tagErotic CouplingsIllusions Amongst the Pines

Illusions Amongst the Pines


-While there is no actual incest in the story, it is discussed, which is why this story calls Erotic Couplings home.

-Characters involved in sexual contact are at least eighteen years old.


It felt like a dream, this wet, silky warmth engulfing me. It had to be a dream. A feeling so blissfully addictive had to be the effect of an REM sleep-induced wonderland. Because otherwise, what else could it be?

Sensation after overwhelming sensation elevated me to the point of eruption, shaking me out of semi-consciousness. At first, my hazy logic dictated that my bladder has simply released in my sleeping bag. However, I was eighteen, so the thought that I had 'wet the bed' was quite laughable. In the next few seconds, as I drifted out of my dreamy wonderland, I realized something real and direct was at work. Slowly, it became obvious someone - someone uninvited - was in my tent.

This wasn't an overall wetness, but an intense, moist heat moving rhythmically along my shaft. My nostrils were filled with the nonthreatening, feminine scent of Coco Chanel, which momentarily put me at ease. My eyelids rose as I awoke slowly, but doing so made no difference. My need to discover the arbiter of my bliss was prevented by the utter darkness around me.

The mystery warmth, which my mind envisioned as a mouth, continued to consume my member. My chest was heaving; I wanted to speak, but no words came out. I couldn't manage to utter a sound or move so much as a pinky. Although somewhat aware, I still hadn't arrived at full consciousness and the glorious sensation that held my virgin length firmly was all my confused mind could contemplate. My frozen condition had one positive aspect: it gave assurance that I wouldn't startle the person whose teeth were dangerously near my cock.

'Why, who, and what the fuck is happening?' The words were stuck in my throat. My chest heaved; as I came more fully awake I was filled with a combination of not only lust, but fear.

The warm mouth surrendered its rapid efforts along my length and a silent pause followed. All I could do was absorb and observe as much as I could in the absolute darkness.

At least I could be sure it was a she; I had felt exceptionally long hair brush along my exposed abdomen. The ever present Coco Chanel scent I had noticed as I awakened was an indicator that this wasn't the actions of one of the varsity alpha's with whom I attended boarding school.

She lifted her body, causing my sleeping bag to open further. Her very real, soft mounds slid against me as she slowly glided upward. My mind began to contemplate who it could be and it touched upon one person- but I couldn't place her doing this. Still, an inactive introvert such as myself did not have a long list of admirers.

I sensed rather than felt when she shed her clothing.

"John, I know you're awake - although you are being much quieter than usual." She took hold of my cock in her small delicate grip. "Tell me you love the way I suck your cock, baby," she said in a soft and quivering, seductive tone.

My tongue felt heavy, and, as usual, no words came.

All it took was her speaking, and I knew who it was. Not because of her words, but because of the voice that delivered it. I had never truly spoken directly to her, but her voice was unmistakable. I also knew that I wasn't the person she thought I was. This had been a case of "pitching a tent" in the wrong tent. The hot body that was now cuddled against my tense frame belonged to Lydia Bryant. Her voice was unmistakable, not only because we shared so many classes, but because we were both on the Adams Academy Choir together. Her voice, much like her, was a free spirit.

Laying there in the tent with more and more of my body covered by the most stunning girl in school, you'd think I'd be all smiles. Not so; I felt suffocated. I wanted everything to return to a state of normality. I've never done well in interpersonal situations, especially ones bound to become exponentially horrific. My analytical brain buzzed as she moved her waist to align with mine. The name "John," kept playing out in my head.

She obviously thought I was someone else; my name is Daniel. But, who was this "John?" We had quite a few students named John in our school, but only one was in senior year with Lydia and me and there was no way...

Then it hit me like a bolt of lightning; I realized who she thought was in the tent with her. My body locked tighter than it had at any other time in my life. My lust gave way to instant nausea. My heart sped up and my chest heaved mechanically. I was scared. Her hands returned to my member and she encased it with what could only have been a condom.

She began to speak but my mind blocked it out. I couldn't breathe; where before everything had been simply dark to my eyes, now my mind began to go pitch black too. In moments, my brain completely shut down.


