Chapter 1: The Plan

I was woken by a knock on my bedroom door and sleepily called out "Come in." The door opened and in trooped the boys bearing a tray loaded with a full cooked breakfast.

"Happy Birthday Dear Mary..." they all chorused.

Still a little groggy from sleep I sat up and had the tray placed across my lap. "How sweet of them," I thought, brushing away a tear as I noticed the single rose decorating the tray. They all had grins a mile wide across their faces and moved to sit down – the identical twins, Peter and Paul, perching on the padded ottoman while Matt and Mark plonked themselves on either side of the bed, almost upsetting the tray.

As I started in on the food, Matt began to talk. "Here's the plan for today," he paused, "Mark and I are taking you shopping for a whole new wardrobe then this afternoon you're going to have a full treatment at the Salle Monique. No expense spared on anything.

Tonight we're going to have our own private birthday party for you – those two, he indicated the twins, will be working all day cleaning the house and organising the catering. Today you belong to us. This is our birthday treat for you, just to thank you for the past five years. How does that sound to you?"

Five years ago our parents' car had been in a collision involving a truck with an over-tired driver at the wheel, leaving the five of us orphaned. At first the Social Services department wanted to take us all into care but we pleaded and fought to stay together as a family. Fortunately for us our social worker supported us and, with an awful lot of help from her, especially at first, I became 'mother' to them all. I was proud of how I had managed as their 'mother'.

Fortunately we had the house, mortgage free, and I think that helped sway the social department. I had to abandon any plans of staying on at school for my qualifications and my social life got neglected but it was all worth it. We'd come through the tough times and eventually thrived: a close, loving family with a mum the same age as her boys.

I was just a couple of months short of my 16th birthday when we lost Mum and Dad. Matthew, then 18, was already at college so it was agreed that he should continue his studies. This he did and was rewarded with a contract writing database applications with an up and coming software company. He was already Project Manager. Mark, a year younger than me, on the other hand, was happiest working with his hands and, after finishing school, started up a small business doing repairs to household electronics equipment. His business was supporting him nicely but he'll never be rich. The twins, Peter and Paul, then aged 13, were both off to college in September.

"Wow, that sounds like a pretty good way to celebrate a 21st," I said. "Thank you, all of you. Now, if you'll leave the room. I'll be down in a tick." Obediently they trooped out as I mopped up the last of the breakfast from the plate.

I took a quick shower and returned to my bedroom to get dressed. I looked at myself naked in the mirror. I had inherited my body from my mother. Only one inch over five feet but with that classic 'hour glass' figure, Turning sideways to the mirror I checked out my tummy. No bulges there but I had just a couple of pounds extra on my bum. Legs look fine.

Turning back to face myself again, I took in my boobs which were the dominant feature, I wear a C-cup bra, and they are firm and well-shaped. I have one of those dark complexions which will tan at the merest sight of the sun but the skin was pale where my bikini had covered me, showing off my almost black aureoles and prominent nipples. My deep blue eyes sparkled back at me, excited about the day. I noted my chubby cheek bones and perky nose and deep brown hair, almost black when wet, I told myself, slapping my rump; "You'll do." I proceeded to get dressed and tripped downstairs to open all my birthday cards in the post.

Matt and Mark drove me to the big shopping mall just outside the city. Poor lads, they must have been bored off their collective trolleys as they followed me while I did my shopping but it really was 'no expense spared'. They insisted I buy lots of lingerie, several dresses and outfits, new shoes, stockings, even jewellery, making suggestions. "If you like it, if you feel good in it, get it!" was their constant mantra. After I had selected one particular outfit, Mark asked me to wear it for the party, with Matt enthusiastically concurring. We came away from the mall loaded with packages, bags and parcels.

The boys dropped me off at the entrance to "Salle Monique" carrying the outfit they had chosen for me, saying they'd be back at 6:00 to pick me up and that was to use any of their services as I wanted and not to worry about the bill.

Salle Monique is one of those temples dedicated to hedonism. It must have cost my brothers a bomb. Monique, whoever she was, trained her girls well in personal care and including Knut the masseur, the only male in the place. They pampered me and I just luxuriated in their ministrations as they made me over from head to feet. I even enjoyed the wax. Well, almost.

Knut was pure magic. He wasn't a big hunk of Viking muscle, just a regular looking guy about medium height and wiry build but those hands, fingers and elbows teased all my tensions out, reducing me to a lump of rubber from top to toe then toned everything back up again until I felt like champagne. There was never the slightest hint of sex, even though I there wasn't a square inch of my body he hadn't touched, but from start to finish it was the most sensual experience I've ever had.

I felt like a million dollars as Knut handed me out through the front door, ten minutes late. My hair perfectly coiffed, my makeup was almost invisible but I had been amazed at the difference when I looked in the mirror. My party dress was a froth of a thing in black chiffon shot through with gold. The low neckline displayed an acre of cleavage, but I'm proud of my boobs; it was the cut of the hem which had really attracted me. On the left it came to a rounded taper about mid-calf then it cut away in a curve to my right hip, revealing my naked leg, shaped by 3" stiletto heels on ivory open-toed slingbacks. I do love the way they clack on hard surfaces.

