Cassandra's Secret

After Cassandra and I had been together for six weeks, I had reason to think that things might cool off a little between us. After all, we couldn’t possibly keep up the pace we had set during the first month of our relationship. It just wasn’t humanly possible to sustain that level of sexual activity for any length of time. That’s what I thought, anyway. Cassandra had other ideas.

She kept things interesting, I’ll give her that. Her creativity was boundless. She always insisted on sitting in the very back of the theater when we went out to the movies, so we could go down on each other. (This meant that neither of us saw the whole movie, and afterwards we would have to fill each other in on the parts we’d missed.) She also liked to pull stunts like straddling my lap when I was driving (thank God for cruise control) and would occasionally say charming things like “I’ve always wanted to get fucked in the ass in a really cheap motel room.”

We averaged twice a day. That’s an average, and that’s not even factoring in all the odd blowjobs and extended bouts of aimless foreplay. If I ever was unable to rise to the occasion, Cassandra knew some very interesting tricks involving strings of beads and unorthodox manipulations of my prostate gland. I was very often sore.

I’m not bragging, and I’m not complaining. It was, for the most part, a wonderful time in my life. Even when we weren’t in bed, Cassandra was great to be with. She was funny and intelligent; kind and generous. She had a really sunny, energetic personality. We almost never quarreled. I loved her very much. But then, there were also times that she scared me.

Again, this was primarily sexual. It wasn’t the frequency or the variety; it was the intensity which finally began to frighten me. That’s the word. Intense. A few times while we were making love, Cassandra would begin to sob. Not just tears, but actual soul-wrenching weeping. Of course, my natural inclination on these occasions was to stop, to hold her and try to comfort her. But that only made her angry. She would grab me roughly and insist that I keep fucking her, even through her tears.

That only happened a few times. More frequently, I noticed that she would sometimes close her eyes and just “go away.” Her body was still there, writhing against mine with a brutal ferocity, but Cassandra was light years away. She didn’t seem to hear anything I would say to her in this state, but she did sometimes talk. In a low, moaning whisper that was nothing like her normal voice, speaking the names of people I did not know.

Still, even with all that, I felt like the luckiest boy in the world. I was in love with an amazing girl who seemed to be crazy about me. The fact that she was a slightly spooky nymphomaniac, I tried to tell myself, was just the icing on the cake.

But there was the matter of the “craziest thing.” I enjoyed hearing stories of Cassandra’s sexual past, which was as wild as it was varied. Once I asked her what the craziest thing she had ever done was. She had said that she wasn’t ready to talk about that yet, but then proceeded to tell me about the “second craziest thing,” an exquisite lesbian encounter with a girl from her old school. (See “Cassandra and Carolyn,” also posted here, for that story.) That had kept me satisfied for a while, but thoughts of something even crazier than that made me wild with curiosity. I would ask her about it, even make guesses, but she would just say that she wasn’t ready yet. The subject seemed to trouble her, so I didn’t press too hard.

We were camping the night she finally told me. It was a hot, muggy Illinois summer night. We had started making love in the tent, but it had been so hot that we had to pull the sleeping bag outside and spread it on the ground. She was on top of me (her favorite position) and I was looking up at her, reflecting on how eerily beautiful she looked, bathed in the pale blue glow of the full moon. Then I noticed she was crying. She was doing it silently, but her whole body was shaking with the force of it.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“Shut the fuck up,” she snarled. Then she leaned forward and clamped her hand roughly over my mouth. Cassandra grinded into me, as if she wanted to drive me into the ground. Her vagina had become uncomfortably tight; my penis was locked inside her in a vice grip. She thrusted cruelly, like she wanted to fuck me in half. It felt like rape. I tried to make some sound of protest, or roll out from under her, but she had me pinned down good. I came quickly, in self-defense. It was all I could do.

Now, that’s another thing. Cassandra despised condoms. She said that if she wanted to fuck a piece of rubber, she’d just get herself a dildo. But she also claimed that birth control pills “messed her up,” and refused to take any other kind of precautions. So we used a dangerous combination of the withdrawal and rhythm methods of contraception. I didn’t quite trust Cassandra’s indications of when it was OK to come inside her, so I usually pulled out. She didn’t mind finishing me off with her incredibly skillful mouth. (In fact, the almost cannibalistic relish with which she consumed my semen was another borderline disturbing thing about our sex life.) But there were times, like this one, when accidents did happen. It worried me, especially since Cassandra had such an indifferent attitude about the danger of pregnancy. “That wouldn’t be so bad,” she would say.