I'll back up a bit: No, my name is not John. The only thing John and I have in common is that we attend the same pretentious boarding school. My name is Daniel Miller and four years ago I was accepted into the fold of Adams' Academy, a boarding school in Andover, Massachusetts.

Adams' Academy stands amongst the most elite preparatory schools in America. Without a doubt it is the most successful at producing men and women of tremendous influence. The academy has educated more elder statesmen than there are states. A point of pride for Adams' has always been the three alumni they produced that made it all the way behind the resolute desk.

I, however, am one of the few charity cases that Adams' admits annually to add credence to the Adams' core values of "Virtue, Sacrifice, and Duty". Scholarship students were the butt of jokes and underhanded jabs. We were the lowest on the social spectrum, even lower than the day students. Thanks in part to my economic status, my first couple of years at Adam I was a social outcast. I was as nerdy as one can get, and I suffered from a terrible case of introversion.

I survived my first two years in Andover by permanently sequestering myself. I talked to no one. With - what I had thought of as luck - I had been graced with a single room. I had always assumed single accommodations would be prized. As it turned out though, all the millionaire alphas had perfected the art of networking early. Doubles were the rarest and most coveted rooms.

Finally, in my junior year, I was forced out of my bubble. I was placed in a double room with an international student. Brandon Cheng had transferred from the school he attended in Hong Kong to Adams. He and I quickly became not just good, but the very best of friends. Even though he had grown up on the other side of the world, we were quite similar. We had the same favorite television shows, and video games and even the same anal study habits.

The one exception to our similarities was that Brandon was light-years ahead of me socially. Before his arrival, eating in Hilliard dining hall consisted of me nibbling away alone at the far end of the large, emasculating room. In the dining hall, students at Adams divided themselves into groups, mainly the nerds and the preps. If I had come from money, a logical fit would have been my fellow nerds.

Most of the scholarship students seemed to try harder than all the other groups to fit into the Adams' mold but instead I isolated myself before anyone could write me off. From the start, I put up a great wall around myself. I felt estranged from one and illegitimate to the other. I was a kid from a blue collar town in Pennsylvania, and I felt like an island.

That changed with my new roommate. When junior year rolled around I became a fixture at the Asian dominated table in Hilliard. Adams' almost always reverted to ethnic and socioeconomic cliques, with the occasional spillover or random association. The academy's miniscule Asian population was oddly cohesive; they did not splinter off into economic subsections like all the others. Thanks to Brandon, I became part of the glue in their clique.

On this occasion, as a senior at Adams' Academy, I was part of what would be our last annual wilderness trip. For the weekend, our senior class would sleep among the great pines on the north end of the academy's grounds.

I called this bonding excursion "May Torture," since it occurred at the end of every May. It was supposed to link us to nature with the hope that upon our final exit and entry into positions of power, we would have enough respect for Mother Nature that we wouldn't ravage her.

The camping trip had been planned so that the senior students would leave after Friday's supper. By six thirty sharp we all had to meet on Canard field, no exceptions. No excuses were allowed no matter who you were.

Assistant Head Master Leyland was dressed as rugged as you'd expect from a Rhode's scholar. Still dressed in his Scottish tweed, his grizzly eyebrows were arched upward as his left hand rubbed his chin.

He approached the activity staff and they didn't look too pleased. By my digital watch and calculations on the size of the boy's group, it appeared as though one person was running about ten minutes late. I really didn't think much of who was running late at the time because it didn't matter to me; he was just another rich boy. However, little did I know that it would set a chain of events into motion that would drastically change my senior year at Adams.

As we waited, the sporty, brand name-dressed varsity alpha males with their Ivy League crew cuts were making their typical flirtatious gestures to the girls and tossing around a football. They looked to me like peacocks flouting their colors.

Brandon and I stood with our other friends in the middle of Canard Field debating the application of Star Trek's Prime Directive. While we waited, Brandon pulled me aside. "You should go over and speak to Alice Wade," he said, pointing at the angelically cute, Chinese-American girl currently talking amongst her girlfriends a few meters away.

"Why?" I asked.

"Like I've said before, she has a crush on you. I really don't know how it's possible, but it is," Brandon said with a smug, confident smirk.

