Taboo The Collection Page 5

  Just the smell of the stuff, and the smooth feel of it on my skin, made me remember.

  “Fuck!” he’d cried, reaching for the door and closing it again. “Knock, would you?”

  “Maybe you should try locking it!” I’d called back, disgusted—but I had to admit, I was curious too. His room was next to mine for years, and sometimes I heard the distinct sound of him masturbating. The oil wasn’t just a bathroom thing, because I could hear the slick sound of his hand moving up and down, the muffled cries of his climax.

  I couldn’t deny it had turned me on. I knew it wasn’t supposed to—I should have been disgusted, horrified, sickened. But I wasn’t. Watching Sam, hearing him come, had made me curious. The first time I’d ever orgasmed, I’d been listening to Sam jerk off in his room.

  “You know how to gut a fish?”

  I lifted my sunglasses as Sam dropped a bucket into the sand next to me.

  “You caught something!” I sat up to peer in at a stillgaping salmon, its staring eye not yet filmy. “Ugh! You want me to clean it?”

  Sam was stripping off his waders and I couldn’t help watching. “You should do something to contribute besides lying around half naked.”

  I raised my eyebrows at him as he left his pole and rod and reel in the sand, heading down the shoreline in just his jeans and tennis shoes.

  “Where are you going?” I called.

  “Downstream. I need to wash off.” The water here was far too shallow to really bathe in. “Clean the damned fish!”

  I watched him until he disappeared around a bend, where I couldn’t see any more through a cluster of trees. I turned my attention to the fish—fresh caught salmon was going to be so yummy!—but I didn’t feel like getting my hands dirty.

  Instead, I followed Sam. I needed to wash off, too, considering how covered I was in oil. That’s what I told myself as I rounded the bend to find my brother naked in the water, his hand wrapped around his hard cock, fist pumping furiously. His eyes were closed tight, so he didn’t see me stop short and slide behind one of the trees so I could continue to watch him. We hadn’t seen any other campers, but I wondered at his boldness. What if a boat came by and someone saw? He must have been desperate, I realized, biting my own lip as I watched Sam bite his, my own hips thrusting forward against the biting bark of the tree in time with his own.

  “Oh fuck!” I heard him cry, pumping faster, his balls slapping the water with each tug of his cock. “Yeah! Yeahhhh!”

  I moaned softly, leaning my cheek against the rough bark, knowing I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help myself, my fingers finding their own way into my bikini bottoms. My pussy was wet with my juices, but the baby oil I’d used on my thighs made it even slicker and I sighed with pleasure, rubbing the stuff into my little clit as I watched my brother jerk off.

  Cecilia Marie Roberts, you march right back to camp this instant and clean that fish!

  Fuck that, I argued with the voice in my head, my fingers rubbing furiously, my nipples hard and poking out against the tree. I was practically fucking the thing, wishing for something hard to rub against, or better yet, put inside me.

  Like Sam’s cock.

  The thought shocked me into orgasm and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. I didn’t want Sam to hear me as my body shook and trembled, my knees giving out as I sank to the sandy ground. Sam didn’t have those inhibitions though—he was far enough from camp to believe I couldn’t hear him. He groaned and pumped and thrust into his own fist, crying out, “Ohhh fuck, your pussy is so good! Ahhh! Ahhh I’m gonna come in your fucking cunt! Ohhhh Sissy! Sissyyyyyy!”

  I yelped like a wounded puppy or a surprised kitten, my fingers still caught under the waistband of my bikini, still working my clit, and fuck if I didn’t come again, right there on the ground as my brother called my name, imagining himself fucking me. Oh god, yes, the thought of his hard dick pummeling my flesh, feeling him explode inside of me, that was more than enough to send me over the edge one more time.

  He was thinking about me.

  The realization made me shake all over as I watched him recover from his orgasm, his head down, his cock going slowly limp in his hand. And then I crept away, practically running back down the beach, deciding immediately to be a good girl and clean the fish, like I was supposed to be doing all along.

  By the time Sam came whistling back around the corner, smiling and waving to me, the salmon was ready to be cooked. It was hard to look into his eyes, so I didn’t, telling him I wanted to go down and wash up too.

  “But I’m hungry!” he protested.

