them was going to move first, though. Finally, I took a deep figurative breath, reached over Carla and grabbed Emily’s left hand and put it right down on Carla’s belly. I figured I’d plead momentary insanity if either of them yelped, or else claim that I just thought it made a nice artistic tableau to have the aunt put her hand on her future niece or nephew (we didn’t know yet) in utero. All that happened, though, was that Emily began to rub Carla’s tummy, and Carla said “Mmmmmm… that feels nice” and I ceded the belly territory to Emily and began to concentrate on Carla’s breasts and the tent in my shorts grew taller and the TV kept pretending we were all watching it.
We kept positions for what seemed like forever but was probably only five minutes or so. Carla was going quietly crazy. She was making intermittent low growling noises and alternately opening and closing her thighs a little. I could see a light wet spot on her briefs whenever her thighs were open. I recognized the symptoms; if we weren’t careful she was going to jump me — or Emily maybe? — right then and there. Emily was also heavily aroused. I knew, because I could smell her. I hadn’t smelled that scent for almost twenty years, but like madeleines or something it transported me right back to the memory of kneeling in front of my sister, my face right up near her vulva as she masturbated. It was her scent, unique in the world. I could sense Carla’s excitement in the air too, mixing with Emily’s: a familiar earthy base note to Emily’s pungent, surprising top note. What a perfume they would make together! I wished I could bottle it and keep it forever, the way I used to try to keep Emily’s scent on my fingers each night after I touched her.
I realized the situation was unstable; Emily was still rubbing Carla’s belly, and I was feeling her breasts, but she needed more intense stimulation. I would have been fine if, say, Emily had decided at this moment to go down on her or something, but, as excited as she obviously was, I couldn’t rely on her to take that initiative before Carla exploded. I reached down, pull up Carla’s briefs by the waist, and started to pull down. She obediently lifted her butt and I pulled them down to her feet and off; my beautiful wife was sitting naked and inflamed between me and my sister. There was no going back now. Without the support of the briefs, Carla’s pregnant belly partly obscured her vulva. I put my hand down there and felt how swollen her labia were. She moaned incoherently. My fingers were sopping with her wetness. I reached up and intentionally smeared it on her breasts and nipples. Then I passed my hand near Emily’s face and back down onto Carla’s breasts. Like a moth drawn inexorably on by pheromones, Emily bent over and buried her face in Carla’s chest. As she began to lick and suck the stiff nipples, I put my hand back on Carla’s vulva, found her clitoris, and began to rub.
It was all over in a minute or so. Carla let loose with a tremendous groan and shook violently as she climaxed, her pregnant belly jiggling while her legs spasmed. When all the aftershocks were over, she looked almost catatonic. Emily and I stared at each other over her chest. Both of us were in desperate need of attention and Carla didn’t seem like she was in any condition to provide it at the moment, but the look we exchanged amounted to a kind of silent agreement that masturbating right now, next to Carla’s motionless, naked body — much less getting undressed and performing some sort of hanky-panky on each other — would be a breach of etiquette. It’s amazing what a glance can communicate. So we just watched TV a little longer, both of us snuggled up with Carla. Eventually Emily got up, yawned, and said she was turning in. I had a vivid vision of her relieving herself (in both senses) in the shower, and sure enough I heard her turn on the water a few moments later. “Carla,” I said, “let’s go to bed.” I switched off the TV and we stumbled off to our room. I stripped down quickly – Carla, of course, was already naked. I got into bed and, to my surprise, she climbed right on top of me. I’d been assuming she’d just want to go to sleep — she was a one-orgasm-a-night kind of gal, and especially after one that intense…. but no, she said in a low, intense whisper: “I have to pee. Let me pee on you.”