"Ha ha, yes, I know you keep saying that. But how do you know for sure?" I asked. I had to admit though, my interest having been peaked.

"It's so obvious."

"It's obvious. Right, I doubt that; she doesn't like me."

"Okay, since you're so inept, I'll spell it out for you. Why does she choose to sit beside you at almost every meal instead of sitting with the other girls?"

"She's not into gossiping. And plus, we like talking about the same things."

"Exactly. Why does she laugh at every stupid joke you make? And why is she looking over her shoulder at you every few seconds like - time it - right now? You need to wake up and make a move! Unless, of course, you don't like her?"

Brandon was talking about cute, petite Alice. Of course I liked her. I had serious doubts, however, that she liked me.

Brandon holding up his hands in surrender and my eyes wandered beyond Alice to another group of girls, the elites. Don't judge me; I'm a red blooded male. My eyes went straight to the jewel of the group, Lydia Bryant. She was two inches shorter than my five foot ten, with high cheek bones, green eyes, an unforgettable fluid form and ever-present, radiant skin. She stood releasing her light auburn hair from a pony tail and it cascaded down her back to land just above her tight, rounded ass cheeks.

With no good reason for them to be held up, the girl's side was being given the thumbs up by Leyland to start their Northern trek. Brandon made sure to point out that Alice was waving at me as she left. Five minutes later, the jackass straggler that had been holding up the boy's group finally decided to grace us with his presence. Assistant Head Master Leyland made a beeline straight for the straggler, typical Ivy League alpha, John Bryant.


John was a self-appointed disturber of the peace. Each year, by the end of the first day at Adams', all first-years became acquainted with his hazing rituals. Brandon and I considered him the Emperor of assholes. I'm sure the majority of the Adams' population agreed, with the exception of the school elites. I couldn't hear what Leyland said, but Brandon came up with multiple mocking scenarios later on as we walked.

I had just been admiring John's sister, Lydia. I think it's clear to point out that there were obvious differences between the two Bryants. Lydia never did disturb the peace like her social animal of a brother. She displayed clear intellect and never made any enemies. I can't know how she was in private, but to me she always came off as a positive and confident, yet humble, person.

Being attractive was something the two Bryants shared, but intelligence was not. She was going to Princeton but he'd be lucky to get into University of South Dakota. John was a year older than Lydia, and last year, we had all been relieved and glad that John and his gang were graduating. But, low and behold, John stayed at the academy due to failing his courses. The only good quality John possessed was his ability to catch a spiral while blazing down Canard field. Winning was very important at Adams'.

Lydia was another story; she had her brother beat intellectually and socially. I would watch as Lydia participated in the Adams' debating league. My Mother taught me chess when I was eight and I eventually became a keen player. Playing chess made me observant. I noticed that Lydia would win arguments when she wanted and lose where she could have won. She was a tactician and a masterful mover of men.


It took about an hour and a half to arrive at the campsite. We were all tired beyond reason, and of course the girl's section had beaten us, winning the better spot. We quickly set up camp before downing a few hotdogs and marshmallows.

It wasn't long before Assistant Head Master Leyland had another tussle with young Master Bryant. Leyland had found two bottles of Lagavulin hidden away in John's camping packs which resulted in John getting sent back to campus. Since he had already set up his tent and I was still struggling with mine, I decided just to use his. Hence, I ended up in John Bryant's custom built tent, with all its illuminating markings. When lights out was called, I was already tucked away sleeping soundly.


I came to after my brief black out and all I could think of was that Lydia, thinking I was her brother, had sucked my cock. My brain wanted to reject the thought. I could feel the heat of her body in my sleeping bag with me, and she was straddling me. I could feel my cockhead sliding into the seductively tight wetness of her pussy. She began to slide down me, her velvet crevice slowly swallowing me.

Her face was next to mine and she ran her smooth upper lip down my cheek, and grazing against my lower lip on its short journey. My smaller head stayed firm, betraying the shocked emotions running through my larger head. I was almost fully encased in that sweet pussy when my bigger head finally decided to override the smaller one.

"Get off me, get off! I'm not your brother!" I said.

