Chapter 1

Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including ft/ft, Consensual, Reluctant, Lesbian, Hermaphrodite, Sister, Black Female, White Female, Oriental Female, .

Desc: Incest Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Two months after The Great Foxhunt, Emma and Mindy are still in the aftermath of their hasty breakup.While new relationships start to form, the promises made between sisters remain as strong as ever. If Emma ever wants Mindy back, she'll first need to confront her deep, painful bond to her sister Catherine.

6 am GMT. It was very early in the morning by a rock star's standard. Yet here was Catherine Drake quietly descending the stairs of her penthouse flat, gently placing each of her delicate bare feet in front of another until she reached the bottom. The hardwood floor was just as frigid as the stairs, and the 29-year old starlet cursed herself for only wearing the thin silk nightgown when she ventured from her warm bed. The chill from the bitter English morning racked her body. She shivered. Then it took her an extra few minutes to gain her bearings. Cat had only recently purchased the building, and was still getting used to having so much space all to herself.

She stepped into the spacious kitchen and another chill rippled through her smooth, dark skin. The coldness brought her nudity to the front of her mind. Tinges of shame stabbed her stomach like tiny knives until she winced. The thoughts of her sister Emma came to her as they did so often when she was alone. It made her shake her head and readjust the bundled fabric loosely covering her breasts. Cat finally came to a stop in front of a high cabinet as her heart continued to sink. With a shaking hand she pulled open the door and retrieved a clear decanter. She had considered also getting a glass, but before she could devise some rationale, the top was off and the bottle's mouth was grazing her full lips. Her eyes snapped shut as she worked gulps of the burning spirits down her throat. As the swill warmed her chest, a booming voice from the top of the stairs made her jump.

"Breaking sobriety, are we?" he said with obvious swagger. "How long was that? Two weeks?"

"Piss off, Gregory." She shoved the bottle back deep into the cabinet and slammed the door. "It's none of your fucking business."

He strolled down the stairs shirtless, with the devil-may-care conviction of a card hustler, even though his words were laced with compassion. "It's my business if you're to sloshed to record today." He said with a straight face. "I don't get paid if I don't play."

Cat feigned a smile. "At least you're not pretending to care about me when you really don't." She met him at the foot of the stairs and let her fingers graze his chiseled ebony abs. Gregory was born in the West Indies and was several shades darker than his bandmate. She smiled at the contrast between her long piano fingers and his muscles. Their skin touching excited her—very distracting—exactly what she needed.

"I do care about you, Cat." He insisted as he clutched her shoulders within his massive palms. "That's why I don't want you killing yourself like this."

"Stop... "She scoffed. It felt good to be handled by him—almost too good. That was the problem. She tried to wriggle free from his grasp. "Stop pretending we're getting married. You got what you wanted last night." She removed herself to the far end of the kitchen before she went on. "Twice, at that." Cat tightened her robe and began to fiddle with the coffee maker. "Just leave, Gregory. If you can keep your big mouth shut about fucking me, maybe I'll let you do it again."

But after massaging his shaved head in frustration, Gregory advanced. Slowly, he closed in on Cat's position. She turned and their eyes locked as he approached. Her eyes shifted with a nervous tick as he loomed over her. She stepped back, her curves pressed against the hard, marble counter. Her glare was broken when she flinched at the sound of plastic hitting the surface in front of her.

He had pulled her cell from his pocket. "Ring her." He commanded.

Cat's eyes sharpened, her face wrought with a scowl. "It's just that simple to you isn't it." She glared at her iPhone's black screen as if it was Emma herself. Then at him, "You don't think I've tried to call her?"

"It's her." She escaped from the corner and made a dizzying path to her breakfast table and sat down. She continued from over her shoulder. "She's the one that you need to talk to."