Knut escorted me across the broad pavement outside Salle Monique, carrying my bags to the car. Paul scrambled out of the back seat dressed in slacks and a T-shirt with the legend "Happy Birthday Mary" blazoned across the front. He opened the front passenger door

and handed me in beside Peter then squeezed in the back beside his big brothers. They were all wearing similar T-shirts. I turned and hugged each of them as best I could in the confines of the car then Peter drove us all home.

Chapter 2: The Party

The heavy drapes had been drawn in the living room and the low lighting was indirect. The table was loaded with food which surrounded a large cake with 21 candles. There was a good selection of drinks stacked up, including a case of my favourite wine: how much did they expect me to drink, for goodness sake? But the twins had done us proud with the food they had laid out and I was quick to take a plateful of sandwiches before relaxing in my chair. We had managed to snatch a quick snack in the shopping mall earlier but that had been hours ago and I was starving now.

Matt poured us all our favourite tipples while Peter started some soft music on the music centre. They all grabbed some food and for a few minutes we sat around in comfortable silence munching. I got up to refill my plate a couple of times and Matt made sure my glass was topped up.

When our immediate hunger was satisfied they asked me to cut the cake. Paul lit the candles and carefully carried the cake to me as they all sang the Happy Birthday song. Taking a deep breath I blew out all the flickering flames and, as thin tendrils of smoke rose from the dying wicks, I closed my eyes and made a wish that our family would continue to grow close and loving.

Matt opened a bottle of champagne with a loud pop and passed glasses around as I cut five generous slices of cake and distributed them to the boys and myself. Matt made a small speech thanking me for everything I had done for them all. Raising his glass towards me, he proposed a toast, "To Mary: Happy Birthday, sister and Mum!" They all raised their glasses and echoed the toast. I was just so choked up inside I had to dab tears from my eyes and was shaking with emotion as they all hugged me close.

I sat back down in my chair. Peter and Paul sat on cushions at my feet – a position they'd often take up when we were watching TV.

Matt and Mark were also on cushions in front of me as we settled down and started reminiscing about our shared past. The drinks were flowing freely and we were all getting a little tipsy. I didn't care; this was the first time I had 'let my hair down' for longer than I could remember.

There came a lull in our conversation so I stood up, pulling Paul with me. "Dance with me, Paul," I asked and we shuffled around for a while. I danced with each of my brothers in turn, happily relaxing in their arms. When it came to Peter's turn, I was a little surprised to feel his hands moving up and down my back but I gave it little thought.

Eventually we sat back down again: Peter leaned back with his head on my lap and his hand resting on my right knee. Paul took up a similar position on my left. Nothing unusual in that, they had done it countless times over the years. I suppose they had felt more secure like that, especially in the early days when they were missing our Mum. I liked it: they were a comfort to me, too, back in those days when we were all feeling vulnerable.

We got around to talking about their various girlfriends. Matt had an ongoing relationship with Julie, a girl on his team at work, and I fully expected them to announce their engagement eventually. Mark was also seeing a lot of his young lady, Samantha, but the twins were still playing the field and had no steady commitments even though one or both of them would occasionally be absent overnight.

I, of course, had no boyfriend to tell them about. In the early days I had gone out on a couple of dates but nothing recently. I became conscious of Peter's hand idly stroking my knee as we talked but I had to disturb him as I answered an urgent need to empty my bladder.

When I returned the boys had drifted into talking about their various experiences with girls. I sat back down with a replenished glass of wine and Peter resumed his position. Maybe the alcohol had loosened their tongues because the conversation became more and more explicit as they related some of their exploits.

Peter's hand was starting to get more intimate, drifting higher and higher up my thigh, making me feel a little embarrassed so I decided to break up this little scenario by telling them I wanted some more dancing. Peter, on his turn, had his hands roaming again before they settled on my bum as he pulled me in close. I was feeling somewhat ambivalent about what was happening. On the one hand, his touch was generating feelings in my body which had been repressed for years but on the other hand, he was my brother.

Look, my feelings about incest are pretty neutral. The only big problem is genetic: incest pushes those recessive genes to the fore but if there's no pregnancy, there's no harm. I'd never stopped taking my pill regularly, just in case, so there was no danger of me carrying a damaged kid. The rest is just cultural. And I won't deny, incestuous thoughts have occasionally crept into my private fantasies.

Peter tilted my face up and kissed me gently on the lips, not passionate but lingering for a few seconds. Although I made no specific decision, eventually I sighed and relaxed into his grip.

I continued dancing with each of them in turn and they all followed Peter's lead, holding me closely. Eventually I was back in Peter's arms and his next kiss, when it came, had his hand holding me round the back of my neck and I felt his tongue gently flicking over my lips. After a short while I opened my mouth and allowed his tongue to invade it. This set the pattern and after another round of dances I had kissed them all.

I had been taking sips of wine at every chance and by now I was feeling a little unsteady on my feet so I sat back down. Peter and Paul took up their positions at my feet again but both of them were stroking my thighs, Paul's actions moving my skirt to one side as his hand approached the top.

I kept my thighs closed but relinquished as two sets of hands gently pulled them apart, exposing my ivory-coloured thong to their gaze, with Matt and Mark avidly watching their every move. After an age of the twins stroking my pussy through the material which was now soaking up the freely-flowing juices, Mark pulled me to my feet, kissed me intimately and, reaching round my back, slowly slid the zip down. He pushed the dress off my shoulders and let it fall in a heap at my feet. I stepped out of it and Paul moved it clear.