  “I’m all sticky and hot and full of oil,” I reminded him, but he didn’t need a reminder. I saw it out of the corner of my eye, the way he looked at me in my red and white polka dot bikini. He was hungry all right, but I wasn’t sure it was for food.

  “I’ll make dinner then,” he grumbled as I headed down the beach.

  I didn’t touch myself, like Sam had, although I couldn’t help thinking about it. Instead, I washed the oil from my skin and hair with ecologically-sound soap, shaking myself off and putting on a t-shirt and a pair of silky shorts. By the time I got back to where we were camped, Sam had cooked the salmon but four ears of corn we’d brought along from the cabin.

  “That smells divine!” I sat beside him, taking the plate he offered. We ate with our fingers, the fish fresh and flaky, absolutely perfect. We ate our corn noisily, no butter or salt, laughing at the errant kernels that ended up on our faces or even more bellies.

  I did my girl-duty and cleaned up while Sam relaxed on the beach, an arm thrown over his eyes. The sun was setting over the water on our second—and last—day of our weekend. Tomorrow was Sunday, and we’d be heading back home. We both had reasons to be back. Sam had work at our local hardware store Monday afternoon, and I had a dentist appointment.

  My brother woke as I sat down beside him on the blanket. We were quiet as we watched the stars come out one by one, the moon a mere sliver as it rose slowly until it was high overhead. We didn’t talk, we just sat, comfortable in the silence, until I started to shiver. The breeze off the lake was growing cool.

  “Cold?” Sam slid closer, putting an arm around me.

  I leaned my head against his shoulder, taking comfort in his warmth. “I’m glad we came.”

  “Me too.” He took a deep, slow breath, gathering the blanket up so he could wrap that around us both. “I’m going to miss you.”

  “I know.” We’d been home together all summer break, but it was August and soon it would be time to go back to school again. It was funny, but I thought I might miss Sam more than I was going to miss Jake. None of us went to the same college, although Jake kept talking about transferring to State, and long-distance relationships weren’t easy.

  “Hey, look.” Sam pointed over the lake and I gasped, seeing a faint haze of multi-colored lights swirling in the sky.

  “Is that what I think it is?”

  Sam nodded. “Northern lights.”

  “Beautiful,” I breathed

  “Yes.” I felt his lips brush my temple and I shivered.

  “Still cold?”

  “A little,” I lied. “I think I’m gonna go to bed.”

  “Okay.” He sounded a little disappointed, but I couldn’t trust myself, so close to him like this. It was far too dangerous. “I’ll wait and put out the fire.”

  I stood, heading for our tent, calling over my shoulder. “G’night, Sam.”

  “G’night, Sissy,” he said softly as I unzipped the tent and climbed in.

  I took off my shorts and crawled into my sleeping bag, sure I wasn’t going to be able to sleep right away, if at all, but I was wrong.

  * * * *

  I wasn’t sure what woke me. I was disoriented, unsure where I was, until I heard the sound of the waves against the shore. It was still full-dark, very late—or very early. Behind me, Sam was asleep, breathing deeply. Then I felt what had woken me as my brother groaned and shifted again—I felt his erect
ion against my lower back and gasped, the heat of it incredible, even through his boxers.

  “Sam?” I whispered, feeling the roll of his hips forward, wedging his cock against the crack of my ass. I was wearing a t-shirt and panties, but things had gotten all twisted while we slept, and my sleeping bag was somewhere down near my ankles.

  “Mmm no more,” he mumbled. “There are plain ones on the counter.”

  I blinked in the darkness, trying to decipher this code. The feel of his cock against my ass made me ache. I try to wiggle away, but his hand was on my hip and I couldn’t escape. Was he asleep or awake?

  “I want one,” he whispered, close to my ear. “Gimme.”

  “Sam, are you sleeping?”

  He moaned softly and his hips began to move, the shaft of his erection rubbing slowly, bunching my panties up between my ass cheeks. I felt the grip of his fingers on my hip, my ass, heard his breath coming faster. Was he really still sleeping? I glanced over my shoulder to see, but it was too dark to tell if his eyes were open or closed.

