Sisters, by Any Other Names

"God," Sam said, "you have no idea how badly I want to respond with Elsanna porn - and there's so much of it to choose from!"

"I know," I said.

Sam grinned. "Yeah you do. Perv."

"Porno junkie."

"Hey, my grades are good and I'm in a committed relationship," she countered. "That means you can't call me a junkie unless I'm taking drug-drugs from some arbitrary list."

"Fair enough," I conceded. "I guess I'll have to call you a kink-junkie instead, since you want to fuck your own sister and have her cuck you."

"Okay," she said, "setting aside that I have already admitted that the cuck fantasy is hot as balls, technically I don't think it's cucking if she's our unicorn, or if it's a throuple situation."

I threw up my hands in surrender. "Junkies know how to shoot heroin properly," I said. "I defer."

Sam spent the next hour searching for the perfect animated GIF, and settled on Elsa getting pelted in the face with a snowball. Below it, she wrote, Need some more of that True Love stuff real soon sis. p.s. we're totally both Annas even though you pretend. it=you=never letting go!

"Too clever and too desperate," I opined.

She stuck her tongue out and posted it. "The snow is cum, you see," she lectured me, just to be annoying.

"You should be nicer to your supplier, then," I said.

"Well what if I don't want to be nice?"

"Well then that means you're nasty."

"And what does that mean?" she asked.

I lifted her up off the sofa, took her to the bedroom, and showed her. The red panties had gone through the wash, but Sam didn't care. She made sure I stuffed them in her mouth again.

Our sex was undeniably better than it had been before Sam had confessed her twisted desires to me. If you don't believe that, I don't blame you. I could hardly believe it myself. In hindsight, Sam was training me. The sex always included the idea of Maxine somehow. At a minimum, Sam never let me forget that she was an incestuous, boyfriend-sharing freak. Sometimes, she pushed her luck and asked to role play as her sister. Other times she spun mini-fantasies of Maxine being underneath her as I railed her doggy-style, dutifully worshiping her pussy and then eating my cum out of whatever hole I'd shot it into. I wasn't innocent, either. Somehow I became imaginary-Maxine's perverse sexual advocate, making sure Sam had to submit to her every once in a while, and that she got her fair share of my cock and cum.

On Tuesday, Sam took Maxine's absence differently, if not necessarily better. Our evening was bipolar; filthy sex was interspersed with Sam getting very needy and clingy, begging for my tender affection right after I'd finished -- at her own request - putting one of her holes through the ringer.

"I don't really know what to do," she admitted to me in a vulnerable moment. "I think the next thing is sex, but there's no way to trick her into it. I'm a little scared."

"It has to be you, too," I said. "She feels too guilty. Even if she submitted to my advances, she'd feel terrible afterwards. If you want this to happen, I think you need to sell her on it."

"Does that mean...?" she asked, looking up at me hopefully.

"I don't know," I answered. "I'm just talking it through like it's a puzzle. She's still not Max. She's young, pretty, fit, healthy, and Sunday was actually surprisingly sweet in a lot of ways. Of course I could get hard for her. Of course I could fuck her."

"But nothing like a 'wow,'" she finished for me. "That's not going to happen until after, I don't think. She needs you. She needs us. Then she can finally be Max."

"Do you really need to tell yourself that story, Sam?" I asked. "Is it that important that this is for her? Can it just be about you? Would that not work for you?"

"It would," she said, "but it would be too selfish. Too shitty."

"Would it, though, if she were on board? Have you ever thought about sitting down -- all three of us, even -- and just... talking to her?"

I saw her gears start to turn. I tried not to laugh. It was a classic setup -- something out of an old comedy routine. Sincerity is everything; once you can fake that, you've got it made. Sam, the ultimate schemer, was debating whether not scheming was in fact the right scheme for the job.

"You know..." she began.

"Jesus," I said, shaking my head.

"I'm still scared," she said. "But you'd do that for me? You'd be there?"

"I won't lie to her," I warned her. "If she asks me something, I'm going to tell her the truth."

"Token talk," Sam said.

"Does she know about that?"

Sam shook her head. "No. She doesn't. But I could explain it to her. It's kinda like one of those bullshit things she'd be into, isn't it? She might go for it."

"Are you sure you're willing to admit to her that you think most of her life is a shallow veneer covering up loneliness and dissatisfaction?"

