tagIncest/TabooNolo Contendere

Nolo Contendere


This a follow-up to "Oh Daddy, Can't You See I'm Busy" published in the incest/taboo section 12/23/16. As usual, both stories can stand alone, though the reader will gain more insight by reading the first one as well.


Marissa Morgan doesn't regret what she did with her dad Bud on that Saturday afternoon a few months ago. Still, unlike her dad, she's not looking for an encore. Bud, a self-admitted porn addict, had caught Marissa masturbating in her room, Then, per her invite, he entered to watch and ended up making love to his own daughter. Thrilling as it was for Marissa at the time, it left a sour aftertaste. She's rebuffed Bud's advances since then, yet it hasn't kept him from gawking at her when she's dressed in her cheerleader outfit or traipsing around the house in revealing bedroom attire. Once she welcomed it; now it makes her uncomfortable.

Her brother Stephen, however, is another matter. They're close in age and, well, he fits her ideal image of a hunk. He just entered his freshman year at university, a civil engineering major. She calls him a "straight arrow," both for his button-down, conservative looks and the way he leads his life. He plays football and lacrosse, eschews drugs, even marijuana, and gets weepy-eyed at ball games when they play the Star Spangled Banner. Like Bud, he's a Republican who supports conservative causes. He also, like his dad, has an eye for his sister. He tries to hide it, tries to look away when Marissa catches him checking her out. She loves it, plays it up for all its worth, lounging around the house before leaving for cheerleader practice, the uniform of her skirt stretched up the wazoo, trying not to laugh watching Stephen doing his best to be discreet but failing miserably.

Her power of seduction thrills her, though not to the point where she lacks self-insight. She's not at all blind to her ways. She knows she's somewhat of a narcissist, at least when it comes to her sexuality, and she can't help but being enamored with it, her unique biological gifts combined with a knack for seduction that transcends her obvious feminine assets. She revels in her ability to turn heads, perhaps even stiffen cocks at the shake of her pretty head or a twist of her lovely body, shapely, compact and athletic. Bud tells her that she reminds him of Tonya Harding, the disgraced ice skater who made scandalous headlines shortly before Marissa came into the world. "Tonya's body without, thank goodness, Tonya's attitude," he says. After doing some research on the web, she knows what he means.

She has less insight into her incestuous attraction to first her dad and now her brother. The attraction is mutual—obviously it is with Bud and with Stephen too, if his own gawking is any indication. Perhaps it's the taboo factor, she reasons, that fuels her sexual ambition and, by extension, theirs. That, and the incongruity of living in a sexually charged (some would call dysfunctional) household in upscale Mantua Estates that on the surface appears so straight and "normal." Her dad appears as the proverbial pillar of the community—Boy Scout leader, successful businessman, supporter of charitable causes, etc. Then there's her brother, the handsome, conservative, patriotic student-jock who sometimes launches into preachy commentary on politics and morality. One minute, he's railing against the porn industry's exploitation of women; the next, he's watching the very porn he rails against. Marissa knows because she's caught him doing it, once caught him in his room in front of his computer screen, his hand shoved down his shorts. Unlike Bud, Stephen is less than honest about his so-called vices, alcohol and porn. It amuses Marissa knowing that Stephen would call porn a vice. She, on the other hand, calls it for what she feels it is, another commodity. What a tempting "project" he'd make, she thinks, to expose what she feels is a hypocritical side of him. That said, she loves him dearly, loves him as a brother, sure, but also on a level that she knows would make many people squirm in discomfort, including Stephen. What a dashing hunk of manhood he is, not just in her eyes but in the eyes of her girlfriends and even her mom Monique who once said he reminded her of a young Joe Namath.

She decides to make her move on a weeknight when her parents are out for the evening. Marissa just started her sophomore year at a local, all-female college, and tonight she should be doing what Stephen's doing, studying. Instead, she's in her room, modeling one of her sexy nighttime outfits in front of her full-length mirror, psyching herself up to enter his room wearing one of them. She wasn't subtle in making her desires known to Bud, and she sees no reason to change strategy with Stephen. Still, she'll need a pretense for going in there. She figures that seeking his help with trigonometry will work better than simply prancing in and spreading her legs. Besides, it's not all pretense, for she really could use some help.

