“Ahem, okay, so, I was told to open this confession with the following: Hiya! I’m Alyssa Pierce and I am turbo-ultra-super gay. Thought you should know that!”

The video’s paused there. My mouth is stuck open, my face already contorted to the start of the fit of laughter that gave way to my own personal humiliation. At present, I am sitting on my bed and find myself deeply uncomfortable, fidgeting with the strap on my phone as I try to drag out the moment before I’m forced to explain myself. On my laptop screen, outlined with a dim halo of her camera’s blur leaving much to be desired, Mom is staring at me. Through me. She clearly disappointed, and she’s probably right to be. Why did I decide to send her that stupid video?

I press my lips together and pull in a large breath through my nose. I let it sit for a moment. I debate where to start, before finally speaking.

“Okay, so. I guess this is the best I can do. It all started when Jeffery broke up with me…”

Three months ago, my boyfriend at the time, Jeffery, decided to break up with me. I didn’t want to let him have sex with me on the light rail (it’s gross!) and he got this weird expression on his face. He reacted like I had slapped him, and when we got home he tried to say that I violated his boundaries regarding sex. Apparently, it’s his gods-given right to bend me over on the train carriage and show me off to the old guys trying to fall asleep while the train completes its circuit. He went on about this for an hour before delivering an ultimatum that I either let him fuck me on the balcony, or I was going to leave his apartment.

I was on the sidewalk outside of his place in downtown Seattle before half an hour had passed. I tried to text him, but he had apparently blocked my number at some point during our yelling match.

The entire event took less than half a day to be over and done with and it left me reeling. Had I done something wrong? I tried to reason with myself that I wasn’t the problem, that his expectations for me were ludicrous, but a sense of guilty dread hung over me like a drippy faucet over a clogged sink.

You see, this was not the first time that I had been broken up with by some dude within the past year. It wasn’t even the second, third, fourth… I’ve spent a lot of time on Tinder since getting a new job in the city and have even hooked up with a few guys at the weddings that I do photography at. Each one of these relationships has ended in heartbreak. Some examples: Harvey was cheating on me the entire time to get back at his ex; Larry, a seemingly incredibly sweet guy, wanted me to dress up in a janitor uniform and “plunge his dick back to normal”; Mike wanted me to go to church with him and called me Satan-spawn after I gingerly told him that I was a pagan. This pattern was such that I didn’t go longer than two, maybe three weeks with any one guy before the whole thing fell apart.

My close friends were judgmental the entire time that this was going on, but nobody was more so than Annabelle. Ever since moving to Bremerton I had been living with her to try and save on rent—being a photographer without much of a book of business isn’t incredibly lucrative!—and she never hid her opinion of my choice in men from me. That day that Jeffery and I split she could tell that I was distraught. She came home at around nine that night, obviously exhausted, but she looked like a wounded animal the moment that she saw how red and puffy my face was from the past few hours of crying.

She ran towards me and grabbed me by the shoulders. I tried to keep my eyes away from her own but she wouldn’t have it. One of her hands moved to grab me by the chin and turn me to look her in the eyes. She was squinting, running her blue eyes over my face, my arms, any exposed skin to check for injuries. Her lips, lightly glossed, were pursed before she said, “Hey, sis. What happened? Did Jeffery hurt you?”

I could have lied about it. If I said that he had done something physical, she’d have probably been less blisteringly upset with me. I couldn’t, though. Instead, I shook my head. When that wasn’t a good enough answer, I slowly responded with, “He, uh, broke up with me, Annie.”

“Why?” was all that she asked. I bit my lip and prayed for this to end but did, piece by piece, tell the whole day’s worth of events to her. Her expression shifted from hurt, to sympathy, to rage, and then incredulous disappointment mixed with anger over the course of the conversation. When I was done she breathed out a long sigh and then fixed her gaze back onto me. “So, Alyssa. We’ve talked about this, haven’t we? About your awful taste in men?”

