Agnes Pt. 01 - Sinful Desires

Thanks to MissJenny54 for editing/proofreading.

This is a fictional story, and all characters are over the age of legal consent.

"You're my dream come true" (The Platters - Only You)

Chapter 1

In her translucent nightgown, she moves around the room, closes her textbook, and puts it on the shelf. I'm already in bed, flipping through a newspaper but secretly watching Agnes.

I don't know if she's aware that, illuminated from a certain angle by the bedside lamp, her slightly plump but extremely feminine body is visible through the nightgown. Her shapely breasts stand out through the thin, silky fabric, and the darker patch under her flat belly hints at more exciting landscapes. As she bends down for a pencil with her back to me, the contours of her round bottom are revealed. To put the textbook on the top shelf, she has to stand on tiptoe, and more of her shapely thighs pop out from under the garment that slides up. Even if she knows it, it won't embarrass her in front of me. With a stifled sigh, I turn towards the wall, pretending to be asleep, while I hear Agnes get into her bed and switch off the reading light.

In the darkness, my wishful dreams continue with even greater intensity: I see myself walking over to her bed, pulling the blanket off, then reaching under her to lift her nightgown to her shoulders. I kiss her naked body, place myself between her spread thighs and make love to her while she embraces me passionately. I fall asleep with these images, but in my real dreams, my daydreams never continue, and I know the reason is that we are siblings. Agnes is my sister! Therefore, my crazy dreams will never come true.

I still remember those evenings. She was twenty years old; I turned 18 that spring, and just about to graduate. She attended a university in a distant city and lived in a dormitory. I also had to decide where I would continue my studies, but I also had another problem:

I hadn't made love with a woman yet; maybe that was why I was so excited by her presence. She was more experienced than me. I learned that she had a long relationship with a schoolmate at university, but when I asked her about it, she said the boy was no longer her friend.

"Did you break up?" I asked.

"He's not my boyfriend anymore," she said again without elaborating further. Although I didn't see her sad, I knew she had a habit of hiding her problems.

We generally understood each other well; she called me 'little bro' even now when I was an adult. Although she no longer seemed to look at me as an adolescent boy, neither did she see me as a man. It was discouraging because, in my heated thoughts, I imagined one day, she would introduce me to the mysteries of sex. My nature was to be withdrawn and inhibited, so I was afraid of being intimate with strange girls. I wanted to experience my sister's patient and understanding instruction first. She always cared about me and helped me when she could. Maybe she would allow me to make the first steps toward learning about sex, I thought.

Chapter 2

Agnes comes from the bathroom wearing a white bathrobe. She sits at her dressing table and paints her nails while the acrid smell of polish slowly fills the room. It is Saturday night, and she arrives from the dormitory in the afternoon, eats, bathes, washes and dries her hair. Her shiny brown hair, which she usually wears in a ponytail, now falls on her shoulders. Our parents are at the theater with friends, having dinner in a restaurant, and not expected home before midnight. I am alone with Agnes, and knowing this fills me with a strange, trembling excitement.

"Aren't you going anywhere?" I ask.

"No. I prefer the peace at home tonight. And you... friends, girlfriend?

"I am not interested in being with friends, and I don't have a girlfriend."

She finishes the nail painting while soft music plays in the background. Agnes studies French at university, loves French culture, watches many French movies, and listens to music. One of her favorites, the late, legendary, decadent Serge Gainsbourg's LP, plays while she unpacks her travel bag. With her back to me, she stretches and places the empty bag on top of the wardrobe. The bottom edge of her bathrobe slides up, and for a moment, her buttocks appear, on which translucent, light blue panties are straining. It's crazy; I'd like to take her here on the spot. She is not going anywhere, yet she colors her eyelids with a pale peach shade and draws gloss on her lips, harmonizing with her eye shadow.

She takes a small bottle of French cognac and a package of macarons from her handbag, then pours a dash of cognac for us. Glass in hand, she sits in an armchair across from me, chatting about generalities, then later, we get to personal matters. For the first time, she talks about her former relationship, saying she broke up with her boyfriend because she caught him having sex with her roommate. According to her, the roommate changes partners as often as she changes shirts. Behind her back, she was called a "dorm slut".

Agnes recounted the details of finding her boyfriend and roommate together. On that afternoon, as usual, she wanted to study until six in the evening in the university library. Due to a heating system failure, the library was closed, so Agnes returned to the dormitory early. She entered her room at the wrong time; the two were in bed. "I'm sorry," she said and walked out. Later she returned for her toiletries and pajamas, slept in the guest room that night, and moved to another room the next day.

Her boyfriend approached her to explain himself, but Agnes told him their relationship was over. If she says that, she means it seriously; a person can get only one chance from her in a relationship. I have always admired her firm, straightforward character.