With textbook in hand, her light brown hair set in bangs and ponytail, she steps barefoot up to his door and knocks. Upon entering, she sees that he's dressed in his typical house-lounging duds, a black Oakland Raiders football jersey and gray Under Armour shorts. He doesn't turn from his laptop until she's beside his desk. Then his dark brown eyes widen, as he looks her over from head to toe. The thin, blue nightie she wears doesn't leave much to the imagination. It barely covers her skimpy yellow panties, leaves exposed most of her white, curvy thighs and half her boobs.

"You're the math whiz, so I thought you could help me with my trig." She says this with a straight face, with nary a hint of suggestion on her pretty features, her cute turned-up nose and her adorable mouth that widens into an adorable smile.

He chuckles. "You're not exactly attired for tutoring." His eyes continue to flit over her body.

"No? Well, I can change if you'd like, if you're distracted." She eases herself on the edge of his bed and crosses her legs. Her tone decidedly rhetorical, she says, "You're not distracted, are you?"

"Of course not. What's so distracting about a beautiful, sexy chick in see-through lingerie?" Pause. "No, look sis," he says chuckling, "I can manage. After all, it's not like we're strangers."

"Right," she says, confused about where he's coming from. His sarcasm suggests he is indeed distracted. But then, he might be joking. Either way, she thinks that on some level they might BE strangers. While only a year apart, they've rarely had a heart to heart talk about anything, and that includes the ongoing sexual tension between them. They've never talked it out, something she feels is necessary, if for no other reason than it could bring them closer. One thing she'd like to keep secret is what happened between her and their dad. Like Bud, she sees no reason to say anything, not to Stephen, and certainly not to her mom.

She opens her book to a page with a mess of equations and diagrams of circles and triangles. "I can't make heads or tails of this stuff," she says. "I know you've got your own work to do, but I could really use the help."

"No problem," he says, spins his chair around to face her and then places the book on his lap. "Let's see what we've got."

As he looks over the page, she uncrosses her legs and leans back against the wall with her knees bent, admiring Stephen's sexy masculinity, his hairy muscular legs and thick shoulders, his black curly hair and piercing blue eyes. She can just imagine what he'll look like when that beginning mustache is fully grown in. "Stephen, did anybody ever tell you that you're the ideal specimen of brains and brawn?"

He lifts his head from the book. "Where did that come from? I thought we were doing trig."

"We are, I just felt compelled to say it." She catches him staring at her crotch. "Are you sure you're not distracted?" She grins.

"Are you sure you're not trying to distract me?" Not a naïve statement as conveyed by his faux look of admonishment.

"I could lie and say I'm not."

Looking up from the book, he locks his eyes with hers, green and flirty. "So that's what you really came in here for, isn't it?"

She puts her legs down and slides to the edge of his bed. "Honestly, I really do need help with trig," she says, tugging at the hem of her nightgown. "It's just that I find you irresistibly hot."

"We're siblings, Rissa, blood siblings. I know we don't exactly look like it, but we are."

"And do you remind yourself of that when you gawk at me in my cheerleader outfit?"

He shrugs and looks away. Then turning to face her, he says, "We're getting into some heavy territory, here, sis, heavier than your trig homework in its own way."

"Long overdue, don't you think?" She crosses her legs and pats his hand.

"What's long overdue?"

"A frank discussion about our feelings. I love you, Stephen, love you as a brother. But it's more complicated than that because you also turn me on. I think you're incredibly hot, and from the way I've seen you check me out, I'd say you might feel the same. Do you confirm or deny?"

He shakes his head. "This is crazy stuff, sis, even dangerous stuff."

"Dangerous? How so?"

"You're hinting, if not proposing that we engage in some perverted exploratory behavior here. If you haven't heard, it's called incest."

She reaches out and touches his upper lip. "Not to change the subject, but do you plan to grow a beard, too? Cause you'd look great in one."

"Beard? No."

"Just thought I'd ask. Anyway, I don't consider incest perverted. Deviant, yes. Perverted, no."

He ponders this while staring at her legs. "A matter of semantics, it seems to me."

"Come on, bro, you're smart enough to know that perverted and deviant don't mean the same thing." Pause. "What do you think about when you stare at my legs like that?"