I winced. Obviously, I wanted to say, but I instead managed the much more diplomatic, “Annie, come on. Can we wait to talk about this again? I really, really liked him. He was so kind and gentle and—”

“Kind, gentle, and a weird pervert who wanted to make you have sex with him in public and broke up with you when you told him no. Come on, Annie. You really can’t be denying how bad your taste in guys is. You keep picking some of the worst guys that I’ve ever heard of.”

At the time, I was, obviously, pretty put off by how she was turning this all around on me. It felt like I was being backed into a corner; first my boyfriend threw me out over transit sex and now my sister was treating me like I was the problem for even getting involved with him in the first place?! The entire conversation was making me swelter. Before I could reply, Annie scoffed at me! I flared my nostrils, my cheeks growing hot in frustration and embarrassment, “You’re being a great sister right now, you know that? Come on, Annie! Don’t be like this right now, please?”

It looked like she might push back at me once more, but she closed her eyes for a few seconds and took a few controlled breaths. I was suddenly aware of how warm her hands were, and how tightly they were gripping my shoulders, but she didn’t give me enough time to consider the ramifications of that before she said, “Alright, alright. I’m being a bit of a bitch. I can respect that. But- you and I? We are going to have a conversation about this later, alright. I think that I have some tips for how to help you stop getting hurt. I mean, I never have these sorts of issues in my relationships.”

This made me roll my eyes. Of course you don’t, I thought, you’re fucking gay.

She and I spent the evening watching some videos she cast from her phone to the TV. Truth be told, I don’t remember much of the rest of the evening. I can remember being carried off to my—no, her, no, my own—bed in Annabelle’s arms. Either she changes me into my pajamas or I do. It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? I can’t remember how I ended up in my sleep shorts and my rose t-shirt. I would say that I changed myself, but my clothes ended up on the floor and I never leave them out of the hamper after I change.

I woke up the following day to Annie shaking me out of bed. She had her cheeks sucked in tight and her eyes were squinting down at me. She brushed my brunette hair out from my own eyes while her thumb traced along the top of my forehead. I blushed at that, I remember that surprisingly strongly. Her voice was low and husky that morning, and she said, “Hey, Alyssa. So, I thought more about what we talked about last night. You remember what we talked about, yeah?”

I didn’t, but I lied and nodded my head. She could remind me, that was fine.

“Of course you do,” she said with a trace of doubt in her voice that seemed oddly relieved. Was she happy that I fibbed? She continued all the same, “Anyways, sis, I agree that you should listen to some podcasts that can help your self-confidence. I found a few that you might like; I already loaded them onto your phone, you can listen to them at night.”

That made me squint. I didn’t think that I had a problem with my self confidence, and I said as much to her. “I don’t think that I need anything like that, Annie. I’m dating weird guys, I’m not, y’know, anxious or whatever.”

“Come on, Annie. You promised that you would trust me, remember? I can’t help you if you’re going to be putting up a fight about things that you asked me to help you with.”

The logic was sound, that was the worst part. I wanted to try and argue, but I shouldn’t push back against something that I explicitly asked for. Annabelle was already doing quite a lot for me, letting me live with her and all, I shouldn’t do anything that’s just going to make her more stressed.

Rolling my eyes, I shrugged and told her, “Okay, okay. Cool. I’ll listen to the podcasts.” She didn’t move, if anything she seemed to be expecting something, and I eventually continued with, “Thank you, by the way. I appreciate the help.”

Pleased by my answer, Annie stood up, brushed herself off, and poked my nose. I flailed at that and went to bite her finger. She tsked and raised her hand to cup the top of my head. She held me like that, kept at bay with her palm against my forehead and her fingers curled down over my scalp. Something about it made me freeze, made me feel like I was being contained. I stopped moving, I stopped blinking, I don’t even know if I was thinking much at that juncture. It was like a mother cat grabbing her kitten by the nape of its neck; I was stunned.

