Wet Dreaming

Wet Dreaming

(m/f, f/f, twins, incest, masturbation, bondage, fantasy, dream)

Introduction

Thank you for clicking on this story. Before you start reading the tale I have prepared for you, I have a few words to say by way of an introduction. Firstly, I wish to acknowledge that this story was inspired by the feedback I received on my previous creative writing attempts here, and in particular I would like to dedicate this story to AoiHikari. I am particularly aware that my previous efforts possessed far too much plot and not nearly enough sexual content to satisfy this audience. I also understand certain preferences for pure escapism in fiction, rather than focusing on blunt reality. As a result, I present this story as my entry into the 2023-II round of the Story Writing Contest here on All The Fallen.

This story is an entirely original creation, based very loosely upon a multi award winning National Theatre stageplay I had the pleasure of working on a couple of years ago. From the script of that play, I have borrowed only the structure of the scenes and some of metaphysical dream state concepts that the source material focuses on, but I have otherwise not borrowed any word or phrase directly from the original material. Therefore, the story found within combines some of my most erotic creative writing with a modern and a deliberately abstract plot concept in this exploration of sexual fantasies and wet dreams.

Please be aware that this story includes graphic descriptions of a sexual nature that could be offensive to some readers from the beginning and throughout. Many of the scenes in this story involve fictional characters that are depicted as being below the legal age of consent engaging in sexual acts of incest. If you are easily offended by any of these themes, I heartily recommend that you click away now. On the other hand, if you choose to read this story, all I ask in return is that you kindly leave a comment, or at the very least hit the like button.

Wet Dreaming

By Mek

Pressed together, warm bodies became one. Were one. As though locked in a tormented cycle of intense passion they were connected, joined. They scraped across each other, skin against skin. Pleasure derived from friction, causing greater heat. Passion derived from lust, a competing desire for more, driving both souls onward. Writhing in life’s perfect rhythm.

There exists a sensual kind of beauty in the intercourse of two siblings, twins from birth and yet each so very different physically from the other. I on the one hand was broad, masculine, tall and muscular, coated all over in a mat of fine dark hair and yet lacking it in the one place the other possessed it in abundance. Her long locks cascaded about the pillow in all directions, a tangled mess caused mostly by the rigor of fervid copulation. Beneath me, her body was the opposite of broadness, short, slender, delicate and in every aspect feminine.

But for the mirrored glass that showed a clear reflection of two entangled bodies, we were alone. In the glass every move, every thrust, every gentle caress was duplicated in perfect synchronous harmony. As our reflections engaged in coital harmony, so did we, with motions exactly adjacent in every possible detail and yet the reflections seemed to remain oblivious to my illicit view. Perhaps it was perverted to watch such a personal act so closely, a voyeuristic stare into a private reality that was never meant to have been seen. But in my defence the mirror was not mine. It was just there. I suspected that it had always been there, and once I had seen into the other side, I couldn’t stop. Through it, I liked to watch.

There is evidence of interaction between every level of life in the known universe, from microscopic single cell organisms all the way up to us humans. Every form of life interacts in some way with others around them, and there is a singular cause for all this interaction. The strongest natural driving force is the desire to reproduce. It is predominantly encoded into the genetic makeup of all living things. Sex ensures the survival and evolution of each species. With only a few exceptions that we know of, it takes only two of the same species to create offspring. As in all things however, we humans constantly try to take things a step further.

I writhed back and forth, an action that felt wonderful with every thrust as my penis rubbed against the soft internal tissues of her vagina. She moaned happily and was already beginning to climax. I didn’t try to prevent it, enthralled by the pleasure I was giving her. There was no need to force anything as I lay atop her beautiful body, our lips pressed together passionately. I could tell that she was enjoying every moment, her heart beating fast and her nails digging into my sides. Our movements flowed like a well oiled machine, such a sensual form of incestuous intimacy for which I cannot believe there could be an equal.

Encouraged by the pleasure I was causing simply by being inside her, I started to move a little faster, pushing in deeper and deeper. She in turn continued to moan out louder with each passing moment until the orgasm finally exploded within, her whole body tensed and she let out a shrill scream of ecstasy. I didn’t stop there though, I couldn’t. With every jerk and twitch, I was edging closer to my own orgasmic release. I could feel it building, like a burning heat within that was about to catch fire. I was truly fucking my sister by that point, forcing myself into her as hard and as fast as I could. Pressing her body against mine, I rammed my cock back and forth, over and over.

At the last, the very peak of the rise, I withdrew. In a single, deliberate motion I pulled back, revealing the full engorged length of my cock, the erect penis with which I had impaled her. It’s swollen shaft from base to the very tip of the throbbing gland was covered by a sheen of bodily fluids that reflected the room’s ambient light. Overcome by the pure, untempered pleasure of my orgasm, every muscle convulsed in unison. I felt my buttocks clench as my face contorted into a terse grimace and expelled a deep groan. Too slowly I reached to grasp for my manhood as the wave of inexorable pleasure washed over me.

The foremost squirt of ejaculate released aimlessly to strike upon the mound of her exposed vulva. A string of milky sperm landed across her soft skin, oozing around the tiny hood and down into the open slit betwixt her labia. The second release came with a firmer grip for greater aim, but alas produced only a sustained dribble. It covered her crotch with small pools of semen, which lasted only until her own fingers arrived. Drained and tired, I rolled to the bed, feeling the weight of my eyelids as like a creamy lotion she began to rub my juices in.

Waking In Damp Patches

Was that the end?

Sex always ended like that. It was normal. At least I thought so.

I finished just as I should, that triumphant orgasmic climax and after, when the last of my erection had faded and softened, I had fallen asleep.

But that wasn’t right. I didn’t want to asleep. I shouldn’t. Not again. How could I fall asleep? Because that’s how it started. That’s how it always started and I try to explain it.

I opened my eyes and knew in that moment of awareness I was somewhere else. A damp patch had formed between my legs, spreading out from the crotch, sticking to my skin, and I clung to the threads of memory quickly fading. Holding on to dreams in the waking world was like trying to catch the rain. Rivers formed by rain flowed to the sea, only to evaporate and fall again as rain once more. Yet somehow it always managed to slip between my fingers until everything disappeared.

They were gone. I suspected as much when I opened my eyes. Where my twin had lain wrapped in my arms, our naked bodies entwined, there remained only emptiness. It wasn’t the same place though. Everything around me had changed and I was back at the beginning as though nothing had happened. The memories faded too quickly, the dream before was slipping away like the rain, but for a few scattered details. I felt dazed, half awake and rubbed the sleep from my weary eyes. Only odd impressions and images were left like puddles when everything else had dried. If a connection between them existed, it was eluding me. Had it all been just a dream? Some erotic wet dream? Except, there was the mirror staring back at me.

I wasn’t me either. I mean, I was me. Of course I was me… but also not. It was my consciousness. I was in control, or at least I felt like I could be, but the body wasn’t the same as it had been. Although I recognised my reflection, there lingered a sense that I was older once, or before, or something. I looked different, felt different, probably even thought differently. I could remember my sister, my twin, her beautiful face. But that was all in the dream, wasn’t it? Awake again, I was me and she was gone. Yet I remembered the mirror, the way it was, and somehow it was always there, reminding me of things I should remember.

The things I’d seen. All the things that happened, the pleasure, the stimulating sensations, I was there as witness to it all. No, it was more than that. I was involved, complicit in ways no girl my age was expected to behave. It had been sexual, deeply emotional, like the connection I had with my twin brother. But in my dream he had been... No, I had been... before... I couldn’t remember. I recalled hardly anything at all, certainly nothing useful enough for my salvation. Half way between sleep and the waking world I struggled to separate dream from reality. I’ve always had strange dreams, like disorganized thoughts randomly coming and going. They seemed real for a time. Then all this weird stuff comes around, filling my head with stuff I shouldn’t know, those perverse erotic images going around and around in circles, like a line drawn in such a way that it curls back on its self, akin to a snake being forced to eat its own tail. Or like me, bent over with my head shoved up my own arsehole.