Now she pulled me out of her and quickly moved up to straddle my face, her knees painfully pinning my arms down and her sex-slimy vagina pressed over my mouth and nose.

“Suck it,” she commanded in that voice that wasn’t her own. “Suck my cunt.”

My own come dripped into my open mouth as she squeezed it out of her. For some reason, it really turned her on to feed it back to me. Usually I didn’t mind, sometimes I even kind of liked it, but this time I was already a little freaked, and the fact that I couldn’t breathe didn’t help. In the state she was in, I was afraid that she might forget that she was shutting off all my breathing passages and I would be smothered to death by her sopping pussy. (Which would be an interesting way to go, I must admit.)

I panicked, pushing her aside as I rolled out from under her. Her balance was precarious, and she fell over onto the ground. I wiped my dripping chin and Cassandra looked up at me with trembling fear and rage. It was like she didn’t even recognize me. She screamed, an awful piercing scream, and then scrambled away into the tent and zipped up the flap.

I didn’t know what to do. Here I was, naked in the woods in the middle of the night. All my clothes were in the tent, where Cassandra was crying in great jagged sobs. I didn’t know if she wanted me to go in after her, so I just sat down miserably on the sleeping bag and tried to ignore the mosquitos.

Sometime later, it might have been as long as half an hour, Cassandra unzipped the flap.

“Come in here,” she said. Her voice sounded normal again, but very sad.

I crawled into the tent beside her, and held her close.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Sometimes I think I’m going crazy.”

“No,” I said. I had no words to comfort her, so I just held her and said “Shhh,” as she cried for a while.

“I’m ready to tell you,” she said eventually.

“Tell me what?”

“About the craziest thing I’ve ever done,” she said. “Sexually. The craziest sexual thing I’ve ever done.”

I said nothing. I felt strangely apprehensive, though, like maybe I didn’t want to hear this after all.

“I would have told you before, but I was afraid you’d hate me,” Cassandra said. “It’s pretty bad.”

“Nothing could make me hate you.”

“That’s sweet of you to say, but . . .” Despite the heat, Cassandra shivered in my arms. “It’s so bad it almost makes me hate myself. It’s like, sometimes I almost convince myself that it didn’t really happen, that it was a dream or something, and I have to remind myself that it was really real.”

Her stalling was making the suspense worse. I wished she would just say it, get it over with, and then she did.

“I fucked my brother,” Cassandra said.

There was an awful, leaden silence for an eternal minute. Those four words hung heavily in the humid air.

“Christian?” she said after a while, I suppose to verify that I was still there.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Are you totally freaked out?”

“No,” I said, although I wasn’t really sure how I did feel. This preceded another couple minutes of pained silence.

“Will you say something?” Cassandra finally begged.

“How did . . . how did it happen?” I managed.

“Do you really want to hear it?”

“If you’re ready to tell me about it,” I said. “Then I’m ready to listen.”

“OK,” Cassandra said. She was quiet for a while, and I thought she might have lost her nerve. But then she began:

“His name’s Carson. He’s really only my half-brother, if that makes any kind of difference. I guess it probably doesn’t, not really. He was my Dad’s son from a previous marriage, a couple years older than me. We’d always been pretty close. I mean, we fought like cats and dogs when we were younger, but by the time we were both teen-agers, we got along really well. But there was always something . . .”

She was trembling, I could feel it, but she went on. “Like, we would always joke around about sex and stuff, and he told me about his girlfriends and I told him about my boyfriends. We were open with each other, you know? Maybe too open. And there were other things like . . . when I’d walk around the house in a nightgown or a swimsuit, I could tell he was looking at me. It made me uncomfortable, but at the same time, I think I sometimes deliberately wore things like that. Because I liked feeling uncomfortable.”

