It was almost three in the morning, and the house, a tomb of silence, seemed to stalk me like a cruel bitch, ready to swallow me whole. I wandered the hallways, damn near naked, just a torn pair of boxers covering my dick, hunting for my phone charger, this insignificant piece of shit that, in those dead hours, became a fucking obsession.
The living room, I thought, maybe I left it there. Every step made the floorboards groan, a wooden whimper echoing like a snitch. The silence was so thick I could hear the blood pounding in my temples, a dull drum reminding me I was alive, even if I wanted to vanish. But my mind kept drifting back to Hannah’s room, my sister, just down the hall. She slept light as fuck, and any noise could make her open the door and catch me in this mess.
Passing the guest room, where Amelia, my mom, holed up for the weekend, a sliver of light slipped through the cracked door, like an invitation to damnation. I figured she’d crashed, worn out from the day’s bullshit, leaving the lamp on, a victim of the laziness that comes with a broken heart. My plan was just to shut the door, a dumb, almost kind gesture to keep the light from bugging Hannah. But what I saw stopped me cold, like fate, with its sadistic laugh, had jammed a knife in my chest.
Through the gap, Amelia’s silhouette cut through the dimness. She was sprawled on the bed, wearing a silk nightgown so thin it was a fucking tease, the fabric bunched up her thighs, her pussy almost on display, her pale skin glowing like sin itself. Her hand, slow and filthy, was rubbing her clit hard, slick fingers sliding back and forth, making the bed creak. Every muffled moan was a punch, every sigh a blow dragging me into the abyss. My dick, that traitorous son of a bitch, got hard instantly, straining against my boxers, a hot shame I couldn’t hide.
But the thought of Hannah, sleeping just feet away, made me sweat bullets, if she heard those moans, we were fucked.
I knew I had to bolt, that this scene was a trap set by the devil or God, who the hell knows?, but my feet were glued to the floor. My hand, without my say-so, grazed the bulge in my boxers, squeezing my throbbing dick like it had a mind of its own. Her movements were hypnotic, a shadow dance swallowing me whole. Her moans grew sharper, almost a howl, and I, lost in that trance, didn’t notice when she stopped. Her eyes, two beacons in the dark, locked onto the door.
My heart went wild, a crazed horse in my chest. I stepped back, praying the shadows would eat me, that the world would forget me, praying Hannah wouldn’t hear a thing. But Amelia’s voice, deep, raspy, laced with a certainty that broke me, cut through the silence: “I know you’re there. Get in here, damn it.”
Caught. Heat rushed to my face, a bonfire of guilt and lust. I tried to think, but my hard-on and the fear of Hannah waking up clouded everything. I took a deep breath, pushed the door open, and stepped in, eyes on the floor like a condemned man scared of the executioner, my heart pounding at the thought that any sound could bring my sister into this hell. Amelia sat up on the bed, her shameless gaze roaming my body, lingering on the bulge I couldn’t hide. “Shut the door,” she ordered, her tone both a command and a promise of a fuck, “and keep it quiet, I don’t want your sister snooping.”
I obeyed, locking the door carefully to avoid noise, my pulse racing, my breath caught in my throat. She slid off the bed, her bare feet silent on the floor, a panther ready to pounce. Without a word, she knelt in front of me, her fingers brushing the waistband of my boxers with a gentleness that didn’t match the hunger in her eyes. She yanked the fabric down, and my dick sprang free, rock-hard, the tip glistening. Her eyes lit up, a mix of surprise and desire, as her red nails, the color of sin, traced my cock with a slowness that was pure torture.
Then she went for it. Her tongue, hot and wet, licked from base to tip, sucking the head like it was candy. My body shook, knees weak, as she swallowed my whole dick, lips tight, throat deep, in a blowjob so perfect it felt rehearsed. Her rhythm was filthy, her mouth slick, the wet sounds filling the room. I bit my lip till it bled to stifle my moans, terrified Hannah would hear. “Shut up,” she whispered, my dick still in her mouth, “or your sister’s gonna hear.” I grabbed her hair, fucking her mouth with short thrusts, the fear of waking Hannah tangled with the lust. In minutes, I felt the climax building, a wave I couldn’t hold back. She pulled away, but it was too late, I came like an animal, cum splattering her cheek, matting her black hair, a mark sealing our dirt.
But Amelia wasn’t done. She stood, eyes blazing with a hunger that scared and turned me on. She lay back on the bed, legs spread wide, her swollen, wet pussy an invitation to hell. “Come fuck me,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, no room for no. I thought about the condoms on the nightstand, a shred of sense, but she grabbed my wrist, her fingers like claws. “None of that shit. Just your dick. And keep it quiet, damn it.”
