Sisters, by Any Other Names

While we cleared the table, washed and dried dishes, and put the leftovers away, we had our usual chat. We contemplated what Maxine's latest breakup had looked and sounded like, how the hell she'd gotten yet another job, how many different yoga studios she'd end up visiting for however long she stayed in the state -- or country -- and where she'd meet the next guy. Sam didn't seem so keen on that last bit, though. The playful banter fell off a few minutes early.

Finally, we were ready to settle down on the living room couch. We both sank into it and sighed. We'd survived. Sam rubbed my leg; I rubbed hers. We turned to face each other, took a few moments to just look at each other, and then kissed. I put my arm over her shoulder and pulled her close. She snuggled in happily, like always.

"So," I said, then left it hanging, knowing for sure that Sam had something to say.

"You know," she began, "every time she talks about those 'deep cleanses,' I just picture her getting a huge enema."

I burst out laughing. Sam tried to hold on, but it was contagious. There were tears in both our eyes before we both ran out of steam.

"Oh god," she said, dabbing at her eyes. "Oh, it's just... I don't know, it's like, some tall, sculpted black guy, or some incredibly fit blonde masseuse, and Maxine walks in pretending like it's this totally legitimate health thing, but then they tell her to get completely naked and start lubing up her back door, and she's all confused because it shouldn't feel like sex, but it does... and then, behind her, where she can't see, the blonde girl pulls out this giant nozzle, and it's so clearly a cock, and she gets all gentledom while butt fucking her with it.

"And Maxine's eyes go as wide as dinner plates, but she has to just go with it because she's in too deep and how dare she question one of her health-spa professionals, right? So she just straight-up gets sodomized by this cute little blonde thing, and her face goes dumb because she starts to like it, and then -- woosh! -- the water starts, and she just melts into a sex puddle right there on the table while her flat belly starts expanding like she's pregnant."

"Uhhhh..." I brilliantly replied. I tried to laugh again, but it didn't come out right. One reason for that was because my sneaky little pixie had steadily moved her hand closer and closer to my bulge during her sordid flight of fancy, and she could feel just how hot and swollen I'd become.

Our eyes met, and my devious girl let me know she'd ensnared me in some trap. I did the best I could to counterplay, but deep down, I knew I was completely outmatched.

"Is that something you'd be interested in?" I asked, trying to sound curious, but neutral.

Sam's eyes flashed again, and not just with sinister glee. "Oh, definitely," she said, "though if it weren't a hot little blonde masseuse doing it, I'd definitely want it to be you. I'd want you to be my big, strong professional, gently guiding me through an intensive therapy session."

I'd known Sam was bisexual -- or something near enough to it -- for almost our entire relationship. She was sneaky, true, but she'd been honest when it had counted. I also already knew she loved anal sex -- both giving and receiving. It was one of the reasons our relationship had been so good for so long; we were extremely sexually compatible. Still, something about our conversation that night was hitting differently. The enema stuff was new, of course, but that wasn't the trap. I didn't even think it was the bait, necessarily.

"I mean, I'd be happy to," I said. "I only wish you'd told me sooner. Babe, you know I'm always willing to help you out with anything you're into -- and, more than that, this sounds kinda hot."

"I know you are, babe," she said, "and I know it does." She gave my bulge a loving squeeze. "So yeah, sometime soon, let's do it. My only regret is that it won't be nearly as funny, because I won't be trying to pretend it isn't all about sex." She took her hand off my cock, but moved to straddle me before I could miss her touch. With the height and weight difference, it was both easy and comfortable to have her on my lap -- well, except for a certain type of discomfort that I was more than willing to endure for a while.

"And you know," she said, "I know she's never done it."

"Oh?" I asked. "You guys have conversations like that?"

"Oh, we have conversations about things," she said forebodingly, "but that's not how I know. I know because if she were getting treatments like that, she'd at least be a little more fucking relaxed."

I felt like I should laugh again, but I couldn't. I looked into Sam's eyes; I wanted to kiss her, but it didn't feel like we were done talking. She began caressing me all over, and so I responded in kind, mostly stroking her back. I'd been right about the conversation, but she seemed quite happy to get us warmed up in other ways.

"I wanna give you a token," she whispered to me. "What do you say?"