She sighed loudly. “One time, he was taking a bath and I really had to pee. There was only one bathroom in that house, and he could spend hours in the tub, reading a book. So I knocked on the door and told him to pull the shower curtain closed, and then I just went in and used the toilet. I’d done that before when he was in there, but for some reason this time I became really aware that there was a naked guy just inches away. We were talking, like normal, but then I heard this little splashing sound and I got it in my head that he was playing with himself. I don’t know if he really was or not, but I really think he might have been. Anyway, it turned me on. I wondered how he would react if I just yanked the curtain open and soaped up my hand and . . . you know, did it for him. I almost did. I swear, I had my hand on the curtain, ready to pull it open before I lost my nerve. I went into my bedroom and got myself off, just thinking about him in the bathtub getting himself off. But that was as close as we ever came until . . .”

“My parents got divorced about a year and a half ago. I stayed with my Mom. Carson was supposed to stay with my Dad, but I think he was sort of disgusted by the whole divorce thing, because he went into the Army instead. He was gone. We never heard from him. He never wrote or anything. I knew he was mad at them, not at me, but it still kind of hurt, you know? So there was no word from him, but then earlier this year . . . he just showed up at the house. He was on leave, said he had a week, and he wanted to stay at my Mom’s house.”

“Things were kind of weird between him and Mom, horrible things said during the divorce and all that, so I knew that the real reason he was there was because he wanted to see me.”

“His first night there, he went out and bought a case of beer. He’d just turned twenty-one, so there was really nothing Mom could say about him drinking it. Of course, she forbade me to have any, but then she went to bed. So as soon as she was asleep, me and Carson tore into that case and started catching up.”

“He’d changed. He’d grown a mustache for one thing, that was the most obvious thing. It made him look older, like somebody who wasn’t my brother. But there was more to it than that. He was probably in better shape than he’d been the last time I’d seen him, but that wasn’t it either. I don’t know. He was just different.”

“We talked for a long time, mostly just him telling me about the places he’d been, and the things he’d done in the Army. Mostly funny stories, you know, but then he told me about how he and a couple buddies went to a whorehouse in Honolulu.”

“‘Two hundred bucks,’ he said. ‘I paid two hundred bucks for fifteen minutes with this gorgeous black lady, and it was worth every penny. She knew what the hell she was doing, that’s for sure. I started out fucking her, and then finished in her mouth. She called it a fifty/ fifty. It was freaking amazing.”

“Then he said, ‘You want to hear the really weird part? Her name was Cassandra.’ He looked right at me when he said that, and the look in his eyes . . . I couldn’t believe it. I was a little freaked out, but at the same time . . . I was a little drunk by then, too. You know how I get.”

“Four and a half beers also meant I really had to pee. So I went in the bathroom, and I started to think about that time when he was in the tub and I almost pulled open the curtain. I couldn’t help it. I was in such a weird frame of mind. So instead of pulling my panties back on when I was done, I took them off and put them in the hamper. I was wearing that yellow dress. You know, the one with the flowers?”

I nodded absently. The dress barely came down to her knees. I didn’t want her to stop talking. My mouth was watering.

“I don’t think I knew yet what was going to happen. Not really. I was turned on, but I didn’t really think it would go anywhere. I just kind of thought it would be a weird kick to sit there next to Carson with no panties on, while he talked about fucking a whore who had the same name as me. I even wondered if I would dare to flash him. Just the thought of him seeing my naked pussy made me want to drip.”

“So I went out there and it became, like, sexual confession hour. He told me a few stories about girls he’d met here and there, and I wanted to top all that so I told him the story I told you, about Carolyn.”

“It turned him on as much as it turned you on. God knows why guys are so amazed by the whole lesbian thing. He started laughing, saying like ‘You ate her pussy? I can’t believe you ate her pussy.’ By then I was on, I don’t know, six beers or so. Carson was probably on eight or ten. We were both bombed, anyway.”

“Then it got all quiet. And I knew. I just knew that he was trying to get up his nerve to touch me. We were both scared, terrified in fact, but we were like two horny little fuck monkeys. If one of us didn’t do something fast, we would have both just popped. So I leaned back on the couch and raised my arms over my head. I knew doing that made my tits stick out more. My nipples were hard enough to cut glass and I wanted Carson to see them.”

“I closed my eyes and the next thing I knew was, he was tracing his finger over my breast, so lightly it almost wasn’t like touching at all, but it was. He was touching me, and I leaned over and kissed him. Not a brother and sister kiss, Christ no. It was a prelude-to-fucking kind of kiss, mouths open, tongues thrusting. And our hands were all over each other. He had pulled down the strap on my dress and put his hand down the front and was fondling my breast, and my hand was on his lap. It felt like he had a boa constrictor hidden in there. Then he reached up my skirt. He let out this little laugh when he found out I wasn’t wearing anything underneath, then he stuck his fingers inside me. My brother was finger-fucking me. His hands were rough and calloused, but I loved it.”