She pours us both another drink and puts the bottle away. I feel the alcohol in my head, causing me to stare openly at Agnes when she gets up to turn over the record.

Agnes sits back in the armchair, and while tasting the macaron dipped in her drink, she looks at me with interesting sidelong glances. I don't know what to think of her sudden interest. She plays with her hair, slips her bare feet in and out of her slippers, then gently strokes the glass stem between her fingers. If I had known more about body language, I probably would recognize the unconscious, nonverbal signs of a woman flirting. I start to feel a faint tingle around my groin.

The song '69 Année Érotique' (69, Year of Erotic) from the record is now being sung, which Gainsbourg performed with his love, Jane Birkin. The song was about the sexual freedom of that time and—indirectly—the sexual '69 position.'

"Soixant-neuf, annéeérotique," Agnes is singing along, and I lean back with my eyes closed, listening to her pleasant voice comparable to that of the singer. I remember Agnes once showed a video recording of this song; Gainsbourg is sitting at the piano, and Birkin is lying on her stomach on its closed, dusty lid. The camera moves around and zooms in on her shapely buttocks hidden in her tight black silk pants. Birkin has a look that can activate a man's control centre in the brain. I see a similar light in Agnes' eyes as she looks at me for a long time, with her head tilted to one side and a faint smile. She suddenly stands and settles next to me on the bed, pulls her legs up and folds them in front of her. She tries to pull her robe together at the top to hide her breasts, but it opens at the bottom, revealing her thighs.

"So, you say you don't have a girlfriend?" Agnes asks. Have you ever had sex with a girl? You can tell me." I feel a tingling in my groin again when she touches my upper arm and looks at me curiously.

"I only got as far as petting a girl, but I haven't slept with anyone yet," I say with great difficulty. I am almost mesmerized by her closeness as I smell the scent of her freshly washed hair and body. I suddenly grab her hand and press it to my face, leaning my head on her shoulder. My heart is pounding as the confession bursts out of me, "I constantly dream about you. Don't be angry!"

"About me? We are siblings! You shouldn't think about it, not even in your dreams."

"I can't help it! You are the Woman with a capital 'W' for me," I say in a hushed voice.

"It's okay, don't cry, my little bro," she says, stroking my hair, and continues, "we shouldn't do this, but touching you gave me a strangely pleasant feeling I didn't expect. You were being honest, and I will be too. Sometimes I fantasize about you. I have been trying to get rid of these pictures in my mind, but they keep coming back. It's probably because I broke up with my boyfriend two months ago and haven't had sex with anyone."

"Oh, Agnes, I never would have believed it!" I sigh with relief.

I put my arms around her and timidly kiss her half-exposed, naked shoulder. She trembles for a moment but does not push me away. She breathes faster when I kiss her earlobe and caress the back of her head. She doesn't speak but looks at me expectantly. I kiss her slightly open lips, and she returns it, gently touching my lips with the tip of her tongue. Sighing, she lays back on the bed. I lean over her exposed breasts, kissing and licking her stiff nipples, then take them between my lips and taste them while she strokes my hair. I untie her belt and open her robe. Her naked upper body is before me; I wander down, licking and kissing her belly and thighs. As I grip her round, supple buttocks, her hips writhe.

"Pull my panties off," she says in a trembling voice, lifting her hips and buttocks.

I grab the narrow straps of her lacy panties and peel them off while she sighs deeply. Stroking the silky island of her sparse, dark pubic hair, then reaching between her parting thighs, I discover her moist labia with my fingers. She moans softly with lust and spreads her thighs wider. Unable to control myself any longer, I drop my tight camping pants and press my emerging, stiff penis against her labia, clumsily plowing up and down. Agnes is moaning more lustfully and raises her hips again, and with my glans, I penetrate a little into the narrow hole.

"Oh..." she sighs and wraps her arms around my waist. "Push it all the way in," she whispers and pulls me to her. As if I were on an exploratory journey, I slowly penetrate her vagina deeper, then start moving rhythmically in the wonderfully hot and wet place I have never experienced. Agnes, enjoying herself, follows my movements and completely gives herself to me. Unfortunately, within a short time, the passion overwhelms me, and with muffled moans, I fill her vagina with my copious cum, then collapse on her.

"Sorry, I was too fast," I say, disappointed.

"Don't worry; there is nothing wrong with that. It happens sometimes." Agnes slides out from under me, sits up and says, "I'm going to teach you how to not just fuck a woman but hug and make love to her. Of course, I know the only important thing for you was having sex with me. But don't think this is all you can get away with," she says jokingly. "Now I will control you!" she adds.