Tokens were very valuable. You only earned them, though, by being completely, brutally honest. Sam had been training me for almost our entire relationship to associate tokens with only good things. She'd never once punished me for any "token talk." Then again, nothing all that terrible had ever come out. We only had three well-defined exceptions. Two of them involved politics and religion, and you don't need to know the details. The third was any serious talk of having babies. Any of those three were grounds for ignoring the token rules -- and for breaking up immediately, too. Otherwise, it had seemed to me like Sam was unflappable.

"This feels like a big one," I replied, scanning her eyes. "Two."

She shot me a look. She was a little impressed. "One and a half," she said. "One token, and you get to pick what we have for meals for... five days, don't have to be consecutive, redeemable on demand unless I've actually put in real effort or something will spoil."

I pretended to think it over. "Deal," I said. "The floor is yours."

"Do you want to fuck my sister?" she asked.

Normally, I'd have made a face. That shit doesn't fly during "token talk." "Not especially," I answered. "She's fine, but she doesn't make me sit up and say 'wow,' you know? And, well..."

"Her entire personality," Sam generously filled in for me.

I shrugged. "Eighty percent? Ninety? But yeah."

"Did I make you sit up and say 'wow?'"

"You did," I replied. "I never thought you'd be my type, either, but the minute I saw you, everything changed. I even remember thinking that to myself, about a day after: 'Huh, what the heck? Really? I mean, obviously, but okay.'"

She smiled at that. She also added some subtle gyrating to her caressing, and I could tell that it wasn't just my junk that was hot and bothered.

"Well, that's a bit awkward," she said. "I really thought you were going to say 'yes.'"

I raised an eyebrow.

"I believe you," she said.

I relaxed my face. That was always the question when "token talk" got into uncharted territory. "Well, I mean..." I began again.

Her deep brown eyes flashed. "Ooh. Ooh, you're going to be generous. I like generous Will. Generous Will gets extra massage time."

I decided that there wasn't going to be any better time to reveal my weird quasi-obsession with Sam's sister than during "token talk." It almost felt like a clever chess move on my part, but note the lack of confidence. There was always a chance that Sam had set another trap, and I was about to walk into it.

"I feel like all that meditation and stuff is doing the exact opposite of what it's supposed to be doing," I said, already feeling the rant building. "She's using it to stay busy and to maintain this front. I honestly don't know how she's not exhausted. If she'd just find a way to, I don't know, calm down? I know that sounds shitty, because maybe she does love traveling and dancing and posting a billion photos on Insta or whatever, but is she actually happy? I don't think she's got a legit chemical imbalance or anything, but her life is bipolar. I think she gets really low in between these guys and trips, and I think it's doing even more damage because she can't be honest about it."

I looked to Sam for any kind of a sign. She hadn't stopped the foreplay, which was strange -- not leastwise because her face and her eyes had become deadly serious. She was practically nodding along to my diatribe, clearly absorbing every single word.

"Keep going," she said. "This is really good. Loop it back around."

I gave her a look -- really? - and she nodded for real.

"Token talk," she said. "I want to know."

I held her gaze. I was tempted to telegraph remorse, but remembered the rules. "It's not that I want her to be more like you," I said, "but... I think that it's somewhere inside of her. And I think she'd be happier. Better. Freer. I feel like there's a truer version of your sister that I actually would find sexy, and that I would like to fuck, but it's just buried under so much bullshit."

"Max," Sam said.

I panicked. Wouldn't you have?

There weren't a lot of outward signs, but my heart skipped several beats, swapped places with my stomach, and started pumping far too much blood into my skull. My breath hitched, I think. My expression surely changed, even though I didn't think I'd betrayed myself completely.

Sam sensed it, of course. She moved in close, and the foreplay transitioned smoothly into comfort. She kissed my forehead and brought her hands up into my hair.

"It's okay, babe," she said. "It just makes sense. 'Samantha,' 'Sam,' 'Maxine,' 'Max.' Of course that's what you'd call her. Don't worry about it. I'm not a witch. I'm not going to steal your soul.

"In fact," she said, pulling back to find my eyes again, "I could be telling you to 'Oh my god! Get out of my mind!' right now."

I laughed a little. Her Maxine impression was intentionally overwrought, but true to the spirit.

