Ingrid (Act 1 of 2)

"Imbécile," his sister kicks him, "all you had to do was sit there and look pretty."

"Hey, be nice to your brother! He's high," Mom giggles, then she caresses Will's hand, gives it a little scritchy-scratch. "Honey you just relax. You don't have to pretend to know what's going on," and then his mother's voice strikes a tender, almost pained note, "And I'm happy to be here with you, too."

Chapter Eight

"Well, that was fucked," Will grumbles when they get back to the apartment.

"Oh, NOW you speak like a human?"

"She made me nervous! I couldn't help it! And did you see that fucking table?"

"It was green?"

"It was evil." He remembers the jagged, knowing shapes of the letters.

"Whatever Bro," Ingrid burps, and again she has somehow already stripped off her shoes and socks. They've barely gotten in the door. "Let's get naked and take more acid."

"Come on!" Will groans. "We just spent three hours hanging out with Mom."

"And?"

"And I feel like your sibling right now."

"And?"

"And--I don't know, SIs! Won't more acid just keep us up all night?"

Ingrid finally stops walking toward the bedroom and turns to give her brother the look his stupid question deserves.

Her white dress is soft and slippery. When she frees her shoulders, it falls off in a single liquid motion and forms a quiet little wreath around her feet. She regards him tan and topless in tight white cotton underwear. Simple but effective.

"Okay," Will concedes. He suddenly has butterflies in his stomach. "Shit. You look good."

"I know," Ingrid says. "Now get naked." She walks toward the bedroom, leaving her brother to come behind her and pick up her dress off the floor.

When he gets to the bedroom, he finds her tiny white panties bunched up on the floor beside the hamper.

"For real?" he sighs, pointing. But his sister doesn't look. She is seated naked on the mattress, rifling through her pink duffle bag again, this time looking for the tiny phial of LSD.

He picks her panties up--strongly considers sniffing them--and drops them in the hamper. The dress she barely wore, so he folds it up the best he knows how and lays it on the computer desk. He regards the dried-up yellow panties still wopsed up on his keyboard.

"Sis," he says.

"I'm looking, just give me a sec," she doesn't even glance his way. She yanks at a snagged zipper.

"Ingrid."

When she does look up at him, it is with exasperation. "Ugh. Please take your clothes off."

"Sis, listen."

"I'm not listening until you disrobe. Vous vous déshabillez." She goes back to rummaging.

"Fine," he sighs. "I can't believe this is just how we--. Whatever."

Will sits down in his old desk chair and unties his shoes one at a time, tugs them off, places them neatly beside him. This alone takes him longer than it ever takes his sister to get fully undressed. He pulls his socks off, tucks one inside the other, and stows the little bundle inside one of his shoes. Everything he'd put on is still basically clean.

He stands up. He pulls his pullover over his head, but gets it stuck on his chin before he realizes he will have to unbutton a button or two to free himself. He hears his sister "aha!" and stand up while he works the buttons. He hears her sproing across the mattress toward him. A moment later she is pressed against him, sensuously tickling his belly.

"Why don't you have any hair down here?" she asks, jealously. "My pubes grow all the way up to my belly button. It's a constant battle."

Will escapes his pullover, folds it a little impatiently, and lays it on top of her white dress. He gestures at his sister's forgotten yellow panties on the keyboard. She looks at them like he's just pointed to an ad for toothpaste. He sighs and hands them to her.

"Hamper, please?"

She slumps her shoulders, rolls her eyes, and turns around. She lumbers to the hamper and then very theatrically opens up the lid of the hamper and drops her on the floor outside of it. She twirls, let's the lid drop shut, and smiles primly. Then she rises elegantly, excruciatingly onto her toes, and floats back to him en pointe.

"Oo, oo!" she hoots, when she sees him fiddling with his belt. "Let me help!" She falls smoothly to her knees before him. As big brother stands there and unthreads his belt through all the loops, little sister undoes his fly.

"I hate these stupid button-up deals," she whines. His jeans don't simply unzip.

Will has another channel-switching moment. He can't seem to stop flipping back and forth between one and the other. In the first one, the good one, he is right here before his little sister, with the prospect of an entire evening naked with her doing a moonlit full body stretch inside his brain. In the other, the stain of the afternoon's interruption from Mom festers rot-like on the inside of his skull.