She rolled her eyes. "Well I'm not willing to forge it into a battleaxe and chop her fucking head off with it, no. Don't worry about my ability to manage the truth. Worry about yours."

"So what's the deal?" I pressed. "I can be honest, but I have to try to make this happen?"

"Pretty much," she said. "But I promise that if you back out and just don't do it at all, that's okay. I'll talk to her myself, or you can call the whole thing off right now."

"I love you too much to do that, Sam."

"You love me too much and you're a typical horny man," she countered. "If we're not telling stories, we're not leaving anything out either."

"Fine," I sighed. "Part of the reason I'm willing to go along with this is because the idea of you two, and me, is hot. Okay? It's hot. Honestly, when I think about it, I usually just think about the two of you tenderly, lovingly making out with each other. No sass, no conflict, no pretense, just easygoing love."

She cuddled into me. "That's so sweet," she said. "See? That is for her. That's good for her. She needs that in her life. She deserves it."

"I don't know that she needs it, Sam," I said. "I don't know what kind of toll it might take on her, either."

That wasn't what she wanted to hear, but, to her credit, she didn't pull away. "I suppose," she said. "So, this weekend? If she comes over before then, just regular hangout stuff."

"Okay," I said. "I'll let you set it up."

"Her place, probably," she said. "Safer for her. She can just kick us out."

"Makes sense."

On Wednesday, Sam was hesitant to bring imaginary-Maxine into our sex session. I let her know it was okay, and that triggered an emotional catharsis. We combined tender, sweet lovemaking with the same explosive orgasms we'd be enjoying for the better part of a week. Sam's dirty talk wasn't even that dirty; she seized upon the easygoing, loving fantasy I'd mentioned the day before.

On Thursday, Maxine dropped by unannounced. She didn't use her key, and I gently reminded her she had it. Beyond forehead kisses -- to which I think she'd become mildly addicted -- nothing particularly naughty or frisky happened. We had some dinner, piled onto the sofa, watched a few more episodes of that Brazilian series, and kept the snacking light and healthy. By turns, Maxine leaned her head on either Sam's head or my shoulder. We draped our arms around her, and she seemed fine with it. She forgot to bring back my T-shirt, and I didn't mention it.

On Friday, Sam sent the text: hey sis, could we maybe come over? Not a hangout. Real discussion? No emergency.

Maxine didn't reply for the whole day. At about nine, Sam's phoned pinged. She practically dove for it, and then got shaky once it was in her hands. I brought her in close to me, rubbed her back, and kissed the top of her head.

"Whatever happens, happens," I told her. "It's only going to get scarier if she agrees to meet."

"Well that makes me feel so much better," Sam said sardonically. "But you're right."

She read the text to me. "'Okay sis. You okay? Tomorrow 3pm ish, have yoga then need shower.'"

She showed me her reply after she'd sent it: sounds good. All ok. Just want to talk about something. Important enough for face to face, but no emergency like I said. Be there at 3. xoxo.

After that, Sam needed to be cuddled for a while before she could calm down. I rubbed her to a perfectly normal climax just before our usual bedtime -- or sleep time, rather - and she helped me to jerk off. When I went to reach for a tissue, she stopped me.

"Cum is cum," she said, and she cleaned off my stomach and chest with her mouth.

"Love you too, babe," I said. That made her smile as she finished up. In what was becoming an exception to the rule, we both brushed, flossed, gargled, and otherwise got ready for bed like normal people who didn't fuck each other senseless every night.

************

Maxine's apartment was a strange mix of immaculate and cluttered. I figured her drop-everything-and-travel lifestyle had dissuaded her from fully nesting. A few boxes in corners, and clothes hung up in odd places, emphasized the possibility that she might grab a cab and hop a plane on any given day. The decorations were sparse and small -- nothing that would require a ton of effort to pack and move. There was a picture of her and Sam prominently displayed, and another of them with her parents from a long time ago. Those were nice touches, I thought.

She had water and some diet sodas on offer, and had put together a veggie platter with some dip. She also offered to make tea, and Sam took her up on it. My poor pixie was nervous. I wasn't used to seeing her like that. The past few days had been unprecedented in more ways than one. There's a lot of overlap between always scheming, always having a plan, and feeling confident -- especially when so many of one's plans come to fruition. For the first time in a long time, Sam looked a little lost - like she couldn't see a path to what she wanted.