"I've been thinking the same thing for a long time," she said. "Things were different when we were kids. Honestly, sometimes I feel like we were the same person, and then puberty just - bam! - just did some weird sci-fi shit where our paths split like two different realities. I've wrestled with the same thing you are. I didn't want to be a judgmental bitch and just assume that her life wasn't making her happy. But I think you're right -- we're right. And I think I want to help her."

"That's one hell of a quagmire to step into, babe," I said, "and, well... I'm not sure I one hundred percent understand why you led into it like you did."

"Will you offer me a token?" she asked.

"Oh, you clever little bitch," I non-answered.

She beamed at me.

I pretended to think it over. "Okay," I said. "I offer you a token. Guess I don't get my spa day this time."

"Done and done," she said, patting my cheek. "I'm sure the chili-bacon-cheeseburgers with onion rings on top will provide you some comfort in this trying time."

"Am I really that predictable?"

"Pizza orgy," she said. "That's only two out of five. That's not so bad."

"I can live with being forty percent predictable," I said. "So, apparently, the floor is still yours, since I don't really know what questions to ask."

"Awww," she said, putting on a fake pout. "You're not gonna play?"

"I'll play for a token," I retorted.

"Well look at you!" she said. "I knew there was a reason I liked you." She pushed herself down on my cock and gyrated again. "Okay, more than one."

"Start talking before I start kissing," I rumbled.

"Oh no!" she said playfully. "Okay, okay. Well, I feel like there should be more buildup to this one. This doesn't feel right. It feels like there should be some silence, you know? And some pauses."

Sam got a little obsessed sometimes with making reality follow fiction's form. She wasn't just a schemer. She was a screenwriter and a director. It was up to me to rein her in, so that's what I did. I reached up with one hand and grasped her mousy brown hair. She felt the pressure, and knew she wouldn't be able to resist it for long. I started making exaggerated kiss-prep faces while leaning towards her.

"Nooooooo!" she cried, squirming around and hiding her face. "Okay! Fine! I'll talk! I'll talk!"

I stopped pushing and loosened my grip, but my hand remained in place. I raised an eyebrow expectantly.

From behind her spread fingers, her eyes found mine. "I want you to fuck my sister," she said. "I want to help her find Max, and I want you to help by fucking her - before, during, and after."

I wasn't stupid; I'd known it was coming. I put my faith in "token talk" again and skipped pretending to be surprised. "Uh, I don't think it works like, babe," I said.

She rolled her eyes and then put her hands down. "Well obviously that's not going to do it by itself," she said. "Pillow talk aside, babe, your dick... and tongue... and hands... well, anyway, you're not literally magic. But trust me: it's going to help."

Out of respect for our tradition, I took a moment to try to figure out how I felt. The result wasn't encouraging, but I figured we were in for a penny on "token talk" already. There didn't seem any harm in sharing any thought that sprang to mind.

"I'm immediately worried about our relationship," I said. "Only a little right now, but if we actually try to go through with this, I'm thinking of all sorts of ways it ends with you dumping me, and both you and your sister hating me."

"I get that," she replied, totally unfazed. "That's totally normal, and I don't blame you at all, and we don't actually have to go through with this if either one of us thinks it's a bad idea."

"I feel like it's a genie that's out of the bottle, though, babe," I said. "Now that I know you want this, how am I supposed to say 'no' without also starting us down the road to breaking up?"

She shrugged. It was knives into me, everywhere. She realized it a moment too late. To her credit, she didn't try to start up a performance. She let the fuckup stand.

"I don't know, babe," she said. "Losing you would fuck me up real bad; that's how I feel right now, at this very moment. I know things change, though. But since we're already in the middle of it, let me just say this."

She took the pause. I let her.

"I want to fuck her too. I want to fuck my big sister, and turn her into Max."

She felt the stirring underneath her. She didn't gloat. Instead, she turned everything up to eleven, not giving me a chance to protest or even absorb what she'd said. Her hands were everywhere. She was fucking me through my clothes without penetration. She leaned in close to me so that I could feel every breath. I couldn't stop my hands from stroking her again, and they invariably wandered closer and closer to her ass, desperate to feel it. Even though she'd worn a sensible shirt -- we'd had company, after all -- I knew her nipples were stiff and erect, poking out more than half an inch from breasts that seemed too small to boast such teasable, lickable, suckable marvels. I wanted access so I could do all of that and more.

