Mine

Shocked that he would even want to spend time with me, I didn't bother to ask about the twine as we stepped off the porch and marched out into the rain, toward the familiar line of pine trees. I was obviously drunk and slightly incoherent, but excited to be out in the forest with my brother again. Seth was a touch less intoxicated, so I held onto his hand as we maneuvered through the darkness to our usual counting spot, which consisted of a small clearing in a thicket of hemlocks and ferns. He suggested that he do the counting and handed me one of the flashlights, sliding his hands into my armpits to help steady me. If I hadn't been so drunk, I might've noticed the inside of his palms resting against the sides of my breasts.

"You going to be all right out there?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure. I'll be – " I stepped on a rock and lost my balance, grabbing onto Seth's arm to keep myself from falling. " – fine."

"Uh huh, sure," he said, letting go. "Just take it easy, and use your light. I'll count to one-fifty this time."

I can honestly say that I don't remember much about the actual hiding or the chase, or even where Seth found me – which didn't take very long. What I do remember is my heart threatening to shatter my ribcage as Seth tackled me to the ground, pinning my arms behind my back. He tied my hands with kitchen twine and then lowered his weight on top of me, sliding his palms up over my hips and then under my shirt, tickling my waist as I squirmed into the mud beneath us. The next thing I recall is him marching me through the trees, hands still bound, my front body smeared with damp earth. He pushed me up against a wide tree trunk and untied my hands, anchoring me in place with his hips and strong, rugby-toned legs.

The thunder growled as the storm hovered over us with periodic strikes of lightening illuminating the forest, as well as my fleeting memories of that night. I remember my face pressed against the tree, my hands gripping the rough, jagged bark. I can still recall the sound of heavy breathing against my ear, Seth whispering my name as he ran his hands over my breasts and abdomen. It's difficult to know for sure which memories are real and which ones fabricated, but I'm pretty sure I felt his lips upon my neck and cold rain showering onto my bare chest; a hand slipping beneath the waistband of my shorts, fingers prodding at me through the fabric of my underwear. I remember something hard grinding against my ass as Seth pressed into me, securing me to the tree with his large frame.

The one thing I remember most vividly is the cocktail of fear and arousal that surged through my veins, coloring my memories and filling me with a mixture of shame and longing – even to this day, I both ache and recoil at the notion that I had wanted my brother to touch me so intimately. Still, I'm pretty sure I pulled my own shorts down at some point, removing the thin cloth barrier between his fingers and my greedy flesh, as well as thinning the layers between his erection and my naked ass. The last distinct memory I have of this exchange is of Seth moaning into my ear as he slid two long, sinewy fingers into my slick pussy – somewhere no one else had dared to touch me before.

Then, there was light. Not lightening, but the circular glow of a flashlight upon us. Seth lunged backward, away from me, and I crumpled onto the rain-soaked ground with my shorts around my ankles. I can sort-of recall the horrified, incredulous look on Karen's face as Seth clicked his flashlight on and pointed it towards her, standing there in her bathrobe and rain boots, umbrella in-hand. They regarded each other for a few moments, Seth's mortified, guilt-ridden expression frozen onto his features and the bulge in his pants slowly diminishing.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" he said, barely audible above the storm.

Without another word, he turned and sprinted further into the woods where he spent the rest of the night. My mind goes blank at this point but I'm sure it was Karen who led me back to the house and guided me into a hot shower.

Karen never mentioned anything to my dad, which is probably for the best since he more than likely would have beaten the piss out of Seth and maybe even landed him in the hospital. She did come up to my room later that night to ask me if there was anything I wanted to talk about, but I told her I was fine and that I'd prefer it if we could just let the whole thing go. I couldn't talk to her. What Seth had done to me – what I'd wanted him to do – was shameful and wrong. The fact that we aren't blood related might make it seem less so, but in every practical sense, we are siblings. We share parents and grandparents, family vacations, a home. I don't know if Karen ever said anything to Seth, but my guess is that she figured he was going to be returning to NYU within the next few weeks, so there was no point in making a big deal out of something that would soon become a non-issue. Needless to say, Seth and I never spoke of it.

"Dillon."

