Chapter 2: Just a Fetish

Emily and I had fought before, but never like this.

We were both lawyers, not that it helped. Some people have this idea that lawyers always argue like they’re in court, presenting evidence and rationally posing objections.

When Emily and I fight, we get mean. I recognize it in myself - I’ll snipe at her, never letting her finish a point. In turn, she’ll change the subject ... typically onto some slight I’d performed in the last few days. I’ll get mad at her for changing the topic, she’ll accuse ME of not dealing with whatever it was she just randomly brought up ... it isn’t productive, and it isn’t pleasant.

This wasn’t like that.

After Emily’s gasping admission, she’d cum, hard. She’d even squirted a little, which she’d only done maybe a dozen times while we’d been together.

I’d frozen.

She couldn’t have said what I’d thought she’d just said. Could she?

No.

Justin. My brother.

That would be ... Have you ever thrown up after eating jello? It’s such an strange feeling - on one hand, you’re puking. No one likes puking.

On the other hand, you can ... you can taste it. Just a little. And even though you’re throwing up, it’s still jello. Everyone likes jello. Even though it’s coming through your throat the wrong way, it’s still delicious.

My brother and Emily.

That would be ... I shuddered, while at the same time my clit throbbed.

My brother, fucking Emily.

I could see it.

I didn’t want to see it. I wanted to never think about it, ever.

But I could.

My clit throbbed again, and I turned my attention back to the screen.

When Emily recovered from her powerful orgasm, she did the same, and we spent the rest of the night silently watching Friends.

We didn’t talk about it.

We didn’t talk about much.

Not just that night. For days.

We still loved each other, we still lived with each other, but ... Emily had crossed a line. I think even she knew that.

Each night, we’d make awkward small talk, cuddle up and watch an episode of Friends, get each other off once or twice, and drift off to sleep.

Emily’s ‘brother’ disappeared. Not from our minds, I suspect, but definitely from our play.

We fell back on old habits ... or tried to, at least. Our sex life had been so alive for the last few months; going back to what we’d been doing before felt like exhuming a corpse.

We would just rub each other, the silence punctuated only by our gasps and grunts of pleasure.

I don’t know what Emily thought about. I didn’t want to know. But I thought about her fictional brother.

I thought about him using my body for his pleasure. I thought about him using her body for his pleasure. Incest had become such a central part of my fantasies, I couldn’t get off without thinking about it. Her brother, bending her over and fucking her. Roughly using her throat, not caring about her pleasure. Making the two of us get each other off, just to turn him on.

Incest.

As the week stretched on, I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t help but wonder ... Was Emily picturing my brother?

Was Emily imagining Justin, my real-life brother, getting hard at the sight of her?

Of us?

At the sight of me, his sister?

Was Emily getting off while thinking about my brother getting off while thinking about me?

I didn’t ask her. I couldn’t ask her.

I didn’t ask, because I already knew the answer.

The camera slowly panned around the apartment, ending on the iconic front door. The show faded to black. The audience applauded.

We’d done it. I’d filled my girlfriend’s cultural gap. If we hadn’t already deleted the files, I’d suggest we go back to season one and start again.

We could probably get Jus- ... We could probably get my br- ... We could probably get another copy. If we asked my-...

“Thanks,” Emily said, breaking me out of my thoughts. “I really enjoyed that show.”

“Me too,” I said with a genuine smile. “It’s better than I remember.”

“We should thank your brother for getting those files for me.”

I couldn’t move. My mouth felt like it had frozen into a manic grin, as I pictured it. Emily, thanking my brother. Thanking him with her body. Deep-throating him. Letting him cum inside her. Making me lick it out afterwards.

No.

“Of course,” I replied, after way too long. My voice was so strained, I barely recognized it.

“Isabel...” Emily said, putting her hand on my neck. “It’s...”

“What?” I whispered. “What is it?”

“Don’t be like that. It’s just...”

“What?”

“It’s just a fetish.”

“What is?” I squeaked.

A fiery look came into Emily’s eyes.

