Timmy #12: Diana's Dark Fantasy

Diana’s Dark Fantasy

Saturday

My sister wanted me to force her. I know she didn’t want to relive the night she had to bite Roy on his neck to get him off of her—I hoped she didn’t—but I still got the chills when I thought about everything that could go wrong. I don’t know how the mind works, but playing out past trauma (although I wasn’t sure if Diana had been traumatized or awakened to the secret, inner darkness within her) but it’s what my sister wanted to do, and so that’s what we were going to do.

For our date, my sister dressed in a small, flowery blue skirt, a white tank top, and sandals. Beneath her skirt, she flashed me the white, tear-away panties she wore. They were made of strings clipped to the corners of the inverted triangle cupping her mound and the crescent lips below. The back ended in a thin G-string that disappeared between her Crossfit buns and ended in a whale tale above her skirt that continued around her hips. My cock hardened at just a glimpse of my sister’s small panties, and though I wanted to see more and more and more of that tight little beaver holder, Diana dropped her skirt, forcing a groan from my throat.

My sister told me to dress casually, so I put on a pair of basketball shorts and a gray workout shirt. We got into her car, and she drove around our neighborhood to a small park and settled her Civic in the darkest corner of the empty parking lot. Seen through her windshield, there was a field of grass, some shadowy pathways, some trees, a playground, a brick building, and the leaf-shaking wind. I darted my gaze around the parking, looking for a security patrol or anything else resembling authority, but there was nothing but the night sky and the whistle of the breeze.

“Get my blanket out of the trunk,” Diana told me, and I did as she said. The wind cooled the sweat beading my brow, and the park’s after-hours emptiness did little to calm my heartbeat. We walked away from the Civic to the nearest tree, where I laid out my sister’s big-enough-for-three blanket and held her hand as she lowered herself to the ground before I joined her.

“How do we be—”

“Force me,” Diana said. She smiled and rolled her eyes, her hands smoothing the tail of her blonde hair that she had pulled over her left shoulder. “Force me ... nicely.”

We didn’t have a lot of light, but we had some from the moon and distant lamps. I couldn’t see anyone sharing the park with us, and if I couldn’t see anyone, I doubted that anyone could see us, not that I think Diana would have cared. Even as close to Diana as I was, her skin was still the silvery-blue shade of the night, but I knew the contours beneath her silhouette by heart.

I reached out and touched her.

Forcing the willing isn’t the dreaded ‘R-word—even though it gave me the chills at first—but roleplaying Diana’s fantasy turned out to be an experience we’d play out again and again in the dark of night. There was no real force, no real pain, and no real roughness to our movements that could have been considered going too far. No, we flowed together like water, moving in a dance that shifted from pose to pose as smoothly as the choreographed movements of a Broadway play.

We played a game of pressure. We moved with slow, purposeful aggression, never in a rush, and I patterned my persistence to my sister’s resistance, allowing her to decide how far I could pursue her at any one time. She would push my hand away, and I’d be back the next second, or I’d push myself against her, and she’d resist, and I’d push just a hair above her resistance, and if she pushed back, I’d retreat, but not too far, and if she yielded, then my hands would move over her body as far as she’d allow.

Diana wasn’t quiet either, murmuring words that swelled my cock and sent tingles through my balls. She said “No” and “Please” and “Stop,” and she’d say it in a low, huffed voice as if I were too strong for her, and she knew that begging me was her only chance of getting me to show her mercy.

“Don’t, don’t, please, not there—get off,” my sister mumbled and grumbled, her voice strained, her hands pushing against mine in an unwinnable battle.

And, because she led, I’d continued forward, fastening my lips to her tank top over one of her thick nipples and sucking it inward through the thin cotton. My sister huffed and grabbed handfuls of my hair, pushing me then pulling me to her other breast. I sucked her other nipple harder as she tangled the strands of my hair between her fingers and gripped me hard. As I wet her breasts with my saliva, I managed to pull her skirt around her waist, and she dropped a hand to pull her hem down, and so I pushed her skirt back up, baring her coltish thighs to the night’s air.

“Fuck, Timmy, stop,” Diana moaned, growling and pulling my lips from her tit. “I mean it.”

I pushed her shirt over her breasts and latched onto the warm perkiness of her teen tits. I left her nipples thick and swollen from my sucking and pinching and her areolas covered in my spit. I moved upward, pushing my lips to hers, and she slid her mouth to the side, half-kissing me, half-turning her head away until I cupped her cheek and forced her lips back to mine. I took my time with her mouth, holding the back of her head while I dove in for a slow lick of her lips, pulled away as she turned her face this way and that, and then I slid my lips against hers again, tasting her slowly.

Whenever I’d break away, my sister would stare into my eyes, daring me to keep going. Her breasts heaved, her tits swelled. My chest rose and fell, matching my sister’s pace. As I moved to kiss her again, the scent of my sister’s pussy filled the air, hot and warm and thick with lust.

“Why won’t you—mmm—stop?” Diana asked as I kissed her neck. “Timmy, I’m your sister.”

Every weak protest that left her lips sent a throb of pleasure through my cock.

We wrestled with her skirt until I had the entire thing pulled up to her belly button. My sister’s little, tear-away G-string barely covered her mound and lips, leaving the edges of her silky cunny lips bare. I touched her inner thigh, and she shooed my hand away, whining, but each time my hand came back for more, I moved my palm higher on the softer flesh of her inner thighs. Her sauna-damp skin sent chills up my arms.

“Timmy, no, stop,” Diana whispered, even as our lips touched and our tongues met. “Please—mmm—little brother, stop?” She moaned. “Please, Timmy, oh, god, please ... Timmy?”

The two cables of Diana’s pectineus muscles reaching from her inner thighs to her pubic bone stood out as my sister struggled against me. I forced Diana onto her back, and I spread her legs. She fought me, pushing my hands away from her hips and thighs, and she even tried to lift her legs and scissor them shut. I let her; then she let me open her legs again, then we fumbled together until she had her legs on either side of my hips. My sister stared up at me, breathing hard—I was breathing hard—and the look of hunger on the dark lines of her face fed the forward-moving energy in me that needed release.

My heartbeat hummed in my chest, and my cock flopped back and forth in the loose confines of my basketball shorts. My skin prickled. My cock swelled. I pushed my shorts down my hips, along with my boxer briefs, and I freed my hot cock to the night’s cool air.