tagIncest/TabooStocking Stuffers

Stocking Stuffers

byCal Y. Pygia©

"Do you think Mom and Dad know?" Jennifer asked me.

Despite the gravity of our situation, I had to repress a chuckle. My sister's tone, like her face, was so earnest! However, as I considered her question, I became more somber. "I don't know," I had to admit.

"Do you think they suspect?"

Again, I considered her question. It was one that I'd asked myself enough times during the past six months that Jen and I had been lovers. Again, I had to admit, "I don't know."

Although my answers were honest, my ignorance seemed to irritate my sister. She frowned, a little angrily, I thought. "What do you know?" she asked, sarcasm edging her voice.

We were sitting close, and I leaned forward. The tip of my nose brushed hers. Our lips touched. We kissed. Our mouths opened, and our kiss deepened, becoming wet. I took one of her soft-firm breasts in my hand. "I love you," I reassured her.

After a moment, Jen retreated, taking my hand off her tit. "We can't go on like this," she said.

"You want to go to my room?" I joked.

Jen was not amused. "It's wrong."

"No, it's not."

"It's incest, Brad."

"So?" Sitting in my sister's bed, wearing nothing while she was dressed in only her bra and panties, I'd been half-erect. Since she'd raised the question of whether our parents were aware of our lovemaking, however, I'd become flaccid again. Talking about one's parents in the same sentence as sex has such an effect, especially when one's girlfriend also happens to be one's sister. As to the subject of incest, we'd already been through the whole sordid subject several times. Jen knew as much about the matter as I did. We'd educated each other, using the library, the Internet, and other sources. Feeling like a professor, I reminded my sister of our findings concerning the topic:

"In ancient Egypt, among the pharaohs, siblings married and had children together. In turn, their children did likewise. Hawaiian royal families also routinely engaged in incest, as did the South American Mixtec tribe and Europe's Hapsburg family. In the United States, first cousins can marry. In Greek and Norse mythology, the gods and heroes have sex with their brothers and sisters. Incest also occurs among King Arthur's knights of the Round Table and their female relatives. Even the Bible mentions incestuous relationships. Lot's sister Micah marries her uncle Nahor, and Lot's daughters have sex with their father, becoming the mothers of Moab and Ben-Ammi. Abraham marries his half-sister Sarah. One of Abraham's sons, Isaac, weds his second cousin Rebekah. Esau has two cousins among his many wives, and Jacob marries Rachel and Leah, his uncle Laban's daughters. His son, Judah impregnates his daughter-in-law Tamar, fathering the twin Perez and Zerah. Amran marries his aunt Jochebed, and they have Aaron and Moses. God himself orders Zelophehad's five daughters to marry within their clan, so they marry cousins born of the extended family of their father."

Jen acknowledged these facts with a nod. "I know." She herself had contributed half the information I'd mentioned as a result of her own research into incest. "But that doesn't make it right."

"What's wrong with it?"

"I'm your sister, Brad!"

"Yeah? So?"

"A brother and a sister don't fuck each other."

"Yes, they do."

"Well, they shouldn't."

I rolled my eyes, sighing. Jennifer is lovely, but, like any other woman, even at eighteen, she's exasperating at times. We'd been over and over this familiar territory, having debated this issue four or five times already. It always ended the same way--eventually. Jen decided that it was okay, after all, to have sex with her brother, and we'd resume our more than brotherly-and-sisterly relationship. She just needed reassurance. Despite her intellectual understanding that incest was not morally wrong, she still believed, deep in her heart, that there was something wrong about it, that not only was it taboo but that it also should be forbidden. She still had guilt feelings. Once again, exercising all the patience I'd accumulated over the years as my sister's sibling and, more lately, as her lover, I explained to her that all her concerns were needless. "You just feel guilty because, according to society--the society of our day and age, at least--incest is considered a no-no, and we're taught that it's immoral and sinful."

"It's illegal, too," Jen reminded me. "At least, our kind of incest is illegal--the kind between a brother and a sister."

