Annie's Awakening - Part 1 free porn video

“My taxi will be here in ten minutes!”

My mother’s voice boomed through the closed bedroom door. It wasn’t locked but Mum knew from experience not to open it.

Hearing her voice and with his handsome face only inches above mine, my brother Mark paused in his thrusting, his long, thick cock; the only one I had ever known, buried deep in my tightly-gripping vagina.

“Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” I begged breathlessly. “I’m so cloooose!”

Indeed, I was close; as close to my beloved brother emotionally and physically as it was possible for a girl to be to a boy. But what was most important at that moment was that I was closer to a massive orgasm than I could bear to be without actually going over the edge and cumming hard on my brother’s cock. The glow deep within my belly had already started to ripple outwards into my chest, legs and spine. For this not to carry through into a full-blown climax was unthinkable, even with our mother knocking on the bedroom door.

Seeing the desperation on my face, Mark smiled broadly and resumed his thrusting with renewed vigour. The sounds of grumbling bed springs and thumping headboards filled my ears.

“Annabel?” Mum called.

“I’d better get on with it,” Mark whispered, pulling a face and increasing the pace of his thrusting.

“Suits. Me!” I gasped.

As the bed’s creaking grew faster and louder, I looked up lovingly into the eyes of the boy I adored, the glow within me growing more intense with every stroke. My chest began to tighten, and I felt the pressure in my bladder beginning to rise sharply.

“Nearly there?” he hissed.

Too close to climax to reply, I bit my lower lip hard and nodded.

“Then hold on Annie, here we go…” my brother croaked.

Mark’s thrusts became jackhammer fast and wildly erratic as he slammed himself into me, the head of his erect cock battering my cervix every time his hips slapped against my inner thighs. The ripples of heat in my belly became a wave which rose higher and higher.

“OhmyGod! OhmyGod!”

The whispered words burst unbidden from my mouth, urging my brother on to yet more powerful, even faster strokes. The pressure inside me grew stronger, my body tingling and trembling with rapidly increasing pleasure until finally, the wave crested over me and began to break.

As the pungent juices of a massively aroused-female body began to pour from me, wet slapping sounds from our conjoined groins joined the knocking and creaking that filled the room.

“Jesus Annie! Are you two humping again?” Mum’s muffled voice sounded exasperated. “Can’t you ever give it a rest?”

I was incapable of responding; my chest was so tight I could hardly breathe.

“Jesus!” she repeated. “I’m going downstairs.”

She wasn’t a moment too soon; seconds later the room I had grown up calling my own was filled with the wild, feral sounds and rich, earthy smells of a helpless nineteen-year-old girl in full, messy, unconstrained climax.

Seconds after that, her cries were joined by the animal grunts of a sweaty twenty-year-old boy emptying his over-active balls into that same girl’s pulsating vagina.

*

“You shouldn’t be doing it,” Mum said angrily for the umpteenth time as I entered the kitchen a few minutes later dressed only in my bath robe.

She was rummaging through the kitchen drawers in search of some item vital to the smooth running of her evening’s date. In truth, I wasn’t looking my best, my hair was tousled, my face and chest were flushed, my legs were unstable and a trickle of goo had started to run from my vagina and down my inner thigh. Mark was having a shower in the family bathroom upstairs, rinsing my pungent secretions from his body.

“I don’t know how you ever persuaded me it was okay,” she carried on in the same vein. “It’s not natural!”

“Mum…” I began but she cut me off.

“Oh, I know what you said,” she said in a sarcastic, lilting voice, pausing in her search for a moment. “You’ve said it often enough.”

She held up her hand and began to count on her fingers.

“One; you’re both over eighteen. Two; it’s not serious; you’re only having fun. Three; you’re not hurting anyone. Four; you’re on the pill so there won’t be any accidents. Full marks for your gullible Mother?”

In my case she could have added that I was head over heels in love, desperately wanted to marry my brother, have dozens of his babies and spend the rest of my life with him. Like so many girls, I hoped and prayed that Mark felt the same; that all he had said to me in bed and out had been more than just words.

But whatever he really felt about me, we had both agreed that Mum would find our relationship easier to cope with if she believed it was only physical and likely to be short-lived, so all I said, rather bitterly was.

“You’ve missed one.”