  “Sam?” I whispered again, a little louder. Maybe I could wake him up? Should I wake him up? Wasn’t waking up sleepwalking people dangerous or something? I remembered when we were kids, he used to sleepwalk all the time. My parents would find him in the kitchen or trying to get out the back door. They used to just guide him back to bed, and he never remembered anything in the morning.

  “Mmmmm.” Sam moaned again and this time the thrust of his hips was more violent. Oh my god, his cock was free! How had that happened? I whimpered, feeling the hard press of him against my ass, the head slick against my lower back, sliding easily. It would just take a little maneuvering, nudging my panties aside, a shift of my hips, and he could be inside me.

  He’s your brother!

  I gasped as Sam moved, his hips adjusting, his cock too, oh god, now he was pressed between my thighs, his shaft rubbing between them. My pussy felt fat and hot. I whimpered again, trying once more to wiggle away, but it only forced him further between my legs, his cock wedging my panties deep between my swollen pussy lips.

  “Sam,” I moaned as he began to thrust in his sleep, driving my panties through my slick slit, the head of his cock rubbing against my clit. I spread my legs more for him. I couldn’t help it. Oh that was good. So fucking good.

  This isn’t happening. That’s what I told myself as I arched back against him. I’m dreaming.

  I found my hand between my own legs, pulling my sticky-wet panties aside so I could feel the head of his dick rubbing against my clit. But I wanted more. Oh god, what was wrong with me?

  “Sam?” I asked, louder this time. He didn’t answer me. Instead, he groaned and grunted and thrust. He was sleeping, I was sure of it. He wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning.

  I pressed his cockhead against my clit with my fingers, rubbing it there, moaning and arching back. My pussy lips wrapped themselves around his shaft, almost like we were fucking, but it still wasn’t enough. I took him in my hand, marveling at the heat and thrust of him. So big!

  I wanted it. I wanted him.

  I aimed carefully, timing it to match his mindless thrusting, and found myself impaled with the next forward movement of his hips, both of us moaning in pleasure, Sam in his sleep, me fully aware of the wicked, horrible thing I’d just done.

  But it felt so fucking good!

  “Oh god,” I cried, trying not to move, trying not to rock back, imagining his horrified reaction if he woke up and realized he was fucking his sister!

  But he was already imagining it out by the lake.

  Had he really been fantasizing about fucking me while he jerked off? He’d called my name as he came, I remembered, flushing with the memory of how hard I’d climaxed just watching him.

  “Ahhhh! Ahhhh!” He was thrusting hard and deep and fast. I was going to have to work to keep up, I realized, my fingers slippery wet, finding my clit and rubbing furiously. Oh but it wasn’t going to take long, I could tell. My pussy was already beginning to spasm around his shaft. I could feel how deep he was inside, the head of him buried in me.

  “Oh no! Oh god!” I cried out, nearly sobbing with the reality of what we were doing, but I still couldn’t help myself. It felt too good, too right, my pussy aching for release. And it was coming. I was going to climax around my brother’s cock.

  Sam’s fingers dug deep into my hips as he thrust again, his breath hot against my neck, and I buried my face in my pillow to keep him from hearing my scream as he drove me to my own orgasm, my pussy clamping down around his shaft, snapping shut again and again on his length. I felt each pulse of his dick, felt his cum, not inside of me but seeping out, as if he’d come so much I couldn’t contain it all.

  I sobbed into my pillow, overwhelmed with emotion, devastated by what I’d done, too limp and shocked to move, but when Sam sighed and moaned in his sleep, sliding his arm up to my waist, his face buried in my hair, I slowly began to relax.

  “Sam?” I whispered into the darkness. “Are you sleeping?”

  No answer. I reached down and covered myself with my sleeping bag, hoping to cover up what we’d done. It wasn’t right, I shouldn’t have done it, I knew that. But it would be okay. He would wake in the morning with no memory of it. That’s what I told myself as I drifted off to sleep listening to the soft sound of rain starting to fall.

  * * * *

  “Sissy.”

  I heard him saying my name, felt his lips, feathery light, over my neck. Then his hands, moving up my hip, under my shirt. His hand cupped my breast and I gasped, my eyes flying open wide.

  “Sam!”

  “Shhhh.” His cock was hard, still between my legs. Oh god, it wasn’t a dream.