Seth's voice wrenches me back into the present and I notice that he's staring me, expectantly. I rub my eyes, wishing I could erase the images of that night from my mind's eye and yet, at the same time, wishing I could make them even more vivid. "Sorry, did you say something?" I asked.

"I said your name. You looked like you were distracted by something." Seth's stare is direct and intimidating, but his fidgeting hands betray a touch of anxiety.

"Like what?" I ask.

"I don't know. You tell me." He takes one more sip of whiskey before screwing the top back on and setting it on the table.

I close my eyes for a brief moment, steeling my resolve. "I remember us walking into the woods at night, three years ago, drunk on tequila. I remember being covered in mud with my hands tied behind my back. I remember you holding me against a tree and running your hands all over me. I remember you saying my name. I remember you slipping a hand down my shorts an – "

"Stop," he says, in a gruff whisper. The expression on Seth's face tells me that I've confirmed his worst fears. "That's enough."

"No, I don't think it is." I continue, my eyes holding him captive. "I remember you slipping your hand down my shorts. I remember you rubbing me through my underwear. I remember the feel of your dick pressed against my a – "

"Dillon, please!" Seth covers his face with his hands and leans forward onto his knees. "Fuck," he whispers. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. I shouldn't have come back."

"I'm not finished," I say.

Seth runs a hand through his chin-length hair and looks at me, crestfallen and ashamed, then lowers his gaze to the floor.

"I remember how hard you felt, pressing into my ass. I remember how wet it made me."

His eyes snap back up, wide with surprise. "Wait, what?" he asks.

"I remember pulling my shorts down so that I could feel your fingertips. I remember wanting to know what it felt like to have you inside me. I remember you slipping two fingers into my pussy and how badly I wanted you to make me come."

Seth opens his mouth like he's about to say something but stops when we hear footsteps on the stairs and in the hallway. Karen peers in through the doorway, her eyes heavy with sleep.

"Can you guys run outside and make sure I put the cement blocks on the garbage bins?" she asks, "I really don't want the raccoons getting into them again. I'd do it myself but I'm too tired and you, sir," she points to Seth, "have almost three years' worth of missed chores to make up for."

Seth swallows hard and leans back onto the loveseat. "Sure, Mom. No problem."

"You're a dear. Flashlights are in the pantry." She's about to leave but pauses after noticing the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the coffee table. "Try not to knock the bins over in a drunken stupor. And Dillon," she turns to me, "see that he doesn't crack his head open on the front steps. And be careful."

I nod and wait to hear our parents' bedroom door click shut upstairs before glancing back at Seth. He remains seated for a few minutes, his eyes still trained on that damn window. I stand up and stretch, noticing his feeble attempts to steal glances in my direction without me noticing. "Shall we?" I ask.

Seth sighs and raises himself up off the couch. "Sure."

"I'll get the flashlights," I say.

I step outside and notice that Seth is already in the yard, staring up at the full moon and thick blanket of stars; I also acknowledge that he has removed his shirt. Standing there, bare-chested, his muscles rippling with each deep inhalation of the lilac-scented air, I can't help but wonder what it would feel like to run my hands over his skin. He lowers his gaze from the night sky to me, his eyes cloudy with whiskey and moonlight.

"I already checked the bins," he says. "The blocks are in place."

"Oh, all right then." I pause. "I guess we can go back inside." The second I say it, I know I really don't want to. As dangerous as this might be for us, I feel strangely at home under the stars with my big brother; the trees towering overhead, the woods inviting us to come and play.

Seth walks over to me, hand outstretched. "Give me one of those," he says, gesturing toward the flashlights. I hand it to him. "Hmm," he murmurs, fiddling with it or a few seconds, as if he's weighing an idea in his head.

"Let's play a game, little sister," he says, his brawny figure towering over me; his whiskey-fogged eyes boring into mine from below his tilted brow.

"Uh, which one?" I stammer, painfully aware of his closeness.

"Come on. You know the rules." Seth puts his hands on my shoulders and turns me toward the nearest opening in the trees, the sweet scent of alcohol lingering on his breath. He presses himself into me and I feel the distinct impression of something firm and rod-like against the small of my back. Oh God, he's hard. My pussy tightens automatically at the recognition of his arousal.

"I'll count to one hundred," he whispers, his lips grazing my ear.

