Chapter Text
CHAPTER 1:
Mother, 35: Danni: (Pristine Edge)
Oldest sister Shyla, 21: (Aidra Fox)
Younger sister Lindsey, 19: (Emily Da Vinci)
Youngest sister Dallas, 18: (Sasha Grey)
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Mark stared out the window at the clouds, his forehead pressed against the cold glass. The plane hummed around him, the cabin filled with the muted sounds of sleeping passengers and the occasional rustle of a flight attendant moving through the aisles. He'd been awake for hours, unable to settle, his mind refusing to quiet down.
Three months ago, he would have been curled in his seat, knees pulled up, avoiding eye contact with anyone who walked past. He would have been the shy geek in the oversized hoodie, the one who made himself small, who disappeared into the background.
But that was before Amsterdam.
The memory hit him like a physical weight - the brothel on the narrow canal, the red light spilling onto the cobblestones, the smell of stale perfume and sex that clung to the curtains. He'd been drunk enough to be brave but sober enough to remember everything.
The prostitute's name was Anna.
She'd been beautiful - strikingly so, with pale skin that glowed in the red light, high cheekbones, and full lips painted dark red. Her hair was a cascade of blonde waves that fell to her shoulders, and her body was slender but curved in all the right places. She'd worn a black corset that pushed her breasts up, creating a deep cleavage that had drawn his eye immediately, and a short skirt that showed off her long legs.
She'd led him upstairs to a room that smelled like lavender and desperation, her heels clicking on the wooden floorboards. She'd been doing this for ten years, she'd told him later. She'd seen hundreds of cocks. She'd taken men of all sizes, all shapes, all levels of experience.
When she'd pulled down his pants, she hadn't spoken for a long moment.
Just stared.
Mark had felt his face burning, the old insecurity rising in his throat. He'd started to pull away, to apologize, to make some excuse and leave. But then she'd reached out with trembling fingers and wrapped her hand around him.
Her fingers hadn't met.
"Dertig centimeter," she'd breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, the accent thick and musical. "Twelve inches. At least."
She'd measured him against her forearm, her wrist, her palm. She'd compared him to things she'd seen before, things she'd taken before. And she'd kept coming back to the same conclusion.
This was different.
This was exceptional.
"I've been doing this for ten years," she'd said, her professional mask slipping away. "I've taken hundreds of men. But this?" She'd shaken her head, her eyes wide. "This makes me feel like a virgin again."
Mark had felt something shift inside him in that moment.
The shy geek who'd always felt inadequate, who'd always known he was bigger than other guys but had never understood what that meant, suddenly realized he had something rare. Something powerful.
Anna had been nervous.
That was the part that still made his heart race when he thought about it. A woman who'd been having sex for money for a decade, who'd seen and done things most people couldn't imagine, had been nervous about taking him.
She'd touched him like he was something fragile, something precious. Her hands had shaken as she explored his length, his thickness, the veins that ran along the shaft, the head that flared at the end.
"I don't know if I can take this," she'd admitted, her voice cracking. "I really don't know. Ik ben bang - I am afraid."
But she'd tried.
She'd started with her mouth, her tongue working him with desperate enthusiasm. She'd taken him into her mouth, her lips sliding down his shaft, her tongue swirling around the head. She'd worked him deeper, her throat opening to accommodate him, her eyes watering as she fought her gag reflex.
She'd gotten about halfway down before she'd had to pull back, gasping for air.
Then she'd tried again.
And again.
Each time she'd taken him a little deeper, her face flushing darker red, her body trembling with effort. She'd held him there for as long as she could, cutting off her air, her eyes rolling back slightly as she fought the urge to pass out.
When she'd finally managed to take him all the way to the back of her throat, she'd looked up at him with wild eyes, her chest heaving. Strings of saliva had connected her mouth to his cock.
"I can do this," she'd said, more to herself than to him. "I can do this. Ik kan dit doen."
The sex had been a revelation.
