Sisters, by Any Other Names

Eventually her arms gave out. She sank down and embraced the pillow, going face-down, ass-up again. Maxine's stubbornness was carrying her through, and she looked grimly determined to find any secret spots inside of her sister's cunt that would elicit more moans and groans. Sam obliged her, though I could tell it was mostly an act.

"Mistress," she whined, "may I please cum?"

Maxine liked that a lot; she also enjoyed the power her pointed silence granted her afterwards. Sam whined and moaned some more, and finally her sister gave in.

"Oh, fine," she said. "You need some attention on your clitty?"

"Yes, please, Mistress," Sam begged.

"I could help," I offered. I was tired, but I loved my girlfriend.

Maxine's face screwed up. "I think that sends the wrong message. Unless... do you have a toy? If you teased her with a toy, I think that would be okay."

We obviously had a toy - or two, or several dozen. I crawled along the head of the bed to the opposite nightstand and found a long, slim massage-vibrator with a bulbous head. After checking the batteries, I made my way over to the joined pair and lounged on my back. It was obvious Maxine didn't want my body underneath Sam; that was what would send the wrong message.

I turned on the vibrator and reached underneath, finding the general area quickly. Sam bucked and shouted from sudden stimulation. I shifted a few millimeters until her noises told me I'd found the happy medium. I lazily moved the head around, confident that Sam didn't need much to crest. Maxine was getting more competent by the minute, and Sam was Sam.

It wasn't a huge orgasm, but Sam played it up for her sister. "Ohhhhh, thank you, Mistress!" she cried out. Maxine didn't buy it, but she didn't call Sam out for it either. She took the win and wound down the fucking. For the first time, she looked genuinely tired - and a little surprised, too. She'd discovered some new muscles she'd never had to work before.

After everyone was sorted, we drank and ate some more, and then Maxine told Sam to clean up around the house. She and I lazed on the couch, barely watching something somewhat non-pornographic on TV while cuddling with each other and talking about nothing. When Maxine was satisfied with Sam's work, she ushered us towards the master bathroom for our final cleanup session of the evening. She made Sam watch the two of us shower together, and then swapped me out for her younger sister. My cock tried to tell me it could go one more round; I told it to shut the fuck up. I still enjoyed the show. It was equal parts kinky and romantic. The brushing, flossing, and gargling afterwards were neither, but I did take pleasure in watching Maxine remove her makeup. Once she did, I moved in for a kiss.

"You're beautiful," I told her. "I hope you know that."

"Men," she said, rolling her eyes. "You have no idea the work it takes."

"True enough," I said, "but if you ever want to take a vacation, come on over."

Maxine decided to stay the night; Sam was overjoyed. I got into my pajama bottoms, and Maxine let Sam wear panties. She herself opted for sweatpants and another one of my T-shirts. She looked a little apologetic, but I nipped that in the bud right away.

Under the covers, I was Maxine's big spoon, and she was Sam's. I supposed I should've felt bad or guilty that I wasn't directly touching my girlfriend, but I didn't. Sam seemed happy. Maxine did too.

"So, um..." Maxine said. "I don't really know how to do this. 'Chantry.' Do I just say it? Is that it?"

"That's it," I said. "All games suspended. Tell us what you need. Do you need us to move? Do you need to go home?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably, but bit her tongue.

"No," Maxine said. "I just want to be done with... all of that. I want to be real -- have a real conversation."

"Of course," I replied.

"The floor is yours," Sam added, happily snuggling back into her sister.

"Today was special," Maxine said. "It's not always going to be like this. It can't always be like this."

"How would you like it to be?" I asked. "What do you imagine?"

Maxine chuckled. "Oh, dear. What a question."

"Yeah," I agreed.

"Sam?" she said hesitantly. "Will and I... I think we like love. For us. For the three of us, together. I know you and he have all that other stuff, and that works for you. I just want to be loved. That's what makes me happy. Is that okay? For most of the time?"

"It's more than okay, Maxy," Sam said. "It's wonderful. I love you so much."

"I love you, too," I said.

"In a way," Maxine added sadly.

"No," I responded immediately. "I love you."

"But... how? Why?"

"Because we're family," I said. "Because you're beautiful. Because you were amazing for Sam. Because you let us in. Because you were real."

She tried to scoff, but I heard the sniffling. I squeezed her tighter and held her closer.

"I was not real today, Will," she said. "How can you say that?"

"Because you were. You were generous, stubborn, attentive, vulnerable... you were scared, but brave enough to take a journey with us to parts unknown. That's not all of you, Maxine, but it's so much. You gave me so much of yourself today, and I loved it. I love you."

"Jesus, Will," she said.

