Yes, we did get caught (Part 4) [Str8][mf][Inc]

The next morning, waking up a bit later than usual, we hurriedly showered and got ready to leave for our respective schools, hardly saying a word to each other. Evidently we were both still mulling over what had happened the night before, although I didn’t feel that there was any particular tension between us – we took a moment to embrace and kiss in the shower and it felt as sweet and loving as it always did. Nevertheless, as I made my way to school, my thoughts and emotions were churning. I knew I would have to process fully what had happened, and the problem was, my mind kept skittering away from parts of it whenever I tried to look at it head-on:

Chrissy likes to have her butthole tongued. Great! She’s got a cute, fresh-tasting butthole and I’ll tongue it any time she wants. Or put my finger up. Butt stuff isn’t exactly my big kink, I don’t think, but it makes her happy so it makes me happy. (What if she wants me to fuck her butt? Would it fit? Would it hurt? …What if she wants to play with my butt? Um, err, hmmm, let’s think about something else.)

Chrissy is a serious exhibitionist. Fine, no problem. Need to find ways to indulge that kink. (But does it mean that she’s less into me? Does she want to show herself to… to be with other people too? Oh, no, don’t think about that…)

Chrissy is really turned on by imagining Mom seeing us naked. It’s just a fantasy. She feels… no, we both feel dirty about being caught in the shower, it’s taboo, it turns us on. (We literally masturbated together while pretending that Mom was watching us and masturbating herself. And thinking about my dick in her cunt. Urrrrrrk.)

Chrissy is now aware that Mom and Uncle Rob did stuff when they were younger, and it’s my fault. OK, OK, don’t panic. It’s just a little thing I slipped into the middle of a fantasy, she probably isn’t going to think about it or ask me about it. (I mean, the thing that literally sent her – no, us both – over the edge was when I described Mom comparing my dick to Uncle Rob’s. We both orgasmed to that one vivid image. Oh, shit. Whatamigoingtodo.)

I finally decided that if Chrissy asked about Uncle Rob, I’d just tell her I didn’t know why I thought of it – it was just something I made up in the heat of the moment. I could easily deny any actual knowledge of Mom’s past, because in truth I didn’t actually know anything. Mom had made reference, once, to “playing games” with her siblings. She only said it to make the point that she wasn’t fooled by my lame insistence that there was nothing between Chrissy and me, because she’d done similar things herself. Thinking about it, I calmed down a little. I understood that siblings often went through phases of experimenting with each other; I’d read about it in books, and anyway it was sort of common sense. Obviously when you’re kids you’re curious, you do harmless things like playing doctor, stuff like that. Then you get older, you’re both horny teens, you’re both living in the same house, it’s natural that you might turn to each other. Most of the time, it would be casual and wouldn’t go very far. There’d be boyfriends and girlfriends, sooner or later you’d both fall in love with someone for real, and you wouldn’t need each other to get your rocks off – to put it crudely. Obviously, with Chrissy and me it was different: we were truly in love with each other (I reassured myself), and that was unusual, but naturally it happened sometimes, especially with introverted, not-very-social types like us. But not with Mom and Uncle Rob (and Aunt Thea, I reminded myself). Sure, there had apparently been something very serious going on in Mom’s family, but it wasn’t like Chrissy and me. Our parents weren’t abusive. We had everything we needed. There was nothing really wrong or abnormal in our background – we just… fell in love with each other. And everything would be all right, we’d make it work somehow.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t shake the feeling that, for better or for worse, the honeymoon period of our relationship was over. We had, for the past couple of months, been completely turned in towards each other, spending almost all of our time, outside of school and the minimal face-to-face interaction that characterized our family, in each other’s company. And like a pair of newlyweds, we’d been spending much of that time discovering each other: and since, having grown up together, we already knew each other’s personalities about as well as two people could, the discovery phase was almost entirely physical. We’d been making love almost every day, often more than once, exploring and experimenting and expanding the bounds of mutual sexual pleasure. But we couldn’t remain, figuratively, locked in the bedroom forever. The rest of the world was still out there. And it would be hostile to our relationship. As socially inept and introverted as we each were, our individual difficulties navigating society would be nothing compared to what we faced if people found out about us. We were going to have to learn how to deal with the world outside our bedroom. Starting with our family. And I wasn’t sure it was a good sign that Chrissy had such exhibitionistic tendencies, when hiding what we were would be so critically important.

