Ingrid (Act 1 of 2)

Will puts her foot back down and embarks on another long journey up his sister's leg hair to her other cum-damp hip. When his cheek once again grazes her sweet, pale pelvis, she taps his head. He gazes up at her, supplicating. His mouth is--her pussy is--he could just--

"Now, starting from the top," she points to her cheek, where that old impetuous glob from his belly still waits.

Will is taller than his little sister. He stands to full height, erection probing her belly, and nuzzles her small, nice-smelling head. She tilts her cummy cheek up to him. He moves in, kisses her ear lobe, kisses the fuzzy skin just beside her ear, and then kisses his way slowly toward his cum. She makes a small noise of charmed pleasure.

"Aw," she smiles. "He loves his little sister."

"This is my sister's cheek," he says, and licks off some of the cum. He savors it. He gulps.

"I have marked it with my seed," and he slurps up the middle bit, the thickest bit, sort of tongues it around in his mouth, then swallows it.

"It is mine now." He licks her soft, sculpted face. He can't help hearing the words "sprinkling of freckles" in his ear as he does this. How many creeps have gazed upon his sister's achingly perfect face and wished they could just lick her?

Ingrid suddenly cranks her head around and catches him in a kiss. She wants his tongue. She seals her lips around the tip of it and begins to suck. Will startles at first, then realizes what's happening. He lazily, happily sticks his whole fat cummy tongue all the way out--into his little sister's horny mouth, incidentally. She starts bobbing up and down, hungrily wicking away his residue.

It's almost like she's sucking a cock. Except it's different than how she sucks a cock, he happens to know. He has a sort of floaty, fluttery realization that there is every likelihood his little sister will suck his cock again. And possibly even again. He melts into her mouth.

Then, as if she has heard his thoughts, she starts swirling around and around the tip of his tongue and moaning onto it. He can't help chuckling, and then she does too. Her hot salty breath and his billow into and out of each other's mouths. Their lips connect, seal, and their tongues begin wrestling in the dark. She grabs him by the head, pulls him harder into the kiss, as if he must somehow get closer. He's had girlfriends try this before, but this is the first time he's ever not rolled his eyes at the gesture. His erection--sailing full mast, once again--slides up her flat messy belly. He sort of just wants to hump his little sister's stomach, but the mechanics aren't quite right.

The sun reappears from behind a cloud neither of them had noticed to begin with. Will is more aware of all the sudden sunlight in the room than he has been all day, than he has been all year, and he squeezes his little sibling so tight she whimpers inside his mouth. Their kiss lasts who fucking cares how long.

Then she pushes him away again.

"Okay," she says, wiping a bit of drool off the corner of her mouth. "Sorry for interrupting. Please, continue."

Will is voracious now. He drops to his knees, grabs his little sister by the hips, and pulls her toward him.

It's Nipple Time baby!, he thinks but thank God does not say out loud.

His little sister's nipples are hard brown pebbles. He is somewhat surprised, then delighted, to find they have a pungent flavor to them all their own, almost like her armpits. He sucks one fully clean and then the other, and then goes back to sucking the first one. It may not seem like much, to simply suck a nipple, but it can be much. And his little sister's nipples in particular are very much.

Will puts his whole mouth over her puny boob and inhales noisily, her shape or lack thereof not granting proper suction even as he squeezes what little she has together in his hand. Some crazy, tit-sucking animal part of his brain wishes her tiny breast were somehow detachable, ingestible, could be somehow safely swallowed whole.

"Sorry," she laughs. "They're still kind of fun though, right?"

"MM," he grunts. He puts her incredibly hard, stinky-tasting nipple back into his mouth, pinches it with his teeth, nibbles, gnaws on it, and finally scares his sister, who grabs him by the scruff and yanks him away.

"FUCK, that--that felt sexual."

"Yeah," he sort of comes to, remembering himself. "Sorry Sis. I think it's clean now."

"I didn't--I didn't hate it. It just kind of--wow," her head does a little quiver. "Keep going. Maybe we can have Nipple Time later." Nipple Time!, he thinks, and but keeps it to himself.

Will proceeds to lap up the undersides of his sister's cute little boobies, if they could be said to have any. The sweat here is sweet and mingles almost musically with the saltiness of his cum. The one flavor it had been missing! Ingrid.

Oh God, still sweeter juices await him elsewhere.

