Sara's Pregnant

Saaaa-ra. I always feel like I am asking for something. I Love the name Sara, and would beg her say it when we got back from OUR vacation, watching those red lips - Saa-ra - ending with her mouth open and its lewd meaning shared only by us. The obsession has only grown since we parted. To the world she is my sister, sweet and oh so innocent, the top of her head even with my eyes, brunette and darkening each year. I can just lean forward and kiss her forehead. Can anyone match my Sa-ra, especially the Sara that has driven my fantasies by absence?

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What is it about a hot summers day and the smell of sea water that brings it all back? The fresh smell of warm humid Seattle air and I can feel her skin, her body sliding on me, those sweaty Florida nights. So here I am, chasing my siren, watching the rocks emerge, their spray forms on my upper lip. I am sweating. Envy, want, weakness. My seraph, Sa-ra. My brow is wet as I wear this crown of thorns.

Here is my newest chapter.

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First. I didn't call ahead because there was no way of knowing what she'd say, and I really had nowhere else to go. I figured if I was just standing at her door she'd HAVE to let me in. It had been quite a while since I'd seen her. After Sara got married, I went to college and got in my own now dissolved relationship, and I tried to be with Sara. I flirted, played, called, emailed. We were close. We were still brother and sister I told her. We were normal I guess, in a dysfunctional sort of way.

I knew she was home, knew she was still married, and heard through mom and dad that she was pregnant. I got her address from them, feeding their hopes we may reconcile from a break for reasons they knew not. Pregnant. Fucking-A. I was so curious. What would my Sara look like pregnant?

Now, before I go on - and I will deny it forever, but a man can dream. Maybe she was ready to cross those little lines again? And for me dreaming was also remembering. But pregnant. Wow! I was trying to imagine her naked, pregnant and naked, what she would look like? Engorged breasts, hard nipples, and that perfect belly, sinking low hiding her pussy hairs down between her legs. Fat pussy lips. Mmmmm. It had been too long.

It was a building urge that started on our car trip, and I wished to fetch my Sara once again. But here is where deniability sets in. I mean, what else could I do but dream? Sara was married. Life goes on. So, absolutely, while I imbibed in these fantasies, my head thoroughly informed me of the 'reality.' Was she Happily married? Was she satisfied? In bed? Stop it!! These questions that lurked at the edges of my mind. Once you have sex with your sister, the erotic tension never leaves your relationship. I should know. And especially with my little Sara, the freest most erotic woman I had ever known, and with the most outrageous libido of any woman I had ever met. I mean, did she like to fuck! God dammit.

Stop!!

I could feel a wet spot forming in my pants as I walked up the steps to her house. No way she was fully satisfied.

At the very least I could SEE her, she was everything I desired, and could fulfill my visions that were fading. Her jerk-off factor was declining with my memory of her, and I needed it refilled. My heroin(e), my Sara, and I needed this fix bad.

DING

I knew that, if I stayed, I could lay in her guest bedroom and conjure up her vision freshly seen, imagining her -pregnant- young body as I stroked my stiffy. Would she do the same after seeing me?? All this is happening in a split second by the way, standing at the door of a completely normal suburban home while waiting for the door to open. My heart pounding a million times a second.

I was mapping a path to her bed, no doubt about it. But at minimum a bed that was separated from her by a door, a wall, a shower curtain? Mmmmm. Maybe I'd hear her and hubby do the naughty. How fantastic would that be? Jerking off to her moans.

I felt myself grow hard, danger. Great, she answers the door and I got a tent in my pants. Shifting my thoughts. Dripping is one thing but to stand there stiff. Do I hug her? Yes. That is normal. She will be opening this door, standing right there, a light flipped on.

DING.

I would touch her, more than once. How could I find a way to 'feel' her, which is a step more than a touch. A lingering caress. To hold my hand on her skin, a second too long. First she had to let me stay.

Calm.

I breathed. No more than ten seconds had passed.

When the door swung open, she froze like a deer. And what I saw bordered on obscene; all the innocence I ever remembered all that naughty lurking in the corners, and in all the right places. Sara, innocence at the edge of perverted. It was all in the mouth. A permanent pout and smile. That lower lip! I melted. My Sara. Sara!! Surprise in her eyes, a surge of adrenaline, and cheeks that went instantly red.

"Holy shit," My pregnant Sara exclaimed.

She looked so hot in a tight pair of stretchy jeans and red V-sweater.

And I had to be real careful.

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She looked a little tired. And, my oh my, pregnant!