When she released me, she smiled at me with this oddly smug look, rolled her eyes, and walked off. I didn’t follow her for a minute afterwards. My heart was thumping in my chest and I could not explain why.

After that she went to work. There was, apparently, some sort of security breach that she was expected to go and handle and so, before we had finished eating breakfast, she ran out with a piece of toast in her mouth and her hand raised to wave goodbye while pulling the door closed with the other.

“Dear,” Mom says, looking at me with a strained expression that’s easy to read even through her rather cheap laptop camera. “I’m not sure that I understand. Are you saying that the podcasts your sister you made you decide to get… Close with her?” Her voice is odd. It’s not quite choked, but it wavers with uncertainty like she is trying to defuse a bomb. She’s clearly trying to tiptoe around this, and I can’t blame her. Annabelle told me that mom might struggle to get it at first.

“No,” I say. I flip one hand to the side and aimlessly wag it through the air, “It’s more like,” I bite my lip as I try to think of the right words. I snap my fingers with the waving hand and lean forward, “The podcasts helped me figure myself out, I guess?”

Mom’s hostage-like smile twitches. She closes her eyes and inhales in the same manner that she has done ever since I was a kid; she’s disappointed in me, clearly. “What were the podcasts even about, hun? How did they make you think that this—what you sent me—is okay? I mean, dear, you’ve been talking about boys since you were small. Let alone doing any of this with Annie, God…”

If I were there with Mom, I’m sure that I’d be able to reach out to her. She’s confused, that’s understandable, but I am sure that I could fix this entire misunderstanding if only we were in the same room. She’s hundreds of miles away, though. If I’m going to make my case, it has to be here. It has to be with what Annie told me. It has to be what she told me to do.

“Well, I mean, Mom, the podcasts just helped me get more confident. They helped me to feel better in my own skin.” My words run into a brick wall and I start to blush furiously. I turn away from the camera to let my hair better hide my rosy cheeks. Nerves rising in my voice, I still somehow manage to spit out what I need to say, “They, uhm, helped me realize that I was trying to run away from something that I needed.”

Mom’s face does something complicated. She looks like she’s feeling guilty, or perhaps unsure of something, and she looks off to the side towards something that I can’t see. Her own hair, the same chestnut shade as mine, is currently tied into a loose bun. A few strands of it run down the right side of her face. I’m suddenly struck by how pretty she is. It’s an odd thought, isn’t it?

Before I can mull over that oh so very intrusive observation, Mom sighs. She gathers herself and then says, “Okay, so, the podcasts were good for you. That’s—that’s great to hear, dear. Can you continue? When did things start getting to… To where they are now?”

Being back on track, the conversation becomes much easier for me. I breathe a sigh of relief, “Yeah, we can fast forward to that. So, it’s about a week after I broke up with my ex, right? We’re watching some detective movie, and then...”

Annabelle was lying partially on top of me, her legs and feet resting on my thighs. She had gray sweatpants on with the leg pant leg rolled up to the knees but she wore no shoes or socks. I was wearing some lazy sleeping shorts, as I often do. We were sharing a blanket on the couch together. She was obviously tired, having been working for the past eighteen hours before she finally got relieved to head home. The film wasn’t particularly engaging for either of us, we spent a good deal of it just riffing off of the main character’s hack-y dialogue and laughing at the poor effects, but it proved a good distraction from the stress both of us were feeling. My hands were working their way down Annie’s calf, kneading at the poor muscles that hadn’t gotten anywhere near enough rest.

It was Annabelle who changed the topic of the conversation. She lifted the leg that I hadn’t yet gotten to and pressed her big toe against my nose. Surprised, I dropped her leg and raised my hand to protect my face. She laughed at me. It was a full, throaty laugh that reverberated throughout the whole of her body. I spread my fingers just enough to glower at her. She put on a faux-innocent expression and said, “What? Come on, Alyssa. We’re sisters.”

“I’m here trying to be nice,” I retorted, my voice muffled by my hands, “and you’re here acting all weird! Ugh.” I was not mad. She knew that as much as I, but I was a little bit annoyed.