We settled in on some reasonably comfy chairs in what would've been the open-plan TV room, if Maxine had owned a TV. We sipped our tea, and Sam tried and failed to make small talk. I think Maxine sensed her little sister was nervous, and she, like me, didn't know what to do with that. Concern marred her heavily made-up face at first, and then nervousness of her own crept in.

"Are you guys getting married?" she finally blurted out. "Oh god. Is this the 'you're too unreliable to be the maid of honor but if you straighten out and promise not to leave the country then maybe' speech?"

"Okay, that's hilarious," Sam said, "but no. This is something else. Hey, do you know that thing called 'radical honesty?'"

Maxine's relief was quickly replaced by a dismissive expression. "Of course I do. That's easily a decade behind the times as far as relationship stuff goes. Why? Do you guys do that?"

"We do, kind of," Sam said. "We have these things called tokens -- not real tokens, although I have been meaning to order some, just for fun -- but you can offer them to the other person, and if they accept, then they have to be brutally honest... but in exchange, they get, like, a full spa day or whatever. And it's all in a safe space. No punishments. We only have three exceptions."

"Do tell," Maxine said.

"Politics and religion," I chimed in. "No need to say more about those. The third is any serious talk about having babies. There are always dealbreakers."

"Okay," she said. "And this is... what? Are two coming to collect?" She suddenly sounded pissed.

"No!" Sam said in a panic. "No, that was all for you, Maxine, really. You have to offer one first. That's only fair."

"Oh," Maxine said, her hackles settling down. "Okay. So... what does this have to do with me, exactly?"

"Well," Sam said, "Will and I thought maybe we could all offer each other a token today. All three of us. Break down some barriers. Get real."

Maxine took a sip of her tea and looked at Sam like she had two heads. I didn't blame her. "Well, it's certainly an interesting idea, but, Sam, honey, that's something between you and Will, for your... relationship."

"Okay," Sam said, her hands and her voice shaking, "but, ummm... maybe... what if... it was our relationship? Like, you, too? Like... the three of us?"

Maxine set her tea down on the coffee table. Over the next minute, she repeated a silent process about five or six times: she raised her eyebrows, then lowered them; then she blinked several times; then she tilted her head one way, then the other; then she looked from Sam to me, and then back again. Then the eyebrows started up again, and so on.

"Oh," she finally said. "Oh."

Sam was a wreck. I was doing better, but not much. Whenever she was a wreck, I had only had two modes: do anything and everything to make it better even if I had no plan, or panic and be convinced she was going to dump me. I definitely wasn't doing the former. I was telling myself over and over that the latter was wholly irrational.

"Okay," Maxine said.

"Wait, what?" Sam said. I think my jaw dropped, but I can't even remember clearly.

Maxine shook her head. "No no no. Okay, let's do the radical honesty thing. Right now. It's all of us. We do that token swap or whatever, so nobody gets a spa day, but everyone's on the hook. That's what you want, right? Let's do that."

"Uh... deal," Sam said. "Will?"

"Okay," I said with a shrug. "That's why we're here."

The change in Maxine was startling. I saw Sam in her, suddenly. She was sharp. Gears were turning. I had a feeling that every worst-case scenario I'd tried to warn Sam about was about to happen.

"What do you really think of me, Sam?" Maxine asked.

"I love you," Sam replied.

"Nope," Maxine said immediately. "That is how you feel about me. I asked you what you really thought of me. Don't play dumb. You get that one because I can tell you're nervous, but don't do it again."

Well, shit, I thought to myself. Maxine shot me a look, as though she'd read my mind.

Are you both witches? I thought, waiting to see if Maxine's face would betray her powers. Are you both literal witches with spooky mind-reading powers?

I didn't get a hint either way.

"I think you're unhappy," Sam blurted out. "I think you like all of this health and yoga stuff just fine, but it doesn't make you happy or enlightened like you say it does. I think you're unhappy, you're lonely, and you use social politics or whatever just like you use everything else: as a way to distract yourself and deflect from what's really going on with you.

"I also think you're bisexual, just like me, but ever since that bitch Jennifer broke your heart into a million pieces, you've been rushing from travel-buddy cock to travel-buddy cock in some crazy whiplash maneuver to find somebody you think will endlessly run away from themselves with you but can't actually do real damage because they don't have a cunt like that evil fucking cunt."

Maxine leaned forward and banged the table. Sam and I both jumped.

