Time For A Quickie

Time For A Quickie?

The front door closed with a click and Joe waited, his pulse quickening, for his mum to start the Astra's engine. He licked his lips and glanced across at his sister, Chloe, who stood on the landing a few feet away, her rich brown eyes shining with anticipation. Outside on the driveway, the engine coughed into life and then settled into a dull rhythmic growl, spiking a little as Mrs Calder reversed off the drive and onto the road beyond. The Astra trundled off into the distance and Joe let out the breath he'd only just now realised he'd been holding.

He turned to Chloe and grinned. "And, we're good to go."

Chloe's answering grin was, if anything, hungrier than her brother's. "How much time have we got?"

Joe shrugged as he closed the gap between them. "Dunno. Forty minutes at least, I think. She's off to Sainsbury's."

With a smooth practised motion, he encircled his sister's waist with his arms, drawing her closer to him. She looked up at him, half-closing her long-lashed eyelids and favouring him with a sultry look. Her hair fell about her shoulders in dark glossy waves. She had always been pretty, but, since she'd turned eighteen a few months ago, she had become the object of an obsession that, had Joe's mum ever found about it, would surely have been viewed as unnatural and deeply immoral. Fortunately for Joe, Chloe had welcomed her older brother's attentions. After having had to endure his needling and immaturity during their mid-teens, the change was welcome. And it did bring other benefits.

"Where do you want to do it?"

Joe didn't reply immediately. He bent down his head to kiss his sister, at first brushing his lips against her mouth, and then applying a greater pressure -- the kind of pressure that sent sparks singing in his blood and submerged his mind into a glorious light-headedness.

"I love you, Chlo." She was grinning again, as she brought her hand up to her brother's face.

"You softie."

"Not all of me's soft." He slipped his hands down to his sister's rear, squeezing the denim-clad buttocks while thrusting against her.

Chloe gasped in mock horror. "Oh, brother, dear! What is that strange hardness I can feel pushing against me?"

Another kiss, more passionate this time. The siblings' mouths opened, and tongues slid urgently against one another. Joe's right hand trailed up her back, tugging her blouse free from her jeans as he did so. Shuddering, Chloe disengaged from her brother's mouth, turning her head to one side demurely and, in the process, offering him her bare neck. Joe didn't need a second invitation. His kisses traced a meandering line from jaw to collar bone, even as his hand slipped under the cotton of the blouse and stroked the bare skin of her back.

Murmuring her pleasure, Chloe undid all but the bottom two buttons of her blouse with shaking fingers. How many times had the two of them done this? This unspeakable act? She didn't know. She'd lost count. But the passion -- the love the two of them shared -- was still there. There was nothing stale about this, nothing mechanical. Her blouse gaped open. She was wearing the peach bra and pantie set that Joe had bought her online a few weeks ago. What a thoughtful and loving brother she had! And passionate, too...

Joe reached inside the blouse and slipped his hand easily between the lace of the bra and the firm soft flesh it held. Chloe gasped as he touched her nipple, his thumb rubbing it rhythmically even as his fingers clutched and squeezed her. She slipped her hand down between them, reaching for his hardness, struggling to grasp it through the thick denim. She was hot; her breathing was uneven and loud.

"Where..."

"Mum's room."

Her eyes snapped open. "Fuck, no!"

But Joe was grinning again, even as his hands continued to fondle her breast and buttock. He leaned into her once more, kissed her lingeringly on the lips. His hardness was pressing against her, insistent, refusing to be denied. Chloe gasped as she felt it twitch in her hand.

"Why not?" His words were punctuated by brief, sweet kisses on forehead, eyelids, cheeks and neck. It was an onslaught of sensation against which she had no defence. "If we're going to be terrible incestuous children, then let's go all the way and do it somewhere really bad."

At some point in the last minute, Chloe's pussy had started moistening. She noticed it now and gazed up at her brother, her eyes clouded with desire. Her reticence -- that lingering sense of transgression, a stubborn holdover from her childhood when her parents' bedroom was a secret, forbidden place -- was crumbling, dissipating like a soluble painkiller fizzing in its glass with a nervous, feverish energy. His hands on her body, the intensity of his stare, turned her insides into smoke and her skin into flame. She swallowed down her reluctance, felt it vanish somewhere in her chest.