She'd been wet before they'd even started, her body responding to him in ways it hadn't responded to anyone in years. But taking him inside her had been a struggle - a real, genuine struggle.
She'd started on her back, her legs spread, her breathing already ragged. He'd positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock pressing against her. She'd gasped as he'd started to push in, her hands gripping the sheets.
"God," she'd groaned, her back arching. "God, het is groot - it is big."
He'd worked himself in slowly, inch by inch. She'd been tight - tighter than he'd expected from a professional - but she'd been wet, her body producing copious amounts of lubrication as if it knew what was coming.
At six inches, she'd cum for the first time.
Her body had shaken, her hips bucking, her mouth opening in a silent scream. She'd gripped his arms, her fingernails digging into his skin.
"Don't stop," she'd gasped. "Don't stop. Ga niet."
He'd kept going.
At nine inches, she'd cum again.
This one had been harder, more intense. Her back had arched off the bed, her toes curling, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She'd made sounds he'd never heard a woman make before - guttural, animal sounds, like she was being undone from the inside.
"Almost there," he'd said, his voice strained. "Almost."
She'd nodded frantically, tears streaming down her face. "Yes. Yes. Ja."
When he'd finally buried all twelve inches inside her, she'd screamed.
Not a performance scream - a real one. Her back had arched off the bed, her toes curled, her hands gripping the sheets so hard her knuckles turned white. She'd cum again, harder than the first two combined, her body shaking uncontrollably.
Her composure had completely cracked. Her professional mask had shattered. She'd been reduced to a whimpering, gasping mess, completely undone by what he was giving her.
He'd held himself there, buried to the hilt, letting her adjust. She'd lain beneath him, her chest heaving, her body still trembling, her eyes rolled back in her head.
"Okay?" he'd asked finally.
She'd nodded slowly, still unable to speak.
He'd started to move then - slowly at first, then faster. She'd responded immediately, her hips meeting his thrusts, her body instinctively knowing what to do. She'd cum again within minutes, then again, each orgasm more intense than the last.
The sex had gone on for a long time. He'd lost track of how many times she'd cum. Four times? Five? More? Her body had been soaked with sweat, her hair plastered to her forehead, her makeup running down her face.
When he'd finally cum, burying himself deep inside her and filling her with his load, she'd screamed one last time, her body arching off the bed, her hands gripping his arms so hard she'd left marks.
Afterward, she'd lain there for a long time, her chest heaving, her body still trembling. She'd looked up at him with something like awe in her eyes.
"That was..." She'd shaken her head, unable to find the words. "Dat was ongelooflijk - that was incredible."
She'd reached down, touching her stomach, then back up to his face.
"You have a bitch breker," she'd said finally, the English words sounding strange in her accent. "A breaker of bitches. I will be walking funny for a week, ik zweer het - I swear it."
She'd laughed then, a weak, breathless laugh.
"But godverdom - goddamn. That was amazing. You have no idea what you have, jongen - boy. No idea."
Mark had left the brothel walking differently.
He'd carried himself differently. He'd looked at women differently. He'd realized that the way they looked at him - the lingering glances, the flushed cheeks, the sudden interest - wasn't just in his head.
He had something they wanted.
Something they needed.
Now, sitting on the plane three months later, heading back to the states, he could still feel that ego boost humming under his skin. He wasn't the shy geek anymore. He wasn't the boy who made himself small.
He was the man with the twelve-inch cock who'd made a professional whore feel like a virgin again.
But underneath the confidence, underneath the swagger, he was still processing. Still trying to understand what this meant. Who he was now. What he was supposed to do with this thing he'd discovered.
The plane banked, tilting as it began its descent. Mark looked out the window and saw the city below, spreading out like a map. He was going home.
To his family.
To Dallas.
He hadn't seen any of them in over a year. Dallas was his youngest sister - the one he got along with best, the one who was brilliant and clever and oh so cute and innocent. The girl next door who'd always been his favorite.
He'd missed her.
