Hot Tub Sister Bang

I park my cheap car next to a tall redwood tree and walk toward my brother's big-ass mansion in the mountains, thirty miles out of Seattle. Darren Drake's $26 million residence is built on top of a thirty foot-high waterfall, like a twenty-first century reimagining of Frank Lloyd Wright's Fallingwater masterpiece. This is the first I've visited him since he became one of those overnight Big Tech billionaires, creating AI software that's rattling the very foundation of society and making it easy for fifth graders to forge book reports about A Bridge to Terabithia.

Darren opens the door with a big smile, wearing blue jorts and a Seattle Krakken t-shirt. That 26 year-old computer mogul is a sexy hunk; shattering the nerdy mamma's boy stereotype. He looks like he could slam Sidney Crosby into the boards, then hustle down the ice and score a game-winning goal.

"Oh my god, your new place is fucking awesome, bro!" I beam while gazing about his big living room full of luxurious crap. The soothing white noise hiss of the waterfall emerges from a nearby sunken patio that literally dangles over a rushing creek.

"Thanks, Katie. I bought it at a steep discount. Five million below the original price, after the previous owner stabbed his wife to death in the master bedroom."

"Five million for slashing."

Darren chuckles at my dark hockey joke. "Come on, let me give you a grand tour of my lavish digs."

He takes me by the hand and guides me through thirty rooms on four levels above the creek, with plenty of picture windows gazing out at the Washington wilderness. Sort of like that house where the vampire teens lived in Twilight. Lots of rare comic books and vintage coin-op games are scattered among the rooms. Enough to fill an old-school video arcade five times over. He doesn't have a wife or a girlfriend (at least no "girlfriends" that I've heard about,) so he fills that void with mental junk food.

Darren ends the tour in the master bedroom, where the CEO of Clayridge Technologies hacked his hot blonde wife 36 times with a butcher knife, after he caught her getting fucked by two butlers at once. I picture my brother's bed soaked in blood, sending shivers up my spine.

My eyes drift over to a bunch of 80's 8-bit relics, and my jaw drops open when I see a Spy Hunter cabinet next to a Japanese dressing screen.

"Oh my god, Spy Hunter is such an underrated classic!" I beam while stroking the wooden display case of that car shooter game.

"They stopped making these cabinets around 1990. Go ahead a plunk a quarter in."

"What a bargain. Wiping out thirty years of inflation."

I grab a quarter from a nearby styrofoam cup and slide it in for one credit. The James Bond-inspired game comes to life in all its 2D block-pixel glory. The tinny Peter Gunn theme song plays over and over as my white sports car chases a bunch of commies in blue cars down an endless interstate highway with no exit ramps.

"Too bad mom and dad couldn't make it out here this weekend. They loved playing Spy Hunter when they were kids," I muse nostalgically.

"They didn't have unlimited quarters like I do now. Far, far from it."

I feel like a kid again, having tons of innocent fun with my older brother in our parent's humble apartment on the east end of Seattle. Video arcades were mostly gone by then, but mom and dad bought us all the vintage game collections for our home console. When we got tired of joysticks, we wrestled each other all over the place, WWE style. I pretended I was Chyna, squaring up with Big Boss Man.

I loved Darren so much. More than most sisters love their brothers. Then I got my first period, and I started having incestuous fantasies about him. Quite frequently. But I never acted on those fantasies, or even mentioned them to anyone. I buried them under a ton of books, on my way toward becoming an english professor at the University of Washington. But no matter how hard I tried to push them away, those taboo urges always returned.

Those immoral and illegal thoughts distract me from Spy Hunter. My sports car gets hit by machine gun fire from a stretch commie-limo. It spins off the road and explodes in a crude 8-bit fireball.

"Too bad, sis. Your retro gamer skills have gotten rusty since you became a boring english professor."

"I've been teaching people how to think, while you've been making software that turns them into lazy brain-dead slobs."

"And getting a shitload of cash for it. More than the entire GDP of Somalia, Burundi, and the 'Democratic' Republic of the Congo."

Darren plunks another quarter in the glowing red slot and gets much farther than I did. I admire his ruggedly handsome face and strong arms as he blasts dozens of Soviet spies off the highway. Whipping the steering wheel around to dodge a bunch of blue Ferraris with razor-sharp spikes jutting out of their hubcaps.

He could have been a real soldier in the real army. A hardcore military brat. But software was his real passion. I picture him doing push-ups in camouflage fatigues, and then I picture him naked in a communal boot camp shower room, shooting the breeze with twenty soapy nude dudes. A tingle of naughty desire flares between my legs.