"Just imagine it, babe," she whispered. If she was faking being turned on, it was Oscar-worthy. "Picture her and I making out with each other while you watch. Maxine first, before we can have Max. We have to seduce her. Kissing, exploring -- hesitant at first, but she warms up to it. Clothes come off. I tease her until she's hot and wet. I gently cup her bald pussy -- she's lasered everywhere, you know, just like me -- and stroke her lips with feather touches. She's passive for a long time. I have to make every move, but I do -- slowly, but with authority. I'm going to train her, right there in front of you. I'm going to make her understand that I -- we -- know how to make her feel good. She's easy, you know -- like me. She's got so many sensitive spots; her boyfriends are devastated when she dumps them because even basic-bitch sex with her is so good."

"What about her ass?" I breathed out.

Sam's lustful look got a little wicked -- a little clever. "She's saving that for marriage. That's what she tells herself -- and some of her boyfriends, if they get that far. But that's going to change, baby. We can't let her deny herself that pleasure. We're going to train her asshole, and your cock is going to be her first back there. I think she'll take my fingers before yours, though. And then the enemas."

"Wait, seriously?"

She nodded. "Oh yeah. There's gonna be a whole health-spa angle: massages, scented oils and candles, whale songs - whatever it takes. We have to claim Maxine first. We have to meet her halfway with all her bullshit.

"Once she's ours, though, Will, we're going to do everything to her."

"Oh, fuck," I groaned out. "Sam, I have to fuck you."

"You need to spank me," she countered. "I'm such a pervert - a slut. I'm a slutty little girl who wants to fuck my sister and have my boyfriend fuck her too. You have to spank me, Will."

I grabbed her and stood up. She squeaked in surprise; she may have known everything I was going to do before I did it, but that was just her mind. Her body was a different story, and mine outmatched hers. I set her down on her feet and gave her exactly one second to get her balance. After that, I went after her, pulling her shirt up over her head, tearing at the button and zipper of her jeans, and violently stripping her down to her panties and socks. She pretended to be the victim, but she also helped. Her clothes were off and away in no time.

Then I pulled off my own shirt; she cooed in appreciation. I grabbed her again and forced her back to the couch with me as I swiftly sat down. Again, she pretended to struggle, but we were working as a team to get everyone where they needed to be. In another few moments she was over my knee, and I was roughly yanking her striped bikinis down until they were halfway to her knees.

"You're a bad girl, Samantha," I rumbled.

SMACK!

It was a solid blow. I had no intention of wasting time with psychological games -- delaying, pausing, changing intensity, changing locations. We were already in the middle of a game, and its rules were simple.

"Yes, Will," she said. "I'm sorry, Will."

"You're a slutty little pervert who wants to have incest-sex with her own sister."

SMACK!

"Oooh!" she cried. "I am! I can't help it! I want to fuck her! I want to DP her with you! I want to spit roast her! I want to make her submit to me and eat my pussy and lick my asshole!"

SMACK

"Who?" I demanded. "Who do you want to be our fucktoy?"

"Maxine!" she cried out. "She's such a pent-up bitch! She needs us, baby! She needs sex therapy!"

"You fucked-up slut," I growled. "You're planning on seducing her -- practically raping her -- and you're going to tell me it's for her own good? Let me guess: you're planning on drugging her too."

Sam got quiet.

SMACK! It was the hardest one yet.

"OWWWWW!" she cried. "Yes, okay, okay, I'm planning on drugging her."

"Tell me," I demanded.

"W-w-weed and wine on Sunday," she said. "That should be enough, but if not..."

"Tell me," I repeated, "or I'm not going to fuck you tonight."

"NO!" she shouted. "I got some molly and benzos and LSD on campus. I've been looking up how to mix them, and if you can, you know, do them with enemas."

SMACK!

"OW!"

"You're a fucking criminal, Samantha," I said coldly. "You're a stone-cold criminal. This is premeditated. You've already committed crimes to prepare for other crimes. You are the dirtiest, nastiest, evilest fucking pervert I've ever met, and you're going to do this to your own sister."

"It's for her own good!" she cried, barely holding back her sobs. "She needs it! She needs us!"

SMACK!