"I don't care, Joe," she breathed. "Fuck me in the street, on the bus, on the fucking moon. I don't care..."

Joe pulled back. "Come on, then." In a gesture of mock gallantry, he took his sister's hand and executed a short, perfunctory bow. "Follow me, my lady."

Their mother's bedroom smelled of lavender and rosewater and freshly laundered bedclothes. In the bay window, a dressing table greeted them, the lustful glint in their eyes reflected in its three mirrors. A brush, long strands of chestnut hair tangled in its bristles, sat in the centre of its varnished surface; a few glass bottles of perfume and tubes of lotion were clustered to one side. The bed was a queen size complete with plush headboard and a duvet coloured, like the pillows, a rich crimson. For some reason, the sight of it gave Chloe pause, dampened the fire that had been threatening to consume her.

Joe was pulling her to the bed, clearly wanting to get on with things, but Chloe disengaged her hand and, ignoring her brother's slightly wounded expression, moved to the space between the bed and the dressing table. She examined her dishevelled self in the mirror for a moment, noting the exposed skin of her chest, the swell of her breasts, the disordered lace of her bra. She sat down on the side of the bed, her hands resting in her lap. Behind her, Joe crawled towards her and positioned himself behind her, placing a much more tentative hand on her shoulder.

"Chlo-"

"This is wrong." She stared at herself in the mirror, watched her brother's hand gently squeeze her shoulder through her half-open blouse, glimpsed the bra, awkward and ill-fitting now after Joe's groping. Her brother's hand slipped again between the cloth of the blouse and her bare skin, traced a path of fire across her chest.

"Everything we're doing is wrong." Joe's voice was thick with desire, the playfulness of the last few moments wholly absent. He reached for her breasts again, squeezing insistently, urgently. She did nothing to stop him.

In her mother's mirrors, she watched him play with her, saw a flush of pink bloom on her chest and neck at the sensation of his fingers on her flesh. She saw her unkempt hair fall in unruly waves, framing her face and gleaming darkly in the late morning light. Her brother leant in to nuzzle her neck, whispering through thick strands of hair. His breath on her skin was incendiary.

"But it's also right." His hand cupped her breast as he leaned in to kiss her neck. She shuddered and half-closed her eyes, her mirror images becoming hazy and unfocused. She had discovered some days ago that she loved the feeling of his hand on her body, of it seizing her, possessing her.

"Yes," she agreed. "Yes, it is..." She turned her head to him and kissed him -- not playfully, nor especially passionately, but sombrely, as if sealing a sacred vow, an unspeakable and only partly understood connection that would bind them together forever. She drew back, gazing into his eyes solemnly. "Make love to me, Joe. Properly."

"We don't have time..."

She shook her head. "We do. It doesn't have to be long. It's not about the length of time. It's..." She stopped. She was sounding pathetic, desperate. She paused, thinking hard about how to make Joe -- her brother that she adored, that she loved with her whole heart -- understand. "Show me, Joe. Show me you love me." Her gaze was searching for a moment as she stared up at her brother. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, she opened her blouse fully, undid her bra, and lay back on the bed. She looked up at Joe, who was watching her with his deep, brown eyes. "Show me." With pale, slender fingers she undid the top button of her jeans.

Joe's hesitation as his sister lay back on their mother's bed was not reluctance but rather a sudden, clearer understanding of what he and Chloe had been doing the last few weeks. When Chloe had turned eighteen and Joe had started noticing and then flirting with her, their relationship had seemed a laugh, a naughty secret shared that both of them enjoyed but didn't really mean all that much. The excitement they had felt when they first kissed, then groped, then, with a reckless inevitability, fucked had been predicated on the thrill of doing something so outrageously transgressive. They had fucked in their respective rooms, in the lounge and once, memorably and stupidly dangerously, in the kitchen, but this was different somehow. Perhaps what he thought had been love had been something else -- the compulsion of the forbidden, the dark deliciousness of breaking taboos. What Chloe was offering him now was something else.

