Kiss Your Sister

by Lubrican

Chapters : | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Chapter Four

"I thought we weren't going to do this," I said.

We were lying together, our bodies touching. I wasn't in her anymore and we were just kissing and cuddling.

"We weren't," she said. "Things change."

"Things changed a lot, Emma," I said.

"I know, but I love the changes."

"Yes, until you miss a couple of periods and have to tell Mom and Dad you're pregnant."

"That's not going to happen."

"Famous last words," I said. "How many girls in our school do you know who got pregnant and didn't think that would happen to them?"

"All of them," she said. "But they were stupid. I'm not."

"Again, famous last words," I sighed.

"So you're saying you don't want to make love with me again?"

"I think you know better, but I'm not the one who won't fit into my clothes if things go wrong."

"You worry too much. How long before you can get hard again?"

"They only went to lunch," I said. "They won't be gone for hours and hours."

"I only want to do it one more time before they get back," she said. She rolled on top of me and kissed me long and hard.

Turns out I got hard again a lot sooner than I thought I would. The problem was that our parents didn't dilly dally at dinner.

Emma was, in fact, convulsing around my cock and I was thinking about sperming her again when we heard the garage door opener working.

She was in her room with a book open on her chest and I was in the shower when they came in the house. My sheets were unwashed and who knew what kind of stains were on them.

I was toweling off when I heard my dad say, "Bob's taking a lot more showers, recently," and my mother said, "Don't complain. He needs to. This morning he was really rank."

"I only pay the water bill," said Dad. "Who am I to complain?"

"As I recall, I work, too," said Mom.

"You do!" he said, cheerfully. "And my son needs those showers. What do you have planned for this afternoon?"

Their voices descended to murmuring. I had lost my boner in the shower, primarily from fear, I think, but I hadn't had time to warm the water up, either, so that might have had something to do with it. I was a little grumpy. Emma had gotten her orgasm, or at least part of one.

Apparently it wasn't enough, because later that night, around midnight, she crept into my room again. At least this time she had on her PJs.

Not for long, though.

I could not resist her. It's just that simple. I had gone to bed wearing jockey shorts and she raked off two layers of skin ripping them off of me. She got on top of me and just plain used me until she got off. Then she lay down on me and whispered, "You can roll me over now. I want to feel you go off in me."

I was trying to be quiet, and found out that, if I stayed deep in her and rolled my hips, the tip of my penis ran into something hard at the end of her tunnel that kind of massaged the head of my cock. I didn't have to saw it in and out of her at all. I pushed my face into the pillow when I came, and hosed her down good. She gripped my ass cheeks and squeezed them as I came.

"I want to stay here all night," she whispered, when I rolled off of her.

"You know that's a crazy idea," I whispered back.

"I know, but it's how I feel. As I recall, you wanted me to stay here all night, not long ago."

"If you ever want to do this with me again, you need to go," I said.

"I can't believe you'd blackmail me like that!" she objected.

"I'm not blackmailing anybody," I said. "If they catch us, do you think we'll ever get to do it again?"

"Oh," she said.

She got up and put her PJs back on. She went to the door and opened it ... and ran right into Mom, who was standing in the hallway.

"What are you doing?" I heard Mom ask. I sat up and pulled my shorts back on, ripping off two more layers of skin. As I did that, I heard Emma say, "I needed to talk to Bobby about something."

"At this hour? And why was the light off?"

"I turned it off before I left," said Emma. I didn't detect any tremor in her voice and was impressed. She had a future as an actress. "What's the big deal, Mom? I had a question about why boys act the way they do and he's the only boy around."

"You could ask your father," said Mom.

"Like he could remember what it was like to be a boy. He's old, Mom!"

"Your father is not old. He's handsome, and virile and young."

"Too much information, Mother," groaned Emma. "Ewww."

"Go to bed," ordered Mom.

My door opened and a silhouette much too tall to be Emma filled the doorway.

"Bob? Are you awake?"

"What now?" I groaned. "Won't anybody in this house let me sleep?"

"Never mind," she said. "Good night."

The door closed. I tried to remember if I had heard sniffing noises. I was sure my room smelled like sex, but maybe she was too distracted to notice.

That had been even closer than earlier that day. I think my heart was still going a mile a minute, because I could feel it pounding in my chest.

We couldn't call things that closely in the future.

We just couldn't.

