TABLE OF CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

END NOTE

The stories I write aren’t straight smut.

If that’s disappointing to you, I’m sorry. I really am. I want to make my readers happy. I want them to get what they want.

But frankly, the hottest thing isn’t just a sexy relative. It’s a sexy relative that you know. It’s one that you feel like you grew up with. It’s one where the boundaries are very clear; you are not supposed to want them that way, you are not supposed to think about them that way, and if you do, it’s a bad, bad thing. That’s what makes it so fucking hot.

Contrastly, I recently tried reading one of those porn stories where the protagonist is railroaded into having sex with his step mom, step sister, and other step sister within the first chapter. There was next to no buildup. There was no rhyme or reason.

It was lame.

My stories are for readers who want more out of their porn. Frankly, if you buy your porn, you fucking deserve it.

They’re for me, from when I was desperate to find some good incest material that didn’t force me to play pretend that these people, clearly unrelated, were somehow related. That the ultimate taboos they were breaking meant more to them than they were showing. That this wasn’t just a regular ol’ porno. These stories are full of real story; the kind of buildup that leads you into a relationship with the characters and allow you to live out a moment of insane, taboo release.

They’re for you; so you can have a fictional sister. One that you feel like you really know. One you feel related to.

Anyway, enough of that.

Enjoy.

Without exception, all characters in my stories are over the age of eighteen.

Do you ever yell at your sibling for following you around too much?

I have.

I mean, I still do.

Gabrielle’s my little sister, younger by a year. It was a pretty fast turnaround for my mom; she gave birth to me and then immediately got pregnant with Gabby just a month later. Due to the timing of our birthdays, we ended up in the same grade, her birthday being in the second half of the school year, mine being the previous summer. Depending on who you asked, one could say I had a bit of a head start on her, but we were going through all the same school material, which, you’d think was unfair in my favor.

Then again, that 10-month advantage didn’t seem to mean anything when you actually compared grades. And that was the other side of it; Gabby liked to insinuate that I could have been in the grade ahead, but that I was too dumb for it. Which wasn’t true, mostly.

Gabby was smart, and she studied (I didn’t), and she definitely stole my notes and looked through my bag to see what I put down for answers on different things. Funny enough, it happened enough times where teachers started to warn each other that we were ‘colluding’ on our assignments, but I’m not sure how they saw it as a cooperative effort. She clearly had better grades than I did.

But that was high school. We were going to university now—the same one, much to my disappointment.

By that time, Gabby looked just about the same as she did in high school. Short blonde hair, vibrant green eyes. She had a little row of freckles across her nose. Her nose got red really often, whether it was from a cold or when she was crying or mad, and that redness would spread across her cheeks in a wide band when things got extreme. Otherwise, she was skinner than a lot of the girls I knew, had a track runner’s physique, though I don’t know if it was because she didn’t really like eating or whether she exercised a lot, which, I never caught her doing. She was just the kind of slim girl that made it look effortless and made other girls angry that she even existed.

While I never made a personal point of studying my sister, I heard some of my friends describing her as looking tight, cute, pretty, hot, sexy, nymph-ish. There was once speculation as to whether she had B cups or C cups, but I put a stop to that by kicking my friend’s ass over it.

Enough about how she looked. I really do need to tell you about how annoying she was before, and all the other weird shit of mine she’d encroach on. When we were kids, all my favorite shows quickly became her favorites. All my games were then hers. I’d get interested in a club or a fad and she’d join right in. She’d follow me around the playground when she didn’t want to spend her time with her friends, and all of our summers were a perpetual exercise in trying to ditch her. As a more recent example for high school—she kept stealing my clothes and wearing them. It wasn’t like she didn’t have any fucking clothes of her own. I’d find my hoodies missing or some of my favorite T’s and she’d have just taken them with her to school, wearing them over her bra or whatever. She stole my fucking hats. I swear, if she just had a boyfriend at some point, it would have solved this for me, but she didn’t have any boyfriends and so she’d just take all my shit instead.

She’d also made a recent habit of stealing my laptop all the damn time, set whatever porn I had in my history as my desktop background because it was funny, calling me a disgusting perv, etc.

I know her friends thought everything she was doing was funny—any time I’d confront her about any of this shit and she was close to her friends, they’d all cackle like a bunch of fucking witches.

