Chapter 1: Stories and Games

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Ma/ft, Consensual, Heterosexual, Incest, Mother, Brother, Sister, Daughter, Uncle, Niece, First, Masturbation, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Slow, .

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1: Stories and Games - [FAIR WARNING: this is ALL tease... that's my thing. If that's not your thing, don't read it. Sorry. Thanks.] How it came to pass that life imitated art, where "art" was in the form of a dirty story posted online, and where Jason, his sister and niece did a whole lot of imitating. (MFf, exhib, voy, inc, mast, cons, no actual sex). Jason discovers that his sister is a fan of his erotic fiction. He can't help but look into this. Consequences ensue.

This story starts with me writing a story. Actually, two stories. But those stories I wrote were just made up, whereas this story I'm now telling you is true, more or less.

I've changed some names and details to protect the guilty, innocent, and the downright perverted -- of course -- but what follows is basically how it happened.

The stories I wrote were dirty stories, which I had posted to the alt.sex.stories website. Writing those stories was a way I had found to vent fantasies, I guess. But I admit the stories weren't really generic porn -- they definitely revealed my particular kinks.

One of the stories was about a group of college students who form a "tease club" -- basically, it provided them a way to titillate themselves and others, but it included a principle of "no-touching." They'd give each other "tasks," and there were some rules for assigning points. The club consisted of mostly girls, but a few guys were involved too. Tasks started out as: flash a stranger; say something overtly sexual to someone you know but haven't been involved with; etc. Eventually they included: masturbate in public (with or without getting caught); bring yourself as close to orgasm as possible and keep yourself there for some fixed period of time; etc.

The other story boiled down to a description of a game of truth or dare. The main twist was that the people playing were two sets of teenage siblings. This revealed certain kinky incestual tendencies of mine, obviously. Still, it wasn't like I let my characters consummate anything -- it was just lots of "show and tell." The most intense that things got was toward the end of the story, when the "showing and telling" involved a substantial load of cum emptied onto one of the girls' faces.

Actually, the second story I described above was the first I posted -- about a year ago. Then, three months ago, I posted the other one -- the tease club story -- although I'd actually been working on that one quite a bit longer.

About a month after posting the tease club story, I got an email -- fan email, I guess. I'd gotten two or three emails about the first truth or dare story -- nothing memorable, however. But this was the only one I ever received about the tease club story.

It's possible I may have gotten others, for either of the stories, but if I did, I must have deleted them, thinking they were spam. I didn't reply to the ones I got about the truth or dare one -- they were pretty generic, in the vein of: "hey, thanks for the story, good plot, good writing, keep up the good work." But the email I got after my tease club story was rather more compelling.

For one thing, it was from a woman -- at least, allegedly a woman -- I'm realistic enough to know, in this world of online kinks, that these things are not always what they seem. The email address also seemed one I recognized, but I wasn't able to place a name or face with it, and supposed it might have belonged to one of my many fleeting online friendships.

But the note also contained a sort of invitation to reply. I won't quote it at length, but in summary, she said she liked the story, was recently divorced, had played around a little bit with public sex and "teasing games" with her ex, and had very much enjoyed it. She said that she found the idea of having tasks assigned to her "weirdly but strongly appealing. " At which point, she hinted how much she would love to find someone who would step into that sort of role for her, "no strings attached."

Naturally, I was skeptical, but nevertheless decided to reply. I stayed very noncommittal, just saying that I appreciated the email and, adding that I was a big fan of "delayed gratification" and task-based (as opposed to physical, I guess) "discipline" — I don't know that "discipline" is even the right word, since what I'm into is a sort of give-and-take, and is not based on a simple, one-party-in-charge sort of game.

I included an anecdote of how I had once played (ok, "cybered") with a woman online, where I gave her things to do, and she described what she did, and she gave me things to do, and I described what I did. "Who knows if she was really doing them..." I commented, but added, "it's more the mind game anyway, I guess -- so maybe it didn't really matter."

Anyway, I rambled on a bit, on this riff ... but I carefully avoided making any explicit offer to play a game. And so I sent it off.

Only after she replied to this email did I finally realize why her email address had looked oddly familiar — literally.

You see, I suddenly recognized her email address as one my sister had once given me as an "alternate" address a few years back -- not her "main email," but one she gave me one time when she was having trouble with her ISP. It was one of those free, yahoo web-mail accounts. You get the picture.

Oh my god, I thought — my sister was a fan of my dirty writing. And to be honest, as the content of my first story described above would hint, I'd had my share of fantasies about my sister. This was too weird to be true ... I was in shock and disbelief ... and, of course, highly intrigued, too.