Emma felt the same way. While she had acted her role flawlessly, she, too had been scared shitless.

The result was, we cooled it completely, and went back to self pleasure. We even went so far as to sign up for extracurricular activities, so that we spent as little time alone at home as possible. I got my learner's permit, which allowed me to drive to and from school, and Dad got me an old clunker to drive. One rule was that I could not have any other teenagers in the car with me. Emma was the exception, so I could bring her home from after school activities, when the buses were all parked back wherever they park them. She still had to ride the bus to school, but she didn't complain about that.

We managed that for the rest of the semester. It was a little like a drug addict going cold turkey. It was hard in the beginning, but as time passed, it got easier. There finally came a time when it seemed like those hours, rolling around naked in bed, seemed like a dream.

Then school was over and we were undone. Suddenly, we had all day together alone at home. My learner's permit was useless, and I couldn't get my real license until July, which seemed like it was years away.

It was our third day of summer vacation when Emma wandered into the living room, where I was playing one of my older video games on the TV. It had been long enough since I played it that my skills had eroded, and it was actually challenging me.

"I'm bored," she complained.

"What do you want to do?" I asked, distractedly.

"You know what I want to do," she groaned.

By this time, we had gone without for long enough that we didn't make any veiled references to the past, or even acknowledge the past at all.

"I do?" I died a horrible death and threw the controller on the couch.

"I want to get naked with you and have a dozen orgasms," she moaned.

Chapter two of "Instant boners I'll always remember" happened.

Just like that, we fell off the wagon.

I was amazed, because I lasted long enough on top of her to give her three orgasms before I blew my brains out through my penis. Dad was gone again, and Mom had already told us she was taking another double shift, so we had hours and hours before we needed to look innocent.

I fucked her four times that day. We were insatiable. It was like we were newlyweds on our honeymoon. My spunk was literally dripping down her leg between times.

That satisfied us for almost a week, primarily because that day was on the edge of her fertile time, and getting her bell rung that much gave her the strength to resist me until she was safe again.

I thought about going to town to buy some condoms. There were two problems with that. The local cop knew me and knew what kind of license I had. The town wasn't that big and he knew everybody. That was also the root of the second problem. Anyplace I could buy condoms, they knew my mother. Half the town had been her patient at one time or another.

And driving all the way to Hopewell, which was the next town down the highway, was too dangerous.

So, for most of the rest of the summer, I fucked my sister well and often ... and bareback. The only concession we made (other than her timetable) was that she found out she liked the taste of my cum. There were a number of times that I pulled out of her and she scrambled down there to drink my spunk. She never sucked me from start to finish, though. If she sucked me when I was soft, it was to get me hard. She didn't suck me anymore until she got her cookies. Then she'd empty me out with her mouth, particularly if it was on the cusp of her safe time.

I got my regular license in July, but Dad had gotten the kind of insurance on my car that was cheaper than normal, as long as I didn't drive more than 7500 miles per year. If I used it for school every day, that got pretty close to 7500 miles just that way, so I couldn't go riding around just for fun. I also had to buy my own gas, and I preferred using my allowance for other things.

I did make the trip to Hopewell, though, and bought a box of twelve condoms.

I didn't realize condoms are a one-time-use kind of thing. I thought you could use them two or three times and then toss them. Trying to do that turned out to be both messy and frustrating, because even if you wash them out, you can't roll the damn things back up.

So that box of condoms was gone in a week, and if we kept using them at that rate, I wouldn't be able to put gas in the car to go get more.

Plus, Emma hated them. She said my dick didn't feel warm in her anymore and she couldn't feel me cum.

I'm still amazed that we got through that summer without making a baby in Emma's womb, but somehow it happened. People said the rhythm method was dangerous, even worthless, but it worked pretty well for us.

My junior year was interesting, because the "All B average" rule kicked in and I had to actually study. Getting an A in math was easy for me. Other subjects were more challenging. Emma had boys following her in groups of four or five and she grinned all the time now, no longer embarrassed by her braces. I still think it was the self-confidence she built up because of all the things I groaned in her ear while I fucked her. That self-confidence got transmitted to all the guys. She was very sure of herself and strong women are attractive.