"That's as far as the game goes before it starts an endless loop, so I techinally won it with a single quarter," he boasts proudly. "Weren't the 80's great?"

"I'm glad I wasn't alive then, with all those bad hairstyles, neon leggings, Breakfast Club-ripoff movies, and corporate cocaine parties."

He gives me a curious look while scratching his dark beard. "Your hair is so pretty, Kate. You're like a blonde Pippi Longstocking."

He grabs my golden pigtails and gives them a playful tug, yanking my head back. Just like he did when I was ten. Making me laugh like the silly schoolgirl I used to be, not too long ago.

"I bet you're still ticklish under your arms," I utter slyly. I jab my fingers into his armpits and tickle them hard, making him laugh just as giddily.

"Oh god, stop, Katie, stop!" he shrieks in boyish glee. I finally stop thirty seconds later. "Please don't tell anyone that the CEO of NorthMax Technologies has ticklish armpits."

"You have more important things to worry about at NorthMax, like Russian hackers and clueless D.C. 'activists'."

"Yeah, whatever," he mutters while twirling his brown curly hair. "Hey, that reminds me . . . I forgot to show you my bitchin' hot tub."

"Hell yeah, bro. I never miss a chance to jazz out in a jacuzzi."

Darren grabs my right hand and leads me down a long neo-art-deco staircase, descending toward the gurgling creek rapids. He takes a left turn at Daytona USA, then another left turn at Turbo Outrun. We step outside to a gorgeous sunset in a secluded mountain valley, near the edge of the waterfall. His hot tub is camoulfaged into a rocky slope, with grey paint that blends seamlessly with the natural stone.

"Daaayum! That the sweetest hooker cooker I ever saw."

"That's exactly what Destiny said last night. I paid that call girl a cool two grand."

"Seriously?"

"No, I'm not that dirty. Why don't we take a dip right now?"

A sudden realization dims my enthusiasm. "Oh shit, I didn't bring a bathing suit. You should have told me you had a hot tub when you invited me here for the weekend. I would have bought my favorite itsy-bitsy pink bikini," I beam while wiggling my ass so cutely.

"That's okay, sis," he replies with a sly grin. "I never wear a bathing suit in there."

Oh my god. "Are you fucking serious? You wanna go skinny dipping with your sister?"

"I don't see anything wrong with that. Men and women used to swim in the nude together all the time in public bath houses, before all this phony prudishness got started. It's about time for America to do as the Romans did."

"Oh my god, Darren. You're turning into one of those crazy Epstein-esque billionaires."

"Come on, Katie. I saw you ogling my Adonis-like physique. I know you wanna feast your eyes on this six-pack cheese grater."

I laugh incredulously, trying not get horny while picturing my hunky brother butt-naked, glistening with chlorinated water. A strong surge of estrogen reaches my brain, overpowering my rational reluctance. "All right, all right. It'll be a fun memory to dwell on when I go back to my tiny apartment and those stuffy college classrooms."

"That's the spirit. Now show me your hot body. I've been dying to see it ever since you were elected Prom Queen."

I laugh again in total disbelief, then I slowly remove my "Reading is Lit!" t-shirt. He takes off his Krakken hockey jersey, revealing impressive biceps, pecs and abs.             

"Wow," I murmur in subconscious admiration. Before I know it, my black cotton bra is lying on the cool mist-dampened stone ground.

"Nice rack, sis," he snickers playfully.

"So I've been told, by the Prom King."

He unbuckles a leather belt, unzips his blue jeans, and pulls his boxer shorts down with them in one quick motion. His penis is impressively large "at rest."

"Nice dick, bro. It must be like ten inches at full mast."

"9.1 inches, to be exact."

"God damn. 9.1 on the richter scale."

I reluctantly take off the rest, letting my black panties slide down to my ankles with a pleasant gasp. I've been fantasizing about this for so long, but I never thought it would happen at a ginormous mansion on top of a fucking waterfall. My brother glances at my hairy blonde crotch, and shoots me a big smile.

"I'm glad you don't believe in all this pube-shaving madness," he remarks.

"The bush is back, according to Cosmopolitan."

"I never read stupid junk like Cosmo. Nothing but software manuals and Breitbart for me."