I suppose, before going too much further, I should describe myself: I'm mid 30's, white, middle class. Not in great shape, but recently I've lost a bunch of weight and started trying to jog a few times a week, so I was feeling more in control of my life and happier with my physique than I had in a long time. I went through an unpleasant divorce about 6 years before, and had no kids.

My older sister was just past 40, and nothing like me in appearance, since she was, in fact, adopted; she was African-American.

Despite that (or because of it?), we'd been extremely close, as siblings go, as children. Inseparable playmates, despite the age difference. Then, we grew apart during the adolescent years, however.

High school was a period of alienation and difficulty for both of us (wasn't it that way for most teenagers?) and I'm sure the raging hormones didn't help.

Since that time, nevertheless, we'd evolved a fairly easy-going and also quite candorous friendship. Nothing super close, as we lived in different states and had very different lives, but it was cool. I certainly have harbored many fantasies about her. Ironically, most of them were during our adolescent years, when we were so noncommunicative.

I even vividly remember several embarrassing attempts to "spy" on her, and one not-so-successful effort to "flash" her, when I had been an awkward 13 and she was a suave, 18-year-old, highly popular cheerleader.

But nothing had ever led me to think they'd ever be more than fantasies. Until now.

Denise was a short, broad-shouldered woman, but in excellent shape. Some might call her stocky -- she definitely did not possess an hourglass figure. She was a bit too thick in the middle, and was what is called "big-boned." But I still thought her very attractive, and she frequented a gym and was in pretty good shape. At the least, she was definitely in better shape than I was, anyway.

Caffe latte skin, but clear complexioned, she had a lovely, almost regal face, and despite having had two children, her apple-sized breasts were as perky as I remembered from my teenage obsessions. She'd described herself fairly accurately in her email, although, interestingly, she skipped her skin-tone.

In her email, she'd said she was recently divorced. In fact, my sister's husband had committed suicide the year before, after their 10 year-old son had died tragically in an automobile accident. This untruth didn't really bother me or seem inconsistent -- I thought it a very understandable white lie, as those are not the kind of tragedies one conveys to newly-met internet strangers, especially as a part of a "getting-to-know-you" prelude to sexual play. Most notably, however, she signed the email "Denise N." (Her husband's last name was Nguyen -- did I mention that this African-American woman, raised in white suburbia, had married a manic-depressive Vietnamese physicist?).

Over all, the remembered email address, combined with the convergence of most of the details she'd given in her email, had me convinced it really was my sister I was corresponding with.

How strange, then.

So ... what did her reply say? I saw in this second email from her that she had managed to read into my reply that I was volunteering to "play" a game with her. She seemed to imagine I'd give her "tasks," just like in my tease club story, via email. Or anyway, she pretended to misunderstand my rambling email as such, in hopes I would take the bait.

I'm not sure I would have gone along with it, except for one thing: the realization it was my sister, and the way this fact converged so tightly with certain long-abandoned fantasies of my own. Given that secret and tantalizing bit of knowledge, combined with my lifelong crush on my sister, however -- how could I resist?

So I wrote back again, very friendly, if a little bit breathless, and gave her a simple task: go pantiless for a day. The email I sent was brief and to-the-point -- I couldn't believe this was happening, but I wanted to be careful and not turn her off. It was too promising.

The next day came her long-winded reply -- she'd done it, and as she'd expected, it was a blast. She was "so glad" I wanted to play along, since she evidently found it easier with someone "directing" her, than to get up the gumption to do such things on her own.

I wrote back and asked if she wanted to take turns, with her giving me tasks as well, or if she preferred just receiving. The slowness of the email medium was frustrating, as I was used to hot-and-heavy instant messages, and had never had an ongoing erotic email correspondence. But it was actually remarkably well-adapted to this task-oriented approach she was seeking, I supposed.

Denise wrote back that she was happy just receiving tasks for now, but that if she thought of something she wanted me to do, she'd send it along to me. And of course, she added, "you can tell me if you want me to think of something for you."

She also mentioned and reminded me of something I'd stated in the tease club story, which was that tasks for men and woman tend to have different requirements and constraints. For example, you can give a woman a task to flash a guy, or even another woman, and expect it to be received as relatively harmless, or at worst, as a come-on -- whereas to ask a man to flash a woman is to ask him to risk scandal and possibly arrest. So you have to "design" his and hers tasks differently.

So I sent her another task: masturbate to the point of orgasm before getting out of bed for the morning, but not allow herself to finish. Then not do anything about it, until the next task.

