Her Twin Brother's Lover

(Please note: I'm British and my stories are written in British English. I write whatever comes to me and in whatever way feels right to me. Some of my stories are down and dirty, some are slightly more restrained. They are all a part of my imagination and I don't censor my muse to fit any aesthetic. You might find that you like some and hate others. That's perfectly fine. I genuinely enjoy writing all of them and hope that each will find its intended audience.)

The wedding ceremony was a complete blur for twenty-two-year-old Charlotte Reynolds. She said her vows purely from memory and practice, including the part about honouring and obeying that her groom's very traditional parents had insisted upon.

All she could think was, he's here!

Her twin brother Charles whom she hadn't seen in the flesh for four whole years.

He had flown in from the USA earlier in the day to attend her wedding, but had stayed at a friend's house rather than their parents' home where she'd dressed in her bridal outfit.

Charlotte had seen the back of his blond head when their father had proudly walked her up the aisle, but he'd averted his face so that she hadn't been able to sneak a quick peep and drink in his beloved features.

A woman's wedding day should be the happiest day of her life.

Charlotte was happy enough marrying Peter Gainsborough, the filthy rich architect she'd met while doing her English degree at Cambridge, but theirs was no grand romance, at least not for her.

He was sixteen years older than she. They'd met one evening when she'd been out for drinks with a group of female friends from the university. He'd bought them all champagne, but had made it clear that she was the one he was interested in.

He had wooed her with expensive perfumes and jewellery, taken her on short romantic breaks to Paris, Rome and Vienna and several other such cities. When he'd asked her to marry him just after she'd graduated, she'd thought, 'why not?'

She wasn't expecting them to have more than a good friendship. She'd known that it was her model looks rather than love that attracted him to her; he wanted a wife who would look good on his arms. He was coolly aristocratic. They would have a pleasant life without the fireworks that came from passionate love.

His elderly parents had frowned upon his choice of bride, saying that they thought she was perhaps too young for him. She suspected it was the fact that she was no heiress who was bringing both wealth and consequence to the marriage.

But Peter, their only child, had ignored their objections to his choice of future wife, and they had grudgingly accepted her rather than lose him.

Her twin hadn't been thrilled either when she'd broken the news to him via FaceTime two months ago.

They had always been incredibly close as children.

She'd been almost inconsolable when he'd chosen to go to Harvard University to pursue his degree in Comparative Literature instead of going to Cambridge University with her and doing an English degree as they had always agreed.

They had talked often when he was in the USA, but she'd missed him like she would miss having an arm.

He'd made every excuse under the sun not to come home during his four years there, but finally he'd agreed to come home for her wedding to Peter.

And finally, as she turned to walk back down the aisle on her new husband's arm, she saw her brother.

Her heart almost stopped.

He'd allowed his ash-blond hair to grow longer than she'd seen it before. It was bleached even whiter by the sun.

His body had filled out and he looked like a Norse God.

She rushed to him like an eager schoolgirl, forgetting dignity.

He held her so tightly she couldn't breathe for a moment.

Then he let her go.

Their eyes met and held for a few moments, then her mother and father, aunts, uncles and cousins were hugging her and Charles was lost in the melee.

Peter whisked her off to Dubai for a two-week honeymoon. No expense was spared and had it been anything but her honeymoon, she would have thoroughly enjoyed her stay at the exclusive hotel.

All she could think about was the look in her twin's eyes and wonder if it meant what she thought it did.

It couldn't, could it?

The question ran through her mind a thousand times.

She called her parents as soon as she returned to the UK and discovered that they had gone on one of their weekend golfing trips but Charles was at their house alone.

She decided to go over to their house and have a heart-to-heart with her twin.

She didn't call in advance, knowing that he would probably find some excuse to leave the house before she got there.

She used her key to enter the house and padded to his room in her stockinged feet.

Charles was lying on the king-sized bed their parents had bought him when he'd finally stopped growing at 6'6". He was listening to music via his AirPods and didn't hear her enter.

He was startled when she leaned over him and for a moment the look she'd seen in his bright blue eyes on her wedding day was back.