She started kissing boys under the stairwell a lot, which is why she got caught doing it and our mother got called. We went to a combined high school, that served three different small towns, so they had lots of rules to make sure kids from different places didn't get into turf wars and stuff like that. I thought it was interesting that a kid who brought a homemade, wooden, rubber band gun to school got expelled for the rest of the year and Emma's amorous behavior with a boy under the stairwell only got my mother a phone call. And the kid with the rubber band gun didn't even have any rubber bands on him. All he had was a hand-sawn shape of a gun with a wooden clothes pin glued on top of it. Emma, on the other hand, could have ripped some poor boy's lips to shreds, or given him some dreaded virus or something.

Can you tell I wasn't pleased about her kissing all those guys?

Anyway, Mom took Emma into the bedroom that night and "gave her the talk", as they say. She talked about how girls have urges and those urges need to be controlled, lest bad things happen that limit a girl's options in the future. That's code for "get pregnant". Emma said she just wanted to see what kissing was like, and the boys were anxious to show her. Of course she had to try it with different boys, because obviously it would be different. Then Emma started asking questions about when Mom kissed Dad for the first time, and what that was like, and did they make out and Mom got uncomfortable (which was Emma's plan) and said, "No more kissing boys!" in no uncertain terms and then let her daughter go.

She should not have let her daughter go. She should have recognized that she had passed the 'horny gene' on to her baby girl, and puberty had turned that gene 'on' in a big way.

Okay, I have to admit here, I did the same thing Emma did when Mom gave her "the talk." Basically, Emma blamed it all on the boys she kissed, who were "eager to show her what kissing was like." And I shifted the blame for what Emma was doing by blaming some gene that science can't prove exists (yet).

But I was the one crawling between her legs and pushing my stiff prick into her horny, fifteen-year-old pussy on a regular basis. I like to tell myself that I'm a "good" big brother, because while I couldn't resist her, I didn't seek her out and initiate sex, either.

To be honest, she crept into my bed often enough late at night and (usually) rode me until she was satisfied, that I was satisfied most of the time, too. Whether I spurted in her pussy or in her mouth didn't make that much difference to my penis. Of course it was always better if I didn't have to pull out of her when the urge hit me, but I couldn't complain. It beat the heck out of having to take matters in hand, so to speak.

Anyway, "the talk" didn't slow Emma down at all.

And that's why, just before the summer in which I would turn seventeen and she would turn sixteen, she missed a period.

I'm not blaming it on Emma. Not at all. I knew the risks, too.

She told me about it in June, but waited until July to confess to Mom. By then she had missed three periods and her tummy wasn't all that flat anymore. Before this, her belly was almost concave, and looked skinny when she wore a crop top or her bikini. Now she had this little wanna-be pooch, there.

Mom was furious, of course. Dad was on a trip when Emma tearfully admitted she'd "made a mistake." Mom wasn't furious because Emma had had sex. It turns out she expected that to happen. Mom saw enough young girls at the hospital maternity ward that she knew it was only the tip of the sexual iceberg. No, what she was furious about was that Emma had missed out on early pre-natal care. She ranted about all the things that could go wrong if nobody was following her pregnancy, and she didn't know how to take care of herself and the baby.

It seemed only like an afterthought, after she'd run out of things to be incensed about, that Mom kind of casually asked, "So, who's the father?"

This was something Emma and I had talked about at length. After she missed that first period her urge to get laid 'well and often' faded away to nothing. She still crept into my room at night, but now it was to just hug me in the bed and ask, over and over again, "What am I going to do, Bobby?"

I noticed she took all the blame. It wasn't "What are we going to do?" She always acted like she was in this alone.

I knew that admitting I was the culprit wouldn't solve any problems. It would only create more of them. But we thought of half a dozen other "explanations", most of which involved blaming some innocent guy in some made up scenario where, instead of just kissing under the stairwell, they found someplace where he could hurriedly deposit his seed in her and then go on to class. That wasn't going to work and we both knew it. The timing of things could have been explained, in part, by the fact that the Sadie Hawkins dance was about the time one of my sperm found her egg and yelled, "Yippee Yi Ki Yay!" as it fertilized the target. But then you had to explain why she got pregnant at a school dance and somehow didn't know who did it. Saying she got drunk wouldn't work, because Dad was the one who dropped her and the boy she asked to the dance off (her first official date), and then picked them up. He would have noticed if she was wasted enough to have gotten pregnant without knowing it.