He'd missed all of them, really, but Dallas most of all. They'd always been close - the two youngest, the ones who understood each other without words. He was excited to see her, to catch up, to hear about her semester, to just be around someone who knew him before everything changed.
The plane descended through the clouds, the city coming into sharper focus. Mark settled back in his seat, his heart rate picking up.
Whatever was waiting for him at the airport, whatever Dallas had planned, he could handle it.
He had twelve inches of confidence now.
But mostly, he just wanted to see his sister.
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Mark exited the terminal, blinking in the harsh fluorescent light. The airport was a blur of movement - people rushing to gates, families reuniting, announcements echoing over the PA system. He stood there for a moment, disoriented from the long flight, letting his eyes adjust.
Then he spotted her.
Dallas.
She was standing near the baggage claim, her pale skin almost glowing in the artificial light. Her raven hair fell in dark waves to her shoulders, framing a face that was both innocent and knowing all at once. She wore a light sundress, pale blue with tiny white flowers, that clung to her petite frame and showed off her legs - pale, smooth, leading up to...
Mark caught himself.
She spotted him and her face lit up, her dark eyes crinkling at the corners. But there was something new in her expression. Something hungry. Something that made his heart rate pick up.
She ran to him, her sandals slapping against the polished floor, and threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest.
It started as a sisterly hug - the kind they'd shared a hundred times before. The kind where she'd squeeze him tight and he'd pat her back and they'd pull away and she'd ask about his flight.
But then it shifted.
She pressed her body against his, not just her arms. He felt it immediately - her breasts, soft and full, pressing against his chest. And something else - her nipples, hard and unmistakable, pressing through the thin fabric of her sundress.
She wasn't wearing a bra.
The hug lasted a second too long. A beat too long. He should have pulled away. He knew he should have pulled away. This was his sister. This was wrong.
But he didn't.
He breathed in her scent - vanilla and something else. Something muskier. Something that made his mouth go dry. Her fingers dug into his back, just a little too hard, possessive. Like she was staking a claim.
She pulled back finally, but her hand stayed on his chest, her pale fingers resting against his shirt. She looked him over - really looked him over. Her eyes traveled from his face down to his shoulders, his chest, his arms. Then back up to meet his eyes.
There was something new in her expression. Something hungry. Something knowing. Her lips curved into a mischievous smile - innocent face but something else entirely behind her eyes.
"Well big brother," she said, her voice dropping an octave, huskier than he'd ever heard it. "Britain seems to have done someone a lot of good."
Her eyes flicked down to his crotch and back up.
Deliberate.
Not accidental.
"I have been looking forward to you coming back so much!" She grabbed his hand, her palm warm against his. "Let's go!"
They walked to her car through the parking garage, the concrete walls echoing with their footsteps. She led him to a small sedan, unlocked it, and they got in. She started the engine, the car humming to life.
"So," she said, backing out of the space. "How was the flight? Long?"
"Yeah," Mark said, settling into the passenger seat. "Long."
"How's Britain? Did you like it?"
"It was... different," he said. "Good different."
She merged onto the highway, the car accelerating smoothly. "I bet. You seem different."
Mark didn't answer. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. She was focused on the road, her hands gripping the steering wheel, but her eyes kept flicking to him when she thought he wouldn't notice.
Every time she shifted gears, every time she checked the mirror, her eyes darted down.
To his crotch.
Mark noticed. Every time.
The air in the car was thick, the silence between her words heavy with unspoken things. She kept talking - about her semester, about her classes, about their sisters, about life - normal sister talk. But her mind was elsewhere. Her eyes kept drifting down.
He tried to look away, to focus on the road, to focus on anything but her. But his eyes kept drifting back. To the way her sundress rode up just a little as she drove, exposing more of her pale thighs. To the way her fingers tapped against the steering wheel, her nails painted pale pink. To the way her hair fell across her face when she turned her head.
He caught himself staring at her legs and looked away, flushing.
