TABOO TALES(erotica)

She didn’t crouch down, either: she bent from the waist and her legs were apart a little so that her perfect ass was projected backwards, the cheeks opening slightly to reveal everything between them only a foot or two from my startled gaze. I saw the crinkled portal of her anus like a tiny closed eye winking at me, and just below it her cunt, moist from the shower and other juices. Her fingers closed over the scrap of material and she held her pose for a moment before she straightened and turned back to me.Material © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Remember that in your bed tonight, David,” she said sweetly, “and weep that you’ll never get to taste it.” She opened the door and with a final flounce of her perfect ass she was gone, and I heard the sound of her laughter as she walked down the corridor.

When I turned back the covers to climb into bed that night I found her panties under the sheet with a little note in her neat, sloping handwriting. It said: ‘Wet panties, wet dreams. Dry your tears on these.’ They weren’t as good as the real thing, but as a consolation present I could have done a lot worse.

***

Over the next few weeks the game that started so innocently became more intense. On the surface it was still innocuous – nothing more than sexual teasing, really: a contest to see if we could make the other uncomfortable without pushing them too far. Unspoken rules appeared: not to touch, primarily. I would have broken that rule in an instant, but Jen soon made it clear that any physical activity was off the list and after a couple of half-hearted attempts I complied. There was none of the play when Mum was around either, even if she was in another part of the house. This meant that for quite long periods of time we were models of behaviour towards each other – and then suddenly the coast would be clear and I might be treated to another flash of her pudenda; or another pair of worn panties would appear under my pillow with a little note dripping with innuendo.

For me, it became more than a game. The initial delight in seeing her naked soon wore off and I wanted more. I longed to be able to touch her, to feel the satin lustre of her skin trembling under my fingertips, to press my mouth against the soft curves of her breasts and to taste her – and then, when I had played my game, to feel the tight sucking wetness of her flesh as I penetrated her. Sister or not, I wanted to fuck her.

Even though I couldn’t touch her intimately I tried to be with her whenever I could, even if it was only to be in the same room. I made sure there was casual contact as often as possible: my hand brushing against her hair as I walked past, my knee pressing against hers under the table. And when I couldn’t touch her I watched instead, seeing things that I had never noticed before – like way she dressed: the colours and fabrics she liked, and the way she did her hair. I observed how she titled her head a little when she was concentrating, and how she caught her bottom lip between her little white teeth when she was lost in thought. I was captivated by her smile and consumed by the tumbling notes of her laughter, and each new discovery drew me deeper into her magic, until I was utterly transfixed. What had started as lust had grown to so much more.

My world narrowed – driven by a need to be with her, to make her notice, to be accepted by her: but the more I tried the more she kept her distance, even avoiding eye contact for the most part. Our little game stopped, each of us aware that it was so much more than what it had been but neither knowing how to deal with it. We became like two strangers living together, each struggling to achieve what we wanted – for me, the desire to become part of her life; for her… well, I wasn’t sure.

It wasn’t that she rejected me. Somehow she trod the fine line of still engaging me but at the same time drawing back, gradually revoking the licenses of the past few weeks. She knew how I felt about her, I think, and she responded with a brittle cheerfulness that denied any notion of avoidance; but sometimes when she thought I wasn’t looking she would glance across at me, her expression serious, and I could sense the uncertainty and confusion and worry in her mind.

One day I was sitting on my bed, holding my head in my hands. I had just left Jen in the lounge and I ached for her. There was a tap on the door and she pushed her head in.

“Are you alright, David?” her voice was soft with concern.

I stared at her. How could she not feel the same as me? “Not really.”

“Is it something I can help with?”

I laughed, a bitter sound without humour. “Oh yes. But you won’t.”

She regarded me for a few seconds and then she turned away without responding and closed the door softly behind her.

*****

“We need to talk, David.” It was Saturday and we were at the breakfast table. Mum had just gone into the kitchen and Jen was leaning forward and whispering so that she wouldn’t hear.