"You know what?" he says, pausing yet again. Hard to stay focused on acid. "You are edible."

"I know! And you haven't even gotten to the tasty bits!"

"I want the tasty bits, Sis."

"I know you do," she pouts, and pats him on the head like he's being a good brother. "Keep it up, you're doing good."

As he cleans her ribs, she muses, "But just so we're both clear, my pussy is the tasty bits? You're going to have to lick my pussy to get the tasty bits?" Will doesn't laugh, just shoots her a crazed look, and she chuckles despite herself. "Dude, I knew you'd come around."

Her stomach looks like someone dropped a big piece of jellied toast face-down and then retrieved it without wiping up the mess. He works in an orderly fashion, moving left to right across her abdomen and licking from the soft ticklish base of her tummy all the way up to the arch of her rib cage.

With his sister's exquisite little belly button, a perfectly circular, semi-hollow innie, he has to get in there with the tip of his tongue and really poke around to get his cum out of the creases. He sucks at it, too, and then, feeling like an older brother, blows a big farty raspberry. Ingrid sort of cracks up.

"Hey Bro."

"Yeah Sis?"

"I love you to death."

"I love you, too," he says, blushing.

"Yeah, I just ... wanted to point it out while you were sucking cum out of my belly button."

"Well Sis, just you wait until you see what else I can suck cum out of."

Not the prettiest prose, but he feels her goosebumps on his lips all the same. By the time he gets around to his little sister's 'tasty bits,' he suspects there is going to be a lot more than cum for him to reckon with.

Just then, there's a friendly knock at Will's apartment door.

Chapter Six

"Stop," Ingrid gasps, and without a second thought shoves her brother flat on his ass.

Will complains stupidly. It takes one ugly moment for the horror to catch up with him. Rest assured, it does.

The sunlit silence following the knock pulses almost visibly. Will carefully, shakily, crawls to his feet. A floorboard whines. Ingrid glances at him, furious. In a hushed growl, she points in the direction of the knocking and demands to know who and why.

Will has no earthly idea. Acid and the taste of his little sister's nipples have taken him fully out of time and space. No obligations, no due dates, no appointments, should have been able to find him in this dimension.

There is another knock, this time more forceful, and on some forgotten surface elsewhere in the apartment, Will's phone starts to ring. Like really loudly.

The stench of sister and brother in the air is suddenly visceral to both siblings. Will feels a wave of nausea, not at the odor, but at something else. The knocking at the door continues. His phone rings again.

His phone rings again. Ingrid curses under her breath. She slips noiselessly out of the room. Her antigravity is enviable.

"I am too high," Will shakes his head. "I am too high."

The phone's ringtone is peppy and complex and unbelievably long, each time it plays. Now again it begins, prattles through its intro, breaks into its hook, builds to its second arc, drags out another refrain, and somehow lingers through an outro. Then it plays the hook again. At last, it quiets.

Will dares not move. He knows the floor will creak. He is not his ethereal sibling. He waits for the phone to finish ring again, for the knocking to recur, for this awful moment to either kill him where he stands or pass into blessed obscurity behind him.

The phone rings again.

Will can imagine the person outside his apartment, ear to the door, listening as his very obvious phone very obviously rings. He knows for certain that they know for certain that he is home.

There is another knock. A long, impatient silence.

Mercifully, twenty seconds passes, and it seems as though all will stay silent.

Will lets out a ragged sigh of spent adrenaline--just as his sister's phone starts to buzz, from somewhere: over on a shelf beside the bedroom door. It falls flat with a smack onto the shelf. Will is startled half to death, and then perplexed. Had his sister's phone been standing upright?

Ingrid reappears in the doorway, quiet as a shadow, and snatches the phone from its perch. She mutes it. She has thrown on Will's terrible bathrobe.

"Mom," she murmurs, more surprised than distraught. She has grabbed her brother's phone, too. She holds them both for some reason.

"You grabbed my phone," Will says, unable to understand why she would do that.

"You left it in the bathroom sink?" she asks him.

"Why didn't you stop it ringing?"

"She's right outside the door, dingus!" she hisses.

"Who is?" he asks, his throat suddenly drying up as he asks.

"Mom," she glares, a little dumbfounded by her brother's delayed processing skills.

And a void opens up starting at his sister's mouth, overtakes her face, her head, her robe, then the doorway, that entire side of the room, and finally the very floor that Will is panicking on. He disappears into its inky, colorless gloom.