"If you think it would help I could always—"

"YOU'RE NOT MY FUCKING BOYFRIEND!" she snapped, tears flinging into her waves of black curls. She sobbed as her memories quickly swallowed her up. She could almost feel Emma's body pressing hers—entering her—making her come. It made her wet, and subsequently sick to her stomach. "Why..." she whispered, pulling herself together. "Why did I do that to us?" She looked over her shoulder. "I've never even HAD a boyfriend. You know that right? On account of what I did to Emma. Funny, right?" Me, sex symbol Cat Drake, almost 30 years old and never a healthy relationship to speak of."

"Hey!" he shrugged, sounding wounded. "You're in one right now!"

She finally mustered a genuine smile, albeit teary-eyed. He was ridiculous and that's why she liked him. "Occasionally shagging my drummer does not constitute a healthy relationship." But her face was still teeming with pain as she went on. "It makes me ill to think of her in the States all by herself—so alone."

"You don't know, Cat." He coaxed, coming to rub her exposed shoulders. The robe had fallen considerably. "She could be happy over there, with a girlfriend and—"

"No." She softly shook her head as her tears subsided. "I guarantee you she's got some kind of girlfriend, but it's neither normal nor happy. We haven't spoken in almost ten years, but I know my Emma—and she's not alright."


Emma Drake tightened her breath to match her darting thrusts. She was about to come for the second time that night as she gripped her girlfriend's balmy shoulders for traction. Her eyes crossed and focused again—Lori was still squirmed underneath her, twisting and pulling her own nipples making the pink skin red.

The detective was on top, finally. Her leg was much better and was recovering fine from her injury. A month of having Lori straddle had caused a yearn for an opportunity to take charge. She enjoyed the control she slowed her strokes to be very long and deliberate as she enjoyed the young girls vise-fitting folds.

"Ah! Ah! Em—ma!" Lori's ginger mound was already soaked with Emma's previous deposit, so when her lover grunted over her for a second time, the hot glaze promptly oozed forth between the two. "Oh my god, Emma." Lori lay panting, placing her hands across Emma's back. "You're a machine sometimes."

Emma dismounted in silence and reached for her cell phone on her nightstand. "We have reservations at Sheridan's on Thursday." She announced casually, peeling away from hair that had wetly clung to her cheek. "Is that sufficient?"

"Fancy seafood before my awards ceremony?" Lori almost squealed in delight as she propped her head on Emma's shoulder. "Sounds perfect, but... " her lips suddenly tightened as she thought. "Valentine's Day is Saturday. You're still on medical leave, right?"

"mmhmm..." Emma just hummed as she casually checked her calendar.

"So..." Lori reached around and cupped Emma's breasts playfully. "Are you busy on Valentine's day proper?"

"I'm not." Emma took a deep breath. "But I'd like to be alone that day if you don't mind!"

Lori pulled back, perturbed. Emma was a mysterious character, and she knew that. But after two months of steady dating, the psychologist often felt she didn't understand her girlfriend at all. "Emma, are you okay?" she probed.

Emma turned away, but didn't keep Lori in suspense for long. "It's my sister's birthday on Saturday. I'm thinking about calling her."

"I see," Lori sighed, somewhat relieved it wasn't anything super serious. "But why 'think'? Why not just do it?"

She didn't see the way Emma clutched her chest at the mere mention of calling Cat. Nor was she able to see the deer-esque car light-frightened eyes as she considered. She was only able to muster a "Good night, Lori." Before finally closing her eyes.


Cat breathed a sigh of relief when she finally heard the door shut. Gregory had finally gotten the hint with which he had been so bluntly hit on the head, and left her alone. She remained frozen at her kitchen table, only moving slightly to wrap a finger around one of her dark, curly locks. She powered through each longing urge to return to her bottle and stayed seated with her brow knit in concentration. She had a long day of studio recording in front of her—no time for falling off the wagon today. But she had woken up on the wrong side of the bed, from the most disturbing nightmare that was unfortunately true. Her next movement didn't occur for another ten minutes, when her eyes widened at the sound of her ringing doorbell. She had almost forgotten she requested it. As she made for the door, she slipped a hand into her robe—her heart sank—she was still soaked as a result of her dream. Cat dried the wetness on her robe as she opened the door. She grinned when she saw the heavily tattooed girl with the dark complexion standing there.