Annie cocked her head to the side and seemed to consider that. With a renewed look of interest in her eyes she propped herself up. Adjusting herself like that made her legs to pull back until the soles of her feet were stuck pressed against my mostly bare thighs, a fact that made my stomach twist itself into a messy yarn ball in response.

“Alyssaaa-,” she said, letting the “a” hang on and drift off into the distance. “You’ve been listening to the files that I sent you, right?”

“Files? You mean the podcasts?”

She blinked once or twice. Pursing her lips, she said, “Yeah. Those. You’re listening to them, right?”

I made a noncommittal “yuh-uh” sound and nodded in turn.

“Cool, cool. So, Alyssa, I’ve been thinking. You remember how you told me that you’ve always had a crush on me last night?”

My eye twitched when she said that. Did I tell her that? I don’t think that I would forget saying something like that, and more to the point it wasn’t true. Was it? Of course, Annabelle would never lie to me about something of that nature, but at the same time—

An immense urge to give in to what she said ran over me like tank treads over tarmac. I shook my head before I said anything, trying to clear out those odd thoughts. When I looked back up, Annabelle’s expression had twisted into an odd frown. Seeing her upset made my heart twist itself up in rejection of my denial, but I still could not let this stand. Approaching it gingerly, and with doubts surrounding my words, I said, “You might be misremembering, Annie. I’ve never had that sort of feeling for you, or any girls. I’m straight, remember?”

That was, apparently, an incorrect answer.

Annie was fully sitting up at this point. She was sat cross-legged, with her hands resting on her calves and her back hunched forward to draw closer to me. I could smell the coffee on her breath, I could see the redness in her eyes from the caffeine and the lack of sleep. She looked mad at the time. It was a little disarming.

“Come on, Alyssa. You don’t have to deny it. Remember, you told me that you have a crush on me. You always have. Remember, you’ve only ever dated boys because you were too scared to ask your sister out on a date.” Despite being transparently disgruntled, a coy lift played at the edges of her lips. She continued, “You’ve been listening to the “podcasts,” right? You know that you’re an incestuous freak, then, right? Remember: you’re just a repressed dyke, and you need your sister to help you out. Right?”

Her words were reverberating around in my head. I wanted to deny it, but was she actually saying anything untrue? I pulled myself back towards the opposite end of the couch and Annabelle followed me. She crawled forward, letting the hunch collapse into a predatory posture that made my heart pound in my chest. I was close to hyperventilating when she reached a hand out towards me and, despite my craning my neck to prevent her touch, she brushed her digits across the side of my head.

The result was like a hiccup of my conscious, like my thoughts flickered from a bad signal. I was disoriented long enough for her to repeat the same calming gesture that she had done before. She palmed my forehead and rested her hand atop my head, though this time her fingers scritched lightly through my hair. I was stuck. I was stunned.

I was, of course, swooning.

“Swooning?” Mom interrupts. I blink a couple of times, having been so engrossed in my story that I hadn’t even realized I was spacing out as I reimagined it. Mom has apparently moved her laptop as we’ve been talking, now sat on what I can recognize as her bed. Above the oak mantle is that yellow-green frog statue that I had gotten her the year that I moved out as a gift. She has always loved amphibians and little statues and the like. She is fingering something to the right, though off-camera.

I clench my fists and look away. Annabelle is off to the side of me. She’s been there the entire time, of course, goading me on with her naked form and teasing me with fingers toying at her breasts. I give her a pleading look, mentally willing that she’ll come to my defense. Either reading my mind or my face, she only grins further and wags her finger from side to side. No chance.

Not willing to directly look Mom in the eyes, even if there is nothing wrong with our love, I gulp and nod. “Yeah, Mom. Like she said, if we’re being honest, I’ve had a crush on her for a long time. Annabelle is basically perfect, you know? She has those long legs, the curls that she got from dad, y’know. She’s so nice, she’s always there for me. She’s so fucking hot—” I clench my hands over my mouth. I can’t fucking say that to my mom. Holy heck.