Ingrid regards her brother's pale gray face and looks almost more worried about him than the situation itself. He has seen--is seeing--a ghost.

He has forgotten about Mom. The following memory recurs to him like a series of sharp, splattering slaps across the limp, miserable jelly of his brain:

His mother had called a few weeks ago to tell him that she was planning to be in town for work this weekend, and wondered if she and Will and Ingrid might all want to go out and grab some dinner with her, her treat. Will, depressed, had feigned enthusiasm. He had promised her he was looking forward to seeing her. And then he had promptly forgotten all about it.

"I forgot," he murmurs to his sister.

Her eyes go suddenly hard.

And now Mom is here, and they have stood her up--no they are standing her up, as they literally stand here, naked and stinking of each other.

He can only imagine what is going through Mom's head, or through her heart, as she makes the lonely walk down all three flights of stairs back to her car.

Probably not this.

Will's phone buzzes and ka-dings in her hand, and she almost drops it. One new voicemail.

"FUCK, you take it," Ingrid commands. "This is your fuck-up."

Each utterance from her is its own blunt-force trauma. Will knows, here and now, that this situation is damaging him for life. This is what that kind of damage feels like.

Will takes his phone like it's a lit bomb. Ingrid presses the play button for him--why on earth would she do that--then steps away and chews her nails as it begins. It takes one delirious moment between when she presses play and when it starts, in which moment Will is half-hopeful it simply won't ever play, that the message is a glitch, non-real, will self-delete momentarily.

"Hey Inge sweetie, it's your mom. I'm just, ah, standing here outside your brother's place, and I'm looking at his car here. So I guess you two are ... asleep? Or maybe you stepped out and left your phones, I don't know. Anyway, so give me a call when you get this, if you get it in the next, um, thirty minutes or so. I'll just be down here, hanging out, in my car. Hope you two didn't forget I was coming, ha! I really am looking forward to seeing you. Ok. Love ya. Bye. ... Right, now how do I--[beep]"

Will stands breathing, slack-jawed, and mutely absorbs the violence of his mother's earnestness.

Ingrid forces back tears. "Fuck tears," is the face she's making.

"What do we do?" she asks. "She's waiting for us to call her back."

"I can't believe I forgot," he groans. "We were just--I just got so--FUCK, how did I forget?"

"Hey, you're not helping. Sober up and think. What do we do?"

"How am I supposed to 'sober up,' Inge? I am high on fucking acid thanks to you!"

"Thanks to me?" she snarls. "Thanks to ME, I'm pretty sure you were also high on this," she opens her robe--slapping him upside the amygdala with full-frontal incest again--then angrily closes it back up.

"You were about to lick cum out of my vagina!"

"You deliberately coerced me with drugs!"

"You sniffed my leggings right in front of me!"

"You made me lick my cum off your feet!"

"I 'MADE' you do jack shit!" Ingrid says, and thrusts a surprisingly strong finger into his chest. Then she switches to a darkly sweet voice, "And it was just the one foot, technically."

"We can't go downstairs like this, Inge. We can't. I can't. I need to go lay down." He lumbers toward the door, bound for his blank, sexless bedroom.

"No," Ingrid glares at him, blocking the doorway. His sister may be smaller than him, but she has never been unable to kick his ass. "Our mother flew all the way out here to see us. You are not going to just leave her outside in her car wondering if we don't love her anymore."

"She's only here for work!"

"She hasn't seen us in years."

"And for good reason! Do you not remember the last time you were home?"

Ingrid falters for a moment.

"That ... was then. This is now. She's a good Mom. She has the right to see us."

"Sis, I..." he can't argue with her logic. She's not wrong. "I can't ... believe this is happening."

"Alas, cela se passe," and she looses her grip on the robe, letting it dangle open. "Let's go take a quick shower. But call her back first. Right now. Let her know we'll be down in ... twenty. Can you be ready in twenty minutes?"

"S-sure, I guess," Will sputters. He stares helplessly at the phones in his hands. They stare back, glassy-eyed and impartial. "What do I tell her?"

"Tell her you were biting cum off my nipples and neither of us could get to the phone."

"Sis," he says, aghast. "This is for real. We have to live through this."

"Will," she says, finally out of patience. "We are pros at keeping secrets. Just call her and tell her the first thing that pops into your head. I'm sure it'll do the trick."