In a flash as she turned, her swollen belly peeking out from under that red sweater. The jeans nicely stretched, straining the zipper and button. I knew she would let me feel her belly, and at the thought I was stiffening again.

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Well, after hearing my woes, she or I should say THEY let me stay.

I say 'they' because Mark had to agree to it. From the beginning he never liked me, and that had not changed. Jealousy? How could it be? He never knew. No way had she told him. It made me nervous the way he was looking at me though.

"What are you doing here?" her voice breathless, I loved the surprise. I saw her hand involuntarily reach, ready to hold mine. But Mark was there and that hand stayed dutifully by her side.

And I did get the room of my dreams.

A room right next to theirs, which was the guest room. Oh to be wealthy enough to have a guest room. I leaned against the wall that we shared. This was getting to be too much.

That evening I took a shower, a nice long slow shower. I loved the idea of being naked in the same house, rubbing soap across my chest. I began to fantasize about Sara naked, or walking about the house in a towel or nightie. Come in here, I thought. I remembered the times I had seen her, pulling back the shower curtain, the way she would turn toward me without covering herself. I began to lather up my crotch, all nice and slippery, feeling the warm water cascade down my back and began to stroke. Mmmmmm. I was so hard, if felt heavy in my hand.

I closed my eyes, picturing her body. My voice low mumbles, "Do you always make coffee naked." "Mmmmm, yes, early before anyone else rises." "Where is Mark?" "Gone already." Mmmmmmm. "Yes. Someone else is rising early too."

Sara kneeling down in front of me, looking at my cock, as I am slapping at her cheek with it. Her mouth on me, wrapping her lips around its head. Popping inside. Oh God. I can see it. The softness of her slick pussy, all tight and hungry. Her eyes looking up at me, her white teeth, red mouth. Licking her lips. Ahhhhh.

Fuck.

"Welcome back." I breath in my own voice, and began convulsing in the shower as spurt after spurt of cum sprayed into the shower.

Delicious. I rinsed and got out. I wiped the steamed mirror and looked, held my hands out in front of me. These hands had done just about everything with my sister. I stood naked and felt my cock rising again. Are you kidding me?

I wrapped myself in a towel - would she see me? Trotted off to my room. Nope. And got dressed in jeans and a T shirt, before going downstairs.

As I settled onto the sofa Sara caught my eye. That smirk. Was I imagining it? The corners lifted, and her eyes twinkling. What was she thinking?

She said, "Have a nice shower?"

You would have made it nicer. I felt myself blush, I looked away.

"Yeah."

Sara was still in jeans, but that would not be for too much longer. Her belly was really straining at the zipper and snaps. She was so fucking sexy. I kept peeking at her, and she was pretty much just ignoring me. Busy. Pregnancy does something to a woman's body. Her breasts were fantastic, pendulous. Her hair shined, her lips were swollen and red. She had this glowing look, ripe and full and I so wanted to run my hand over her hips.

I blurted out, "You're Pregnant! Mom told me. You look happy."

She just smiled and walked by.

When she came by again I said, "You look great." My eyes following a line down her body. She paused a beat, letting me look at her.

"Thanks." Her smile, the kind that forms a softening at her eyes.

My heart began to pound. "When you due?"

"Its my third trimester, like nine more weeks."

"Holy shit. Baby move much?"

"All the time," she had moved herself to the sofa. Her top was riding up leaving a bare swelling belly.

"Can I..." Oh god. First night. I wanted to.

She moved a little closer.

"Sure. It's moving a bit now." Her tone all innocent, she slid close. I lay the flat of my hand on her belly, and touched her soft bare skin. My fingers were trembling. I about exploded. Could she feel it? Was she? My little Sara. "Here, it's little foot is right here." She took my hand and slid it low under her belly, and beneath her navel. My fingers just grazing the edge of her jeans. Soft downy hairs running up her abdomen. "Feel it?"

I didn't. I wanted to and was sliding my hand along the edge of her jeans. She took my hand and pressed hard.

Ohhhh, this was too much. My fingers tucked just into her jeans. Her belly tight, the soft swell of her abdomen. Soft downy hair. And a ridge of hair up toward her navel.

"Yes. Yes. There." I could so totally feel it.

"Been kicking at me all day. So active. It makes my back hurt."

"It's so cool."

She was still smiling, enjoying my response. All I could think of was her smell, and the warmth of her skin.