This was his sister.
He shouldn't be noticing her body. He shouldn't be noticing the way her nipples pressed against the fabric of her dress. He shouldn't be noticing the way she smelled - vanilla and musk and something that made his mouth go dry.
But he was.
And the worst part was, he didn't want to stop.
The Amsterdam ego boost hummed under his skin, making it harder to care. He knew what women saw when they looked at him now. He knew what that look in their eyes meant. He knew what they wanted.
And Dallas was looking at him like that.
She exited the highway and drove through the streets of the college town, the car winding through tree-lined roads. They pulled up to her apartment building - a nice complex near campus, brick buildings with manicured lawns.
They got out and walked to the entrance. The elevator ride was silent, the mirrors reflecting both of them as they stood side by side. She stood just a little too close, her shoulder brushing his arm. He could feel the heat coming off her body.
"My roommates are gone," she said as the doors opened. "Until Sunday."
She said it like it meant something.
They walked up the stairs to her apartment, and Mark found himself watching her legs as they climbed - pale, smooth, leading up to...
He caught himself again.
This was wrong. This was his sister. He shouldn't be thinking about what was under that sundress. He shouldn't be imagining what she looked like naked. He shouldn't be wondering if she was as wet as Anna had been.
He knew what that look in her eyes meant. He knew what she wanted. And part of him - a part he didn't want to admit - wanted to give it to her.
They reached her door and she unlocked it, pushing it open.
The apartment was quiet, lived-in. Books everywhere - stacks on the floor, piles on the coffee table, more spilling off the shelves. Half-empty coffee cups sat on every surface, some with dried rings around the rims. A blanket was draped over the couch, soft and worn. It smelled like her - vanilla and old books and something floral.
"Come in," she said, gesturing inside. "Make yourself at home."
Mark stepped into her apartment, his heart hammering against his ribs. The air inside was thick with possibility. The shy geek was still in there somewhere, still nervous about what came next. But the stud - the one who'd discovered his power in a brothel in Amsterdam - was ready.
Dallas closed the door behind them, the lock clicking into place with a sound that seemed impossibly loud in the silence. She leaned back against it, watching him with those dark, knowing eyes. Her sundress clung to her petite frame, the fabric outlining the curves of her body, the hint of her nipples pressing through the thin material.
"You can sit anywhere," she said, her voice dropping lower. Huskier. "Or we can go straight to my room."
Mark stood there, frozen. The shy geek in him wanted to sit on the couch, wanted to talk about her semester, wanted to pretend this was normal. But the stud knew there was nothing normal about this.
Dallas pushed away from the door and walked toward him, her sandals silent on the carpet. She stopped just inches away, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off her body. Close enough that he could smell her – that vanilla and musk smell again that made his cock twitch in his jeans.
"Or," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "we can stay right here."
Her hand moved to his chest, her pale fingers resting against his shirt. She looked up at him, her dark eyes hungry, her lips curving into that mischievous smile.
"Your choice, big brother."
Mark swallowed hard. This was his sister. This was wrong. This was the line he wasn't supposed to cross.
But as he looked down at her - at her pale skin, her raven hair, those knowing eyes - he found himself not caring.
He'd crossed lines before. He could cross this one too.
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The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick. Mark could hear his own heartbeat hammering against his ribs. Dallas watched him, her dark eyes knowing, her lips curved in that mischievous smile.
"You're staring at me," she said finally.
Not accusing. Just stating a fact.
Mark flushed. "I'm not."
She laughed, soft and knowing. "You've been staring since the airport."
She moved closer, her hand moving to his thigh. Just resting there. Mark tensed but didn't pull away.
Her hand stayed on his thigh, warm through his jeans. She looked up at him, her dark eyes wet.
"I've been waiting for this," she said. Her voice cracked slightly. "For you to come back. For you to..."
She didn't finish. She didn't need to.
Mark opened his mouth to speak, to say something - anything - to stop this. "We shouldn't," he tried to say. "You're my sister."