  I moaned softly as he thumbed my hardening nipple, shaking my head. “No, Sam, no…”

  “Yes, Sissy, yes” he whispered, and I felt him throbbing between my thighs. “Yes.”

  It was still raining outside, a soft patter on the roof of the tent. “Sam, we can’t.”

  “We already did.” His breath was hot against my ear.

  I gasped, turning in his arms. “You weren’t sleeping?”

  “No.” He grinned. “At least, not for all of it.”

  “Sam.” I stroked his cheek with my fingertips. I knew I should have been shocked, appalled. Something else besides—thrilled. But I couldn’t help what I felt. “Oh Sam… I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

  “I know. Me too.”

  And then he kissed me, and all was lost. Our bodies had known far before we did what we wanted, no, needed, from each other, and we both found it in the most unlikely yet natural place in the world—our sibling’s arms.

  Darla (Daddy’s Favorites)

  Two “Rock-a-Bye Babies” and four “Bears Over the Mountain” later, Darla finally tucked her baby sister in and turned out the light. There was a Barney nightlight by her bed that glowed an eerie purple. It was cold outside, snowing lightly, and it was cold in here. Only Carrie’s blonde curls, shorter and a shade lighter than Darla’s sleek mane, peeked out from above the pink covers.

  “Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” Darla whispered, easing the door closed. That’s what her dad had always said to her, when she was around Carrie’s age, and it came out of her mouth automatically. It made her suddenly sad.

  “Not all the way,” Carrie piped up, her voice muffled. Darla left the door open a crack and went to see what her dad had to eat in the kitchen. She was hoping for ice cream and hit pay dirt—a pint of Haagen-Dazs. It was probably Irene’s, and Darla took a great deal of pleasure in knowing she might be eating the last of her stepmother’s favorite Rum Raisin as she settled in front of a rerun of Friends.

  She glanced at the clock when the show was over. Only ten. They said they were going to be gone probably until midnight. She fantasized for a moment about what she was going to do with the babysitting money, doing the math in her head. The longer they stayed out, the more she would get paid. She might finally have enough to get the
iPod she wanted. Her mother had told her at Christmas that maybe by her next birthday but February third had just come and gone, she’d turned eighteen, but no iPod was forthcoming. Of course, her mother blamed it on her father. He had all the money. Why didn’t he buy her one of the damned things, her mother wanted to know?

  But Darla knew. Her parents had adopted her when she was just a newborn, and she had known only goodness and love for a long time. That was until her adopted father left them for another woman. Now he had a new daughter of his own—his very own. Darla was just an afterthought, something that had happened to him in a former life. She wasn’t really his.

  Darla sat and looked around the room, which was probably bigger than their living room and kitchen combined. The whole house must have been at least five thousand square feet. She had never even seen the whole thing.

  That was something she could do. Time to do some exploring. Carrie’s room was down a long hallway which included Darla’s room when she stayed over, and a separate bathroom. She had seen all of that. There were several guest rooms, another bathroom, her dad’s office, and Irene’s scrapbooking room at the back of the house. Upstairs beyond her dad’s bedroom, though, she had no idea what was back there.

  Their room was spacious and white. Everything was pristine—the rug, the bed, the furniture. She glanced at the bed, which was made but kind of rumpled on one side, as if someone had been sitting there. She reclined on it, gasping at the softness of the down comforter, the sinking of the mattress underneath her. Her eyes closed, and she let herself drift, lost and floating on a cloud in the darkness. She thought she could smell her daddy, his aftershave maybe, lingering on the sheets. When her eyes opened, she gasped again, seeing her reflection staring back at her. There was a mirror over the bed!

  She looked at her own stunned expression, her long hair spread out beneath her head over the whiteness of the comforter like a gossamer river running through drifts of snow. What would you need a mirror on the ceiling for? She looked at her soft belly, exposed now with her arms flung carelessly above her head, a pale, white expanse of skin between her “American Idol” t-shirt and the black miniskirt her mother kept having a fit about her father buying her for Christmas, which she insisted on wearing, even out in the snow. She rubbed her tummy somewhat self-consciously. It was smooth and flat, her navel the only dip in the surface, no other hint of a softening curve.