After that, Chrissy and I slept together without fail, every night. In the beginning, if our parents were around, we made somewhat of a big show of going to our own rooms in the evening at different times and doing random stuff with the door open for a while, as if to show that yes, we were definitely going to sleep in our own beds that night, as always, yes sirree. Only after we’d closed our doors and turned off our lights, carefully avoiding doing that at the same time, would I sneak over to Chrissy’s room through the bathroom. For some reason, maybe just because we had slept there the first night, we always ended up in her bed; I don’t remember Chrissy ever once coming over to mine. But I would dutifully muss up the sheets in my own bed, to make it look like I’d slept there, just in case my mom happened to enter during the day. (I’d never acquired the good habit of making my bed in the morning!) As time went on, though, we realized that our parents, true to form, weren’t really paying attention to our evening rituals, or at least, if they noticed anything, they weren’t putting two and two together. And of course at least half the time they weren’t home when we went to bed anyway. Eventually, we didn’t bother with the obfuscation; it got to the point where we’d simply walk into her door, shut the door, and get into bed together.
We didn’t always make love – well, that’s not true, just being together, tending and cultivating the already deep bond between us, we were in a literal sense “making love,” making a kind of love that was new to us: learning how to be lovers after years of being “just” siblings. If we fell into bed exhausted on a school night, asleep in each other’s arms before arousal could spur us on, and then didn’t wake up early enough the next morning, then we’d reluctantly leave the warmth of the bed and our embrace for a bracing shower (Chrissy had begun to appreciate the virtues of showering in the morning) and that didn’t always end up in hanky-panky either, although of course it often did.
No matter – if we, for lack of time or energy, didn’t end up bringing each other to orgasm one morning, I’d nevertheless head to school with the sight and scent of Chrissy fresh, lovely, nude, and if I just had to duck into a stall mid-day to beat my libido into submission, it didn’t prevent me from being ready that night. I often wondered if Chrissy, too, ever masturbated at school or other semi-public places. On a more than one occasion, I woke up in the middle of the night (sometimes on a night we had already made love), heard the little squeaks of her excitement, and realized that she was pleasuring herself next to me. Usually when this happened, we were sleeping the way we almost always did, spooning, with my arms around her chest, and I probably could with a single motion, perhaps just by pressing my penis up against her, have escalated things into a lovemaking session, but something in me always told me not to: I didn’t want to spoil the moment. I’d wait until the squeaks turned to low moans and she jerked a few times, then I’d tighten my arms around her and we’d both return to our dreams. But once, I woke to the squeaks and found myself lying on my back, as was Chrissy. Her face was tilted towards me, but her eyes were closed; her legs were slightly apart and she was pleasuring herself with both hands. I lay next to her, took hold of my erect penis, and slowly started stroking. She must have felt it; though we had rolled out of our usual spooning embrace, we were still close enough that our upper arms touched. We lay there, languidly masturbating together, for I don’t know how long; finally, her breathing quickened noticeably, and I sped up accordingly. Our orgasms arrived simultaneously: at the precise moment her legs spasmed, I groaned and came, my semen spurting high into the air, raining down on both of us. She giggled. “I love you, Chrissy.” “I love you, Alex.” She still never qualified those words with “too.” Pleasuring ourselves together like this, each acutely aware of the other, so in tune that not a second separated our finishes had felt impossibly intimate, in a way much more so than making love. I fell asleep musing on how wonderful it was that two people could feel as safe and comfortable with each other as we did.
As Chrissy had surmised, our parents never once showed up at our bedroom doors. Indeed, our life en famille continued much as it always had; our parents, wrapped up as usual in their own concerns most of the time, paid seemingly little attention to our day-to-day activities. Nevertheless, we were exquisitely careful not to do anything that would reveal the utterly changed nature of our relationship. Mom, I thought, probably suspected something was up. She wouldn’t know for sure that we were now sleeping together every night, although I was under no illusions, after what had happened and our subsequent conversation, that she would be surprised if she did know. But she had surely noticed that Chrissy was back to her old contented, giggly self, in fact happier than she had ever been. To me she often seemed almost transcendently joyful, although my perception of this must have been influenced by the fact that I was suffused with joy myself. I felt like I walking on air much of the time – a little shared smile at the breakfast table, entirely unnoticed by Mom and Dad, would send me into a reverie of contemplation of the morning’s earlier delights.