But the words wouldn't come.
Because he wanted this too.
She made her move. Not a lunge. A slow, deliberate press forward. Her lips pressed against his, soft at first, then harder. Her tongue slid into his mouth, exploring, tasting.
Mark didn't push her away.
He kissed her back, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer. The kiss deepened, her fingers tangling in his hair, his hands sliding up her back. Something inside him crumbled. The last barrier. The point of no return.
They pulled apart from the kiss, both breathing hard. Her hand slid up his thigh, slow and deliberate. Her fingers traced the outline of his cock through his jeans, and she gasped.
Her breath caught. Her eyes widened.
"I knew it," she whispered. "I knew you'd be big."
Mark looked at her - at her pale skin, her raven hair, those dark, knowing eyes. He should say something. "We shouldn't." "This is wrong."
But the words wouldn't come.
He realized he didn't want to stop this.
He wanted this. He'd been wanting this without admitting it.
Dallas's hand moved again, her fingers pressing against the fabric, exploring the length and thickness of what lay beneath. She bit her lower lip, her flush deepening.
"God," she breathed. "I've been imagining this for months."
Mark swallowed hard. This was his sister. This was wrong. This was the line he wasn't supposed to cross.
But as he looked down at her - at her pale skin, her raven hair, those knowing eyes - he found himself not caring.
The shy geek who'd always played by the rules was gone. The man who'd discovered what he could do in Amsterdam was in charge now.
"Show me," he said, his voice rough. "Show me what you've been practicing."
Dallas's eyes lit up. She dropped to her knees in front of her brother, her hands moving to his belt.
"With pleasure," she said, her lips curving into that mischievous smile. "Big brother."
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Her hands worked his belt, then the button, then the zipper. She pulled his pants and boxers down together in one smooth motion. His cock sprang free, already nearly hard, slapping against his stomach with a wet sound.
Dallas stared at it for a long moment, her dark eyes wide. Her hands shook slightly, her breath catching. She looked at his cock like it was something precious - something she'd been searching for. She reached out with trembling fingers, trying to wrap her hand around him. Her fingers didn't meet.
"Jesus," Mark breathed.
She didn't respond. Her fingers traced his length from base to tip, exploring his thickness, the veins running along the shaft. Her thumb brushed over the head, spreading the precum that oozed from the slit. She looked up at him, her dark eyes hungry, her lips parted slightly.
She lowered her mouth to his cock, her lips sliding over the head, her tongue swirling around it. Mark moaned. The sensation was incredible - wet and hot and perfect. She started taking him deeper, inch by inch, her throat opening to accommodate him. Her eyes watered, her face flushed dark red, but she kept going. She was working for this, forcing herself lower, her body trembling with effort.
Six inches. Seven. Her brow furrowed, concentration etched across her face. Eight inches. Nine. A choked sound escaped her throat, muffled by the cock stuffing it. Ten inches. Eleven. Her nostrils flared, desperate for air that couldn't come. Finally, she took the last inch - her lips pressed against his pubes, all twelve inches buried in her throat.
Mark stared down at her, his heart hammering. No one had done this before. Not in Amsterdam, not ever. Out of all the women he'd been with since Amsterdam, none had taken him this far. How could his innocent little sister?
She held him there, buried to the hilt, cutting off her air completely. Her face turned darker red, then purple at the edges. Her body started to tremble violently, her hands gripping his thighs for support, knuckles white. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes, rolling down her flushed cheeks. Her throat convulsed around him, retching reflexively, the muscles spasming as her body fought to expel the intrusion. But she didn't pull back. She swallowed against him, forcing her throat to relax, forcing herself to endure.
Seconds ticked by. Five. Six. Seven. Her eyes started to roll back, her lids fluttering. She was on the verge of passing out.
