Hypergeniture Bk. 02 Pt. 03

15 • Basic Psychology

"Mmm, daddy..."

As Tecla whispered the word, Elle giggled. "Weirdo."

Shaking her head, the other twin couldn't care less.

My sister was on top of me, slowly descending onto my cock with her hands on my chest. With each inch of downward motion, she took a deep breath, her abs tensed, and her forearms shuddered... She was tired after a long day, but she always kept her promises.

The penetration was agonisingly slow as heat enveloped my erection. My sister's tight pussy had a stranglehold, so tight that she had to really ease her way down until, finally, I was deep inside of her.

She sank her nails into my chest, throwing her head forward so that her hair fell of her face and hid her lazy expression. She was totally relaxed, seated on her big brother's cock like it was certainly meant to be. The way she breathed was intense and soon I matched it -- our sibling body-lock became a heart-lock, lung-lock and love-lock.

We were in sync as she summoned all her energy and slowly started riding me.

My sister slipped. She crashed onto me, her elbows slamming into my chest and hair splayed all over my face. Yet, all we could feel was the whole length of my cock impaling her tight pussy. Being deep inside that incredible warmth changed the whole world. The air I breathed was heavier and ten times as sweet -- our contact became my whole universe, and it was an endless wonderland.

My eager sibling wanted to impress her big brother. She tried to straighten her back but could only arch it, making her pose feline and foxy all at once. Then she started rolling her hips...

The movements were slow. Her abs were tensed, and her toes curled up. She managed to steady her racing heart, but she couldn't contain her excitement.

I was deep inside her. As deep as possible -- so deep it felt like we were one. Everything she did, I matched. Every move she made was an invitation for me to move with her, so we started dancing. With a brother's gentle touch, I held Tecla's hips and started slowly making love to her. My thrusts were timed to her own; the feeling of her body on top of mine dictating the pace.

My sister wanted to whisper sweet nothings and seduce the silence of the night. She wanted to whisper words of love and lust and even words of family -- words that all brothers and sisters often spoke, except with me inside her and us making love.

But Tecla couldn't speak. She could only make subtle noises that threatened to become full-throated cries of ecstasy.

"Ahhh! Mmmm..."

"You feel so good," I said, seizing her hips with a little more force.

The masculine desire was becoming too intense to resist. I wanted to fuck my little sister, and I wanted to fuck her hard. Luckily, this was Tecla on my cock, and Tecla was wild...

I pulled back, giving her space as her eyes turned to a foxy fuck-me expression. She started riding, putting her hands on my shoulders to push herself into a more agile position with the weeks of ballet-trained finesse coming into use.

"Oh, fuck!" I exclaimed, surprised by my girl's sudden burst of ferocity.

"Nghhh," she groaned, milking my cock for all it was worth as she craned her neck back, and I caught a glimpse of her sex-dazed expression.

My body was in that special place -- the place where you're getting everything you could ever want but still wanted more. Like I was scratching an itch as hard as possible, but the itch didn't go away.

We regressed.

We became animals.

We stopped trying to civilise ourselves -- stopped trying to gloss over the fact that what we were doing was the ultimate taboo.

We were brother and sister and we were fucking and we loved it.

Our bodies slammed into each other and we cried out. The whole world could hear us, but we didn't care. The world didn't matter. Only we mattered. Only our touch mattered. Only our love mattered and only our lust counted for anything.

"Fuuuck!" Tecla cried out as I slipped a hand between us and touched her clit. All it took was that one touch, and it was like a switch had been flicked!

"I want to cum inside you!"

"Cum inside me! Fill my pussy, bro... I'll always be yours..."

With one final thrust, it was like I'd punched my sister in the gut. She pushed one shoulder forward and pulled the other back; her teeth tearing away at her bottom-lip until she slumped and cried out.

"Ohmigod! Yes! Yes! Yesss!"

Embracing the total overload, Tecla took my load deep inside her. Shot after shot filled her tight pussy -- so much that it leaked down the sides of my shaft as she kept us snugly locked together.

We became heavy magnets; our bodies inseparable as we shared an epic orgasm.

After a few seconds, my sister rolled off of me and onto her back. I turned to my side, "You wanna go next?"

