Family taboo, Brother and sister get caught by their daughters, “Fuck me harder, brother!” Meg cried out, her voice partly muffled by the pillows her face and shoulders were resting against. She always liked to emphasize our relationship whenever we fucked, especially since we’d started up again six months earlier. “C’mon, Josh, you’ve got more left in the tank than that!”
I’d already been fucking her for 20 minutes in various positions but I squeezed her hips tighter, pulling her torso towards me as I thrust forward. “Your wish is my command, sis,” I said, as my thighs slapped against her ass over and over, causing her moans to get louder.
After already cumming in her twice earlier, Meg’s pussy was swampy-wet, not producing a lot of friction for me. Meg’s body started to shake, in what was at least her tenth orgasm of the afternoon. I kept pounding into her, starting to gasp from the oxygen debt I was incurring.
“I’m not sure… I’m gonna get there again, Meg,” I panted, when her orgasm ceased.
“I’ll get you there,” she said, pulling off of me and spinning around to lie under me, her hand grasping my cock. She said, “Fuck my mouth, instead,” directing my cockhead between her lips as she tilted her head back to align her mouth and throat.
I pressed forward with my hips, sliding my cock into her throat, pulled back and gradually sped up until I was fucking her mouth and throat, hearing her quickly exhale or inhale through her nose between thrusts. Between the tightness, her tongue whipping around my shaft and the suction she was applying, I felt my orgasm approach, my moans matching what I felt. When she reached back and shoved a slick finger up my anus and started to massage my prostate, my ejaculations burst forth, down her throat, then into her mouth as I pulled back to let her swallow and breathe.
When I was done shooting, I pulled out of her mouth, then backed up so I could lean down and kiss her upside down, tasting myself on her tongue.
We were trying to get in the last sex we could before our daughters got home for Spring Break. As far as they knew, we were a brother and sister who wound up as co-parents to twin girls through unique circumstances – but slept in separate bedrooms.
The sudden outbreak of applause from the doorway told us the girls were home early and our secret was flaming cinders. Open zippers on their jeans told me that they’d probably been playing with themselves while watching us. Jess and Amy walked over to the bed and climbed onto it. Jess knelt beside me and kissed me like a lover, while Amy kissed Meg after she also rose to her knees.
“We want in,” Amy declared. “Make love to us, too, Mom and Dad.”
Before I go any further, let me back up and tell you a little about our family’s history.
Meg is my fraternal twin, with two much older siblings. As the babies in the family, we’d always been close and felt attracted to each other. Meg tried several times in the first months after we turned 18 to seduce me. I resisted because I knew cystic fibrosis ran in the family. It wasn’t until we were both tested in 1990 for the recently discovered gene that’s responsible and we became certain that we were both carriers that she stopped pursuing me. We headed off to different colleges.
I started dating Meg’s best friend Carly during the summer after Junior year of college, then married her in 1994, just a month after graduating. We immediately started trying to get pregnant. Due to an eventual diagnosis that Carly’s fallopian tubes were blocked, we had to resort to in vitro fertilization, which my first job’s health insurance actually paid for back then. Four embryos resulted from the first IVF cycle in the summer of ’96. Two were frozen and two were implanted into Carly and both took.
Three months into the pregnancy, Meg and Carly had gone shopping together on Black Friday. Meg was driving home on the interstate, with Carly in the passenger seat, when some maniac with a rifle started shooting into the backs of cars from a perch next to an overpass where he couldn’t be seen by oncoming cars. A bullet smashed through the rear window and the seat and hit Carly in the back, tearing a hole in the abdominal section of her aorta. As she hemorrhaged internally, despite Meg’s desperate efforts to stop the exterior bleeding after pulling the car into the breakdown lane, Carly realized she was dying and begged Meg to be a surrogate for her other two embryos. Her last words before losing consciousness were “Josh needs them.”
Carly and our unborn children died that day, before paramedics could even reach them in the chaos of dozens of crashed cars that resulted before the police shot the gunman. We hadn’t even known their gender at the time, but it was revealed in the autopsy that they were a boy and a girl. We had discussed Michael and John as names for boys and Cassandra and Amy for girls, so Michael and Cassandra were the names that went on the tombstone with Carly.
I felt at first like I had died with them. The only clear memories I have of the next two weeks are of Meg. She never left my side, when I’d probably have starved myself if left alone.
It took me almost three months after Carly’s death to agree to Meg’s surrogacy of the two remaining embryos, as she prepared her body for implantation. Then, another two months passed after that before I gave in to Meg’s renewed attempts to get me into bed. Between an entry Meg discovered in Carly’s diary indicating that she planned to invite Meg into our bed for a threesome if I had a vasectomy we had been discussing and Meg already being pregnant so I didn’t have to worry about impregnating her, I gave in to our first of many nights of passion as Meg moved in with me, initially for the duration of the pregnancy.
I knew Meg was offering comfort, both emotional and physical, after losing Carly. But, I also knew we couldn’t realistically have the relationship she craved as husband and wife. As the pregnancy progressed, she wasn’t at all prepared to end things with me or to say goodbye to the twin girls her body was growing and just be their aunt.
The compromise we reached was that Meg would adopt the girls and co-parent them with me, living in the same house. We would maintain separate bedrooms and avoid our daughters or anyone else ever seeing us as an intimate couple. For public purposes, at least, a sexless pseudo-marriage. Our parents expressed some doubts about the living arrangement, but came to see it as the best option for raising their grand-daughters with two parents.
Two months before her due date, I had my vasectomy to protect Meg from any chance of pregnancy after the delivery. Two weeks early, Meg went into labor on the anniversary of Carly’s death, delivering the girls early the next morning, Jessica preceding Amy by 9 minutes.
Testing after their births confirmed that the babies were both free of the damaged CFTR gene. Jess inherited her mother’s blond hair, Amy my brown hair, both with my green eyes.
As the girls grew older, it didn’t take long before a sexless marriage was as much fact as image, as it got harder and harder to avoid any observation by the girls. We couldn’t exactly ask anyone to babysit so we could have a ‘date night’, either.
Although disappointed, Meg agreed to the cessation of our intimacy for the sake of the girls, settling for being a mother first and my sexless semi-wife second. After that decision, we both occasionally dated other people for sexual satisfaction, but never wound up together with anyone for very long. While we were never accused of being a couple, most of my dates felt my relationship with Meg was still an obstacle, as if she were an ex-wife I still lived with. Meg reported pretty much the same reaction from her dates.