Chloe looked up at him, expectantly, her lips parted slightly, the peach bra loose around her small, pert breasts. He bent over her, a passion that seemed to encompass and deepen the lust he was feeling swelling in his chest, transmuting it into something else, something more durable. He pressed her lips to hers, savouring their softness. Shifting his weight to his left arm, he brought his other hand up to her face and stroked her cheek gently.

"I do love you," he said, softly.

"Show me," she whispered. She reached for the belt at his waist, tugged it free. Awkwardly her fingers worked at the fly of his jeans. She glanced up at him, caught his gaze, smirked shyly, embarrassed at her clumsy attempts to undress him. The tugging at his waist was a gentle violence; the zip gave, slid down, stopped, slid again. She reached in, fumbling for his thickness. He shivered as her fingers closed around it, brought it out into the narrow, intimate space between them. He kissed her again, and her lips parted fully, allowing his tongue to enter her mouth, to taste it and claim it for his own. She pumped his cock slowly, the grip firm, unrelenting.

Wordlessly, he traced a line from her cheek to her neck to her chest to her breast, pausing briefly to rub his fingers over a thickened nipple before carrying on down over flat stomach and the shallow curve of her abdomen towards...

He drew back on his haunches and she released him, eager for what he was about to do. Gripping her jeans at the waist with both hands, he inched them down over her hips until they gave, suddenly and easily, slithering down her legs, revealing creamy thighs and slender calves. He tossed them to one side and couldn't stop the grin that broke upon his face. Only a thin scrap of cotton, pastel blue and decorated with embroidered butterflies, protected his sister's modesty now. This she removed herself, with quick, decisive movements. Tossing the garment to her brother, she mirrored his grin. "Have a sniff, Joe. I know you like that sort of thing."

He grinned a little self-consciously as he raised the cotton panties to his nostrils, but his eyes were focused on the thin slit between her thighs and its crinkled lips of flesh that protruded through the sparse growth of trimmed hair that framed rather than obscured them. The panties were an appetiser, a tangy, feminine hors d'oeuvre that promised a more substantial meal to come. Chloe smelled of musk and clean earth and something tart and irresistibly delicious. Laying the panties to one side, he bent over her sex, not for the first time marvelling at the sight of his sister's opening. He lowered his mouth to it as she lifted her buttocks slightly, making it easier for his tongue to gain access.

"Oh, God..."

Chloe shuddered as her brother's tongue touched her labia, licking with broad, hungry strokes. She groaned as he flicked the hard nub at the apex of her cunt. Once, twice, pause, exhale -- and, oh, how exquisitely tantalising that breath of his was! A third time, lingering, licking, savouring, her taste an undisguised signifier of growing desire.

"Fuuuuuck..."

"I want you," he murmured, drawing back, shucking awkwardly out of his jeans and boxers.

Her pussy was tingling. She stared down her body at his, drinking in the sight of flat stomach and the coarse curls clustering between his legs. And the vein-ridged cock jutting out obscenely, tip glistening. He moved up her body, his shadow falling across hers. She raised her arms to embrace him, felt the weight of him settling, the heat of his cockhead clumsily manoeuvring -- first above and then across her sex -- before finally nestling snugly in the partially open folds of her cunt. She raised her mouth to his, tasted the traces of his devotion on his lips and tongue. The presence between her legs became a pressure, a pushing. Then he was in.

She gasped and her kissing became hungrier, messier. He kissed her deeply, as her lips slipped and slobbered against his, her tongue blindly questing in the cavern of his mouth, an inferior counterfeit of the hot, rigid, swollen flesh sliding into her. Grunting softly, he pushed again and his presence within her became deeper, more... fundamental. Like an electric device just plugged in, parts of her that, most of the time, she barely knew existed began to light up and buzz with a mischievous, breath-snatching tingling. Her skin whispered urgently; her tummy swam with liquid fire. And her cunt clutched spastically at her brother's cock, as if desperate to draw him in deeper still.

Coming up for air, Joe broke the kiss, steadied himself with his hands either side of her head and began to fuck her, his rhythm slow. She raised her pelvis to him, grinding against his body, her breathing increasingly ragged, her face creased with a fervent intensity. She stretched her legs further apart, as widely as she could. She wanted him to claim her, to own her, to smash her into a million tiny pieces, to leave her a wanton, drooling mess, to annihilate her utterly.

