I don’t remember how it started.

And by that, I don’t mean that I vaguely remember the events but not the details - I mean I literally have no idea how it started.

Like, none.

That was the first thing that worried me.

The second was how ... normal it seemed? How natural, almost.

You know how sometimes you’ll have a dream, and in that dream you have a best friend or a new relative or whatever? Despite the fact that you’ve only known them for a few hours at best, it feels right.

That’s what it was like.

It had been going on for a few weeks (I think? Like I said, I have absolutely no idea when, where, or even how it started) when I started to question it. It just felt so comfortable - when our parents were out, or sometimes even late at night when they were at home, my brother would sneak into my room, and we’d fuck.

I’d love to call it “making love” or whatever, but that’s just not what it was. He’d come in with a hard-on, I’d be soaking wet, and - sometimes without even saying anything - I’d roll onto my back and he’d fuck me until he came.

I always came as well. I guess that was the third thing that should have made me suspicious, but - like I said - everything about it just seemed so right. So normal.

So natural.

Of course it made sense that despite the fact I was barely able to get off with my hands, my brother could make me go off like a firecracker. Of course I was able to experience multiple orgasms without even touching my clit - just the feeling of his hard cock entering me was often enough to get me off.

We didn’t use a condom, either. Nope. I’ve always been all about safe sex, but as soon as it’s a blood relative, suddenly I’m totally fine with going bareback. God knows what would have happened if I’d gotten pregnant - thankfully I snapped out of it before then.

So yeah. Nightly, bareback, multiple orgasm-inducing intercourse with my own brother.

And it felt amazing. There was never any awkwardness, there was never any doubt about what the other person wanted. It felt so good that I wondered why every sister wasn’t letting their brother take them, night after night.

It felt totally right.

... until one day, it didn’t.

“Oh,” my brother said, a puzzled look on his face. He’d entered my room, lowered his pants, and I’d spread my legs without even thinking about it, like that was the obvious thing to do.

I wasn’t wearing panties. I rarely did at home, any more.

But then a thought had entered my head, and I’d snapped my legs shut, thrown my brother a strange look, and told him I wasn’t sure if I wanted to do this.

“Oh,” he repeated, after the silence had grown long enough to become awkward. “Okay. Can I ... can I ask why?”

I had been asking myself the same question all day. That morning, during my shower, I’d noticed the remnants of last night’s tryst, and for the first time it hadn’t given me a warm feeling inside.

It had felt wrong. Strange.

“I’m just not sure if we should be ... y’know.”

“Oh,” my brother said for a third time, and glanced down at his exposed cock. I felt bad for making him feel uneasy, but at the same time, I knew he wouldn’t want me to do anything I wasn’t comfortable with.

And, for the first time since this had started, I wasn’t feeling comfortable.

“Sorry,” I said, and he waved me off with one hand. I breathed a sigh of relief - I knew he’d understand. We’ve always been close, even before ... before we’d started copulating on a nightly basis.

There was another long silence, but it somehow felt less awkward than the previous few. Now that I’d made my decision, I knew it was right. I loved my brother, and we’d had a good time for the past few ... well, for however long it had been going on, but it was time for it to come to an end.

He was clearly disappointed (and who could blame him?) but what we’d been doing was wrong. It hadn’t felt wrong, but I knew that it was. We were brother and sister, and we certainly shouldn’t be ... getting off with each other.

Getting off inside one another.

My brother pulled up his pants and began to leave, but turned at the door, a strange look on his face.

“Hey, sis,” he said, and I smiled at him.

“What’s up?”

“This has been really fun.”

“Yeah,” I said, hoping he wasn’t going to make a big thing about it. He could be a bit immature sometimes, but deep down I knew he was a good guy.

“Thanks,” he said, and I nodded, wondering why he wasn’t leaving. It was like there was something on the tip of his tongue, something that he couldn’t quite bring himself to say.

Then, all of a sudden, he had an intense look in his eyes - like he was concentrating deeply.

“What’s up?” I said again, after thirty seconds had passed and he looked no closer to leaving.

“I just wanted to say...”

“What?”

“You’re...”

My smile was starting to fade. This was like pulling nails.