She wrote back about how she'd done that, and described her actions in much more detail than I could have hoped for. It was at this point that she finally revealed her ethnicity, and she gave a fabulous, erotic description of herself naked, telling me exactly what she did to herself with her fingers.

I was so aroused.

My god, I masturbated to orgasm upon reading it, and, devoid of compunctions at this point, wrote her back a detailed description of exactly that act -- although I carefully neglected to mention that it was a glance at a small, framed picture of my sister's smiling face on my desk that sent me over the edge.

I was trying to follow along with the plot of the story I'd written, at least to the extent of the gradual build up and severity of the dares.

This was what she'd implied she wanted. More than implied, really -- she'd expressed that it was the gradualism and delayed gratification that I had described in the story that she liked best. For this reason, I wanted to stick to that mode as much as I could. Not to mention, it was such a turn on, knowing I was making my sister (my sister!) do erotic and exhibitionistic things, and that she was loving it.

So, for her next task, I simply gave her the same task again. Let her build up, and stew a bit. That evening, her reply email contained a confession -- she'd lost control.

That's when she introduced an element that hadn't been a part of the tease club story she'd read -- she asked if I had a "punishment" for her. In the story, if someone failed at a task, they simply had to do it again. There hadn't been any "punishment" in the story. Actually, I realized, given the tone of her approach, it seemed a logical extension.

I thought about it for a while, though, and concluded she wasn't fishing for a real "punishment" -- which is to say, I doubted she was looking for anything S&M.

I suspected she just meant she wanted some kind of compensatory task. That was my guess, anyway. And in retrospect, I had read it right. Therefore, in the spirit of the tasks up to that point, I told her "punishment" was only that from now on, she wasn't allowed to touch herself at all -- at least, not intimately (meaning no touching her nipples or pussy) -- until I gave her a task that specifically allowed her to do so. Except as minimally necessary to stay clean, of course.

And, for her next task, I told her to go braless to work, with a silk blouse.

She's not large-breasted -- about a B cup, or C cup at the most, I guess. Nice half-spheres though, that had been fodder for lots of daydreams when I was younger. I'd never seen them naked, or even braless, that I knew -- and so her reply contained new information: she has quite large, darkly colored, cone-shaped areolae (what are called in porn-lingo "puffies," she admitted to knowing), capped with prominent, "highly responsive" (her words) nipples, that are pretty obvious, even when not erect, due to their size and positioning.

In her latest task, she dealt with the coloration issue by wearing a dark colored blouse (since I hadn't specified), but the prominence was something she couldn't hide, though she wore a blazer -- which actually left her more "stimulated" as she put it, as the edge of the blazer would rub against her nips through the blouse.

She went on to describe how the AC in the building where she worked was set too low, and as a result her nips were hard all day. She described the surreptitious stares she'd gotten from her male coworkers -- and even a few female ones too.

She also explained how frustrated she'd become, at this point -- having not cum in over 3 days, and with too much stimulation. I told her in my next note to be patient, and to "behave," and I'd get her there eventually.

Her next task was to go pantiless again, but this time no "cheating" by wearing pants (as she'd done the first time, since I hadn't specified) -- I told her to wear a skirt, as professional as necessary for work, but not too long. And no pantyhose either. Bare to the world.

The next evening when I got home from work, there was no email waiting for me from her. Her first lapse. Normally, I got her evening emails when I got home from work, since she was a few time zones east of me. But, lo and behold, there was a phone message from my sister. For the first time, it occurred to me to wonder if she knew who she was corresponding with.

My conclusion was: no way. Still, there was something tantalizing and awkward about hearing her voice, in light of the new information I had about her lifestyle and interests, and the input I'd had to her recent behavior. It was a very typical short message from her: hi bro, hope things are good, and hey, are you thinking of coming out for thanksgiving?

This was nothing unusual -- I'd spent several thanksgivings with her and David and Melissa (Melissa was their exotic-looking, half-Asian, half-African American daughter) -- but not since David had died. I thought, in a moment of normalcy, that it was good she was getting back into a regular life -- getting over the stress and mourning of his death and their son's, etc.

But then, of course, I thought ... how eerie and wild it would be to see her again, after what had been transpiring, semi-anonymously, between us. Still, I procrastinated on returning her call, obviously feeling a bit strange about it, and not wanting to screw it up by revealing an unaccustomed eagerness that would have been totally at odds with my typically laconic character, which was all-too-well-known to Denise.

Right before bed, I checked my email again. Finally, there was a note from her -- saying she'd been busy all evening and that she had managed to complete the dare that day, but "with complications," as she put it. She went on to say she'd explain tomorrow, as she was very tired and was going to bed.

Hmm, complications?

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