That broke me. I climbed on her, gripping her hips as I slid my dick into her hot, tight pussy, like it was sucking me in. She bit her arm to muffle a scream, but her moans slipped out, too loud, each one making me glance at the door, petrified Hannah would wake up. “Shut the fuck up,” I hissed, thrusting slow, feeling every inch of her. But she dug her nails into my back, growling, “Fuck me hard, but don’t make a sound.” I pounded her, each thrust making her tits bounce, her pussy soaking my dick, the wet sounds muted by our caution. “Feel how big it is?” she moaned low, her face wrecked, makeup smeared, sweat mixed with my cum on her skin. “Don’t stop, you bastard.” But every moan was a siren, and I, heart in my throat, pictured Hannah opening the door, eyes wide, seeing her mom coming on my dick.
I pinned her wrists above her head, fucking her with rage, each thrust a risk of waking my sister, but the lust was stronger. “I’m your slut,” she whispered, her words fractured by desire. “Fill this pussy.” It was like she wanted to dissolve into me, like the orgasm was the only truth. But the fear of Hannah hearing those moans, of her showing up at the door, made me fuck with a sick kind of care. To drag it out, I pulled out, ignoring her whimper of protest.
I flipped her onto all fours, her ass up like an offering. I aimed for her ass, pushing in slow, feeling the tight ring give way. She bit the pillow, muffling a scream of pain and pleasure, as I fucked her ass, gentle at first, then with an urgency I couldn’t explain. Her stifled moans were still too loud, and I, sweating cold, prayed Hannah wouldn’t hear, wouldn’t leave her room and see me reaming our mom.
I came again, filling her ass with so much cum it dripped down her thighs, the silence now heavy with our crime. We collapsed on the sheets, panting, bodies pressed together. Her fingers traced my chest, like she was trying to erase the storm. Later, she guided my mouth to her tits, her nipples hard as bullets, and as I sucked, my dick, hard again, found space between them. I fucked her tits, cum slicking her skin, every move careful to stay quiet, to keep Hannah out of our hell.
Dawn broke into the room with its bitch of a light. Before she left for the day, I fucked her one more time, slow, each thrust like I was carving her pussy into my soul, always glancing at the door, scared of hearing Hannah’s footsteps. She left trembling, her face that of someone who’d come till she blacked out, but her eyes said the filth was far from over. And me, alone, I felt the guilt and the lust, two bastard brothers who, like in every tragedy, walk heaven and in hand, with Hannah’s shadow looming, a threat I knew would fuck me up.
Incest, Jealousy, and the Forbidden Fuck That Damns Us
The day dragged on like a funeral procession, each hour a weight crushing my chest. The house, with its accusing silences, was a courtroom where I, a defenseless defendant, awaited the verdict. Hannah had locked herself in her room, the door a fortress, her muffled sobs cutting through the walls like knives. I, a coward, dreaded facing her, dreading those eyes that, this morning, had pierced me with a truth I couldn’t erase. Amelia, meanwhile, moved through the house with the calm of someone who’d won every war. In the kitchen, she hummed, her light dress swaying with her curves, as if last night’s sin was a delusion burned away by the sun.
But sin doesn’t fade. Her scent still seared me, an invisible mark pulsing on my skin. And Hannah, with her sharp intuition, didn’t just see betrayal, she saw stolen possession. Her jealousy wasn’t just outrage; it was primal, a hunger to claim me as hers, a bond that went beyond sibling ties and plunged into the abyss of the forbidden.
Lunch was a cruel farce. Amelia insisted on the charade of “family togetherness,” serving food with matronly gestures, while Hannah, dragged by duty, came down with a pale face, eyes red from crying, but with a determination that burned like embers. She sat, her plate untouched, arms crossed like she was holding a bomb. I, caught between them, was a condemned man waiting for the blow.
“Not eating, sweetheart?” Amelia asked, her voice sweet as poison, slicing her meat with an executioner’s precision. Hannah stared her down, eyes blazing. “Some things turn my stomach,” she shot back, her voice ice-cold, each syllable a dart aimed at my heart. Amelia just smiled, unfazed, like the insult was a compliment.
The silence at the table was a minefield. Hannah finally stood, her plate untouched. “I’m going to my room,” she announced, but paused beside me, so close I felt the heat of her anger. “You’re a disgrace,” she whispered, low enough that Amelia couldn’t hear. And then, in a move that disarmed me, her hand brushed mine under the table, a fleeting, electric touch that wasn’t just hate, it was desire, a twisted desire she might not even understand.