"There it is!" she boomed. "There it is, fucking finally. You do nothing but judge me. I'm not you, so you judge me. No degree -- judge me. No plan for a soul-sucking job -- judge me. No steady boyfriend -- or girlfriend, excuuuuuuuse me -- judge me. Clothes -- judge me. Makeup -- judge me. Diet -- judge me. Hobbies -- judge me. Travel -- judge me. I could go on, except maybe I can't, because I think I'm literally running out of parts of my life to even mention. Oh, wait, no: social media -- judge me!"

She turned to look at me. Her brown eyes were terrifying. "And you," she said. "You're perfect for her. You two are so perfect for each other. So of course you agree with all of that -- unless she had some shred of decency and didn't blab about my love life. Go ahead. Be brutally honest with me, Will."

I sighed. "I don't know you like she does," I said, "but I'll admit it: most of what I've seen has given me a similar impression, Maxine. Don't you remember what it was like on Sunday? How relaxed you were? How happy you were? How unlike... what you usually show to us you were?"

"I was on quite a lot of drugs as you'll recall, William," she countered sternly. "Are you perhaps suggesting I be stoned out of my mind for the better part of the rest of my life? Are you surprised that somebody out of their mind on a drug that makes you lazy and silly and stupid was a better fit for your lifestyle?"

"Said the judge to the judge," Sam muttered.

Maxine sat back in her chair. "I admit it," she said. "Gladly. I do not wholly approve of your lifestyle. You don't exercise enough. You don't get out of the house enough. You eat way too much meat. Social media, whatever. TV and movies on the couch are just so much healthier, right? School? Free pass there, for you at least, Sam, because I know you love what you're studying. Will, though: you don't like your job. Keep chasing that promotion and raise that will justify you not liking what you do for fifty hours a week, plus the commute."

"Gotta earn a living, Maxine," I said.

"Except you don't!" she retorted. "Sam's lost her fucking mind for you. She's your slutty little fucktoy for life, so just marry into the money and do something you love, for fuck's sake! We got lucky being born; you got lucky because you have a magic cock or whatever. Nothing is fair. Stop being stubborn and live your life."

"Do you want to fuck my boyfriend?" Sam asked, practically shouting over Maxine's head of steam.

"Yes!" Maxine shouted back. "He's fucking incredible, I'm super jealous, and I want to fuck him. Do you want me to fuck your boyfriend?"

"Yes!" Sam shouted right back. "I want you to fuck him, and I want to watch you fuck him, and I want to eat the creampie right out of your pussy or asshole when he's done fucking you. Also, it's 'envious,' not 'jealous.'"

Maxine sputtered and scoffed, unable to decide which part to respond to first. I found it odd she'd have trouble picking. That's sisterhood for you, I guess.

"Sam," I said. Both sisters settled down suddenly and looked at me. "Are you in love with your sister?"

"Yes," she cried.

"Do you want to fuck her?"

"Yes," she said, losing steam. "I want to do everything to her, and I want her to do everything to me."

"Maxine," I asked, "did you know?"

Maxine shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "I've had some idea, yes," she admitted. "After Jen, I thought it was just college-girl confusion mixed in with pity. She was eighteen years old and a sophomore herself. Every girl's bisexual then. A few times after that, though, I did suspect that maybe it was more than that -- that she was carrying some sick torch for me."

"Then why didn't you ever say anything?" Sam whimpered.

Maxine rolled her eyes. "Because it's incest, Sam," she said, as though Sam were the dumbest bitch in the world. I rankled instinctively, but had a hard time faulting the logic.

"Maxine," I asked, "do you find Sam sexually attractive?"

"Yes," she said flatly. "Sam's hot. She's the perfect mix of fem and tomboy. She's got that nineties grunge energy mixed in too, and she knows exactly what to wear to work it."

"Wow," I said, "get out of my mind."

That got a chuckle out of her. "It's still wrong, Will. It's incest. Sam's always been too perverted for her own good. I'm glad she found you, but not everybody is like that."

"Are you like that?"

That finally made her pause. Sam leaned forward in her chair, sensing weakness. I tried to keep playing it cool.

"I will admit," she said slowly, "that there is a part of me that... responds to certain extreme ideas. However, there is another part of me that knows that they are wrong and dangerous, and I am not going to defend my choices. They're mine, and I have my reasons."

"Jen was super kinky," Sam said. It wasn't explication; it was a realization. "She was super kinky, she was an awful person, and she hurt you."