First off, I’m not using any names for obvious reasons, and also please excuse any typos – I’m usually pretty pedantic about grammar, but I’m typing with one hand. A minute ago, I was sitting at my desk to write this, but I ended up clicking on the file of pics we took on the night, so now I’m on the bed with my knickers down around my thighs, half–teasing myself, half typing, and really battling the temptation to just give in and relive the night. So, apologies if I write a bit impatiently.

Anyway, last Friday while I was at work, my brother had been over helping my husband lay some new pavers in the backyard. Not that I knew that at the time; they’d arranged it last minute. When I got home, I put a couple of bottles of wine in the fridge and noticed there was a pile of beer already in there. There was a big box of Thai takeaway on the counter too. More than we’d normally eat. But I didn’t put two and two together. When I went down to the bedroom to get out of my work–clothes, I heard the shower running and figured my husband had beaten me to it. But I thought it would be cute to jump in with him and surprise him, so I stripped and went in.

Even when I opened the bathroom door, I didn’t straight away register that the soaped–up body behind the shower glass was not my husband’s but my brother’s. He was washing his hair and his eyes must have been closed because he didn’t notice me come in either. But when I opened the shower door, he certainly heard me. His eyes flicked open to see me standing before him. Stark naked. Boobs out. Eyes widening in their sockets. I doubt it’s an image either of us will forget anytime soon.

I yelped, covered my breasts as best I could with one arm, my lower parts with the other, then backed out as quickly as I could. As I came naked out of the bathroom, my husband was standing there struggling to contain his laughter. He’d heard me arrive home as he was finishing up an email in his office, so he’d come out to warn me that my brother was in the shower and that he was going to be staying for dinner and drinks.

So, there I was, red–faced, and all I could say was: I just saw brother penis.

That cracked him up. He laughed, gave me a big hug, and repeated it in my ear, affecting a dramatic voice. Brother penis. It was the funniest thing he’d heard all week.

It became a bit of a running joke between the three of us after dinner. My husband started calling my brother ‘Brother–Penis’ and then my brother started calling me ‘Sister–Boobs’. I joked that it sounded like a bad setup for a porn vid. My husband joked that it sounded like a good setup, which raised our eyebrows a bit, but by then we’d already had a couple of drinks, so it was just kind of funny.

After dinner I joked that I needed a couple more drinks to help with the trauma, and my brother was like, yeah, that might help. So, we all sat in the lounge and drank. And talked. And drank. And joked. And drank.

Okay, so I need to explain a little about those two so that you’ll understand what comes next. They’ve been best friends since they were twelve. They know each other as well as they know themselves. Maybe better. And they share everything. Not just tools and sports gear and guitars and stuff. They share habits and mannerisms. I even heard that my husband’s mother caught them sharing a Playboy mag when they were 13 and jerking off to it right next each other. (Although a couple of times I’ve asked him if it’s true, and he laughs and winks and says he categorically denies it ever happened.) I could go on, but let’s just say they’re not shy around each other in the locker room.

Anyway, having drinks with them after the whole naked thing was weird. In a good way. It was like the fact that we’d now all seen each other naked had broken some last smidgen of awkwardness between the three of us. Not that there was much to begin with. But I suddenly felt so free with them for some reason. Like I could say anything or do anything without being judged, or without even being self–conscious. And I think they felt the same.

We were all more than a bit tipsy by the time my husband asked me if I was feeling better about the shower thing, and I said much better, though I wondered if the image of brother–penis would always be etched into my mind. And my brother was like, yeah, it’s not like I’ll be forgetting sister–boobs for a while either. My husband said: well they are rather unforgettable. And my brother did an awkward eyebrow raise of admission that, yes, my boobs were rather unforgettable, while turning his hands up to me: like, what else can I say?

To be honest, I enjoyed the compliment. When my husband poured another round and suggested we play strip poker though, I assumed he was joking at first. But then I wasn’t sure. My brother and I laughed, but my husband suggested it again. He reasoned that we’d all already seen each other naked, and he was willing to bet that brothers and sisters imagined each other naked from time to time anyway, so why not play with some fun stakes?

Okay, so I was a bit tipsy and, while I wouldn’t admit it, it was true that my brother’s body had intrigued me on occasion… and if I was the type for making bucket lists then a game of strip poker with two handsome men who cared about me would probably be on it. So, it’s fair to say that the idea did get my heart rate up a little. But neither my brother or I were going to be brave enough to admit that we might entertain the idea – not until my husband brought up the fact that my brother had broken up with his girlfriend over a year ago and hadn’t started dating again yet. He said something like: Isn’t it like a proven scientific truth that for men’s mental health we need to see boobs once in a while? And my brother was like, ha – maybe. And then my husband smiled and said: I read an article saying male attention can be quite beneficial for women too…

We knew he was making it up on the spot, but how can you argue with an article you haven’t read? And besides, my husband was already opening the drawer on the coffee table and taking out the playing cards.

My heart was beating quite hard. I wanted to play, but I wasn’t sure if it was too weird and I didn’t want my brother to feel obliged. So, I said: maybe we could just play down to underwear?

So, it was agreed. The cards were dealt. The first hands were played. Outer layers began to be removed.

I don’t know if they were going easy on me or if I was just getting lucky cards, but after a few rounds they were both down to boxers and t–shirts and I was still pretty well covered with my jeans and tank–top intact.

Then my brother lost a hand and had to ditch his t–shirt.

I might have gloated a little as he stood up. He pulled his shirt over his head and struck a slightly tongue–in–cheek flex. I’ll admit my face might have flushed a little as I watched him, but it wasn’t like I was going to let him off and avert my eyes or anything; I was enjoying the power of being so clothed.

In fact, maybe I was getting too confident, because I lost the next hand. To avoid exposing my knickers or bra, I did my best contortionist impression, reaching into my sleeves to unhook and pull my bra out of my tank top. At first my husband said I was cheating, but then he laughed and said that actually they were going to see my boobs better through that top anyway.

It was only after I’d pulled my bra out that I realised he was probably right. The top’s a rather loose and flowy racerback in a cream colour, and I could tell by the way my brother blushed and raised his eyebrows that they were getting a fairly full view.

I guess being exposed threw my concentration off a little because I lost the next round too. Next thing, I was standing in front of two excited men, slowly sliding my jeans off, angling sideways for a moment to shake a bit of rump. Then I lost my balance a little, recovered, stomped on my jeans to get them off my feet, and picked them up and threw them across the room at my husband. They laughed and cheered.

So, you won right? I said to my husband. Is that game over?

My brother said it couldn’t be over because my husband’s shirt was still on. My husband said if we wanted him to take it off, we’d have to make him lose a round.

And if one of us loses? I asked.

Well, you’ll have to do a dare, my husband said.

I can’t totally blame the drink here. I have to admit that our family’s not particularly strong with numbers, and we do like a good risk now and then. Anyway, my brother and I thought the odds were good. After all, it was the two of us against my husband. So, we agreed. It was only as we began playing again, we realised we had the odds wrong. Every round meant my husband had only a one in three chance of losing. The game was stacked way in his favour, and over the next few minutes this is how it went:

My brother lost the first. I lost the second. And the third.

On my brother’s loss, my husband won and dared him to massage my shoulders, which sounds pretty tame unless you were there. It wasn’t. My brother had to stand behind where I seated on the couch, with nowhere for his eyes to go except to my shoulders and down my open tank–top, where my boobs were being lightly jiggled and bounced by the motion of his hands massaging my bare shoulders and back. I don’t know whether my brother was turned on at that point, but I had goose bumps and the skin–on–skin contact was quite sensuous for me, so I guess most guys would be at least a little bit aroused by it?

Like I said, my brother lost the first; I lost the second. That was when my husband dared me to take my top off. When I started to question whether or not he was asking too much, he reasoned that it was only fair since my brother had his shirt off, and since they could already basically see my boobs anyway, and they’d both seen them recently anyway, and that in many cultures nudity is normal and if I did take it off, he would take his shirt off too so we’d all be…

I knew he’d have an endless amount of reasons, but I didn’t care anyway. I was feeling cute. And wine–happy. And naughty. And everything else a woman’s body feels when she’s the centre of attention. Add to that, I was a tiny bit aroused from the massage, and wanted to show off how blasé and free–spirited I was. So, I found myself standing up and angling my shoulders in, crossing my hands over at the bottom of my tank top.

I slowly lifted it to let my boobs loll out. In response, they let out a quite a cheer. I lifted the top over my head and floated across the room at them. It landed on my brother’s knee and he held it aloft, blushing but triumphant.

When I sat down again, it was no big deal. My husband took his shirt off too and we were all topless. They occasionally stole glances at my chest over their cards, but otherwise the game resumed normally. I couldn’t have been more comfortable with it. In fact, I loved it. When I lost again, and my husband dared me to go nude I was pretty far past caring. I said fine, but you guys have to join me. It had to be an all–in.

The two of them looked at each other briefly then… suddenly, they were wrestling on the couch like schoolboys, trying to yank each other’s boxers off. It was part–funny, part–sexy seeing them writhing around, grabbing at each other, stretching and ripping each other’s underwear, red–faced and laughing breathlessly and giving each other these little red grip marks all over their bodies. I watched the way their muscles flexed and once their boxers were down around their knees, how their private parts dangled and swung as they tussled.

When their boxers were around their ankles and they were almost out of breath, I stood up. They immediately stopped and turned around to face me.

I took the waistband of my knickers and slipped my fingers underneath it. They were dead still, watching my every move as I started slowly pulling my knickers down. A bit of trimmed bush slowly came into view, but I paused just above the top of my vagina. They watched and waited, their gazes shifting between my eyes, my breasts, and my fingers on the waistband. Then in one quick motion, I slid my panties down and kicked them off.

That’s when things really started to get interesting. Seeing my brother and I naked at the same time, my husband was just totally taken with how similar our bodies were, and he asked us to sit next to each other on the carpet. He took great pleasure in pointing out our matching pubic hair and bellybuttons and the similarity of our skin tone. We enjoyed it too – being able to look over each other’s naked bodies and feel a special connection.

After that, I asked them what they wanted to do next. My husband suggested we forget about the cards and just play dares. My head spun a little with nerves and anticipation. It was totally fine with me, but I did feel a little tense. Then my brother asked how it would work, and we decided we’d each take a turn coming up with them.

I’m first, I said.

Okay, then I’m next, my brother said.

I pretended to think for a moment, but I already knew what I wanted: I told them I wanted my husband to sit beside my brother on the carpet, so I could watch them touch themselves. I knew it was a pretty risky dare which they might turn down, so I promised that if they did, I’d part my legs a little, so they had something to look at.

To my surprise, they almost seemed relieved and keen. I guess the sexual tension had been building and they’d been dying to touch themselves – I don’t know. But as my husband sat down beside us, I leaned back against the couch and opened my legs and they both took their man–parts in their hands and looked at me – first at my pussy, then my eyes, then my breasts, then back down to my pussy. As they gripped their cocks my pussy started to tingle. It was like it was actually responding to their eyes on it: especially my brother’s eyes – like I could actually feel his gaze as a sort of invisible caress. And watching his cock grow was incredibly intimate: the shaft lengthening and straightening, and the head swelling and getting kind of shiny.

I suddenly felt a little self conscious and asked them if my pussy looked wet. My husband just winked, but my brother kind of shrugged his shoulders, like he was saying why don’t you touch yourself and see?

Is that your dare? I said.

Again, he shrugged as if he was saying: go ahead…

I reached down and parted my pussy lips with my left hand, then reached my right finger down to my perineum and slid it up to the entrance of my vagina. It was so open and sensitive already and the wetness made a little sound as my fingers passed through on the way to my clit.

Right then, their cocks went fully rigid. My brother’s especially. It was so thick and hard that it was pulling his testicles taut, and I could see the slightly oval shape of them moving through the skin as he pulled his cock up and down.

I watched him and began circling my clit with my finger, wondering what it would be like to see him release all that tension. But it was my husband’s dare next. He said he wanted us to carry on like that, but for my brother to reach out with his left hand and touch my boobs.

By that point the request seemed almost tame, but still my brother was a little hesitant to begin with. He reached out and ran his hand across my clavicle to test my reaction, then over my shoulders and down my arms. We looked at each other in the eyes as he brought his hand back up my belly, before moving up to feel the fullness of my left breast, then my right.

It was like he’d flicked a switch; tingles ran wild all over my body. I kept touching myself and watching his hand moving on his cock as he ran the other between my tits, fondling them, feeling their weight in his palm, and glazing his thumb lightly across my nipples. A moment later, I had to snap out of the trance I’d fallen into because it was my turn to call the next dare.

I was finished talking though. I simply took both of their hands and pulled their fingers towards my pussy.

As they started touching me, I took my husband’s cock by the base with one hand, then wrapped my other hand around my brother’s shaft to feel how rigid it was. For a couple of minutes, we sat in a circle masturbating each other: their fingers spreading my wetness over my clit, and my hands rubbing their foreskins up and down over the heads of their cocks. By then we were no longer thinking about whose turn for the dare it was, or what was appropriate or inappropriate, and after a while, my husband grabbed a pile of couch cushions and signalled for me to lie down on the carpet, using them to prop up my shoulders so I could watch.

My husband lowered his face between my legs and beckoned my brother to do the same. My brother looked at me to be sure I was fine with it first, then bent down and breathed gently onto my womanhood. I watched them both as they began kissing around my groin – the inside of my legs and my outer labia. Then their tongues began taking turns probing my labia and licking around the entrance of my vagina.

As my brother placed a kiss on the hood of my clitoris, my muscles contracted in pleasure. My husband sat up a little and reached down to part my pussy with his fingers, while my brother put out his tongue and slowly licked my pussy from the base, up between my labia where it dipped into my wet entrance, and up all the way to where the tip of his tongue nudged my clit out of its hood. Then he was running the tip of his tongue up and down over my clit and I could see my moisture intermingling with his saliva.

My breathing became more laboured and my trembling body was settling into the rhythm of his tongue, but I didn’t want to cum like that. I wanted my husband to tell me to do other things. I wanted to know how far we could push the taboo. So, I turned to my husband and he understood the look on my face. He gently grabbed my brother’s shoulder and lifted him away from my pussy. My brother looked a little startled and embarrassed until he realised what my husband was signalling for him to do.

He gestured for my brother to sit on his knees between my legs so that his cock was sticking right up, resting against his belly, only a few inches from my pussy. We were so close that we could almost feel the heat of each other’s bodies.

Could you both move closer? my husband asked.

My brother looked at me for a moment to confirm I was happy, then moved forward a little. His hard penis was now literally an inch from my splayed vagina.

A bit closer? my husband said.

My brother looked at me again. Then we both slid together a tiny bit, and suddenly his manhood was resting against my pussy.

Closer… My husband said again.

It was clear what he wanted to see. My brother and I looked at each other again, then moved a touch closer. I felt the tip of his swollen cock part my pussy lips. His heavy cock was resting right against the entrance to my vaginal opening and, looking down, I could see my wetness had rubbed onto the tip of it.

I felt a yearning to pull him on top of me, but I held off and took my husband’s cock in my hand instead. My husband groaned as I touched him.

A bit closer, he said.

My brother moved his hips forward and I felt a little pop as the head of his cock slipped into my vagina. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I squeezed my husband’s cock with my right hand and grabbed my brother by the waist with my left, pulling him towards me. My brother leaned over me, inching his cock deeper into my aching pussy. I began stroking my husband’s cock up and down as my brother started to move, slowly and evenly, in and out of me.

For quite a while, all three of us watched each other: the palm of my right hand moving up and down on my husband’s cock, the fingers of my left–hand circling gently around my clit. But most of all, we watched my brother’s erect penis sliding in and out of my vagina. The skin of his cock was smooth and slightly darker than the rest of his body, and with each outward stroke, I could see my pussy lips cling to his shaft, leaving it wet and glistening. With each inward thrust I could see his balls tightening and the skin at the base of his shaft bunching up as it caught on my labia, pulling back on his foreskin, and unsheathing his penis so it could probe deep and bare inside me.

Soon my brother got too close to cumming and withdrew his cock. My husband and I could see right into my gaping space my brother’s cock had left. Then I dipped my finger inside myself to drag a bit more wetness up over my clit and paused for a moment, to tell them that if we were all okay with it, I wouldn’t mind if they both wanted to have a turn cumming inside me, or on my boobs or belly or wherever they wanted – I didn’t mind where.

My husband said he wanted to carry on just like we were, and that if my brother and I came first, watching us would be a massive turn–on. All he wanted was to take a few pictures on his phone – no faces – and we could decide whether or not to keep them later.

So, we did. My husband reached for his phone while I began rubbing his cock again, and my brother eased himself back inside me. We were almost immediately back in rhythm, except this time I wanted to take it all the way to completion: to feel my pussy orgasm all over my brother’s cock, and to see him release himself. So soon we were banging our pelvises into each other, over and over, while I rubbed my clit faster and faster and firmly tugged my husband’s cock up and down.

My brother reached the point of no return first. But the sight of him in such pleasure caused me to approach orgasm too and as he leaned further into me to push his cock deeper, we began to moan into each other’s mouths. Then he started to cum. My brother pulled out and ejaculated his first pulse of cum over my right breast. It was weird seeing my brother’s face like that – in total ecstasy – and seeing the intimate details of his orgasm, like the little slit at the tip of his cock opening up as he shot that first rope of cum over my nipple.

“Cum in me if you want,” I said quickly, pushing his cock back down to my pussy.

Before he could slip his penis back into my slit, a second load shot out all over my pussy. It felt so forbidden to see and feel my brother’s hot cum landing all over my labia and clit, pasting my fingers and pubes. Seeing that set my husband off too and he began releasing himself onto my belly. Then I felt my brother’s cock surging back into me, so I squeezed my vaginal muscles tight around his shaft to feel it throbbing. My orgasm really hit then, and it was so intense it was almost psychedelic – I could feel my body moving, but my brain was completely separate, like it was frozen in time. I was cumming so hard my fingers had slowed right down so they were just gently circling over my clit, rubbing his sperm in, and I was able to totally relax and feel every detail of our orgasms: the release of my juices all over the head of my brother’s cock as it pulsated against my cervix, and the feeling of him filling me up, pumping the last loads of hot semen right into the depths of my inner passage.

A moment later they both collapsed onto me, resting their heads on my breasts, panting for air. It was a few minutes before we had gathered ourselves. The eroticism of the situation hadn’t left the air though. I wondered if they were finished or if we might try again soon round and do something a little different.

2

As we gathered our breath, my brother became a little quiet. I wondered if he was feeling like we’d just done something terribly wrong or if, like me, he was just feeling a bit shy and vulnerable. My husband sensed his hesitancy too, and said he thought it would be best if he went and lay down for a while to give us time alone.

When he left the room, I took my brother’s hand. He was too shy to look me in the eye but when I asked how he was feeling he managed to say he just felt a little sensitive and he wondered if I thought he’d done anything he shouldn’t have. When I told him that of course I didn’t think that, he took a deep breath, like a weight had been lifted. I felt a surge of warmth for him – a sense of security in his presence but also a desire to calm him. I angled my face up toward him. He responded by bending his head down toward me and attaching to my lips. Our mouths opened slightly, and our tongues touched. A sharp taste hit me. It was like putting my tongue on a little nine–volt battery: his mouth was a mix of my own taste and his, and it made a fizzy feeling in the back of my skull that began running up and down my spine. He held the back of my head as I pushed my tongue deeper into his mouth, and we began kissing forcefully – almost uncomfortably – and we didn’t let up until we could barely breathe and had to break for air.

As he gathered his breath, I took his hand and gestured for him to lie down so I could put my head on his chest. We lay there still for a while just holding hands, the rise and fall of his chest gently lolling me up and down like a boat in a harbour. Of course, we were still nude, and I couldn’t help but look down the landscape of his body: over the ridge of his ribs and down the plains of his torso. Part of me wanted to travel across those regions again to reassure him that everything was okay. It was a sensual desire but also something else: like when we were young, and we’d rub each other’s backs or speak reassuring words after one of us had woken from a bad dream. Only this was neither bad nor a dream – it was a beautifully heightened reality and, rather than waking from it, we were falling into it.

When I began to stroke his belly, his whole body twitched, and goose–bumps flared out across his skin. I drew my fingers up and down his torso, allowing them to descend a little further on every trip. My fingers soon reached the undergrowth, slightly waking the mass beyond it. But going beyond that point with my hand seemed somehow too crass or detached. If anything, my touch had to be more intimate than that, so I put my lips to his chest, and kissed him down the length of his body, past his bellybutton, down the trail, and over the forest to where his beautiful manhood lay.

I’ve seen things which in some circumstances might be more impressive: the reclining Great Sphinx in Giza, a sealion sleeping on a grassy dune in New Zealand. But in this moment, I was more affected by the simple detail of his resting member. I wanted to bring it to life and totally consume it, so I slid my lips around the tip and took it into my mouth.

The little goose–bumps around the base immediately grew more pronounced. Looking up at him, his eyes were glassy and placated, like he was almost in a trance. I held it against the roof of my mouth, then drew my tongue up and down the underside. He reached down and held my me at the temples, rubbing his fingertips across the back of my scalp.

As he grew slowly but monumentally in my mouth, I felt a sense of myself expanding too – mentally and physically – like my body was a pavilion being pitched in anticipation of an event, and the nerves around the centre of it were busy with excitement.

A moment later he’d outgrown my mouth, but I wanted to continue to completely contain him, to hold him fast inside me. Without thinking, I released him, climbed over and straddled him, holding my body just above his. Then I hesitated, a little unsure. His hand though slid down from my head to my back to my hips and pulled me down, so our most sensitive regions gently touched. I was still wet – from him and me – and I slowly and very gently glided back and forward on him – just once or twice – my hips in a motion like a wave, dragging the lips of my pussy along the ridge of his cock.

It was excruciating. We breathed heavily into each other’s mouths again, and as I continued to slide again, he began angling himself up, so the head of his cock was at the threshold of my vagina.

He was so close to slipping right into me. But he didn’t. He suddenly curled his face into my breasts and paused. Then I heard his muffled voice ask whether I thought that maybe I should check in with my husband before we start something we can’t stop?

He was right. I asked him to come with me though, then got up and dragged him down the hall by the hand to open the bedroom door.

It was dark, but we could make out my husband lying on the far side of the bed, still naked, his erection lying across his belly. I asked why he hadn’t come back in and he replied that he wanted us to be free to have privacy if we wanted to continue alone.

I climbed onto the bed next to him, dragging my brother onto the bed behind me, and we lay there for a moment, looking at each other alternately. At that point in time, nothing seemed to matter. Not who each of us were as individuals, or how we’d become enmeshed, or what we might be collectively at that moment. Lying there between them, I felt the most secure I had even felt in my life, the most absorbed, the most content, but the most anticipating too. It didn’t matter if they were alone without me. I wanted that. And I wanted them each alone with me. And I wanted us all together. I just wanted it to be whatever it was.

I just asked them straight out. I asked them to fuck me, together. Then I crawled onto my hands and knees into the middle of the bed.

My husband rolled off and went around to the foot of the bed behind me, while my brother shifted himself across in front me. They began touching me: my husband rounding my ass with his hands and sliding his fingers up and down on my pussy lips; my brother running his hands across my shoulders and lying his head underneath me to kiss my breasts and read the braille around my nipples with his tongue.

As the ecstasy of the moment built, I lost my bearings. Everything became hazy. I abandoned myself to their touch. I stroked them. They stroked me. They stroked themselves. I stroked me. At some point I even took their hands and encouraged them to touch each other, and they did briefly, and I think they were surprised at the pleasure.

My urgently grew as we touched each other, and I wanted them inside me at the same time. Soon I pulled my husband back around behind me and pushed my brother down onto the bed to straddle him again.

My husband entered me first, from behind. I was so lubricated that he could ease straight into me. He stayed still there with the slight curve of his cock nudging the tip into the left wall of my vagina.

My breasts hung under my brother’s chin and he had to gently hold them up with his left forearm so he could see to guide himself in as I lowered myself onto him. As he started to enter me, the feeling was otherworldly. His cock found its own path into me as it joined my husband’s – slightly to the right but high up against the ridge of my pubic bone so it was directly against the most sensitive spot of my vaginal wall. My mind and my inner voice were just silent – taking it all in – but my body was enraptured: I was being completely filled and reshaped, and I couldn’t keep my fingers away from my swelling clit.

I began with very small movements, arching my back to pull my hips away from them slightly and then straightening out again to drop back onto their cocks, pushing them even deeper inside me. I thought if I moved too quickly, I’d cum too fast, so I established a slow but steady rhythm, pulling at their hips to get them moving too.

As they joined me, pushing their cocks forward in unison, driving each other deeper into me, I imagined what they could feel – the way the incidentally soft and gentle collision of their balls meeting each other underneath me contrasted with the direct friction of their cocks working together inside me. I looked down at my brother who I think was watching the swing of my breasts intently, like they were colliding ocean swells, or sunflowers being whipped together in a cyclone. He gathered them in, held fast to them, then released them again and lost himself in their movements.

Soon they were fucking me so hard I was being lifted off the bed, and I had to put my brother’s hands on the front my shoulders to hold me in position. From that point on, I was just floating, feeling them sliding in and out of me and opening me as far as I could be opened.

A moment later, my husband tensed up and said he was too close to cumming, so he had to stop moving and just leave his cock inside me and feel us fuck. I whispered to my brother to go harder and faster and I began flicking my clit. My brother’s cock began ramming quickly in and out, rubbing right against the sensitive top ridge of my vagina. The intensity of it quickly brought me to the verge of orgasm and I had to tell them both to cum in me as soon as they could.

The moment I said that, it was like I pulled a trigger. We all instantly began writhing and thrusting, spasming and exploding. I flicked my clit as hard as I could and slammed my pussy back and down onto their pulsing shafts. My brother was smashing his hips into mine this time, gripping my shoulders and ramming his cock as hard as he could into my pussy. I felt myself release more wetness all over them as they emptied themselves into me. Our fluids mixed, coating their cocks and flooding my insides until it all had nowhere else to go and began overflowing out all over us.

We were so exhausted. I don’t remember anything else except collapsing into the bed and falling asleep between them, feeling the most contented and safe and desired as I’d ever felt in my life.

3

When I woke up late the next morning, they’d both left already. I felt pretty disoriented and weird. I guess it was a mix of excitement and guilt and a little worry that what we’d done would look differently to them in the light of day. I drew a bath and lay there for half an hour. The house was still, and everything was quiet except for the sound of bubbles popping in the water, and I realized I felt an absence. I wished they were both there with me – my brother too.

I wasn’t going to see a lot of my husband over the weekend because he worked a full day on Saturdays, and Sunday would be Father’s Day, so we’d be spending it with our own families. As expected, he was exhausted and still a little hungover when he got in, so we ate then snuggled up and had an early night. We talked a little about our day – said we loved each other – but then he fell asleep pretty quickly. As I held him there against my breast, listening to his breathing, I couldn’t help thinking whether we’d be able to keep the newfound freedoms the three of us had discovered. It was like we’d found something so rare that it was impossible to value – like we’d been given a stolen masterpiece. I didn’t know what to do with it, but I knew I wanted to keep it.

The following morning, I drove over to my parents before lunch and as I parked my car, my brother pulled up. There wasn’t really enough time to be awkward with each other. He got out and helped carry the bags of ingredients I’d bought for the desert. I asked him how he was, and he said was strangely good but feeling a bit weird, and I said, yeah me too, and by then we were already at the door where Mum was waiting.

I should maybe point out that we’re not especially close to our parents. They were quite old by the time they had us, and they pretty much left us to our own devices. They’ve always explained their distance away by saying it was us, not them: we are like peas in a pod – thick as thieves – we speak our own language. That sort of thing. But it is them too. Our father sometimes seems to love gadgets more than people, and our mother sometimes cares less about other people than about what they think of her. Okay, maybe that’s a bit harsh. They certainly care about us in their own way. Ask them trivia – like our birth weight. They could name it to the ounce. Ask them what our first bank account numbers were, and they could give you all 16 digits. But ask them about the real stuff – our interests, dreams and inspirations, they’d draw a blank.

Anyway, you can imagine what having lunch with them was like. My brother and I sat together and often ran our own conversation between theirs. Like, they began talking about a particular political issue, and we were surreptitiously rolling our eyes at each other, or clearing our throats to avoid laughing. There were a couple of points at which one of them had something particularly inane or ridiculous, and he’d nudged me under the table with his knee. I decided to take my spoon and flick him on the thigh with it.

When nobody noticed his reaction, I began jokingly running my spoon up and down his leg. Well – half–jokingly: I got bolder too and curved it over his thigh to touch it on his zipper bulge. He looked at me sideways and nudged me again with his knee, but he didn’t push it away, so I began running it up and down there while we finished lunch. I thought of my husband briefly at one point – how close they were, and how funny he’d find me teasing him like that. Not that I knew for sure whether it was having any effect. Maybe he was just ignoring it. But when I got up to prepare the dessert and asked him to come help me, he said– for no particular reason – that he’d be there in a minute, then sat staring blankly into space.

In the kitchen, we started joking around again – preparing the fruit as suggestively as we could, while holding completely straight faces. He placed the two rock melons on the chopping board, nipples up, and caressed them suggestively. I slowly split a peach in my hand and inserted my finger into the slit. He stuck a raspberry onto the end of his finger and held it up. I ran my finger up and down the centre of a halved orange, and made it squirt juice as I applied pressure. Then I got out the can of whipped cream, and things got a bit silly, and when I shot some onto his face I told him to come to me so I could wipe it off with my hand, which I did slowly and suggestively, licking it off my fingers. That was when we heard Mum come in and we jumped apart.

We were just in time. She was like: What are you two were conspiring about? But she didn’t wait for an answer – just placed the lunch plates at the sink and told us that Dad wanted us to bring dessert into the lounge so he could show us some kind of slide show.

Dad had paid one of those digital restoration companies to scan a bunch of old photos Mum had taken of us during childhood, and he’d got them ready to play from his laptop onto the TV projector. My brother and I sat on the couch eating our dessert while Mum closed the curtains and cut the lights.

The slideshow was ordered chronologically. It started when we were infants –playing, sleeping, bathing – then went through our childhood – parks, holidays, family events. There were even some photos of my husband and brother when they were young – at a football match, playing video games, playing min–golf. It wasn’t until our later teen years that they became really interesting though. There was one set in particular at the end. I was 19; the boys were 18. We were at the beach, and it was clear Mum had taken the photos because she wasn’t in any of them. We were wearing nothing but swimwear, and it was impossible not to notice the development of our young adult bodies. In one shot we were in the ocean, splashing each other, a curtain of water frozen in time, arching from my brother’s hand toward me. In another the three of us were walking up the beach, drenched in water, our swimwear clinging to our skin and announcing the contours of our bodies. In another we were lying face down on towels, covered in dry sea–salt, sunbathing, and you could see the goose–bumps on our skin from the wind – running down my thighs, along the back of my husband’s broad shoulders, and in among the downy hair just above my brother’s tailbone.

As I sat there in the dark looking at their lithe young bodies, I felt my desire for them return. Although no–one could have seen anyway – I crossed my arms, careful to keep my hand hidden – uncurled my fingers to sneakily reach out and touch my brother’s ribs. He twitched, then crossed his arms too.

Our fingertips met.

As we continued to look at the beach images, our fingers caressed each other, interlinked, separated, touched each other’s ribs, higher to the edges of our chests, lower to our hips. At one point he had a knuckle resting under my breast, so I hooked two fingers into the waistband of his boxer shorts. I couldn’t reach any further, so I pulled them out again, and I was suddenly worried that everyone heard the pop of the elastic.

Nobody noticed.

Still, we’d teased each other into a state of mild arousal by the time the slide show was over, so as Mum stood to open the curtains again, I told them all I’d left a box of summer casual clothes in the sleepout a couple of years ago and I was hoping my brother wouldn’t mind helping me to dig it out and carry it to my car before we went home.

He agreed quite readily. So later, after we’d said our goodbyes at the front door and our parents had gone back inside, we went around to the sleep–out.

The back garden’s a quiet place: tree–lined and secluded, and the sleepout is a single room with just one large window looking west towards the valley. We were both well aware of the privacy it offered us.

He pulled the box down from on top of the storage cupboard, and I opened it on the bed. Inside were summer dresses and skirts from a couple of seasons back. I needed to try them on, but there was no mirror in the sleepout, so I told him I needed his opinion about which I should donate, and which were worth keeping.

Before he could respond, I quickly kicked off my sandals, lifted my blouse over my head and dropped my jeans to my ankles. He got a little fright and looked out of the window towards the house, then back at me. My bra and knickers were not especially sexy – just a dark grey cotton – but the shock of my undressing seemed to make his eyes widen and his lungs inflate.

He sat down on the edge of the bed as I rummaged through the box, pulled out a simple grey dress and began to step into it, standing side–on to him. As I expected, the dress was a little tight, and it picked up my ass a little as I pulled it up and eased my bottom half into it. I looked at him momentarily. He was staring at my body, exhaling long and slow. I leant forward, slipped my arms into the sleeves and turned my back to him so he could do up the zipper. His fingers weren’t exactly shaking but they were a little unsteady, and I felt a little frisson of pleasure as they ran up the length of my back with the zip.

As I turned to face him, he complimented the dress on its cut, but said he thought it was more suited to summer workwear than to casualwear, which I thought was fair enough. Then he asked me if I needed to try on the little white summer–dress that was hanging over the edge of the box.

I stripped again, enjoying his eyes on me, then slipped into it. It was vanilla–white, and translucent, and as I stood by the window for his appraisal, I realised the light was shining right through it, and he was enjoying the chance to look at my body with full permission.

When I turned and asked him how the dress looked from the back, he began describing how perfect it was, and I felt like he was talking more about the shape of my ass, than the cut of the fabric. I turned back again, moved over close to him, just a few inches from his face, levelling my breasts at his eyes. Was it too revealing? I asked.

I didn’t hear his response. Just the feeling alone of his eyes on the shape of my breasts made me a little lightheaded, and my nipples began to harden. He asked me if I remembered how I when we were young, I always asked him to play dress–ups and other games like doctor and nurse, or teacher and student, or mother and father? I said I did remember – very well. Then I told him I had an urge to play an exploratory game like that again – for us to inspect each other.

I put my hands at the back of his head and held him to my breast. His hands slowly rose up the back of my thighs, bunching my dress up. But before they could reach my ass, I broke away, took his hand and dragged him outside into the garden.

We went to the western side behind the sleepout, to a hidden grove of fruit trees where we used to play. In the middle of the grove, was a rope swing under an overgrown pear tree. I wiped away the cobwebs and sat on the hardwood seat. The branch creaked above me as it adjusted to my weight, but I wasn’t worried at all – it was such a solid old tree it could easily take the weight of ten men.

He sat at my feet as I swung a little. The seat was lower to the ground than I remembered, and I couldn’t swing without dragging my toes along the mossy ground. After a while I stopped, told him I had something to confess, then reached down and lifted my skirt to show him how the gentle eroticism of the afternoon had made my knickers a little damp. He took my hand and held it to his chest so I could feel the thumping of his heart.

I wondered what it would mean if something sexual was about to happen. I thought about my husband, and about how he’d encouraged it. It wouldn’t be cheating. It was my brother; he was a part of me – of both of us. If we touched each other, it would be something pure – like making love, or even like childish masturbation. But it still gave me a frisson of the forbidden.

Either way, I wanted to play with him, so I stood up and asked him to take a turn on the swing.

As he sat, I hitched up my skirt and lowered myself onto his lap. We swung back and forth for a while, and I leaned back so his chin was resting in the crook of my neck. I looked up at the summer leaves filtering the light and took a deep breath to inflate my breasts. He took one hand from the swing and wrapped it around my waist, but the swing began to wobble so he had to hold on again. I enjoyed that he was powerless to touch me for that moment. I began shifting my weight in his lap, grinding myself against his jeans. Then I realised how uncomfortable it must have been for him with my full weight crushing his fly buttons into his hardness, so I reached down to open his jeans, and at the same time I told him that I wanted us to play a those childish games now. I wanted us take off all our clothes and to explore each other’s bodies.

He put his feet down, bringing the swing to a stop, and asked whether I thought it was safe. Maybe they would notice our cars were still there and come looking for us?

I thought a little, then asked him: When have they ever come looking for us?

He stared straight at me. I was right. But that didn’t mean we were safe. To be honest I was aware of the possibility of being caught. That was part of the thrill.

Our body were aroused, and our hearts were beating hard. We slipped off the swing, lay down on the mossy earth and began to undress each other.

I stripped off his shirt and he lifted my dress off. It was incredibly intimate – being in broad daylight, with only the dappled shadows of the trees to cover us, and we removed those outer layers like we were unwrapping gifts – as though we were about to see another nude body for the very first time.

We were very alert at that point. If a branch creaked above us in the wind, or a bird tweeted through the leaves, we started, twitched. But we carried on undressing anyway, nerves and senses heightened.

Once we were in our underwear, I spread my legs, took his hand and put it on my knickers. It was like the fabric formed a cotton membrane over my damp entrance, and as he began circling it with his finger, he gently and evenly spread the sensations all around the nerve endings of my pussy.

I could see the outline of his penis resting in his boxer shorts, so I placed my palm against it and began rubbing up and down, caressing it with the fabric and curling my fingers over the bulge at the top. I kissed him too, and we teased each other with our fingers and tongues until I couldn’t bear it anymore. I wanted to be completely naked, and for us to show each other every part of our bodies. I wanted to imprint myself onto him, and for him to be imprinted onto me – for our most intimate details to be permanently stamped into each other’s minds.

I dragged down his boxer shorts then sat up to unclasp my bra and slide my knickers down. He sat up too, and we were face to face, nude, legs entwined. I asked him again if he would explore me and told him I would describe for him each area of my body that he was touching.

I spread my legs wide and took his cock in my hand. He looked down at me and I whispered to him as he ran two fingers around the mound. That’s my outer labia, I told him, and he nodded, exhaled, and grew a little stiffer in my hand. Then he slowly probed a little further, sliding his middle finger up and down my inner labia, parting them a little further with each glide, like he was running his finger gently across sand and opening a little valley in it. Again I described what he was doing, and whispered what I was feeling into his ear, and I watched his eyes follow his finger, taking in every detail, bump and ridge as he parted my pussy lips and discovered the wetness inside. As I described how his finger had gently touched my urethra, his cock again got harder in my hand, and I began to rub it up and down, exploring him too: the way his skin bunched up and unfolded as I drew it up over his glans, the way the little goose–bumps on his testicles protruded as they shifted with my touch against the mossy ground, the way the little slit at the top of his cock opened and closed a little when I gently squeezed him.

By this point we were immune to the little sounds the trees and birds were making. If anyone were to come looking for us, there’s no doubt we’d be caught. We knew it, but we also knew we were too aroused to care…

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