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It was the next week, and we had all sort of settled into somewhat of a routine. Mark in his suit. He was one of those suit and tie control freaks, not warm at all like my Sara. He was was reading something, and most of the time I tried not to be there until he left, but at the same time I have to have my coffee.

Sara is not always up either, but this morning she was and made coffee. She was wearing a dark blue silk robe, light and soft, probably still in a nightgown. But I couldn't see it. Fantasies of her with nothing underneath. The robe opening lightly at her knees when she walked, swinging open and closed. I loved the way she looked and Mark did not even notice.

What I did was.

She brought a cup of coffee to Mark and in the process stepped beside me as she set it at the table. Right at that moment, I lay my hand up under her robe on her thigh. Soft, warm flesh. It was instinct, honestly. I almost did not realize I had done it.

I felt my sister jump, but she did not move away, at least not quickly. She made as if she were interested in something that Mark was reading, pausing, just standing there. By the time I realized what I had done, I was amazed at her not moving away from me. Mark had no idea. I was not going to mess up, and determined that this was all I was going to do.

But so long as she would stand there, I could not relent. I stroked her softly a little, did not move my hand from its spot at all. So there we were. That moment passed, her feigned interest ended and she moved to walk away. I felt her thigh tense before she took her first step. Dreading the loss of her touch my hand slid the littlest bit higher, I could feel the warmth rising along her inner thigh and then she was gone.

No one was ever the wiser. Her cheeks were flushed as she sipped her coffee leaning against the counter. Mark folded up his papers and rose to leave.

The door closed, the rush of wind as it sealed. Sara still sipping her cup and looking at me sideways. Eyes of daggers, but little else. A smile?

Was she mad?

I tried to ignore, but those eyes, fixed. Her smirk. She says softly, no anger, "You fire starter bad boy. Do you enjoy your divinity?"

"What?" I, playing innocent. But fidgeting now. Where would this go?

"You did that purposely didn't you?"

"It was habit." I looked down my face flushing. She leaned back and stretched, the robe opening ever so slight. A deep V formed between her breasts, nothing, bare flesh.

She took a sip of her coffee and set it down. "So who keeps you in line Jason? A Bitch or a Feline? I bet pussy still tames you good." Her words jarred me, and not asked as a question, rhetorical or otherwise. Upon delivery she rose and left the room.

I didn't get up, and in a moment she was back, as if nothing was said at all. It was in a blur. All she said was, "What are you doing today?"

I shrugged, "Looking for a job." It was like time had stopped and then started again.

"Mmmm." Smirk. She was thinking, pensive. Her cheeks glowing. Pregnancy or... "You want a warm up?" She held the pot out to me. It almost seemed suggestive.

"Sure."

With the pot in hand she walked up slowly, padding her bare feet and stood in the exact same spot as five minutes earlier. Turning herself to pour my coffee.

I could just about hear her thoughts, 'I dare you!'

As she poured I once again lay my hand right at the back of her thigh, just above the back of her knees. My hand trembling, I could scarcely breath. The warmth of her skin, soft as silk flesh.

She sighed. I felt a frustration in her sigh, loneliness, frustration. Connection. It was coursing between us, refilling us. Like a wind hitting limp sails. My hand sliding higher until touching the arch at her butt, and no panties. Her naked body covered in a silk robe. I knew every inch. I wanted to slide my hand between her legs, knew she was wet.

Her voice breaking in with a steady, "Jason." And absent encouragement, I let go, grasping my cup. I was trembling, she icy calm. Nothing on under that robe, I could not get that out of my head.

I sipped, "Nice and warm."

She swung around and seated herself across from me, "You didn't answer. A bitch or a feline?"

So it was a question.

"I didn't know it was a question?"

"Hmmmm." That smirk.

So I answered, "Well, 'she' started out as a Feline." I did not take my eyes off hers. Watching the color rise in her face. "Definitely. But a bitch can get the job done. As to your second question, YES."

Then silence and, "I got to get dressed," as she padded out the kitchen.

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It was stupid I know it was, and with every action there is a reaction.

Since I had now signaled my depravity, and unrequited (requited?) interest, she became distant. Not only that, she physically kept her distance.

At one point: "Nothing can happen while you are here?"

I stared at her like a bobble head doll. A 'Who me' puppy look, who had just despoiled the family meal.

"I'm serious. This morning was - NOT ok. And Mark was right there."

"I'm sorry. Really, it was like habit, I know that sounds stupid. But considering... And the way you were dressed. AND you teased me!"

"I wasn't dressed..."

"Exactly."

"...yet. Jason this is my house."