Of course, I never brought up the porn in public. That was just for at home when I’d discover my background would be changed again and so I’d bang on her door and tell her to fucking knock it off, and she’d open her door and look at me innocently. “What’s wrong? There’s weird porn on your computer again?” She’d smile with her eyes narrowed and her nose wrinkled. “I wonder who’s looking at weird porn on your computer. So weird.”

I guess the one time we decided to lean into the copying thing was just before prom and toward the end of the school year, for Spirit Week. Long story short, if you do the event, you get a point for your class, and the points led to prizes depending on what place your class was in. The winning class got Friday off, the day of prom, so of course Gabby and I were going to participate. Though I guess in my case, I didn’t participate fully. There was a ‘gender bender’ day where all the students had to dress up as the opposite sex for the points. I didn’t feel like doing anything at all for it, but she enlisted me in at least setting her up. She put herself in all of my clothes, looking baggy as hell, and we drew shitty whiskers all over her face and put one of my stupidest hats on her, and she slouched around and called everybody ‘brah’ and made a fake deep laugh.

“You sound fucking retarded,” I offered as a bit of constructive criticism.

“So do you,” she said, before doing that stupid fucking laugh again. “I’m actually imitating you, see? Watch: ‘uhhhh, sorry, I’m just uhhhh... I’m so fucking dumb uhhhh...’”

That was the first and last time it was fun for Gabby to wear my stuff. Afterward, I was, as usual, no longer cool with her stealing my clothes, and I was no longer cool with her popping into my friend group uninvited.

Before that, there was another weird case of Gabby seeming to copy off me; she got accepted to a few universities that were better than our state college, but for whatever reason, once she heard that I was going there, she decided to give up Federal Way University, of all places, so she could go to the same college that I did. Said it was cheaper to go local.

“I just don’t want to make mom and dad pay more than they have to,” Gabby said after I told her to go to a different fucking school. “Not my fault if they can’t afford to send me to a school, I’d end up failing out of anyway.”

“You’re smarter,” I told her, “the university here is a giant waste of your fucking time, and you know it.”

“Not if it means our inheritance is going to exist, it doesn’t,” she insisted. “How about, ‘thank you, Gabby, thank you for keeping our future in mind, thank you for not bankrupting poor mom and dad’?”

“Thank you for fucking following me around, for another four goddamn years,” I moaned.

She shrugged. “Sorry. Not sorry.”

It made me nervous for how things were going to go when I was actually in college. I knew I’d have a new friend group and honestly, I had enough of hanging with her through high school; I didn’t want her to butt in on new friends. Call me immature; I don’t give a fuck. If you went through the shit I went through because of her hanging out with my bros, you’d think the same; all the goddamn time she’d break into my friend groups and fuck them all up. My buddies would either fall for her or get weirded out that I was always bringing my sister along. Dudes can’t be themselves when there’s a girl. The vibe is different. There’s too many thoughts of sex and how to make the girl like you, and my friends weren’t honorable enough to avoid that.

For me, it was a continual struggle. Try watching your friend groups disintegrate before your eyes. Try holding onto friendships with your buddies when one by one, they confess to you that they want to fuck your sister.

Not a fun time.

Gabby, for whatever reason, was really attractive to my friends. She was slim, as athletic as she felt like. She had this shoulder length hair that she cut down to only a few inches toward the end of the year, making her look like a total tomboy if it weren’t for the feminine clothes she still wore when she wasn’t stealing my fucking hoodies. Said the short hair was ‘practice’ for college when she would inevitably turn more liberal or something. “You don’t like it, do you?” She teased me. She had these sparkling green eyes that didn’t really rub me the wrong way except when she teased me. She’d wrinkle her nose and show a couple sharp teeth as if she were a kitten. I could tell she was having a great fucking time whenever she teased me. “What—afraid I’ll turn into a lesbian next? Afraid college is going to turn me into a crazy, scary feminist?” In a way, I hoped she really would go become a feminist. It’d be less annoying. But honestly, the short hair made her look more delicate and feminine. I don’t need to explain to you why I didn’t want to tell her that.

“I don’t really give a fuck,” I said.

“I’ll join PETA,” she threatened. “And then I’ll protest outside of your dorm because you don’t drink vegan beer, or something.”

“Go ahead,” I said, encouraging her. “Please find something else to do with your life. I’m begging you.”

All her threats to turn into a Green Party girl or a communist or whatever were a load of bullshit. Even she knew that. I think she just liked to threaten me with it because I was trying to get a business degree, and you know what people with business degrees are like. She thought it was fucking hilarious to push my buttons.