She let herself cry. Sam and I stayed put, and simply surrounded her in love. Well, I also reached back to the nightstand and grabbed her some tissues. Man cannot live on love alone.

When she settled down, we let the silence linger. We didn't push.

"Will? Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you, too. I love you both."

"There's my good girl," I said. "You had a big day today. Get some rest. We'll be right here the whole time."

********

The alarm woke us; Sam groused. Maxine was more than ready to start her day. I had work, so there was no time for anything except quick good-morning kisses. When I was dressed and ready, I walked towards the front door, but then I caught the scent of lavender and a faint hint of new age music. I took a detour to the living room; I had to investigate.

Maxine was there, doing yoga... naked.

"God damn," I said.

She caught me staring, and very conveniently switched to downward dog. I almost called in sick.

Sam was waiting for me when I came home that night. She let me know that Maxine wasn't coming over, but she wasn't sad at all. Instead, she had a universal glow - a bump to every attribute on her character sheet. She let me get settled, then handed me her phone. I knew why.

I saw the block of text and groaned. "Ugh, those are the worst."

"Just read it!" she said. "Don't be shitty. Love means accepting social media."

"It does fucking not," I said flatly, but I took the phone.

Maxine had written:

We all have negative thoughts and emotions. They're a part of life. The world is hard. Recently, I recognized one of mine. My sister is building a wonderful life for herself, and she's found an incredible person to share it with. I envied her. So what did I do?

I meditated. I hiked. I traveled. I threw myself into doomed romance. I sampled other cultures like a dilettante. I partook of religious ceremonies and cleansing rituals, and sought guidance from anyone whose life seemed exotic and profound.

None of that helped. They were distractions, every one. In trying to run away from myself, I literally ran away from my sister. I hurt her. I didn't mean to, but I did.

The only thing I didn't think to do was talk to her -- just, talk to her. Finally, I did. I was scared. It was hard. We shouted, cried, accused, and pleaded. But we were honest. Because we were honest, when we told each other how much we loved each other, we both believed it. We made up. We laughed. We ate pizza, drank Moxie (she took it for the team like a champ, Dad! lol) and watched weird, foreign television shows. We were sisters again, but also, we always had been.

Family and friends. Honesty. Trust. Don't run away. Stay and do the work. That's how love wins.

Sister Love = All Love Always. Sammy, I love you. xoxo. Your boyfriend's pretty great too. Make him my BIL soon. He deserves to be family for real.

"Well, shit," I said. "She yadda-yadda'd the best part!"

"Oh, no," Sam replied. "She mentioned the pizza."

You don't want to know how much of our communication boils down to pop culture references -- or, rather, I don't want to tell you. You'd hate us.

"So, are you going to reply?" I asked. "Spill the beans? Mention the fucking?"

"You know I'm not," she said, "just like you know I desperately want to. The fact she shouted out to Dad makes me want to a million times more. But I won't. I'll like her post and say something sweet. That's how the game is played."

"More Frozen bullshit?"

She shrugged. "Probably. It's the definitive sister movie now. What, am I going to do a deep cut of Practical Magic? A League Of Their Own? Much as I'd love to drop some Austen, Alcott, or Bronte on a bitch, I gotta play to my audience."

"Speaking of," I said, "if you're both Anna, who does that make me?"

"The moose, obviously," Sam replied. "He fucks. You know he fucks."

"You know what? That actually works for me."

"Awesome. Eat your pasta, moose."

"Thanks for cooking, incest-and-bestiality-freak."

"The secret ingredient is anal."

"Not Moxie?"

"No, silly. That's what goes up your ass."

"Right, right."

Dinner was dinner. Cleanup was cleanup. The night was shockingly ordinary, but obviously, the conversation was always going to loop back around to the seismic shift that had just occurred in our lives. We settled onto the couch to watch some silly anime on streaming -- something about a teenage girl getting steamrolled and gaslit by wizards until she got herself a boyfriend. It seemed strangely apropos.

"So the subtext is that she's on board?" I asked. "Can we expect her this week?"

"Almost definitely," Sam replied. "And for the first few sessions, we should definitely cool it. That whole 'love and tenderness' angle you've got going on with her is gold. I'll work up some plans in the meantime to get us to phase five."

I put my head down into my hand. "Go ahead."

"Phase five is you claiming her other two holes, obviously," she replied, as though I were the dumbest moose in the world. "She's obviously curious about anal. She just needs us to help her again."

"Great. Maybe this time the trick will be for you to confess that you killed her favorite childhood pet."

We both laughed, because in addition to being boring, we're horrible.

"Oh, remember to put condoms on the shopping list," she said.

"Wait, what? What the fuck, Sam?"