Huh? And here I’d been assuming that the mattress protector was to protect against Emily… I didn’t really know how to answer. To be honest I didn’t want to be peed on right then and there; I was at best neutral about the bodily fluid itself, and even with the mattress protector it would be messy, at least if she intended to do it while kneeling on fours above me, as she was now. Maybe she wanted us to go into the bathroom? But no, she was holding me down. I had the sense she really meant business here and it was better for me not to fight it. I wasn’t sure where this was coming from. Carla hadn’t, so far as I knew, gotten any more enjoyment out of our single long-ago session of pee-play than I had. It had to be something to do with Emily and my confessions to her. Could she be… I don’t know, jealous that I’d let my sister pee on me on the regular way back when? Especially after what had just happened on the couch, I didn’t want to stir up any rivalry or resentment. “OK, Carla, pee on me,” I said. My penis, which had relaxed a little, sprung back up instantly. Weird. Carla positioned herself a little lower over me, then, as I stared at her hanging breasts and belly, she backed up onto my shaft. Wait, I thought she was getting ready to pee on me? I ignored the apparent change in plans and put my arms around her. She swung back and forth, thrusting herself deep onto me with each backward press. I was starting to get close and wondered if I should hold myself back, or else let loose because she wasn’t going to have a second orgasm anyway. Finally I said, “Carla, I’m going to come soon,” and Carla said, “Oh, God, me too.. I need to pee…. I’m going to pee… oh yes… here it comes….” but it didn’t, so I held off and kept thrusting, waiting for her to make her big splash. Soon enough she began to groan and then I felt her vagina contract around me and so I came too and then suddenly there was a huge gush of warm wetness down there that wasn’t me and as I thrusted a few more times for good measure, it splashed all over the sheets. Thank God for the mattress protector, I thought.
This wasn’t really what I had been expecting when Carla had said she wanted to pee on me, but I wasn’t complaining. Far from it. Being peed on, or squirted on, or whatever (it was pee so far as I could tell) in the course of an orgasm was very different from just doing it as a kind of wet foreplay. I could get into this, I thought. But Carla had never squirted before. Indeed I’d never had any lover who had. I’d sort of figured out by now that the way Emily used to pee all over my face when she orgasmed after masturbating in front of me was, basically, what people meant when they talked about women “squirting,” but Emily was the only girl I’d known who could do that, and she and I were never technically “lovers.” (Sure, we got a bit more intimate than your typical brother and sister, perhaps.) As Carla and I basked in the afterglow (we shifted over to the other side of the king bed to avoid the drenched spot), the truth came out. She’d been so impressed, a couple weeks before, by Emily’s boast that she peed every time she came (of course Emily would boast about that to her sister-in-law, I thought; that’s Emily for ya!) that she’d asked her to demonstrate. Naturally Emily had obliged and, as Carla told it, they’d perched on the side of the bathtub and Emily had masturbated in her usual way until she let loose. Carla was quick to assure me that they hadn’t touched each other on these occasions, and it rang true, but I reassured her anyway that it would have been fine if they had. “She’s my sister,” I said, “it’s pretty much half me you’re touching anyway.” Carla giggled.
In any case, Carla had asked Emily to show her how to do it. Apparently, perhaps because her growing baby bump was pushing down on her bladder, Carla had recently often felt like she had to pee when we made love in some positions. She said that unlike Emily, who seemed to let loose with a stream every time she climaxed, she realized she could only do it when she was being penetrated deeply in certain positions. With Emily encouraging her, she’d practiced kneeling on all fours in the bathtub and plumbing herself with a dildo until she felt the urge to go (I had to wonder if it wouldn’t have been easier with Emily manning the dildo, but I held my peace), and had finally managed to have an orgasm that was accompanied by squirting all over the hard porcelain. It was during one of these sessions that Emily had revealed that she and I had also spent many occasions perched on the edge of the bathtub and kneeling inside, respectively, as we masturbated. Like brother, like sister! Carla had been super-excited that she’d mastered the art of coming and going at the same time, and, knowing that I had all these experiences with Emily in my past, couldn’t wait to demonstrate to me. Thus the mattress protector. She had been planning to surprise me tonight and, while being masturbated to orgasm by me while my sister sucked her breasts had not been part of her plan, the fact that it was “a clitoral orgasm and not a vaginal one” (so she said) meant that she was still able to pull off her surprise later. Me, I wasn’t super clear on the difference between a clitoral and a vaginal orgasm; I was just thrilled that she had enjoyed two huge climaxes in a single evening. It seemed to herald the possibility of twice the fun in the future.