But, sly smiles and winks aside, we didn’t do or say anything in front of our parents that was inconsistent with our merely being siblings with an exceptionally close bond. We’d watch TV cuddled up together on the couch, as we had always done, but of course kept our hands to ourselves when our parents were present. When they were out for the evening, cuddling might escalate to petting, but we’d take it to her room before getting into any compromising position that we wouldn’t be able to escape from if we heard a key in the door. We of course stayed out of the master bathroom. While the huge shower would still have been a lot more fun than our own little one, we made love in bed more often than in the shower these days anyway; that just offered more possibilities for exploration.
And explore we did. Because we usually slept and awoke in a “spooning” position, when we made love in the morning we generally started there, just as we had that first morning, with me entering her from behind, intensely stimulating her clitoris with my right hand while I stroked her nipples with my left. This reliably brought her, reasonably quickly, to a powerful orgasm, and I quickly learned to pace myself so that our orgasms almost always arrived simultaneously. While she always got very wet, the flood of orgasmic liquid we’d experienced the first time never recurred in that position, and I yearned for it; so when we had time in the evening, I would often fetch a couple of towels from the bathroom and spread them on the edge of the bed. Chrissy would sit with her legs spread out and rub her clit, a sight I’d savor for as long as I could before the desire to taste her secrets overcame me and I dived in to her swollen labia with my tongue and mouth. As she continued to rub herself, I’d pay more and more attention with my tongue to the spongy spot near the top of her vagina; once I tasted the slightly lemony flavor begin to well up, I knew she was close and would concentrate on tonguing her there until, moaning, she’d come in a gush of fluid, which I tried my best to swallow, although some would inevitably end up on the towels. On some occasions, her orgasmic contractions and the accompanying gushes would continue for a minute or more, and I wasn’t under any illusion that at least some of the fluid was not urine, especially as the stream would become more steady and the flavor would shift from sour-sweet to more or less tasteless. Chrissy always drank plenty of water, so even if she was, essentially, peeing in my mouth, it never bothered me – quite the contrary — and Chrissy, seeing my enjoyment, stopped trying to hold back and enthusiastically strove to reach the longest, wettest orgasms she could.
Other times, too, we’d explore something that, it transpired, had turned her on immensely that first morning in the shower. It started when we were, rather atypically, making love with her lying face-down on top of me. While this position did offer the advantage of being able to gaze in each other’s eyes, neither of us preferred; because Chrissy was significantly shorter than me, we couldn’t easily kiss, nor was I able to thrust my penis quite as satisfyingly into her as I could from behind; more importantly, without either my hand or her own down there, it was hard for her to achieve the intense direct clitoral stimulation that always helped her reach a decisive orgasm. (Not impossible – she had come quite nicely the first time we made love that way, but it took a while and had thrown my timing off; I ended up finishing later, between her butt cheeks.) But this time, she took my right hand and, not at all tentatively, guided it to her ass. I thought back on the soapy shower and didn’t hesitate, but began to gently push on her anus with my index finger. She soon relaxed and I began rhythmically to penetrate her with my finger as she moved back and forth on top of me. The effect was immediate: she had a wild look in her eyes and breathed hard through her open mouth. As we sped up, I sensed the musky odor of her excitement even more acutely than usual, and noted how wet she was getting; her juices were dripping out on my thighs. When, soon, she came, her anus clenched my finger tight in the same rhythmic contractions with which her vagina hugged my penis, and I joined her in her orgasm, moaning her name. When it was all over, Chrissy whispered “thanks Alex” – I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t she know I would do anything for her? If a finger in her butt felt nice to her – I resolved that she wouldn’t have to “hint” at it again.