Ingrid opens her robe, drops it to the floor, and leaves it there as she heads for the bathroom.

"By the way," she says, "that thing reeks."

Will can see his reflection in the black mirror of his sister's phone. He looks like ... her brother. He straightens up, fakes a manager smile, and is surprised at how convincing it is. This gives him a boost.

He clicks her phone awake.

"Hey, Sis? What's your passcode thing?"

"Just use your phone, stupid!"

"Oh, right."

Chapter Seven

"You two are so serious tonight," Mom says, touching Ingrid's thigh. They're seated at a wooden picnic table on the patio of a local fried chicken joint.

Will is kind of in his own world but trying not to be. He is paying attention. His mother and sister are sitting across from them. The sky is pink. The table is green. And someone has carved the words "THE END IS NEAR" right in front of him.

He shudders, grabs his chicken bone-strewn plate, and covers up the message.

"Jetlag," he hears Ingrid explain.

"Right," Mom nods curiously, "but sweetie you've been in town, what, two weeks?"

"It is said to take an hour a day per time zone," Will contributes, "to readjust one's sleep schedule."

"Right, so how many days is that?" Mom asks Ingrid.

"Um," Ingrid does some quick mental time zone math, "Eight?"

"Oh, pbffft!" Mom snorts, "So you should be right as rain by now!"

"Okay. I don't know what to tell you."

"Heck, I get it! You're young! You need your beauty sleep." Mom pauses for a moment and just can't help smiling at her daughter. "Gosh, have I already said it's just so good to see you two again? You have grown so frigging gorgeous," she touches Ingrid's face.

Then she suddenly frowns, "Inge, where did you get that?"

Ingrid feels at the spot where her mother's distressingly sober gaze is burning a hole in her skin. She feels a slight tenderness there. A hickey, no doubt.

"Uh-oh," Ingrid throws her brother a look that he does not compute. "Hey Bro, should I tell her?"

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh--"

"What?" Mom whines. "Tell me!"

"Will gave it to me," her daughter grins.

"Oh," she snorts and slaps Ingrid's wrist, "Don't be gross. I want to know!"

"We're all a little gross, aren't we Mother?"

"Well, I'm not. Maybe your father. Possibly your brother," she smirks at Will, expecting a laugh.

Will laughs a little too hard. Mom touches his wrist and tells him to relax, she's only teasing.

"I got it from a boy," Ingrid lies. Mom likes this better.

"You have a boyfriend?" she asks, pleasantly confused, "Since when?"

"Well, not a boyfriend per se. We were, um--it was just kind of a ... French ... thing?"

"Oh," Mom nods, as if France explains everything. Then she frowns again. "I don't know, honey. Shouldn't it've healed by now? You've been back for a while. Maybe you should get it looked at. Does it hurt?"

Ingrid rolls her eyes, then deflects Mom's hand when she tries to feel at the mark. She grabs Mom's hand, brings it down to the table, holds it.

"It's fine, Mom."

Will interrupts, grinning like an idiot. "Hey. Do you know why they call them hickeys?"

"Huh, what?" Mom is caught off-guard.

"I think he's trying to tell a joke," Ingrid glares at him.

"Oh. I don't know, Will, why do they call them hickeys?"

"Well! As recently as the 1900s, the word 'hickey' referred generally to any kind of skin lesion, but this could possibly have been a sense extension from an earlier meaning of the word referring to any kind of gadget of uncertain origin. Perhaps you've heard of the word 'doohickey?'"

"What is this? Inge, is your brother okay?"

"Hey, réveilles-toi," Ingrid toes at her brother's shin under the table. "Earth to Will?"

Will feels his sister's toes, he remembers eating foot cum, and he short circuits. He looks at Mom. Mom looks at him. He contemplates the big red blinking button in his brain. Break Glass in Case of Emergency.

The ship's on fire. Fuck it. He's bailing.

"Sorry. Mom, I took acid. I do not know what's going on right now. Please forgive me."

"For real?" Mom gasps. She looks from Will to Ingrid and then back to Will. Then she erupts into a snort. "So that's why you didn't answer me earlier? You stinker! I thought you were mad at me!"

"Mom?" his relief is so instantaneous, so profound, so sunset pink. "I am never mad at you. I avoided the phone because I was scared. I am happy to be here with you now. I'm glad I came."