It often gets me thinking about the cycles of nature. The way planets rotate upon their axis while orbiting a star. The star in turn rotating, revolving in orbit of a massive black hole somewhere at the galactic centre. Just one of so many galaxies swirling through the cosmos. Everything exists in motion, maintaining perfect harmony. The cycle has no recognisable beginning, no middle, no foreseeable end. There’s a birth to be sure, and a death, but like the eternal chicken and the egg I had to wonder, which came first?

Without understanding, I felt along my body for any clue I might find, anything real I could hold onto. The moist patch on my clothes was warm and sticky to touch. Finding myself clothed was unexpected, a revelation to what I had been quickly forgetting. The material was familiar at least, denim. I was wearing jeans. Damp jeans in bed was odd, out of place. The bed was normal though, white cotton sheets and a patchwork blanket. There was nothing unusual about the room either, candlelight flickered on the walls, reflected in the mirror. I sniffed at my wet fingers, filling my nostrils with the scent of fresh semen.

There was semen drying upon the crotch of my jeans. How did it get there? It wasn’t mine. My body could not have produced it and there was no one else in the room. Maybe someone had just left, it was the most plausible explanation. Yet the pieces still did not add up. Don’t ask me how I knew. It wasn’t anything physical, anything tangible, I couldn’t exactly define it or put my finger on it. There was just this lingering sense that I shouldn’t know anything about semen or what it smelt like. I’d not seen it before and yet I was not mistaken. Then again, I had been someone else before, in my dream, someone older, someone male, and now I wasn’t.

It wasn’t possible to share another’s body, to possess them as though some spirit or ghost. That was just fiction, the work of an overactive imagination. Such magic couldn’t really exist, could it? No. It may have seemed like reality in my head, but it was only a dream. A strange, very passionate and blissfully erotic dream, but a dream none the less. Thinking about it wasn’t helping. Outside a new day was about to start, the dream had passed and I was back in the waking world.

At least, I was pretty sure I was awake. I mean, I had definitely woken from a pleasant dream. It was still night, only darkness beyond the curtains. The candle had burnt low and only the faint glow of embers remained in the fire’s hearth. I pinched at a fold of skin just to make sure, digging fingernails into my breast until there was pain. I felt its sting rapidly intensify, but nothing more happened. I did not wake, for I was already awake. That confirmed it. The pain was convincing enough to be certain and I rubbed my fingers gently around, soothing the skin I had bruised.

Maybe in hindsight the chest was not the most appropriate place to be pinched, even if it was with my own hand. The protruding nipple of my tender budding breast responded as I brushed over it and with curiosity returned to explore further. The pert little bud felt much harder than it had been moments earlier, pushing against my top as though aware of what I was doing and preparing itself for more. I pinched again, causing in one way a more intense pain and then in another something else entirely, something more evocative, almost pleasurable. The sensation was base, going much deeper than mere flesh, carnal as though arousing the very soul. Cautiously I explored further.

My body wasn’t accustomed to that kind of attention. I mean I had touched myself before, washed and cleaned regularly, dutifully attending to every nook and crevice. But that was different. I had not possessed of that intent before, never dared to touch myself in a sexual way and certainly hadn’t let anyone else. I’m not even sure my mind had considered it until that moment, until I’d had that dream. Where it had come from, I could not be certain. Too much of it had faded from my memory to recall the detail, but it had been vivid and sensual. No, not just sensual. It had been deeply erotic, awakening something inside me that I didn’t know existed.

My hands passed over my body as though I was feeling it anew, like the first footprints on a beach, pristine and fresh. Every part of me felt unfamiliar, felt different than I remembered. There was an incipient energy there, like electricity crackling across my skin, running through every nerve and for perhaps the first time I felt truly alive. It was like I had pressed a button, opened some kind of gate and flooded my system the moment I reached down and pushed a hand inside my jeans.

There were realms of thought which believed that it was immoral for a person to touch themselves in such a manner. It should have felt wrong, for it was perverse in ways I couldn’t begin to comprehend and yet I didn’t want to stop. Of course the issue with hormonal adolescence is that anything that could be perceived as wrong was an instant aphrodisiac. Lithe fingers rubbed over the delicate skin of my vulva in gentle circular motions matched by the other hand around one breast. I could feel every little brush of their tips upon the sensitive mounds, learning sensations I had not experienced and finding enjoyment in every moment.

One slender forefinger slid snugly along the narrow crevasse between my labia and then back up until I found the most pleasurable of spot. I held it there, the tiny button like tip of my clitoris massaged it gently by one finger, which I rotated around it in a slow, deliberate motion. The sensation felt familiar, although I could recall why. Almost every day I cleaned myself, washing between my legs in the bath with a flannel, but that wasn’t it. The feeling inside me then was very different to washing. Washing was more like a job that had to be done and it didn’t feel the same as that, not like a chore at all.

I wanted to feel more, discover all the pleasures I could find within easy reach. It didn’t take long to find the little hole hidden between my legs, the narrow slit and it’s sensitive inner folds. I new it was there, a soft round opening that was just about wide enough for my index finger to enter without forcing it. I remembered it, and although how escaped me, I didn’t hesitate. In the finger went, exploring in search all I lusted for. Down to the first joint, the second and gradually felt around the soft inner wall. Oh how good it felt, touching myself, feeling everything my young body could experience with just one finger. There was a little more room once it was inside, but not enough to squeeze a second digit in. Instead I brushed the thumb of that hand around it, searching for anything else that might feel nice.

I wondered if it would feel better if it was my brother was touching me like that. The errant thought strayed into mind, perverse on so many levels it caught me off guard and yet it excited me more that I could have expected. It shocked me how much I liked the idea as it grew within me, expanding beyond merely touching. It was shameful, for we weren’t just related, we were twins. Yet the more I thought about him, the more I wanted him there with his finger inside me instead of my own. No, not just his finger. As the fantasy expanded, my heart pounded faster in my chest, my hand worked harder, wriggling that finger around faster and with greater desire than before.

Embraced in my fervour I stared into the mirror. On the other side there was a girl staring back. She looked exactly like me, precisely how I looked, right down to the freckles on my cheeks. She moaned silently as her hips bucked in time with mine. I watched her masturbating there on her bed, and I guessed that she saw me the way that others saw me, but that wasn’t me. It wasn’t the way I saw myself. Perhaps I had once, but I was changing, growing, and maybe she was too. The subtle curves of two budding little breasts took form on her chest, pert and tender looking as my own. I began to shake, just a little at first and then more so. Uncontrollably so.

Engulfed in total ecstasy my head rolled back and my eyes closed.

Light and Dark Options

They say that the city never sleeps, not really. There are always people awake, people working, keeping the city moving forward. But in there lies the problem. Objects in motion wear out, ravaged by time and constant use. The sleepy country village can last for ever, never changing, but never keeping up with the rest of the world either. The city must change, replace the old with the new and continually be updated in order to survive, or it will fall apart. In some ways a child is like the city, constantly on the move and full of energy. However, the child must grow in more ways than one, to develop both in body and in knowledge before they can understand their place in the world. Oh what it is to be young and able to choose which path to take, knowing not how those decisions will turn out. As I’ve grown older, I’ve started to hate what I’ve become.

Well, maybe hate it too strong a word. But I hate what I’m supposed to be. I feel old. Like I’m not, not really, but sometimes I feel like I am. I mean, I don’t want to be old and I don’t really want to get old either. I did when I was younger though. When I was a kid, the thing I wanted most of all was to be old enough that I could do all the things that older people did. But then when I did get older, I changed my mind. I wanted to be young again. Sometimes I feel younger, like when I’m with other people. I like young people best of all, passionate, brilliant young people, full of talent and promise and I dream of being young like them. But I’m back behind my eyelids again.