The next time we fetched the towels, a few evenings later, and she sat on the edge of the bed expectantly, rubbing her clit, I said, “Chrissy, turn over. Lie on your tummy.” Puzzled, she did as I asked. I swung her legs over so they were hanging off the bed, and gently parted them. On my suggestion, she placed both hands under herself and resumed self-stimulation. I was treated to an incredible view: her swollen labia, moistened with her excitement, framed by thick tufts of public hair, shaking slightly as she rubbed herself; above, her luscious butt cheeks. I pulled the latter apart gently and, for the first time, took a close look at the brown ring that was Chrissy’s pert little anus. I paused a little, taking in the sight, perhaps a bit apprehensive about what I was about to do, but with my excitement growing rapidly. She couldn’t see of course, but I was no longer half-erect as I had been when we started; I had a raging hard-on. It was not so much that I was particularly turned on by the thought of butt-play; it was more that I knew it gave Chrissy a unique kind of pleasure, and any way that I could give her pleasure was exciting to me. Still, I knelt there for at least a half-minute or so with my heart pounding before I took a deep breath and placed my tongue on the brown hole. Chrissy gasped audibly, but didn’t stop stimulating herself. I began to lick, first gently, then with more authority. I had half-expected an unpleasant or at least unfamiliar taste, resolving to ignore it lest I hurt Chrissy’s feelings, but she had showered and washed well and there was no perceptible taste at all; I felt almost disappointed. It was nothing like the pungent panoply of flavors I enjoyed when I licked her vagina. I tried to make up for it by taking deep breaths, enjoying the musky scent of her excitement wafting up from her vulva just below. Chrissy was unquestionably enjoying anilingus; she was making low groaning noises, rubbing hard, and pushing her butt back against my tongue. Glancing down, I noticed, too, that she now had two fingers of her left hand hooked in her vagina, while her right continued to stimulate her clitoris. I began to press the tip of my tongue against the ring of her anus. Obligingly, she relaxed it, just as she had when my finger had explored there. I pushed my tongue in as best I could – it was a bit awkward to do, but rewarding. Now that I had reached inside, there was a hint of taste or scent, not strong enough to be unpleasant, though I was aware of its origin. I was familiar with it already; it had lingered on my finger the other night. More importantly, Chrissy’s pleasure was evident. Her moans got louder as I tongued her butthole, first gently, then with increasing insistence. After only a minute or so, she began to buck wildly, and then almost shouted “Aaah, aaah, aaaa, Aaalaaae–uuuhx!!!” The force of her shaking knocked my head out of the way and I was able to witness to the stunning sight of her gushing, squirting orgasm, the fluid pouring out onto the towel from around her still-inserted fingers. It seemed to last forever; when the pulsing ejaculations evened out into a steadier stream, I had the presence of mind to lift the edge of the half-soaked towel to prevent the liquid from going all over the carpet. Once things had calmed down a bit, I impulsively planted a kiss on her quivering butt cheek, then plopped myself down on my side next to her, my head near hers.
She turned her head to look at me. “A… Alex,” – her voice quavered a little – “oh my god, Alex, that was… oh God.” I smiled. “It was… I don’t know, it was different from when we make love,” she continued. “You drove me so crazy, I almost didn’t know who or where I was.” “I gather you enjoyed it,” I deadpanned. There was a pause. “Of course I did, silly. But, shit, -” – I was surprised, Chrissy rarely used profanity – “Oh God,” she repeated. “That was pretty intense.” “Well,” I said, “I liked doing it.” “Alex, … are you sure? I mean, wasn’t it… I don’t know, gross?” “No,” I protested, “it was great. It felt great, and it was really exciting for me too. I mean, obviously, because anything that I can do that feels good for you is exciting. But maybe a little because it’s kind of taboo, you know?” I had to stifle a laugh after I blurted that out; it was hardly the most taboo part of what we were doing.
But Chrissy said seriously: “I know, Alex. I mean, don’t get me wrong, every way you touch me is amazing, I can’t believe how good you make me feel. Every time. But I guess…” She paused here, and I wasn’t sure what she was getting at. I felt a little bit of panic – a premonition that we were about to talk seriously about what we were doing, in a way that, somehow, we had basically avoided to this point. We had become lovers instinctually and wholeheartedly, and we had of course had to negotiate the technicalities of how to carry on our relationship safely and in secret, but we’d never actually talked in depth about the relationship. Finally, Chrissy went on. “I love you, Alex. That’s the only really important thing. I just… I don’t know!” She sounded frustrated. Finally, she blurted it out. “I guess what I’m saying is… don’t you feel it’s kind of exciting that we’re not supposed to love each other like this, that you’re my brother?”