And that included being receptive to the advances of my friends, but I did a lot of legwork to make sure that never got beyond a certain point. When I had a friend tell me he liked her, I’d give him a load of shit about how gross she was, how she liked dudes that were the polar opposite of him, the kind of confidence shredding things she was saying about him, anything to either discourage him or to make him less interested.

You know, lies.

It worked almost all the time where if a buddy admitted that he was into her, I could turn it around pretty fast. If that failed, I’d just threaten to punch him out. If that failed and he was pretty set on her, I’d leak some gross shit about him to my sister and she’d end up turning him down by the time he tried to ask her out. So, by the time high school ended, she never got with any of my bros, thank god, even though she hung around us often enough.

When prom came around, I laid out an ultimatum for my friends. “Just because my sister’s legal now doesn’t mean you get to make a pass at her, you goddamn degenerates—” I snarled at them. “If I find out any of you even asked her to prom, I’ll kick your fucking ass. Swear to god. Doesn’t fucking matter that we’re friends—I’ll fuck you up—” I know I said a little more after that.

They got the message, thankfully, and a skinny, awkward nerd named Theo was the only one who asked her. Surprisingly, she said yes. She said he was sweet and quiet, got accepted into someplace Ivy League, and was probably going to make a hell of a lot more money than all my friends combined.

Honestly, it was a huge relief to know that shy-ass, Concert Band Theo on the bassoon was the one taking her to the prom.

Though, maybe it shouldn’t have.

If I had known all the weird shit that was to follow, I think I might have threatened him too.

When Prom Night came, we were all pretty excited. While we didn’t win the competition, at least Spirit Week was over, and the big-ass party was going to start.

Prom was held in the gymnasium; tons of sparkling lights were put up, sheets of black paper blocked out the ugly cement brick walls, and the student government painted a star-scape ringing all the way around. There were a few disco balls, a stage where they put a DJ—a better one than the years before, banging music and subwoofers that made the whole place throb with energy. Teachers were posted at all the entrances and exits and eyeballed everyone on the dance floor to hope and pray that there was at least room for Jesus.

My date, Cici, was this gorgeously tight Latina girl in my class that I started hanging out with a month or two ago. We weren’t official or anything but she liked to suck my cock and I liked to eat out her itty-bitty pussy and to make her moan in Spanish when she came.

Next to my sister, Cici was a little shorter, and just a little skinnier, but since my sister was going hard at track, they had the same size dress.

That made things complicated when Cici showed up at our house and it happened to be the same exact dress as my sister’s. Silver, sequins, a glittery, shining shimmer that made you think of mercury, and combined with the star theme and the disco ball you’d think both of these girls were both wearing the milky way, and hated each other for it.

Cici looked like a bombshell.

My sister—well, she was my sister.

Anyway. You know how girls get when they’re wearing the same thing. While dudes just kind of laugh and think it’s a Christmas miracle if they’ve got the same shoes or the same shirt, girls fucking hate it when they’re wearing the same thing—messes with their carefully curated uniqueness. So, the car ride was a little too quiet on our way to the prom, but once we were inside and split off from each other, it was cool. The girls didn’t have to look at each other if they were on opposite sides of the gym. Cici brightened up too once I pulled out a flask. We sipped vodka just out of sight of the teachers and after a little bit, she was a little flushed and I was feeling damn good with her grinding on my cock, the music thudding through my body, and with the freedom of the end of high school just a few weeks away.

Unfortunately, Cici got a little sick. I guess her friends brought alcohol too, snuck in their little handbags somehow, whether it was in hand sanitizer bottles or whatever—and Cici must have gotten a little too much. Or maybe she just drank sanitizer. I don’t know.

“I’m gonna throw up,” I heard her in my ear before she let go of me, my cock still erect and wanting to press into her hip, but it was too late. She was off with her friends and stumbling toward the bathrooms, while the teachers eyeballed her suspiciously, and then it was just me. Of course, my buddies were busy with their own dates, kissing and what have you. And I wasn’t about to be caught dead going to the fucking punch table and staying there. I didn’t see Gabby or Theo on the opposite end, so that ruled out talking to them.

So, I just decided I’d walk out. I slipped past the teachers who had just seen Cici and pretended I had to go to the bathroom too.

The halls of the school were built like a maze, but the advantage of a maze over a nice clean floorplan was there were a lot of corners and a lot of places to turn into. So, I walked right past the men’s bathroom and turned a corner, and from that point, I was completely out of sight and out of mind of the chaperones.