That day in school, sitting in the library, still uneasy and confused about what was to come, I found myself unable to concentrate on studying. I drifted into daydreaming about the previous night’s encounter. Suddenly I was hot, sweating, and erect. Unbidden, the image I had conjured of my mother standing in the doorway, her blue sundress hiked up and her hands in her crotch, forced its way vividly to the forefront. I tried to banish it, to think of Chrissy instead, but my psyche would not obey. My cheeks burning so that I imagined the other students in the library would notice, though I knew of course that even if everyone weren’t nose-deep in their books (finals were approaching), no one would be paying attention to me, the least noticeable member of the senior class. Bending over a little and holding my bookbag strategically to hide my hardness, I walked through the stacks to the men’s bathroom in the back and, seeing that all the stalls were empty, took a second to look at myself in the mirror. I was encouraged to see that, despite the burning feeling, my cheeks weren’t very visibly flushed. I tried not to be too self-critical. I wasn’t that bad-looking, honestly. Tallish, but not basketball-player tall. I wasn’t sure exactly, maybe 6 feet or 6’1. I got my height from Mom’s family, I guess. She was at least an inch or two taller than Dad (whose genes were probably responsible for Chrissy’s smaller stature – she reminded me a little of a much, much younger version of Grandma, Dad’s mother, who was also sort of plump and small-breasted). I was taller than Mom, of course, but I sometimes felt like I towered over Dad. It didn’t seem to bother him, though, and objectively he was a pretty handsome guy, even with his middle-aged paunch. I had the vague impression from his stories that he’d been rather a ladies’ man when he was young. The music thing probably helped too. I hadn’t inherited much of his goood looks, I thought, except for the tendency to have a little bit of a belly. Still, I didn’t think I had anything to be ashamed about. I had a clear face, and well-defined features. My hair was a bit shaggy and unruly, and I didn’t really know how to dress fashionably – jeans, and depending on the weather a T-shirt or sweatshirt were my mostly invariable habit – but I kept clean. I wasn’t adorable like Chrissy, but – I thought – she was right. We were a good-looking couple.

The thought of Chrissy, and of how she enjoyed hearing me talk about us being seen and admired, made me hard again. I could feel my dick pressing against the front of my jeans, demanding attention. I chose the farthest stall, the handicapped one, as I always did, hung up my backpack, pulled down my jeans and underwear, and sat down, my legs apart, penis standing up. Slowly, I began to masturbate to incoherent images… Chrissy naked… licking Chrissy’s butt… Chrissy in the shower… Chrissy’s juices gushing into my mouth… Chrissy and I masturbating next to one another… Chrissy excited about Mom seeing us… Mom wetting the blue sundress, no, Chrissy wetting the dress, no she had a towel… Mom staring at us in the shower… Mom excited that her children were making love… Mom masturbating… oh God… Mom seeing Chrissy in the beach cabin, wanting to see more… did Mom like Chrissy’s breasts? Did she like Chrissy’s privates? … Chrissy saw Mom’s privates, she has a full black bush like Chrissy… God… She must have seen Mom’s breasts too, what were they like? I could ask her… oh my God… Mom’s nipples hard and visible under the dress… Mom pushing her dress up, ohhhh, no, Chrissy, my dick between Chrissy’s butt cheeks in the shower (Mom saw that!), my dick deep in Chrissy’s vagina, I wonder if Mom ever took her brother like that, I wonder if Mom liked the sight of my pe- unnnnnnngh! I came, hard, so hard that my cum splashed against the stall door and began to dribble down onto the floor in front of me. Exhausted, feeling ashamed and small, I took a tissue and wiped it up, then leaned back and tried to collect myself.

That night, rather atypically for a midweek evening these days, our parents were home when each of us got back from school. Mom must have been in a domestic mood; she proudly announced that she had moussaka in the oven and we’d be eating together as a family. I didn’t mind. Mom didn’t cook “real” food all that often — in fact I’d taught myself to make a few things over the years, just so as to avoid a steady diet of hamburgers, mac and cheese, salad, frozen vegetables, and other quick fixes. There was always a variety of good, nutritious food in the fridge when our parents were out, but the default choices weren’t that interesting. But Mom was actually a pretty good cook. Her ancestry on her father’s side was Greek – I wasn’t sure about her mother – and I had a vague impression that her father had worked in or maybe even owned a restaurant or diner at some point. In any case, Mom had a small repertoire of Greek and Mediterranean dishes that she would prepare when she had time. Moussaka, a layered casserole of eggplant, ground lamb, and white sauce, with a faint overtone of nutmeg, was one of my favorites.