She caresses me, stroking my nipples with her sensitive fingers, licking them gently. I sigh softly as her hand wanders down my body; when she reaches my flaccid penis, forming a ring around it with her fingers, she strokes it sensually, making it erect again. Lying on my back, she slowly lowers onto my manhood, making slow circular motions with her hips and sinking deeper. I involuntarily nudge her cervix with my glans, which makes her moan even more erotically. I fondle her breasts, swaying in front of me, caressing her nipples with my thumbs. With her head thrown back, eyes closed, she almost rides me, then leans over me, her hair falling on my face.

I hug her neck and kiss her face and mouth as she moves faster with her lower body. Agnes is panting louder; my stiff penis rubs against her clitoris. Soon, her thighs start shaking, then, with a scream, she grabs the sheet and comes to the peak with jerking movements of her hips. I grab her butt and, making an inarticulate sound from the desire, ejaculate into her rhythmically squeezing vagina for the second time.

This time she collapses on me, and her matted hair falls into my face again. It takes minutes for our breathing to calm, but my dick still rests inside her. Later, we lie silently in the dark room, and I snuggle up to her naked body hugging her. I find some protection in her closeness as if a strange, invisible bond is woven between us.

Agnes turns to me. "Are you sleeping?"

"No, not yet."

"I want to tell you something important. What we have done is against the law, not to mention other things, so no one can ever find out. It shouldn't have happened, but it can't be undone, and I am the older one, so I am to blame. I could say I lost my sanity, but that wouldn't be true because I secretly wanted you, even if I didn't show it. However, it won't happen anymore if we want to live peacefully because this evening will not be easy to forget. Do you understand?

"Yep! You are so smart, Agnes; I am proud to have such a sister. I love you so much."

I snuggled closer to her, but, being a guy, perhaps it could be forgiven that I was not controlled by my mind, like Agnes, but by a completely different body part. I wanted to make love with her to enjoy being together once more."You're right," I said, "but we're still here with each other. And if what happened can never happen again, why don't we take full advantage of this opportunity? Before, you were in control, but I would like to remember this evening as having given you some pleasure myself, too."

"Don't be insatiable, little bro," says Agnes, although she didn't sound very convincing.

"Just one more time," I bargain and gently caress her breast. "I want you so much."

"Me too, that's the problem," she sighs.

Turning, I kiss her face and mouth. Our lips meet, and our tongues take a journey of discovery. Moving down her body, I kiss her nipples and breasts and reach her thighs, penetrating the moist gap between them with my tongue. As I'm licking her hairy, juicy pussy, its taste almost intoxicates me. Her lower body rhythmically writhes while she runs her fingers through my hair.

"Come; put it into me," she whispers, spreading her thighs wider.

I position myself between them and penetrate her hot vagina again. At first, we enjoy the connection of our motionless bodies, then, entwined, holding each other, we make wild love, almost tearing and biting each other. I withstand the ever-accelerating pace for a longer time, and with each deeper push, Agnes grasps my bottom and pulls me in her.

"More, more," she gasps.

After a while, her hips and thighs tremble and jerk involuntarily, heralding her impending orgasm. When she reaches the peak, she tries to stifle her lusty screams by biting the pillowcase while her fingers convulsively grip the sheet. Within seconds, I reach the peak and shoot the rest of my sperm into her throbbing vagina.

"Don't pull it out yet," she says, and we stay together for a while. Later I lay beside her, with her head on my shoulder. I had the same strange feeling, like a web was being woven, inextricably connecting us.

"Thank you for everything, Agnes. I will never forget it," I say.

She didn't respond but stroked my hair, put on her nightgown, and went to her bed with a barely audible sigh.

After a while, I concluded from her regular breathing that she had fallen asleep. I stared into the darkness for a long time, recalling the evening repeatedly in my mind. Later, half asleep, I heard our parents arrive home, moving around the apartment for a while before switching off the light and going to bed.

The following day, Agnes returned to the dormitory. Before leaving, she came into our shared room to say goodbye. She didn't kiss me on the cheeks as usual but on my mouth, keeping her lips there a little longer. I wanted to hug her and turn it into a romantic kiss, but she stepped back.

"You know that's not allowed, right?" I nod reluctantly. "Well, that's why I am reminding you. Be a good boy, my little bro," she says with a waggish smile. "Take care and ssshhh!" she adds, raising her index finger to her lips in warning, then waves goodbye and leaves. In spite of her warning, when saying goodbye since then, if we are alone and are sure no one can see us, she always kisses my lips.

Agnes won a scholarship for the next semester at Sorbonne University in Paris, so we rarely saw each other. A few weeks later, I received a strange postcard from her addressed to me. In a graphic based on a photo, Serge Gainsbourg is sitting with his elbows bent, face unshaven, the ubiquitous cigarette between his fingers. In front of him are a glass of cognac and a pack of 'Gitanes' cigarettes leaning against an LP. The whole family was surprised by the unusual greeting card, but only I knew what Agnes wanted to remind me of.