"I said I was sorry. Sorry. How many times you want me to say it."

"Till you mean it."

"Truth. I miss us."

"Jason."

"It just ended. You know. Out of the blue."

"Out of the BLUE. I got married!"

"Well, obviously. But, for me, it WAS hard. I mean, it is the kind of thing one needs to be weaned off of."

She smirked.

"You left me cold turkey."

"Not the way I remember it." We were suddenly silent. I knew our thoughts. Memories and images of us, and what passed between us. It was like a mutual flashback. If it had been a movie a million images would have been flashing on the screen. "So you my breast fed baby now? All lost without me." At that I stared directly at her tits. She blushed, "We did plenty of weaning. I gave you more than I should have." And a little pause, a little smile, "In fact, I weaned you a bit this morning didn't I?"

I met her eye, felt my cock jump.

"What you already apologized for." Her smile. "Or have you already forgotten?"

"These things take time."

"Well, try to behave. At least while Mark is around."

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Wean. We could wean. I turned over and over in my mind her words. 'Try to behave.' Try. Was this any level of permission, was there anything? I had no way of knowing. 'I weaned you this morning.'

That evening she curled herself on the sofa, watching TV.

Mark was sitting down but getting up all the time, wandering around the house. He seemed to always have something on his mind, fidgety. He had gotten used to having me around and that problem had passed entirely.

Sara's knees were tucked under her and her head lay on the back of the sofa.

I sat there in another chair with a perfect view of her. Turn my head one way TV, the other my Sa-ra. She knew I was looking at her, but ignoring me.

And what did I do? Fantasized. Letting my mind wander. That first night we shared a bed, peaking at her perfect body. My hand on her breasts. She was wearing a nightshirt, then in my imagination the clothes were gone and she was sitting on a chair with her legs wide, her delicious crotch wide open, pussy hairs, slit spread for me, her knees hooked on each arm rest. I mean, she had done this for me!

I could see her, completely naked. And now I was hard. My cock running along the zipper of my jeans. I needed to adjust. She would notice.

The urge growing. Heat, my heart. Naughty, desire, anticipation. How wrong it would be. She's Sara, she loves to be bad. I knew that about her. No way she changed ThAT much. Enough of US survived. Her libido. It was wild, wild to the hilt. God I could ride her. How do you fuck a pregnant woman? What would she taste like?

I had to move, I couldn't just sit there. I said, "You want something to drink?" She glanced at me, smiled with a nod. I rose, and as I went by leaned in, whispered, "I could use a little weaning this evening."

Absolutely no response, my heart in my throat. I brought her back some ice water. She, sitting there, in the exact same position.

And a moment later, she rose and left.

Shit. I'm such a fuck up. But then another moment, back in the same spot - in her robe! That little silk robe. I flushed. Her eyes darting for her husband's whereabouts, knowing her thoughts.

'What if he walked in here?' 'Where is he?'

Sara moved her hand to her front and squeezed the front of the robe between her breasts pulling it tight, then slid her hand down soft over her belly, and up again. Smoothing the fabric over her body, letting me watch her touch herself. I had made her horny. I knew it. I thought about going over and sitting by her, but decided it would be too much and it would be over before it began. Let her. Let her feel it. Her hand lay across her breasts, and in another moment, her legs sliding open, her robe parting. Fuck. Red panties, set against that deep blue robe, the passage up her thighs the fabric of her panties over her crotch. Not naked under that robe. She left on her panties. She knew how I love panties!

Oh Christ. Her eyes flickered over my way, a slight smile. She slid down the seat a little allowing the robe to rise higher, opening, one side lay at the side of her thigh. Her knee swinging in and out, opening and closing, giving me a view of her panty covered puss.

As she did this was watching around herself, ready to pull it all in should Mark come in. She tucked her hand into her robe, covering her breast and gave her nipple a tweak as her legs swung open for me.

It was better than her being naked, all imagination. I ran my hand over my crotch and rubbed lightly as I watched, drinking her body in. So delicious. Her eyes flashing to my hand, knowing my cock, the feel and weight, god How I wanted it in her mouth. Would she masturbate tonight? Would she cum for me? I could walk over there. Walk over. She would let me, but we both stay in place. I could picture her on my bed, legs wide frigging herself, fingers tucked inside. I wanted to open that robe and eat her, lick her wet juices right off those red panties, and pull her down on me. What would it feel like to have her sitting on me, on my lap bearing down on my cock. Her pregnant belly, squeezing her tits.