Milling
Copyright© 2026 by MicaMeesha
Chapter 1
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 1 - I live in a forest and mill my own wood. My brother comes to help and soon we are doing more than milling on a woodpile
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Incest Brother Sister
I had won some money on the lottery and decided that I needed to invest in something that would give me a future and something I could work with and give me a good work-life balance. So, I bought a forest. I won’t bore you with the events that followed the excitement of the win, giving my family some money and all the decisions on what I would do.
Suffice to say I now live miles from anywhere, surrounded by trees. I own a few thousand acres of forest, managed planting, not ancient woodland as such, and not protected by government rules and regulations. I have various species, pine, sycamore, oak, cherry, and poplar being the main varieties; the pine is the only cash crop, the others are mostly a longer-term investment as they are much slower to grow.
I have a couple of wide stretches that are kept tree- and shrub-free as fire breaks and allow the transit of electricity cables across my land. And my new house is set back from the nearest road. I have felled all the trees in a one hundred-yard radius from the house to at least give me a chance in case of a big fire. My house is single-storey, with three en suite bedrooms, a living room, a conservatory, a dining room, a hobbies room and a large detached garage. It should be all I ever need.
I now have this pile of logs from the felling that I want to mill. I have a Wood Mizer LT70 Wide Heavy Duty mill and an EG300 multirip edger in my saw shed. When I say ‘saw shed’, it really is a concrete apron with a roof. I plan to mill the pine into sheets and beams and close in three sides of my saw shed, and on the fourth side, I plan to have tarps that can drop down and protect everything when I am not using the mill.
I also plan to build a pole barn nearby so that I can store my lumber out of the weather. I have a Cat 275 tracked loader that I use for moving the wood around pre- and post-processing. I have a few attachments for it, a bucket, a grapple and the forks. I tend to leave the forks on it, as they are what I use most. I can’t pretend it was easy getting used to it; it wasn’t, and I am glad that there was no one around to see my fumbling and dropping trunks.
My brother Geoff texted me to ask if he could come and stay for a few days. I replied that yes, he could if he helped me in the woodyard; I had some lumber to rip. Of course he said yes. What boy wouldn’t want to play with big toys? He prefers to be known as Frey, and so, as his sister, I of course call him Geoff. Mum and Dad call him Geoffrey, all of which I find exceedingly amusing.
Geoff got to me at around five, parking his Range Rover, wonder how he afforded that, by my garage and then running to the front door and pressing the bell. I had been watching on the CCTV, so he didn’t have to stay out in the rain for too long. Just long enough. “Hi Mels,” he said, greeting me with a hug. My name is Amelia, but he has always called me ‘Mels’. No one else does; some call me Amy, some Amelia; only Geoff calls me Mels. I find it amusing, and of course, it is one of the reasons I insist on calling him Geoff. I returned his hug, pressing myself close to him, squashing my breasts against his chest, feeling his bulge press against my groin. I smiled and sighed.
“Good to see you. How is life?” I asked him.
“Not bad. Being self-employed means I can work when I want and be tax efficient; hence, having just finished a contract, I thought I would take a few days off and come and see my rich bitch of a sister.”
I wasn’t offended by ‘rich bitch’; it was a private joke between us. He is comfortably off, thanks to me, but he does need to work to build his pension pot but can afford to work at his own pace, hence him being self-employed. My family know that should something happen to me, they won’t be getting anything in my will, so not killing me off is in their best interests, and they are happy with that. I of course will leave them my money, but they don’t need to know that.
Geoff put his hands to my face and turned my face to his and kissed me, his lips moist and sliding over mine, his hands dropping to my buttocks and synching me in close, his dick hardening as it pressed against me.
I pulled back. “Are you taking me out to dinner?” I asked him, “Only I haven’t got anything planned here.”
“Okay,” he said, “anywhere decent locally?”
“The Gamekeepers in the next village do some excellent food, although surprisingly, given the name, they don’t do venison.”
“Right then, do we need to dress up?”
“No, Geoff, it’s a pub; we can go as we are.”
“Fair enough, do you mind if I go and shower first? I have had a long day and would like to be clean.”
“No problems, you know where to go; you are in the same room that you were in last time.” His room was the furthest from mine;
I do not want any bedroom noises to travel between us, and an empty guest room between us was the best way to ensure that. I do have a well-used battery-operated toy, and I don’t want to be restricted in using it. Geoff wheeled his suitcase and headed off to his room, and I went to mine; a shower was a good idea.
In my room I stripped off and headed to my ensuite. I put on a shower cap; I didn’t want to wet my hair and then go out, not in late winter, that was a sure way to get a chill. I stood under the falling water and ran a hand over my groin; a shave wouldn’t go amiss. I turned my back to the falling water and spread gel over my groin.
My razor had a new blade last time I used it, so it should still be sharp, and indeed it was. I scraped across my mons and around my lips, ensuring that I was smooth, and then turned back to face the water and rinse. Arm pits were still okay and didn’t need a shave, and so I simply lathered everywhere and then rinsed before stepping out of the shower.
Once dry and deodorised, I headed back to my room. A cream bra with matching boy short knickers, a hint of red hold-up stockings and my ivory Harvey Nichols dress with contrasting black seams. Dressy, but not too dressy, I want to ensure that I am seen in a good light when I am out and about. I guessed there were rumours about me, the woman who bought the forest and then had a house built in it. I didn’t want to appear scruffy or unkempt, nor did I want to appear in ridiculously expensive designer clothes.
A pair of black kitten heels completed the outfit. I headed off back to the lounge and awaited Geoff. He appeared after a few minutes in grey slacks, patent shoes, a white Oxford shirt and a dark blazer with some badge on the front pocket. I would ask him later what the badge was.