Mom makes a face that I can’t quite read. She shimmies, discomforted, and then gestures for me to continue. “I take it that you made the video about then?”

My lips turn to a dreamy smile. I’m getting excited and my voice is growing breathy because I am finally reaching the part of the story that I was most excited to share. Annabelle being near is enough to give me the confidence to keep going. “Yeah, uhm, pretty soon after that, actually…”

Scarcely a couple of minutes after being soothed, I was splayed backwards on Annabelle’s bed. My clothes were tossed off somewhere that I was unaware of at the time, though I’d later learn they were scattered over the kitchen floor, and Annabelle was straddling my waist. The mossy green case of her phone was directly above me, her camera focused on me and recording. I was flashing peace signs at the camera and grinning from ear to ear.

Annabelle had coached me on what to say, of course. She was swaying side to side on top of me, grinding herself against my tummy and leaving a wet streak across my skin that struck me closer to a brand than the glistening evidence of her lust.

“Ahem,” I started, trying to find my composure in the absurdity of the situation, “okay, so, I was told to open this confession with the following: Hiya! I’m Alyssa Pierce and I am turbo-ultra-super gay. Thought you should know that!” I broke into a fit of giggles at that point and Annabelle rewarded my honesty by curling down to meet my lips with her own. The contact was a spark that caused my chest to feel like it may just explode. I reached up to her shoulders and tugged her in, kissing her deeper than I’d ever kissed anyone before. She was surprised at first, reflexively pulling back before she melted into my embrace.

When our first kiss broke, Annabelle laughed and warily commented, “I didn’t think you’d go at me that hard, jeeze.”

Her reaction confused me. I nibbled at her nose until she went “ack!” and recoiled away from me. I pouted before I explained my rationale: “How did you expect me to react, Annie? I’ve been dreaming of your lips for my whole life.”

She regarded me with renewed scrutiny before relenting and pressing her forehead against mine. “Yeah, of course. I guess I didn’t think about how pent up you must be.” She moved to leave her lips but inches from my own, adding only, “Silly me. Well, you can be as wild as you like tonight, sis.” She chortled and blew a strand of hair away from my face, “After all, you deserve a reward for waiting so long, huh?” Her words were hot flame against my partly parted mouth and we once more went to making out with reckless abandon. I was pawing my hands at her, my nails clawing at her back as I tried to pull her deeper, deeper, deeper into the kiss. She had one hand messily tugging and running through my hair while her other was holding her phone to try and keep us in frame. Owing to what I ended up seeing in the footage, she wasn’t doing a great job of it and she knew it.

Our tongues were locked into a swirling tug-of-war fraught with spirals and twists. Our bodies were mashing and gyrating against one another while we cooed and moaned at every graze and grope. It was Annabelle who broke off the kiss. I tried to follow her but she put a hand between my breasts and pushed me with enough force to force me to lay prone. I pouted and gave her wet eyes because I was really looking forward to that, but Annabelle gave an amused huff and uncoiled herself from our most sisterly conduct.

“Just give me a second,” she whispered so softly, so precisely that I doubt even the gods heard it. She walked out of the room with a swagger to her gait. I saw her shadow pump its arm before she was entirely out of sight. The motion made me snort back an ugly laugh and cover my face with my hand. I hoped that she didn’t hear that.

Mom is turning an almost worrisome shade of crimson as she listens to me recount the story. Her chest rises and falls with an uneven pace, like branches being blown close to the point of snapping by gale winds. Either of her hands are below the frame, though they are not stationary. Their movements are subtle, but she is clearly pushing them into her lap and pulling them backwards. Is the field of view were just a bit larger I’d be able to make out whatever she’s doing with her hands.