Then they went studiously blank.

"Why did you go to Harvard when we'd planned all along to go to Cambridge?" she demanded.

They had planned to rent a two-bedroom place, cook sumptuous meals and drink copious bottles of wine while they discussed the classics.

University had been heartbreakingly lonely without him.

He sat up on the bed but didn't immediately reply.

"Why, Charles?" she insisted.

"Beacause of you," he admitted.

"Me?"

"Do you know what it's like to kiss your sister on your eighteenth birthday and suddenly realize that you're in love with her?"

Their American-born father had grown up kissing close relatives on the lips in greeting. He'd continued the tradition when he'd married his English wife, moved to London and had the twins.

Charlotte and Charles had kissed on the lips all their lives—it had been as natural as hugging each other—but something had shifted the day of their birthday.

Their parents had bought a Marks and Spencer cookies-and-cream chocolate cake to celebrate their actual birthday ahead of the blow-out party they'd planned on the weekend.

As they had done on every birthday before, the twins had cut the decadent cake and exchanged a kiss.

It had been as brief as any they'd ever exchanged, but their eyes had collided just before their lips brushed each other and Charles's expression had startled his sister.

Startled her because it had reflected what she had been feeling, too.

She'd dismissed the feeling, thinking that it had to have been only sisterly love.

But had he really...?

"In love?" she asked, unable to believe that she'd heard him correctly.

"I tried to ignore my feelings, telling myself that it was only brotherly feelings, but they seemed to get stronger and stronger every day. I needed to get away from..."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why?" he asked, with a dismissive shrug of one broad shoulder. "You couldn't have done anything about it."

"I'm in love with you, too," she admitted.

"Yet, you married Peter!" he accused.

"And I guess you had plenty of girlfriends in America," she shot back, unable to hide the bitterness in her voice.

"Lots," he admitted. "But they all fucking looked like you!"

"Oh, Charles!"

"I wanted you...none of them was you"

"Charles..."

"I'd come home for good, but I'm going back to America as soon as Mum and Dad return. I can't stay here, knowing that prat Peter is fucking you and not me! I would probably wait for him on a dark street one night and bash his head in."

"Charles!" She reached her arms out for him, wanting to comfort him but somehow their mouth became fused.

The spark they had both denied blazed into an inferno.

They ripped at each other's clothing, tearing at them until they were both naked.

His cock was massive and stood out in front of him like a torpedo. They tumbled to the bed and it zeroed in on its target.

She was slippery wet but she struggled to accommodate him.

"Oh, fuck," he'd groaned. "Peter must have a cock the size of a peanut."

"He does," she laughed and moaned as his cock stretched her wider. "Damn, Charles, you're sure that you didn't steal this from a horse or a donkey?"

"Be thankful that I'm not your first!" He laughed, but instantly sobered. "I wanted to be your first so badly."

"I would have liked that," she admitted. "It would have felt so much more special."

"It doesn't matter," he said and kissed her. "I wasn't your first lover, but I was your first love."

"Yes," she agreed.

She'd really thought that what she felt for him was the normal feelings sisters had for their brothers. When her friends from the private girls' school she'd attended had annoyed her by coming to their house on some pretext or the next just to see Charles, she'd assumed that her anger stemmed from wanting to be alone with her brother. When he had chased off any boy who so much as sniffed around her, she'd thought that he was just being a protective brother.

Neither of them had wanted to date anyone else, but it had never occurred to her that there was more to their relationship than sibling jealousy.

Or maybe she'd ignored her gut because it had been something so fantastic, so impossible that she hadn't dared dream it.

"Please don't go back to America," she begged him as they lay entwined on his bed, resting after their third bout of sex. "I missed you so much when you were over there."

"You know that I can't be here and not have you, my heartbeat."

"You'll have me," she promised. "As often as I can get away without Peter suspecting anything."

"Why don't you leave him?" he suggested. "You don't love him."

"No," she said firmly. "If I stay with him no one will question the amount of time you and I spend together. If I'm single, people would find it weirder that neither of us is dating anyone else."