Sometimes I think such terrible thoughts. Things I could do, would dare to do if only I had the opportunity. Dark thoughts that burn so brightly in my head, so vibrant and perverted. When I think about my body, I think about how good we are meant to taste, the way people want to lick and suck on certain parts and enjoy it. Like they are literally sucking on each other’s life force. I’ve tried sucking on myself and it didn’t taste like much. It kind of hurt. I guess I wasn’t sucking in the right place though, the parts between my legs that others seem to like best. I couldn’t reach down that far, there was too much of my body in the way. I guess I’ll just assume that they would taste nice to someone else, or maybe I could try sucking on you.

Sunrise Rise

“Good morning.” A voice reverberated in my mind, a female voice, sweet and delicate. It pulled me from my dream and back to the waking world. The long, slow stroking motion of my hand around my morning erection stopped abruptly and I opened my eyes. The room around me came into focus. Different to before, but familiar. The thoughts in my head, the feel of my body and the bed beneath it all felt like it was mine again. But I recognised nothing so much as the face of the girl looking down at me, for I was her, or rather I had been just moments before in my dream.

I had dreamt I was her, my sister. It sounded weird, but it was so clear and vivid before, where I’d been and what I was doing had felt so real. A wet dream so beautifully erotic that I’d woken with the overwhelming urge to jack myself off as hard and as fast as I could. My cock was rock solid between my fingers and I could feel the damp patch that had formed inside my pyjama bottoms. My cheeks began to flush with embarrassment as I realised what was happening.

"Don't mind me, it's perfectly normal.” She was sat on the edge of the bed, quite relaxed. My sister was wearing one of the plain night dresses she normally wore, and she looked perfectly comfortable there next to me, despite what she had just caught me doing. It had been a long time since I had last shared a room with my sister, so I had thought I was safe. But she had walked in unnoticed as I was pleasuring myself and it felt awkward. My sister and I had often looked at each other with affection, as siblings do, but she’d never seen me wanking before. Still, she didn't seem embarrassed, nor angry, or anything else particularly. Perhaps that was the most disturbing thing about that moment, or maybe it was that I’d been dreaming of her. No, it was more than that. I have been fantasising about here, masturbating to the mental image of her naked body. Had I called out her name in my sleep?

“I was lonely.” She said, keeping her hand on my leg. It had a strangely calming effect. My hand relaxed from its grip and I returned her smile. The duvet would not pull up further with her sat on it, so my upper body was not covered, but at least the important bits were. My erection was problematic though, for the bulge it created was extremely obvious. My eyes were drawn to it, and therefore so were hers.

"What have we here?" My sister asked, taking hold of the covers and she pulled them back like a child opening a present to reveal what was hidden beneath. She pounced catlike upon the top of my pyjama bottoms and looked down. I felt embarrassment at the thought of her seeing my erection, but it was too late to stop her. She wrapped her fingers around my parts and looked up at me with a playful smile. Those delicate fingers squeezed around it and I tried hard not to jump.

"I was dreaming about you." My sister said as she gently rubbed my penis. “About this.” I had shared our mother’s womb with my sister and been born on the same day. Our ages were only minutes apart. As twins we shared a bond, a connection to each other that other siblings could not. We often walked in step, were in tune with each other and felt the absence most keenly when we were separated. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that we had the same dreams, the same fantasies and desires. I didn’t expect her to tell me about it so boldly though, and I didn’t expect her hands to be so cold either.

"Does that feel nice?" I nodded when she asked, still somewhat speechless. I wondered if I should be panicking in that moment, shocked by what she was doing to me or aghast at the immorality of it. Then again, she was my twin and I trusted her more than any anyone else. The touch of her soft hands upon me was meant to feel wrong, so very, very wrong, or so I had been led to believe. She wasn’t hurting me or doing anything I hadn’t been doing to myself however, and she was my sister. There were rules against such things and yet I had been fantasising about exactly that. It couldn’t be all that bad, could it?

“That’s so good.” I finally managed to tell her. It was very early, still dark and I was feeling tired, but I didn’t want her to stop. It was one thing playing with my own parts, but having someone else play with them felt ten times better. At our tender young age, there were so many things about what we were doing that would make people freak out. We were underage twin siblings. But what I experienced was really quite wonderful. There was a warm sensation, much like masturbating but more intense. I was feeling something else as well. Looking down my body I saw that she was kissing my cock. She looked up at me, and then kissed it again, still grinning from ear to ear. She looked so pretty with her hair held back as it fell over her shoulders.

My heart was racing. My breath quickened to a harsh panting. My sister was doing this to me, just as I’d desired. My own amazing twin licked around the top end of my dick, and then its head disappeared, sliding her mouth. I wasn’t forcing her, that was the most incredible part of it, she was sucking my cock of her own free will. That was too much to take. The orgasm cascaded within and I couldn’t hold it back. Semen shot out of my cock so fast all I could do was hold on and hope for the best. I had only managed that feat twice on my own, covering my wanking hands with sticky cum on both occasions. This time the white bodily fluids were filling her mouth, the orgasm stronger and more satisfying than any I had felt before. My sister’s hand slid up my chest and gripped the bare skin. She looked surprised. In the reflection of the mirror I saw her swallow hard as her composure seemed to falter. I worried that she might cough or start to choke.

The mirror was there again, the same as it always was. Perhaps it had been there the whole time, I’d not thought to look. The mirror was there and all the wonderful feeling began to fade. I was dreaming. It had felt so very good, as real to me as any dream before, and yet the mirror to prove it wasn’t. The visage of my sister disappeared and I was left alone. My eyes closed and another dream faded.

Stuck Together

Time is a powerful thing. It is possible to live a lifetime within a single moment, or watch it pass by in a flash. Yet time is a constant, every second lasts for the exact same length as all the others that came before it. Only our perception of time is changed, the subconscious playing upon a weakness of the mind. The pace of life has a significant influence on the perception of time's passage. Days often seem to disappear amongst the bustle of the big cities, while the small country villages hardly move forward at all. Some days when there is little to do but watch the rain fall beyond the window, time loses all meaning.

Do you want to wake up yet? I’m sorry if you do, you won’t for a while. You see, we are in it now and there is not going to be anything much that either of us can do about it. Dreams travel in circles, try not to forget that. It will be important later, or perhaps it was earlier. I’m not entirely sure. Time means nothing in dreams, and yet time is just another circle. Each second, each minute and hour, each count in deliberate sequence but always end up back at one. It might make sense if time was universal, a rule that we all had to abide by, but it’s not. Time is just something we invented to give meaning to our lives. I’ve never met a cat who understands time.

People don’t seem to understand time either, which is even more confusing. Most prefer living in the past. Things were always better in the good old days, or so I’m told. The past doesn’t seem that great to me though. The more I learn about history, days before science and medicine, the wars and horrible suffering, the more I wish I lived in the future. Because let us be honest here, the present isn’t great either. It’s amazing to me that we spend so much of our time thinking about the past, and yet manage to learn absolutely nothing from it, so that we are doomed to constantly repeat our mistakes over and over, and over again. We’re stuck together going around in circles.

Bursting Bus Bubbles

I often feel as though I’m waiting for a bus. Like I’m just waiting around for something to happen, something that will take me precisely where I want to go. It is a recurring theme for me, especially in my dreams. I guess in the grand scheme of life we are all either on the bus or off the bus. It feels like being on the bus is the better option. If I was on the bus I would be heading in the right direction, going places, progressing in life. But have you seen the state of the busses lately? Stained seats, gum stuck in random places, dirt, people’s rubbish left all over. Yet, I continue to stand with fortitude, expectantly waiting for the bus.

Then, have you noticed how when you’re waiting for something, doing your best to be patient, there always comes that dreaded moment. I mean that all too telling twinge in the bladder, warning of an increasing need to find a toilet. Of course that sudden desperation rarely bothers to develop should there be bathroom or even a handy urinal in close proximity. No, it was the steadily building ache between the legs that only came when salvation was farthest from reach. All I could do was clench my thighs and try to ignore it, focusing on other things.

“Did you see that careers advisor today?” A boy asked among my fellow students, sheltering from the rain as we waited for the bus. It pulled me from my revere, tugging me back into myself again from a pleasant daydream. Reality hit me like a wet coat slapped across my face.