Something is buzzing in the background. It’s a faint noise, one that in another circumstance I would easily attribute to some feedback in the wires that’s getting picked up on her microphone. I turn back to Annabelle. She’s grinning more widely, like she’s privy to a joke that sits entirely at my expense. My own enthusiasm falters for a moment. Is Mom—

“Alyssa,” she finally says, snapping my attention back to her. She says my name like it’s being forced from her lungs by hand. Mom swallows and continues, “Please just finish the story, hun. Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“Are you okay? We can—”

“Alyssa,” the voice of my sister coos. Her speaking, her breaking the illusion of this call just being between mother and I, draws up goosebumps. I do my best to center myself.

“Okay, uhm, so, Annie comes back in with the tripod and sets it up. After that…”

Annabelle with a strap around her waist was near enough to a divine revelation for me. I am sure that I had imagined this in my more lurid dreams, though I had no memory of such at the time. She was gorgeous and I wanted to kiss every inch of her until she turned the tables on me. Acting on that desire was proving to be a difficult ask, owing to her having tied my arms above my head and to her bedpost. The rope was silver in color, braided, and surprisingly soft on my arms and wrists. The pattern crisscrossed from my elbows and all the way down my arms. If I really tried to, I was sure that I would have been able to get out. Not that I had any intention of wriggling to freedom.

“Remember, sis. You wanted this. You’re a good girl and you’re going to let me fuck you, right?”

Her even asking that question annoyed me; of course I wanted this! According to her, which I had no reason to doubt, I had already told her this the night before! I rolled my eyes and said, sarcasm bleeding into my voice, “Oh, no, I’m going to cross my legs and tell you to get fucked.” A look of shock and sudden fear shot across her face. I was not sure if she was playing along or if she was actually upset, and so I retreated from my words and clarified, “I was just being a bitch, Annie. Come on.”

To make my point I spread my legs and wiggled my lower half as best as I could from my position. I was glistening wet at the time and so aroused that it almost hurt. From where I was sat I could see the phone mounted to the tripod, though it was set up to focus more on my pelvis than my face. I stuck my tongue out at in the off chance that it was capturing anything above my chest.

To my immense relief Annabelle did not waste time. I was glad for her being there to take the lead. Despite having been obviously repressing my lesbian side for years I had no idea how to approach a woman in a sexual manner, I had never even glanced at sapphic porn before the past couple of days.

She fell upon me, her mouth gnawing at my neck, my collarbone, my breast. She put her lips anywhere they could meet and she put her teeth anywhere that might draw a moan. She never erred; she bit, she clawed, she knew me in a way that none of my lovers before ever did, ever could. At some point one of her hands left my side to readjust something on herself and I suddenly felt the slightly warm touch of the silicone strapped to her hips. She probed it against me. First it tapped atop my stomach, then it whacked left to right against my inner thighs. I groaned in frustration and gently kicked my sister’s own leg.

Annabelle laughed. The sound was manic and off-key, carrying the distinct feeling that Annie felt that she was getting away with something. Her face was at first scrunched into an impossible to read expression but, upon making eye contact with me, she narrowed her eyes and snarled at me.

The strap went in.

I kicked my legs in reflex when it entered me. It was different than how I expected it, a hair warmer than my toys and a touch colder than the men I had entertained in the past. My flailing limbs nearly accidentally hit Annabelle in the face and, perhaps deservedly, she grabbed either of my legs and roughly pressed them into the mattress. Annabelle was not a gentle lover, not that I had wanted her to be, as I took each one of her increasingly impactful thrusts.

Unable to do much more than take, I resigned myself to my fate. I was cooing, moaning, and writhing in the ecstasy of finally having this dream of mine fulfilled. Annabelle leaned forward, ruby lips curled and teeth bared, but between the thrusting and the hold on my legs she found herself unable to bridge the gap. She made a sound closer to a rabid dog than a woman and let go just long enough for her to fall on top of me.