She pulled back suddenly, gasping for air, her body heaving. Retching. Coughing. Saliva dripped from her chin, thick ropes of it connecting her mouth to his cock. Strings of it hung from her lips, swaying with each ragged breath. She looked up at him, her eyes unfocused, tears streaming down her flushed face, mascara starting to smear beneath her lashes.
"Impressed, big brother?" she asked, her voice wrecked, scraped raw.
His balls pushed out a dollop of precum in response. She lapped it up eagerly, her tongue swirling around the head, collecting every drop.
"God, you taste good," she breathed.
Then she went back to work with renewed vigor. Bobbing her head faster, worshipping his cock with her mouth and tongue, her hands fondling his balls. It was amazing watching her slender throat swell each time she impaled herself, the outline of his cock visible beneath her skin. The wet gluck gluck gluck sounds echoed through the quiet apartment, obscene and intoxicating, mingling with her muffled moans and his labored breathing.
Mark realized he'd just been receiving, letting her do all the work. He reached under her dress, lifting the hem, and exposed her panties - delicate cotton, soaked through with her arousal. He pulled them aside, revealing her pussy, and slid a finger in.
She groaned around his cock, the vibration sending pleasure through him.
She was tight. Tighter than he'd expected. He slid in a second finger, feeling her stretch around him. She groaned louder, her hips bucking against his hand.
"Christ, you're tight," Mark said, sliding in a third finger.
She pulled back slightly, gasping, her hand still working his shaft. "I've been training myself," she said, her voice ragged. "Stretching. Every night. Getting ready for you."
He slid in a fourth finger, and she keened around his cock, her body trembling. She was taking it, but it was a stretch - she wasn't loose, she was tight but willing. She'd trained herself to relax, to open up, but she was still snug around his fingers.
Usually he had to go slow the first time with a girl - he was too big, too thick. He had to wait until they stretched out. But Dallas had clearly been preparing. She was tight, but she could take it.
As he worked her gushing pussy, he started humping his hips to meet her mouth. Small thrusts at first, testing. Then deeper. Harder. Soon he was fucking her throat in earnest, his hands tangled in her dark hair, holding her in place as he pistoned his hips.
Mmph. Gluck. Gack.
The sounds were obscene - wet, rhythmic, relentless. Her throat bulged with each thrust, her eyes watering afresh, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. But she took it. She wanted it. Her dripping pussy clenched around his fingers with each plunge, her arousal coating his hand.
"Gonna -" she tried to say, the words garbled around his cock.
He didn't stop. Couldn't stop. The sensation was too intense - her throat convulsing around him, her tongue working desperately, her muffled moans vibrating through his shaft.
Finally, mercifully, he slowed. Pulled back until just the head remained in her mouth.
"Are you ever going to cum?" she asked, panting, her voice destroyed. "I want a belly full before we head upstairs." She squeezed his nuts possessively, her grip firm. "And I know these babies are going to give it to me."
Mark grinned down at her, his chest heaving. "Keep sucking and you'll get more than you bargained for."
He knew his load was massive - one wad made most men's look pathetic. His balls produced sperm at an astonishing rate and fired it out like a fire hose. Women went crazy for it.
She went back to work, and he quit holding back. He felt his balls start churning, tightening. His cock swelled even bigger, the head flaring. She felt it too and pulled back, leaving just the tip in her mouth, her hand wrapping around the shaft, stroking rapidly. She wanted to taste every drop.
The first blast fired into her mouth, thick and hot. The sheer volume surprised her, but she swallowed like a pro. Blast after blast, her throat working frantically to keep up, like someone chugging a bottle of soda. She didn't miss a drop. Other girls couldn't have handled this volume - they'd have had it spraying everywhere, choking and sputtering.
When she finally pulled off, she was grinning, her lips swollen and wet. "I knew you'd taste good."
Mark was drained, but his cock was still hard, ready for more. She stood up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and grabbed his cock. She led him to the bedroom by it, her hand possessive, like she was staking a claim. They walked up the stairs, and he followed, his heart hammering against his ribs. Mark could hear his own pulse roaring in his ears.