“Who?” My sister responded blankly. It was the end of just an average school day. I resented the monotony of it all, the constant hurry to wait around for nothing to happen. Conversation provided a distraction at least, and I needed something to divert my mind from my bladder.

“That guy who came with that quiz and told us what jobs we might want to do in the future.”

“Oh, that guy. Yeah, kind of. Why?” Asked my twin, her blouse just as soaked as my coat, turning it transparent enough to see the little white bra beneath as the material clung to her skin. Heavy rain splashed in the streams of water, flowing across the road before cascading into a drain. None of which was helping my situation.

“He said I should work in a sex shop.” The boy replied. “Selling condoms and porn, you know.”

“What, really?” Asked another boy as the urge to urinate intensified. I tried to hold it in, but it wasn’t just the urge to go that I felt. It was the nagging thought in the back of my mind that said, ‘do it, go on, do it right there in front of everyone’.

“Yeah. I was like, what the fuck?” He shrugged.” I’m twelve. It’s not like I’ve even had sex yet.”

I resisted grabbing at my trousers for fear it might give me away, but I couldn’t hold it much longer. There was nowhere I could go to in time, nowhere private, just a busy street outside the school. I certainly couldn’t just flop my cock out and spray the pavement with so many watching. There were girls among them, classmates, friends and my sister too. But I simply had to go and there was nothing else for it.

“He told me to be an escort.” A girl behind me chimed in, oblivious to the instant relief that was washing over me as the pressure in my bladder eased. I forced myself not to look down at where a familiar warmth spread around my groin, but I could see it clearly in the mirror. Perhaps I could still get away with it, say it was just the rain, but we were under the cover and my trousers had been dry.

“He told me that too.” My sister nodded and asked, “What is an escort?”

“It’s a type of car.” The first boy answered proudly, his words expressed a little too confidently. The warm flow over my thigh was oozing down the inside leg as the soaked fabric stuck. It felt extraordinary, watching the unsuspecting people surrounding me as I pissed myself. Urine seeped past my knee as the tap continued to pour out its steady stream, and I felt something twitch.

“Its like a fancy prostitute.” The second boy corrected him, waving a mobile phone. “I looked it up. You’re like some guy’s girlfriend for the day, go to events and things, have sex after and you get paid for it.”

“That’s mad. Why’s he telling us all to get sex jobs?” She asked, perplexed. The first drips from my leg splashed onto my shoe in warm yellow droplets. Knowing I could be caught the moment someone bothered to look my way was strangely arousing. It was a worrying thought. Perhaps there was something seriously wrong with me, for I was wetting myself in public and it was turning me on.

“Yeah, aren’t they meant to tell us to be doctors or politicians, or something like that?” The other girl continued seamlessly.

“Politicians still fuck people for money. That’s what my Dad says.” She shrugged. “What did he say to you?” All eyes turned to look at me, standing there in the centre of the group of my peers with a growing erection and urine pooling around my feet.

“Dad?” I heard myself ask awkwardly, trying to act normal and failing. Caught up in my own dilemma, I had not been following her meaning.

“No, the career guy.” My sister glared back at me. “What did he say your job should be?”

“Oh, he said I should be a teacher.”

Life Dreams

I’ve always wanted to do something with my life. I’d like to think I could make a difference while I was here. Not like conquering the world or bringing the dead back to life, nothing like that. Just something that I would be remembered for, you know. Like inventing something, creating the next big innovation or discovering a previously unknown place. I don’t know what exactly, I just mean anything really. I fancied being a pilot, flying off to distant places, or to captain a ship that sailed the oceans. An astronaut would be cool, travelling to other planets. But I’m told I’m not smart enough, not clever enough to do those things. I’m not qualified, people tell me, I can’t afford it, I’m too young and I’m too old, so I give up before I even try. But that’s okay, that is just the way the world works, isn’t it?

Captivated

“Wake up.” Whispered his voice in my ear. “Sis, wake up.” I did, or at least I thought I had. Nothing but darkness surrounded me. There was a hint of light around the distant edges, pale and pink, which moved as I tried to see. My eyes were open but my sight obscured. Other than that, I felt like me again. My thoughts collected together to form a sense of myself, consciousness returned and I tried to understand. A cold, hard surface pressed against my back, forcing me to lie with my body stretched into a position I wasn’t entirely comfortable with. I had no memory of getting into such a position and I’d certainly not raised and tied my own hands above my head. They were bound tightly to something behind me. I couldn’t move my feet either. They were spread wide and tightly strapped to the metal structure of whatever I was lying upon.

“Don’t struggle.” My brother warned, but I tested the strength of my bonds anyway. They didn’t give an inch, tied as they were around my wrists and ankles with firmly knotted rope. He stroked my body, teasing the skin with delicate brushes, for I was as naked. He had me exposed before him, unable to move and completely at his mercy. My tits were tender as he squeezed them, manipulating their shape with his hands. I felt him kiss around the nipple of one, sucking on it like a baby to a mother’s teat.

“What is this?” I asked of him as he moved toward the other breast. His hands where everywhere, moving all over my body as I lay captive and totally unable to resist. My eyes were starting to adjust to the dark, picking out the traces of reflected light that had crept into the room. It wasn’t where I had fallen asleep, but the room was familiar. He had carried me, I assumed, down the corridor to his room, where he had rigged up his contraption and tied me to it. My brother had arranged it all, planned it down to the last detail and the execution of it was going perfectly.

I had forgotten, although I’m not entirely sure how or when, it was just a feeling that I’d had this fantasy before. I had longed to feel my brother inside me, I had dreamed of it many times, but as he stood over me, there was something about his plan that had me concerned. My twin and I were not yet adults, but we were not exactly children either.

“I’m gonna cum inside you.” He declared as he shuffled closer. His voice was playful, but earnest, while his form leant over. The tip of his swollen prick touched upon the neat little slit between my legs as he stood there, playing with my defenceless body. I had desired it many times, dreaming of what it might feel like to give all of myself over to him, to be totally in his power. Yet when it came to it, I feared the consequences. His fresh sperm would flow into me, likely impregnating me. I voiced this concern.

“Don’t worry.” Replied he, as though the same thought had crossed his mind before. “Mum said we have to be at least eighteen before we can have kids.”

That didn’t sound quite right to me, but I had heard mum say something similar before and his argument was convincing enough. Eighteen was a long way away. Sixteen was the legal age for having sex, and we still had a couple of years to wait for that. Patience had never been my virtue though and even if I hadn’t secretly been wishing for it, I was tied down and had no way of stopping him.

My brother entered me, just as he had promised, intent on his own satisfaction. I could only moan out as I felt his length move deeper and deeper inside. My hips bucked and lifted from the bench, taking his full length and relishing the sensations of each nerve ending made contact with. His shaft retreated back like the sea preparing for the next wave and he thrust back in again. Over his shoulder I could just make out the outline of something tall and shiny, reflecting what little light there was toward me. It took a moment and a few more of his thrusts before I realised that it was the mirror again. I saw myself smiling back at me as I groaned under him and the power he had over me.

It was difficult to see the mirror clearly in the dark, especially with him humping my body. The image was faint and blurred with the incessant movement, but I was certain the girl in the mirror wasn’t just my reflection. Sure, the girl looked like me in every way. She was also naked and the room on the other side of the looking glass seemed just as dark and dreary as my brother’s room. Yet this version of me was sat upright, watching us through the mirror, and when I chanced to look again, there was no mirror image of my twin brother in sight. Just the girl who looked very like me, holding something in her arms and smiling knowingly back at where I lay.

“Ah fuck, yeah.” He groaned out loud. I was trying to look over my brother’s shoulder, but too much of him was in the way and he reached his ultimate climax before I could see the mirror again. My twin tensed, convulsing between my legs in the full throes of an orgasm that made his face screw into a shape resembling the frown from one of those gruesome Incan masks. Semen spewed from his throbbing manhood, sending his warm sperm spreading into my body. The feel of it was incredible, like nothing I could have imagined and for a moment I lost what I had been thinking about.

