Sugar for Coffee


Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Incest, Brother, Sister, .

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Two damaged souls, mending together, just the way nature intended...over coffee. Read the endnote for explanations and apologies. Otherwise, as always, enjoy!

I'd managed to snag a pretty good life. Even with a college degree, all I really wanted to do was paint my crazy paintings. Which of course paid nothing. But then I'd stumbled into this situation where I was making really good money. Despite the digital age. I could rip out the cover for a bodice-ripper in just days. There was that selection of recent gay literature that went platinum? I'd like to think it was my painting of a centaur horse-handling one of those hairy goat boys that punched the sales. I sold the actual canvas to someone else for enough to cut my mortgage in half.

I was in demand enough, I incorporated. I expanded from pulp cover illustrations to stuff not quite as soul-sucking. I made a good living producing images that were sort of an intellectual challenge, but a waste of my talents. But I was afforded plenty of funds and free time to attend to that matter. I had a really good thing going.

It was early Saturday afternoon. It was a gorgeous day, the house flooded with light. I had a job it might've been fun to work on, just as I had some other of my own stuff in the works. But I'd stayed up really late the previous night working on the latter, so I was kind of low key, having a hanging on the sofa sort of afternoon.

I'd slunk low into the cushions, having gathered a little pillow and a throw for a little nap. But just then my cell rang. I pulled it out of my pocket, flipped it open, checking the number. I took the call.

It was my little sister. I'd do anything for Kristi, so of course I answered. She'd gotten her degree, and I knew from her telling that she wasn't sure what was next, except she'd stay the summer in her college town apartment and try to figure things out.

But then in her call she announced instead that she wanted to move back home to get a head start on her life. I didn't ask about the boyfriend of several years.

I'd met him once, a year back, and was not impressed. Kristi had pressed me afterwards, wondering what I thought. "It's your life, so do what your heart tells you. Personally, I think you could do a lot better."

That taught me to stay out of her business, and avoid situations where my opinion might be called upon. It sucked that it took over a month for her to return my calls, just because I'd wound up declaring to her face that her boyfriend was a total douche bag. Once we began talking again, I never mentioned him again. It was her life, after all. And her douche bag boyfriend.

I learned the high art of just keeping your fucking mouth shut.

Kristi barely had to hint, just enough for me to know what she was asking. I was smart enough to realize she was speaking in the singular. Mr. Douche Bag had been excised from the equation.

I beat her before she even had to think to beg, because I never wanted that. "My spare bedroom is of course yours. For as long as it takes. No further discussion. Okay? Nothing but a big fat welcome mat."

Several Fridays later we were unloading the contents of her car. We moved boxes into her new bedroom. We did that until her car was empty; by then we were both starving, so I called in a pizza. It too came in a goddamn box. We both ate too much, and then vegetated in front of the tube.

At some point, after a bit of yawning, Kristi used a commercial break to get ready for bed. Brush teeth and stuff, and then she came back in a longish tee that, when she sat Indian-style, flashed me a bit of her panties. I doubt she was aware of the view she was affording, much less that I hadn't seen anything like that in ages it seemed. The conversation tipped that way long enough for me to admit that I'd been broken up with my last girlfriend for over four months. It was a lie--try years. Lies like that are okay.

We both agreed soon after that it was time to give up the night. I went to bed to suppress naughty thoughts about my sister. From just a flash of panty; brief and inadvertent, at that. As such, I didn't sleep very well. I was agitated in my dreams. The torture of wanting to not think something. And wondering where all of this sprang from.

Well, I knew that. Very well. The spring of that well. There was no wondering involved, except how something I'd buried so deep had managed to come clawing to the surface.

Because Kristi was my little sister. I was her protector, not her corrupter. I was four years older than her, so I'd always had that distant role.

Dad split so early I barely remembered him. Growing up, he was always punctual with his monthly checks, but I've never seen him since. We never got even close to a stepfather. I was twelve when I realized Kristi had maybe not quite a crush, but an attachment to me. Even Mom noticed it, cornering me in warning alone in the kitchen one morning, the seriousness broken by Kristi bouncing into the room. "Whad're y'all tawking about?" Her weird patois was lovely brilliant.