He opens a gray flap on a boulder near the tub to reveal a control panel, and pushes a button to turn on the jets. The gurgling splashing sound mixes with the steady hiss of the waterfall, cascading onto jagged mossy rocks. He eases into the hot steaming cauldron, and sits down on a grey bench with the foamy water sloshing against his hulking pecs.

"Hooooo-yeah!" he groans pleasantly. "This feels so good after the power workout I did right before you got here. Fifty push-ups, fifty pull-ups, fifty crunches, and a five mile jog through the woods."

"The only thing I've been crunching lately are nachos," I giggle while lowering my naked body into the hot tub. The steaming water feels amazing on my soft pale skin, clashing with the cool mist rising from the waterfall. The taboo thrill of doing this with my brother adds a nice spice to the pot. I sit next to Darren, facing a steep valley lined with stately redwood trees. He owns all the land in a two mile diameter, so there's no other buildings or public roads to offend the eye.

"Holy shit. Talk about 'living the dream'," I giggle while sloshing some hot water on my shoulders. "I wonder if Frank Llloyd Wright ever went skinny-dipping with his sister."

"Maybe not his sister, but lots of other vintage broads, for sure. He was a proud adulterer, before adultery was cool."

He drapes his right arm around my shoulders, much to my pleasant surprise. My pussy buzzes with intense arousal, enhanced by a flood of male pheremones wafting from his sweating pores. Oh shit, oh shit. I tilt my head toward a brilliant pink sunset and giggle stupidly, like I always do when I'm "in the mood." I wrap my skinny left arm around his beefy shoulders, taking a deep breath of fresh mountain air tinged with chlorine.

Damn, this seems like the opening pages of one of those implausible incest stories that I love reading on Literotica. Pull yourself together, girl.

"I've never hired a prostitute, but the temptation is getting stronger and stronger," he muses. "I've been going stir-crazy out here in the boondocks, with nothing but cash to keep me company."

"That's hard to believe. A billionaire like you must have groupie sluts lining up for half a mile. Maybe you should bang some interns at NorthMax," I suggest sarcastically.

"Nah, that's way too risky in the #MeToo era. And besides, those corporate hotties are getting harder and harder to pin down at the headquarters, with all this lazy teleworking bullshit."

A bald eagle screeches in the darkening sky, a hundred feet above the waterfall. I sigh wearily, recalling my own dormant love life. My last steady boyfriend broke up with me three months ago, and I've only had sex twice since then, with random losers that I swiped right on out of sheer desperation.

"I fantasized about being naked with you for so long," I blurt out accidentally. Oh my god.

"So have I, sis. We've had a big crush going for years, but we were too afraid to admit it."

My pussy throbs even harder, driving me crazy with taboo desire.

"I remember dancing at senior prom with Justin Puglia. But I couldn't take my eyes off you in that sharp blue suit, dancing with that redhead bitch. What was her name?"

"Sarah Sprouse," he mutters. "She was a total smokeshow with a toxic personality. I fucked her brains out in the back seat of my Hyundai, but then she dumped me and ran off to the quarterback."

"If only she had a crystal ball to see your billionaire future."

I giggle naughtily, with my mind going on full auto-pilot. Next thing I know, I'm straddling my brother's lap and draping my arms around his neck. Holy shit, holy shit.

"I wish we were eighteen again, and you were my prom date," I utter seductively.

"Me too, Katie," he utters with equal seductiveness, wrapping his arms around the small of my back. "I kept picturing your face on Sarah's face when she was sucking my cock."

"I've been picturing your face every single night when I jerk off."

"Ditto."

Our eyes lock in erotic rapture. His hands drift deeper underwater, squeezing my ass cheeks. I moan pleasantly.

"That's right, grab my ass, Mister Drake. I know you want me."

"I fucking need you, girl."

I've always heard that power is a potent aphrodisiac. Potent enough to commit incest, as evidenced by the Borgias and many others who never admitted it. Just hang on tight and enjoy the perverted ride.

"You're a big-shot AI billionaire, so why don't you make the first move? Pretend I'm one of your slutty blonde interns, desperate for a good job."

God damn, am I really saying this shit?

"Yes ma'am, Miss Drake. I'll give you a real good job."

He shoves my slender torso against his beefcake chest, and kisses me passionately. His big hard dick presses against my crotch and belly. I grab the back of his head with both hands and shove my tongue down his throat. Many years of repressed emotions pouring out in one shining moment, in the glistening sloshing water. I finally pull back, catching my breath with a loud throaty gasp. He grabs my d-cup tits, growling with manly enthusiasm.

"I remember when you had to stuff a whole box of tissues in an oversized bra to make your tits look that big."

"These big honkers are all natural now, and they're all yours."

He squeezes them real hard, making me moan harshly. I reach into the dark swirling depths and grab his huge prick, squeezing it just as hard. We groan in harsh unison, with nobody else around to hear us in the Washington wilderness. I jerk him off underwater for a minute, savoring his grunts of pleasure and the wicked smile on his pretty-boy face. I stand up in the middle of the big steaming tub, assuming a playful fighting stance.

"Come on, tough guy. Let's rassle, just like the good ol' days."

"You're on, bitch."

He gets up and engages me in a nude wrestling match, like the original Greek olympians. We splash around the concrete ring, growling and giggling, renewing our old sibling rivalry. That hunky dude could pin down a weak lady like me in no time flat, so he's obviously not trying very hard. I wrap my legs around his chest and try to pull him down with all my 110-pound weight, to no avail. He grabs my chest and hips, and hoists my body high above the hot tub. I look down at the dimly lit base of the waterfall with a rush of playful fear.

"I'm the heavyweight champion, ya fuckin' jabroni! Can you smell what Darren Drake is cookin'?"

He dunks my entire body underwater, submerging me in womb-like heat. It feels incredible, like nothing I've experienced before. My face rises to the surface, and I take a big breath of cool misty air. Pure aquaphile indulgence.

"Suck my big fucking dick, bitch," he growls. "I know you wanna deep-throat your boss bro."

"Fuck yeah, Mister Drake."

I open wide and shove his thick 9.1 inch penis right down my throat, gagging right off the bat. I put my right hand six inches down the shaft and keep it there while whipping my head back and forth, growling fiercely against his man-meat. That monster dick is the biggest I've ever consumed. The sour chlorine taste enhances my overpowering perverted pleasure. It's like a whole different woman has hijacked my mind. Is this the "other woman" I've always wanted to be, while sealing myself away from the real world with tons of dusty books?

"Damn, girl, you suck cock so good. I love your how blonde pigtails float all over the tub."

He grabs those long blonde locks and uses them to whip my head back and forth on his long shaft, gagging me ten more times.

"Yeaaaaah biiiiiiiitch, choke on that long dong. Like a slutty fucking intern."

He finally lets go of my pigtails, but I keep deep-throating him with reckless abandon. This secluded fairy tale amplifies our illicit pleasure. I masturbate aggresively underwater with my free hand while devouring his massive manhood. He finally pulls back and pushes it upward against his chiseled abs.

"Let's play some ball, sis. Suck my hairy sack."

He grabs the back of my head and shoves my face against his big wet testicles. I slurp them all the way into my mouth and suck as hard as I can, nibbling them for good measure. Making him groan with painful pleasure.

"Oh god, I love bitches who make it hurt," he growls. "Don't fucking stop!"

I love how his entitled bossy one-percenter attitude extends to the sex department, even with his own sister. I keep slurping and nibbling his big chestnuts, shaking my head from side to side like a pitbull on a chew toy. My pussy literally burns with desire in the hot water; begging to get stretched taut by that giant prick. I massage his prostate with one hand while massaging my clit with the other, slowly but firmly.

"Shit, shit, shit! Oh Katie, you're driving me fucking crazy," he groans while contorting his face comically. "I wanna lick your pussy."

I pull back abruptly, ejecting his balls from my mouth with a funny popping sound.

"You better eat my twat just as good, bro."

"Damn straight, bitch."

I hop out of the tub and sit on the rocky edge opposite the waterfall, leaning against a boulder and spreading my legs as wide as I can. He kneels down on the tub bench and mouth-dives right into my hairy crotch. Lapping his tongue all around my labia and clitoris, making me feel so good from head to toe. He jabs his tongue all the way up my vagina, and I howl toward a rising crescent moon.

"Fuck yeah, bro! You eat pussy like a pro."

"You're way better than any hooker, Miss Drake."

I grab his head with both hands, locking it in firmly place as he performs cunning cunnilingus. I haven't felt this good since I was eighteen, getting my cherry popped by the prom king. Darren nibbles my pink folds with his front incisors, driving me even crazier.

"Oh god, oh god! Keep biting me, Mister Drake! I still love it when you play rough."

He keeps nibbling and nibbling in a slow elliptical pattern around my outer labia. The sweet pain gets my pussy wetter and wetter, dripping down into the hot tub, just twelve feet away from the cool gushing waterfall.