The mirror was still there, but I ignored it, forgetting what it had been trying to show me even as my twin withdrew from me. He had ejaculated inside me, a feeling so overwhelming to one as young and inexperienced as me that I couldn’t help but marvel and what he had just done to me. My eyes closed and I tried to keep that feeling alive for as long as I possibly could, tugging again at the bonds holding me down as I hoped that it wasn’t all just another of my weird erotic dreams.

In Reflection

Have you seen the mirror yet? Don’t worry if you haven’t. I’m starting to think that only I can see it, floating through my dreams. I don’t think its dangerous, it just follows me around. People say that mirrors are windows into other realities, like parallel worlds and that its not really a reflection at all, but another world almost identical to our own. However, if you look at a mirror with just the corner of your eye, as you are turning or something, you might just see a creature from that world hiding in the reflection. I’m not sure if that’s true, but the more it follows me, the more I wonder.

Its not like one of those modern ones that hang on the wall. This mirror is very old, about six foot tall and has a decorative wooden surround with all sorts of things carved into it. As far as I can tell it doesn’t have legs or a stand, or anything like that. It just kind of floats. Sometimes I think it is there for a reason, like its trying to remind me of something I’ve forgotten, or help me to see more clearly. I don’t know. I’ve never been able to touch it. It always floats just out of reach and if I move toward it, so in turn it moves away.

There are many superstitions about mirrors, you know. Like the seven years of bad luck should you break one, and that creepy rule of never looking into a mirror after midnight. Mirrors are like Magpies in many ways. You need to count your reflections just as you should those pesky black and white birds. It brings to mind that old folk rhyme:

One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl and four for a boy. Five for silver, six for gold, and seven for a secret never to be told. Eight for a wish, nine for a kiss, and ten a surprise you should not miss.

I think mirrors hold many secrets we would prefer never to be told. Imagine all the things they have seen, reflecting all the dark, perverse mysteries of our world, whether there is someone there to see them or not. No one knew that I had conceived my child with my own twin brother, I kept that sordid, sinful secret only in my dreams, but the mirror knew. The mirror always knew.

That’s Not Right

It was an odd pain that caused me to force my eyes open again, like the feeling of desperately needing to shit and I’d been holding it in for hours, but a hundred times worse. There was something dreadfully wrong, muscles cramping in places I never even thought I had. I tried to hold it, but it was too big, filling my insides like nothing I had experienced before and my instinct was not to hold it, but to push. The pain was getting worse, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even breath without tightening a muscle and forcing whatever was inside me out, and I needed to breath.

With relief the pain began to ease almost as quickly as it had started and soon it was over. Hesitantly I took a step back, opened my eyes and looked down at a large round object lying between my feet. Beyond my ruffled breast feathers was something totally extraordinary. I’d laid an egg.

Half Asleep

A half light seeped into my mind, passing through the layers of skin that covered my eyes, finding cracks around the edges to reach under and awaken me once more. I woke in a field with a headache and the screen on my phone was smashed. Through the throbbing pain behind my eyes I saw my sister looking down at me and I said, “I don’t think we should drink that much again.”

“What happened to your phone?” She asked.

“I don’t know. Dropped it, I think.” The spinning world began to slow down and gradually came into focus. An ethereal mist lay along the valley between the fields under the moonlight, stretching to the distant horizon. “Why are we in a field?”

“To be honest, that’s another thing I can’t explain.” Replied my twin. “That, and where we left our clothes.”

“Oh.” I groaned as I sat up and looked at my bare self in the mirror. I’d looked better. My hair was doing a convincing impression of a birds nest and the rest of me was covered in grime and dried mud. “We had sex last night too, didn’t we?”

“Yup.” My twin sister nodded a little more proudly that I expected. “We did.”

“Together?” I realised in a startled moment of realisation. She nodded again and I groaned. “I need a drink.”

“That’s not a good idea.” She replied as she lay down on the grass next to me. “I think that’s how it started. That’s how we ended up here.”

“Probably.” I agreed. “We’d just be going round in circles.”

“We could.” She suggested, cupping her hand between my legs as she leaned closer. I felt her gently stroke the hairs along the slit of my pussy and for a moment I considered letting her go further.

“We should get out of here.” I wasn’t against it as such. I enjoyed my sister’s amorous attentions, but it was cold lying there naked like that and it wasn’t exactly private. “Someone might see.”

“Oh alright.” My sister nodded. “There’s got to be a road or a path around here somewhere.”

“There’s a sign over there.” Said I, standing up. It wasn’t far, I pointed to it. “Is that the way we came?”

“I don’t know.” She replied uncertainly as I lifted her up too. “There’s one that way too, and another down there. They’re all pointing at each other, what’s the point of that? I think if we followed them, we’d get lost.”

“Probably.” I agreed. “We’d just be going round in circles.”

“I do like circles.” She laughed and took my hand in hers. “Little circles like balls of light.”

“Like stars?”

“Exactly. Like starlight shining across the cosmos.” She smiled at me, that warm happy smile she had, the one I loved. “You know stars are hundreds of millions of miles away and their light takes centuries to get here. Just think, we’re seeing light that was created hundreds of years ago, perhaps thousands.”

“So all the stars we see are somewhere in the past?” I looked at her expectantly.

“Yes, but their light has left that past behind.” She explained. “It has travelled all the way here, to the present. Rays of light crossing eons in a line straight to our eyes and for a moment it helps us find a little peace. Looking out there into the vast nothingness of space, filled with all those stars. I imagine it would be boring, being stars.”

“Probably.” I agreed, still feeling half asleep. “We’d just be going round in circles.”

All in the Dressing

Something disturbed my brief serenity, a movement perhaps or a sound perceived in proximity but not entirely heard. My senses sharpened again, taking in the ambient environment. The heat of the sun on my neck, the crash of waves upon the shore and the cry of a gull some way off. I smiled, remembering the feel of my brother’s cum inside me and opened my eyes upon an entirely different scene.

“Good afternoon, sir and thank you for your patience.” A man stated in a thick accent as I lowered the menu. “I shall be your waiter today sir. The special today is surf platter with spring salad upon an eight year old rump, and cherry cream dessert.”

“Thanks.” I replied, feeling entirely lost and handed him the menu as I took in the surroundings and remembered. “That sounds delicious”.

“I recommend that you try the fermented milk sir.” He offered. The man wore practically nothing, just a few metal piercings. I looked down at my own attire and found that I was male again, and based on my exposed erection, I was several years older than before. I knew I was dreaming, like I was in a film or something. The place was too strange, different to anything I knew and yet I felt like I had been there before. I had woken into a place with a culture foreign to me, but it was surprising how easy it was to accept their customs. “You will not find a smoother vintage anywhere else.”

“What animal does the milk come from?” I asked naively as he waved some kind of signal toward what I assumed to be the kitchen entrance. I followed his gesture, expecting to see the mirror floating in the middle distance as it often did, but it wasn’t there.

“Ah, well sir, we produce the milk ourselves.” In emphasising what he meant, he pointed to the bare nipples of his own chest and saw the look of sudden terror in my eyes. “Oh no sir, you will like it. This is from the adolescent breast, not the adult. It has a sweet taste.”

With that, the waiter leaned slightly across the table to pour a pale white liquid from a jug into the two glasses set on the table. The fermented milk had a slightly blue colour to it, and the waiter swirled it around in one glass, sniffed it a couple of times and then tasted it.

“Perfect.” He exclaimed with a flamboyant hand gesture, licked his lips and then pointed to the other glass, suggesting that I try it. I did so very cautiously, eying the liquid uncertainly before lifting it to my lips and taking a sip. For a moment I thought that I would spit it straight back out, but it was unexpectedly cool, sweet as the waiter had promised but not overly so and I found it to be wonderfully refreshing.

“You are right, it is very sweet.” I added approvingly after drinking a bit more.

