Anastasia
Copyright© 2025 by Drcock666
Chapter 4: Telling of Tales and Promises of the Unknown
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 4: Telling of Tales and Promises of the Unknown - This is the story of the time I had a threesome with my sister Anastasia and her friend Grace.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Teenagers Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction High Fantasy Incest Brother Sister First Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Tit-Fucking
“Okay,” I said at last, setting down my glass. “Tell me about the wedding.”
Anastasia’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “It really started at the rehearsal Friday afternoon. For the walk down the aisle, I got paired with one of the groomsmen, my date, Billy. You know him, seriously handsome. He’s a friend of the groom, originally from just outside Cleveland. Georgia Tech grad, now working as an engineer at Lockheed Martin on some top-secret military stuff. Polished, confident, the full package.”
I felt a sharp sting of jealousy, unexpected and unwelcome. “Tell me more,” I said, trying to keep my voice even.
Before I could sort my thoughts, my body had already answered. My gaze dropped, helplessly drawn to her olive colored cleavage, the way her blouse hugged the curves of her breasts, the way her blouse clung to her breasts, the faint outline of her nipples visible through the soft fabric, and the faint outline of her nipples pressing through the soft fabric like a whispered invitation.
And lower still, the hem of her skirt had crept up just enough to reveal the smooth, bare expanse of her thighs. They looked impossibly soft. My fingers ached to brush against them, to feel the warmth and give of her skin.
The room felt smaller somehow. Closer. And as her eyes met mine, I could no longer tell if we were still talking about Billy ... or if every word was just a prelude to what was really about to happen.
The air between us thickened. Whatever she was doing, or whatever we were slipping into, I was already too far gone to stop it.
Anastasia leaned back slightly, her eyes glittering with the memory. “We were supposed to be paying attention to the procession order, but honestly? I barely heard a word. The second we stood next to each other, it was like something shifted. There was this ... charge. Like my body noticed him before my brain did.”
Anastasia glanced at me with a teasing smile, and I forced a grin, pretending the tightening in my chest was nothing, then she continued,
“His hand brushed my arm while we were talking, just a light stroke, but it felt electric. It went straight to my brain ... and yeah, straight between my legs.”
I swallowed hard. “And you encouraged him?”
Her smile turned sly, full of heat and mischief.
“Oh, I didn’t exactly resist,” she said, almost purring. “I let my hand rest on his abs, solid, warm, and the second I touched him, it was like I’d brushed against a live wire. Something electric.”
She paused, eyes flicking to mine, gauging my reaction.
“There was this ... current, you know? This silent agreement between us. We both knew, no questions, no games, that we were going to end up wrapped around each other before the night was over,” she said as she dragged her nails slowly down my chest, playful but charged, and once again, my thoughts scrambled. Was she teasing me? Was this part of the story, or something else entirely?
Anastasia turned toward me, a spark of heat in her eyes, and said softly but firmly, “Touch my breasts.” There was no performance in her voice, just quiet, deliberate confidence.
She unfastened the buttons of her blouse one by one, her fingers steady, and slipped the fabric from her shoulders. Her skin, a warm, smooth blend of her Brazilian and Irish heritage, glowed in the soft light, golden undertones kissed by the sun, with a faint pink flush rising along her collarbone.
She didn’t pose or arch or dramatize the moment, she just looked at me, steady and unblinking, as if to say, This is me. I want you to see me.
And I did. Every breath caught between us, thick with desire and something else that felt even deeper.
Her voice was low and intimate now, as though she were confessing something sacred. The air between us tightened. I could feel the shift, not just curiosity anymore, but something darker, warmer, pressing just beneath my skin.
She looked at me sideways, that teasing glint still in her eye.
“Have you ever had that? That instant, no doubt pull?”
Her breasts nearly took my breath away, two magnificent half-globes, perfectly rounded and impossibly inviting, crowned with large, dusky-rose areolas and thick nipples that seemed to stand at attention just for me. Her breasts seemed to glow with an impossible heat, each movement setting off subtle ripples across their soft, resilient flesh.
But Anastasia didn’t stop, she was still deep in the memory, her voice soft, almost dreamy.
“I swear, I knew I wanted him in less than thirty seconds,” she said, eyes distant. “And maybe a minute after that, we were already figuring out how to make it happen. He leaned in, so close I could feel his breath on my ear, and said, ’I want you.’ And I said, ’I know. I want you too. When?”
Anastasia paused, catching her breath as if the memory itself stirred her.
“Then the wedding planner came over and split us up, told us to get in place. As we started walking down the aisle, Billy leaned over again and said,
’I’m at the Hyatt, room 566. Tell me when.”
The words hit me harder than I expected. Room 566. Tell me when. I tried to keep my expression still, casual, but inside, something twisted.
It wasn’t just what she said, it was how she said it. The sparkle in her eyes, the breathy way she let the memory play on her lips like it still lingered there. My stomach clenched. It was ridiculous, I knew that. She wasn’t mine. This was just a story. Just a memory. But the heat that flared in my chest didn’t feel logical. It felt primal.
I pictured her and this guy, Billy, whispering, touching, already knowing where the night would lead. And I hated that it wasn’t me. That he got that look from her, that spark. That she said when, not if.
I took a slow sip of my Coke, trying to swallow the rising heat. Jealousy, sharp and bitter, curled up beneath my ribs. I wanted to be the one she was remembering like that.
And maybe worse, I wanted her to know it.
“His hands never left my body, fingers still lazily circling my breasts, thumbs grazing my nipples in a slow rhythm. My eyes fluttered closed, and a soft smile tugged at my lips.”
I sat frozen, her words swirling in my head like smoke. Part of me recoiled, shocked, even disgusted, by how casually she spoke, how vivid her story was. It wasn’t just jealousy. It was something more primal, tangled up in guilt and fascination. I hated that I couldn’t look away. Hated that part of me responded, that heat was building in me despite everything. My thoughts were chaos, but one feeling stood out, sharp and unrelenting: I wanted more. I didn’t know what that meant, not really, but I couldn’t deny it. Not anymore.
“It was around four. The whole thing would be over in about fifteen minutes. I looked right at him and said,
“Right after this. The sooner the better.”
Then we walked up to the altar, split off like nothing had happened. No one even noticed.”
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