"Uh, I – Okay," I stutter. My breathing is short and labored and I can't help myself from swaying against him, as though my mind and body need confirmation that his erection is real and the result of his attraction towards me. He slides a hand down my arm, across my belly and slips it deftly into the waistband of my shorts, giving my entire pussy a squeeze and slight fondle, making me gasp and cry out.

Seth emits what I can only describe as a low, animalistic growl before pulling his hand back and hissing, "Now, get," smacking my ass with his wide palm and sending me sprinting into the darkness, my right butt cheek smarting and the rest of me horny and mildly terrified.

My legs carry me through the woods faster than they've had to in a very long time. I run as far into the canopy as I can before the density of the trees forces me to turn on the flashlight. Fumbling with the on/off switch, I pause for a brief moment and crouch low, listening. There's a slight breeze, but not enough to muffle any significant disruptions to the natural stirrings of the forest. My pounding heart echoes throughout my chest and up into my head as beads of sweat drip down from my hairline. I hear nothing; no footsteps, no voices, no snapping twigs. He's probably still counting.

I take a deep breath and press on, hoping I've placed enough distance between Seth and I that he won't be able to see the glow of my flashlight in the dark. Conflicting thoughts race through my mind before I can acknowledge them: What will happen if he finds me? Scratch that, what will happen when he finds me? Why am I not repulsed by the way he's behaving towards me? I should be ashamed. He's my stepbrother, we grew up together. How can he be so fucking beautiful – it's unfair. I wonder what he tastes like. On and on they pummel me as I sprint, dodging prickly shrubs and exposed, gnarled tree roots. I recognize the thick trunk of the sycamore as if I'm traversing this route from memory, and dive behind it, shutting off my flashlight and taking a moment to catch my breath, always listening.

The only sounds I can make out are the soft buzzing of mosquitoes, the frogs chirping in the nearby creek, and the water's quiet gurgling. For a moment, I wonder if perhaps Seth had been too drunk to navigate the darkness alone. He'd downed quite a bit of whiskey earlier, so it's entirely plausible that he could've lost his footing somewhere or tripped over a fallen log or protruding root system and hurt himself.

About forty yards behind me, I hear the sharp crackle of a pinecone being crunched underfoot. "Fuck," I spit. There's enough moonlight piercing through the canopy that I can get a decent view of the indistinct path ahead and I can just make out the thin, glimmering line of the creek about twenty yards away. I have to try.

I dash toward the creek like a frightened deer – like prey – my shoes making light thudding sounds with each stride. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Closing in fast, I can hear the rhythmic thumping of Seth's shoes against the forest floor, a determined predator with longer legs and a hell of a lot more stamina than I could ever muster. Still, I'm almost there. If I can get across the creek I might have a fighting chance. There are foothills and rock outcroppings at the edge of the mountain; plenty of places to hide.

To hide, yes – but from what? From Seth? From myself? I'm not even sure anymore.

The muscles in my side start to burn as my breathing grows hoarser, my lungs begging me to slow down, but I can still hear Seth's footsteps making headway. Not directly behind me, but to my right. He's trying to cut me off. I can see the creek now, maybe thirty feet ahead. I push through the cramp in my side, my labored breaths, my screaming calves, all the while painfully aware of the soft ache in my pussy, the twinge of arousal behind my clit.

My right foot hits the raised bank of the creek and I use it as leverage to catapult myself over the water and onto the other side where I stumble, but manage to regain my footing just in time to catch a glimpse of Seth out of the corner of my eye, slick with sweat, glistening in the light of the moon, sprinting toward the creek like a God damned gazelle.

I run. I run until I reach the foot of the mountain and then I scramble, throwing myself over moss-covered boulders and under dead, fallen trees. My lungs betray me as I wheeze, panting, making too much noise.

Must keep going.

I notice a shadowy outcropping with a decent amount of space beneath it and hurl myself under the jagged stone, trying not to think about the spiders, centipedes, and other critters that have undoubtedly set up house in the dark crevice. Finally, I can breathe; I can rest.

Closing my eyes, I inhale and exhale deeply, trying to slow my thundering pulse. I can still feel my pussy throbbing, anticipating the inevitable while my brain tries to maintain the delusion that I might get out of this unscathed, un-fucked.