“Do not drink too fast Sir. It make you fall over.” The waiter joked happily. “Ah, here comes the main course.” The dish appeared from the restaurant carried by two other waiters. I was stunned the instant I saw it and couldn’t form a single word as my meal was delivered. Upon the large platter was a colourful arrangement of small fish on a bed of edible leaves and vegetables. It looked very similar to every other sea food dish he’d tried across a dozen countries including my own, except this meal was displayed upon the bare back of an eight year old child who was singing a sweet melody as she was placed upon the table. The leaves covered her lower back and down between her thighs. It was all covered in a pink jus that oozed between her buttocks.

My waiter gleefully picked up the long black braid of the child’s hair and dropped it over the edge of the table. It wasn’t quite long enough to brush the ground, but it wasn’t far off. Then, and with a little further ceremony, he flourished a bow and departed. Leaving me and my lunch to get acquainted. I had been given no cutlery as such, but on the table was a pot full of wooden picks. Each had two short prongs that looked like a bizarre cross between a fork and a filleting knife without the sharp edges. I looked over to another table to see a local eat from a similar platter with both hands, one shovelling some meat and salad directly into their mouth, while the other gripped and squeezed the child’s bare buttock.

“You eat it.” The waiter said, returning just as my dish hit a high note in her mellow song. I eyed the salad uncertainly. “Eat before she gets restless sir. She cannot lay here all day. You like Chef’s sauce sir?” The waiter asked, offering a pouring jug I eventually started to pick at the medley of food that lay before me. I started safe with the salad and a little of the dressing from the girl’s back and recognised the familiar flavour of lettuce and rocket.

“Chef’s sauce?” I asked pensively.

“Yes sir” The waiter grinned politely, as though he were enjoying my discomfort. “This is a delicacy that you will either like or hate sir. Every chef has their own secret recipe for semen sauce. This one can be very salty.”

“What is in it?” I questioned him hesitantly, gazing upon the jug with suspicion. “No, don’t tell me. It’s sperm, isn’t it?”

“Yes, exactly sir. Sea water, crushed fruit, citric acid and the chilled essence of the chef’s ejaculate.” The waiter nodded mirthfully. “Some pour it over everything, some just a small amount on the side.”

“Right, no. I this I’ll pass thanks.” All of this was starting to make me feel a little queasy. “Is there anything else I should know while I’m eating this. I’m not going to find toe nails or chunks of skin in here am I?”

“No sir.” The waiter replied jovially. “Please, enjoy your meal and call if you need anything else.”

“Some fresh water with ice would be great.” I replied and returned my attention to the food. It was surprisingly good. Perhaps a bit too salty for my taste even without the extra sauce, and the tropical sun was extremely warm on my back, making me realize that I was rather over dressed for the climate, even if I was only in a loose shirt and shorts. My cock protruded between the two, as it was apparently compulsory in their country and I was doing my best to fit in.

Watching the person next to me, I saw them slide their hand between the legs of the child on their platter and scooped up some of the jus that had dripped down. For a while I ate, using one of the wooden forks to fill myself with the fish and lettuce, fresh peppers and tomatoes. The jus was spiced and had a tangy after taste that increased my thirst until I had completely drained the glass of fermented breast milk as I did my best to forget its origin. Glancing around, I finally found the mirror. It was off to my left and closer than I’d expected. How I’d not seen it before was a mystery, but there it was, reflecting my image right back at me.

“Do you not like?” I heard a voice say as I chewed upon the last piece of fish and realized I had been staring across at the next table for some time, mesmerized by my fellow diner’s far more hands on approach to their meal. Conscious that I was being addressed, I turned to see who it was but no one else was there. “I say, do you like not me?”

“Oh no. I mean, yes, yes. This is very nice.” I replied awkwardly, realizing that it was the child lying across my table who had spoken. I had not noticed that she had stopped singing. “The fish is very nice.”

“The food is always good.” She stated. “But you don’t like me?”

“No, I do.” I stammered, guessing that she was after a compliment. I thought quickly and added, “That was a beautiful song. You have a lovely voice.”

“But you don’t touch me.” She said, sounding disappointed. “You stare at my sister. She is more beautiful to you, no?”

“No, no… I” I stammered. “You are…”

“We are twins. We are identical.” She declared, almost accusingly. “Do we not please you?”

“I, I...” I looked from her to her sister and back. They did have a striking resemblance to each other. Her very young body was covered by a few stray lettuce leaves, a little of the jus and nothing else. Just like everyone else there, she was completely naked. I had not noticed before, it had not registered, or perhaps it did and my mind had thought it safer not to inform me. If not for the table, I practically had a naked child lying across my lap. I had been careful not to poke her or prod her too much as I ate, just as I was usually careful not to damage crockery in general, but somehow only when she had started talking to me had I really comprehended it. I was saved from myself by the waiter.

“You have finished sir.” He began. Distracted, I had not seen him approach. “Should I serve your dessert now sir?”

“Oh, yes. Thank you.” I replied, grateful in that moment with the belief my plate would be removed. I mean, I didn’t wish to offend the child, but I really wasn’t certain what she was expecting me to say. However, my confusion was only increased when the waiter sprayed something across the girl’s back and wiped it quite thoroughly with a cloth. I was further surprised when he rolled her over, spread her legs and poured some kind of sauce over her. This made her shiver involuntarily, her skin pricking with goose bumps as he squirted cream onto the sauce from a can. Finally placed a bright red cherry on top before turning the platter toward me.

“Your cherry cream dessert sir.” He grinned proudly, bowed and departed again, heading back toward the kitchen before I could say anything in protest. The girl’s legs hung down either side of the table so that I sat between them. Where they joined, I could see where the closed slit of her labia curved into the cheeks of her buttock. The sauce looked suspiciously like custard as it dripped from her small pubic mound, which was the only part of her that had been covered. The waiter had positioned the dessert very neatly upon her vulva, right in front of me. I looked at the two little prongs on the wooden utensil in my hand and realized they would be no use for eating cream, so I started looking for something else.

“You lick me.” The girl said, propping herself up on her elbows. Her little round face glared back at me. “With tongue.”

“Oh.” I gulped. “Goodness, really? But you’re just... I mean you’re so...” Nervously, I glanced around to see what the other diners were doing with theirs, but they were still on their main course or were waiting to be served. Staring into the mirror didn’t help me either, all the mirror could show me was someone in exactly the same situation, so I returned my attention to the food. “You don’t mind?”

“I am your meal.” The child replied. “I sing, you eat.” With that she began to softly sing. I sighed, guessing that I probably wouldn’t get anything more out of her until she had finished her song. With nothing else for it, I leant forward, stuck out my tongue and licked. It tasted as good as it looked, and there was indeed chilled custard. Gradually I wiped my tongue up the inside of one thigh and then the other, before starting on her abdomen. I was trying to avoid her pussy, but the cream kept dripping down her crotch.

A glance to my left showed me that the mirror was still there, staring back at me. As I looked though, I noticed that the reflection was not of me though. Sat at a near identical table on the other side was my sister. She had a young boy on her platter and was licking around his testicles. To my utter surprise, she winked at me. Blushing, I turned back to my own dessert and realised I had nothing to lose. Perhaps she thought I had been saving the best for last, for as I set my tongue to lapping at her hairless little mound her voice trembled and she began to whimper happily.

“Lower.” She prompted. It wasn’t just cream and custard I was licking then. I could taste her own sweet juices mixing in and I did as she instructed. My tongue pressed into the slit, chasing a stray drip over her clitoris and down. The taste of her enhanced every one of my senses until I craved more. My manhood ached to be inside her, a sensation that no manual stimulation could satisfy. How long I had been clutching at my penis, I couldn’t recall, but it was too late to hide my carnal desires any longer. Planting both feet flat upon the ground I launched myself upright.

I mounted the girl without a further thought to the consequence of my actions. In the centre of the busy restaurant I levelled my genitals towards hers and pressed onward. In spite of myself and my surroundings, I entered her tight little pussy. I had no notion of whether it was acceptable in such a strange foreign place, or if anyone was looking on in horror, but I didn’t care. I could have been breaking any number of laws, I certainly would have been where I came from, still I carried on regardless. With hands flat on the table, I was practically on top of her as she squealed.