“What?”

When he spoke, it was so soft that I could barely hear him, but it hit me like a hammer.

“You’re a dirty slut.”

It felt like I’d been punched in the gut. A whole range of emotions hit me at once - anger, obviously, but also disappointment. Sadness that my brother couldn’t take the fact that things were ending, fury that he would speak to me like that ... that this was how he chose to end what had been such a lovely, mutually enjoyable experience.

But more than that - more than all those emotions put together - I was turned on.

I don’t know how, or why, but those words were the hottest thing I’d ever heard. I reeled at the sudden force of arousal; I tried to reply, but all that came out was a grunt, a sort of angry moan.

“You’re such a whore,” he continued, and a fresh wave of arousal overtook my entire body. “You’re nothing but a hot piece of ass, a wet pussy for me to stick my cock inside of. And you love it, don’t you?”

I tried to form a sentence. I tried to tell him to fuck off, to get him out of the room so I could pull out a toy and get myself off. All I’d need was a few seconds - maybe I wouldn’t even use a toy. Maybe if I touched myself, my brother’s words ringing through my head ... that would be enough.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t say more than one word.

“Yessss...”

“I can’t believe you fucked me,” he said, my reaction seeming to encourage him. “Your own brother ... do you know what kind of twisted fuck lets her own brother cum inside her? We did it so many times; you must be a real fucking pervert. You’re just a horny, worthless, dirty slut.”

“Oh god,” I gasped, unable to stop myself from falling backwards on the bed. Why were his words having such an effect on me? My hips started uncontrollably bucking, pushing up against an imaginary intruder. I was so hot, so wet, so horny ... all I needed was for something to graze against my clit and I was sure I’d be cumming for a week.

“Please...” I begged, and my brother grinned.

“Please what, sis? What are you begging me for now, you filthy whore?”

“Please,” I repeated. I needed to be fucked more than I’d ever needed anything. My pussy felt like it was on fire, and I needed to feel my brother inside me again.

One last time. That’s all it was. I needed to feel his smooth rod entering me, filling me up. I needed to clench around his cock until we were both cumming, and I could feel him spurting, cumming inside me.

What the hell was wrong with me?

“Fuck me...” I finally groaned, through gritted teeth. “Please. Please, god. I need it...”

“Okay,” he said with a shrug, and I swear I almost climaxed just from the sight of his hard cock in front of me. In that moment, it was everything that I wanted, everything that I needed. I was so desperate, but I couldn’t move.

My brother stepped forward, and with a grin, slipped inside me.

Every night that week was a repeat of the first. My brother would come in, and I’d tell him that it was over, that we couldn’t do this any more. I told him that I didn’t know what he was doing to me, but I wanted it to stop.

He’d stare at me for a few seconds, and start talking dirty. Each night, it was exactly like the first night - his words did something to me that I couldn’t explain, that I couldn’t prevent. I was so horny, so uncontrollably turned on - within a few minutes (at most) I was begging him to fuck me.

In those moments, I would have killed someone to get him to fuck me.

The cruder he got, the more it affected me. He’d call me his whore, his slut, his fuckable little cunt - the effect was the same.

I needed him inside me. Immediately.

And then afterwards, it felt like it always had. Like it had for ... as long as it had been going on.

It felt normal. Natural. Like, of course your brother calling you names was appropriate foreplay. Of course him telling you he was going to fuck you was all it took to get you to spread your legs and beg him to do so.

Sometimes, during the day, I had to stop myself from thinking about the names he called me, else I’d find myself rushing to the bathroom and getting myself off.

Once he called me. I was in the middle of class, and the moment I saw his name on my cell’s screen, it felt like all my blood rushed to my clit. Despite the annoyed glare of my classmates, I couldn’t stop myself from answering, and as soon as I heard his word (“you sick piece of ass”) it was everything I needed - I stumbled out of class, leaving half my books behind, and met him behind the library for a quick fuck.

Every evening, without exception, for weeks.

But then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

Not my brother’s attempts - no, it was halfway through sex that I realized it wasn’t working any more. He’d come into my room, called me a despicable cunt, and then began fucking me from behind as I moaned in pleasure. He was in the middle of describing me as a filthy hole which wasn’t even good enough to store his semen when I realized - I didn’t want to be doing this.