"Some brothers and sisters are just closer than others," I argued. "They become more than just siblings, more than just friends."

"They don't fuck each other."

"Some do." Our conversation was starting to go round and round in circles. "Look," I said, "I'm going to my room. You think it over, and if you want to stop, we'll stop. If not, knock on my door, and I'll fuck your brains out."

She looked miffed at my choice of words. Apparently, it was all right for her to use the word "fuck" to describe our lovemaking, but it wasn't all right for me to do so, "We'll make love," I corrected myself.

"It's wrong," she muttered.

I looked at my soft, limp prick. Lifting it with my fingers, I held it up for my sister's inspection. "This is wrong," I remarked.

Jen smiled. It was a faint smile, but, at least, it was a smile. It gave me hope.

"Think it over," I repeated. "Let me know what you decide."

I rose, dressed, and walked to her door.

"Mom and Dad will be home in a few hours," I reminded my sister. They'd gone to the mall to do the last of their Christmas shopping and to buy Jen and me some stocking stuffers. Tomorrow morning, Santa was due to arrive. "If you decide to continue to be my girlfriend, I'd like to stuff your stocking with my candy cane."

Jen's pillow slammed into the doorframe, inches from my head, but my sister didn't look angry. Instead, she was smiling. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Get out!" she ordered, but in a friendly, jocular way.

I closed her door behind me.

An hour later, she knocked on my door.

"Come in," I invited, and, naked, my sister, as beautiful as ever, stepped into my bedroom. She walked across the carpet, her full, round breasts bobbing and her hips swiveling with every step. She climbed into my bed, and we kissed, our lips parting and our tongues probing one another's wet mouths. After a moment, she drew back. We held one another with a mutual gaze that was tender, intense, and full of love and passion.

"I thought it over," she said. Her voice was soft and sweet.

"I'm glad you came to your senses," I teased.

"Actually, I thought about D. H. Lawrence's poem, 'The Snake.'"

"You did?" I asked, not knowing what else to say.

She nodded. "Do you know the poem?"

"No," I confessed.

She recited a few lines of it. It was about a man's reaction to seeing a snake at the water trough he'd visited to slake his thirst. He'd thrown a log at it, chasing it back into its underground lair. At once, he'd regretted his action. Unthinkingly, he'd responded to the sight of the snake in accordance with the dictates of his "education," which informed him that golden snakes, like this one, were dangerous and should be killed. However, whether because of cowardice, perversity, or humility, the narrator could not bring himself to kill the serpent, and, instead, merely chased it off by tossing the log at him. Immediately, he'd felt sorry for his action, thinking his behavior petty and mean. The snake made him think of the albatross in Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poem, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, and he wished that the snake would return, for the serpent seemed to him to have been a god of the underworld. The poem concluded with the verse "And so, I missed my chance with one of the lords/ Of life./ I have something to expiate:/ A pettiness." After reciting the poem, Jen lifted my flaccid organ in her delicate, soft hand. "The poem made me think of this," she said.

I pretended to understand her. "Oh."

She wasn't fooled. "You don't have a clue as to what I'm talking about, do you?"

"Maybe if I read the poem," I ventured, "I would."

She smiled, looking gorgeous. "It doesn't matter."

Her hand clutched my soft, limp penis--my snake--more firmly. She pumped her fist up and down, pulling and pushing the tightening flesh back and forth upon my stiffening, swelling organ. Within moments, I was hard as a log.

Reaching into the drawer of my nightstand, she retrieved the last of my condoms. Holding its reservoir tip between the finger and thumb of one hand, she set the latex membrane within the rubber ring atop the glans of my erection, and scooted the material down, over the shaft of my penis with her other hand, which she held fisted around my organ. She was adept at the practice, and unrolling the condom took her only a moment. This condom was vanilla flavored. The others had been flavored, too--banana, raspberry, strawberry, orange, coconut, pineapple, and even chocolate. Jen loved to suck my cock, but she also enjoyed a fruity or candy-sweet taste. "You need to buy some more rubbers," she reminded me.

"I know."