We gathered around our rarely-used dining room table in a slightly festive mood. Mom even put out candles, and Dad opened a bottle of red wine. Our parents, perhaps because they were musicians and spent a lot of time playing (and, I imagined, drinking) at bars, were fairly casual about alcohol; Dad had first offered me a small half-filled glass of beer at my dinner on my 13th birthday, joking that I deserved it because I was a man now. After that I’d occasionally have a little when we ate as a family and there was an open bottle. It would have been easy enough for Chrissy or me to start drinking on our own – there was always at least beer in the fridge, we were often alone, and I don’t think our parents would have noticed. However, while I liked the feeling of being allowed to drink what my parents were having, I had never really developed a real taste for alcohol, and Chrissy so far as I know didn’t like it at all – she generally refused when my parents offered, though I saw her drink a whole glass of champagne once when she was 15, at a party my parents threw at our house for musician friends. Drinking wasn’t a forbidden mystery, in any case, lacking any real social life, I didn’t feel any peer pressure to indulge. I knew from overhearing stories that some of my classmates already drank heavily at parties, and that binge-drinking was a major problem at most colleges, including the one I’d be attending in the fall, having secured early admission and a substantial scholarship in the previous semester on the basis of my high grades. I didn’t anticipate drinking much at college either. I’d be living at home, not in a dorm, both to save money and by choice: the campus was a short commute away and I didn’t see any real positives to living in a dorm. Especially not now that Chrissy and I were together. But tonight I felt like a glass of wine might be nice, so I asked Dad to pour me one. The mood at the dinner table was almost festive. It transpired that friends of our parents had offered us the use of their lake house – in Finland, of all places – for our summer vacation. They would be traveling the whole summer and we could stay as long as we liked. This wouldn’t be the first time we had been traveled abroad for a summer vacation. My parents had lots of interesting friends in different places. It had been a couple of years since we’d gone anywhere, but when we were younger we’d been to Greece, Croatia, Spain, England, and Mexico different summers. But Dad suggested that this time maybe could maybe take advantage of the offer and spend the entire summer at this lake house. He wanted some peace and quiet to do some composing. There was a jazz scene, apparently, in Tampere, nearby, and he was excited about the possibility of doing a collaboration with some avant-garde musician he knew there. “And Alex,” he said, “you deserve a real vacation this year before you start college. You worked very hard this year – don’t think I didn’t notice, spending every evening in your room studying. Tessa and I, we’re super-proud of you, snagging that scholarship.” Tessa was our mom. “You’ve always worked hard. And smart, you’re smart too. Not like your old dad. My grades were terrible. Except shop and music, of course.” I laughed dutifully – it was one of his oldest jokes. I had no idea whether it was true or not. My dad seemed pretty smart to me, if sometimes a bit absent-minded. “But there’s more to life than studying, son. At your age I was sneaking into bars, playing gigs, smoking pot,” – Chrissy giggled – “yeah, well, the statute of limitations has expired on that; anyway, I had friends, girlfriends, a real cutie my senior year… Sorry Tess! Still remember taking her to the senior prom. Say, are you going to senior prom?” He said it a bit too casually. “I don’t think there is a senior prom,” I lied. Of course there was; everyone was talking about it, there were posters, everything. It was going to be at the Plaza. I obviously had no intention of going; I’d never been to a single school dance or social event. “Of course there’s a senior prom, Alex. Every school has one. You should ask some girl or another, before it’s too late. They’ll all be taken if you wait too long!” He said this lightlly, but I could kind of tell from the expression on his face that he was hoping I’d say I somehow had a girlfriend he didn’t know about. Mom spoke up in my defense. “If Alex wants to go to his prom, I’m sure he can find any girl he wants. He’s a good-looking kid, haven’t you noticed?” My cheeks were burning again. “Any girl would be thrilled to go with him. If he wants to go. If he doesn’t, that’s his business.” “I’m not going,” I said, hoping to cut short the discussion. “You only one chance to go to senior prom,” said Dad. “Pick a girl and go. Hell, if you don’t want to ask a girl at school out, just go with your sister. She’s at school across town, no one will know. It’s not about who you go with so much, it’s the experience. You don’t want to miss it.” Mom’s face was frozen into a peculiar expression. She was staring at Dad. I was trying to decide whether to ignore the suggestion completely or dismiss it as one of Dad’s jokes (I wasn’t even 100% sure it wasn’t a joke), when Mom found her voice. “Don’t be ridiculous, Greg. Alex can’t take Chrissy to his senior prom. It’s just not…” Dad looked, a little waspishly, at Mom. “Why not? I thought you told me you went to yours with Rob.” Mom looked stricken. “That was different, Greg, and you know it. Don’t throw that in my face. Rob was two years younger than me, we were both at the same school, it was a like a joke, everyone was in on it. ‘Tessa’s taking her little brother to prom.’ It was a totally different situation.” I was about to interrupt and say it didn’t matter because I wasn’t going anyway, when Chrissy spoke up. “I’ll go!” she said. “It’ll be fun. We won’t tell anyone and they’ll all be wondering where Alex picked up such a cute girlfriend.” She giggled.