“Have I?” Mum replied. “Oh yes. Number five; it’s better to experiment in the safety of home with someone you trust rather than play the field and get a reputation like Caroline Buckley.”

That was another deliberate exaggeration I had used to try and keep Mum onside. My friend Caroline was known to be promiscuous and had a terrible reputation among the parents at school. It wasn’t entirely deserved but I knew it had a disproportionate effect on my mother. The last thing she wanted was for her daughter to be thought a slut too, so I had exaggerated Caroline’s sexual antics to make my own seem more acceptable in comparison.

It hadn’t been a decisive blow, and when I was with my friend, I often felt guilty about blackening her name, but there was no doubt the tactic had helped to soften Mum’s attitude towards my illicit and illegal relationship with my brother.

I crossed to the fridge, pulled out a can of Diet Coke and popped it open, perching on the kitchen counter as Mum went through her pre-date-panic routine; going frantically through her evening bag, searching for keys, cash and of course her phone.

I have to say, she looked great; dressed to kill in a very short red dress, white tights and red heels. As a style it was perhaps a little too young for her thirty-nine years, but with a slim figure like hers and with her shoulder-length, expensively-blonded hair, she could still just about carry it off.

With forty just around the corner, I couldn’t blame her for making the most of her well-maintained body and had to admire how ready and eager she was for her Hot Date.

“Just don’t let Mike see the two of you together, okay?” she said, looking up with a frown.

“We’re not stupid Mum,” I replied. “Anyway, we’re both out tonight too, remember?”

Mike was the new man in Mum’s life; they had met through one of the more reputable online dating sites. In his early fifties, he was attractive, well-dressed, affluent and as Mark and I had heard through the wall, good in bed too.

Unfortunately, he was also married, had two grown-up children and was in the midst of a mid-life crisis even we teenagers could recognise. There was little chance of the relationship lasting long term, but Mum seemed unable to recognise this. Mark and I both knew that tears were eventually inevitable, but right now she was being spoiled and having fun – and Mum deserved a bit of fun.

It was to be their sixth date and as such was all but guaranteed to end up in bed somewhere. As Mike’s house was out-of-bounds, that bed would either be in a hotel or, most likely, in our house as it had been three times before. The wailing, grunting and thumping noises that had emanated from Mum’s bedroom had made Mark and me cringe in embarrassment as we cuddled together in my double bed.

Separated from my Dad for eighteen months, it had taken Mum some time to regain enough confidence to get back into the dating scene, but once she had started, there had been no stopping her. For the last year she had been out weekly with her group of similarly divorced female friends and had gradually been eased back into the world of dating.

In the early stages there had been some significant errors of judgement, several of which Mark and I had also heard through our bedroom walls. They had left her puzzled, unhappy and on the verge of acquiring a reputation herself, but she had learned her lesson in the nick of time and her relationships had soon started to last longer than the single nights of passion that had kept her children awake.

The only good aspect of Mum’s early mistakes was that they had left her too distracted to notice that her son and daughter were developing our own longer-term relationship behind her back.

In fact, Mark and I had been sleeping together for over six months before Mum had found out about our relationship, and even then, we hadn’t been caught fucking. Having taken such great care to conceal our frequent sexual activities, in the end we were caught out by a simple kiss in an alleyway behind the multi-screen cinema in our town.

Well in truth it was a lot of kisses and a great deal of fondling too.

Unknown to us, Mum had been taken to the same entertainment complex by her date for the evening. As they were returning to his car after the show, he and Mum had dived down the same alleyway for some impromptu al fresco moonlit sex, only to find Mark and me wrapped around each other in the darkness.

It could have been a disaster, but we were saved by circumstance. At the time she spotted us, Mum’s back was pressed against the wall, her dress was above her waist, her knickers were around one ankle and her legs were wrapped around her date’s upper thighs.

From the noises escaping her mouth, there was little doubting where his cock was.

Just as she had seen us, we had seen her. I’m not sure which of us was more shocked but although nothing was said at the time, the discovery brought both embraces – and Mum’s new relationship - to a sudden, premature end.

The row that followed when we got home is not one I want to recall here, but having been caught in flagrante delicto herself, Mum was in no moral position to pass heavy judgement on her errant children. Besides, by the time we were all home, minus Mum’s date, Mark and I had dreamed up the ‘experimenting’ story which we have stuck to ever since.