I just thought it was nice that unlike all my friends' bratty sisters, mine was always nice to me, and ready to do things for me. And I of course abused the privilege. Watching t.v. together, if I needed a refill of soda, say, all I had to do was say so. Of course I'd fill her in on what she had missed while refreshing my beverage.

And then it'd be time for someone to go get us more snacks.

In return, I was always there for her, helping with homework, giving good advice when girlfriends were squabbling over something stupid. And I became a reliable foil between her and Mom. Because they were always butting heads, the way mothers and daughters sometimes do.

Kristi outgrew that level of servitude, though sometimes I could still trick her into fetching me a refill. The Tickle Trick. But even that got dicey as she started to grow out in all other respects.

I felt terrible to think it. Kristi was still so innocent, flopping herself down into my lap as always. Still my goofy little sister, but looking more and more like what my body was looking for in a girl.

I was glad when I got to escape off to college, resisting the temptation to make a terrible mistake. By proxy being an honorable man instead, simply by being away.

Mom got sick from the cigarettes Kristi's last year of high school. I was finishing up my degree and just waiting for my life to take off, when something happened.

Mom was able to travel to watch me get my piece of paper. My passport to greater things, though not really. I shoved my sister on to college, coming home to see Mom through.

Afterwards, I arranged the estate sale. Neither of us wanted to keep the old home. It was a big old house in an older urban neighborhood that'd shot up in insane values. Kristi got to get through college without tasting Ramen noodles. I stayed in town and paid fat down in a more modest neighborhood.

After thinking about all this, my cock was ready to join the rest of the body in sleep. I was glad to know my self-preservation instincts were that well on duty.

I woke up to the smell of fresh coffee. I got out of bed and slipped on some sweatpants and a clean t-shirt, then went to investigate the kitchen. I sort of paused in the doorway. Kristi was hunting around the cabinets. I felt embarrassed to step in the room because she was wearing just this little tight tank top that barely covered her bottom. I could see enough to see she was wearing panties. I felt like I was barging into her bedroom. She opened a cabinet door. The coffee mugs were on the upper upper shelf, which made sense to my height. I kept my favorite mug down on the counter. I'd rinse out the dregs, and sometimes give it a bath. I saw it right by her, looking dirty.

Kristi was easily half a foot shorter than me, so she really had to stretch. I didn't just see her panties, I saw the frilly waistband and an inch or two of bare back above that.

I took a few steps back and made a little morning cough sound to alert her. I made the pause, then stepped back in blind. My sister looked over her shoulder at me nearly beaming. I'd timed it all wrong. I thought she'd grab a mug and be done. Instead she was greeting me like that, still on tip-toe, choosing a mug.

"Fff-finding everything?" I stammered.

"Scored a mug," she grinned. "But I haven't found the sugar I need. Sugar for coffee, that's a must for me. I like my mornings sweet." She back to pour her mug full.

Kristi was insinuating nothing. She was being just my goofy but sweet-loving sister stating how she took her coffee.

Maybe if I'd already had a cup of coffee, things would've made sense. I'd experienced girls in panties making the coffee, which stayed warm while the panties came off. It'd been awhile, though. I was used to making my own goddamn coffee. And then sitting there drinking it in the kitchen alone.

Something in me snapped. "So I see modesty isn't your morning forté."

She shot me a look like I was being pretty squirrelly. She looked down at her clothing, shrugged, then looked back at me. "Sorry, I don't get dressed for coffee. Which is a lie. I sleep au natural, so I did in fact get dressed for coffee. Like it or lump it, buddy." My sister turned back to the cabinets, opening another door, "Okay, so where is the sugar?"

The problem wasn't whether or not I liked it. I liked it way too much. I was having problems with the lump. A smaller head down there was doing my thinking for me.

I walked across the floor and moved up behind Kristi. I gave her a nice tight backwards hug, which she fell into, melting against me. "That feels good, makes me feel safe."

.... There is more of this story ...

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / Incest / Brother / Sister /