Unlikely. Seth grew up in these woods, too, and has seen them through the eyes of a hunter, a predator, and it's only a matter of time before he finds me and eats me alive.

Dear God, I hope so.

Lying here, drenched in sweat with my hair matted against my face, my breathing begins to slow and I am able to listen, to concentrate. The frogs are louder on this side of the creek and I can hear the light screeching of endangered bats further up the mountain, the fluttering of their tiny, paper-thin wings. I wonder where Seth is, if he saw me come this way. There's a slight protrusion in the stone beneath me, conveniently wedged between my legs; I find myself grinding into it instinctively. I close my eyes and imagine that it's Seth's erection: I'm lying on top of him, astride his hips, pleasuring myself upon it; the thin fabric of his athletic shorts the only thing keeping us from doing the unthinkable.

Whether he'd known where I was the whole time or if it was my quiet panting that gave me away, I'll never know. Before I can even realize what is happening, Seth's hands are upon me, latched onto my limbs, dragging me out onto the bare rock at the foot of the mountain.

Fuck, he's so beautiful, the moonlight casting a cool glow over his angular features; but his eyes are crazed, ravenous. He straddles me, and in one swift motion, he pulls my arms over my head and holds my wrists firmly with one hand like it's second nature. With the other hand, Seth yanks my shirt up over my breasts, exposing their hard, sensitive nipples. He pauses for a second to take me in, gingerly dragging his fingers across my skin, as if he can't quite believe what's lying in front of him.

"Please, Seth," I whimper. His eyes meet mine, imploring, and I know that this is my one and only chance to stop him – to stop us.

"Say it," he says. I close my eyes and breathe into my fear, inhaling all the way down into the depths of me, my head reeling, caught between my mind and my body and the wanting in my pussy.

Letting go of everything, I permit myself to utter the words, "Fuck me."

Seth clamps his mouth onto mine. I relish the softness of his lips and his whiskey-laced tongue, as well as the prickling of his stubble and the forceful abandon in his kiss. I bite his bottom lip as he squeezes my breast, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching it slightly, making me cry out. He releases my hands and mouth, leaning down to gently suckle the tormented nipple, holding it between his teeth and flicking it with his tongue. I bury my fingers in his hair, tugging at it ever so slightly in turn with his assault on my breasts. His hands run down my sides to the waistband of my shorts, pulling them over my knees and feet and tossing them to the side as I kick off my shoes.

I spread my legs wide for him and allow the warm summer air to caress my dripping pussy, my clit already pulsating with arousal. Seth gives my right nipple one last flick with his tongue, glancing up at me with a devious grin before moving down to position his face at the apex of my thighs. I whimper and begin cupping and massaging my breasts in anticipation of what I've just permitted him to do. My stepbrother, my Seth, is going to kiss me in the most intimate manner possible. Up until this point, one could have excused our activities as mere experimentation or innocent exploration between stepsiblings. The moment he dips his tongue inside me will be the point of no return, and we both know it.

Seth gives my clit a long, languid stroke, prompting me to arch my back and shove myself toward his mouth. Holding a leg in each arm, he strokes my inner thighs as he gently circles my sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue, watching my face all the while. I bite my lip and gnash my teeth, maintaining eye contact with him as I continue to fondle my breasts. After what feels like hours of utter torment, he sets to work on devouring my pussy, placing his entire mouth over it and sliding his tongue deep inside me, roaming and stroking the walls of me, fucking me with his tongue. I writhe against him and he tightens his grip in response, holding me firmly in place, as if to say, "You're not going anywhere until I'm done with you." Finally he moves back up to lick and suck my clit, keeping his pressure constant, his attentions steady, knowing just when to go hard and when to let up.

I can count on one hand the number of times my college boyfriends have made me come from oral sex: four. Just four. Seth handles my pussy like a well-trained animal, with a firm touch and a cool temperament, neither rushing nor unnecessarily prolonging. He clearly knows that the key to giving good head is consistency. Exploration and variation are great for teasing and titillating but if you want to make a girl come, you'd best find a good rhythm and stick to it. And by God, his rhythm is perfect – like he's reading my God damned mind. His tongue undulates over my clit again and again as he peers up every now and then to observe me, his little sister with her legs spread wide for him, letting him ravage my most intimate places.