All pretense of this new chapter of their siblinghood not being overtly incestuous seems to have been dropped at some point, left behind on the floor for Will to clean up. Will doesn't even know if he can, though, despite his little sister's sunny sexual relativism. The jig is up, he worries.

He's always idly wondered how people went on living their lives after engaging in incest. Now he was doing it himself, and he still didn't know.

"Can I talk yet?" he asks as Ingrid yanks his fitted jeans down his thighs.

"Step," she says, holding the hem of one leg of his pants. He lifts his foot, and she tugs the pantleg free. "Step," she says, and impatiently gets him out of the other pantleg. She tosses his jeans toward the hamper, where they fall to rest beside her crusty yellow panties.

Will stands there in just his underwear with his sister squatting in front of him. Her gaze is leveled at his groin. Her face is expressionless. Honestly, one of her sexiest looks.

Will's underwear--which, since we haven't described them yet, let's understand are the special pricy kind that podcasts coerced him into buying and but that he fell in real love with and now slowly wears to death instead of simply buying enough to replace his whole underwear drawer like a real adult--is hiding, poorly, his sister's effect on him.

She reaches up and touches him through the fabric. Her soft, smart fingers conform to the shape of his cock. She massages up its length, looks up at him to see if this feels good. Will suddenly feels lighter, floatier. He's in the good dimension. She brings her other hand up and massages his ball sack through the underwear, too. Will puts a hand on the desk to steady himself.

Then she slips a finger from each hand into his waistband, and looks up at him one last time, still with that blank, beautiful face.

"Nothing sexual. But," she returns her gaze to the obvious boner just seconds away from her, "I need to."

She pulls his underwear down. His hardon does that timelessly entertaining flippity-flop as it tugs free of his waistband. He steps out of them without her having to ask. She takes them, brings them to her face, and takes a deep lusty sniff.

"Hm," she nods. "I sort of see the appeal."

"R-right?" he laughs uncomfortably.

"And hey these are nice Bro," she says, stretching them in her hands. "I want a pair."

Then she throws them on top of what is now officially a growing pile of laundry beside the hamper.

She grabs her brother's cock.

He takes a small step closer.

"You may now speak," she announces, and starts doing Gomez kisses up his shaft.

"R-right." He digs into his memory--a tricky thing to do when you're not looking at what you're doing--hunting for the thing he'd meant to say a minute ago.

"Oh right." He remembers. He hopes this goes over well. "I don't w-want--hey Sis," he tries politely to interrupt. She sucks the tip of his cock into her lips, makes a sucking sound on it. She stops, looks up, confused. He confesses. "I don't want to do any more acid."

"Okay?" She is puzzled. "You want me to just do it alone?"

"No, I mean I want you to--" he considers his next words, "I just want you. As you are."

She grimaces and stops fellating him altogether.

"Okay, first of all, gross," she says. "I am your sister. Never, ever talk to me like that again. And second of all..."

"Sorry, you--you're--OHhh," he says as she licks up the base of his shaft and then plunges him deep into her mouth--almost to her throat. "B-but we don't need drugs anymore, d-do we? You got my confession. I got y-y--OHhhmyGod--yours! So we're good nnn-now. Right--?"

She pulls him away again, a knit in her brow. She glares unblinking as she grips his balls, digs her fingernails in, and smiles a terrible smile. This is his little sister's this-next-part-will-hurt smile.

"We are taking acid," she squeezes. "We are staying up." Squeezes hard. "We are hanging OUT. OKAY?"

Will is stricken dumb with shock. This is a vigorous discomfort he has not known. He feels it in his womb.

"OKAY?" she asks again, and this time she yanks his testicles like a pull-chain.

The light in her brother's face clicks on. A rush of surprise nausea hits the back of Will's throat. Bounces off at a weird angle. Tumbles back down into his gut.

"Yespleasestop!" he cries, his voice breaking.

"Okay," she chimes. She looks up at him again, gives him a cute winky face he hasn't seen her make in years. That brotherly dizziness again. He feels caught on the fence between good and bad dimensions, something sharp literally caught in his groin.

"Sorry if I hurt you," she adds. "Here, lemme kiss it make it better."

She lifts up his cock and places one soft kiss underneath, where shaft connects to sack. She laps at one of his balls, sucks it into her mouth, moans onto it apologetically. She lets it pop back out.

"Hey. Remember all those times you told me to 'suck your balls' when we were kids?"

