Valerie Gray
Siblings Who Lust With Trust
It's All-Relative
Delany Smith
Delany's life was generally pretty lousy but it did have some advantages.
First, let us consider the lousy points. He was just old enough to drive but there was no possible chance of his getting a permit. He had two younger sisters. He had to spend almost all his time taking care of his sisters. His father was dead and his mother worked six days a week to support them. She was gone from after school until 7:30 in the morning. They saw her for breakfast and dinner and that was it. The rest of the time Delany had to be the parent. The oldest sister was little more than a mobile vegetable. She could walk, feed, and dress herself with help but she would never learn to talk, read or communicate with anybody beyond a few grunts and cries. Money was tight and spare time was nonexistent for the boy.
On the good side he had two pretty sisters. One of which could not ever tell anybody about anything. He had lots of time to do whatever he wanted. He made good use of his advantages. Nancy was the older of the two and was just nicely developed. She was a pretty, well built girl if you could ignore the nobody home signs in her eyes. Monica was also pretty had only just started to develop. She was also a selfish twit and was not all that bright either. Her one saving grace was her willingness to keep a bargain if she got something out of it.
Not surprisingly Nancy was where Delany started his abuse. It had been one evening when Monica had been away at a party and Delany had been feeling sorry for himself. “Why her and not me ” was the question on his mind as he bathed Nancy. It just wasn't fair that the brat got to have fun and he was stuck cleaning up and taking care of the gimp. Just about then he noticed that the body he was washing had some very nice little curves, slits, and protrusions. For the first time in his life he realized his sister was more than a pain in the ass.
It took a week before he managed to get some condoms but once he had them he got laid for the first time in his life. What surprised him even more was from what he could tell Nancy seemed to like parts of it too. From then on he managed to screw her several times a week. He also learned how to eat her pussy, which she enjoyed. She never got the hang of sucking him though and he had the teeth marks to prove it a bad idea. One side effect that was noticed though. After a while Nancy learned how to finger herself for pleasure and was apt to do it anytime. He figured there would be trouble about that but the doc said it happened often and there was nothing that could be done about it.
Monica did not know about what her siblings were doing but one day she had her own question to handle. Delany had seen her experimenting with self-pleasure and decided that she should be pleasuring him instead of his hand's desire.
Money turned up missing from their mother's purse and of course Delany found it hidden in Monica's panty drawer. From then on it was simple blackmail.
Monica was soon sucking Delany off whenever he wanted it. She hated the taste but she knew she had no choice. Mom would never believe she had not stolen the money. From sucking they progressed to other things and before long she had lost her cherry and was taking him in her ass. He demanded anal with the explanation that rubbers were both too hard to come by and were too expensive. Neither one of them wanted her to get knocked up s it was up the poop chute he went.
For the next three years Delany had all the sex he could handle. But all good things come to an end. He got drafted and once he was out of the house Monica decided she was free of any deals. She had hated the whole idea of fucking him and one day had blurted out the whole tale to her mother. Needless to say, the shit hit the fan.
Nothing was ever that same again.
An Incest Debate with Emily
Ben Oliver
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I was sixteen, almost seventeen at the time and when I heard the familiar bickering and griping in the driveway: ah, my loving parents. It took me all of the usual 30 seconds to grab my bag, get out of the bedroom window, climb down the gutter pipe and be on my way.
I'd done this several times before and so far no one had called me on it.
When this took place we were not living in America and in the country where my dad was sent for his very well paid job, I couldn't drive a car if I had a thousand US driver licenses. I had to make do with the moped that after much whining and cajoling I had finally had my dad buy for me. So I now was the proud owner of this second hand jived-up Yamaha FS1 that for all practical purposes looked and behaved (somewhat) like a motorbike, except that it had this tiny 50cc cylinder. I snuck into the potting shed where I stored the thing and pulled the door shut to a crack behind me.
Quickly I snapped my bag under the bungee cords and I made myself up to wait for the inevitable rattle- and-clunk of the garage-door slamming shut. Mom and Dad apparently were engaged in a more than average clash and spent considerable time yelling and sniping at each other before they decided to go inside and play the hypocritical oh so harmonious couple act that I knew to explode again as soon as we were not looking.
The garage door came down and the telltale thud of the bottom hitting the concrete added finality to my plans to let them figure it out alone. For what they had in mind, they didn't need me, and I certainly didn't need them.
Just to be on the safe side, I decided to wait another minute or so, after which I would quietly roll out the moped, walk it out of the short driveway to be out of sight and then a couple of hundred yards and then shift to 2nd gear to push it in order to zap off into the flying start. By now I was sweaty and hot, since the potting shed had been in full July sun all day and the stifling oven-like heat was having its effect on me.
Sweat trickled from my eyebrows into my eyes. Angrily I wiped it off and waited for the stinging to subside.
I heard: 'Benjamin, are you crying?'
I nearly jumped out of my skin. I whirled around to figure out where that familiar little voice was coming from. It was Emily, my one and only younger sister.
Apparently she had had the same idea about my parent's now weekly animosities and had chosen the same spot to hide out.
Not that she could have done anything afterwards. Being eleven and not allowed to ride or drive anything more than a normal bicycle. Besides that, even then she'd have nowhere to go to. Her friends and school buddies all lived way too far away and their parents would almost certainly have called ours to find out the why-and-what, should she show up there. Such is life when you are the offspring of an American Big-Shot in the late-sixties Western Europe. It had happened before and the results had not been very pretty.
I said: 'Goddamn sis! What are you doing sneaking up on me this way!'
She yelled back: 'Did not! You snuck up on me! I was here first!'