"Thank God." Cat squealed as she wrapped her arms around the slim young girl. "Rani, it's so good to see you."

"Likewise, Cat." Rani laughed awkwardly in her delicate Indian accent. "You look great."

"Really?" Cat stepped back.

Rani looked her up and down before shaking her head. "No. Actually, you look like shit." She stepped inside and closed the door. "So what's important that it couldn't until after studio?"

"You are literally the only thing keeping me from drinking every drop of booze in this house, Rani." Cat huffed, returning down the hallway to the kitchen. "You're my best friend in the studio and I need to tell you a few things because if I don't I'm going to explode."

"Dramatic, much?" Rani smiled. She stripped off her weathered black leather jacket and started rifling through the cabinets. "You don't mind if I make a drink, do you?" She paused and playfully shrugged. "It's not like you need the temptation hanging about, no?"

"Rani, please. " She rubbed her temples. "I need to tell you I'm a fraud."

"Fraud?" She closed the cabinet and turned back to her disheveled friend. "Cat, what are you on about?"

Cat's deep obsidian eyes suddenly filled with tears. She raised her hand to pause Rani as she fled for the bathroom, ignoring her friend's pleas to return. Sobs echoed in the small room as she leaned on the door, slowing sliding to the floor. "M—my name is Catherine Elizabeth Drake," she whispered, solemnly. "And I'm a fraud that sings songs to young girls when I used to get off to fucking my own sister." She clenched her thighs and shuddered—they still teemed with her juices. "Or apparently still do."

Her swirling mind drifted to almost a decade ago. One certain night had been the focal point of the illicit dream that derailed her morning. The memory was vivid. The pungent scent of Emma's pubescence lingered in her nostrils. Though it had not been their first sexual encounter, it was as scarring for Cat as anything. For it was the first time she enjoyed it.

Tiny droplets of perspiration formed on Emma's heaving chest as she hovered over Cat's nude body. It had only been a few minutes ago that Emma crawled into Cat's bed for some midnight release. With each darting thrust, she filled her sister's body deeper. Below Emma, Cat arched her back slightly as she dug her fingers into her younger sibling's back. The beads of sweat began to fall on Cat's breasts in sloppy streaks.

The elder sister was a willing member in the tryst—as she had been the previous six months. She always tried to maintain a dispassionate missionary position. But there was something about tonight—maybe the way the moonlight cut through the window and glowed against her sister's flowing breasts—or perhaps simply the manner in which Emma pulsed and throbbed inside her. Cat shut her eyes tightly as she spread her legs wide as the pleasure filled her. Tears of utter disgust leaked down her face as her body continued its betrayal. She grew damper between her dark thighs as she convulsed. A liquid fire burned in her stomach as she came—it sickened her. Flashes of their childhood together brought the wickedness of their union to the forefront of her mind, and it made her want to scream. She instead continued to lay bare, allowing Emma to finish not soon after she. As she felt her sister's pulsing shaft subside its spasms, she returned her hands from Emma's back to grip the edges of her bed. The entire room spun violently—and she thought she was about to be ill. Emma's grunting and sighs of satisfaction were the last sounds she heard that night before fainting. She was at least glad it appeared as if she was simply falling asleep after 'good' sex. She couldn't stand to offend her sister.

"I love you, Cat." Emma murmured in a low hiss as she hovered over Cat's ear. She was still lost in a thick cloud of lust, and slowly flicked her tongue against her sister's balmy skin, as she wilted inside of her.

Cat's eyes shot open an hour later. Emma was sound asleep on top of her. She gasped for air, repulsed at how her body had reacted. Moreover, the 20 year-old was unsure how to continue her relationship with her teenage sister, sexual or otherwise. "Em," she gently stroked the girl's face with her palm. "I know what I promised, but—" She paused a moment to swallow, feeling Emma's warm incestual seed settling inside her. Another tear escaped her eye. "What am I ever going to do with you?"

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