Will laughs painfully, his breathing still somewhat frantic.

She smiles nostalgically, and sucks her brother's other testicle into her mouth. She pulls it in deep and massages it with her tongue. Again, she makes sweet girly vocalizations with it in her mouth, sending vibrations through Will's sack up and up into his belly along nerves unused to sisterly affection.

Ingrid spits him out and gently laps at his whole sack on her way back up his shaft. She stops for a minute, spitooeys, picks another pube out of her mouth. She sighs up at him.

"What the hell is wrong with us?" she asks.

"Incest," he shrugs, gazing at their reflection in the window.

"Yeah. It's kind of a pretty word once you get used to it."

Will has another unwelcome flashback to their fried chicken dinner with Mom.

Mom, single and on the market, had been dressed to impress somebody or other, and her son, high off his gourd, had been problematically low on misgivings about it. There had been no "don't look at her that way" filter between his eyes and his Mom's eyes, or her cute little boobies, or her horny fingers scritchy-scratching on his hand.

Unbidden a picture of Mom's soft, doting fist tightening around his cock enters Will's mental theater. He watches mystified, as it begins to stroke--tentatively, protectively, what Ingrid might call non-sexually--

He tries to change channels. Now Mom's fist is knocking at the door. His phone is ringing. Ingrid's phone is vibrating. It falls over with a smack.

Ingrid smacks her lips.

"Hey Sis," he suddenly thinks to ask.

"Mwhm?" she says, already trying again to see how much of his cock he can fit down her throat.

"Your phone, earlier..."

She unmouths his cock, fidgets on her heels. She holds it, gazes up suspiciously, and waits to hear what her brother has to say next.

"It ... fell over when Mom called."

"Did it?" she asks strangely.

"It was pointing at the bed, I think. At the room."

"Weird."

"Sis. You--you didn't film us, did you?"

"Bro please," she tries laughing but it doesn't quite work, "That would be crossing a line."

"Okay, now I know I'm right. You don't give a shit about 'crossing a line.'"

"Aw come on," she rolls her eyes, "Your hot little sister is literally butt-ass naked on the floor in front of you, trying to get you to cum in her mouth."

"Let me see your phone."

"No!"

"Let me see your phone, Ingrid. Where is it?"

"I am not giving you my FUCKING phone. I am SUCKING your cock. What is wrong with you?"

"You can suck my cock literally any other time. Right now, I need to see your phone."

"... you can watch it later."

"Aha! So you DID film us!"

"Yes. And you're welcome."

"Ingrid, you have got to delete that video. Right now. Okay? It's probably already been uploaded to the cloud!"

"So?"

"So?! We're on Mom's family plan, dingus! What if she has access to your account?!"

"Oh. Well fuck. She does. She looks at my shit all the time."

"She WHAT?"

"She looks at my photos. She uses them for Mom stuff."

"Sis, we--we took photos together with her tonight."

"We did, didn't we?"

"What if she is sitting in her hotel room right now, looking at those pictures?'"

"Bro, please, calm down. I get it. So how do we stop this?"

"First, stop sucking your brother's penis. Second, go get your phone!"

"Ew, FINE," she says, standing up and trudging away to her duffle bag. She begins unzipping stubborn pockets and digging through junk, tossing makeup, tampons, and video games out onto the mattress.

"You put your phone in your duffle?"

"I was hiding it from you."

"Naturally," Will sighs and rubs his forehead anxiously. "There really is something wrong with us, Sis."

"Ha, found it!" she laughs. "Here, take it. Make it not upload to the cloud."

"I'll try. How are you so calm about this? She might be watching this right now. OH my fucking God."

Ingrid tells him her passcode. Will fails to put it in right. She tells him what it is again as if he hasn't heard her correctly. He says he's got it but his big dumb panicky thumbs keep tapping the wrong numbers. She snatches it from him, keys him in, and hands it back.

Once he's in, Will realizes he doesn't 100% know how to do what he needs to do. He doesn't let this on to Ingrid. She seems to be in some sort of weirdly okay shock.

Ingrid sits back down on the mattress. She hugs her knees. (Her pussy pooches out cutely between her thighs.) She gazes forlornly at her brother's slowly sagging erection. He had called it a penis. She grimaces. She had put his penis in her mouth.