"Oh, relax, Will. They're a sex toy for when she's here, if she's feeling super kinky -- and you never know; she might be more willing to try anal if you use one. Best to be prepared. Extra toothpaste, brush heads, and mouthwash, too. I have a feeling she's not going to loosen that particular sphincter any time soon."

"Agreed."

"When she's not here, and even when she is and isn't doing a scene, my pussy is yours. I'm yours. You have to know that."

"I don't think I'm the one who knows things in this relationship, Sam."

She lolled her head. She wanted to disagree out of politeness, but she couldn't resist accepting the sideways compliment.

I'd been considering waiting until after we'd fucked that night; Sam was always a little less on guard when she was cum drunk and cuddly. Still, we were on the topic. It felt more organic. As some cartoon redhead on the TV screen tried to beat an immortal, magical imp to death for stealing all of her chocolate, I made my chess move against my brilliant, possibly-psychic witch.

"Hey babe," I said, "since we're on the subject of Maxine and kinks and scheming our way into her asshole, I wanna offer you a token."

"Oh!" she replied. "Well, okay then. I accept. I could use a good spa day with you two both brutalizing me -- which I totally love, by the way, so don't get all butthurt and mopey."

"Perish the thought," I said dryly. "So, okay... that night. Two Fridays ago. You were whispering to Maxine for an awfully long time. Her face was... I don't even know what. It was like you were speed-recapping the history of western civilization or something. What exactly did you say to her?"

"... Fuck," Sam said.

"Yeah, I don't believe that."

"No," she sighed. "No, I just didn't think you'd seize on that quite so soon. I guess I really am rubbing off on you. I should've known when you started beating me at our board games occasionally. I should've adjusted the timetable."

"Okay, Grandmaster Whatever-The-Fuck supervillain, stop stalling. You had your little moment. You had your pause and your buildup. Lay it on me. I want to know."

"Do you not?" she asked. She wasn't sly; she was serious. "Did you really make this move blind?"

"I guess," I said. "Seriously. You're about to lose your token and I'm about to get one on a penalty. Fucking spill it, you sexy little imp."

She sighed one more time. I gave her thigh one last warning squeeze.

"Okay," she said. "Not verbatim. As close as I can get."

"Fine."

"'Remember,'" she said, more-or-less quoting herself, "'I'm only going to admit to him tonight that I've been sowing the seeds for a few weeks. Don't get ahead of yourself. This is going to be so much hotter, and so much more fun, if he doesn't know you're in on it. Trust your little sister, babe. You know you always cum like crazy when you do.'"

"..."

"..."

"... WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK."

**********

There's a version of this story that ends right there. It's perfect, right? It's not quite The Usual Suspects, but it's an ending worthy of our resident screenwriter and director. Big twist. Huge reaction. Comedy, if you're on the outside of it. Cut to credits. Takeaway: Sam - if that's even her real name - was even more of a genius than you thought she was.

That's exactly why I have to ruin it a little bit. It's the only hope I have of making it my story and my ending, instead of hers. Call it a sliver.

Sam and Maxine had betrayed me in ways that should have shaken me to my very core. Never mind my relationship with the girl I thought I was going to marry; everything was back on the table, down to the fabric of reality itself. Let's mosey on over from The Usual Suspects to The Truman Show, except, you know, really rapey. There's a callback to everything; Sam's quite the screenwriter. Remember what Maxine mused? I'll paraphrase for my own benefit: how can you ever know what's real -- or even who you are - when you're living with a brilliant, scheming witch? Now add another witch on top of that.

I made the wrong choice again. That invitation to judge me remains wide open. Oh, there was a major renegotiation. I gave Sam and Maxine one week to prepare the older sister's asshole. I supervised as they gave each other deep, deep cleanses. There was enough spanking and sodomy to start our own boutique website, and both of them were henceforth formally collared.

For obvious reasons, I can't tell you what my life was actually like after that. I can only tell you what it seemed like to me. To me, it seemed like I was the proud -- if perpetually exhausted -- owner of two smoking-hot, forever-horny bisexual bitches who loved each other almost as much as they loved me: Sam and Max. You read that right. Appreciate the payoff. After the tan faded some more and some dark brown roots began to show, the outfit looked great on her.

They were both completely available to me, twenty-four seven -- every hole, any perversion. The overarching vibe in our new house was love and tenderness, but if an urge struck me to change things up, they adapted immediately. They belonged to me. They were whatever I wanted them to be.

There's no more drama. There are no more stakes. Art is gone; pornography reigns. Would Truman have stayed? Not a fair question. The people pulling his strings were dramatists, after all. The people pulling mine are, as far as I can tell, unabashedly slutty perverts.

I've never been happier, and I hazard to say that that's immune to Descartes' doubts.

As for Sam and Max? Well, they seem just as happy as I am.

If it were a competition of who was happiest, though, see if you can guess who would win.