My young table host was too tight to fit all the way in and forcing it sent me over the edge. I came almost as soon as I was inside her. A spasm rocking my upper body as I felt the familiar release of semen from within.

“Oh.” She moaned, a mix of happiness and confusion spread across her sweet little face. With embarrassment I instantly withdrew, a sticky string of fluid dripping from my big end. I looked up, expecting to have a disappointed audience, but none of them were paying attention. They were all far more interested in their own meals. Only the mirror mocked me. It was closer than before, standing right next to me, almost within reach. I looked for my sister, but she wasn’t there. It was only my reflection frowning back at me, and for a moment I thought I saw my head shake slowly from side to side.

Perhaps it was instinct or something stronger, a sudden impulse to be somewhere else. Either way, I suddenly felt the urge to be on the other side of that fucking mirror and I didn’t stop myself. I’d tried to touch it before, to hold it and understand what it was made of, but it was always out of reach. It was like a rainbow, floating there on the edge of my vision so that if I tried to move closer, it simply backed away. Not that time though, for it had strayed too close. That time I lunged for it and it didn’t budge. My hand missed the edge of it though, and instead passed straight into the mirror with the full weight of my body behind it.

Fucked by Reality

It is widely acknowledged that a girl’s first sexual experience is the most memorable few moments of her life. Unfortunately for most, those moments are ones that are better forgotten. Some fumble around with inexperienced boys for their first time, while drunk at a party, or a quick burst of passion behind the bike sheds that resulted in more than just kissing. Others, wait months planning it, only for it all to be over in a couple of minutes, leaving only disappointment and the hope it will be better next time. For many girls it is also a painful experience, with her body prodded and pulled in ways it had never been before. But regardless of that, almost all will do it again.

I had dreamed about having sex many times and most of those dreams had involved my brother. Some dreams had been more realistic than others, for some had been totally abstract and weird, like that one where I had laid an egg. I don’t know why I kept having such erotic wet dreams or what caused them, but they kept happening and with each one the deep sensations of pleasure I felt increased.

In diving headfirst through the mirror I wasn’t sure what to expect. I suspected that I would wake up from that weird dream I was having, but I wasn’t really prepared for it. More than anything I hated mornings. I hated the getting up and having to leave the warmth of my bed. Perhaps that was why I dreamt so much, lost in the never ending circle of my subconscious mind. It wasn’t my bed that I landed upon on the other side of the mirror. It wasn’t a sofa, a chair or anywhere warm and dry.

“Careful.” A manly voice laughed as I crashed heavily onto a sodden ground. The fall knocked all the wind out of me and as wallowed in the mud. It was dark, late evening. The lawn was illuminated up by a bright floodlight, shining through the pouring rain. 36

“What do you think?” The man asked as he grabbed my arm and lifted me back to my feet. I looked into his eyes and saw my twin brother smiling back at me. He looked older than I remembered, late twenties at least and very handsome. We weren’t kids anymore, but his hand still held in mine as he led me inside, out of the cold and up a flight of stairs. It was a modest little place, a first floor studio flat with nothing much in the way of privacy between the kitchenette at one end and the bedroom at the other. He’d rigged up a curtain of sorts to block out the light, but space was at a premium. “It’s not much, but its mine.”

“It’s alright.” I replied as my gaze fixated for a moment upon the bed. The queen sized double had cotton sheets in a dark claret red, matching the curtains that hung about the window. He took the coat from my shoulders and laid it over a chair as I took in the rest of the room. Drips of water were pooling around our feet, soaking into the carpet. I was absolutely soaked through and through, but he was in no better state, shedding rain everywhere he trod even after he had kicked off his shoes. “Is it rented?”

“No, I own it. I mean, I have a mortgage but, you know.” He explained as I hung up the coats. He had clearly tidied up the place nothing too embarrassing laying around. No dirty clothes, plates or pizza boxes that usually adorned his bedroom and the bed sheets had been made fresh, as though he’d anticipated my arrival. That wasn’t the case at all, merely coincidence that we had bumped into each other after work and had more to do with my having a rare morning off than anything remotely preordained. Yet standing there in him home felt right somehow, and it was making me nervous. I pushed the stray thought from my mind as he offered to get a towel. “I Don’t move, I’ll be back in a second.”

When he returned from the bathroom, bare footed and with a towel in each hand, he had to blink hard at the sight awaiting him. In his absence I’d removed my hooded top and mud soaked leggings, and pulled down the black leotard had been wearing so that it clung around my waist, low enough that he could see the upper strap of a thong exposed above it. I thanked him coyly and took the towel to dry my hair. Standing in what amounted to not much more than my underwear, I knew my brother would be staring. I knew because I was aroused too.

“Would you like a drink?” The words emanating awkwardly from a suddenly dry throat, shifting from one foot to the other. Perhaps I was trying too hard, but it was all I could think of to say. “Tea, coffee or I’ve got some squash. I have wine if you like, or there are some stronger spirits too.”

“Just water.” Was my answer, barely above a whisper. I’d drunk enough that night, more than I had in a while and I didn’t want to be too drunk for what I knew was coming.

“Alright, I’ll just…” He began moving away, one step and almost another back towards the door before I pulled him back, tugging on the towel in his hand until he turned to face me. Confused, he look into my eyes and I stared right back at him. There was a pure beauty there, paler across her cheeks than his usual complexion and the hint of a smile lifted the corners of his face. The distance between us seemed to close without either moving perceptibly and I sensed the kind of passion that I had dreamed of many times before. We kissed.

“Sorry, I...” The apology came his before rational thought. In report of the kiss it bore close resemblance to the many others I’d dreamed of. My bare breasts pushed against his chest as I rose upon my toes. The towel unfurled across his shoulder as we connected and I felt his hands around the small of my back, forming the comforting embrace of a hug that lasted much longer than the kiss. “I thought I was getting you a drink?”

“Oh.” I replied, somewhat fearful that he might back away. It caused me to pause, uncertain of his intent. Physical contact was a welcome delight, but I couldn’t help but expect more from the kiss and wondered what he wanted from me. Despite all of my dirty, erotic dreams, I wasn’t accustomed to being topless girl in my brother’s bedroom and perhaps he hadn’t expected me to be so forward either. Even so, it was difficult for him to hide his arousal when I could feel his swollen length against my thigh, and it didn’t take much for my hand to reach down and grab it.

Through the material I squeezed around the shaft of his penis. I was shaking. It wasn’t that I was cold, for the heating was on full and I’d dried off as best I could. It was just nervousness, a physical expression of anxiety as I felt his cock within my grasp and I could feel that he was shaking too.

“Are you alright with this?” He asked with concern, as though he thought I might have a problem with what we were doing, or what could come next. I nodded slowly, reaching for the fly of his trousers and slid my hand inside.

“It’s so warm.” I uttered in response, referring to his member throbbing in my hand. “I didn’t expect it to be warm and it’s... its...” That was probably the most I’d been able to say since we arrived. I’m not sure if it was because I was shy or that I was worried about what I was hoping to achieve, but because I’d been waiting for it, hoping for it for far longer than I could remember. My only fear was that he might not feel the same, or for some reason regret it afterwards. What if I was no good or he didn’t enjoy it. There I was in his flat, standing in nothing but my underwear and the thin silver chain around my neck.

I could not have been more turned on. It was a strange sensation, not like it had been in my dreams, not like anything I had felt before. I thought there would be a tingling or something around my nether region, but there wasn’t. I just felt so empty, like there was a gaping hole between my legs yearning to be filled and I knew exactly what I needed to fill it. His trousers were off, his underwear too. I looked down upon his erection resting in my hand, feeling it’s every contour in my delicate caress. It wasn’t overly shocking to me, seeing my brother’s cock exposed like that by I found that I was staring at it for far longer than I should, as though I was expecting it to suddenly disappear. I wanted to pinch myself, to make sure I wasn’t going to suddenly wake up and not for the first time I wondered if he would change his mind.

“Is it okay?” He asked, as if he had sensed the moment was slipping away and was offering a way out. “We can stop if it’s a problem, I don’t mind.”