Since then, Mum has grudgingly tolerated her children’s incestuous relationship. She has not however accepted it and certainly did not encourage it as this conversation, the latest of many, clearly demonstrated.

“You could have waited until I’d gone out,” she sighed in exasperation as I took another long sip of cold, fizzy liquid.

“It’s Friday Mum,” I replied.

It was all the explanation I supplied; it was all that was needed. During a drunken Mother-Daughter evening a year ago she herself had put the idea into my head, albeit unintentionally.

In order to preserve the fiction among the outside world - especially our father - that both my brother and I were single and unattached, we made sure we went out separately with our single friends at least once every week. Friday was the usual night for this and had been for a long time. I would spend the evening in pubs or bars with my school friends; Mark would do the same with his. Often the evenings would end up in a Club.

The problem was simple; I knew very well that I was not the only girl in town who found my brother irresistible and would like to end the evening with him in her bed. To my certain knowledge, several of my friends felt this way and on occasion in the past, had succeeded.

My virginity was by no means the only one Mark had claimed, but at the time it was happening, though Mark and I were still just ‘normal’ siblings and my hymen was still intact, my jealousy had known no bounds.

Now of course, our relationship was different; he and I were much closer emotionally and physically, but now there was more at stake. Though I in no way mistrusted his love, if and when temptation came his way, I wanted the foremost thought in my brother’s mind to be the extraordinarily satisfying physical relationship he had with me. This I hoped, no one-night stand could compete with. He would thus in theory at least, be that much less easy to seduce.

On a more basic level, I also hoped that enthusiastic sex right before leaving home would to some degree unload his rather impressive weapon, taking the edge off his ardour and reducing the threat still further.

So far it had worked; as far as I knew, Mark and my relationship was still mutually exclusive. But a girl can’t afford to be complacent, especially when dancing and alcohol are involved.

But temptation isn’t a one-way street. On some awkward occasions and only by accident, we had ended up in the same Club. Then, not only did I have to cope with watching the assaults on Mark’s fidelity made by my friends, I also had to withstand the attempts his friends made to get inside my own knickers.

Unless very drunk, I was seldom tempted and so far, had remained unsullied – well, almost. My love for my brother had been strong even before our relationship had become physical; now we were lovers too, it had become absolute.

A car horn blared on the road outside. Mum frowned as she hastily repacked her evening bag.

“I’ve got to go now. Just take care no-one sees you okay?”

“Mum…” I moaned.

“I mean it Annie. Now do I look all right?”

I took a long look at my mother. She looked simply stunning.

“You look great. He’ll love it,” I smiled. “Have a good time.”

Mum started to walk towards the door then stopped and turned.

“We might come back here tonight,” she said, looking rather sheepish.

“His wife’s at home this weekend?” I asked cheekily.

She ignored the jibe.

“Just make sure you’re not… doing anything obvious when he gets here.”

Her voice was more a plea than a command.

“Okay Mum,” I sighed as the taxi’s horn blared again. “I promise. Now you’d better go.”

She threw me a broad grin, turned and walked out of the room. A moment later I heard the front door close behind her. A moment after that I heard my brother’s footsteps through the ceiling above me as he got changed for his Boys’ Night Out.

*

It’s not unusual for a teenage girl to think that the boy who took her virginity is the love of her life, but it is unusual when that boy is her older brother.

The journey into Mark’s bed had been a long one, taking all but one year of my short life, but had been worth every awkward, uncertain step. It would soon be exactly twelve months since my brother’s erect penis had first entered my inexperienced teenage body – the first and only penis ever to do so - and our relationship had started in earnest.

God alone knew how many times we had made love since then, in how many positions and places. God alone could count the number of orgasms my brother had given me or how many times my body had been filled with his seed.

Suffice to say, I was inexperienced no longer. So how did this extraordinary thing happen?

Was it planned? No.

Was my brother taking advantage of me? I don’t believe so.

Did I feel I was being abused? Emphatically not!

Mark and I have always been close. Less than a year apart in age and strikingly similar in complexion and build, we have often been mistakes for twins. But we aren’t twins; Mark is a full eleven months older than me, a fact he used to tease me about mercilessly when we were younger, and he was a school year ahead. Even now, he insists on referring to me as his Little Sister, though there is only an inch between us in height.

From the very outset, Mum and Dad’s marriage had always been tempestuous; full of rows and noisy make-up sex. They had married young – too young perhaps and had come close to breaking up several times before they had finally separated for good.