Elle had been watching this whole time. Instead of an answer, she gave me a kiss that ended too soon. But that's fine... She remedied the error at once, kissing me again and adding a little tongue to sweeten it.

Reaching down to gently tug on my cock, I could still feel that post-orgasmic tenderness, but I knew I'd be ready again soon. Elle knew that too and she hooked her leg over my body, pulling herself close in a way that stirred the sexual energy coursing through my veins.

"You two are insatiable," I sighed in faux-complaint.

As Elle started climbing on top of me, something stopped her dead in her tracks... Tecla was asleep, and the twins refused to do things unless they were both present for it. Once or twice they'd make an exception, but our trip to Bali was all about unity.

Grabbing Tec's shoulder, one sister shook the other awake.

"Da fuck you want?"

"A goodnight kiss," Elle stuck her tongue out, clearly teasing.

Tecla was too dazed to pick up on the sarcasm and grabbed her sister's arm. She pulled her, the two eventually meeting for a kiss that was damn near intimate -- not a chaste peck, but a full-blown liplock. No tongue, sure, but not for lack of trying...

Stunned, Elle wanted to resist, though she wasn't sure where the impulse came from. Her sister was a good kisser, so why not indulge? Even if just for a moment.

When Elle finally rolled away and let Tec drift back into dreamland, she was breathless and laughing like a madwoman. "Ha... Ha! Ha ha ha!"

"She's good, ain't she?" I teased.

"Uhm... It's not weird. Why can't two sisters kiss each other goodnight? Right?"

"Right."

"Families need to be close. That's why we came here: To become closer and plan a life together."

"Exactly," I affirmed. "You shouldn't be hypocritical, though. If you and Tecla start kissing each other goodnight, you should do the same with Natasha."

"And Mom?" my sister asked inquisitively.

The mention of our mother and the vision of a sapphic exchange between her and her daughter was surprisingly enticing. It got me thinking in strange ways, but I managed to shake myself to my senses before diving too deep down that rabbit hole. Thinking back to the day that passed, I couldn't contain my curiosity any longer.

"Why did you make Mom change when we were at the pool?"

"Her outfit didn't match her nails," Elle explained matter of factly.

"Okay... But why did you make her do it?"

"Tecla wants her to have a purpose, and you can't have a purpose without self-respect, and you can't have that unless you keep to rules and routines. Basic psychology, big brother."

I was utterly fascinated by my sister's strategy. As someone who liked plans and tactics, I appreciated the thought she put into this. It made sense, and it seemed to work -- it was a solution to an intractable problem -- and offered a way to escape the endless cycle of conflict that dominated our relationship with Eve.

Elle knew I was proud, so she couldn't resist explaining some more. "Why do you think she did all the cosmetic stuff? I think it's because she wanted to become a bit brainless, and I don't blame her."

Disagreeing, I offered an alternative view. "Nah, she wasn't happy with her past, so she tried to become a new person by changing her appearance."

"Nope," Elle countered, nuzzling up against me. "She didn't try to hide her appearance -- she enhanced it. I mean, she still looks like herself... Just a bit better. Not that she needed to look any better."

Now, I could agree. "To be honest, I hardly see the difference."

"That's because you're her son," Elle asserted. "Of course, she's also jealous of Tecla and me."

"Huh?"

"Basic psychology, brother. C'mon, I thought you were some kind of boy-genius," my sister teased, curling up on top of me in a way that made clear she wanted to sleep now.

Basic psychology indeed.

Interlude • The Sharpshooter

Beatrix Roth never missed. The brunette had a touch of fire in her hair and light freckles on her face. She was unassuming and innocent -- not too short and not too tall -- perfectly composed and never affected by stress.

She'd brought her favourite rifle for the job and now the target was in her sights. Two hundred metres had never been a challenge and it wasn't going to be a challenge this time. She controlled her breathing, adjusted her chin, and squeezed the trigger.

Crack! Ping! Crack! Ping! Crack!

All three shots landed in a tight group, assassinating the cardboard target.

"What did I tell you?" Isabelle boasted, passing binoculars to her colleagues so they could see the results of Trixie's brilliant marksmanship.

Skylar was unimpressed, having immediately taken against the young sniper. "Why does this qualify her for the job?"

"You can't do that!"

