“I can’t say it out loud,” she said, turning a rather remarkable shade of red.
They were in his living room, relaxing on the couch as they often did on their weekly Thursday dates.
“Then how are we going to do it?” he asked, snide at first and then sitting next to her calmly, honestly curious.
There was a pause, both of them silent and thinking.
“I’ll email it to you,” she whispered.
He opened his mouth to protest, but didn’t.
“Then?” he prompted.
“Then you can tell me if you are into it or not. If you are then we meet up here and we-um-we do what I’ve explained in the email. We don’t talk about it, we go into the roles,” she said, looking suddenly upset, as if she was going to cry.
“That’s fine. Would it help-” he started but she moved and covered his mouth with her hand.
“It’s not really bad, I mean, it’s certainly fucked up, but it’s not dangerous. It’s been a big fantasy for a long time. One of those dirty dark fantasies that I use if I need to push myself over the edge. It just makes me feel vulnerable to talk about, so I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to do it. So read the fucking email and if you want to do it then we will,” she said in a rush, letting anger replace the fear.
He nodded, looking silly with her hand still over his mouth. She took her hand off of his mouth and moved over to him, straddled his lap, facing him.
“If you do it then I will be very grateful,” she said putting her arms around his neck and pressing her breasts together and right into his face.
The email came the next day. He was more curious than he could ever remember, and hard as he opened the message.
“I’m blushing while writing this. I’m wet from thinking about it. It is simple and stupid. I want to pretend to be brother and sister. I want to pretend we are young. Not little kids, but maybe in high school. You will be a little older. I’ll look up to you. You will be teasing and mean, but also caring. You know how older brothers are. We will be talking, nothing serious, and I will be sassy. You will tease me. We will wrestle. Roll around on your bed, which I’m not even supposed to be on. I’ll feel you getting hard as we struggle. My shirt will ride up. I will get embarrassed, but I will not want to lose the wrestling match. Your hands will get close to places they shouldn’t go. It is bad bad bad. Something forbidden we aren’t even supposed to think about. I’m scared you will accidentally feel how wet I am, like I can feel how hard you are. My shirt is almost pulled up to my tits. I’m not wearing a bra. You are going to see. We can’t go back if you see. Not like this.”
There is a space in the email. He was panting, his eyes going back over the paragraph.
“So I just came. That will tell you how intense this fantasy is. It also makes me feel horrible. And then hot again. And then guilty. So can you do this? I need it to be you because I need it to end with you shoving your cock into me and doing the worst thing ever. I need you to come inside of your little sister.”
His only reply was a date and a time.If you liked this story you can send me a tip via paypal.me/writingdirty