I was taken back a little at her consternation, and a confused stream of thoughts flooded my mind before I could answer. Of course it was exciting. I never really had to think about it that much – I loved Chrissy, I didn’t want to be with anyone else, and, though I’d never really considered the thought before, I was at that moment morally certain that I’d still love her if, somehow, she weren’t my sister. But I couldn’t deny that the fact that we were siblings made the whole thing more exciting. Would sex be worse with someone who wasn’t my sister? I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to know. Chrissy was the only girl I’d been with, and she was everything I wanted. But… I had to say something; there was a slightly worried look on her face. Finally, I spoke up, kind of making it up as I went along. “Chrissy, I love you. I know you’re my sister, and that makes it weird, but it doesn’t change the fact that I love you. In every way. And sex with you is… well, fuck, yes, it’s amazing. I think maybe one reason is that we know each other so well. I mean, we’ve known each other our entire lives. We just seem… I don’t know… naturally suited for each other. Not just the sex part, I mean, everything.” I was rambling. “I guess what I mean is, yes, it’s exciting that you’re my sister, totally. Look” – I gestured towards my middle – “look how excited I am.” My erection was throbbing. “Sister. You’re my sister, Chrissy. I love you. And you excite me.” I wasn’t making any sense, but it didn’t really matter. Chrissy looked relieved and a wicked smile appeared on her face. “Hmmm, let me see…” She got up on an elbow and scooted down so that her mouth was near my crotch, took my penis into her hands, and began to lick it.
I wish I could say that what followed, my first blowjob, was the most intense experience of my life or something like that. To be honest, it was – well, it was fine. It felt really nice, and I came hard, and it was sweet to see Chrissy swallowing my semen with apparent enjoyment. But I felt kind of weird and lonely while it was happening. Maybe it was because of what we had just talked about, or maybe I just didn’t like blowjobs that much. (The thought that Chrissy wasn’t good at them never crossed my mind.) I didn’t know why, but afterwards, I felt a slight tinge of regret, almost wishing that I’d stopped Chrissy and done something else. Still, lying in the post-orgasm glow, with her head on my chest, stroking her hair, I felt pretty good. There’d be a next time, anyway.
Apparently, Chrissy’s inhibitions had been lowered somewhat, because she suddenly spoke up again. “You know, Alex, I think maybe I’m a bit of a perv. I mean, for example, even before this… all started. Remember how we used to wrestle, and it got pretty hot and heavy.” She smirked. “And before, when we used to play those drama games, and I really got off on things like showing myself off to you.” I felt a tiny bit hurt all of a sudden. Of course I’d liked seeing — and feeling — Chrissy during our games, and I assumed she had too, but describing it as being a “perv” and “getting off” seemed a bit… I wasn’t expecting to hear those terms from her anyway. I tried to articulate how I was feeling. “Chrissy, I’ve always loved you, I mean yes, as a sister first of all, but when we played those games, I guess… I just liked seeing you and touching you. Just like I do now.” “Well, of course, Alex,” she said. “I did too. But… don’t you think it was especially kind of exciting because we obviously weren’t supposed to be doing it?” I pondered that a bit. Of course, she was right, as usual. How could I say that that wasn’t part of it? Chrissy continued. “And, I mean, remember when I came in to your room after taking a shower?” “Of course,” I said. “Well… I had been planning to do that for a long time. I even started to do it before, but I chickened out. It just… I don’t know, I just thought it would be so exciting to have my brother see my private parts. I wasn’t even thinking really about what would happen afterwards. I just thought it would be fun to go in wearing a t-shirt and no panties and tease you, you know? The idea really turned me on.”
Chrissy was evidently in a confessional mood, but I was a bit worried. I thought back to that day. Well, of course, I’d known exactly what Chrissy was up to when she came into my room. She’d wanted me to tease me with her body. It was just an escalation in the long game we’d been playing. I’d encouraged her to sit on the bed, teased her about the pillow… “Well, of course, Chrissy. I knew you wanted to show off. And you knew I wanted to see you, like I always did. That’s why I made you sit on the bed and said you didn’t need the pillow, remember?” “Yep. But I actually wasn’t expecting it to go so far so fast.” Oh, shit, I thought. She regrets it. “Chrissy… I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t have gone over there.” She looked astounded, gobsmacked really. “What? Don’t be ridiculous, Alex. Of course you should have.” “So, … I guess I don’t know what you’re getting at.” “Oh, Alex, nothing really, I just was thinking about how I’m just a total perv. Like, it was really exciting what we did tonight. I’ve never come so hard in my life. And it was really exciting showing my body off to you that first night.” With a sudden flash of insight, I realized what exactly the problem was. Chrissy was an exhibitionist. I’d realized that already, obviously. It’s a big kink for her. An exhibitionist likes to show off to people who shouldn’t be seeing their body. Your brother shouldn’t see your body, so it’s exciting showing off to him. But your lover should see your body, sees it all the time, and we’re lovers now, so the kinkiness of it has worn off. Chrissy can’t scratch the exhibitionist itch any more.