“It was good, great in fact, but at the same time I was very aware of how wrong it was. I mean, let’s call it what it was. Incest. I was committing incest. Like, an ancient taboo that has always existed since the dawn of man and I was deliberately breaking it. It felt like sin, like perversion, like I was damned for letting it happen. Literally damned. But all that made me want it more.”

“Then Carson was whispering in my ear, ‘I’ve always wanted to eat your pussy,’ he said. ‘I’ve dreamed about it.’ All I could do was say ‘Yes,’ and push his head down and spread my legs open and let him.”

“He pretty much dove in. I think he was too keyed up to do it slowly, but I didn’t care. I felt his mustache tickle my clit and he stuck his tongue up my cunt and I about came my goddamn brains out. It took about fifteen seconds, all told.”

“Then we traded places. He sat on the couch and I kneeled down in front of him. I tore his pants open and pulled out his cock. I wanted to suck him so bad. But I didn’t want to do it like he’d done me. I wanted to do it slow. I wanted to show him that his little sister could suck his cock better than any high-priced Hawaiian whore. I’ve given guys head before, God knows, but you know how they say that babies put things in their mouth because that’s how they explore the world? Well, that’s how I wanted Carson’s cock. I wanted to explore it. I wanted to know everything about it.”

“I used every trick I knew of. I kissed and licked and nibbled the head, like it was an ice cream cone. I ran my tongue along the entire shaft, to get it good and slicked up, and then I licked his balls. I even licked that little part down between the bottom of the sac and his asshole. Then I took just the head in my mouth and sucked it like hard candy. I was running both hands over the rest of it, the shaft and the balls. I even reached one hand between his legs and played with his asshole.”

“Some guys are so big they gag you, and some guys like to thrust like they’re fucking your mouth. But Carson was like you. His cock was the perfect size and he just laid there and let me do what I wanted. He was trying not to make any sound, because God knew our Mom could just walk in, but he couldn’t help moaning out loud. I was that good. I knew it, too. I felt powerful. I was in love with him and in love with his cock. It was like nothing in the world existed but my mouth and his cock inside it.”

“Then he came. Or more like he exploded. It was amazing. With my hands on him I felt everything. I was so aware, so in the moment. I felt his asshole twitch. I felt his balls get tight and start to pump. I felt the stuff coursing up his shaft. I felt it spurt into my mouth. My brother’s come. It was delicious. I’d never really dug the taste before, but now it was like some rare, exotic delicacy. Like caviar. Like oysters. I swallowed every drop that came out of him. It filled me up. I never wanted it to stop and for a while it seemed like it never would. His orgasm in my mouth seemed to last forever.”

“When it was finally done, I looked up at him and he had this awful look on his face. I’ve heard that men only really think clearly in the five minutes after orgasm, and I think it was finally hitting him what we’d done. I was aware the whole time of how wrong it was, but I think he was able to convince himself while it was going on that I wasn’t his sister, just some girl.”

“He just said ‘Goddamn I’m drunk. I gotta go to bed,’ and then he stumbled off into his old bedroom and passed out. I had to get rid of all the beercans myself. I felt like there was probably some other evidence of what we’d done, something my Mom would see in the morning, but I was just being paranoid. I went to bed and masturbated myself until I could get to sleep.”

Cassandra fell silent then. I felt like I should say something, to comment on what she’d told me, but my head was spinning. All I could think of was: “So you didn’t actually fuck, then? It was just oral.”

“Oh, we fucked,” Cassandra said. “I told you he was there for the week. The next day, he went out and bought a pack of condoms. Always wear a condom when committing incest, it’s a good rule to live by. There were twelve in the pack, and we used them all in four days. It was crazy, like some weird drug binge. We couldn’t get enough of each other. We’d sneak into each other’s room at night. We’d go for drives and fuck in the car beside cornfields. Plus, he fucked me in the ass a few times. I’d never let a guy do that before, but we liked it because we didn’t have to waste a rubber and if you’re already committing incest, sodomy is really no big deal.”