Although it had never been said out loud, Mark and I suspected that both our conceptions had been either accidental or else misguided attempts to find something that would keep the two warring parties together.

If that had been the intention it had worked for a while, but as time passed, the enormous pressures put on a couple by two small children so close together in age began to bite. The number of rows had steadily increased and the make-ups grown fewer in number until eventually, it was clear even to their teenage children that their relationship would and probably should come to an end.

It wasn’t that they didn’t love each other, it’s just that two feisty personalities like theirs should not try to occupy the same house for any length of time.

Predictably, the effect on us, their children had been profound too. As their relationship slowly deteriorated, Mum and Dad’s constant arguing had forced Mark and me to rely more and more on each other for support than on our squabbling parents.

From before our teens, he and I had spent many hours cowering in each other’s bedrooms while objects downstairs had been thrown and words shouted that had no place in a child’s vocabulary. On those occasions I had been so upset that I had refused to go back to my own room at all and had inflicted my anxious presence on my brother all night, holding on to him for comfort and some kind of reassurance.

So, from an early age we had grown used to sharing a bed. For a long time, the physical closeness between us that developed was relaxed, welcome, familiar and even conspiratorial rather than the awkward and embarrassing relationships I saw between most of my friends and their siblings.

This relaxed, innocent, physical closeness continued even as we both went through puberty and into our teens. With Mum and Dad so fixated on loving or hating each other, Mark and I would often lie next to each other in one of other of our rooms for hours, snuggling on or under the duvet, talking about our days, what had happened to us and our friends, and trying to come to terms with our parents’ collapsing marriage.

Then as we reached our late teens, things began to change; we both began going on dates.

As happens with many sibling relationships, Mark detested the disappointingly few boys that asked me out and was surly and rude both to them and to me if they were around the house. In return, I was wildly jealous of his considerably more numerous girlfriends, spying on his phone and making them feel as unwelcome a possible if he brought any of his dates home.

As a result, my relationships did not last long, and I reached the age of consent an inexperienced virgin.

The first real indication that our relationship was different, came one New Year’s Eve. I was just eighteen and in my final year at what is still known as the Sixth Form College. Mark was in the year above me, taking a year out working and travelling before beginning his course at University.

Our parents were having one of their between-rows-let’s-pretend-everything’s-okay periods. These were not uncommon and were always accompanied by a lot of kissing, flirting and loud, embarrassing sex.

The whole family was going to a New Year Party with friends at a local hotel. The tickets had been expensive, and it was to be a very smart, black-tie event. Mum and I had gone into town to buy dresses for the night. Mum had chosen another of the short, tight red cocktail dresses that she loved so much but I had been treated to my first proper LBD – little black cocktail dress.

It was very short and very tight and, when I tried it on, it took all of Mum’s powers to persuade me that Little Annie with her remaining puppy fat looked anything other than absurd in it. I had very high heels on too, and my hair had been trimmed and styled, but still I felt awkward and out of my comfort zone as I tottered down the stairs to meet Mark and Dad in their tuxedos in the lounge.

“Wow! Annie you look amazing!”

The exclamation that escaped my brother’s lips when he saw me was unexpected, convincing and completely natural. Mark really had been amazed at how good I looked. I flushed pink with embarrassment, but deep inside me, something began to glow with unaccustomed pleasure.

Mum came downstairs shortly afterwards looking stunning in her own very short dress - inevitably red. Not surprisingly, all male attention turned immediately to her, but I still felt good. The moment in the limelight I had enjoyed had been genuine.

The party went well and ran on late. I danced and danced with all my friends, male and female, and still felt good despite being outclassed by one or two who had really gone to town.

To my surprise, I found myself getting a lot more male attention than I was used to. Several boys held me quite close as we danced, including my brother Mark who insisted on being my partner for all the slow dances ‘to protect my little sister from groping hands’ as he jokingly put it.

Although I was pleased to have his attention, as I watched the other girls being fondled and kissed in the low light, I was tipsy enough to wonder what it would be like if a boy’s hands were giving my bottom the same treatment.

Though tipsy himself, Mark’s own hands remained proprietorially on my waist and hips throughout.

By the time midnight came, Mum was really rather drunk and to my horror, she and Dad were practically undressing each other on the dancefloor. The embarrassment was almost unbearable. All of my friends could see them doing it; I would be teased mercilessly over the coming days or weeks.