Sensing that something very important and irreversible was about to happen, I carefully chose my words. “Chrissy, you like showing off your body, right?” She nodded. “But we’re kind of used to being naked together now, so…” She didn’t say anything. “I mean, every time I look at you, I can’t believe how beautiful you are. I love” – I started to touch parts of her body as I listed them – “your curly hair, your beautiful eyes, your little nose, your tufty armpits” – she giggled – “no, seriously, they’re totally awesome. And your tiny breasts drive me wild. And… well, you’re really beautiful, you know, Chrissy?” She grinned. “I sure am, and you are too. We’re a really good-looking pair.” I demurred: “I’m no great prize.” “No, you really are amazing. Take a look at yourself in a mirror some time. We must be pretty hot together, huh?” I thought I knew where this was going. She probably wanted to fantasize about people watching us. But I was absolutely unprepared for what came next. She said, tentatively: “I sometimes wonder what Mom thought of us when she saw us.” My heart nearly stopped. I felt an unpleasant shock run through my body and found myself utterly at a loss for words.
Finally, I stammered: “M… Mom? I mean, shit Chrissy. I know she saw us, but I sure hope she tried to wipe that image from her mind.” Chrissy looked a little sad. No, I’m lying. She actually looked a lot sad, and I felt instant regret, but also intense confusion. I didn’t like the way this conversation was going. It was bringing up uncomfortable memories of when I kept replaying the shame of being caught by Mom when I masturbated, even though I always tried to shove the intrusive thought out of my mind. I tried to soften my tone. “Chrissy, I didn’t mean that the way it sounds. I mean, of course, we’re both really good-looking. Especially you. I’m sure almost anyone would be really excited by seeing us – I mean, I bet people would love to spy on us.” I was trying to acknowledge her kink, maybe even see where we could go with it. But Chrissy was adamant. “I just like to imagine Mom seeing us and thinking that we’re a really cute couple, all right, Alex?” My heart was pounding. I’d inadvertently done the last thing I ever wanted to do: made it clear that I was shocked by what Chrissy had admitted to me. She was upset, and rightly so: I was shocked, but I had no business kink-shaming her. I’d failed, badly, to handle something that Chrissy had probably had to work up a lot of courage to put in words. I tried to salvage the situation: “Chrissy, let me tell you the truth. I’ve thought about that too. In fact,” – I hadn’t intended to admit this, but the words just poured out of me – “actually, I’ve imagined the time Mom caught us a lot of times. And it turned me on.”
My cheeks were burning red. That was far more than I’d intended to say, but Chrissy didn’t seem fazed. “Me too,” she said. Encouraged by the fact that I might not have just totally fucked up our relationship, I tried to think back to the times I had envisioned that scene. My heart felt like it would burst out of my chest. I could barely get the words out: “So, I guess, a couple of times when we’ve been together, I’ve wondered what Mom would think if she saw us then.” “Oh, God, yes,” said Chrissy. She had a slightly wild look in her eyes. Encouraged, I went on. “She’d probably think she had a pair of really beautiful kids.” Chrissy’s mouth was half-open, but she said nothing. I was getting an erection again. “She might even get excited looking at us. I mean, you’re so hot, looking at you would get anyone excited, even Mom.” I was trying to make light of it, sort of, but Chrissy was evidently getting very turned on by what I was saying. She was breathing rapidly and her face looked as flushed as mine felt. I seized the advantage: “It would turn her on to see you getting turned on. She’d see that your nipples were getting hard” – they were – “and she’d feel that her nipples were getting hard too.” I’d literally never once thought about Mom’s nipples, and it wasn’t a totally comfortable feeling. “Under her dress,” I elaborated. “That blue sundress that she wears. She’d be wearing it, with nothing underneath” – as far as I know Mom never went around without underwear, but whatever, this was a fantasy for Chrissy’s sake (only for her sake! I insisted to myself) – “yep, and her nipples would harden and poke through the dress as she spied on you. On us” – I corrected myself – “as she watched us, her two children, her two beautiful children, lying totally naked on the bed.”