"You think no one would question us spending a lot of time together?"

"You're my twin," she told him. "What would be more natural than us spending time together?"

"I would be suspicious if I was Peter," he replied. "I wouldn't want my woman spending too much time with her brother unless he was gay."

They looked at each other and without saying a word knew exactly what the other was thinking.

"No!" she said as she saw the smile break out on his face.

"It would be perfect," he told her. "I'll even flirt with your husband a little to convince him."

"No!" she said again, but couldn't help the laughter that shook her slim frame.

She looked at her watch.

"I have to go." Then she looked at the clothes lying in tatters on the floor. "But first I have to raid Mum's wardrobe for something to wear."

Their mother wasn't as tall, but luckily she was Charlotte's size and a stylish dresser.

After a quickie fuck and a shower, Charlotte slipped on an olive green shift dress from their mother's wardrobe and raced home to be on time for dinner.

All Peter said when she arrived was, "Is that a new dress, darling? It suits you."

As they sat at opposite ends of the formal dining table, all Charlotte kept wishing was that she'd kept her virginity for Charles.

She would have done, if she'd known that the feeling she'd felt when their lips had met when they cut their cake on their eighteenth birthday wasn't the usual feeling that a sister felt for a brother.

Instead she'd given it to a spotty freshman a few weeks after starting Cambridge University. They had fumbled around on the back seat of his Mercedes-Benz C Class for several minutes and she'd anticipated great sex. Instead he had come almost as soon as he'd entered her, so quickly she'd barely had time to register that his cock was actually inside her. Then, instead of focussing on either achieving another erection or using his tongue or fingers to make her come also, he'd frantically zipped up his fly and ran around to the trunk of his car for cleaning material to ensure that her blood didn't stain the cream leather. He'd been furious that she hadn't warned him that she was a virgin.

Yes, furious!

Charles would have treasured being her first, just as much as she would have treasured it.

Later in the bed, with Peter blissfully sleeping beside her, Charlotte had remembered the wistful disappointment in her twin's voice when he'd said that he'd wished that he'd been her first.

He might not have been her first, but he had felt as though he was, his cock stretching her pussy almost beyond its limits.

She was still sore, but thankfully Peter had behaved just as she'd expected. When he'd gotten into their bed, he'd given her a brief kiss on the lips, then turned over onto his side and fallen asleep.

One morning two months later, as she sipped her first cup of coffee before work, the perfect solution came to Charlotte.

She would offer her twin her other virgin hole, to show him just how much she loved him, how much he meant to her.

He protested at first looking horrified at the suggestion.

"I can't take you in the ass, my love, I'm too big."

But she was stroking his cock and felt it pulsate at her words.

"I want to give you something that is yours alone."

"No," he said firmly, but with no conviction in his voice.

"Please, please, my love." She took his face between her hands and kissed his lips. "I trust you as I would trust no other man. We'll stop if it hurts too much."

"Promise you will let me know?"

"I promise."

He knew that once she'd given her word to him, she wouldn't break it.

He then spent several minutes preparing her with his fingers and lots of lubricant.

"I want you to be in control," he said finally. "I suggest that I sit on the bed and you lower yourself onto me."

He grabbed a tube of lubricant from one of the drawers of his bedside table, sat on the edge of the bed and dribbled the gel over the tip of his cock, letting it flow down to the base like caramel down the sides of a cake.

He coated his cock thoroughly and then widened his spread legs so that she could place hers between and back onto the rigidly upstanding shaft.

"Argh!" she gasped as she bore down too recklessly, not factoring in the slipperiness of the lubricant and impaling herself on a good two inches of his flesh.

"Are you okay?" he asked concerned, pressing a kiss on the top of her spine.

"Yes," she assured him quickly lest he changed his mind. "It feels so good."

"Maybe I should support your weight," he suggested, lowering his hands, which had been tugging her nipples into pointy little peaks, down to her hips.

His strong arms supported her as she worked her way slowly down on his length, only pausing twice when he instructed her to add more lubricant to the part of his cock that was still outside of her.