I was a tiny bit disappointed, though, that the mattress protector hadn’t been meant to shield our bed from Emily’s emanations, after all. And I felt a bit guilty. I realized that I’d been assuming all along that Carla clearly wanted to play with Emily — maybe, if I was lucky, even wanted me to play along — and I’d used that assumption to justify getting Emily involved on the couch, when I hadn’t even consulted with Carla first. That wasn’t really fair of me. I decided I’d better be proactive about it. “Carla.. um, I’m sorry about tonight on the couch. I should have asked you before starting anything with Emily there, let alone pulling her in.” “Oh, don’t be silly,” Carla said. “Can’t you tell she’s been trying to start something for ages?” “Well… sure, but I should have asked you first.” “I was planning to ask you, except you got mad before and I thought you were uncomfortable about it.” I tried to remember when I’d gotten mad. I didn’t think I had. “Carla,” I said earnestly, “I promise you if you want to do something with Emily, I am completely OK with that. She’s my sister, I love you both. I know she’s attracted to you, that’s blindingly obvious. If you feel the same way, you should go for it.” Carla was silent for a moment, then replied, equally earnestly: “Look. I know Em has the hots for me. She’s been very good about it. I mean, I could tell when we were comparing our breasts that she really wanted to do more” — she giggled — “but she’s never made a pass at me. We had a lot of fun masturbating together, but I started that, and she didn’t try to touch me. But when she told me what you guys used to do, I dunno, it was pretty hot. I think it would be fun do, I don’t know, something together. All three of us. I mean, even more than we did tonight. While we still can, before the babies are born. I’m not going to go off and do something with her behind your back, I’m not interested in that.”
I pondered all that for a minute or so, looking for a reason why this might not be the most perfect offer every extended in the history of the universe. Unable to find an objection, I simply said: “Ok, Carla-cat. Tomorrow, if you still feel the same way, we’ll see how Emily feels about it.” She kissed me, and, too tired to bother taking off the sheets, we turned off the light and fell asleep.
—
The next day, Emily definitely seemed somewhat abashed at the breakfast table — an uncharacteristic demeanor for her. I hoped that she wasn’t regretting what we’d done the night before. What a disappointment it would be if, with Carla all enthusiastic about a threesome with my sister, it were Emily in the end who scuttled the plans! But Carla took up the slack, bringing up sexual innuendoes non-stop, and by the end of breakfast Emily seemed a bit more herself. As we cleared the plates, Carla said, slyly, “Hey guys, considering how, you know, … close we all got last night, it seems unfair that you both kept your bottoms on and only I got naked. Maybe we should all just go nude today?” Emily protested that she needed her briefs and pad in case she leaked a little urine. “Oh come on, Em,” Carla said, “a few drops here and there? It’s not going to matter, just put a towel under you when you sit.” Emily shrugged and took off her briefs, and just like that, I was seeing my sister fully nude for the first time in two decades. She looked good, I had to admit. She had a full bush, an unruly shock of light hair that was far bigger than I’d remembered even when I’d last seen her. She wasn’t being shy any more; she twirled around, intentionally striking silly poses, apparently for my benefit; Carla, I had to remind myself, had of course already seen her in her altogether quite a bit recently. I felt myself rising, remembering so much exploration of her body, so long ago. What it was to see it now, all grown up and pregnant. Carla shimmied out of her briefs and came over to me. “Hey, you’re not getting away with keeping these on” She began to pull down my pajamas. I didn’t bother trying to hide my excitement as she pulled my underwear down as well. I took off my pajama tops, and there we were, all standing around naked.
“Does she look like she did back when you were, um…,” Carla asked me. I saw Em’s eyebrows shoot up; I guess she didn’t know that I knew that Carla knew about us. “Yep, pretty much, except for the purple hair… and the big breasts.. and the huge bush.. and the big belly, and the big butt… and..,” I joked, pretending to think of other differences. “Big butt?” Emily asked, in mock protest. “Big BUTT? I’ll give you a big but!” “OK, let me examine it more closely,” I parried. I walked behind her and knelt down. Emily took the cue and spread her cheeks. I stared at her hole. I had to admit, it looked as cute as it had back then. “OK,” I said, standing up. “I was wrong. No difference, her butt is the same as it was back then. Big.” Carla cracked up and Emily pretended to look offended. I was standing with my erect penis dangerously close to Emily’s backside and I thought it was prudent to step to the side. Carla looked at us fondly. “You two… standing next to each other like this, anyone could tell you’re brother and sister. So cute, both of you. You even have the same sense of humor.” I didn’t think that was fair — surely I was a lot funnier than Emily, and she was a lot cuter than me!