“You know.” she said firmly, moving one hand slowly down my body. I was naked. Had I been naked when the episode had begun?

“What?” I repeated, unable to move, unable to think.

“It’s just a fetish,” she said again, her hand tracing a familiar path down my skin.

“Is it?”

“Of course it is,” she whispered, breaking out into a grin when she discovered how wet I was. “It’s just for fun.”

“Emily...”

“We aren’t going to do anything for real,” she said, enjoying my tightness. “We’re just fooling around.”

“Are we?” I asked again, too stunned to put more than a few words together.

“Of course,” she said, stroking my clit. “Now ... why don’t you tell me how I should thank your brother?”

There was a long silence, as Emily masterfully toyed with me. She knew exactly how to turn me on; slowly, savagely, mercilessly.

Finally, I relented.

“You should go into his room,” I rasped, “and show him the body you’ve been hiding from him for far too long...”

“See?” Emily said with a giggle. “That wasn’t weird, was it?”

“I guess not,” I reluctantly admitted. “But we only saw him for like, five minutes.”

“Right. But it was fine. You’re just a pair of normal siblings.”

“Are we?” I asked, rolling my eyes. We both laughed.

There was a comfortable silence, and Emily surprised me by breaking it.

“Sorry,” she said, and I reached out for her hands.

“For what?”

“I dunno. I feel like I ... pushed it?”

“You did,” I said, after a brief pause. “But ... it’s fine.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s totally fine. We were just fooling around, right?”

“Of course,” she laughed. “It was just ... I dunno. It was just a thing.”

“Yeah.”

“But still,” Emily continued. “I feel like I was ... out of control for a while there. Like I just couldn’t let go of the thoughts.”

“We did get a bit obsessive,” I nodded. “I’m just glad it’s calmed down so much lately.”

“Yeah.”

There was another pause.

“Yeah.”

I turned my attention to the TV. We’d really enjoyed the habit of watching TV together every night, and had finally bitten the bullet and picked up Netflix. Orange is the New Black failed to accurately represent lesbianism or the legal system, but it had successfully captured our interest each night for the two months.

“What are we up to, the final episode?”

“I think so. What do you want to watch next?”

“What did Justin give us?”

“Episodes,” Emily said, hunting around her bag for the USB stick. “He said it’s by one of the creators of Friends, and it stars ... Joey? As himself?”

“Sure,” I said. “We can check that out next.”

“You’re his slut,” I growled, pulling Emily’s hair. She whimpered with pleasure. “Say it.”

“I’m his slut,” she pleaded. I felt like my entire body was throbbing.

I felt alive.

“I’m his slut,” she repeated. “I’m his slut, I’m his slut, I’m his slut.”

“Cum for him,” I said, and spat in her face, surprising even myself. I’ve never been a spitter. It’s always seemed a bit gross, to be honest.

In that moment, it felt right.

Emily’s entire body shook with orgasm around my fingers. She came once, twice, three times.

I smiled at her flushed face. The sound of typing played over trumpet music in the background.

We didn’t really talk about it.

Maybe that should have worried me, but ... in a sense, it sort of felt like the key. We’d unlocked a wonderful world, reached new sexual heights. Every glance between us was electric; every time I touched Emily’s skin, we would both gasp at the sensation.

The trick, it seemed, was not to talk about it.

When we weren’t in the bedroom, we’d non-verbally tease each other. I’d run my hand down my girlfriend’s back, she’d reach around and squeeze my ass. Sometimes she’d pull my mouth to hers, and we’d kiss, groping each other like a pair of horny teenagers.

I don’t know what she was thinking whenever we did this. We never talked about it.

But then at night, as Matt LeBlanc and the two British characters got themselves in and out of scrapes, we’d start to talk.

Not converse, not really. Just ... talk.

She’d whisper dirty thoughts into my ear. I’d whisper dirty thoughts into hers.

Before the end of each episode, one or both of us would be cumming, again and again.

“He’s watching us,” Emily would gasp. “He’s watching his own sister getting another woman off.”

I couldn’t believe how wet that idea got me.