That was the point where I knew, truly, that my sister loved me. That was the only way to explain why she was willing to fuck me again after all that. And boy, did she ever.
After we both cleaned up we tried it again. Then again. I penetrated my sister until I could last inside her more than minute. Then we worked at it again until she was — with a copious amount of clit rubbing — able to cum on my cock.
The next day I was back in CVS replenishing my condom supply. My original purchase of 15 hadn’t been nearly enough.
*
After that, my sister and I fucked like we were incapable of anything else. We would wake up early in the morning and sneak downstairs for a morning fuck. Then after school we’d race down and do each other as many times as we could until dinner. After eating we’d go back for an evening session.
I’m not superhuman but I was in high school and so my cock was able to keep up with a lot of it. When it wasn’t, my sister would just ride my face or let me finger her. Sometimes she would sit there and work herself while I watched. We fucked in ways that made rabbits worry we might be overdoing it.
And I say fucked, not made love or had sex or whatever because that’s what we were doing. Emily told me she loved me on that second day of fucking. I’d blasted my cum into the condom and then worked her till she shuddered. As we separated, Emily grabbed my arm.
“I love you, Ryan,” she said, “You know that right? Not like a sister. More than a sister. I love you love you.”
And I told her that I loved her, too, because of course I did. But if it was supposed to be some big moment or whatever, it wasn’t, and as soon as I was able to get another condom out of the foil we were rutting like degenerates on the basement floor. I think I got permanent rug burns from that stupid shag carpet.
We never did the whole slow, loving sex thing where I kissed her and she kissed me and we slowly brought each other to shared ecstasy. We just… fucked. Fucked like teenagers raised on video games and YouTube clips. Drove into each other until we each got what we needed and then, when the satisfaction drained away, we did it again.
*
I kept telling Emily we could go too far and she kept proving me wrong. We started a new tradition of finished off our day by sneaking into each other’s bedroom and fucking, one door down from our parents. One morning our Mom was running late and so we fucked in the backseat of her car before she came out to drive us to school.
The best was a weekend in April when my parents took a trip with friends to the Poconos and left us to our own devices. If they’d done that a few months before, I’m sure Emily and I would have been planning for weeks — going to parties, setting up dates — whatever we could to take advantage of our fleeting freedom.
Instead, we spent the whole weekend in the house, fucking in every room including the garage and all three bathrooms. We even fucked on our parents’ bed. Twice.
I began to wonder if it wasn’t just the sex that got my sister off, but the risk of it. Not just fucking but fucking her brother and doing it in places and ways where we were bound to get caught eventually. And once something was done safely, she had to raise the stakes. Chase that high.
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