When we got home, Mark and I went up to our separate rooms while Mum and Dad went up to theirs. Still pleased with the way I had looked, I undressed, pulled on my short cotton night gown, sat at my dresser, took off my make-up and brushed my hair before slipping into bed.

The room wasn’t exactly spinning as I lay there in the darkness, but I could tell I had enjoyed more champagne than usual.

Five minutes later it started.

Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!

I looked at the clock on my bedside table; two-thirty in the morning.

Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!

Mum and Dad were at it again. From their behaviour on the dancefloor, I should have known this was going to happen, but had been too caught up in the emotion of the evening to think clearly.

Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!

“Yes! Oh yes!”

Mum’s voice was low, coarse and passionate; the pace of thumping slow and measured. Though completely inexperienced in the world of penetrative sex, after long hours as a reluctant listener, I could tell this was not going to be a quickie; they were going for a marathon.

Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!

“Mmmm! Oh yes!”

I pulled my pillow over my head to try and block out the noise, but it was still there. I rolled back and forth trying to ignore it, but it was impossible.

Then I heard a soft rattle and my bedroom door opened. A familiar shape crossed the darkened room towards me and slipped under the duvet as it had so many times in the past, snuggling up behind me into our usual spoon - the position that made best use of the limited space my single bed allowed.

“Were you awake?” Mark slurred into my ear in a soft whisper.

“Yep.”

“You heard it?”

“Yep.”

“It’s awful,” he continued. “Are other parents so embarrassing?”

“Probably,” I chuckled.

I could feel his hot breath on the back of my neck as he snuggled closer, and the warmth of his bare chest on my back through the cotton of my nightgown. From the slurring of his words I could tell he was at least as tipsy as I was.

“You looked amazing tonight, Annie,” he slurred again.

“Don’t tease me,” I chided, blatantly fishing for another compliment.

“I’m not,” he insisted, his voice suddenly loud before continuing in a whisper. “I’m not teasing. You looked amazing. All the boys were staring at you.”

“You mean it?” I asked, fishing again.

“Why did you think I made you do all the slow dances with me? I didn’t want those grubby hands all over you!”

The thought of his little sister being fondled on the dancefloor might have brought out the gentleman in my brother at the party, but it had clearly also put another though in his mind. A moment later, I felt his hand stroking my side absently.

Along with his breath on the back of my neck, it felt very nice indeed. I sighed and relaxed my body against his.

Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!

“Mmmm! Yessss!”

The noises from Mum and Dad’s room continued.

“They’ll be crabby in the morning,” Mark whispered. “And tired.”

“Or they’ll be undressing each other over breakfast,” I added grumpily

“Either way, they’ll be hung over,” he chuckled.

“We’d better have a lie in then,” I smiled into the darkness.

“Suits me!

Mark adjusted his position to one in which we could comfortably spend the night in my little bed as we had done so many times before. One settled, the lateness of the hour and the champagne began to take their toll and, despite the increasingly noisy and passionate floor show coming from our parents’ room, I started to doze.

I don’t know how long I slept before I realised that my brother’s hand was no longer just stroking my side but had worked its way upwards and was gently cupping my left boob through my night gown. At the same time, I could feel his lips planting a series of tiny kisses across my shoulders and the back of my neck.

Slightly dazed and very sleepy, all that registered in my mind was how very lovely it felt. His hands were soft and gentle, his lips light.

I could feel my breast firming and my and nipple hardening beneath his fingers. Something vaguely told me that this wasn’t quite right, but the darkness, my sleepiness and the sheer pleasure of being touched in this unfamiliar but unthreatening way drove any uneasiness from my mind.

Mum and Dad’s sexual activities, if not over for the night, must at least have reached a temporary pause, because for a while the noises stopped. There was no sound to be heard other than the bedside clock ticking and my brother’s slow breathing behind me as he continued to shower my shoulders and neck with tiny kisses.

Confused, unable or unwilling to bring these very pleasant sensations to an end, I simply lay there with my eyes closed and enjoyed them. Up till then, my life had not been noticeably full of young male attention, so the evening’s event had been something of a pleasant surprise.

On top of that, to now have the undivided, physically close attention of my good-looking brother in this intimate but reassuring way, was icing on the cake.