It took forever, but maybe it was about ten minutes in reality, but finally she felt the cheeks of her ass touch his warm skin.

"You've done it, my love," he said, triumph in his voice as he released her hips and once again cupped her breasts.

She strained her neck around and met his lips hungrily.

They kissed for long moments as he tweaked her nipples in the firm way that he knew drove her wild.

They both felt the moment her asshole softened around him.

Holding her in place he turned so that she was kneeling on the carpet and he was behind her.

"Why do I feel like I'm Bonnie and you're Clyde?" she asked with a laugh, remembering their visit the previous month to their great-grandfather's farm for his eighty-six birthday.

He'd given up sheep farming years ago, but still bred sheepdogs from his pedigree stock. Clyde and Bonnie were his top breeding pair and their puppies commanded absurd prices. He'd proudly taken the twins down to the kennels to show off their latest litter of puppies, one of which he'd told them might fetch a world-record price. They'd entered the meticulously clean kennels only to find that Clyde had somehow managed to jump over the partition and had been in the middle of attacking Bonnie's hindquarters. He'd completely ignored their arrival, continuing his insane thrusts, then knotting the poor bitch and throwing his leg insolently over her back to stand backside to backside with her, his tongue lolling out from all his exertions.

"I promise that I won't knot you or throw my leg over your back," Charles replied with a laugh.

He drew back cautiously and then moved forward again, and again.

Charlotte rested her head on the sheet, closed her eyes and relaxed totally as he held her hips and fucked her ass with slow, controlled strokes.

Adagio: slowly in Italian. In music, it signifies that a piece should be played at a slower tempo or speed.

She and Charles had loved words when they were younger and tried to learn a new one every day. Occasionally a word had been a favourite of theirs for a week or two.

Adagio had been their favourite one Christmas when they were eight or nine.

Now he was the embodiment of the word.

She could feel the tremor in his hands as he kept his pace even and she loved him all the more for thinking only of her comfort.

Grasping his hands, she pulled him forwards until he was lying flat on top of her.

"Fuck me harder, my love," she urged. "I can take it."

He increased his pace, but remained cautious right up to the moment that she put her hand on her clitoris and stroked herself to an orgasm as she felt his approaching.

It didn't take him long to discover that her asshole could take a pummelling and bounce back like it hadn't occurred.

Anal sex was something that was theirs alone and each time it was as good as the first time.

He was the first and only man who would ever breach her back passage, she promised him.

She'd done it as something special for him, but it turned out that it was something that she thoroughly enjoyed.

***

Their former hippy parents didn't even bat an eyelid when Charles told them he thought that he might be gay.

As long as he was happy, they were happy, too, they told him.

And they meant it, too.

When Charlotte was aged five and furious that she was a girl and not a boy like her twin, they had let her cut her hair just like his and wear boys' clothing. The two of them had looked so alike with their short blond curls and bright blue eyes that some people had thought that they were identical twin boys.

Their parents had fully expected her to become a lesbian or go even further and have a change of sexual identity, but somewhere between the ages of ten and eleven, Charlotte had developed a taste for dresses and had let her hair grow out.

Their parents had sat her down and told her that she didn't have to conform to societal norms, if she didn't want to, that they would support whatever she did.

Both she and Charles suspected that their parents' relaxed attitude might have something to do with the fact that they swung more than golf clubs on their supposed 'golfing weekends'.

As soon as the twins had started university, their parents had decided to do what most 'empty-nesters' do, pick up a hobby. They'd chosen golf and travelled weekly to various parts of the UK to meet up with fellow enthusiasts of the sport.

Last year Peter had decided to impress his in-laws by treating them all to a weekend at Queenwood in Surrey, the most exclusive golf club in Europe.

Charlotte and Charles had been shocked to discover that despite supposedly playing the game for over four years, their parents were little more than novices.

Charlotte had long suspected that the regular breaks might be more 'swinger weekends' than anything to do with the sport.

When she and Charles had laughed over their parents' lack of golfing expertise days later, they'd acknowledged that not only was there every likelihood their parents were swingers, chances were they swung both ways.