He quickly looks away, licks his lips and places her trig book on his desk. "Are we going to get any work done tonight or what?"

"You're evading the question."

He sighs. "What do I think about...hmm. I guess what any sexually normal, healthy guy thinks about. Except for one thing." He lets the "thing" hang in the air like a soap bubble.


"You're my sister."

She grins. "Right, you already said that. Okay, I'll take a stab at answering for you." He gives her a tentative nod. "Don't mean to be presumptuous, Stephen, but I'd say you're thinking how exciting it might be to have my luscious thighs wrapped tightly around your six-pack of a waist. Am I close?"

He sits there, grinning and silent.

"Is that a yes, no, or maybe?"

"It's a nolo contendere."

"A what?"

"It's when defendants in court don't challenge a guilty finding but don't admit guilt either. No contest, in other words."

She laughs. "And I thought this was a trig class."

"With some sex education thrown in, I gather."

"Except so far its been all lecture. Let's have some learning by doing, the most effective education there is." Seductively, she opens her mouth, spreads her legs and runs a hand over her crotch. "Of course, my feeling is that you don't need an advanced course, just a willingness to fulfill your desires. And mine as well, taboo or no taboo." She leans forward and plants a quick kiss on his mouth. "Come on, you know you want to."

"What about your trig?"

"It can wait."

Leaning forward again, she wraps her arms around him, puts her lips to his. This time, he responds, kissing her with more than just brotherly affection. He then joins her on the bed, covered with an orange and black, sports-themed bedspread. "For the record, I love you too, Rissa. You're amazingly adorable and sexy." He leans in and kisses her between her boobs. "So soft and sensual." He dances his fingers over her silky thighs. "Wow, smooth as porcelain." Then he leans over and kisses her between her legs. "And you smell great." He sighs. "I guess my resistance is just about shot. Kind of obvious, huh?"

With eyes half-closed, she says, "What's obvious is that we have a special love between us that I can't wait to consummate. Shall we?"

"What if you get pregnant?"

"Then we sue Mead Johnson, because they market what I'm on."

He nods, then cuts off his desk lamp. After throwing off his jersey, he embraces her and pulls her on top of him. As they kiss, he slips his hands inside her yellow panties and squeezes her firm round butt. "I've wanted to do this for awhile," he whispers.

"So I figured. Don't think I don't notice you ogling my ass when I bend over in my cheerleader skirt." She grins.

He reaches behind her head and pulls out the clip holding her ponytail, letting her hair fall just below her shoulders. "Rissa, I ogle everything about you."

"That's so sweet, Stephen," she says, her eyes moistening. She slips off her panties. "Maybe you'd like to taste my sweet pussy?"

"Maybe you're right." He rolls her over on her back, gets between her legs and breathes in the sweet aroma of her juices. "You cleaned up down there just for me, didn't you?"

She flashes that tease of a smile. "Maybe." Pause. "Okay, yes, I did. Nothing wrong with a little prep work, is there?"

"Not if you can smell like this."

Marissa got wet before Stephen started. Now, with his tongue working furiously, the wetness turns into a deluge. "Ohmygod, baby, if I knew you were this good, I'd have made my move a lot sooner." Eyes closed, she squeezes the fabric of the bedspread and rocks from side to side. Shrieks of delight punctuate her soft moans, and what began as simply an erotic high soon turns into a near state of delirium. She doesn't intend to climax this way—she'd rather wait for him to enter her. However, like a car free falling off a cliff, there's no stopping the unstoppable, the familiar sensations, the tingles and pulsations vibrating through her body and her brain telling her to just relax and enjoy the ride. And so she does, surrendering to the magical joy of her brother's tongue on her clit, and then embracing him when he moves up to kiss her and tells her again that he loves her.

They hold each other for a while, trading words of endearment, before they discard the rest of their clothing. Marissa feels sufficiently recovered to take topside in order to fulfill desires she's held for so long. Holding Stephen's sex, stiff and eager, she slips it inside her and starts to move. She loves him so, all of him, inside and out, from his deep, hairy chest to the heart that beats inside it, literally and metaphorically. Her rhythm picks up when he begins to fondle her breasts, ample and divinely shaped, and she laughs aloud when he says, "This is fantastic, sis, but you're right. I'd love to have your luscious thighs wrapped tightly around my waist."

