Chapter 2

Then my sister, anxious to get on with her independent life, moved out. I was adrift - our sex play, if it can be called that, had become such a part of my life that I didn’t know what to do with myself without it. It took me a long time to recover. Eventually, I kind of got ahold of myself and learned to relate to girls my own age.

Naturally, at first I kept looking for big girls who could overpower me, and I didn’t find them - first of all, I’d had a growth spurt myself, and was a pretty strong lad by that point, and second of all, the girls I knew in school were much more interested in behaving demure and shy and having me boss them around. Nor did I have many sexual encounters, though it was more for lack of opportunity than lack of interest.

Of course my sister would come back to visit periodically. She would comment on how grown up I was getting and ... it felt terrible. I wanted her to treat me like a baby again, to hold me, to overpower me; but realistically speaking, we couldn’t pretend that I was little anymore. If we did “wrestle,” I’d win now, and so of course we didn’t.

In fact, on the first few occasions she came back, we didn’t do anything. Eventually — it was already two years after she left home — we had a heart-to-heart talk, and to my great shock my sister apologized for what she said was wrong, abuse, something she was deeply ashamed about. She was seeing a psychologist about it, she felt so guilty.

I didn’t know what to say. I understood intellectually that, at least at the beginning, she had taken advantage of my being so much younger, but ultimately I felt we were on more equal footing now, and I didn’t blame her for anything, so what was there to be guilty about?

We ended up cuddling, and in the end, inevitably, she pulled off her top and, feeling a bit ridiculous (I really was much bigger and taller now), I laid my head on her belly — she’d gained a fair amount of weight since she’d left, and it was soft and comfortable — and greedily sucked on her breast. She reached down for my erection, making some comment about how big it was, and then I shifted a little and put my hand down her pants.

We ended up just masturbating each other to a gentle, simultaneous orgasm. It was nice, not frenzied at all; we had to stay quiet as our parents were home. I had started to ejaculate while she was away, and mumbled to warn her, but she didn’t stop. When I came, it got all over her big hands, and she giggled and kissed the top of my head. I felt loved and secure in her embrace.

After that, whenever my sister was home visiting, we always masturbated each other like that. We didn’t have intercourse again. Perhaps it would have been foolhardy now that I was capable of impregnating her, but I also think it was easier for her to accept mutual masturbation and not feel guilty about it, because it was clearly unforced, both of us sitting next to each other, fondling each other.

But I definitely missed the sense of being overpowered. Who knows, maybe she also missed the feeling of overpowering me? If so, she never brought it up, never suggested we do anything else. Neither did I.

A couple of years she met a guy and brought him home with her on her next visit. I had to laugh, knowingly; he was ... little. Like, no taller than her, and probably half her weight. She’d gained a lot, as I said before. It didn’t bother me at all; she was still my big sister and I loved her, and I still enjoyed cuddling and masturbating with her (we did it surreptitiously one night, in my room, while her boyfriend was asleep in the guest bedroom); but I was finding myself more attracted to big, tall, thick, but not necessarily fat women. I had a girlfriend myself at school by then, the tallest in the class.

That relationship didn’t last, but in my first year at university — who would have guessed? — I found myself a 6’3” beauty, a little taller than me, definitely heavier than me but she carried it well. Most importantly, she loved me, with all my warts, and I loved her. She instinctively understood my need to be “overpowered” — it wasn’t exactly a dominant/submissive relationship as I understand it (I may not, it’s not my kink); there was no real element of humiliation or coercion. But I needed a girl who could physically pin me down the way my sister had back then, have her way with me, ride me and force her vagina onto my erection, enveloping me in her lust.

We didn’t keep secrets, and I told her about my sister — not in the detail I’ve described here, of course, but that she had made me do “stuff” when I was younger and I’d liked it. My new girlfriend wasn’t shocked or horrified - she was an only child, but she’d played around with her friends and cousins, she didn’t think there was anything wrong with what we’d done — so on and so on. And after I told her my history, we had frenzied, explosive sex, with her holding me down and riding me and sitting on my face and all the wonderful stuff like that, and everything was OK.

My sister got married. To the “shrimp,” as I thought of him — in private only — he was really a great guy, and perfect for her, but I always had that little inward giggle when I saw him. Shrimp or not, he knocked her up pretty quickly. They moved temporarily back to our parents’s house, thinking they might settle nearby; this time it was I who was visited on university break. And so it was that I found myself alone with my sister (the shrimp was out house-hunting, our parents were somewhere or other, I don’t know) for the first time in a long time.

She was already getting pretty big, above and beyond her already hefty weight. I made some comment about how her formerly quite small boobs had at least doubled in size. She joked about needing to start practicing breastfeeding. One thing led to another, and she ended up shedding her top, revealing newly thick, brown nipples on slightly distended breasts resting placidly on her round belly. I found it tremendously arousing, and with no further joking around, she sat on her bed, laying back, and I leaned in and slipped one of the nipples into my mouth.

She uttered contented little sighs as I sucked, stroking my hair, and after a while, with a small gasp, she let down a littte some milk. It excited both of us, and soon she was frantically trying to tear my clothes off me. I paused for a minute to get undressed, then lay down. She clambered on top of me, and we had full-on sex for the first time since I’d sexually matured: her leaning back riding me, my view obstructed by her huge belly, my penis straining into her pregnant vagina.

It was all so different from years before when she had ground against my small hardness to get herself off. This time I was deep in her, and when my semen rose, knowing it could do no harm, I let loose deep into her. She groaned with me and, orgasming shortly thereafter, surprised me by gushing hot liquid all over my belly: the first time I had ever experienced that. She apologized, explaining that, since she had begun to grow big, she had often had such “wet” orgasms as she called them — apparently something to do with extra pressure on the bladder. It didn’t bother me at all and I told her so.

The whole experience had been, to be honest, incredible; and of course we both felt terribly guilty afterwards. I am fairly certain my sister did not tell her husband. But I told my girlfriend as soon as I got back to the university, bracing for the worst, only to find that it turned her on hugely. She wanted all the details, then wrestled me down to the bed and rode me, moaning, as the climactic moment came, “come, come, come into your big sister!” I groaned and pumped my semen into her (she was on birth control), loving her and thinking of my real sister at the same time.

After that, it was not uncommon for us to role-play in that way, with her pretending to be the big sister and me the little brother. It never got old, and seemed to turn her on as much as it did me. She often teased me about how I’d no doubt love to fuck my actual sister again. I never admitted it, but of course I though about it.

A year or so later, I took her home to meet my parents, and afterwards we all flew out to visit my sister, the Shrimp, and the baby (they had ultimately decided to move back to the university town, feeling it would be less expensive to raise a kid there). I was terribly apprehensive about my sister and girlfriend finally meeting, but I needn’t have worried; they got along famously, almost as if they were sisters myself. My first sight of the two of them together, my stunning Valkyrie of a girlfriend towering over my comparatively short, plump sister (they probably weighed the same despite probably a half a foot difference in height), I sprung an involuntary erection and had to sit down lest my parents and the Shrimp notice. Nothing untoward happened on that visit, of course.