Thought subsided, leaving only hunger and sensation in its place. Her brother's cock sliding in and out, each thrust sending sparks shooting up nerve endings, setting tiny fires in her womb, her breasts, her pleasure-swamped brain.

"Yesssss..." A slow, drawn-out affirmative hissing breath.

Joe was thrusting quicker, relentlessly approaching an annihilation of his own. He raised his head, his eyes tight shut, mouth a grimace of strain and delight. His face was read, the muscles of his neck and shoulders taut. While maintaining his rhythm as much as he could, he half-raised himself off her, grabbed her leg and pushed it back towards her chest. Eagerly, she drew back the other and he slammed back into her, reaching a depth in her she had not experienced before. Involuntarily, she let out a cry -- loud, high-pitched, part shock and part sheer delight.

Something moved downstairs and still the brother and sister fucked, animalistically, their mother's bedclothes rucked up around them like frozen waves on a tempestuous crimson sea.

"Love..." gasped Joe, sweat slicking his brow. "You..."

Chloe was close now and, she thought, so was her brother. An intolerable pressure was building inside her. Each thrust carried her closer to a precipice that she both relished and feared. Her body was roaring with life now; her brother had set her alight.

A sound that, in a different set of circumstances, Chloe would have recognised straight away floated up the stairs to them. Joe had heard it too, but he was too far gone, riding a wave -- the final wave? -- onto a shore that promised a sweet and lasting oblivion. Chloe flexed the muscles of her vagina again, just as her brain belatedly translated the aural information it had just received.

Her eyes flew open, searching her brother's face for some sign -- any sign -- that he might have heard what she had.

"Mum," she gasped. "Mum's back..."

"What..." Joe began to slow down. Chloe grabbed him by the arm, dug her fingers painfully into the skin.

"Don't... don't you dare stop!"

Confusion and an incipient terror blossomed on her brother's face. "But..."

She shifted her grip and her position until her hands were on his buttocks, pulling him towards her, further in, as if by force of will she could make him resume his exertions.

"Show me." Her voice was steel. "Show me..."

"But..."

From downstairs, there was a rustle of shopping bags, a slam of a door.

Chloe flexed her cunt, squeezed his buttocks. Hard. "Show me."

Fear flashed in his eyes, but his body had a mind of its own. Rocking gently and then more insistently, it moved against her.

Their mother's voice called up to them, wondering why neither of them had come to help her with the shopping.

He looked down at her, at the modest swell of her breasts, the coral pink of her nipples. He saw the pink flush of her neck and chest, the slender curves of her arms, the wild strands of her hair plastered to her brow and cheek. He saw her full lips, parted and so soft; he saw the thin, delicate nose and her rich, brown eyes which seemed deeper and richer than he had ever seen them before. And he felt something that had been promising for a long time to unfold in his chest suddenly and quite beautifully open and swell until it filled him with an astonishing strength and a solid, unmoving certainty.

Bending over his sister, he kissed her gently on her beautiful, soft lips.

"I do love you, Chloe Calder," he whispered, "and I always will."

And he thrust inside her, eagerly and rhythmically -- more or less, in fact, in time to the heavy, curious tread of their mother on the stairs below. And the bed creaked, as Chloe and Joe fucked, their bodies slick with sweat and their eyes locked in a fiery, steel-cored passion. And they panted loudly, and the air resounded with the slap of flesh on flesh and the slick wet slurp of hard, voracious cock in sopping, glove-tight cunt.

And as Mrs Calder, alarmed by the noises she was hearing (noises both incomprehensible and, at the same time, shockingly and scandalously familiar), made her way across the landing and crossed the threshold of her bedroom, Chloe and Joe climaxed together, his sperm lashing her body with his new-grown and eternal love, her body shivering and shuddering with the delirious knowledge that, whatever happened in the next few moments, her brother would always and forever be hers.

There was a moment -- a crystallised instant of time -- in which, aware of their mother's presence just inside the room and aware, too, of the likely consequences of that intrusion, the brother and sister nevertheless shared a smile -- the kind of deep, trusting, utterly guileless smile of lovers who have finally and without reservation given themselves wholly to one another.

And then all hell broke loose.