I had an idea. “Hey, guys, let’s all take a shower. I think we’ll all fit in the stall in our bathroom. Even Emily with her big butt.” Unlike the guest bedroom with its regular bathtub, our en-suite bathroom had a big, fancy glass shower stall with marble walls. We retreated to the bathroom and ran the water warm, then got in. Though Carla and I had of course showered in the morning to clean off all the grime, and I knew Em had done so the evening before, it felt grand to luxuriate together in the warm water, and we horsed around with the body wash and the wash cloth, touching each other lightly in intimate places under the pretext of helping each other get clean. About the fourth time that I had felt Emily’s vulva – it was still just as soft and pillowy as I’d remembered it, under all that hair — she said, “Hey, I gotta pee,” and made towards the door. “Hey, don’t be silly, you can go in here,” said Carla. I had a sudden flashback. “Remember when I used to hold you close and you’d pee on my leg?” I tried to make it sound lighthearted and joking, but I suddenly really, really, really wanted to hold Em close. (I didn’t really care whether she peed on my legs or not.) I looked a bit nervously at Carla, but she had an encouraging look on her face. Carefully, deliberately, I faced Emily and put my arms around her. She shivered, and I pulled her close to me, my erection pressing up against her baby bump. I moved us around a little; I wanted to be able to see Carla’s face. I stared into her eyes and saw only love, affection, and excitement. I bent my knees a little and pushed one leg forward so that my thigh was between Emily’s legs. I could feel her pubic hair on my skin. “Ok, Em, you can go,” I whispered. There was a short pause, then I felt the long-lost, yet familiar sensation of her hot urine flooding over my thigh. “Em…. Em… Em…” I murmured, overwhelmed by emotion in spite of myself. Her soft belly felt exquisite against my penis. Emily’s flow continued unabated; she pressed her face against my chest. I stroked her neck and back and kissed the top of her purple-haired head. Finally, she finished, and we reluctantly separated. It felt like a deeply spiritual encounter, a regaining of something had been lost, an expression of deep love that we had always felt for each other and perhaps never realized, in those early days, that we were expressing with each encounter. Emily looked somewhat dazed and I imagine I did as well.
I broke the silence by saying “Hey, Carla. You should hug this gal too. She feels nice, really, really nice.” Carla smiled at Emily and moved forward into her arms. They felt each other all over for a while as I watched, my penis straining against itself, turned on almost beyond belief to see these two women whom I each loved beyond all imagining embracing. Finally, I saw Emily’s hand slowly, hesitantly approach Carla’s crotch. This time it was Emily who looked to me for reassurance and I smiled, nodding with my eyes. Emily began to rub Carla, slowly, and Carla put her hand on Emily’s vulva and did the same for her. Holding each other as close as their baby bumps would allow, they masturbated each other slowly, deliberately, Carla clearly striving to match Emily’s rhythm. I watched them for a while, then went over and stood behind Carla, crouching down a little. She understood immediately; we had made love in this position in the shower before, though she hadn’t been pregnant then. She arched her butt out a little, exposing her vagina, and I carefully entered her from behind.
It was a bit awkward for me — being taller, I had to crouch down and my legs were apt to get tired — but I straightened up as much as I could, plunging myself as deeply into her as I could. She groaned and Emily began to speed up the rubbing a little. Skewered deeply from behind while my sister stimulated her clitoris, Carla was galloping towards an enormous climax. She was panting and groaning and I did my best to plunge as deeply as I could to make sure that the orgasm would be “vaginal” as well as “clitoral” (was it possible to have both at the same time? I didn’t know, but either way, I sure as hell wanted it to be good. I put my hands around Carla’s breasts, feeling her hard nipples. I could feel Emily’s breasts pressing against the back of my fingers. Carla groaned, “I’m going to come.” Everything happened all at once. Emily began to rub her clitoris frenziedly, saying, “come, come, come, come”; I pushed myself one final time deep into her and felt her vaginal walls spasm around my penis, she groaned and let out a gout of urine all over my penis and Emily’s hand. I couldn’t take it anymore and ejaculated deep in her vagina. And Emily let out one loud gasp and came as hard and wet as she always did, peeing all over Carla’s hand and legs.
When it was all over and the evidence had been washed down the drain, we took big towels to dry off, then wordlessly stumbled over to bed. Fortunately Carla had changed the sheets and wiped down the mattress protector in the morning. We collapsed in a big pile onto the bed, giggling, idly stroking and touching each other. I think when we fell asleep both I had my head on Emily’s chest, marveling at her perfect breasts, so different from Carla’s perfect breasts and Carla was lying with her face down by Emily’s crotch and was idly toying with her pubic hair.. We’d shifted positions by the time we woke up, ravenously hungry, in the early afternoon. Instead of cooking, we ordered pizza and sat around naked playing Parcheesi.