"I don't need to do that," Sky countered. "We're a close protection detail, not a bunch of deer hunters."

Isabelle was aghast! "Trixie has a lot of skills. She's not just one of the best shooters in the world; she was also a Royal Marine."

The English girl piped up after watching two women talk about her like she wasn't there. "Actually, ma'am, I dropped out of selection for the marines, but I still deployed alongside them."

"Huh?!"

After having screened each and every candidate for open jobs on the Orwells' security detail, Isabelle felt embarrassed. Clearly, she'd misunderstood this one's CV, and she turned to Alicia, expecting to see disappointment scrawled across her face. But that wasn't the case.

The boss's chief of staff seemed impressed and curious. "Deployed alongside?" she queried. "Interesting... So, you dropped out of selection, but you were still recruited by... MI6?"

Trixie smiled, packing away her treasured rifle as she refused to answer the question. It was easy enough to decipher the silence, and Alicia filled in the blanks.

Few young girls dream of becoming commandos in Her Majesty's Armed Forces, but Trixie spent countless nights watching war documentaries with her granddad. She never wanted to be anything else -- she wanted to be a soldier, and she wanted to serve in the most elite echelons of the military. When she dropped out of selection, that dream was almost shattered.

Someone spotted her eagerness and her proficiency with a rifle, offering her a second chance. She wanted to impress and would have carried out orders that even a battle-hardened marine may have baulked at.

"Did you ever harm an innocent person?" Alicia asked.

Trixie shook her head. She'd spent three years in North Africa, hunting a specific threat to the Realm alongside a group of commandos. They were comrades in arms, though she still wanted to make it official -- she wanted to be what they were. That was the deal: She'd finish the mission and they'd approve her for service. When the job was done and dusted, she returned to Britain, and her bosses went back on their word. They wanted her to remain in their service, doing god knows what...

She was content with being transferred from one assignment to the next for six months, but her will to live slowly faded. After a disfavourable psychiatric review, she was discharged without preconditions. Now, the young woman -- and experienced operator -- was without a dream and searching for alternatives.

Alicia liked what she saw. "You're hired as far as I'm concerned. Ms Natasha Orwell will be your principal, but Mr Orwell pays your salary."

"Are they husband and wife?" Trixie asked, noting the surnames.

The answer to that question was complicated. "They're not married, but they are very close. Cousins."

Trixie smirked, not needing a degree in rocket science to put things together. If anything, she was relieved. At least something was interesting about this job.

"I understand the security detail is extremely high risk?" she asked.

Skylar still didn't like the Brit. "It's incredibly dangerous. We've faced numerous attacks and lost several men. Maybe you're not well suited for it, being used to hiding in a bush and shooting people from a mile away."

"People? I've only ever killed one person at that distance, Ms Kelly," Trixie teased, rolling her shoulders back, and putting on her glasses. "You can rest assured, I'm good at close quarters... Maybe I can demonstrate that as part of the interview?"

The Aussie bodyguard-cum-valet swallowed heavily, detecting more than a trace of innuendo in the last remark. She couldn't deny the fiery brunette was pretty, and she couldn't deny the sex appeal of a woman with a gun. But she could also set that aside to fulfill her duty to the Orwells.

She didn't like Roth, but only time would tell if that dislike was justified.

16 • Retry

The next morning's brunch was a lot more constructive than the last. It was only 11 AM, but we'd decided to have some gin cocktails and were avoiding serious talks and negotiation. Instead, we focused on getting to know our mother, and she focused on getting to know her kids.

"Why did you never date after your husband died?" Elle asked.

"My husband?" Mom raised an eyebrow, her mood ring turning amber. "You mean your father?"

"I didn't know him, so how could I consider him my father? Our brother is the closest we have to a dad."

Looking at me, I could see traces of anguish in Eve's eyes. "I'm sorry you had to play that role, Oliver. Maybe if I'd been better--"

"Now, now," I interrupted, "let's focus on the question. Why didn't you ever try dating?"

Eve pursed her lips, thinking carefully about a question I could see she'd never even considered. "Why would I have?" she asked. "I just never understood the appeal."

"What about love?" Tecla asked, gobsmacked that anyone could turn their back on romance.

"Do you love your brother?" our mother answered the question with a question.

"We do..."

"Enough to date him?"