He fiddles with the Photos App, sees with horror that the recorded video--its screenshot a crooked candid of his sister's bare feet--is over an hour long. He considers deleting it, but isn't sure that this will work. Plus, he very much wishes to watch it at least once before eradicating it. Possibly more than once. He'll keep a copy in his secret folder just to be safe.

He backs out of the Photos App and finds his way into his sister's smart phone's Privacy Settings. He scrolls down, down again, down further still, looking at each cryptic option and wondering which one does the fucking thing. He gets to the bottom of the list. He feels like a bomb technician who can't even find the red wire, much less fret about cutting it.

The phone starts vibrating in his hand. Its humming sends shockwaves through his body, out his limbs, and out into the room. The walls buckle. The floor craters. The apartment explodes.

"Who is it?" Ingrid asks.

He offers the device to his sister, his charred, fleshless hand trembling.

Chapter Nine

"Hey Mom, what's up?"

"Okay ... Right ... Oh."

"So, you ... saw that."

"Nonono--no--what the hell, Mom? No!"

"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way."

"Yes. ... He did! Ha!"

"No--Mom--I let him. I--let--him!"

"As a matter of fact, we are."

"Wait, what--?"

"No. There's no need."

"Mom."

"Mom?"

"MOM?"

Ingrid scowls at her phone.

She grunts something in French and tosses it onto the mattress.

Chapter Ten

Will looks on in bloody horror. There are no walls, no floor, no naked reflections in the window. Everything is rotten, dead and painful.

His penis has retracted gumdrop-like. It's cold, and sticky with Ingrid's spit. He watches his sister toss her phone, traces its trajectory as it bounces and disappears into the crack between the mattress and the wall, and struggles with what this all means.

"Listen, we need to talk," Ingrid says, sitting down on edge of the mattress. "Come sit."

"What did she say?"

"Well, she saw the video," she says, scooching back and leaning against the wall. "She has thoughts. And she's coming over."

"No, she is not. Ingrid, please. Tell me you're fucking with me right now."

"I need you to come sit down, Bro. Mom's already on her way."

"Oh no. Oh my God. What have we done?"

He feels absolutely Shakespearean right now. No, Ovidian.

"She saw the whole thing? But she couldn't have, we only just got back. It's over an hour long!"

"She saw parts."

"Oh no God please no and with your PUSSY FINGERS in my mouth oh God oh fuck MOM WHY--"

"Come. Sit. Down."

"What did she actually say? No WAIT, don't tell me! I can't handle it. Fucking FUCK."

Ingrid just glares at him. She opens her legs wide and invites her brother one last furious time to come plant his ass between them.

Will feels helpless. The mortified child in him appreciates his sister's calm. The adult in him worries that she is giving up and sitting down and letting the worst possible outcome either of them can imagine simply roll over them.

"Why are we sitting down?" Will asks as he does just that. He scooches backward into his sister's naked embrace.

"There we go," she smiles, and wraps her soft, sisterly arms around him. The skin-to-skin contact with her is profoundly soothing and absolutely not what they need to be doing right now. Will's heartbeat somehow slows as his mind continues to race.

"Why aren't we getting dressed? Why aren't we fleeing the country?"

"Shh-shh," she soothes. She grazes the backs of her fingernails across his broad, muscly chest, gently and lovingly scratching meditative shapes into his skin.

"Ingrid, what is happening? Why are we just laying here? Why are you soothing me?"

"Listen while I tell you a story, big brother."

"Can I say no?"

"Once upon a time there was a dancer and her mommy. The dancer was talented, and drew all kinds of attention from all kinds of people. Some of this was good attention, and some of this was bad attention. Thankfully, the mommy helped protect her little dancer from most of the bad attention."

"Inge, we don't have time for you--"

"Pay attention!" she says, and slaps his stomach. Will burps miserably. It tastes like fried chicken.

"Just get to the point," he begs.

"But one day, someone found the dancer alone by herself. Someone who wanted to give her some bad attention. Using her marvelous grace, the dancer escaped and found her mommy. The mommy was very, very angry. She went and whooped the bad person's ass.

"Afterward, the mommy finally explained to her little dancer what all the attention was about. She told her little dancer that because she was sooo pretty and sooo talented, some people were going to want to take advantage of her. Some of these people were going to want her talent, and some people were going to want ... something else. The dancer asked her mommy what the something else was. Her mommy didn't want to tell her, but she did.