Mom had a funny look on her face again. Dad didn’t look shocked or surprised or anything. He just said, “Of course, Alex, you should do what you want. But seriously, senior prom is fun, you’ll remember it your whole life. You should step out sometimes, not just work all the time. I feel kind of bad you’re not going away for college. Look, I promise, if you go to prom, I’ll pay for the tux and limo and all the rest. And Chrissy, I’ll get you a real nice dress if Alex actually ends up taking you. Why not, I say. It’d be a blast, you guys would have fun.” Chrissy looked at me with a mischievous expression. I looked away, glanced at Mom. I still really couldn’t decode her expression. Finally, she smiled and spoke. “Your father’s right. You should go and enjoy yourselves. Dad’s right, I did take your uncle Rob to my prom, and it was kind of a big joke, but I’m still glad we went. I’m glad I didn’t miss out on it.” “We’ll see,” I mumbled, and left it at that.

I honestly didn’t feel enthusiastic at all about the prospect of going to the senior prom. If Dad hadn’t brought it up, and sort of forced the issue, it wouldn’t have occurred to me in my wildest dreams to go. I wasn’t interested in that sort of thing. The issue wasn’t taking Chrissy – Dad was perfectly right, no one would know she was my sister, and no one would even care: I’d barely spoken a word to a classmate in four years, outside of mundane things like asking what the homework was. Most of my class probably didn’t even know my name. The issue was that I didn’t really want to go to a big, formal event with all sorts of traditions and associations that I felt absolutely zero connections. A prom was a basically a dance. I wouldn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to dance. I didn’t listen to dance music. I didn’t even like the idea of dancing – I felt like moving my body around on a dance floor would inevitably result in everyone staring at me. I wondered if Chrissy felt the same way. She at least had gone through a phase of reading lots of young-adult novels; I’d read a few of them (we shared our books), so I had a sort of conventional vision of what a prom would be like. But I had no idea if she shared my distaste for the prospect. I wondered if there was a way I could get out of it – maybe we’d pretend to be going to the prom, but just go out on a date at a fancy restaurant instead? It could be fun, acting like a real couple out in the real world.

That night as we got ready for bed, though, I realized with a sinking sensation that I was, pretty much, trapped. I’d almost never seen Chrissy so enthusiastic about something. She was positively brimming with excitement. “Oh, Alex, it will be so much fun. We’ll go and you’ll be my boyfriend, I’ll be your girlfriend, and everyone will admire us. They’ll all be wondering who this beautiful couple is. And” – she looked at me naughtily – “just think, we can make out in front of everyone, and they won’t know I’m your sister. All your friends will be so jealous.” “Friends?” I asked. “Chrissy, I don’t have any friends.” She laughed. “OK, that’s even better, at least no one will ever come over and find out that I’m your sister. But seriously, it’ll be amazing. Just think about how free and sexy we can be if no one knows who we are.” I sighed. “OK, geez, looks like I am not escaping this, am I? But I’m not going to dance.” Chrissy giggled. “Aww, poor Alex. It’ll be fine. Kiss me.” I down and kissed her on the lips. She melted into my arms, her tongue pressing hard into my mouth. I felt myself harden against her, and it became a frenzy of touching and undressing. Chrissy almost pushed me down onto the bed and clambered on top of me. Just as she had the first night, but this time in full light, she sat facing me, giving me a full view of her full belly and dense breasts. She maneuvered herself onto my penis, then took it into herself, sliding back and forth as she used her hands to stimulate her clitoris. I put my left hand back to find her anus and penetrate it with my finger, I stroked her breasts, concentrating on stimulating the nipples, with my right, and together we rocked ourselves towards orgasm. When the moment came near, I knew what to say without thinking: “Everyone will see I love you, Chrissy. Everyone will be watching us and thinking how beautiful you are…” “We are,” she moaned. “How beautiful we are,” I corrected myself. “They’ll all look at us, at Alex and Chrissy, the most beautiful couple there, and we’ll hold each other and we’ll just make out in front of them” … “unnnnnnnnnnnghhhhh,” groaned my sister, and all at once arrived, her vagina pulsing in orgasm around my erection. I pushed up hard against her weight and pumped my semen into her hot wetness.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/mjpgx0/yes_we_did_get_caught_part_4_str8mfinc