The fondling, stroking and kissing progressed no further, but continued for a long time, making me shiver with pleasure. My few remaining reservations faded until eventually, I fell asleep in my brother’s arms.

*

Mark must have woken early, because by the time I opened my tired eyes the next morning, I was alone in bed. My head was fuddled from too much wine the night before, but I was very much aware that something unexpected had happened; something that had been very pleasant, but which was a little unsettling.

I padded downstairs around eleven o’clock in my short cotton nightie to find Mum and Dad in the kitchen getting brunch ready. As if their nocturnal activities hadn’t been enough, they were being nauseatingly close and smoochy, continually touching each other and making sexual references quite inappropriate for a daughter of any age to hear, let alone one only in the sixth form.

I helped myself to a mug of strong coffee then, mentally putting my fingers down my throat at their antics, went into the lounge to watch some TV and leave the two lovebirds to themselves.

As I approached the door, I could hear the low drone of the set already playing. I entered the room to find my brother Mark lying face down on the sofa, moaning softly, apparently in the throes of a hangover far worse than my own.

It was comical to watch; more so when Mum came in with a tray on which were a glass of water, two paracetamol and a mug of coffee. She placed them on a low table next to Mark who moaned again.

“You should know better by now,” Mum scolded him. “You’ll just have to try and sleep if off.”

“Thanks Mum,” he croaked without raising his head.

“Drink plenty of water. Didn’t you do that before you went to sleep?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he moaned again. “Something kept waking me up.”

He raised his head until only I could see his face then gave me a massive wink.

How I stopped myself collapsing in convulsions of laughter, I do not know. Until Mum had left the room, all I could do was bite my lower lip and grip my mug with both hands as hard as I could.

The moment she had gone, I hastily placed my coffee on the tray beside Mark, sat next to him on the sofa and the two of us began to giggle uncontrollably, leaning against each other for support.

Eventually our convulsions died down and a slightly awkward silence descended, as if neither of us knew how or even whether to mention what had happened in bed the previous night.

My head was full of questions:

Had he realised what he was doing?

Had he been simply on autopilot; too drunk to understand it was his sister he was fondling and kissing?

Or had it been something else entirely; something much deeper?

In the end, neither of us was able to make that decision because Mum and Dad came in and called us through for brunch, making any such discussion impossible.

After that, the day was so filled with Grandparents’ visits and New Year family meals, that it would have been impossible to find enough privacy even if we wanted to.

That night I waited in the darkness of my room for a long time in case Mark came in to join me, but he didn’t. It should have been a relief, but as I lay waiting for sleep to overtake me, the main emotion I felt was disappointment.

The same happened the following night. I began to wonder whether Mark had been so drunk on New Years’ Eve that he really didn’t remember how he had touched me in my bed. Perhaps it had been a casual instinct on his part and meant nothing.

I really didn’t want it to be that, as my disturbing, arousing dreams made very clear.

The night after that, I could stand it no longer. We were due to restart school in the morning and I couldn’t let the new year begin with so many questions in my mind. Once our parents were safely ensconced in their bedroom and their Sunday night antics had started, I slipped out of my room, crossed the landing and silently let myself into Mark’s bedroom.

The bedside light was on and he was holding a book but had clearly not been reading. As I approached the bed, he lifted the side of the duvet as usual to let me slide in. I did so happily, delighted at his unhesitating welcome and had soon taken my customary place, spooning against him, my back against his chest, my bottom resting on the top of his thighs.

“I thought you weren’t going to come,” he whispered into my ear as his hand began to stroke my upper arm.

“I thought you were avoiding me,” I countered.

“I wasn’t sure how welcome I would be,” he replied. “I mean after last time when I…”

“Shhh! It was lovely,” I told him with a smile, turning my head around to kiss him on the forehead.

“You’re not angry?”

“Of course not. You were sweet.”

Mark’s sigh of relief was so deep that it ruffled my hair. I could feel the tension leaving his body as my own relaxed closer into his strong masculine frame. The stroking of my arm resumed. A few minutes later the tiny kisses began to fall on my shoulders and the back of my neck once again.

Then the thumping noises from Mum and Dad’s room began.

“Oh God! Not again!” he moaned, exasperated.

There was a long pause in which the thumping became louder. Mark’s hand continued its stroking.

“Do you think they’ll split up?” I eventually asked.