I nodded, my eyes on her face. She was wearing a crisp white blouse and her hair was tied back loosely so that it hung around the pale column of her neck in a curtain of iridescent gold. Her eyes were a soft misty grey: the colour of a dove’s wing, and her lips were soft and pink. God, she looked good. How was it that I hadn’t noticed these things before?

I sat awkwardly while Mum fussed around, until Jen finally managed to shoo her out to the shops. She came back into the kitchen without saying anything and she moved to the sink and started washing up, rattling them as if angry. The house was quiet and we didn’t speak, and the tension grew until it was almost palpable. I stared at the top of the table, wondering what she was going to say if she ever got around to it.

“We can’t go on like this, you know,” she said suddenly, turning towards me.

“Like what, Jen?”

Her lips trembled a little. “Like – well, like we weren’t brother and sister.”

“I don’t know what you mean. I haven’t touched you – I haven’t -”

“But you think it, David! I’ve seen you looking at me… I see what’s in your eyes as plain as day.” She brushed a strand of errant hair back from her forehead, leaving a smear of soapy water on her skin. “It’s like living with a different person… there’s this – thing, between us, you know… like an unspoken -” she struggled to find the words, and after a moment she shook her head. “I can’t describe it. It’s a barrier between us, you know? I just feel that you’re on the edge, waiting all the time for a chance that will never happen. I don’t want that, David. I want to go back to how we were.”

I remained silent. How could she ever think that things would ever be the same again?

“Well, aren’t you going to say anything?”

I smiled at her, my heart thumping. “What do you want me to say?”

“That it’s not true! That I’m imaging it all, and everything between us is the same. Tell me that you don’t care, David. Tell me -”

“But it is true, Jen. Everything you said – except for the bit about never happening.”

She stopped in mid sentence, her mouth open. I stood up and moved towards her, watching her expression, seeing the wind go out of her. I lifted my hand and touched her cheek with the tip of one finger. “It is true,” I repeated. “I do want you.”

She made a sound of dismissal. “But I’m your sister.”

“It doesn’t matter. I still want you. Ever since you came into my room I can’t stop thinking about you -”

“That was pay back for the bathroom thing,” she interrupted. “Don’t you remember? It was a joke.”

“Not for me.” I shook my head. “Since then I’ve opened my eyes and seen you for the first time, I think – the way you look and the way you dress.” I cupped her face with my hand, my fingertips brushing the soft skin behind her ear. “And the things you do… the little habits and idiosyncrasies. You are perfect, Jen… of course I want you.”

She made no effort to pull away. Her eyes were swimming pools of grey emotion, struggling to deal with what I had just said and finding no answer. I could feel the soft skin of her cheek rubbing against my hand and the strands of her hair brushing against the back of my fingers. “We can’t, David,” she said at last.

“Why not?”

“Because once we start we couldn’t stop. It would consume us.” She was staring at me, her voice almost pleading. “And it would hurt those who are closest to us.”

“So you’ve thought about it, then.”

She didn’t reply, but the look in her eyes told me that she had. I suddenly realised that it wasn’t me she was worried about. She wanted to play, but was worried about the consequences. My heart lurched a little – what had seemed to be impossible was suddenly attainable.

“You want it too,” I said softly. “I can see it. You feel it too.”

She gazed at me without replying and I saw her eyes change, the shadows of uncertainty replaced by something else – not longing or desire, exactly, but need. I watched her lips open slightly, soft and pink with the gleam of her little white teeth behind them and I could see a pulse at the base of her throat beating softly as she waited. It was as if she had suddenly given up and surrendered the initiative, and in that instant she looked young and vulnerable and incredibly beautiful.

I curled my fingers around her neck and drew her slowly towards me. For a moment she hesitated, pulling back against my hand, but then she relaxed and she turned her head a little so that her lips fitted over mine, and we kissed.