I froze, heart racing, as she climbed the stairs, her steps echoing like hammer blows. Amelia, who’d missed nothing, raised an eyebrow, a venomous smile curling her lips. “She needs some love,” she said, her voice dripping with irony. “Go on, comfort your little sister. You’re so… devoted.”
That taunt lit something in me, guilt, desire, or the need to face the abyss. I climbed the stairs, heart in my throat, and knocked on Hannah’s door. “Open it, please,” I called, voice hoarse. Silence. I knocked again, and heard the lock click. The door opened, and there she was, eyes swollen, face a mask of pain, but with a vulnerability that broke me.
“Get out,” she said, but didn’t shut the door. I stepped in, the small room suffocating with the weight of what was coming. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I started, my words flimsy, useless. She laughed, a bitter sound that sliced the air. “Hurt? You destroyed me.” Then, stepping closer, her face inches from mine, eyes shining with tears and a dangerous spark, she said, “But I forgive you.”
Her words hit like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. “I forgive you,” she repeated, voice steady, eyes locked on mine. “But only if you’re mine. For real. Not hers, that… woman. Mine. And she’ll see, she’ll know you’re mine.” It was a demand, a blackmail sealed with jealousy and the madness of desire. “Call her,” she ordered, voice low but with a certainty that chilled me. “I want her to watch. I want her to feel what I felt.”
The air left my lungs. I hesitated, heart pounding, but Hannah’s gaze, a mix of plea and command, left no room for refusal. I left the room, steps heavy, like I was walking to the gallows. I went downstairs, stomach churning, and found Amelia in the living room, lounging on the couch, a glass of wine in hand, eyes glinting with feline curiosity. “What’s wrong, my boy?” she asked, her voice syrupy, already sensing something breaking in the air.
“Hannah… wants you to come up,” I stammered, the words heavy as lead. “She wants you to… watch.” Amelia raised an eyebrow, her sphinx-like smile curling her lips. Without a word, she stood, her dress brushing the floor like a queen’s train, and followed me upstairs, glass still in hand, like she was heading to a play.
In the room, Hannah waited, standing, her pajamas swapped for a thin nightgown that barely hid her skin. Her eyes flashed when she saw Amelia, a mix of defiance and triumph. “Sit there,” she ordered, pointing to a chair in the corner. Amelia, still smiling, complied, crossing her legs with an almost obscene calm. The wine swirled in her glass, a red whirlpool hinting at blood.
Hannah turned to me, her clenched fingers grabbing my shirt. “You’re mine,” she murmured, pulling me into a desperate, hungry kiss that was anger, possession, and a sick kind of love. My body, the traitor, responded, hands finding her waist, pulling her against me. We fell onto the bed, clothes torn off in a frenzy, her skin a fever consuming me. When I entered her, I felt an unexpected resistance, a tightness that made me pause. Her eyes widened, a moan of pain mixed with pleasure, and then it hit me, a shock of guilt and fascination: Hannah was a virgin, rare for an 18-year-old these days. Her surrender, so raw, so absolute, was a sacrifice, an offering sealed with blood and jealousy.
Her eyes, locked on mine, shone with bitter victory, but for a moment flicked to Amelia, a silent taunt. Amelia watched, motionless, her smile now fixed, but her eyes sparking with something beyond irony, jealousy, hunger, the twisted pleasure of being at the storm’s center. Hannah, past the initial pain, moved with an urgency that demanded all of me, her muffled moans filling the room. “Love me,” she gasped, nails digging into my back. “Say I’m the only one.” And I, caught between her surrender and Amelia’s gaze, said it, lied, or maybe believed it, as our bodies merged in a rhythm that was damnation.
The climax hit like a storm, Hannah collapsing against me, panting, her face calm for a moment, her nightgown stained with a faint trace of blood that sealed our transgression. Amelia, still in the chair, took a sip of wine, the sound of the liquid against her lips cutting the silence. “Nice show,” she said, voice cold but with a tremor that betrayed her mask. She stood, empty glass in hand, and left the room without looking back, her steps echoing like a warning.
Hannah, curled against my chest, slept, oblivious to the weight of what we’d done. But I, with the echo of Amelia’s gaze and the revelation of Hannah’s virginity in my mind, knew there was no escape. She, with her conditional forgiveness and sacrificial surrender, had chained me with jealousy and desire. Amelia, with her silent exit, promised a next act, a revenge or maybe a darker move. The house, with its creaks and shadows, was the stage for an endless tragedy. And I, poor bastard, was the star, doomed to dance between them, between a sister’s sacrifice and a mother’s hunger, until fate, with its sharp blade, wrote the ending.