Mark thought for a moment.

“It might be for the best,” he eventually replied. “They’ve been fighting and making up for so long I can’t remember anything else.”

Mum’s wailing voice could be clearly heard through two closed doors. Although I had heard her cries many times, for some reason that night they had a new and unexpected effect on my own body. A warm glow appeared between my thighs.

“They do get on sometimes,” I shrugged.

“That’s just sex,” Mark sniffed. “They need a lot more than just fucking to make their marriage last.”

“It’s lasted years already,” I reminded him.

“But the rows have never been this bad before have they?”

He was right. Maybe Mum and Dad should go their separate ways. But with the sounds of passionate sex ringing in my ears it was hard to picture that being a better result.

Mark must have felt something too, because his stroking fingers strayed as they had before, to my upper boob. As before, I held my breath at the first touch of his fingers but made no protest. In fact, I moved my arm and leaned back a little to give him slightly easier access.

It worked, but slowly. A few minutes later, my brother’s fingers had moved further across my chest until my whole, tiny, cotton-covered globe was nestling in the palm of his hand. It felt simply wonderful, even more so when he parted the hair at the back of my neck with his nose, breathed warm air onto my skin and began to kiss me there.

The thought that this should not be happening between a brother and sister simply did not occur to me. All I knew was that in Mark’s arms I felt secure, loved and – yes, I’ll say it, beautiful. I did not want the warmth and intimacy ever to end.

Emboldened by my response – or lack of it – Mark took the next hesitant step. Before long, I felt his fingers toying with my nipple through my night gown. I could feel it getting very hard as he nipped it and gently twisted it.

Few boys’ hands had been on my boobs before, and all of those had been clumsy groping behind the school cafeteria or in my friends’ bedrooms. Mark’s touch was expert in comparison. For a moment I wondered just how my brother had picked up the expertise he was using to please me and who he had practiced with.

Then I felt his hand slide slowly down my side to my bottom where his palm came to rest on my uppermost buttock. I froze in surprise. Mark paused, his hand very still on my sensitive flesh as if waiting. Then, receiving no admonition from me, he began to stroke my smooth cheek.

Instinctively I raised my knees; Mark’s hand slipped underneath my night gown and began to stroke the bare flesh of my bottom. From the underside of my left cheek to my waist and all around, his hand slowly and gently caressed my skin in a way no hand had done before.

At the same time, the kisses falling on my neck were replaced by a warm nuzzling as his nose buried itself in my hair and his hot breath fell across my shoulders.

I knew this definitely shouldn’t be happening, but it felt so good, it did not even cross my mind to try and stop it. Instead, I closed my eyes and relaxed into the amazing new sensations that were filling my young body.

I felt loved; I felt attractive; I felt aroused to a degree I had never felt before, a warm tingling between my legs growing stronger with every minute that my brother’s hand remained on my body.

I will never know just how far I would have let Mark go before stopping him because, to my severe disappointment, he stopped himself. Not the cuddling; not the spooning; they continued but for reasons unknown, the intimate fondling came to an end.

It was some time before my brother kissed me on the cheek and went back to his own room, leaving me stunned, highly aroused and feeling abandoned.

I lay in bed alone, puzzled, wondering what on earth had just happened, but with a powerful desire for it to happen again.

*

Of course, the warm companionship Mum and Dad had enjoyed over the Christmas break couldn’t last. The following Friday evening when they came in from meeting their friends, first at the pub then on to dinner in a restaurant, they were indulging in another of their interminable rows.

The shouting was upsetting even though I had heard it many times before so, as I had also done many times before, I sneaked into my brother’s bedroom and slipped alongside him under the duvet.

“Nice to see you Annie,” he whispered, kissing me on the cheek.

“They’re at it again. Can I stay with you for a while?” I pleaded.

“Of course. Here, snuggle up!”

Mark rolled onto his side and I spooned against him again, my back against his chest, my bottom nestled in its usual place at his hips. His upper arm went around my waist comfortingly as it had so many times before, and I felt his warm breath on my shoulders.

“Do you think they’re finally going to split up this time?” I asked anxiously.

“I don’t know,” my brother replied. “I hope not, but they’re fighting more and more. What’s it about tonight?”

“I didn’t hear properly,” I replied. “Dad said something about her flirting; Mum wasTo continue reading this story you must be a member. Join for FREE here.