That evening, not particular hungry for dinner after a late lunch, we watched TV until way past bedtime, snuggling naked together and enjoying each other’s touch without really progressing to anything serious. I found myself playing with Emily’s breasts a lot. I’d never really paid that much attention to her chest when we were young, but something about how they looked in her pregnancy was fascinating to me. I loved Carla’s dense, small breasts with their long, hard nipples, but Emily’s soft, full bosom was something else entirely — almost more comforting than sexual. I envied her future baby. I knew rationally than breast size has nothing to do with how much milk a woman produces, but somehow I imagined that the the nurturing liquid would flow freely from Emily’s breasts. While we watched TV, I petted them, kissed them, even ventured to suck a little on Em’s nipples. She put her hand on my head and stroked my hair while I did. Carla watched us, amused, and made funny comments about boys and their mama’s breasts. I felt a little guilty about paying so much attention to Em, but Carla didn’t seem to mind — I kept looking over at her to make sure. I imagined that I’d make up for it in bed with her that night, but when it came time to switch off the boob tube and lay off the boobs, Carla insisted that Emily come with us. Once we’d brushed our teeth and gotten, still naked, into the king-sized bed, Carla got a little bit serious. She said she wanted to see Emily and me make love.
In spite of everything we’d done leading up to this, I was shocked. I hadn’t really considered that possibility. Pee on each other? Sure, we’d done that. Lots of times. Touch each other intimately? Absolutely. But I literally couldn’t fathom actually having sex with my sister. And I didn’t think Emily would want to either. I tried to stall for time. “Make love? That covers a lot of ground.” Carla clarified. “I mean it. I want to see you inside her. Do it for me.” I was about to protest that there was no way in hell that was going to happen, when Emily spoke up. “Carla, are you sure you want this?” Carla looked serene. “Yes. We all love each other. I want us all to have been with each other, so that we have nothing to hide from each other.” “Wait a sec,” I protested. “I don’t think Emily wants…” Emily looked at me, amused. “Hey, I’m game if you are!” I suddenly felt like crying. I didn’t want her to make light of this. This was no joke. “Em….” I was unable to speak; I was almost choking back tears. Emily suddenly caught on and looked seriously at me. “Come here, you.” I scooted over, buried my head in her chest. I could smell the telltale scent arising from her crotch: she was aroused. She stroked my hair. “I think we should do it,” she said, quietly. “Otherwise we’re both — we’re all always going to wonder what it would have been like.” Her pounding heart belied her quiet words. “Em….” “I love you. I love you,” she repeated, quietly. “Just once, so we won’t wonder any more. I’ve seen how you look at me, you wonder too.” I raised my head and looked at Carla. “I love you both,” she said, simply. I looked back at Emily and surrendered with my eyes.
We lay on our sides and stroked each other. We kissed, and I thought wildly: this simple act, this impossible kiss, represented a greater intimacy than anything my sister and I had ever shared. “Em….” We kissed again. I touched her belly gently. I suddenly wondered what the father was really like. I’d met him only once, briefly, before Em conceived; I hadn’t liked him at all. I thought: Em’s baby will be like her, not him. For some reason, I thought of Em’s baby as a “her,” and ours as a “he,” though we didn’t know about either yet. She’ll play with our baby, they’ll almost be like brother and sister, we’re so close. I imagined, somehow, going back in time and giving Em my seed, even though it was proscribed, even though that was the worst thing one could do, just so that her baby could be from her brother, someone who loved her, so that somehow I could be the father with both Carla and Emily. My penis was straining towards her. She reached down and enveloped it in her hands, stroking it gently. I groaned and rolled over on my back. Carefully, Emily climbed atop me, straddling my waist, and guided my penis into herself. Carla watched, entranced. I put my hand on Em’s butt and she began to slide back and forth. It felt like a sacrament. Em’s scent was surrounding me like an invisible a cloud, pulling me back to the past. We were finally, I thought, understanding the reason why Em had been compelled to leave the door open when she peed, why I had been compelled to go watch. We were meant to come together this way, even if it took twenty years to happen. Her scent was the constant, ineffaceable trail that told us we needed to be together. I was groping at Em’s butt; finally I placed my index finger on her hole, thinking, bizarrely: one time she even let me watch her poo. I’d been a bit put off, I remembered, but all that was unimportant. I slid my finger in and she gasped a little. “Em….” “Oh God, don’t stop!” she moaned, and slid back and forth rhythmically on my penis as I fingered her butthole. Carla was touching herself as she watched. Finally, when Emily’s moans began into a continuous keening, I said, “Come, Em, come, come on me, come on…” and I thought (even though it was the one thing in the world that couldn’t happen now) of inseminating her, and being a father twice, and my seed rose, and Emily began to spasm, and I shot my semen deep into her, watching her belly and breasts shake, and imagining we were Adam and two Eves and were about to populate the universe. As I finished, my penis still deep inside her, Emily, Old Faithful, burst forth as I knew she would, peeing all over my belly and chest. The pee dribbled down my side and wet the sheets below me. Thank God for the mattress protector, I thought, for the second time in two days.