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In the bedroom, she turned to face him. Her hands went to the straps of her sundress, but they were trembling. She fumbled with the tie at her shoulder.
"Let me," Mark said quietly.
He untied the knot, and the thin cotton slid down her body, pooling at her feet. She stood before him in just her soaked panties, pale skin luminous in the afternoon light filtering through the blinds. Her body was slight - narrow hips, small breasts, the faint dusting of freckles across her collarbone. Between her legs, a glistening, shaved mound.
She hooked her thumbs in her underwear and pushed them down, stepping out of them. Naked now. Vulnerable. Her hands hovered at her sides, like she didn't know what to do with them.
"I've imagined this," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "For months. Every night." She met his eyes. "I'm ready, Mark. I've been ready."
She climbed onto the bed and lay back against the pillows, her legs falling open. An invitation. A surrender.
Mark crawled onto the mattress, settling between her thighs. He lowered himself, his cock resting against her mound, hot and heavy. He rubbed the head up and down through her folds, coating himself in her wetness. She was soaking. Had been soaking since the airport, probably. Maybe longer.
"Tell me you want this," he said, his voice rough. "Tell me you want your brother to fuck you."
Her eyes flashed. "I want this. I want you. I want my big brother to fuck me."
He positioned himself at her entrance. The head of his cock pressed against her opening, and she sucked in a breath.
"Look at me," he commanded.
Her dark eyes locked onto his.
He pushed forward.
She gasped, her back arching off the bed, her hands flying to his shoulders. Her nails dug into his skin. He watched her face closely - the flicker of discomfort, then wonder, then pleasure. She was tight. Tighter than he'd expected, even after fingering her. Whatever she'd used to train herself, it hadn't been as thick as him.
"More," she breathed. "Give me more, big brother."
He obliged. Inch by inch, he fed his cock into her, feeling her stretch around him, feeling her walls yield and cling. Four inches. Six. Eight. Her breath came in short bursts now, her chest heaving, her small breasts bouncing with each inhale.
Ten inches. Eleven. He felt resistance - her cervix, barring the way.
"Relax," he murmured. "Let me in."
She exhaled sharply, and he pushed past the barrier. Twelve inches. Buried to the root.
Her eyes rolled back. Her mouth opened in a silent cry. Her entire body seized, trembling violently beneath him.
"Oh god," she choked out. "Oh god oh god OH -"
She came. Just from taking him. Her pussy clamped down around his cock, pulsing, gripping, milking. He held still, letting her ride the waves, watching her face contort in ecstasy.
When the tremors faded, she blinked up at him, dazed. A laugh bubbled out of her throat.
"Better than I imagined," she said. "So much better."
He started to move.
Slow at first. Drawing back until just the head remained inside her, then sliding forward again. Watching her face with each thrust. Learning what made her gasp, what made her moan, what made her claws rake down his back.
"Faster," she demanded. "Harder. Fuck me, big brother. Really fuck me."
He complied. Bracing his hands on either side of her head, he began to piston his hips. Driving into her with force. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with her cries and his grunts. Juice squirted out around his cock with each impact, soaking the sheets beneath them.
"Yes! Yes! YES!" She wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles at the small of his back, pulling him deeper. "Right there! Don't stop! DON'T STOP!"
Another orgasm crashed through her. Then another. She was insatiable, greedy, her body seizing and releasing in an endless cycle of pleasure. Sweat gleamed on her pale skin. Her dark hair plastered to her forehead. Her voice grew hoarse from screaming.
After ten minutes, she pushed at his chest.
"Wait - wait - I want to be on top."
He pulled out with a wet slurp and flopped onto his back. She scrambled atop him, straddling his hips, his cock jutting up between them like a pillar. She grasped him, aligned him with her entrance, and sank down in one fluid motion.
Twelve inches vanished inside her. Her back bowed, her head thrown back, a keen tearing from her throat.
"Oh fuuuuck," she moaned. "So deep. You're so deep inside me, big brother."