She bit my neck. Hard. None of my previous partners had even been so bold as to bite me in the past, let alone as harshly as she now attacked my tender flesh, and I yelped in virgin pain. I wrapped my legs around her to try and force her to go deeper into me with each one of her thrusts. Her hands were now free to explore, and explore they did. She scratched along my sides, she groped at my breasts. Not an inch of my torso escaped her inquisitorial examination. Annabelle found another place to bite further down my shoulder,and sank her teeth in with such predatory vigor that I was briefly convinced that she must have broken skin.

Annabelle let go of the meat of my shoulder and snarled something into my ear. I couldn’t quite make out what she was saying before her teeth found a new chew toy in the form of my earlobe. I squeaked, the sound falling into a moan with each thrust, each rhythmic plap-plap-plap of her increasingly desperate, increasingly possessive impacts against my sex. I was so fucking wet. The noises we were making were obscene. The room was filled from the squelches drawn from my pussy and her strap’s rough kisses to Annabelle’s grunts and whines and my own squeals and cries of pained pleasure. If I had been capable of thinking at the time, I’d have been worried that we may have been entertaining the neighbors with our sex.

Mom is shaking. She’s gasping, making small noises that sound like they come from when she was a decade younger and far more fragile than I had ever seen. Her face is a deep crimson red and her eyes are half-lidded, her head tilted downwards. She keeps twitching forward and gasping, letting out soft coos of what almost sound like…

I can’t deny what Mom is doing anymore. My cheeks run hot and I quickly hide them behind my hands. Mom’s getting off to this!

Annabelle’s arms wrap tightly around my waist. I feel her bare breasts press into my back and her chin falls upon my shoulder. Her voice is soft, smooth, and devilish. “Keep going,” she says, “you’re almost at the end. You don’t want to leave Mommy hanging, do you?”

My mother moans. She shakes her head, muttering something that’s lost to the inadequate microphone she’s using. When I don’t relent Annie starts to press a dozen little kisses against my neck.

“Come on, Alyssa. You’re an incestuous freak, right? Let Mom have her fun. Finish up.~”

Fuck.

This is kinda hot, isn’t it?

I take in a sharp breath and continue the story. I do not move my hands, damn however they might muffle me. I think that I’ll implode if I have to watch Mom cum.

My dreams had always been full of this sort of sex. I knew, at some level, that Annie and I were meant to be together in this union of flesh. She grabbed me, tugged me, and picked up the pace in her fucking. She sounded like a predator in heat with its prey. In a way, she was, and that made it all the more enticing.

When Annie delivered her final assault of teeth to neck, it felt like a bomb went off somewhere inside of my pussy. Her bite was deep, violent, and I could feel the skin tear from the act. I came on the spot.

I screamed, I hollered, I cried out in the sort of ecstasy that cults are built around. The world narrowed and all that I knew for a moment was the holy sense of being Full, of my sister and I as one, of her own orgasm and mine merging together and uniting us in some intangible and inalienable way. I came more than I had ever come in my life.

Red rivulets of blood mixed in with saliva and sweat ran down my neck. The illicit mix of fluids drip, drip, dripped from me, fast at first, painting the bed sheets below us in scarlet. Never before had I imagined that the thought of bleeding would be so enticing, nor would I have ever even entertained the notion that I’d be hoping for more wounds to be poked into me like a needle making room for piercings. I was too shell-shocked to speak let alone make any efforts to solve my bleeding.

Annabelle, somehow, managed to get up. I reached towards her for a second, pawing at the air with a weak and pleading motion. Annie pouted when she saw it but ultimately shook her head. She walked with an odd, robotic gait for a few steps before that settled into the more manageable walk of a semi-lame horse. Her hand missed the phone, then almost knocked it over, before she finally managed to stop the recording. A few minutes later and she was tending to my wound, tapping it with an alcohol pad and readying a bandage.

“Was that good, sis?” she asked me.

She’d later tell me that I gave her an almost crazed look. All that I can remember is turning towards her and stroking her cheek before saying, “Yeah. You’d better go rougher next time though, Annie.”