I set the alarm and locked the house after we left. Security lights would come on if anyone approached; so far all I had managed to catch on the cameras were Roe deer; it seems I shared my forest with them. I decided I would find some food to put out for them before the next winter arrived.
Geoff parked in the gamekeepers’ car park, and we hurried through the rain to get inside. I asked for a table for two, and we were seated in their large heated conservatory. There were a few other diners, but as it wasn’t yet seven, the place was nicely quiet.
“Good evening, my name is Michelle, and I shall be your server tonight. Before we start, are there any allergies that we need to know about?” She was probably in her late twenties, wearing a white blouse, a black skirt and a white pinny. Her hair was up in a netted bun. A tad too much makeup, I thought. Geoff seemed enamoured, though; she dressed for the men.
“Hello Michelle,” I answered, “no allergies, and can we get a bottle of Chardonnay and a bottle of sparkling water for the table?”
“Yes, I shall get onto that whilst you go through the menus. I have to tell you that the haddock and sea bass are unavailable; our supplier had difficulties today, and we are not prepared to offer substandard items.”
“Thank you, Michelle,” Geoff beamed as he spoke. I winced inwardly.
I decided on the tempura king prawns to start and the pork chop on the bone for my main. Geoff went for the duck liver parfait to start and the sirloin for his main. After Michelle had returned with our wine and water and taken our order, Geoff poured me a glass of wine and both of us a glass of water.
“So, how’s it hanging?” He asked.
“Well, I don’t hang, as you put it; that is more in your domain than mine, although I saw little evidence of hanging earlier.”
“It’s just an expression, sis,” he said, a leery grin across his face.
“It’s good. I keep myself busy across the estate. I have two arborists that I employ to manage the woodland and my perimeter, keeping the fences up between my property and the neighbours’ and especially where I border public roads. I rarely see them; they are just on the property. If a tree needs felling, they bring it down, trim it and put the trunk near my saw shed for me to deal with.”
“How long before you mill it?” He asked.
“My plan is six months from felling. I shall build a wood-store barn to keep the sawn wood out of the worst of the weather. I may invest in a kiln at some point too.”
“Cool.”
Our starters arrived, and conversation slowed as we ate.
“What about you?” I asked after my last prawn had been despatched, “Any girlfriends on the horizon?”
“There have been a few, but then again, too few to mention.” He chuckled at his own lame joke. “No one serious, no one that I wanted to see more than a few times, and I guess the feelings were probably mutual; no one has been pestering me for further dates. And you? Any blokes on the periphery of being serious?”
“Possibly one, maybe, early days.” There was Jeremy; I don’t want to talk about Jeremy. We are still at the early-doors stage, but we have been out a few times; we do enjoy each other’s company, and he has no idea about my money, which is good. I do not want my money to be the attractor to guys. He seems to be wealthy enough in his own right, so we could progress to the boyfriend/girlfriend stage without either of us having to worry about money.
“Possibly one? Okay, oh well, will I need to buy a tuxedo anytime soon?”
“Ha ha, if it ever progresses that far, it certainly won’t be a tuxedo wedding.”
“Who said anything about a wedding?”
“Oh, you are so drôle sometimes, Geoff.”
Michelle came and cleared our plates and asked if we were ready for mains. I nodded, and we both said yes. Geoff was trying to play footsie with my feet; he can be so childish at times. I just smiled; it actually wasn’t so bad.
My pork chop was served with mashed potato and a whole boat full of thick, glossy gravy. Geoff’s sirloin looked good too, and it wasn’t long before they were all gone and the meal was over. Geoff picked up the bill, and then we headed off out to go home. As I stood next to the passenger door Geoff held me and pushed me back against the car, pressing his lips against mine.
“Geoff,” I managed, “this dress is dry clean only.”
“Take it off then and put it in the car,” he replied, his hands on my boobs.
“Har bloody har,” I said, pushing him away. He unlocked the car, and I got in, Geoff scooting around to the driver’s side as the rain seemed to pick that moment to get heavier. The journey back home was without incident, the centre consoles in modern cars making any amorous behaviour difficult to say the least.
I suppose that I ought to explain that Geoff and I have been intimate for many years. No one knows, and no one will; it is our consenting secret. We stop if either of us says ‘stop’, but it is not a given behaviour every time we meet; it just happens sometimes when we do. By sometimes, I actually mean usually.
Back home the security lights came on, and I rushed to the front door, unlocked it and turned the alarm off. Geoff came in, and I set the external security alarm, working only on external doors and windows.
In the kitchen I flicked the Gaggia on and set it to make two espressos and then steamed some milk. Neither of us takes sweetener, so the coffees were simple and ready. We went and sat in the conservatory, still warm despite the coolness outside.
The coffee was good; it was a new roast that I had bought online. I may have to go back and get some more. Strong, dark, flavoursome and no hint of bitterness. Geoff sat next to me on the cane sofa, and he put a hand on my leg, his other hand holding his coffee. His hand inevitably moved up my thigh.
I felt a little tingle of anticipation as his hand moved and was in two minds as to whether to acquiesce or to defer him to perhaps tomorrow night. He would accept my choice; it was our way, and I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted him in my bed tonight. Equally, I wasn’t sure I didn’t.
His finger was running along the hem of my knickers; a tingle ran through my groin, and then his finger was running along my crease, slightly pushing the knicker fabric between my lips. My pressures were building. I could see the bulge in his trousers; it was somewhat more substantial than a mere fold in the fabric. There was no mistaking his desire.
I finished my coffee and put my coffee cup down on the side table, and then I got up.
“I am going to my bedroom,” I said, leaving the choice of whether to follow me or not up to Geoff.