I didn’t want my brother to fuck me.

The carnal need which had been overwhelming me at his words for more than a month suddenly disappeared, and a chill ran up my spine.

Without hesitation, I moved forward, pulling my cunt away from his cock, feeling better the moment it left me.

“I’m sorry,” I babbled, realizing how weird this must look to him, realizing the mixed messages I must be sending. “I just ... I just can’t. Y’know?”

“Of course,” he said, and there was that sad look again. He slowly stood up and started getting dressed. I put my own clothes back on, and the two of us stood there awkwardly.

“It’s been fun, yeah?”

“Yes,” I urged. Even though I didn’t want to do it any more, even though I was sort of confused about how we’d started and when we’d continued, I couldn’t deny it - it’d been fun when it lasted.

He stood there for a few minutes, and an intense look came into his eyes once more.

“Uh...”

He didn’t say anything, just stood there, staring at me intensely.

“What are you... -”

Before I could finish the question, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He hit a button, and music filled the room - even though it was only coming from the tinny little speaker on his device, it somehow filled my ears, filled my soul.

And then ... he began to dance.

Now, my brother will be the first to admit that he’s not much of a dancer. But my jaw dropped open as he started to move - he wasn’t particularly coordinated, he certainly wasn’t smooth, and on any other day I would have laughed him out of the room.

But in that moment, I was captivated.

I sat back on my bed and watched as he used my bedroom floor as a stage, strutting back and forth, awkwardly wiggling his hips and gyrating his arms.

And then, I was hit with a powerful wave of arousal as he lifted his t-shirt up. Just slightly, just enough to flash me a glimpse of his hairy belly ... the hairy belly, I’ll remind you, that I’d seen so much of lately.

It didn’t matter. I was suddenly horny, and I desperately needed to see more.

“Take it off,” I said hoarsely. “Please...”

In response, he just wiggled his eyebrows at me, and continued dancing.

When the song ended, it was immediately followed by a faster-paced number, a sticky hit from the 70’s. His dance changed too, and he began showing me more skin.

“Please...” I repeated, and before too long, my wishes were granted. He took his shirt off and threw it at me - I brought it to my mouth and breathed in, savoring my brother’s scent.

God, I couldn’t help but think. I would do anything to have a man like that. As the song continued, he removed more of his clothes, until soon he was dancing to his rapturous audience of one wearing nothing but his underpants.

Again, I’ve seen his cock. I’ve had it inside me so often that I’ve literally lost count. But as he shook his butt to the left and the right, all I could think about was that cock.

I wanted it. I needed it.

If I could just see it, I swore to myself, I’d do anything he wanted. As if he could read my mind, my brother slowly lowered his boxer-briefs, and in response I lay back on the bed, and stared at him desperately.

“Please! Please, fuck me. Oh god ... I need it so badly.”

With a grin, my brother obliged.

The days turned into weeks, and my brother’s dancing continued to be on my mind, day and night. Every evening, he’d come into my room; I’d put down the book I was reading or the homework I was halfway through, and as soon as the music started I was his, captivated, desperate to see his naked flesh.

And then, as soon as I saw it, I was filled with the overwhelming need to serve.

The music took over my mind, my life. We went to a cousin’s wedding, and when my brother started dancing during the reception, it was a challenge not to fuck him then and there on the dance floor.

Instead, I pulled him into an empty room and made him finish dancing for me, and then fuck me over a piece of furniture.

I loved every second of it.

Until one night, when my brother came into my room and turned on the music, and I realized I just ... didn’t care. He started to dance; I pretended to be interested for the first song, smiling at his efforts so he wouldn’t feel bad, but when he began taking his clothes off I reached out and touched his arm.

“Don’t,” I said simply, and I think he understood.

He looked sad, but I knew what we were doing was for the best. He nodded, turned the music off ... and then stared at me for a few moments, that intense look on his face.

“Are you okay?” I asked, but to my surprise, instead of responding he just started moving towards me.

“Bro ... bro, stop it. Bro, you’re scaring me!”