Best in Show
Copyright© 2026 by Kinjite
Chapter 4: Practice
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 4: Practice - Two people, one monster suit. Eight hours in the dark where nobody can see you and you can't pull apart. She's my sister. The costume was just the excuse we'd been waiting for.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Incest Brother Sister Cream Pie First Pregnancy AI Generated
We called it practice. We said it out loud, both of us, in the gray before the sun came up — “we need one real run before we load it,” she said, dragging the suit out onto the back lawn where the neighbors’ windows were still dark, and I said “yeah, one full run,” and neither of us said why we were really out on the lawn before dawn — that we’d both lain awake across the hall all night and got up early for this on purpose.
“You’re stalling.” She had the head under her arm, hip cocked, hair still flat on one side from the pillow. “Get in, big spoon.”
“I’m checking the knee foam.”
“The knee foam’s fine. You checked it twice last night.” She held the head out. “In.”
I stripped my shorts off into the wet grass — bare under the base layer, the way the suit took me now — and got in. The lawn was cold through the feet of the suit, and then the shell came down over us and the cold went away and the heat came up, immediate, and the dark — and the smell, which closed over us the way the dark did. Foam and old contact cement and sweat gone into the liner, and under all of it, closer than any of it, Reese: her hair, her skin, the shampoo from an hour ago, every breath I drew already used, already hers. Her back against my chest. I was blind again, and she counted us up onto our feet.
“Okay. From the fence to the shed and back, clean, no stopping.” Her voice came muffled and close, the way it did in the shell, routed up through her body. “This is the run we do in front of the judges. So it’s just the walk. Nothing else.”
“Nothing else,” I said.
“Say it like you mean it.”
“Nothing else, Reese.”
“Better.” And she stepped off, and I poured my weight through the half-beat behind her, and we went.
For about forty feet it actually was the walk. She called the turns — “turning left, with me, and — good” — and I held the counterweight and the head stayed level and the monster prowled across the dark grass like it owned the yard, and she laughed once, low, the pure-triumph sound, and said “see, we’re good, we’re so good,” and for a second it was only that. The thing we’d built, working.
Then it wasn’t, because it never stayed that, and this time we didn’t have the excuse that it had surprised us. She’d worn next to nothing under the base layer — a thin pair of cotton panties, that was it, “it’s going to be a hundred degrees in there, Theo, I’m not wearing more than I have to” — and forty feet of the grind had already dragged the thin cotton to one side, and then there was nothing between my bare cock and her bare pussy at all, just skin, slick with the heat, me laid up into the crease of her with every step.
“Keep walking,” she said.
“I’m walking.”
“Then keep — “ Her voice did something, caught and smoothed back out, the performer taking the wheel. “Keep counting with me. Fence to shed. Come on. Count.”
“Four,” I said. “Five.” It was the stupidest thing, counting steps with my sister while the head of my cock rode her bare and wet, the cotton long since dragged aside and keeping nothing between us, but it was a rope to hold, so I held it. “Six. Seven.”
“Good. That’s practice. That’s all this is.” She was breathing it now, each word riding out on a push of air I could feel go through her, and the last of the slack had gone out of the half-inch between us — skin to skin, slick with the heat, nothing left to call a gap. “Say it.”
“This is practice.”
“Say it when it’s hard to say.”
So I said it when it was hard to say — because on the next step the angle changed and the head of me caught at her, right at the open of her, where she was soft and gave and wanted to let me in, and I stopped with it notched there, a half-inch, both of us feeling exactly how little it would take.
“— that’s not the walk,” I got out.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.