"I need to get some more birth-control pills, too."

"Have you taken one?"

"Of course. I wouldn't be here if I hadn't."

The only downside to incest was the possibility of conceiving defective or handicapped children. Jen and I weren't risking a child, with or without birth defects or other problems. That's why I always wore a condom and she always took a birth-control pill. We wanted to be doubly careful.

Her ass facing me (so to speak), Jen straddled my stomach, kneeling with one knee on either side of my biceps, and rested her upper body upon her outstretched palms. Her breasts, soft, smooth, and warm, pressed against my belly. Bowing, she let her soft, smooth lips slide over and down my stiff, swollen shaft, taking my cock all the way into her mouth. Her head bobbed up and down as her she kneaded and rubbed my balls through the tight, silken flesh of my contracted scrotum.

Her labia formed a crescent that followed the curve between her ass and her belly. Even though the full, soft lips of her cunt were closed, I could see sparkling dewdrops upon these pink petals. My sister was as aroused as I was.

As Jen continued to face-fuck me, I hugged her hips, laying my outstretched palms across her backside and extending my fingers into the deep, narrow cleavage between the smooth, soft globes of her bottom. I pulled her buttocks apart, disclosing the tiny bud of her anus and the wet, tender petals of her pussy to my worshipful gaze. Although, during the half year that my sister and I had become lovers, I'd seen her cunt many times, I never tired of this loveliest of sights.

Pulling her buttocks farther apart, to gain easier access to her pussy, I licked the inner lips of her cunt--the labia minora--and the soft, tender folds of pink tissue farther inside her sex. Beads of moisture decorated her pussy lips. Deeper within the portal to my lover's vagina, there was more wetness. I lifted my head from the pillow, darting the tip of my tongue against the stiff bud of the clitoris that swelled within its fleshly hood. Jen wriggled as a flood of her cunt juices dribbled down her thighs.

As I ministered to her pussy, Jen continued to suck my cock. Her lips, forming a firm ring, pushed and pulled the taut flesh back and forth, up and down upon my straining shaft. My sister was an expert at sucking cock, knowing just when and for how long to exert greater pressure or to slow or quicken the tempo. As she serviced me, she also stroked my balls with her fingernails, pausing occasionally to bathe first one and then the other testicle in the warm, wet cavern of her mouth before releasing them to take my stiff-standing prick once more between her rounded lips.

As I licked Jen's labia, clit, and cunt, I also enjoyed the close-up view of her sexy ass. The only pair of buttocks that come close to hers in the elegance of their sleek, firm beauty are the smooth, rounded cheeks of Nicole Kidman's ass, as seen, for example, in the movie Eyes Wide Shut. If you've seen that film, you've seen the runner-up to my sister's ass. Even the lovely Nicole's bottom takes second place to Jen's. I love every inch of my sister's bottom--the deep cleavage; the curves of the swelling cheeks; the sleek, soft flesh of those firm, round mounds! To have Jen's ass in my face is indescribably erotic. Isn't it odd that something that would normally be considered insulting is, in the proper context, scintillatingly sensual and titillating?

Jen pushed herself up, drawing one leg over my head, and climbed off the bed. "I'm too horny," she confessed. "I need you to fuck me, fast and hard."

I was disappointed to have to forego cunnilingus, but I shrugged and smiled. "Okay, sis." What the hell, I told myself, fucking my sister was every bit as fun as eating her pussy.

"Just a sec," she said. She rummaged among my CD collection, slid a disc into the player, and, a moment later, Bing Crosby was dreaming about a white Christmas. Jen smiled. "A little mood music," she explained.

"That's nice," I said, but I didn't really care whether it was a Christmas song or hard rock that filled the bedroom. I was already in the mood for sex. When it came to fucking my sister, I was always in the mood, regardless of what kind of music--or whether any music at all--happened to be playing.

Jen smiled as she returned to bed.