"We are--"

"Nope," Eve smirked.

It wasn't something that could be argued with. We knew it was true.

What existed between the girls and me wasn't dating in the ordinary sense of the word. There was no courtship required, and we didn't feel the need or the desire to change that. Surprisingly, our previously aloof mother saw that... She was attentive and understood us, which I never thought was the case.

With it clear that we wouldn't get a straight answer to the last, I decided it was my turn to ask another question of our mother. "Would you be willing to live with us indefinitely? I want the family to be together. The girls have been working on building a home for us, and you'd have your say over what accommodation you'd like, but I want you to stay there."

Eve looked around the table, waiting for one of the girls to interrupt and object. No objection came, and her mood ring turned dark green as she took her time formulating an answer.

We waited and waited, but our mother seemed to have gotten lost in thought. Tecla and Elle eventually excused themselves, eager to head to the pool, leaving me with Mom.

"I'd also like to go swim," she declared, getting to her feet.

"But you haven't answered my question?"

"C'mon, let's go to my room and talk about it."

I got up and followed Eve as she strutted ahead of me. We didn't indulge in small talk, giving me a chance to focus on the visual... The animation.

The eye is sometimes drawn to the strangest things. Yet, when the brain deciphers what we're looking at, it makes perfect sense. On this occasion, I noticed my mother's hands: Clean, manicured, steady, and relaxed.

When we arrived at her suite, I didn't follow her at first. In some homes, a child might enter their parent's room without permission, but that's not how we grew up. It seemed that was about to change as Eve waved me inside with a silly impatience behind her eyes as I watched her rummage through her closet.

"I am paranoid," she confessed. "When your dad died..."

I waited for an end to the sentence, but nothing came. It was time for me to meet her halfway and help her express herself. That may have gone beyond the ordinary duties of a son, bleeding into the sphere of free therapy, but needs must.

"Was it liberating? When he died, I mean."

"Yes," Eve answered without hesitation, throwing down a white bikini on the bed. "How's this one?"

"It looks good," I answered offhand, eager to continue the serious part of our conversation. "Was our father problematic? Did he hurt you?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm glad he's dead, and I'm glad I never really knew him."

Exhaling, my mother gave me a pitiful look, but I felt more sorry for her. I'd never done the math until recently. He was much older -- too much older -- and it couldn't have been a healthy relationship. Then, the CIA man boarded our plane and called him a 'diddler', telling me my sisters would have been prey if the man hadn't died so early in their lives.

"Your grandfather was a great man," Mom started. "He was my teacher, and your father was often around when I had after-school classes. I was quite good at chemistry, and your granddad wanted me to write an entrance exam for this special advanced programme. Sadly, I never wrote the exam... Because I got swept away by the man's son -- by your father."

Feeling the conversation get a little too intense, my mother walked over to her closet and retrieved two pairs of heels. The first was strappy -- black and blue -- and the second was golden. Both were platforms with spikes at least four inches, if not more.

"Which do you prefer?" she asked.

"Uhm... It depends on the occasion. One pair is great for a pole dancer; the other would work well for a hooker."

For the first time ever, my mother stuck her tongue out at me... It was adorable, cheeky and childish, but it was fun more than anything else. She dropped into a squat and rummaged around in her closet before producing another two pairs of shoes. The first was a pair of brown boots in a gladiatorial style -- all those straps running up to knee height with a sharp heel at the back. The second pair was some kind of white platform sandal that I knew fashion-obsessed girls on social media were crazy about (and willing to pay hundreds of dollars for).

"What about these?" she asked.

I couldn't resist being a little pain in the ass, as all sons are surely entitled to every once in a while. "Neither. The sandals are overpriced, and the boots... All I'll say is we're in Bali, not at the colosseum."

For a second, Eve shot this sly little glance at me. It was happier than a smile, and she let me enjoy it before heading to her bathroom, returning with another pair of shoes. These were plain black heels, and I realised that if I didn't choose her footwear, she wouldn't leave her room.

"We're by the beach," I remarked. "Why not wear something practical?"

"Your sisters only wear heels nowadays, so I thought I would too."

I felt daring. "A pornstar told them it enhances their looks."

"You let my daughters take beauty tips from a pornstar?"

"We also had a foursome with said pornstar," I grinned.