She started to ride.
Her hips swiveled and rocked with surprising skill. Where had she learned this? The thought flickered through Mark's mind and disappeared. It didn't matter. All that mattered was the grip of her pussy, the sway of her small breasts, the bitten-lip concentration on her face.
She rode him for thirty minutes. Thirty minutes of grinding and bouncing and clenching. Orgasm after orgasm rolled through her, each one seemingly stronger than the last. Mark gritted his teeth, fighting his own release, determined to last, to give her everything she'd been waiting for.
Finally, her movements grew sluggish. Her thighs trembled from exertion. Sweat dripped from her chin onto his chest.
"Mark," she panted. "Cum for me. I want to feel it. Inside me."
He flipped her onto her back without withdrawing, his cock never leaving the velvet grip of her cunt. He loomed over her, drinking in the sight of her - flushed and wrecked and beautiful.
"Asking your brother to cum inside you?" he growled. "Such a dirty little sister."
"The dirtiest," she agreed, her voice shredded. "Only for you. Only ever for you."
He started hammering into her. Long, punishing strokes. The bedframe knocked against the wall. The headboard banged a frantic rhythm. Her moans pitched upward, climbing toward something monumental.
"I'm close," she gasped. "I'm so close - cum with me - PLEASE -"
He let go.
His balls tightened. His cock pulsed. Hot spurts erupted from him, flooding her insides, painting her walls. She shattered at the same moment, her back bowing off the mattress, a scream ripping from her throat. Her pussy clamped down, milking every drop from him, greedy even now.
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They collapsed together, tangled limbs and heaving chests. Mark rolled to the side, his softening cock slipping free with a trickle of cum. Dallas lay beside him, unmoving, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Silence settled over them. Then—
Soft, hiccupping sobs.
Mark turned his head. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, tracking down her temples into her hair.
"Dallas?" Alarm spiked in his chest. "Did I hurt you? Are you—"
She shook her head, a watery laugh escaping her. "No. No, it's not—I'm not—" She took a shaky breath. "I've wanted this for so long. Imagined it. Prepared for it. And now it's real, and you're here, and I—"
She dissolved into tears again.
Mark gathered her against his chest, one hand stroking her sweat-damp hair. He didn't fully understand. But he understood enough. She'd carried this secret, this longing, for months. Alone. Waiting. And now it was finally happening. The release was overwhelming.
"I'm here," he murmured against her temple. "I'm not going anywhere."
She clutched him tighter, her tears soaking his chest. Gradually, the sobs faded to sniffles, then to silence. Her breathing steadied. Her grip loosened.
They lay tangled together in the cooling sheets. Dallas curled against his side, her head resting on his chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his sternum. Mark stared at the ceiling, his heart gradually slowing, his mind churning.
"We shouldn't have done that," he said finally.
She laughed softly against his skin. "We're past 'shouldn't,' Mark. Way past. We did it. And I'm not sorry." She propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at him. "Are you?"
He considered the question honestly. "No."
"Good." She settled back against him. "Because I'm going to want to do it again. Multiple times. Starting as soon as I recover."
He stroked her hair absently, still processing. The magnitude of what had just happened. His sister. His youngest sister. Writhing beneath him. Coming undone around him. Screaming his name.
"Dallas," he said, his voice low. "Where did this come from? I mean—I've always thought you were beautiful. But it never occurred to me to..." He trailed off. "And I certainly never thought you'd want..."
She shifted, tilting her head up to meet his eyes. That familiar glint sparked in their depths—mischievous, knowing, hungry.
"That, big brother," she murmured, "is an interesting story."
Her lips curved into a smile. She nestled deeper against his chest, and within moments, her breathing evened out into sleep.
Mark lay awake a while longer, staring at the ceiling, processing. Tomorrow, he'd demand answers. Tonight, he let the questions fade into the warmth of her body against his.
Sleep claimed him eventually, his sister in his arms, her secrets still unfolding.