—
After we had finished, it all seemed a bit ridiculous, of course. Maybe that was precisely why we’d needed to do this, to get it out of our systems, to realize that in the end, even something as profound as a brother and sister making love after twenty years of wanting to and suppressing it was still just sex, just another way of being close. Carla had seen that and encouraged us to come together, knowing that it would probably be the only time. As always, she much wiser than I. We weren’t Adam and Eve and Eve, we were just me and Carla on the one hand, and Emily on the other, and as close as we were, we were going to raise our offspring as cousins, not siblings. Sooner or later, I knew, Emily would move out, and as sure as I was that we’d remain close, I was also sure that she’d find a real partner. Probably a woman, I thought. But despite the ridiculousness, the post-coital awkwardness, I felt serenely happy, and I sensed that Em did as well.
I suddenly needed to be close to Carla. She was sitting up, still touching herself lightly. I scooted over behind her and put my chin on her shoulder, my arms on her belly from behind. Emily crawled over and gently parted Carla’s legs. I let Carla slide down, so that her head was in my lap, and she put her knees up with her legs spread and let Emily begin to lap at her vulva while I massaged her breasts. It didn’t take very long; within a minute or two, she was moaning that she was going to come, and soon enough she did, groaning and shaking, pressing her legs together around Emily’s head. There was no squirting this time; clitoral orgasm, I thought. We fell asleep, lying side by side, Carla between me and Emily.
—
Well, that’s about all there is to this confession. Emily and I never “had sex,” in the sense of my being inside her, again; it seemed superfluous. Of course all three of us did a lot of laughing and touching and masturbating and, yes, peeing over the next couple of months. As Carla and Emily got heavier we settled on a routine; they’d lie on their sides facing each other and I’d get behind Carla, then she and Emily would finger each other as I entered her from behind. The mattress protector got a workout; both of them would typically gush when they came. We found out at the next appointment that Emily was having a boy and Carla was having a girl; precisely the opposite of what I’d imagined, but it was all good. As they progressed into the third trimester, there was less sex overall. Em and Carly weren’t horny all the time anymore, and it was more awkward the bigger they got, so, while it still happened, it happened less often. Often we’d just fall asleep holding each other. Emily’s breasts grew even bigger and began to leak; I was fascinated and loved to lie with my head against them, licking the droplets off them as she stroked my head (I didn’t suck – I was worried it might prematurely make her milk come in earnest). Carla would spoon me from behind while I did this, stroking my penis softly. It was an indescribably lovely feeling to be sandwiched between the two women I loved, to be brought slowly and steadily to a mighty orgasm by Carla’s gentle hands while my head was buried in my sister’s soft breasts, to taste my sister’s milk while my wife milked my penis.
After the babies were born — a week apart! — we were all too busy and tired to think about sexy times. In fact it would be almost a year before Carla and I made love again. I masturbated a lot and Emily, who seemed to regain her sex drive a bit faster, helped me out with her hands a few times while Carla looked on. After about a year or so, Emily indeed moved back home. It wasn’t that she was unhappy staying with us — far from it, she protested! — but she wanted to resume her independent life at home. She promised to visit often, and indeed over the next year we probably spent as much time together as not. Then Emily found someone who understood her. When they came to visit us, after the first dinner together, I pulled Em aside and jokingly repeated the admonition she had once given to me: “You had better marry this woman or I’ll call you an idiot and kick your ass.”
Marry they did, almost immediately, and Mia – Em’s wife – formally adopted her son, and ever since then the two families have gotten together on every occasion we can, vacations, holidays, “just because,” you name it. The cousins are inseparable; they really are almost like brother and sister. I sometimes wonder if Em has ever told Mia about any of the craziness. Maybe, maybe not. She seems like the type who could take it with equanimity, but who knows. All that is past now. Carla and I have been thinking about trying for another one soon, before it’s really too late. Four years is a good age difference. I wonder if Em…
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By NotReallyAshamed
#Incest #Lesbian #Pregnancy #Threesome