Basically, every time we discussed "what she was going to do" I realized I was going to have to fess up, too. Maybe it would get me sent to military school, somewhere, or even kicked out of the house, but nobody forced me to lunge into my little sister's sweet pussy until I donated a few million (and one) baby-making sperm to the cause.

It was as much my fault as it was hers ... if not more. I was the older brother, after all. I was supposed to watch out for her and take care of her, not knock her up.

The world comes to an end, of sorts, for both people involved in a situation like this. If I wasn't related to her I could run away, or say "It wasn't me!" I knew a girl at school who that had happened to. She'd identified the father of her unborn baby and his parents had sued her parents for defamation or some such thing. Her parents had counter-sued, demanding a paternity test, but the medical people didn't want to do that until the baby was actually out of her body. Basically, both families were wrecked, and the scene was not set for a happy future for either of them.

Neither Emma nor I expected there to be anything but recrimination, rejection, and anger from our parents. Emma assumed that, once the father was known, our parents would make her get an abortion. Had the baby been fathered by some random boy on a date, that might not have been so bad, but Emma sought me out for more than just to satisfy her 'horny gene'. She loved me. That first time I accidentally knifed into her and then pulled right back out, she knew, deep inside, that she loved me in a way that would demand that our relationship only deepen. She hadn't hated me for "stealing her virginity" or "soiling her virtue." She spent a long time thinking about her feelings before she finally decided that love will win out, and she was going to find out whether sex was "all the thing" kids talked about, or not.

She wouldn't have done that with any other guy. Not then. She might kiss other boys, but it was only to find out if any of them made her feel what she felt when she kissed me.

So she was attached to this baby, and she would resist abortion at all costs. She even threatened to run away if it was mentioned.

So, when Mom almost casually asked who the father was, I stepped out from behind the wall where I'd been hiding (and eavesdropping) and said, "It was me, Mom."

I thought it was interesting that my mother did not believe us for at least half an hour. She kept saying, "No. No, it can't be." In the end, we just sat there, side by side, holding hands. I think it was the hands that finally convinced her.

I thought it was also interesting, on one level, that my mother wasn't nearly as mad at Emma for getting pregnant as she was at me for making her that way.

Dad, too. He arrived back home for an unscheduled visit about four hours after Mom found out their not-quite-sixteen-year-old daughter was with child. He was unhappy that his little girl was pregnant. There was no doubt about that. But he was furious that I was the one who did the deed. On the "this is interesting" scoreboard, he had no problem accepting that I was the one who had done the deed.

Oddly, or maybe because she'd had four hours to think about all this, it was Mom who calmed him down to a slow boil.

"We can't let this destroy our family," she said, with tears in her eyes. My dad can never handle it when Mom cries. He says it "unmans" him, whatever that means.

It was two hours later before things calmed down enough to talk about what was going to happen. They were both in full parental mode, and we weren't going to get a vote as to how the future would unfold.

The first thing that was going to happen was that Emma would go to the doctor and do whatever he told her to do for the sake of her and the baby's health. No mention would be made of who the father was, unless ultrasounds, which would be done later, exposed any "problems" with the baby. That was code for birth defects.

The second thing that was going to happen was that I was going to stop molesting my sister and become the brother I should have been.

"He didn't molest me," said Emma. "I made him do it."

"You can't make a man have sex," scoffed Dad.

"I waited in his bed naked, until he came to bed one night," said Emma. "He's a boy. He couldn't resist me."

This was precisely the kind of thing my father did not want to hear. He wanted to believe his little girl was still innocent, and that all this pregnancy thing was an accident resulting from a single bad decision on a single, abberant occasion.

Emma had decided that, if she was going to confess, she was going to try to explain how it had all happened, and that it had been something that simply got out of control. She used "the talk" against them at that moment.

Our mother wasn't so resistant to hearing details of debauchery.

"Why on Earth would you do that, Emma?" she asked.

"Mom, remember when you talked to me after I got caught kissing that boy at school? You said that if I played around like that, it would progress until things got out of control. What I couldn't tell you was that I knew exactly what you were talking about, because things had already gotten out of control with Bobby and me. We didn't intend for things to go that far. I just wanted to find out what kissing was like, and whether my braces would keep me from ever getting kissed until they were taken off. I actually kissed that other boy because we both knew that kissing Bobby caused problems."

"Kissing is one thing," said Mom. "Having sex is entirely another."

"I know," said Emma. "I should have paid more attention to what you two do."