I forced her up and off of me and gave her no time to react as I ran from the tent pulling up my pants, my feet bare slapping against the morning dew on the long grass. I only made it a short distance before I released the contents of my stomach onto a nearby pine tree. A member of the activity staff moved speedily in my direction, shining a high powered flashlight in my unadjusted eyes.

"Mr. Miller?" the young male member of the staff said as he recognized me. "Daniel, man, are you all right?" He asked, now aware of my distressed position.

"I..." was all that came out

My mind contemplated spilling my guts verbally. After all, I shouldn't have to carry someone else's burdens. However, bent over with a condom still gripping my semi-erect cock, I decided against it.

"I was just feeling a bit queasy, but I'm okay now," I said to the activity staffer.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Where were you before Mr. Night Watchman? I added silently in my head.

"I'll get you some water. You're sure you don't need to head back to the academy? I can tell Mr. Leyland you need to, if you'd like."

It would have been easier to say yes, but I declined. I would endure.

"Okay, stay here; I'll be back with a bottle of water."

As he left I saw Lydia make her exit from the tent. She turned and looked at me. I caught a glimmer of her through the moonlight at the same time she saw me. She was wiping something from her lips.

"I won't tell anyone," I whispered loud enough for her to hear.

Without a word she nodded, then was off like lightening. I wanted to assure her that I wouldn't say anything. God, I didn't want her to do something stupid to herself. She seemed shaken, but surprisingly restrained.

I tried to convince myself she had meant to be fucking another 'John.' It wasn't like she had asked, 'do you like the way I suck your cock, blood bro?'

I knew I was kidding myself though; there were no other 'Johns' on the trip. No, the bitch was sick, but I resolved that I would keep my promise and keep her secret. Besides, my continued rigidity was proof that not all of me was opposed to what had happened in the tent.

I received my water and a pat on the back, got some mouth wash and headed back to ground zero.

I tried to fall asleep for the longest while, but I couldn't. What thinking animal could sleep in such an unusual circumstance? All I could do was think and wonder about how things had changed. I thought about the scenarios that could lead a brother to sleep with his sister and vice-versa. Are there any legitimate circumstances for something like that?

Then I remembered last year's Thanksgiving where I had less than pure thoughts about my older cousin Bridget. I hadn't seen her in a while, and let's just say she had developed in a lot of places previously lacking. Before she left our house after Thanksgiving to return to college, she had given me an extra-long, teasingly-tight hug. Her large breasts had pressed against my chest, and it had seemed like she was aware of what her voluptuous flesh was doing to me. As I thought about it, I became more convinces that it had been purposeful.

In the heat of that moment - yes - I probably had thoughts of fucking my cousin. I never acted on them, though. Did that make me morally superior to the Bryants? Daylight came and I reasoned the best thing to do was act like last night never happened. Hopefully she would too.

After breakfast and the early bonding activities were over, I remembered that I had hidden the condom in the tent. Retrieving it, I snuck into the forest. Venturing down the path, I found the lake and tossed the used condom in.

"Daniel?" Someone called to me while I was facing the lake.

I froze for a moment, but rebounded quickly and turned to face the owner of the feminine voice. It wasn't Lydia; Alice stood there with her tight petite body, shoulder length jet black hair, and the cutest face you've ever seen. She put a finger on my lips even before I said anything. "We only have a month left in the year and this has been going on for too long."

"I don't know what you're talking about?" I was confused, her words were making no sense to me.

"I guess Brandon didn't spell it out for you. I'm guess I'm going to have to be blunt. This is hard for me; I was hoping you would do this." She paused, took a deep breath, and looked at me with her hazel eyes. "I like you, and I need to know if you feel the same."

To say I was surprised would be an understatement. After last night my emotions were all over the place. Did I like her? I more than enjoyed spending time with her; I looked forward to eating with her and studying alone with her. Digging through my cluttered mind, I decided I liked Alice where I had previously lusted for Lydia.

Report Story

byloquere© 2 comments/ 34015 views/ 11 favorites

Share the love

Report a Bug

3 Pages:123

Forgot your password?

Please wait

Change picture

Your current user avatar, all sizes:

Default size User Picture  Medium size User Picture  Small size User Picture  Tiny size User Picture

You have a new user avatar waiting for moderation.

Select new user avatar: