Big Tits and Correct Opinions (Kat Dennings)

[HER_ABHORRED_SHEARS]

tags: kat dennings, incest, big breasts, light femdom, teasing, hatefucking, roleplay, oral, anal

Summary: older brother fucks the arrogance out of bratty sister Kat Dennings.

Note: Tireless on your behalf, I watched a whole season of 2 Broke Girls as research. Note that Kat’s family is actually called “Litwack”—to reduce reader confusion I refer to them by her stage name of “Dennings”.

Content warning: do not read this story if you have a delicate stomach: it contains VERY big tits and EXTREMELY correct opinions.

* * *



Big Tits and Correct Opinions

My kid sister Kat Dennings ALWAYS HAS TO BE RIGHT. It sucks.

Eighteen years. That’s how long we’ve lived together. Zero. That’s how many times I’ve heard her admit to being wrong. She provokes pointless arguments about stupid topics (usually taking the most enragingly bad stance about said stupid topic) and then argues until you give up.

Cats were invented in the year 1644.

Die Hard is a Hannukah Movie.

Killing someone in a dream means they died in another timeline and you owe their real-life twin an apology (and also money).

Being blatantly wrong doesn’t stop her. A shovel to the face doesn’t stop her. She is a machine. Trying to out-argue my sister is like trying to out-bark a dog or out-piss the Niagara Falls. I have never seen it done.

She’s so annoying. Even if there are compensations…

* * *

“Women have a higher tolerance for pain than men,” Kat randomly said around the breakfast table one morning.

Mom and dad ignored her. I was half-asleep, and like an idiot, I dived on the bait.

“That makes no sense,” I said. “Men had to fight mammoths and stuff…”

“And women have to give birth and stuff,” Kat retorted. “Babies are more painful than mammoths.”

“No, they’re not.”

“Are too!” Kat’s eyes flashed in delight. Yay! A victim! “Have you seen how big a newborn baby is? Imagine that coming out of your butt. You’d demand a Purple Heart. And that’s Tuesday morning for us women. Face it, Zack. We’re the stronger sex!”

“You’re wrong.”

“No, I’m right!” Kat was just smug as a peach that morning. I wanted to slap that arrogant grin right off her dial.

Her pretty smirk was framed by obsidian-black hair, braided into thick glossy pigtails. They twisted like pythons down the shoulders of a Gudrun & Gudrun cashmere sweater, where the tips rested on the upper slopes of her huge breasts.

If being stacked was a crime, my sister would currently be eating her last meal on death row. She wears a 30JJ. (Yeah, like you wouldn’t check the tags on a big-titted sister’s bra, you goodie two-shoes.) I couldn’t even think of a comeback, I was too distracted by the sheer wobbling enormity of the monster jugs stretching the Gudrun & Gudrun to bursting.

“Got anything to say, big bro?” Kat smirked again, leaning forward. Her vast tits ballooned obscenely against the table, and I got an erection.

How are they so fucking big? I thought, my palms itching with sweat. It’s like she’s got a pair of motorcycle helmets under that sweater.

“Your argument makes no sense.” My boner was chokeslamming out my brain for monopoly over my blood supply. “How do woman giving birth prove they have a higher pain tolerance?”

“According to you, men fighting mammoths proves something, so I was pointing out that women experience worse pain.”

“The mammoths were just an example.”

Her smile became smugger. “The babies were just an example.”

Hit the eject lever, or you’ll be here for ten hours.

“Let’s agree to disagree,” I said, vengefully stabbed a streak of bacon with my fork.

“Ha!” Kat clapped her hands, her tits leaping hugely inside her sweater. “That means you lose!”

I flung the fork down. “NO, IT MEANS I THINK THE ARGUMENT IS DUMB!”

“You didn’t think it was dumb before!” Kat said. “People only ‘agree to disagree’ when they’ve lost.”

“It’s a stupid argument about nothing,” I snarled. “Grow up. There’s nothing to lose. Except your two remaining brain cells by thinking about it.”

“Let’s hear you debunk it, if it’s so stupid.”

Like Michael Corleone, you think you’re out…and then she pulls you back in.

“I can’t, Kat, because there’s nothing to disprove. It’s random nonsense you made up. Like if I said ‘hey, men have more self control than women!’ at the breakfast table and then challenged you to debunk it. See? I can play that game too!”

Kat scoffed, and tried to cross her arms over her chest. This didn’t work, due to insurmountable physical problems, and she awkwardly let them fall to her sides.

“I wouldn’t find that very hard to debunk,” she sniffed. “Everyone knows women have more self control than men.”

“No they don’t.”

“Yes they do.”

“They don’t!”

“They do!”

The sniping became an all-out shooting war. Mom and dad stood up from the table, said “goodbyes” that went completely ignored under the yelling, and left for work.

“THEY DON’T!”

“THEY DO!”

* * *

“Those damn kids fight all the time,” Mr Dennings grumbles, adjusting his yarmulke on the way to his car. The sounds of teenage bickering follows him to the car.

—They don’t!—

—They do!—

“Kat has certainly inherited her Bubbe’s stubborn streak,” Mrs Dennings says.

“Zack’s holding his own, from what I can hear.”

They’re at the end of the driveway, and can still hear the yells from the house.

—They don’t!—

—They do!—

“They’re good kids,” Mrs Dennings says. “Even if they do argue like a married couple sometimes. They have bright futures ahead of them. Kat’s doing so well with her acting. And Zack’s got his…what does he have, honey?”

Mr Dennings sighs heavily. “…His esports career. Aspiring esports career, I should say.”

*“Well, one of them has a bright future,” Mrs Dennings says, rooting around in her purse for car keys. “At least they’re not fooling around with drugs and pre-marital sex and all that other* mishegas. Remember the Finkelsteins?”

He shudders. The Finkelsteins’ daughter was caught kissing a boy at shul. Had his hand understand her sweater, according to gossip. They weren’t even engaged!

“That’s true,” he says. “At least our kids are well-behaved. We can trust what goes on in our home.”

* * *



The stereo was on—“The Black Parade”, storming forward at 194bpm.

I gasped on the couch. Jerked. My spine whiplashed against concussive bursts of pleasure.

My bratty kid sister’s tongue drooled across the head of my prick, fat and heavy. She dragged it wetly over my glans, provoking another toe-curling cascade of sensation. Agony, braided into ecstasy. Agonecstasy.

My piss slit yawned, drooling a glistening river of pre-cum down my shaft. Her clever blade-sharp tongue flashed and curved, slurping it up.

“Are you sure mom and dad are gone?” she said, tonguing my balls.

“Yeah, I heard their cars leave.”

Kneeling between my legs, Kat flipped and tugged my prick back and forth, slapping it around with lashes of a tongue like a fat pink whip. I shuddered, feeling breath wash over my genitals—followed by her whole fucking mouth.

“Your balls feel extra full this morning,” she said, pulling her head out of my crotch. “You’re not gonna win this one, big bro.”

“Try me.”

Kat reached behind her back, and undid the final hook on her 30JJ bra. It exploded from her heavy pendulous tits, the cups springing outward. Gripping my knees, she used them like balance beams to swing her huge-jugged torso forward onto my lower body.

Plop!

She swung herself down into my lap, gallons of white tit meat piling obscenely on both thighs. Using her boobs like pillows to support herself, Kat plunged her head into my crotch and began to feast.

She slurped and sucked on my prick. Her stacked boobs rippled as her head rose and fell; as mouth-noises sprayed out, as red lips pulled and tore and scythed relentlessly at my pulsating shaft.

I locked my jaw. Gritted my teeth. Tried to let the waves of pleasure surge through me and out the other side.

I will not cum. I will not cum. I will not—OOF!

My sister latched on my quivering cock, deep-throating me, grinding sticky lipstick into my itching ballsack. As I twitched at the back of her throat, I felt her hard nipples pebbling against my hairy naked legs. Two rock hard dots. Fuck Me in abstract Braille.

“Stop giving yourself a head start,” I snorted, my ankles sweating. “Let me eat your pussy.”

She backed her head off my saliva-slickened shaft enough to talk. “Can I be on top this time?”

I slid over on the couch, making space for her. “I’ll be the six. You be the nine.”

A hand flicked past me, reaching for the controls on the side of the couch. She pressed RECLINE. The couch’s back plunged back, twisting me horizontal. Eyes to the ceiling. Mind in the clouds. Feeling my sister slink and writhe from the ground up onto the couch, until her body was yin-yang opposed to mine. As her head feasted lewdly on my crotch, her feet playfully kicked me in the face.

“Ow! Stop it, Kat!” A sharp toenail almost tore out my eye.

Still not letting go of my prick with her mouth, Kat swung her body onto mine in graceful stages. Like a mountaineer; like a gymnast. Poetry stanza’d in meters of muscle and gravity. Her thick legs laced around my head, squeezing from the knees. My skull was cradled between them.

Then she rolled her hips back. Her moist cunt’s shadow swung over my face, her gash yawning like a chasm. A rope of viscous pussy juice unspooled, going plap in my eye.

“Take a deep breath,” she said, angling her hips. “Or don’t. Like I care.”

Then she pounded her meaty hips straight down on my face, engulfing me in her chubby pussy and labia.

SMACK!

Apocalypse.

Her cunt and ass and thighs swallowed half my head, burying me in a landslide of my sister’s flesh. It was like drowning in melting white chocolate. Her legs gripped my head, and her overlarge buttocks slid down my skull. I could hardly breathe. Her hot pulsing genitals seemed to flow around my face. Liquid wept from her Skene and Bartholin glands. Somewhere in that gooey mess, I found Kat’s clit, hard and shiny as a pearl, and began tongue-fucking it.

We sixty-nined on the couch, sucking and slurping each others’ genitals, each trying to make the other cum. A rude pit orchestra of moist, slapping sounds descanted from our lips.

Kat sucked and titfucked me. At the other end, she smeared her hot wet pussy over my face. Whenever she lifted up her hips, I gazed through the perspiration-slick chasm our bodies formed. Her boobs were piled in heaps of whipped cream against my lean, muscular pelvis. She scooped up her breasts, and clasped them around my cock, titwanking me while teasing the glans with her tongue—the huge jugs squelched wetly and heavily around my plunging prick.

Fuck! My brat sister’s tits had so much flow and mass and volume. They were like balloons of hot dough. I watched beads of sweat rolling slowly down the immense slopes of her udders.

How am I not cumming already?

Then she thrust her cold index finger into my asshole. A shock. A worm of wriggling ice, plunging deeply and ravenously into me.

I…I wasn’t ready.

A mind-annihilating rush tore across my prostate like a fireball, a white-hot onslaught that obliterated my entire reproductive tract into gelid spasms. Pleasure firestormed through me, wild and hot and unendurable. I would have screamed, if my mouth hadn’t been full of her fat throbbing cunt. Every muscle I possessed suddenly seemed to shorten by half. I contracted, convulsed, folded inward, tore myself apart around the finger inside my ass.

“Guhh!” I bucked my hips against her face.

My surging balls vented forth their pungent load in torrents. Grunting, writhing, squirting, I firehosed disgusting quantities of cum into her mouth.

Kat’s eyes widened as a dozen ribbons of cum sprayed into her throat. She choked and gagged on my thick genetic sludge, and yanked her head back. Mouthfuls of thick gooey sperm were HURRKed back into my crotch, followed my thrashing, ejaculating dick. It jerked around like a fish, flopping back and forth in her hand.

“Ha! You came first!” she sputtered, as white cum sprayed across the couch. “I win the argument! I win the UHHHH-GUHHHHH…AAAAAHHHH!”

My tongue stabbed forward, and punched her twat hard enough to connect the right wires. She squealed, her hips recoiled with the force of a breech-loaded shotgun blasting, and her pussy convulsed against my face.

“CUUUUUHMMMMIIIINNGG!”

Kat orgasmed ferociously, her thighs scissoring around my neck with bone-snapping force.

“OH FUCK! UHH! UHHH! UHHHH!”

Her meaty thighs jerked and jerked, as fierce rhythmic surges twisted her muscles. I was trapped in a pythonlike vortex of thighflesh, strangling me.

“UHHH! UHHH! UHHH!”

Just when I thought I’d pass out, her thighs relaxed, quivered, and unlooped from my neck.

Kat rolled off my body. Fell off the couch. Landed on the floor with a thud. I gasped for air, feeling a star-shaped explosion of of her cum cooling on my face.

For a second, there was quiet…which never lasted long in this house.

“I win again!” Kat jeered, leaping back up like a cheerleader. “I WIN AGAIN!”

She fist-pumped over my sweat and cum covered body, bouncing up and down. Her fat fucking tits went clop-clop as they clubbed against her sternum. Female ejaculate sluiced down her big jiggly thighs in double-rivers.

“Quod Erat Demonstrandum, bitch!” Kat sneered, her face flushed. “Men do have worse self control than women!”

I smiled. “You gave yourself a HUGE head start, and still only outlasted me by eight seconds!”

“I’m eight point zero, you’re late point zero!”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means I WON!” Kat giggled, her climax shunting her thoughts down weird tracks. “This calls for celebration. I’m getting drunk on mom’s cooking wine.”

“Wow, you’re such a rebel.”

“Want anything from the kitchen?”

“Nah, I’m good.” I watched the smokeshow that was my sister’s body bounce and jiggle toward our mom’s stash of Manischewitz.

We were homeschooled. Our folks would be away all day.

The house was ours. Not legally, but in every way that mattered.

With my soft cock fattening on my thigh, I wondered what other arguments I could “lose” to Kat before the day ended…

* * *



This all started when my sister accused me of jacking off into her bra cups. (Which I wasn’t, for the record. I did it in her panties, like a gentleman.)

“Stop whacking your dick to me, you perv!” she yelled. “I’m your sister! Ew!”

“I’m not whacking my dick to you!”

“Yes you are!”

“No I’m not!”

Yadda yadda for ten minutes…

Then, without meaning to, I said the most tactically brilliant thing I have ever said in my life. Some next-level Sun Tzu shit came out of my mouth.

“Kat, I know you’re full of yourself. I know this will be difficult for you to hear. But I’m not sexually attracted to you.”

Kat looked like she’d been slapped. Her mouth fell open in an O of shock.

“You? Not attracted to me? I’m sorry, but…WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?”

“I tried masturbating to you once, sis,” I said, palms out guilelessly. “But my dick wouldn’t get hard. I couldn’t fap to you if I wanted to.”

She put her hands on her hips and pouted.

“Oh, that’s so bullshit, Zack! You have a boner every time I’m in the postal district! Remember that time when—when—”

“Who’s this ‘When’? A friend of yours?”

“YOU THINK I’M HOT!” My sister fumed and flounced. This statement—that her brother didn’t find her attractive—had caused a full-blown blood infarcture in her brain. She was broken by it. “YOU WANT TO FUCK ME! DON’T DENY IT!”

“You know,” I began pleasantly, “when reality doesn’t match what we expect, our brain subtly misperceives events so that—HEY!”

She flung a pillow in my face. Followed by an entire sofa cushion. And then the family cat. Smokey miaowed, tried to claw out my eyes, and then shot down the hall like a fluffy torpedo.

I raked cat hair from my eyes to see Kat do an angry double-stomp on the floor, give a gutteral scream, and rage-walk to her room, fists pumping at her side.

“Fuck you, Zack!”

“Hey, sis!” I laughed. “Chill out. What have I done?”

“I HATE YOU SO MUCH! FUCK YOU!”

“First you’re mad that I’m fapping to you, now you’re mad that I’m not fapping to you? Make up your mind! I can’t win, can I?”

She twisted her fists back by her sides, and leaned forward. It looked comically like she was trying to take a shit. Then she spoke softly, with rising force.

“Zachary Dennings, you are a…”

The sentence abruptly became a scream, like Mufasa roaring from Pride rock.

“…LIIIIAAAAAARRRRRRRR!”

She slammed the door so hard that a sheet of dust puffed from the entire wall. I was impressed. Our house hadn’t shaken that bad in Cali’s last category 7 earthquake.

I shrugged, picked up the controller, and kept grinding my k/d.

* * *

Minutes later, Kat’s bedroom door creaked open.

I heard her feet falling behind me. Felt her breath washing across my neck.

I turned around, and saw her…

…and instantly my 2.3 k/d plunged straight to scrubtown.

Oh.

Look.

At that.

I did not know my sister had bought a black slingkini.

But as she stood between me and the TV—letting the lambent fire of Halo 2 wash across her oil-dark flesh, I knew it then. Knew it deeper than I knew the fact of my own existence.

“Hi, Mr Not Attracted To His Sister!” Kat sneered, her body lashed and laced in black, shocking and black and white and contradictory, twisting like an antimatter tornado in latex. “How do you like me now?”

Lust hit me like a hammer; made my eyes water. The Dualshock II slid from my hands.

My perspective twisted inward upon her voluptuous body, as though I was falling into a Kat Dennings-shaped black hole.

Was she wearing a slingkini or was one painted onto her body? It gripped her audacious figure like a Chinese finger trap. She posed and pirouetted, putting a hand behind her head. Mountains of flesh heaved and groaned beneath the black lycra piece.

It was way too small for her. Her tits looked obscenely enormous in the strappy black monokini. They sloshed heavily from from side to side, like balloons filled with water, tightly pinned to her chest by scandalously tiny ties which formed a V across her thick body, causing vast tidal swells of her flesh to gush out on each side. Her nipples were barely covered. Her areolas were clearly visible.

Beneath her chest, Kat’s heavy, massive PAWG ass was escaping all over the place from the tiny brief-bottom. Even from the front, you could see the way her asscheeks were getting forced out past her hips.

My dick swelled in my pants.

This does not strike me as a Shyamalan-esque plot twist, best kept from the reader until the last page.

Saliva dried up in my mouth, and I lusted with the fires of hell for my sister.

I imagined her naked. Stripped and tied up upon my bed. Bent over on the couch while I drilled her, pounding her face into a pillow. I replayed all of the hundreds of sexual fantasies I’d had about my sister in seconds, like a dying man’s life flashing on fast-forward.

I imagined shredding the slingkini with my grasping hands—easily done, there was barely any fabric to tear—and filling my hands with her enormous jiggling tits. I wanted many things, so many things, that the wants were drops of water in a boiling dark sea of need.

Kat slid onto my lap, smirking and impudent and juvenile. The morals of a forty-year-old bawd and the attitude of a bratty toddler. My cock bulged and swelled, throbbing against her thigh.

“Ha!” she said smugly, wrapping a commanding arm around my sweaty neck. “Looks like you were full of shit, big bro! You can’t get enough of me! Of this!”

I could have backed down. Probably should have backed down. But in that moment, I saw the world through her eyes.

I was inside The Katrix.

My sister was psychologically shattered. A broken piece of human wreckage whose ego and sense of worth was tied to being right.

Winning arguments was the only thing she valued or cared about. If she couldn’t win, she was nothing. She’d just stripped down to an outfit that was somehow more naked than nakedness itself—in front of her biological brother, who she’d just accused of masturbating to her—to win an irrelevant side-dispute. This was what mattered. This was all that mattered. Winning.

Only an evil brother would exploit this knowledge.

Unluckily for her, I am an evil brother. Or at least an angry one. One desperate to repay years of old hurts.

“Hmm…” I said, letting a supercilious smile cross my face. “Well, I am definitely hard…but there’s a catch.”

Scowling brattily, she leaned forward. Her ballast-balloon tits made the slingkini straps sag and strain. “…what?”

“I think it’s because of the slingkini. Not your body, so much. Danny DeVito could wear that shit and give me a boner.”

Her face tensed. “You have fucking problems, big bro.”

A smile curved out, cracking the ice of my face.

“My dick wouldn’t be hard if you were naked, Kat.”

And that set her off again.

She yelled. Screamed the roof down. Fought tooth and nail. YES IT WOULD YES IT WOULD YES IT WOULD! Marshalled facts and evidence and corroborations like a heavyweight corporate lawyer who bills by the picosecond.

But in the end, there was only one way she could prove she was right.

Are you figuring out the rest? Because Katherine Dennings still hasn’t.

Sure, Kat. You’re naked, and my dick’s a tiny bit hard. But I wouldn’t be able to cum if you gave me a handjob.

…Or if you gave me a blowjob.

…Or if I fucked your pussy..

…Or if you let me put it in your asshole.

Go ahead, sis.

Prove me wrong.

Inside her is an unstoppable force that leaves only fire and ashes in its wake. A force that doesn’t care where it pointed. The force could be aimed right at her dignity, her chastity, her soul, and she wouldn’t care.

She loves winning arguments.

And I, by the grace of God, have learned to love losing them.

* * *



Her hand was folded in mine, a hot little leaf.

We adjourned upstairs, to the master bedroom. The whole time, I felt her pulse spike inside her wrist. Kathump kathump.

We left our clothes behind on the floor. I guess we forgot.

Naked, we shut the bedroom door and faced each other before the doublewide bed.

My throbbing boner wobbled from my hips, a massively thick hose of dense, rubbery flesh and muscle, nine point five inches long. It pointed straight at her naked slit, like a rod divining water.

She gripped my penis with her hand, and stroked it until rivers of slippery precum gleamed down her wrist.

We were about to fuck on our parents’ bed. This was something we did more than frequently. It was probably the exact same bed they’d conceived us on—kind of gross, but they had a doublewide, and Kat and I just had singles.

There was a blanket laid out the bed, to absorb the messes Kat tended to make when we screwed. I hadn’t put it there. She must have, early in the morning.

That made me smile. I had my turbobitch of a sister well-trained. Even before the breakfast argument, she knew how the day was going to go for her. Legs spread wide.

“You aren’t gonna win this time, sis,” I sneered, relishing the ripple of uncertainty that passed through her abundant flesh as she felt my cock throb with kegels contractions. “I’ve got you dead to rights.”

What was the argument again? I wondered. I forget.

She locked her eyes against mine, and squared her shoulders.

“Put your dick where your mouth is, big bro.”

I gripped her shoulders, and pushed her back onto the bed.

As she fell backward into space, I lunged forward on top of her, driving my cock into her pussy as we landed in a tangle on the bed.

She gasped. Her bubble-butt crashed and wobbled as I slammed my shaft into her with a disgusting, meaty sound.

SLLUUUURRRKKK!

I got three inches inside before she clenched, holding me out.

Our eyes flashed. Clashed. She started squeezing her pelvic floor muscles, pulsing her pubococcygeus and iliococcygeus, trying to force me out of her cunt. A game she liked to play. Not one I found hard to win, though.

Slowly, methodically, I sheared through her her resisting pussy muscles. My hips punched and jerked their way through her snaking vice of flesh, burrowing a slippery tunnel through her twat. We giggled as our bodies shared heat. As we felt heartbeats exploding double-time through our blood-engorged genitals. As my prick slid deeper, deeper, inexorably deeper.

Her hips rolled and thrashed. Her walls squirmed, defied, and ultimately broke.

My twisting, writhing organ fought and fucked a long, slippery path all the way to the bottom. Her bottom. I just clenched my ass and my teeth and my hand around her neck, and brutally tore her open.

SHPLAT! SHLUCKK!

“UGHH!”

My cock truncheoned home, my balls smacking against her quivering flesh. Kat’s eyes became massive and fearful as my fat shaft lay throbbing inside her, balls-deep.

I had broken her.

Kat lay wide-eyed, impaled on her brother’s huge obscene prick…and giggled.

She was drunk. She had absolutely assraped that bottle of Manischewitz our mom kept in the pantry. I probably should have cut her off after the third tumbler—mom would notice if we stole too much of it.

But now, I had more pressing concerns. As did my sister.

Like a rutting bull, I sunk my cock into the warm slippery hole between her twitching thighs, hungrily fucking my sister. I took balls-deep strokes through Kat Denning’s seething, roiling twat. In. Out. In. Out. She shuddered and swore, wrapping arms around my shoulders, as though I could protect her from my own storm.

Her huge throwpillow-sized breasts jiggled in her armpits with each meaty impact.

SQUELCH! SPLORCH!

When I stabbed into her, her pussy released my prick with a wicked suctioning pull. Harder to get out than to get in. It was as if she…didn’t want me to leave.

With each thrust, pleasure detonated through my body. My vision streaked. My skin gleamed, as though my fast-running sweat was liquid moonlight. The room seemed to vibrate, to swell and bleed like a wild and cosmic heart.

My surging, foaming penis was plugged into גיהנום, into Gehenom, into Yiddish hell. I was fucking my own damnation, raping the afterworld. My eyes rolled back with an overwhelming blast of pleasure, as though they didn’t want to witness what was coming.

SHUNT! SPLIRT! SCHLORP!

Fluid gushed out. My pummeling rutting thrusts sprayed between her legs and onto the towel. A wet stain was spreading like the bloom of a vile, sinful flower. One we were fertiziling, watering, admiring.

Huge tits catapulting, Kat bellowed like a beast under my slamming prick. My moist shaft filled her like a hand filling a glove. Snakelike, she twisted her hips around my prick, churning and chewing at it with contractions of her pelvic floor muscles. She matched my stare, gripped my shoulders, and fucked straight back at me. She gave what she got.

Which sex has greater self-control? Men or women?

Yes. My balls swung and smacked meatily against the brown ring of her convulsing asshole. That’s what the argument was about.

I had convinced my stubborn—but rather gullible—sister that our previous experiment 69’ing on the couch didn’t count to settle our dispute.

I mean, she had given herself a hellaciously big head start. Literally.

We’d fuck the debate out.

SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT!

“Don’t cum in me,” Kat gasped in panic.

“Relax,” I tapped a box of condoms. “I have these.”

My sister gritted her teeth, and locked her ankles behind my plunging ass.

“Good for you. Are you gonna use them?”

“Probably,” I gritted out.

“Probably?” Her anxious squawk was swallowed by the wet rasps of my shaft defiling her cunt. “What does that mean?”

SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT!

“Don’t sweat the small stuff,” I said, pinning one of her thighs to the bed for support.

“But if I do get you pregnant, what do you think about ‘Avi’ for a boy’s name? Your choice if it’s a girl.”

“Zack, NOOOOOOOO!!!”

For long minutes, I pummeled the shit out of her bitch cunt. The world sped away on wings of fire. Her legs thrashed beside my hips, feet waving dizzily in the air beside my body like butterfly wings, boobs jolting with each musky squelch of my cock sinking through her engorged labial lips.

SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT!

I gazed down at the seesawing girlish figure cock-pinned beneath me.

Huge tits—as massive and as bulbous as pumpkins—volleyballed up and down her chest as I stroked my dick into her. They spun around unpredictably, clubbing and rebounding in complex figure-of-eight patterns as kinetic energy flowed out to her extremities. Her erect nipples sped in blurs of light, seeming to write letters in some ancient language.

I clenched my teeth and picked up the pace. The wobbling of her tits accelerated. Her nipples became incoherent streaks of motion as my hips feasted lewdly at her sluthole, and then even this halting attempt at language vanished.

This was a dark realm where writing and speech ceased to matter.

Screams? They was still an option.

SPLATSPLATSPLAT!

I bottomed out in her twat. She roared and howled like a demon, arching her back as my sweaty chest thundered onto her.

She glanced down. A cock considerably thicker than our wrists was stretching her out. Her petals swelled like a sleeve before me.

My big teenaged erection flexed massively, just the root visible inside her. She gasped as I wriggled around a little.

Then she orgasmed.

Her face seemed to break like glass. Raptures of pleasure flashed and surged under her flesh, muscles going taut and then relaxing. A lightning storm was fulgurating beneath her skin.

“OHH! OOOOHHHHH!!! FUUUUUCKK YEAHHHH!” she whined out brazenly, squeezing her eyes shut.

For over forty seconds, her pussy sleeve spasmed around my fuck-prong like a sock made of knotted living eels.

“You’re cumming,” I grinned, delighted to have held onto my sperm.

“No!” she squealed, with her her pelvic floor muscles chugging frantically, going jerk-jerk-jerk in that tell-tale way. “I’m not! I’M NOT! I’M…UGH…I’M NOT!”

I grasped her heavy asscheeks, which even from the front were splayed on each side of her body, and began giving her the business.

“Good. Then I’m not done.”

CLAP, SCHLAP, SCHLAP, SCHLAP, CLOP!

My balls slapped and exploded, while I hammered her squirt-drooling slot. Fucking with sledgehammer speed, I made her scream and scream. Flesh trembled everywhere it could tremble.

I slid straight to the bottom of my sister, feeling her clitoris throb against my cock as she climaxed again.

“UHHHHHHH!” she wriggled so hard she almost tore my dick off my body. More pulses of squirt washed out.

“Let’s see if we can make it three!” I slammed her to the bed. Her eyes opened—mute, meek, submissive—as her brutal sex-obsessed brother resumed defiling her precious rose.

FIve minutes later, she orgasmed once again. She screamed her throat hoarse, with her pussy blasting like a cannonade. I grabbed her hips and stabbed my prick in as deeply as I could, stoking the fires swallowing her mind.

My own sanity had fled some minutes ago.

Like a beast, like a brutish ape, I thrust and stabbed and fucked my engorged cock through her drooling cunt. I didn’t know how close I was to cumming. But I did not think it was far.

Kat’s face had enervated to a glassy corpselike sheen. Her perpetually-amused card-sharp’s eyes were crossed-eyed and punched-out blank. Drool pulsed in ropes from her gaping mouth, which gasped like a landed trout’s. The end was close.

“Uh! Uh! Uh!”

I rutted and fucked until my balls started to rise between her foaming hips.

“Uh! Uh! Uh!”

I ran the minutes down into seconds.

“Kat, I’m gonna cum!”

Her nostrils flared with a surge of panic. “Uh! Uh! Uh! THE CONDOM, ZACK! UGHH!”

Oh, shit.

Cock throbbing, cum preparing to surge up from my testes, I pulled my spasming prick out of her sucking pussy, and strapped on a condom. The vile rubber scent hit me like a slap. I prayed I hadn’t broken it as it slid over my dick, but didn’t quite care enough to check.

Then I fucked and fucked and fucked, grasping her fat tits, clapping together in obscene rhythm. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

I bottomed out, my cock powering into her inner sanctum. Rivers of hot vaginal muscle seemed to snake over my penis, searing it, trying to wrench it apart. My orgasm snuck up on me, and then lunged out of the shadows with a pipe wrench. My prostate contracted and then blew up like a bomb.

Grinding and lurching and thrusting, I relaxed my PC muscles, and released my load.

Fat cum bursts hosed through my dick, spewing into the Trojan. I felt resistance as it swelled with my load, and the next half-dozen squirts had nowhere to go. My jizz was firing into a tight blob of goopy genetic sludge, swirling in a circle. I hoped it wouldn’t burst. My cumshots had broken condoms inside my sister before. I didn’t pray. Didn’t seem like the prayer would find a receptive audience right now.

Balls drained, I relaxed. Slackening against her curving, shuddering flesh.

Then I pulled out.

Kat’s cunt released its prey with a lewd slurp. There was an obscene belch as my head popped free of her slit, dragging the bloated condom with it.

My half-flaccid cock slung low and heavy, the lime-green Trojan glistening in the light. A sperm-wad the size of a golfball dangled from the drooling tip. Not bad for my second cumshot in the past hour.

“Did I win?” I asked her. “You came first that time.”

“No!” She panted, overwhelmed and dick-drunk. “That wasn’t an orgasm! I was faking, you dumbass!”

“What about the next two? Were they also fake?”

“Well, okay, maybe I kind of had an orgasm or two!” she admitted. “But I allowed myself to cum! Because I have enough self-control to fuck after I have an orgasm. Unlike every man on Earth.”

“Men have a refractory period,” I told her, flicking a nipple on her big breast. It wobbled like jelly on a plate. “We can’t go another round, straight after cumming. That’s a girl thing.”

It was strange, what provoked her brain to enter argument mode. You couldn’t really call it.

Deeply wounding insults? Shrugged off. Stupid Reddit-tier bullshit about whether hotdogs count as sandwiches? Game on.

And strangely, the dual-word refractory period was like dumping a bull into a red flag factory.

“I read in Cosmo that those are a myth…” she snapped, eyebrows furrowed. “They don’t actually exist. Please don’t insult my intelligence by presuming they do.”

I lifted a huge heavy tit and pressed it into her face. She writhed as voluminous titflesh spilled over her mouth.

“I say they do exist,” I said, playfully suffocating my sister with her oversized left boob. “Do not argue this with me. I have a penis, and you don’t. So how would you know?”

“Mmmff! MMMFFFF!” Fists balled up in fury.

I grinned. “Compelling counterargument, sis, but I am unpersuaded. You cannot possibly get me hard again, Kat. Don’t even try.”

* * *

At work, Mr Dennings grows distracted. His subordinates see it on his face; ask him if something’s wrong. He says no; wonders if it’s true.

Something’s going on with his children.

The fights. The arguments. The slammed doors. The sulks and rages. There’s a dynamic there that he doesn’t understand and doesn’t much trust. Strange rivers run fast and deep inside his home.

Perhaps he’s imagining it all. Perhaps he’s taking a small thing and making it into a big thing.

Or perhaps he’s not.

The morning rolls across to the afternoon. The sense of wrongness is like a piece of food stuck in his teeth. He can’t get it out and can’t leave it alone. Suspicion gains form and shape in his mind…their bickering…it has an element of…

What had his wife said…?

Zack and Kat fight like an old married couple.

Yes.

Except no. Not quite.

They argue like a couple about to be married.

Kat and Zack’s rage-filled, venom-flecked spats remind him of young lovers, burning in the hottest ardency of courtship. Not arguing. Flirting. Sparring. Sizing each other up as potential mates. Are you the one? Prove it. Win my heart. Put me through hell. Make me hate you, if you can. See if love survives or dies against the worst storm you can conjure. Prepare me for marriage with you—show me the worst it will ever be.

His children act like they’re in love! Maybe in lust!

He feels sick. This explanation fits their behavior like a key in a lock. You only care so much about a person you want to fuck.

Oy vey. God puts us on a question mark the size of the planet, doesn’t he?

Eventually, it’s time to go home. If only he knew what home he’s going back to.

Maybe he’s just being stupid. He hopes so. Because he’s imagining his children doing something too awful to even contemplate.

* * *

Brat sister.

Brat sister trapped beneath my thumping hips.

Brat sister held in a mating press, her feet on my shoulders, her big hot tits flooding my palms, my cock pounding a thrice-a-second drumbeat through her obscenely slurping pussy, rolling through forthy squelchy girl-cum like a butter churner, her mouth scream-scream-screaming like the bells of hell.

I lost track of time.

The air stank of sex. The room seemed to spin in dizzying circles around my pumping hips. Stars and black edges corroded vision’s edges as I fucked my sister’s gaping sluthole faster and faster, smashing her to pieces with my lunging hips.

“UGH! Fuck me!” Kat goaded me between strokes, legs buckling like springs as I tore through her. Her moist pussy took my cock to the root again and again, her labial petals erupting outward, as though I was making her bloom with my rutting.

“Fuck me harder, big bro! Harder! That’s pussy shit! Dick me like you MEEAAAANNN IIIIITTT!”

Her fingernails curled and gripped my clawed-to-shreds back as it swung up and down on top of her.

Breathing in crotch-musk and sweat, ears blown out with her orgasmic screams—what was she up to by now? Thirteen? Fourteen?—every muscle from my iliac belt down blazing with fire, I pummeled her into the mattress.

The windows around us were fogging up. Everything was dripping wet. I sledgehammered my cock into her relentlessly, my hips blurring forward, driving apart her labia minora. Swinging a nine inch length of cockmeat into devouring depths.

“UHHH! UHHH! UHHHHH! HARRRRDER!”

She snatched the back of my head and yanked my face down into her dark, suffocating oubliette that was her chest.

Hot, sweaty, balloon-sized tits exploded over my face, obscuring me in a blob of sweat-dripping tit-meat. Her skin sang saltily on my slurping tongue. Her nipples pebbled against my twitching eyeballs.

“FUCK ME!” Kat wailed, as I motorboated her massive saggy tits. “COME ON, ZACK! PROVE YOU’RE A REAL MAN! FUCK ME!”

Sloppy, wet fuck-noises drummed out. Making the walls bleed and echo with rampant, stupid incestuous teenage sex.

I ploughed a trench through her bubblegum-pink pussy. Her meaty body shuddered and rocked beneath the raw kinetic energy I was dumping into her. I glanced at her and laughed: she was a mess! Fucked up as well as fucked!

Her slack pigtails were beginning to unweave from their braids, from the tips on up, Her makeup had poured away in rivers onto the bed, leaving her face beet-red and haggard. My sister was being pounded to pieces by my dick. She was coming apart. Exploding like an overloaded transformer.

She orgasmed again. Then again, seemingly just seconds later. Her climaxes were rolling into each other like cars in a motorway pileup. We rutted frantically, obsessively. Kat’s ginormous tits wobbled wildly, cannonballing across her chest like massive watermelons. Amazing that she wasn’t knocking herself unconscious with those things as we fucked. Or knocking me unconscious. Sweat flew from them in a wild spray.

“ZACK YOU’RE MAKING ME CUUUHHHH—” She howled blindly, a mad thing, her body arcing forward into mine.

Our hips crashed. Circuits connecteted. And I hit my limit.

Grunting, I gripped her colossal tits, and squeezed them hard enough to make her bellow in agony.

Twisting them like handles, I slugged my ass into her, and shot my load.

My balls collapsed, blasting and vomiting and spewing out a river of disgusting thick cum. I gave short, sharp gasps as I jerked out my load inside the condom. Inside my sister.

I bucked and rocked and finally lay still. Exhaustion smashed down on me like an anvil. I lay on her, using her jugs as pillows, unable to imagine ever moving from this place and person again.

But as the blood-tinged thunder of orgasm fizzed away in my ears, she smiled and looped her arm around my shoulder…it seemed romantic…

…until the arm shoved me off.

“Fuck you, Zack.” Smiling.

“Double fuck you with a side of fries, Kat.” Smiling wider.

“Limp-cocked sisterfucking videogame-playing argument-losing nerd.” Grinning with some of her teeth.

“Cocksucking streetcorner-walking sperm-hoovering whorenado.” Grinning with all of mine.

(Feminists low-key have a point. Female-centered insults are way more brutal than male-centered insults. Still, that’s kind of a skill issue, ladies. It’s not as though we men don’t have flaws.)

We lay tangled in bed together for some minutes, marking time, happily bantering back and forth.

I became soft inside her oozing cunt. My cock itched as it slid back, the circumcized glans catching maddeningly against the folds and ridges of her vaginal rugae.

With a gasp, I pulled out of her. My cock tugged free with the disgusting SCHLUUUUUCKKKKK of a boot yanked out of ankle-deep mud. Her pussy stayed open for a couple of seconds, then closed like the shutting of a cyclopian eye.

I ripped the condom away, tied a knot in it one-handed, and laid it beside four others on the windowsill. They looked like a parade of murdered slugs.

I panted.

She panted.

I saw stars.

She saw victory.

“See?” she said, gulping down air. “Men don’t have a refractory period. You can orgasm just as many times as I can. Guys are just too lazy to satisfy women, so they make up a bullshit story. It’s Blue Balls 2.0.”

“Yeah,” I said, dazed and happy. “I guess you were right.”

“Of course!” Kat preened, transported with delight. “I’m always right! About everything!”

“Even when you claimed the moon was made of powdered toast?”

“I was four years old when I said that!” Kat punched me in the shoulder. “And also I was sort of right when you consider that one of the main ingredients in bread these days is—oh, never mind! What do you want to do now? Fuck some more?” Her eyes were hopeful. She sat up, cupping her huge bra-busters. They were so big they made her hands invisible beneath their heavy twin bulks.

I considered it. But then a car door slammed in the driveway.

Our driveway.

Oh, fuck. That’s not good.

I glanced, and saw dad’s Kia Picanto sitting there like a dog ready to attack. Dad had gotten out, casting a long shadow toward the house.

We made eye contact, color draining from our faces.

“I didn’t hear him park!” Kat squeaked, face imploding with horror.

We freaked.

The room exploded into chaos. Our clothes were still downstairs. No time to get them. I yanked the towel off the bed that we’d used to soak up Kat’s ejaculate. It had completely soaked through, leaving a wet spot on the bed. Fuck my life. If I blame the cat on that, will they believe it?

“This is your fault!” Kat yelled, spraying Febreze in wild arcs. “If he catches us, I’m telling him you started it!”

“Shut up!” I hissed, throwing open windows. “This isn’t the time!”

I pressed my ear to the floor, and heard the downstairs door swing open. Footsteps echoed through the house.

Dad called our names, then continued walking toward us.

Come on, dad. Don’t come upstairs. Do something in the living room. Or the garden. Or the kitchen. THERE’S NO CHANCE YOU COME UPSTAIRS.

The footsteps tracked from the hall to the stairs….

…and began to climb.

We shared a mortified glance as the treads creaked.

With nowhere else to go, we pulled open the walk-in closet, bundled ourselves inside, and pulled the door shut.

It was cramped. Hot. My sister’s naked body pressed flush against mine, boobs pillowing hotly on my chest. Despite the circumstances, I began to get another erection. Come on, stupid penis. Now is not the time.

Thud. Thud.

Or maybe it was.

If dad discovered us, it would be the last boner of my life.

Thud. Thud.

We waited and waited. The closet was stifling. Our sweaty, sex-stinking bodies turned it into a sauna. A fur coat was pressed into my eye, itching. I felt a spider race down my leg in a flurry of legs. My sister wouldn’t stop squirming—she was antsy and excited.

Outside, we heard the door swing open. Dad entered the room.

I began to wonder what, precisely, would happen if he pulled open the door and discovered us. A lot of dominos would go crash for me at once.

My bar mitzvah allowance: gone. My college fund: converted into ETFs. My balls: removed with a blunt and rusty spoon (if I was lucky).

Depending on how disgusted my parents were with me, I might end up in prison. It was far too late to have this realization, but I don’t think you’re legally allowed to fuck your sister in the State of California. Probably should have Googled that before sticking my dick in her.

Teflon Kat would be able to wriggle her way out of punishment. She always did. She’d invent some bullshit lie about how her acting instructor was telling her to get spontaneously naked around those she loved to push her out of her comfort zone, or some Lee Strasbergian horseshit, and while they wouldn’t believe her, she’d argue for six hours until they dropped the subject.

I lacked my sister’s mix of elocution and stubbornness. I’d be punished with the fires of hell. They wouldn’t believe me. Not that I deserved to be believed, in any case.

I’d instigated our incestuous relationship. It takes two to tango, but only one to lead.

This was my fault. And only my fault.

Oh God, what have I done…

I squeezed my eyes shut, sick with fear and shame and horror and lust, hearing my dad walk circles around the room. Looking. Searching. Hunting.

On the verge of yanking open the door and finding.

Then his phone rang. He answered it.

Breath gathering with the heaviness of cement in our lungs, we listened to one half of a conversation.

Hello?…Bubeleh, what’s wrong?…Your car won’t start?…You need a jump? Where are you…okay, I’ll be there in twenty minutes with jumper leads…Love you too. Bye.

He hung up, muttered something, and strode from the room. Twenty seconds later, the roar of his car starting thrummed through the closet. He was driving away.

We opened the wardrobe, and stepped back out, gasping for air as we watched the car speed from view.

“We got away with it,” Kat whispered, feeling my boner throb against her leg. “He doesn’t know.”

“I guess.” Adrenaline was fucking killing me.

Then I looked into my sister’s eyes.

Her smirking lips formed an incongruous red arch on her pale complexion, like a red diamond on a white playing card. A surprise, whenever I saw it. Often it meant she thought she’d won.

Now, it meant we’d both won.

She dropped to her knees with a practiced dip, and that red smile began performing fellatio.

She began to feed on my exhausted, slurping and gulping hungrily. Rivulets of thick mucus-flecked saliva dribbled down the hardening base of my penis as she devoured it.

I wondered if forty minutes was enough for one more pummel-session on dad’s bed.

My cock swelled. As blood rushed into it, guilt flooded out of me. Introspection? Remorse? Nah.

SQUELCH PLAP SCHLORP SKLCH

I ran fingers through my sister’s thick lustrous braids while she swallowed my cock, and smirked in victory. I got away with it, dad.

Where there is no arrest, there is no crime.

* * *

Mr Dennings opens the door, and walks through the house.

In the living room, the couch is reclined back. He sighs, and presses the button. It straightens with a snap.

As the backrest surges upward, he notices white splatters plastered over it. They catch the light. He doesn’t know what they are.

“ZACHARY! KATHERINE!”

He wants to talk to his children. Wants to hear their voices, their descriptions of what they do all day—this day, in particular. He will question them alone, and see if their stories match. If they don’t, he will worry. If they do, he will worry, but less.

He can’t find his kids anywhere. That makes him worry most of all.

But he finds their clothes, lying on the floor. He clucks his tongue. Messy kids. Eighteen years old and still not putting away after themselves. Imagine!

Jeans and a man’s t-shirt. Zack’s.

A woman’s shirt, full-figured high-waisted jeans, panties, and a bra. Kat’s.

He stops.

Picks up the bra.

He considers it, his stomach flip-flopping quasily. Kat is such a zaftig girl. Not tall, but thick. Massive across the chest. He’s still stunned by how much and how quickly she’s grown. Breasts like waterbarrels wobble under her shirts and jackets of everything she wears.

He lifts up the 30JJ bra, and ponders the secrets of its hemispheres. Each cup is bigger than his head. He sniffs, smells, fills his nostrils with the pungent body-stink of his daughter’s boob sweat. He’s shocked when he starts getting aroused.

Excited by his own child…

Shame and disgust at what he just did floods him. He throws the bra away, sickened at himself. Why do that? Why?

She’s his daughter…

He wonders if this is the psychological root of his suspicion. Does he suspect incest because he wants to perform incest? It’s a shame that the things you most need to discuss on a therapist’s couch are also the things you are societally gated away from ever mentioning to anyone except a criminal judge.

Mr Dennings climbs the stairs, concern eating at him.

He opens the bedroom, and steps inside.

The odd smell is stronger. He wonders if an animal has crawled into the walls and died. His lips curl in disbelief. Things are not messy, but different. Not as he left it.

What is going on here? What is he missing?

Then he gets a call from his wife. Her car battery is flat. She needs a jump-start.

Very well. He goes to leave the room, but, something catches his eye.

A box, resting on the windowsill. A beam of light frames it perfectly, as if God is drawing his eye onto it.

He approaches the box. Lifts and turns it. His eyes narrow. Suspicion lithifies to stone.

TROJAN MAGNUM LARGE-SIZE CONDOMS - LUBRICATED

He has not had sex with his wife for thirteen years, and has never practiced contraception.

He goes to pick up Mrs Dennings. But along the way, he stops off at a Best Buy. There, he makes a purchase.

A small, easily-disguised security camera.

TO BE CONTINUED

[Money]

Thankfully my sister was nothing like Kat still this was a fantastic story the sex was plenty hot and the tension leading into the sex scenes was totally worth the read can't wait to see where it goes from here

[HER_ABHORRED_SHEARS]

Thankfully my sister was nothing like Kat still this was a fantastic story the sex was plenty hot and the tension leading into the sex scenes was totally worth the read can't wait to see where it goes from here

Thanks Money—you're a mensch.

I have rewritten large parts of this story to fix spelling/grammar mistakes and various smoothbrained moments (like mistaking Don Vito for Michael Corleone)

[HER_ABHORRED_SHEARS]

Summary: Kat Dennings and her brother continue their stormy love-hate-hate-hate relationship at the beach.

* * *



Big Tits and Correct Opinions 2 - The Beach

We went to the beach that weekend. I spent the whole car ride arguing with my sister.

—The concept of straight people was invented during the Catholic reformation—

—No, it wasn’t—

—Hamsters can go an entire month without drinking—

—Your brain can go an entire month without thinking—

—Jewish women have big breasts so we can survive longer in concentration camp conditions. It’s an adaptive trait, much like the camel and his hump—

—Kat, what the actual FUCK is wrong with you—

Mom and dad were subjected to this stupidity all the way from Monterey Park to Santa Monica. Google “LA traffic” for a glimpse into their hell. They’re the true heroes of the story—when I look back at what we put them through, I’m amazed that we weren’t put up for adoption. Or aborted. I think there are laws against terminating fetuses that are 1) eighteen years old and 2) legal adults, but where there’s a will, there’s a way.

Eventually, the yelling from the back seat wore through dad’s patience. He snatched up a large cushion from the floor—our Bubbe used it for lumbar support—and wedged it upright across the middle console, completely blocking the space between the front and rear seats. This cut down on the noise. It also meant they couldn’t quite see what we were doing.

The arguing stopped.

Our gazes flicked sideways, clashing in the air like fencing sabers.

Kat smirked. I smirked back. She kicked my ankle. I kicked hers.

Her hand slid onto my lap—radiant pale fingers, tipped in Goth-black nailpolish. My penis swelled under her touch, thickening into a fat hose of flesh that extended halfway to my knee.

She wriggled close, grinding her oversexed body into mine.

Her chest ploughed like a stormfront into my side. I was suddenly aware of hot teenage titflesh ballooning against my arm, engulfing it like a tide of warm bread dough.

A shudder twisted through me.

I felt lust—sickening, mouth-drying lust—for my sister.

Kat sneered and stuck out her tongue—a rude flash of pink, zipped back inside her cheek so fast your reaction wasn’t fuck you but did I even see that? Today, her makeup was fuck-all-my-shit-up red lipstick and corpse-white foundation, and black eyeliner that knifed along the upper lash line. It was clubbing makeup, wildly inappropriate for the beach. I assumed she had done this on purpose, in the hopes someone would argue with her on the subject. She also wore a 90s raver puffer jacket. The chest projected out almost a foot from her body.

Bang! The car hit a pothole, and Kat Dennings’ tits became twenty kittens in a sack.

Wobbling, bouncing, jiggling, rippling, quaking, spilling, quivering. The obscene breastquake took nearly ten seconds to subside. Whatever she wore under that polyester jacket, it wasn’t a bra.

She stroked my hardening cock through my pants. I had already ejaculated a few times that morning—Kat had woken me up with a handjob in bed, and then titfucked me while I was on the toilet (she’s classy like that). Combined with the pelvis-wrecking amount of incest we’d committed the previous day, I was somewhat horny, but not desperately so.

But I knew we would be ditching our parents, our clothes, and our morality at the beach, as soon as possible. Probably sooner.

I undid the zipper of her jacket, and went exploring.

My hand hit skin. A billowing, scalding ocean of it.

I grasped a bowling-ball sized mass of teenage titflesh. It strained ponderously against a tight latex strap that was seemingly thin enough to floss your teeth with. She’s wearing the black slingkini! My erection slid forward another inch under my shorts, catching painfully on a fold, then going slap as it burst out against my thigh.

I hefted Kat’s huge left 30JJ jug. Palming and squeezing the monstrous soccer-ball of a breast, I turned it into a stress ball, gripping so hard that ribbons of boob smooshed out between my clasping fingers. Fondling her huge tit seemed dangerous. The huge mammary was big enough to swallow my entire hand to the wrist like quicksand.

How much can we get away with before we arrive at the beach?

I glanced to the front seat.

Mom and dad weren’t even looking. With the pillow obstructing the middle console, they would have to twist their heads almost Exorcist-far to see us.

Keep arguing, Kat’s lips arched soundlessly, or they’ll get suspicious.

I nodded. Right.

“So…Kat,” I began innocently as I rhythmically slapped her overfed left breast against its mate. “What’s the best cartoon?”

clap…clap…clap…

“Well, naturally it’s The Smurfs.” She kept up an expression of injured annoyance as I molested her. “The finest cartoon ever made.”

plap…plap…plap… The clapping noise changed frequency as her cleavage moistened with sweat.

“The Smurfs sucks a fat chode.” I said.

“Kill yourself.”

“Sorry, but that show is horrendous.” I found a nipple; caressed it until it jutted like a thorn against my hand. “I was hoping you’d namedrop a merely somewhat gay show like My Little Pony. But The Smurfs? Yikes. I am lost on that one, sis.”

Kat flushed red, feeling my hand crawling down her body like a spider.

Breast. Belly button.

Lower. Lower. Lower.

Her expression fluttered uncertainly as my fingers pushed further and deeper beneath the jacket, splitting her thighs apart, seeking heat, seeking wet. I fingered her aroused labia lips; traced circles around her clitoris.

Then I went inside her. Her eyeballs bulged in their sockets.

shlick shlick shlick…

“The Smurfs is an uh-amazing show!” Kat gasped as I wove a finger against her transverse perineal. The rhythm of her breath quickened, then broke to rags. “When I was fuh-fourteen, I wrote a paper on how, far from being anti-Semitic as is commonly believed, it’s a pussy…uh, positive portrayal of a 19th century Russian shtetl, with Papa Smurf as p-patriarch. I got an A for that paper! Or maybe a B!”

“…Or maybe a C. Or maybe a D. Or maybe an F.” I started a wicked chainsawing rhythm against her lust-fattened clit. “It’s no shtetl I’d want to live in, that’s for sure. What kind of society has a billion men and one woman? Count me out.”

“Watch the show, retard.” My sister squirmed as she was fingerbanged. “Smurfette is not a real smurf. She was created by Gargamel as a trick. If you’d ever actually seen The Smurfs, you would know that—OOH!”

My fingers machine-gunned her writhing slick hole, jackhammering her clit, masturbating her to sanity’s brink. I saw her biting back moans.

“So there are no female smurfs?” I leaned in, applying more pressure. “It’s a world where females don’t exist unless a wizard creates them to deceive you? Real feminist stuff, sis.”

shlick shlick shlick…

Half my arm was inside her jacket, attacking her like a blocked pipe. Wet plosive sounds squelched out. She was leaking down my wrist, trailing streams of girl-gunk onto the car seat.

Kat’s head tilted back, and her mouth slid open. Her tongue and lips trembled. She looked like a person trying to hold back a sneeze.

“Still waiting for your point, Kat.” I grinned and pounded my hand into her cunt.

“My point is ‘watch shit before popping off about it’.” Kat snarled, teeth shining with hate. “OMMMFHH! ZACK! UHHH!”

With one spiking stroke, I splayed my fingers out in her pink depths. Her breath sharpened, pleasure grinding it to a point. Her hindquarters pulled bowstring-tight around my squelching fingers. She squirmed, frantic with need, her gooey twat sucking me deeper.

Foreseeing a mess on the upholstery, I reached for the extra napkins I’d ordered at the McDonalds drive-through (along with an extra square of butter, which we’ll get to when we get to), and worked them under her jacket, too.

Blissed out, my hand buried up her twat, Kat began to forcefully rock against my wrist. Thick discharge surged and drooled out of her vagina in bubbling rivers. Her body became witless shuddering meat around my fingers.

“Alllsooooo…!” Kat cried, as shudders made her chest clap on its own. “Get your own opinions, you fake! You’re obviously repeating some stale joke you heard on SomethingAwful! You’re like those people who ask why J-Jack doesn’t get on the door at the end of Titanic, even though if you WATCH THE FILM we CLEARLY SEE him try to d-do that and, and—UGH! Stop it! I’m gonna—!”

Stickily, messily, I rooted my hand inside her sucking cunt. Hot quivering hips enclosed me. Her lips gasped, and her muscles tensed against my invasion. Her eyes focused on something far in the distance, something only she could see.

I knew that face.

An orgasm was seconds away.

I twisted my index and middle finger in skin-searing circles around her clit; syncopating it against the savage driving stabs of my middle and ring. My little finger looped around, found her asshole, and plunged messily into it, too. Her eyes opened like shutters. She clapped a hand over her mouth to stop the noises.

“Zack! Please do something! I’m about to—BUHHHHH!”

Under attack from every orifice, Kat’s entire body buckled like a dynamited wall.

I felt her walls collapse, imploding like a trap upon me. Just as her pussy began to blast, I thrust the napkins against her yawning urethra.

“Mmmmfff….! Mmmmfff….! Mmmmfff….! Ahhh!”

Splurt! Splurt! Splurt!

Kat writhed and hissed, climaxing with sharp, hard spasms. Her hips jerked. Her sphincter almost pulled my little finger off my hand. Her body rocked in place, her foot kicking out against my shin—I didn’t know if it was on purpose or not.

Grunting, she discharged against the tissues again and again—volleys of girlcum soaked the tissues.

Splurt! Splurt! Splurt! Hot pussy-cream gushed and splattered.

With Kat melting down like Chernobyl, I anxiously snapped my eyes to the front. Mom and dad were kvetching about the traffic.

They had heard nothing.

They had seen nothing.

They knew nothing.

I mean, they’d gotten really good at tuning out our arguments. Almost like we’d trained them…

Kat’s climax raged on like a guttering fire for thirty seconds. Then she collapsed, panting and dripping. I wound down the window, and tossed out the sodden wadded-up handful of napkins. They splatted loudly on the blacktop. The guy behind us pounded his horn, probably thinking we were trying to water bomb him.

“Anyway,” I said evenly, shaking her cum off my fingers. “To summarize my thesis, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles is clearly far superior to The Smurfs. QED.”

To this, my pugilistic kid sister—flushed firetruck red and gasping for air—had no counterargument at all.

* * *



We pulled up at the Santa Monica beach.

A cloud-threaded sky shadowed the sea. Sheets of blue and gray rippled out above us, echoing the foam-capped waves pounding the sand. The sky could have been sea, the sea could have been sky. At the knife-edge of the horizon, two halves united, seeming to exist in uneasy tension, like a laminar flow.

We got out of the car—Kat’s knees wobbling like a newborn giraffe’s from her recent cum.

Dad’s eyes followed her. “Kat, are you sick?”

“No. Why?”

“Your face is awfully red, libinke. Is something wrong?”

Kat pulled the raver puffer tight against her body. If my parents had seen what she was wearing under it, she would have been instantly grounded.

“I’m just…excited. Beaches! I love beaches! Does anyone else love beaches? Not as much as I love beaches!”

Salt air stung our nostrils. The sky rippled brokenly with sheets of cloud. Knives of steel-bright sunlight pierced breaks in the clouds. High above, seagulls dived and whirled like blades. The day seemed unbearably hot when the sun shone, arctically cold when the wind blew.

My family just watched the waves for a while—watched breakers inscribing water lines over the sand, like signatures. Billions upon billions of waves, no two the same, converging in an endless smear out to sea.

Mom and dad and Kat seemed lost in existential thoughts.

I had more practical concerns. As I stepped out of the car. I had a useful “accident” with a water bottle to disguise the large patch of pre-cum I’d discharged inside my shorts.

* * *

Kat and I ditched our parents in short order.

We had it down to a science. Two or three arguments, short but loud and abrasive. Scowls and bitchy looks. Then when Kat idly said Hey, why don’t you guys go and get coffee somewhere? it seemed like the best idea ever.

Mom and dad shared a glance which became a nod.

“That sounds nice,” mom said. “Assuming you two don’t mind being alone for the morning.”

“We don’t.” I stole a quick sideways look at my sister’s rack, wobbling pendulously in her jacket, and imagined my face between them.

“What will you do, though?” mom asked.

“Swim? Duh?” Kat’s shrug made her huge tits bobble. “That’s what most people do at the beach.”

“You two aren’t trying to sneak away to the Pink Strip?” Mom smiled as she said it—unserious. Her well-behaved kids would never go there.

“No way!” Kat rolled her eyes with a hard jerk. “That place is beyond gross. There’s dudes with their dicks hanging out.”

“Relax, hertzele. It was a joke.”

But Dad appeared over mom’s shoulder like a witch’s familiar. He didn’t seem to find the idea funny at all. “Katherine, how do you know about the Pink Strip? Have you been there before?” Then he shot a glance at me. “Have you been there, Zack?”

“Um…” Kat bit her lip and hit reverse gear. “I had a friend from our homeschooling group who went there once. Abby. You know Abby?”

“No.”

“She’s kind of a rebel. Zack and I are going bodysurfing up north. Is that okay?”

Dad blinked, his stare hanging on her. It seemed accusatory. A piercing thorn.

“Of course.” He rumbled. “But stay safe. And call us when you’re ready to be picked up.”

Kat and I made eye-contact. Does he know something? Anything?

Maybe we should have listened closer to that voice inside, and its auguries of doom.

Maybe it was already too late.

The truth was, I didn’t care. I was too horny.

The sound and smell of the beach had gotten into my blood. I wanted to throw my busty sister to the ground, pin her wrists against the burning sand, and slam her until she screamed. Until she died.

* * *

Our parents drove away. The out-road swallowed them like a throat.

I held hands with Kat. Her hot palm wove against mine.

“Wanna go?”

“Yeah.” She wouldn’t look at me. Her eyes darted everywhere but me. Thrilled points of blood settled into her dhampirically-pale cheeks.

Side by side, we walked along the beach, fingers laced. Sometimes we argued—briefly, meaninglessly. Mostly we saved our breath. Let the ocean argue for us. Waves sledgehammered at the shore, endless in their repetition, gnawing the sandbank with huge broken white teeth. I felt blasts of spray misting my right shoulder.

The need to fuck was upon both of us like a disease.

I felt incestuous heat blaze in my blood; heard it ringing in hers. It hung like stormclouds. Once the rain started, it would not be stopped.

We shared looks. Shy little twitches kept invading her face. She kept tilting her head out to land when they hit, so I wouldn’t see her smile. Even in the stupid puffer jacket, she looked so hot. When it slid down one shoulder—exposing a black slingkini strap, dug deeply in her shoulder from her tits’ stupendous weight—it took effort for me to not pounce on her there and then.

I wore board shorts, which pinned my penis against my thigh. My boner wouldn’t go down. It throbbed maddeningly. A dribble of pre-cum slowly trickled down toward my ankle.

We’d told our parents we were going north.

Instead, we walked due south.

Toward the bluffs.

We passed groups of people, and whispers followed us. Always the same whispers.

Damn. Look at her. Who’s that? Her boyfriend?

I guess. They look almost the same.

Boyfriend. Girlfriend. That was what they said…but always with some doubt.

We did not look like boyfriend and girlfriend.

Not by half.

I had Kat’s nose and cheekbones. Her chin was a refinement of mine. My hair was curly while hers was straightened, but the color and texture was the same.

We looked like what we were.

Then we started kissing. Our faces touched. Our lips twisted together, exploring and hunting. Convulsions of fire swept through us. We were locked in a wild, sloppy tongue battle, wrestling, both winning, both losing.

Her white face filled my vision like the surface of the moon. I saw onlookers glancing away in shame, disgust, and horror.

What’s wrong, guys? I thought as I tasted her lipstick. We’re boyfriend and girlfriend, aren’t we? Why do you look sickened by what we’re doing?

It was like they sensed something wrong in that kiss. Some taboo broken or some line crossed.

It was like they knew.

* * *

Eventually, I pulled my face off hers. I felt her lipstick all over me, like sacrament blood.

We climbed for nearly half a mile down crumbling seawater-eaten steps cut into the cliffs, and found the secret area of the beach. The place to bury your secrets. Or fuck them.

The Pink Strip.

It was a stretch of the SanMon beach that had necrotized like rotting flesh under the shadow of the cliffs, becoming something else. It was hard to get to, and cops normally missed it on their walk-throughs and cruises. It had become popular among the homeless, and the shameless. Drug dealers plied the sands. Who they sold drugs to, I’m not sure. Their potential clientele mostly did not have pockets.

It technically wasn’t a nudist beach. But it was a beach you could safely be nude at.

We stepped out onto a poisoned-looking slash of sand. Fewer people, and no families. There were areas sectioned with cones and markers, where transactions of varying legality would go down. Further back, there were porta-potties and private enclosures for shooting up drugs, paid for by the government—they know you’re gonna do it, so it might as well be in a place with free condoms and emergency Narcan dispensers.

Kat walked ahead of me. I got an eyeload of her ass, rolling from side to side like a triple beam freighted with sex. It was a long, almost unendurable walk, with my cock chubbing like a third leg in my pants. Each time Kat jabbed her ass back in my face, I wanted to grab my dick and fuck a hole right through her trailing jacket.

We were surrounded by tattoo’d weirdos, and pop-up stalls selling bootleg merch and pirated DVDs. Still more dangerous-looking were the shifty-looking guys carefully guarded backpacks that—judging by their suspicious eyes—held felony quantities of fent and xans and meth and weed.

They all watched us as we entered their turf, the way criminals do. Who are you? Undercover cops? Competition? Idiot kids?

Kat took off her jacket. Suddenly, they stared for a different reason.

The slingkini was exposed, along with an avalanche of delicious flesh, spilling out in every direction, gleaming under the sun’s fire.

Huge expanses of creamy, smooth breast meat bulged from under the woefully inadequate straps. It was absolutely pornographic. You could see the areolae on her nipples. The fabric of her black slingkini barely contained the flesh of her ass. The slick, oiled flesh of her labia pressed across the tiny black piece of bikini fabric. Her chubby labial meat bulged from her crotch like a double-mushroom blooming around the strap.

“It was a dumb idea to wear that,” I realized as soon as I said this that she would now never wear anything else to any beach. Because I was arguing.

Hips swaying, she middle-fingered me without turning around. “Live a little, Zack.”

A dreadlocked black guy and a bald looking Latino friend tracked us with their eyes. I heard a whistle. Heard a soft damn. I hoped that was directed at Kat, but couldn’t be sure. The Pink Strip attracts all types.

I led my sister to the shade of the cliffs, to a private area that wasn’t private at all. People were sunning on towels. The black and latino dudes leered at us from across the beach.

Fuck it. If people saw me fuck my sister, they saw me fuck my sister.

Kat walked ahead, butt wagging, mouth open in perpetual outrage, offering running commentary. “EW! Zack! That’s a plastic bag full of poop over there! I wish they’d clean this gross-ass place. And look, isn’t that a—ZACK!”

Pouncing from behind, I grasped her shoulders, and swept her knees. An Israeli kid at my yeshiva taught me some krav maga once. She fell with a squeal, her legs ripped out from under her. She dropped onto her knees, and my hands caught her as she fell, controlling her shoulders, pulling her around and forward.

Kat found herself shoved face-first into my bulging crotch, lips mashed against my erection. Her big fucking rack pooled against my thighs, tits swelling across my knees like balloons.

She stared in revelation at the size of the bulge tenting my boardshorts, which I promptly pulled down.

My cock exploded out into her face, slapping her cheek like a slick wet hose of flesh. A glistening strand of pre-cum was flung across her features. My glans throbbed in line with her shocked eyes. I grasped the turgid, vein-laced prick and angled it a few degrees lower.

A line, pointing at her mouth.

She looked afraid.

“You owe me one,” I whispered, pressing the throbbing tube of flesh against her lips.

“ZACK! OOmmmff!”

I grasped handfuls of luscious black hair, and shoved her head down onto my prick.

GLORP!

My huge drooling boner squelched against her lips and broke through. Its imposing thickness pulled her lips apart.

SHLA-SPLORRPP!

I ploughed forward, greedily punching my cock into her mouth. Sensations of her anatomy flashed upon my glans and vanished as I rolled through her like a freight train.

Tongue.

Throat.

Uvula.

Oropharynx.

Esophagus.

I poured riotously down her throat, like a surging, slippery river made of meat.

Down, down, down.

Jabbing, pumping, humping, squeezing.

I heard laughter and applause, and turned my head. The brown guy and his black friend were watching me throatfuck my sister. The Chicano made a gang sign at me. I grinned, give him a nerdy white-guy thumbs up, then returned my eyes to the writhing teenage girl impaled on my slamming hips.

With both hands, I steered my sister’s bitchy facecunt around my cock, plugging it deep within her soft gullet. I heard—and felt—a gushy-wet SPLOOORRRTTT SHLORRRRP as my prick curved a path down toward her stomach.

I hit bottom. No more inches. My bulging cock came to rest halfway down her neck, punching a bulge next to her sternohyoid muscle. One of the greatest things I have ever seen. Or felt. Why should we live lives of virtue, when heaven exists on earth with us?

Snarling, pleasure burning me alive, the world erupting and melting like burning paint, I throatfucked my pretty sister into oblivion.

Slamming my length in and out of her vibrating throat walls. Clawing her hair, yanking her back and forth upon my spasming prick. Making her 30JJ fuck-tanks clap and leap obscenely against my legs.

I gazed down, into the mile of cleavage pinned against my body, and realized I was going to cum.

Not soon.

Immediately.

Pleasure exploding, my scrotum tensing in agony, I gripped Kat’s pigtails as I split apart her face. Moist sounds bubbled out of her mouth as her throat was blasted open. Strings of saliva flew wildly, streaming down her chin. Her cheeks caved inward around my throbbing pole, hollowing against my thick-veined length. She slurped obscenely, mouth like a vacuum cleaner, bobbing her head back and forth with rapid gulps and pulls.

As my cunt-clogging spermload apocalyptically rose inside me, I gripped handfuls of dark hair, driving her pale-pretty features onto my hips. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! I facefucked her messily, making her pigtails fly like pennants and her makeup stream down her face with tears.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

Aggressive. Hard. I stared down at her. You want air, Kat? You know how to get it.

And then I busted.

With a deep grunt, I pigtail-yanked her face forward—flush against my hips—and let go.

Splurt! Splorg! GLOORRRRT!

Thick goopy cum blew up from my overloaded balls. I saw the base of my cock swell and contract, swell and contract, as heavy wads spewed along its length.

Her eyes jerked all the way open as the first torrent of brother-cum splattered down her throat. Seven or eight ropes vomited out after it. She just pressed her lips flat against my pubic bone, staring up at me in complete disgust.

Hurry up. I need air! Kat’s goth-pale eyes scowled, as cum-wad after cum-wad spat down my prick, discharging into her guts.

Grunting and gasping, I ejaculated copiously, firing in her mouth until my knees threatening to unhinge. My cock flexed and spat and finally my load stopped chugging out. Heart racing, adrenaline crashing, my dick softened into a mushy heap of wet buzzing nerves inside her mouth. She sucked in frantic gulps of air as her throat unblocked. Her face was red from lack of oxygen.

I backed out of her mouth. My cock was so sensitive that it felt like I’d left several layers of skin inside her mouth. My prick plopped free, swinging down wetly into her cleavage, smacking like a wrecking ball. A weak final spurt hosed across her jugs.

“Fuck you, Zack!” she gasped, heaving on the massive load I’d firehosed into her stomach.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” I cock-slapped her across the face with my dick.

WHAP! It left a milky-white smear that distorted her winged eyeliner. She screamed and lunged for me, kicking and punching.

I held her at arms’ length until she calmed down.

She can out-argue me, but when the fights turn physical, I’m ten inches taller than she is.

“I’m hot.” I said conversationally. “Wanna go swimming?”

“FUCK YOU!”

“Tempting offer. Let’s start with swimming and see where that takes us.”

* * *



I knew we were being stared at as we frolicked in the surf like ten year olds.

“We”, meaning “mostly Kat Dennings”.

The shiny black slingkini was ridiculously, disgustingly revealing. It pulled, stretched, and hoisted her boobs and ass into a eye-catching visibility that was somehow more obscene than nudity would have been.

If mom or dad had seen her wearing it, the sight would have killed them. Literally murdered them. FedEx’d them straight into their graves, priority mail.

We’d rented a locker from the least sketchy dude we could find on the Pink Strip, and used it to stash my phone and Kat’s purse. Her puffer jacket wouldn’t fit, so we left that on the beach—this was not the day’s smartest decision.

When the crash and pound of the waves subsided, I heard whispers from the shore.

Fine-looking bitch. Biggest fucking tits I ever did see.

Who’s that tall kid? Her boyfriend?

Nah, it’s her brother. They look almost the same. Imagine her as your sister. Worst fate I could imagine.

On God. You sure he’s her brother? Damn. Maybe I’ll shoot my shot after all.

Not worth it, bro. She got crazy eyes. Bitch has that chop-your-dick-off stare.

But those tits…

Kat attracts men like flies. It’s my cross to bear.

Long before I figured out how to hack the Katrix, I’d grown resentful of her interactions with men—chiefly, the fact that large numbers of them seemed to be wandering into our house and into her bedroom.

All day long, I’d hear bedsprings ringing from her room as she went at it with someone, or several someones. Mom and dad homeschooled us. Which means they piled some Chabad books on the table, told us to read a few chapters, and left for work. They had no idea what their darling daughter was actually doing all day. Or who.

Also—I’m sorry if this offends anyone—many of the men had a skin color that would have raised hackles with my parents.

The third time in a week I had an awkward yo, can I use your bathroom? chat with a male stranger in my fucking house, I confronted her.

“Kat, why are you such a slut all the time?”

She stamped, and her lip trembled with rage.

“I’m not a slut! Sorry if I’m not sitting around playing videogames all day like you, Zack! Sorry if I have a social life!”

“Stop letting the social life put its dick into you. You’ll get a reputation. Our friends are laughing at me. I’ve got a slut sister. And what if mom and dad catch you? You’ll be in HUGE trouble if they find you’re fucking black guys, and you know it.”

She screwed her hands into fists, which rattled with fury.

“I’m NOT a slut! You asshole! And this weekend, I’ll prove it!”

She had sex with three men that weekend. How was this supposed to prove she was not a slut? To be honest, I can’t quite follow her logic there either. Maybe she’d originally intended on four.

This is one of the things that puts my mind at ease about committing incest. If your hot big-titted sister is already getting gunned down by every prick in town, maybe one of them can be yours.

* * *

A white-crested wave hit us. Freezing cold. Kat squealed, gripping my arm so she wasn’t swept off her feet, and I grinned. Nothing like having a girl use you as a safety rail. Scratches something primal in the male id. My sister smiled up at me, safe and secure, clinging on to my chest and torso as the ocean pulled back on her.

“Am I forgiven?” I asked.

“No.” She scowled, but also smiled.

Our bodies half-vanished in the plunge and thrash of the water. Kat snuggled against my shoulder. She was wet and slick. I felt like I’d snatched a mermaid from the waves.

I wrapped arms all the way around her, folding her to my chest. Her body glowed like a coal. She leaned in, breath making maps of the hollows under my chin. Her huge soft breasts pancaked against me, flowing up over my collarbones. Then she craned her lips up to my ear, and whispered sentences that were actually other sentences dressed in a trenchcoat.

“Zack, I’m tired.”

Tired of this.

“Do you have the butter?”

Lube so you can rape me where I fart from? Maybe she wouldn’t have chosen those exact words, but the sentiment would have been there.

Beneath the water, my boardshorts started swelling with a renewed erection.

I remembered how all of this had started.

Last night, she’d sneaked into my room for a customary goodnight blowjob, and we’d had an argument over whether McDonalds butter would suffice as lubrication for anal sex. I forget who had taken the pro or anti position (who cares, anyway). But it was agreed that we’d sneak off to the Pink Strip and find out.

The arguments don’t actually matter. They never do.

They’re excuses.

Grinning, I led my cock-hungry sister from the waves to the social area under the bluffs.

I was going to dump my next load straight up her ass.

* * *

Mr Dennings wonders what Katherine and Zachary are doing right now, alone on the beach. He wants to know, yet doesn’t want to know. Wants to see with his eyes shut.

Oy vey. A parent’s curse.

The sea air feels lysergic. Too strong. Faintly suspicious and dreamlike. A vector freighted with fear—his fear.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” his wife says, touching his elbow. Coffee mugs steam beside them.

The inside of his head is not quiet. What does it mean, if what he fears is true?

The penalty for incest is death.

In the old Hebrew law, it is arayot. Forbidden. He can quote the Tanakh from memory on this.

Cursed be anyone who has relations with his sister, whether his father’s daughter or his mother’s daughter! And all the people shall answer, “Amen!”

And yet…

The children of Adam and Eve were related. It was somehow not arayot for them to intermarry.

Well, they had no choice, did they?

But Abraham had a choice. Sarah was his half-sister, but they married nevertheless, and YHWH did not smite them. What are the rules here?

He does not know.

What he does know is that he found an empty box of condoms in the upstairs bedroom, after leaving his son and daughter alone in the house all day. What he does know is that there is now a covert video camera installed, flush against the wall, capturing the bed. What he does know is that it is filming even now, and that if anything suspicious is happening up there, he will know soon.

That is, if he can stand to look.

If your son and daughter were doing something worthy of death, would you want to know?

* * *

My hot and bitchy sister swaggered ahead, heavy pendulous breasts swinging from side to side.

So arrogant. So spoiled. So used to thinking she’s God’s gift. So used to not even being wrong. That was the worst part of all.

I smacked her ass. SLAP!

The sound was stunningly loud. The crack of my hand on her flesh exploded like an airbursting shell over the beach. Gulls flew. Conversations stopped. A tsunami of muscle-ribboned fat wobbled violently beneath the skintight black strap. When the jiggles stopped, the left cheek was marked with my handprint.

Kat squawked in outrage.

I was only getting started in violating her.

Her asshole was eighty percent exposed in the slingkini. I pulled the strap aside, and made that a hundred. I grasped her ass cheeks, and made them clap together. WHAP! They wobbled and rebounded, springing apart

“Zack!” she yelled. “Quit that shit! I’m not a girl in your porn videos!”

But her voice was too unmistakably delighted—her squirms too unmistakably excited—for me to obey.

I kneeled before her, gripping her buttcheeks. Pudgy ass-flesh gushed hotly through my hands like heavy masses of pizza dough.

Then I tore them apart.

Her ass opened before me like a yawning black cave. Warm air blew into my face, as though from an opened oven door. I stared into the musky, steamy trench of my sister’s enormous asscrack. Buried in the pungent cleft was her puckered rectum, locked up by her tightly-knotted sphincter.

Her asshole looked like a tulip bulb in early March. Not sure of whether to bloom or not.

I leaned in, inhaling the smell of her asshole. Then my tongue came out, and began tracing and licking her enormous derriere. I wrote my name on her left and right cheek. The fluttering of her anus became faster. Wilder. My tongue made a roadmap of her buttocks, riding down into her sweaty, swampy asscleft. I heard her breath quicken—it raced like an outboard motor—as my mouth circled closer…closer…

Then my tongue prised apart her asshole, and slid in deep.

She squealed like a klaxon as I went inside her butt, corkscrewing deeper and deeper with my thick slippery tongue. I swished and circled the sensitive membranes. Her walls convulsed with pleasure around me.

I’d anally fucked Kat Dennings probably fifty or sixty times by this point. Not a large fraction of the total sex acts we’d committed, but enough that we’d developed certain pregame rituals. The tongue was one of them.

I pulled my tongue out of her clutching, horny ass, feeling her rectum dilate emptily as I slid free. Her asshole noisily vacuum-sealed itself behind me, and she moaned as I stood. “Oh God…Please…”

I rested my hips against her butt. Let her feel my erection nestle in the curve. Kat’s eyelids fluttered in excitement. Her lips flexed and coiled, words half-forming before dissolving in a lust storm. Like the sea was washing them away.

“Are you gonna…” she whispered, shuddering as I humped her.

“Gonna what?” My amusement-curled lips spoke behind her ear.

“…do it?”

“Do what?” my playful smile became a grin.

I chewed her earlobe. A sangria-purple blush raced across her face.

“Fuck my butt?” Ashamed, she had to whisper it.

I barked a laugh, and cruelly palmed her ass. She moaned, sounding like a heat-struck bitch.

“You want me to fuck your butt?” I affected moral outrage. “That’s disgusting! You’re my sister! I should tell dad you said that. That you asked for it.”

“Noooo!” She whined, humping her butt back against me. “Please just do it! You’ll be the best big brother ever! Please just fuck my butt!”

I pinched her asscheek. “Louder, bitch.”

She hesitated. Gathered strength.

Then Kat Dennings’ scream broke across the beach. It was heard by everyone.

“POUND ME UP MY MOTHERFUCKING SHIT CHUTE, YOU ASSHOLE!”

Well, with an invitation like that…

Then I dug out the square of McDonalds butter from my boardshorts, unwrapped it, and shoved it up her ass.

She squawked as her anal ring absorbed it like Sarlacc, sucking the butter from view.

“I’m only doing this out of scientific curiosity, remember,” I told her, wagging a pedantic finger. “We have an argument to resolve. Is butter enough?”

“I don’t care! Just please fuck me!”

I scanned the back of the beach for somewhere we could do it. There were large pink-walled Porta-Potties. I knew the sort from a summer doing construction. A four hundred liter waste tank. A ninety liter whitewater tank. High-density polyethylene siding, chrome-finished and then dug into the sand. Some of them were rocking as people fucked inside.

Fine. I’ll join them.

I unlatched doors on a few motionless ones, and did quick cleanliness inspections. I wanted to butt-rut my whore sister’s dirty rectum in utterly sanitary conditions, for I am a gentleman. The first three Porta-Potties were disgusting and scum-encrusted. The fourth was marginally acceptable.

I yanked open the door; pushed Kat inside. I followed her in, screwed the door shut behind us, and then we were inside, smelling ozone and plastic and seawater rutted and runneled into grooves. Smelling each other. The sound of our excited breath filled the enclosure.

Kat did not need to be told what to do next.

Bend forward. Brace your torso against a wall. Arch your back. Stick out your ass to the sky. Close your eyes. Think of Israel.

My sister’s huge heavy ass lifted up toward my face—two large continents braced and laced and girdled with muscular fat, iridized with sweat and sea salt, hungry for my cock. I pulled her buttocks apart again, stretching them until her asshole gaped. A yellow thread of molten butter dribbled out.

“Are you gonna put it in, or…?” Kat said, face pressed to the plastic. The brushed polyethylene reflected her face blearily, as though from a frosted beer glass. I saw her boobs swing under her arched body.

“Who are you? My biographer?”

I gripped my cock, and pressed it to my sister’s dark puckered asshole.

“But yes, sis. I am.”

Then I sank down into her.

My hips lunged, sheathing my huge waving erection inside my sister.

SQUEELLCH-SPLUUURRRKK!

My cock burrowed noisily into Kat’s sweltering dark bowels, riding the molten river of butter lubing her shit-pipe. She hissed like a swan as my cock ploughed its heavy blunt mass into her. Her body buckled, sucking a nine inch penis to the balls.

I filled her asshole, stretching it out like a sleeve. Her walls were hot and tight and dirty, pressure clenched like a fist against my stabbing shaft. Her uncomfortable wriggles applied delicate, unpredictable pressure around my glans, milking me.

Her anal walls felt alive.

Like fucking a squirming heap of snakes.

“Zack…..ooooOOOOHHHHH!”

For a moment, I paused, shocked by the obscene sight of my cock planted to the balls in my sister’s rectum, making it gape just as her lips had done. Even after sixty loads up her ass, it never stops knocking me for a loop.

Then I pulled myself back out, just as slowly as I put it in.

SKLOORRRCHHHISULLLCHHH!

Soon, just the tip was inside. Grasping my bitch sister’s heavy breeding hips, I pounded my massive cock back up her butt. I watched expressions of awe, pain, fear, and delight rippled across her face like a zoetrope cranked to bleeding speed.

Inside. Outside.

Deep. Shallow.

Fast. Slow.

Glurrrchhh! Bluuurppp! Slooorshhh!

Moist, sticky sounds flooded out as my prick hammered her dirty shit-pipe.

I pounded stickily in and out of her sloppy, gaping ass, pummeling and pounding, rutting her bowels wide open, making her scream against the walls as I anally defiled her walls.

My sister howled and panted and shuddered and shivered. She tossed her head. Sweaty pigtails flew like lashing whips around her shoulders. I saw her face reflected blurrily in the polyurethane siding as she howled and howled. Agony or ecstasy. Her butthole swelled open for me on each flexing stroke, as a camera shutter spins open to drink light, and then I fucked my dick in hard enough to blind her with it.

Sklurrrchhh! Skloorrrchhh! Splorrrkkk!

She writhed, eel-like, her shoulders flexing. Her knockers hung straight down, wobbling as my cock carved a relentless, slavering path through her ass.

Plooorpshhh! Squeelkkk! Gluuuuckkkk!

Reaching under her body, I palmed her huge sweat-dripping tits, and made them smack loudly against each other. I shifting my grip, spreading her thighs wider, tilting her pelvis up, adjusting the angle so I could hit it deeper and harder. Which I did. Repeatedly.

Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

Lunging forward, I rammed my schlong into Kat’s ass, buttfucking her ravenous ass. I pulled out my head was stretching her puckered poop chute, then plowed it back in, two golf-ball sized testicles clapping her drooling pussy. I skewered her like a pig, my cock driving in and out in long, lewd, moist tip to root lunges.

Schlopp! Plapp! Blapp!

The obscene clapping of flesh hitting flesh rippled out in the salt-drunk air. The impacts jiggled her forward. She kept losing her foothold on the sand, sliding and skidding, as I literally pounded her into the wall.

“Zack, I’m-uh gonna…!”

With a sharp-rising howl, she orgasmed around my dick.

Spasms torqued through her, and around me.

She tightened up, almost forcing me out of her shitbox with capillary motion, and I heard pulses of female ejaculate spew noisily to the sand underneath our rutting bodies. I didn’t slip out, and didn’t stop fucking. Gripping her heavy hips, I relentlessly bottomed out with asshole-stretching thrusts.

I watched her ass dilate and contract as my dick slithered through her guts. Details on my cock—slithering veins, folds of skin—blurred indistinctly as I slammed myself in and out of her thrashing ass.

Ten minutes passed. I brought her off again with hard, nine-inch strokes. Her body seemed to explode like a flower rotting under time-lapse photography. Her hips sagged, and her tits wildly oscillated as she vibrated like a rabid dog.

I leaned in, putting the weight of my body into it. And into her. A third orgasm broke upon her. The wet, obscene squelch of sloppy messy anal fucking was overlaid by her wild orgasming cries.

“Ooohh Zack! ZAAAAACKKK!”

My cock churned through her moist bowels, relentlessly speeding through her, pulling grunts and gasps from her throat. My cock felt like a hot steel piston punching through her asshole. Her body kept twisting, and my bulbous cockhead seemed to squirm as it slashed new angles, channeled deeper into her core. She could not escape it. Just die upon it.

Watching her huge swinging tit-sacks vibrate as she came yet again, I felt my own eruption approaching.

She grunted deeply as my huge prick reamed her guts. Her huge-titted body shook as thrust after thrust landed like bomb-blasts. Vast breasts swung hypnotically, gleaming with obscene fuck-sweat. Her pussy spasmed powerfully. I felt the vibrations grip my cock, and it felt like they were sucking my cock and my guts into her body like fishing line. She squirted, releasing more girlcum onto the sand, and kicked backwards, like I was a motorbike.

At the moment her foot hit me, I lunged forward. My cock violently surge inside her steaming shit walls.

“You bitch, I’mgonnafuckingcum,” Words ran together, spewing from my mouth. “I’mgonnafuckin’cuminsideyou. Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!”

Howling, I rooted my thick cock into her squelching guts, and let go.

Cumming—

Pulse…pulse…pulse…pulse…

—in my sister’s ass.

Squirts spewed out in a hot dizzying rush. Mind-crushing sensation exploded over me as cum bursts leaped out of my bucking, jumping cock.

Pulse…pulse…pulse…pulse…

I leaned in, spewing pulses of reproductive slop. Kat mouthed what the fuck as she felt the size of the cum-blasts I was firehosing up her ass.

“I don’t know where it’s all coming from either,” I admitted, rowing my spasming hips back and forth. My fourth orgasm of the day is not normally this massive. This protracted.

Pulse…pulse…pulse…pulse…

Riding her like a bronco, I blasted and blasted, jabbing my throbbing cock through an ocean of bubbling sperm, stars dive-bombing my vision. As the last of my load drained into her, my legs abruptly collapsed.

I slid to the sand, my extremities reduced to buzzing rubber. My softening penis was violently torn out of her blackly gaping ass, wrenching free with a disgusting sucking sound.

SCHLOOORRRKKKKKKK!

I watched my length pour out of her hotly-clinging asshole, flopping like a huge hose of flesh, shooting its remaining cum over her left calf.

Still leaning against the Porta-Potty, Kat stared forward in transcendental awe. She looked like she’d been fucked into the afterlife with the Heaven’s Gate comet. A dazed celestial ecstasy seemed to play over her face. It all made sense to her now. Every cosmic mystery had been solved.

“Woahh…”

And then she fell too.

We crashed to the squirt-soaked sand, kicking up a wet spray, our limbs tangling like spaghetti. Her butt clapped down close to my face. I’d fucked her so hard her asshole still hadn’t closed.

She lay in front of me, sperm belching and farting and bubbling from the black gaping fissure between her cheeks, flowing liberally onto the sand.

“So that settles the argument,” I said. “McDonalds butter does work as lube.”

“Which one of us was arguing that it wasn’t?”

“Sis, I don’t even fucking remember.”

* * *



We lay like this for nearly twenty minutes, stunned by the brutally obscene anal fuck we’d just enjoyed.

Then Kat giggled, and got to her knees. Her titanic breasts trembled and flopped. Kat wheeled around, crawling on me on her hands and knees like a dog.

Smiling up at me. So lovely. So sick.

She planted her head into my crotch, and began sucking the soft cock that had just been inside her ass.

“You’re gross,” I said, pushing her away. “Get dressed.”

“I can’t. You threw my jacket on the ground.”

“Oh, right. Lemme go get it.”

I stepped outside the Porta-Potty, and into the cold fresh air. Wind dried the sweat laving my body. I went to the locker, and retrieved her purse and my phone. On the latter, I saw a text from mom, ten minutes old.

> when will you be back? we’re looking for you?

A lot of time had passed.

“Shit,” I told Kat, who’d followed me. “They’re looking for us. We have to go.”

“Zack!” she rubbed her shoulders. “My jacket! They can’t see me like this!”

“I know, I know.”

I went to grab Kat’s jacket from the spot I’d tossed it on the beach. It wasn’t there.

Uh oh.

Gut punch.

Her jacket had disappeared. It was not in the spot I’d thrown it. I spent a long time pacing back and forth, as though expecting the sand to vomit back up the missing jacket. It did not.

“Well?” Kat asked, arms crossed over her nearly-exposed boobs. Her skinny forearms couldn’t even cover an eighth of their mass.

“We…have a problem.”

“You idiot,” Kat said. “Why did you just leave the jacket out for the world to see? Someone stole it. And now I’m fucked. Look at me! I’m basically naked! If mom and dad see this, they’ll know I went to the Pink Strip!”

I paced the length of the beach, queasy and sick with panic.

This was very bad.

“Hey,” I asked the two guys who’d been watching us for pretty much the whole time. “You haven’t seen a grayish kinda jacket? I put it there on the beach. My sis—girlfriend lost it.”

They shook their heads.

“Nah, bro.”

“Maybe the wind blew it away.” The black one offered. I didn’t think so. The jacket was heavy, and the wind wasn’t that strong. Someone had taken it. Maybe one of them. There was no way to know.

Either way, my parents were waiting for us.

I texted mom some lies. Just trying to buy us some time. Anything to get them off the beach, and from the potentially disastrous discovery that we were not where we said we’d be.

yo, change of plans. kat met a friend. we’re getting a lift back home. see you later. xxx -z

“So what’s the plan?” Kat said, frowning.

I shrugged. “I’m open to ideas.”

Kat tapped a black fingernail to the corner of her mouth, which twitched in thought.

“Ooooh…I have an idea.”

I leaned forward, and listened. And then cringed.

Kat had an idea, alright.

A good idea? Yeah, not so much.

* * *

His wife receives a text from their children.

They no longer require a ride home. They’ve met up with one of Kat’s friends.

“It would have been nice if they’d told us that before you spent half an hour looking for a parking spot.” She says, flinging the phone back into her purse disgustedly.

Mr Dennings grunts in distraction, starting the engine. He has made a decision.

He will disconnect the camera in his bedroom.

He’s sick of living in the shadow of disgust and fear. The camera is like a stick pressed against a wound that he’s trying to heal.

Suppose it shows nothing. What will that prove? Nothing, really. If his children are doing the horrible thing he’s afraid they’re doing, they wouldn’t be so incautious as to do it on his bed. They could be doing it anywhere. In one of their bedrooms. Or at the beach. Or at a friend’s house. He will suspect them forever.

There is simply no way to ever know.

Worse, thinking of his children committing incest has started to drag his thoughts in unpleasant, discomforting directions.

The thought of Zachary grasping Katherine’s breasts make him wonder what they’d feel like in his hands. What her legs would feel like around his hips.

He has begun to lust after his own daughter.

Such a mishegas.

He wonders if, all along, installing the camera was only a mask for desires he was unprepared to face: the desire to see Kat naked.

He’s sliding and scrabbling into some dark La Brea tar pit of the soul, becoming what he hates, denying it every step of the way.

So he decides to just put the camera away. Hopefully it will close the door on all this strangeness.

His children are innocent of wrongdoing. He must believe this.

He thought he was holding up a mirror to their perversity, but really the mirror was turned around to his own face…

* * *



Kat was on her knees.

“This is ridiculous,” I muttered as she drew down the black guy’s boxer shorts. His name was Jevonte. “You don’t have to do this.”

Kat ignored me, and stared at the enormous black penis bobbing in front of her.

“So I give you guys head, and you give me one of your jackets,” she said, as though negotiating with the man’s dick directly.

“Deal!”

“Great!” Kat repeated the procedure with the Latino guy.

I couldn’t believe what Kat had just done. Nor could the two playas she was about to blow in front of me.

She’d negotiated them down from PIV to oral. That seemed like a Pyrrhic victory. Hopefully she washes her mouth before she kisses me goodnight, I thought, stomach twisting anxiously.

“T…there has to be another way.” I told her, as she adjusted the angle of her hips and knees for a protracted double-blowjob.

She pointed at the obscene outfit. “I can’t walk around in public dressed like this! I’ll get arrested by the first cop who sees me! Just shut up and let me solve this.”

“Yo,” the black guy said. “We’re cool with it.”

I gritted my teeth, feeling like Jesus in that consent meme. I’m not.

I was about to argue, then I realized that any argument would become an Argument. One that would probably devolve into my whore of a sister giving them anal privileges, just to annoy me.

Besides, time was running out. We needed some sort of clothing for Kat.

And thus, I got to watch her give blowjobs to two total strangers.

* * *

She grasped the chubbing penises, and gave them nerve-jarring twists. I knew it well. It’s a money move.

The brown and black poles of flesh jerked in her hands, becoming fully hard. Worms of pre-cum ran down her wrists. Both men were smaller than me, though not by much. There was that to be thankful for—I wouldn’t be the smallest cock she took that day.

Not that, you know, I looked at their dicks or anything.

Kat knelt in the soft sand, her knees digging trenches, and she started sucking them. First one, then the other. Moist slobbering sounds waltzed through my head, agonizing and unavoidable.

slurrpp suckkkahhh sklllchhh!

I made incredibly awkward eye contact with these guys as my sister messily blew them.

Saliva dribbled down her lips as they swelled and flexed around hard cockflesh. The two men grinned and fistbumped, while I prayed for death. It’s such a curse, being brother to a hot sister. Nobody understands the struggle.

She swung her attention from one guy to the other, sucking one, and then the other. She jerked off the spare cock first with her right hand, and then her left. She was mechanically precise. Nobody was left unattended for more than a second.

Then Kat frowned; spat out Jevonte’s fat cock. It bobbed at half-mast, connected to her lip by a strand of clear fluid.

“Wait, why are you guys going soft?”

Marquis’s eyes flicked off her wobbling tits, and over to me. “Maybe it’s the fact that your boyfriend is looking at us like he wants to kill us both, pechugona.”

“Good point,” Kat nodded at me. “Yo, Zack. Fuck me.”

My mouth fell open. “Fuck you? Now?”

She sneered her brat sneer, then turned her head back to the cock in front of her. “Either fuck me or go away. You’re ruining the mood, just standing there.”

What mood? I sighed, and clambered into position behind her.

Her thrusting hips bumped against mine. I stroked my cock, trying to get hard. It was not difficult. I just had to forget literally everything about who I was and how I’d gotten into this situation.

“Wanna hit it from behind?” Kat said. “I think that makes the most sense. I’ll get all three of you off at once.”

Anticlimactically, I plugged my swelling cock into her pussy.

I was still half-flaccid, and it took effort worm the thick length inside her cunt. She wriggled her hips incessantly, sometimes pulling me deeper, sometimes pushing me out.

Meanwhile, I got to watch her cheeks bulge with their dicks. Got to watch their slop dribble down her chin.

splurkkhh gulppp glushhhhhh

Arched over her body, I was finally inside her. I started ramming her from behind with hard cunt-thumping strokes. Smack! Smack! Her buttflesh jiggled under my assault. The blowjob sounds became interrupted by moans and gasps.

My hands grabbing her fat wobbling asscheeks, and kneaded them. So goddamn big. They ate my fingers to the knuckle when I squeezed.

Marquis busted first. His heavy testicles swung under her chin as she slurped and horked on his prick. He gasped, and his balls visibly rose.

Splurt!

He flooded her mouth, ejaculations causing his cock to pop out. He blew a few more ropes over her face and tits, then sank back onto the sand.

“Ah, es la leche!”

Then she lunged like a valkyrie upon Jevonte’s prick, attacking it with demonic fervor. I felt her hips enclose around me, blindly spasming as she focused all her muscles on her throat, and I picked up the pace.

Clap! Clap! Clap!

Then Jevonte’s mouth gaped. He swung his muscular hips into her, veins flexing along his Adonis belt, and he fired off inside her rapidly pulsing lips. I heard his cock ejaculating, spewing jizz down my sister’s throat. He backed up, shot a few bursts into her mouth. Some of it overflowed, rolling down her chin.

Kat swallowed frantically. Her thick ass waved back and forth, like a metal detector. My throbbing prick was buried inside her pussy and I blindly rammed it home.

My posterior muscles flexed. My balls rose. Cum ropes flew out of my cock, splattering inside my sister’s pussy. I pumped them deep inside her, grasping her hips like handles.

I was so excited that I forgot something critical.

No contraception.

Kat felt me creampie her unprotected cunt, and started yelling through the orgasm she was having. “UGHHHH! Zack, you can’t get me pregnant! You’re my fucking broth…boyfriend! OOOHHHHH!”

As Kat thrashed in climactic ecstasy, Marquis shared a look with his friend. “Brother? Did this chica just call you brother?”

Head pounding, I glared down at my sister. Thanks Kat. Thanks a fucking pantload.

“Yeah,” I snarled, my softening cock going splat as it left her cunt. “We’re brother and sister.”

“No we’re not.” Kat said.

I gave her ass a smack that was more of a punch, and she yelped as it slammed home. The last of Jevonte’s cumshot spewed out down into her cleavage like a backfiring milkshake.

“I wish we weren’t related, for many reasons.” My eyes slid from one to the other. “But we are. Is that a problem?”

“None of our business, man.” Jevonte shrugged..

“But for what it’s worth, tio…” Marquis said. “It was kinda obvious..”

I slumped back with a groan, my spine going as slack as my cock.

* * *

Marquis and Jevonte turned out to be pretty chill dudes.

Not only did they give Kat a jacket, they were kind enough to drive us back home. They even gifted us a baggie that I’m only 67% sure contained chopped oregano.

We said goodbyes, and sneaked a few blocks back to our house using the “borrowed” jacket. Stealth was unnecessary, as it turned out. The house was deserted.

I checked my phone; saw a text from mom that had been missed in all the excitement.

Both her and dad had gone to a shiva for a co-worker of mom’s. A last minute thing. They would be back in an hour.

Kat and I shrugged. Party time.

We played DMX at house-rattling volume. Then we microwaved and ate the unhealthiest, highest-calorie shit we could find. You don’t even wanna know—we felt like villains in a preachy 90s school PSA about good nutrition.

Then we had sex on mom and dad’s bed. Unprotected. Kat didn’t think it mattered, now that I’d already busted in her.

Just as we finished, I got a text from dad. At the shiva, my aunt had invited them over for dinner. They’d be another hour.

I chugged a Red Bull, and we screwed two more times.

Not sure why.

There was no point. I’d cummed so many times that day that orgasming wasn’t even fun. Sex was literally painful. My testes were burning and inflamed from overuse. I had no sperm left. My cock would just jerk and spasm dryly in Kat’s pussy and then go limp. And then she bitched at me, because she was halfway to another orgasm.

We lay next to each other, heartily sick of each other’s company, exhaustion the only thing holding us together. No more excitement. No more racing heartbeats. It felt like we were married, and unhappily so.

She tried to spoon against me. I pushed her away. Suddenly, I couldn’t stand my sister.

Our relationship was strung up by suspension cables of intense, powerful emotions. Now that horniness had fled, anger and bitterness filled the gap.

There were positives to knowing her, but right now, they felt outweighed by the constant stress and irritation and drama.

Kat tried to pick a few fights.

World War II happened because of sublimated homosexual lust between Hitler and Stalin. Zack? Do you agree?

Teenage boys graduate a year behind their female peers according to standardized tests, and this proves that they spend an entire year of their lives looking at porn. Any thoughts on this, Zack? You were two years behind me, as I recall.

Your haircut sucks. Ask any girl. It looks so bad. Zack? Are you listening?

Too exhausted to take the bait. I just grunted into dad’s pillow each time.

I was so tired.

I needed to rest.

I’d fucked my nymphomaniac sister probably sixteen or seventeen times in two days, and because she tended to sneak into my room at midnight for at least one more round, I urgently needed to start saving up energy for that.

But then she said something that was sort of profound.

“We fight a lot, don’t we?”

“Yeah.”

“Because people fight over stuff that matters.”

I hacked out a laugh. “You think any of this matters?”

“Yeah. Don’t you?”

“I don’t know. I guess a little bit.”

In that moment, I got it.

We couldn’t love openly. But we could hate openly. And hate is love with the sign flipped.

It controls you, consumes you, subsumes you, sublimates you. It’s just there, burning under your skin. Deny it, and it becomes worse. Might as well not scratch an itch, not sneeze a sneeze. It is the sum of what cannot be escaped, what must be endured. They are very, very close.

Did Hitler and Stalin start World War II because they could not love?

If dad knew one tenth of what Kat and I had done in the past 24 hours. I would get kicked out of our parents’ house. Every law in California would back dad up. Like that Leonard Matlovich line about getting a medal for killing two men and a discharge for loving one. Some loves are not allowed to speak. This country is more comfortable with hatred than love. Always has been.

Hate is never denied a voice.

So this was what my sister and I had. Love in a disguise. A disguise we’d kept up for so long that it had fooled even me.

I don’t really hate you, sis.

Whatever this is, wherever this goes, I don’t.

We began kissing. Fondling. Laughing. Breathing each other’s breath. I felt disgust break like a bitter crust, and I found something else pouring out, like cool, clear water.

I hoped hatred was enough. It was all my sister Kat and I were ever going to have.

* * *

Truth knocks at inconvenient times.

Seek, and you shall find it not. But seek sleep, reach for rest…then you will blink, and find its knife on your throat.

Mr Dennings makes a mistake late at night. A terrible one. He is trying to sort out his SD cards. He is an amateur photographer of birds. He snaps scrub jays and starlings and black oystercatchers, documents their migrations and movements in thousands upon thousands of photos, which seem to strangle him.

He’s shoving card after card into an SD reader, backing up files he wants, deleting those he doesn’t.

Then he puts the wrong card in.

A video auto-plays.

Mystified, he sees his bedroom. It’s empty. Then he remembers, and knows he must have mixed up the surveillance cam card with the others. It’s playing the recording from today, which ran from the moment the family left the house to the moment after dinner when he disconnected the camera.

He watches the video. Is drawn into the static shot of the bedroom where he and his wife have slept for twenty two mostly loveless years. Empty. Vacant. Freighted with a haunting expressionistic space. It’s so incongruously artistic that he is compelled to watch. It’s worthy of the Guggenheim Museum.

Empty hours of eggshell offwhite emptiness stretch out.

He drags the playbar sideways, shortening minutes to seconds. He marvels at the way the light of the rising and setting sun seems to pour chiaroscuro over the room. Darkness fluxes and flows over the contours of bedsheets. In late afternoon, his pillow—propped upon the counterpane—sprouts a startling beard of shadow.

8am. 10am. 12pm. 2pm. 4pm.

There is nothing to see. Just an empty bed.

At 5:12pm, he jerks back, hitting pause.

His empty bed has people on it, rutting and humping in a tangle of knotted limbs.

A young man and a young woman. He hits play, and watches them move, twisting together, faces blurred and anonymous…until the woman pauses, the camera focuses on her, and he watches his daughter having an orgasm.

He freezes her face in mid-scream, staring at the drool-gleaming lips and into the darkness beyond the teeth.

So.

An explosion happens in his mind. A sense of decompression, of things rushing through a vast rift that has cracked down the center of him.

This was happening in his bed today. Not last month or even last week. There are still air molecules from that scream in the air of his bedroom.

Mr Dennings shudders, guts quivering. A rising tide of nausea spikes up his throat as he contemplates the two nude figures, hips locked, mouths pressed into each other.

He closes the video. He has no further use for it. It now loops forever in his mind, whether he wants it to or not.

He will not sleep that night. Cannot imagine ever sleeping again, actually. The morning is a mystery, as is what he will do to them.

Arayot, Mr Dennings thinks. It is arayot.

That which is punished by death.

[Money]

Now that was a wild ride I really enjoyed it I can see why Kat hates him but his heart is in the right place even though she can't stand to be in the same car with him for very long I can relate on the long car rides the slutty bikini visual was really good I'm amazed she can fit in them even though they are stretched out holding everything together curious where you go from here but I'm sure it will be worth the wait