Chrissy said “And she’d see your penis.” “Oh, absolutely,” I confirmed. “She’d be staring at my hard penis, and thinking about the time she saw it before, in the shower.” Chrissy’s hands had wandered down to her crotch and she had started to stimulate her clitoris. “She’d be so excited that she’d lift her dress and begin to rub herself.” Now I had to envision my mom’s privates, another thing I’d never seen, never thought of, never even wanted to see. Did she trim her pubes, like the women in Playboy? Shave them, even? I made a wild guess. “She’s got thick black hair down there, just like her daughter, her beautiful daughter.” Chrissy moaned; “I know, I’ve seen it. In the dressing room on the beach.” We hadn’t been to the beach in a very long time, but I wove it into the fantasy, momentarily proud of my cleverness: “She saw you in the dressing room and you were so beautiful she had to resist staring” – Chrissy let out a prolonged groan of pleasure – “and for the longest time she’s wanted to get a better look, but she never thought she’d get to see this much. Now she’s seeing everything, and it’s so hot that she has to rub herself just like you are. She has her dress up and she is masturbating watching you. And me. She finally gets to take a long hard look at my” – I stopped myself from saying “long hard penis” though I was sorely tempted; I would have cracked up and spoiled the moment – “at my erection.” Said erection was in my hands now and I was jerking it with a regular motion. “Ohhhh,” said Chrissy, “it’s such a beautiful erection.” “Yes,” I said, “and she knows it’s been inside her daughter. Lots of times. Her son’s prick goes into her beautiful daughter’s cunt” – I didn’t like that word, we’d been taught by our parents from a young age to use the anatomically-correct terms, but the sheer dirtiness of it seemed right here – “and it feels so nice.” “Mom wonders what it would feel like in her cunt.” said Chrissy. I very nearly lost my erection from the shock, both of the image conjured and of hearing Chrissy echo the rude word, but I picked up the thread. “Yes, and she puts a finger in, imagining it’s her son’s… my prick.” Chrissy slipped a finger into her wetness. I paused for a second, giving in to the sick excitement, stimulating myself until I felt I was as hard as I’d ever been before. “Oh, God, Alex, don’t stop,” cried Chrissy
I continued narrating the twisted fantasy of our mother spying on us as we lay there masturbating. There was a fair amount of repetition as I couldn’t make that much on the fly. It didn’t really matter; Chrissy was getting off on it, repetition or no, and I could tell she was getting close. I was too. It was at this point, though, that I said something totally unforgiveable. It just slipped out of me in the heat of the moment. I said, “She looks at Chrissy and Alex on the bed, masturbating, and thinks back to when she was young and used to masturbate with Uncle Rob.” Chrissy gasped, and started to shake. “Yes, but Alex’s prick is even more beautiful than Uncle Rob’s” – oh shit, I was going to come – “and thinking of that makes her come” – “I’m cummmmmming,” groaned Chrissy – “and she squirts all over the blue dress” – at this Chrissy squirted a surprising amount of fluid onto the towel, considering how much she had already produced earlier in the night – “as she watches her…” – I jerked my prick — “beautiful…” – jerk – “children…” – jerk – “her children, Chrissy and Alex… come… all… over…. Ohhhhhhhhhhh…” And at that, I sprayed hot semen up into the air and all over the bed, and the towel, and Chrissy, who was quivering in the aftermath of her own orgasm. I jerked my head guiltily in the direction of Chrissy’s door, half-expecting to see our mother there in a blue sundress watching us, but of course there was no one.
Still, I felt a sense of dread and shame. Never mind the idea of Mom getting off to us; post-orgasm, that was just about as off-putting as anything I could imagine. But far, far worse: I had spilled Mom’s secret to Chrissy, a secret I had no right to betray, a secret whose details I didn’t even know myself. Christ, Uncle Rob and Mom probably hadn’t masturbated together anyway, what the hell was I thinking? She’d told me the three of them used to play games; she was talking about the kind of stuff Chrissy and I used to do, surely. Not… not something like this. And anyway, it didn’t matter: the point is, I had brought up Uncle Rob’s name, and Chrissy was bound to have questions (although at the moment she was lying there looking half-catatonic, recovering from her orgasm). What could I answer without either lying or further betraying my mom? I turned my worries over and over in my mind until Chrissy, without a word, reached over and turned off the light over the bed, then lay down with her back facing me, inviting me to put my arms around her and join her in sleep.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/mht7y6/yes_we_did_get_caught_part_3_str8mfinc