I rolled onto my side, allowing her to lie on her back. Then, I rolled onto her, slipping my cock through her wet labia and into her sopping cunt. As Bing Crosby crooned, I started, gently and slowly, to fuck my sister. Drawing my hips back, I eased into her depths. Then, I eased back out again, until just the tip of my prick remained within her vagina. Tenderly, I slid my penis back into her pussy.

"Fuck me fast and hard, Brad," Jen encouraged me. "Be brutal."

I drew my hips back and plunged into Jen's wet center, thrusting as if my cock were a sword or a spear with which I was stabbing her as fiercely as a warrior would thrust his weapon into his enemy's entrails, as vicious as any animal would attack its helpless prey. Jen grunted under me, moaning as she thrust her hips up in short, quick motions to meet my advancing member. "Uh! Uh! Uh!" she cried. "Fuck me, Brad! Fuck me harder, faster!"

I quickened my pace, ramming my cock as hard and fast as I could into my sister's tender cunt. The bed bounced beneath my repeated onslaughts, the springs heaving as they sand along with Bing's refrain: "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas."

The springs were a fast, wild counterpoint to the slower cadence of his crooning. So were Jen's moans.

At this pace, I couldn't last long, and, after a few more stabbing thrusts into my sister's belly, my convulsing cock spewed its seed inside her. As my sperm had begun to spurt in thick jets, I'd raised my hips to thrust into Jen's pussy once more, but she was slick with lubricant, and my penis slid all the way out of her cunt, spraying her pubes and belly and breasts with the remnants of my semen, thick white streamers unfurling upon her golden flesh. There seemed no end to the reservoir of my seed. Jet after thick, warm jet of the viscid fluid spurted from my balls, decorating my sister's belly and thighs.

When the last flurry of my semen had fallen upon her sex, I let myself relax. My muscles went limp, and I eased myself down upon my sister, lying atop Jen. Our wild hearts beat as one, and our lungs labored with the common purpose of maintaining us during the period of our recuperation. We were joined, breast to breast and hip to hip by a thin film of sweat and by the glue of my semen. My penis, once more soft and limp, lay between us, a reminder of our union.

When I'd recovered my strength sufficiently to do so, I rolled off my sister, onto my side. I looked at her body, plastered with my cum.

She also surveyed her semen-splattered breasts, belly, pubes, cunt, and thighs.

"It looks as if I've made quite a mess," I quipped.

Bing Crosby continued to croon.

"It looks like we've had our white Christmas," Jen observed, smiling at the semen that decorated her flesh.

In the morning, we went downstairs, before Mom and Dad awakened from their slumbers, to find that, in the wee hours of the night, as Jen and I had lain in one another's arms, Santa had, indeed, visited our house and, since Jen and I had been good, the jolly old elf had left presents for us under the tree. In addition, Mom and Dad had stuffed our stockings with small presents, among which, for me, was an assortment of condoms in various flavors and, for Jen, a package of birth-control pills.

"They know," Jen said, sounding anxious.

I held up the condoms. "They're okay with it, too," I said.

Jen and I, standing under the sprig of mistletoe over the doorway on either side of which our stockings had been hung, were kissing when Mom and Dad came downstairs, and it wasn't the chaste kiss of siblings but the open-mouthed, wet kiss with which lovers signify and seal their sexual passion for one another.

"Merry Christmas," Mom said.

We turned to face our parents.

They were both smiling.

"Merry Christmas," Dad echoed.

"Merry Christmas," Jen and I replied.

"Thanks for the stocking stuffers," I added.

Mom and Dad had crossed the living room to join us. Dad kissed Jen's cheek, and Mom pecked mine.

"You're welcome," they said.

They'd turned on the radio, and we could hear Bing sing, "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas."

I looked out the window. Last night, it had snowed. Frozen tree branches glittered like diamonds; the world had been transformed into a winter's wonderland of dazzling snow.

"I'll make us some hot chocolate," Mom volunteered.

"And then we'll open our presents," Dad added.

"That sounds great, doesn't it, Brad?" Jen asked.

"It sure does," I agreed, thinking to myself, I already have the greatest presents any guy could want--my sister's love and my parents' acceptance.

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