She bends over and kisses him, tender and loving, her passion pouring out of her. "So you shall," she says, then climbs off to reverse positions. Vice-like, she squeezes her strong, shapely thighs around his waist. "Does it feel good, baby? Does it meet your expectations?"

"Exceeds them," he responds, breathing deeply as he thrusts his pelvis into her, fulfilling, like her, temptation long held but dormant until tonight, this precious night when inhibition gives way to desire, naughty and taboo, but so honest.

"Are you there, Stephen, are you there?" she cries. "Cause you're gonna make me come again. Ohmygod!"

Soon, she does, and then he does and then, as the waves of climax fade, they cuddle under the covers, holding each other, warm and secure. Marissa feels so safe and secure in Stephen's arms that she dozes off. Only minutes later, she hears her brother's voice, muffled but excited. "Rissa, wake up!" he cries, shaking her. "The folks are home, we gotta move!"

After jumping out of bed, they gather their clothes and step into them just as Don and Monique start up the stairs. It's too late for Marissa to run back into her own room. The best she can do is grab her trig book and pretend to pour over it while standing beside Stephen's desk.

"Come in," Stephen says in response to his dad knocking and then opening the door. "Did you all have a good time? I've been helping sis with her trig."

The scantily clad Marissa trades weird, knowing looks with Don Morgan as he stands in the open doorway wearing a blue blazer, open striped blue and white shirt and tan slacks. Monique, wearing a green cocktail dress, stands behind him.

Marissa feels her legs shake and stomach roil. She's never been in the same room with two men she recently made love to. The fact that they happen to be her dad and brother—something she wants to keep secret from each—only adds to her angst. "I'm really lucky to have such a smart brother," she says, trying to hold it together. "Trig's a bitch."

"I know, I took it myself," Don says, his eyes wide and roaming. "Stephen's been a big help, has he?" With raised eyebrows, he's the picture of skepticism personified.

Seated at his desk, Stephen says, "She's starting to get the hang of it, dad."

Monique peaks out from Don's shoulder, frowning at the sight of her daughter's revealing nightgown. Then she notices the ruffled sheets and bedspread. "Rissa, did you get your brother out of bed to do this? The bed looks like he's been sleeping in it."

Marissa grits her teeth in a silent Oh shit!

"Ah, no mom," Stephen interjects, "I was studying myself—in bed—when she came to me for help." He grins like a kid caught with his hands in the proverbial cookie jar.

Don's usual gawk prompts Marissa to tug at the hem of her garment, attempting to cover her panties. Absurd on the surface of, she thinks, given that she was the aggressor when Don caught her masturbating and she invited him to watch and then practically begged him to fuck her. Still, she's told him since then in no uncertain terms that that first time would be their last. Undressing her with his eyes when they're alone is one thing; doing it front of Monique and Stephen is another. He has no business doing that. She's pissed. "Like what you see, dad?" she says, her tone laced with righteous ire. She enjoys the sight of watching him squirm and blush.

"Rissa, not only are you dressed inappropriately," Monique admonishes, "but that was a wholly inappropriate comment you made to your father."

If she only knew, Marissa thinks, struggling not to laugh. "Sorry, mom, but he's standing there gawking at me like I'm some chick in a strip club."

"Well, you're dressed like some chick in a strip club," Monique shoots back.

"Okay, I think we better leave Rissa to her trig," Don says. "I don't think her professor cares what she wears while being tutored so long as she passes her tests." He then leaves the room, Monique in tow.

"Looks like dad's got the hots for you too," Stephen says.

Marissa gleans from his chuckle that he's only half-serious, a relief given her penchant for keeping what happened secret. Using the same light tone, she says, "Maybe mom's not giving him enough." Then she picks up her trig book. "Look, what we did is a tough act to follow, I know, but can you still help me with this stuff?"

"Of course, but only if you change into something less comfortable. We can't afford any more distractions tonight."

"Be right back," she says before heading to her room to change.


Days later, on the front lawn, Bud takes Marissa aside. "Rissa, mind of I ask you a very personal question."

"It depends on how personal," she says. "Ask and see what happens."

"Did you and Stephen sleep together while your mom and I were away?"

"Sleep together as in...did we have sex?"


"Nolle contendere," she says, and then walks away.

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