"Yes, you should have," growled Dad. "Wait. What? What do you mean, what we do?"

"I mean you guys start out kissing all the time, and then you go to the bedroom and stay in there for an hour. We both know what you're doing in there and we should have realized that kissing is more powerful than we thought it was. I mean you guys do it a lot, you know?"

Talk about deflecting someone's attack.

"That's no excuse," said Mom. "We're married. It's all right for us to have a healthy sex life. We love each other and will stay together all our lives."

"I know," said Emma, “but Bobby is my brother and he'll be my brother all our lives, and I love him, too."

"You know that, if you have this baby, you'll be pregnant until February. You'll have to go to your whole first semester of your junior year showing," said Mom.

"I know," said Emma.

"No decent boy will want to date you," said Dad.

"I don't want to date any boys," said Emma.

"Your brother can't be your boyfriend," groaned Mom.

"I know that. But other boys don't make me feel anything. Why would I want to hang out with one all the time if I don't love him?"

Mom changed the subject.

"You'll have to take care of this baby, and be its mother. Nobody else will be changing its diapers, or taking it to well baby checkups," warmed Mom.

"I will," I said.

"You just shut up!" snarled Dad.

"No," I said, calmly. "I'm responsible for this, too, and I'll help her."

"And what happens when it's time for you to go to college?" asked Mom.

"We'll deal with that decision then. That's a whole year away."

"You're going to college, Robert!" said my mother, firmly.

"I hope I can," I said. "I fully realized that by doing this, I limited my own options, just like Emma's will be limited. I'm willing to take responsibility for it, though, and face the consequences."

"That's very noble of you," sneered Dad.

"Of course I guess we could dodge all this responsibility and limited options by just killing the baby," I said, casually.

That did not go over well at all and, just like that, abortion was off the table.

Everybody was mad at me, including Emma, who should have known I didn't mean it. But, it got them to a place of solidarity, and I could live with their unhappiness as long as it wasn't us against them any longer.

I was banished to my room, grounded for an unspecified amount of time, while planning went on without me. That planning was all about not killing the baby, and what needed to be done to get ready for it to live in our world, after it got finished living in Emma's belly.

I didn't come out of my room until the next morning. Dad was still home and still angry.

"Do you want me to pack a bag and leave?" I asked him.

"I'll tell you when to pack a fucking bag and leave!" he snarled.

"Okay," I said, all amiable like. "Are there any more Cocoa Puffs?" Dad had a huge bowl of Cocoa Puffs, something I had never seen him eat, before.

He threw the box at me, so I went back to my room.

This time, I didn't come out until somebody came to get me. It was Mom, and she came in without knocking. I happened to be asleep, and she shook me awake.

"Supper is ready," she said.

I didn't get all snarky and ask if I was invited or not. I just got up and went with her.

The meal was strained, and nobody talked to me. I wondered why they'd even come get me.

I went to bed early and got up early, too. I put on sneakers and my running shorts and left the house. I didn't even think about being grounded, but even if I had, I would have assumed that running didn't count, as long as I didn't run over to some friend's house or something. The nearest friend's house was over ten miles away, though, so that wasn't going to happen. I ran for about a mile, but then slowed down and just walked. I had hoped things would somehow work out, but it was pretty clear that wasn't going to happen.

I kept walking and didn't pay any attention to the road. When I did pay attention, it was because I heard a car coming and stepped to the side of the road. I looked around and realized I was at least seven miles from home.

The car turned out to be Mom and Emma. They were going to the doctor. It seems they didn't even know I wasn't in the house. They slowed down and Emma's window rolled down.

"What are you doing here?" yelled Mom.

"Walking," I said.

"It's ten in the morning!" she yelled.

"Okay," I said.

"You didn't eat breakfast. Where are you going?"

"I wasn't going anywhere," I said. "I was just walking and thinking."

"Get in the car, Robert!" she yelled.

"I'll just walk back home," I said.

"Get in the fucking car!" she screamed.

Wow. Both my mom and dad used the F-word within twenty-four hours. I had never heard either of them use even one curse word since I could remember.

I got in the car.

I got a lecture about how I was going to be a father, and I couldn't just wander off anymore, or do whatever I felt like. I had responsibilities, now. There was a lot more, but I kind of tuned out.

For the first time, though, I knew things would ... eventually ... work out.

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