“No. I want to.” I insisted, but my voice was still as shaky as it had been before. “You don’t mind?”

He didn’t reply in words. I felt his kiss upon my forehead first, brushing back my hair, then my cheek and on down my neck. He pressed his lips to one of my breasts and then the other, while he made light work of pulling off the last of my clothes. Our bodies pressed together as he stood again, lifting me with one single grasp of my buttock and another hand about the side of my face. Our lips met and I received my answer.

The kiss was far more than the peck we had shared earlier. My lips parted and our mouths sucked tight to each other until they were sealed together. My nostrils filled with his scent, his subtle sweet taste upon the tip of my tongue and yet my only thoughts in that moment involved an internal open debate on the perfect duration of such a kiss. Maddening as it sounds, I was more worried about if I should pull away or wait for him to do so first. What he was doing with his hands upon my butt cheeks should have been a higher priority or the position of his hard cock as it poked between my legs, but my mind was lost in the sensuality of that kiss. Had I been more aware, I might have enjoyed the sensation of him grinding against me or felt the press of my erect nipples upon his torso. Still the unwanted mental debate raged until I was so fed up with listening to myself that I pulled away. He licked his lips pensively and looked down at me as though it was the first time that he too had experienced anything so intimate.

“Was that alright?” I checked, concerned that I might have pulled away too soon. It was only then that his expression broke into a broad grin and he nodded happily. His smile was a delight to see, making my heart leap to a pace I had not felt for years. He was my brother, my own twin. I wasn’t meant to fall in love with him, not like that anyway. All of society, everyone we knew, they all frowned upon what we were doing. There were even laws forbidding it, but I didn’t care. I wanted to feel him inside me, and finally I was certain he wanted the same.

“Can we...” I gestured toward the bed. He shivered slightly in my arms as though the room had suddenly turned cold. The room temperature had not changed as far as I could tell, but in our mutual nudity not even the warmth of the room could stop him from getting goosebumps at the mere mention of the bed.

“That depends.” He said by way of an answer, and I searched his eyes for some hint of his intention. There was a brilliance to the green in them, almost glowing, with brighter streaks emanating from the tiny black dots at their centre. I could see it then, in his eyes was the truth of it. He really wanted me, just as I wanted him. “How far do you want to go?”

“All the way.”

The Naked Truth

Even though we are born naked, nudity is often perceived as a sexual display, which our overly conservative culture dictates should be a very private matter. We have always been a species that longs for acceptance and are always conscious of upsetting the feelings of others. We are taught to expect others to be offended by our natural state even if we are not offended by it ourselves, just on the off chance that a small minority might complain. As a result, entire nations have become accustomed to hiding who we are ourselves in the worry that someone else may feel uncomfortable, without knowing whether it is true or not. I’ve always hated clothes.

There and Back Again

As soon as we were on the bed, he kissed me. I kept my hand on the bulge between his legs, gripping the swollen head of my brother’s manhood. I felt his arm move, and then both of his strong hands grasped my behind. Between my open legs, his fingers were busy exploring every inch of that most private area. My skin was sensitive to his touch and it felt so good.

I could feel him circling the edge of my vagina, feeling for that opening I knew he wanted to find. He brushed another finger over my delicate clitoris, or perhaps it was his thumb, I couldn't see. Whichever it was, it sent a shiver along my spine like an electric shock, and made each breath catch in my throat. My head rolled back onto the pillow. In my dreams I had lain with my brother many times, but each was just like the first. My brother and I share a bond that only a twin could understand. I’ve tried to explain it many times over, but there simply aren’t sufficient words to describe how wonderful it was to share such intimacy with my twin. My whole body experienced a state of blissful pleasure with his every gentle caress.

His fingers brushed over my labia again, and then I felt his penis, skin against skin, pressing against the trunk of my left leg. My fingers caught it and wrapped around its shaft. Every movement I made felt natural, as though it was what I was meant to do. I felt as though I had done it before, perhaps because my dreams had been filled with many such moments of erotic triumph. A slight shift of position, a tug with of his penis directly beneath my vagina. As we kissed again, I eased down onto it, feeling it push between the tight folds of flesh. Its very tip felt wet and slippery, and I thought I knew in that instant what was about to happen.

My brother had a firm hold of me by the hips, steadying my balance as I aimed to impale myself deliberately onto his rigid penis. His soft foreskin caught upon the thin edges of hymen. My pussy was tight, but not so tight that I could not take all of his length. I was about to put more weight on his penis when I felt him move from beneath. He raised his hips and at the same moment pushed me sideways.

The sudden shock caused an audible gasp to escape, I almost screamed as our blissful kiss ended. Where I had been sat upright over him moments before, he instead loomed over me. I collected my thoughts and tried to make sense of the unexpected shift in situation. I had been riding naked upon the body of my beautiful twin brother, but like being woken from a dream, my lofty position had been disturbed. He was teasing me, prolonging the inevitable with his surprise reversal. It was enough to drive me wild, for I hungered to feel his prick inside me. I was still upon his bed, but my back was pressed to it, pinned down by the weight of his strong, masculine body on top of me.

I tried to shift position, to make it feel more comfortable, but my brother was on me too quickly. My brother spread my legs and held me still, pressing his swollen dick towards me once more. He was in control and I squirmed in anticipation as I felt his warm hard cock pass again between the folds of skin. It slid in easily, as though it had belonged there all along, and it writhed inside me again, just as it had so many times in my dreams. My brother pushed it in as far as it could go, filling my insides with his flesh before withdrawing slightly and thrusting in again. Like the motion of a piston as an engine started up, he began to fuck me.

His repetitive attack and withdraw formed a regular motion, beating against my lower torso with the occasional squelching sound and the squeaking of his bed as it rocked. I lost track of how long he kept pounding against my body, but he continued to fuck me with an impressive stamina. It was more comfortable for me if I moved my body in time with his, matching his rhythm. I couldn’t tell how he had known what to do, or why my dream had been linked so closely in timing to his entering me.

For a while he seemed to be staring off into some middle distance as his body gyrated at a constant pace. The look in her brother’s eyes and the childish grin on his face told me that he was really enjoying the experience though and I was glad. For so long I had dreamed of him being my first, desired him in every way physically possible, and I had felt a little guilty for not sharing those dreams with him.

It was clearly something that he had wanted and hoped for too. I wondered if maybe he had dreams similar to my own. His pace quickened, and I decided that I should put some more effort in too. He was giving me everything I had wanted, and I figured I should please him as much as I could. It was difficult to think clearly in the throws of our copulation, but it was definitely more enjoyable when I was actively participating. The rhythm was easy enough to follow and I felt a warm tingling sensation spreading through my body, which felt so very good.

Pressed together, our warm bodies became one. Were one. As though locked in a tormented cycle of intense passion they were connected, joined. We scraped across each other, skin against skin. Pleasure derived from movement, causing greater sensations. Passion derived from lust, a competing desire for more driving both our souls onward. Writhing in life’s perfect rhythm.

There exists a sensual kind of beauty in the intercourse of two siblings, twins from birth and yet each so very different physically from the other. He on the one hand was broad, masculine, tall and muscular, coated all over in a mat of fine dark hair and yet lacking it in the one place the other possessed it in abundance. My long locks on the other hand, cascaded about the pillow in all directions, a tangled mess caused mostly by the rigor of fervid copulation. Beneath him, my body was the opposite of broadness, short, slender, delicate and in every aspect feminine.

But for the mirrored glass that showed a clear reflection of two entangled bodies, we were alone. In the mirror every move, every thrust, every gentle caress was duplicated in perfect synchronous harmony. As our reflections engaged in coital bliss, so did we, with motions exactly adjacent in every possible detail and yet the reflections seemed to remain oblivious to my illicit view. Perhaps it was perverted to watch such a personal act so closely, a voyeuristic stare into a private reality that was never meant to have been seen. But in my defence the mirror was not mine. It was just there. I suspected that it had always been there, and once I had seen into the other side, I couldn’t stop.

I writhed back and forth, an action that felt wonderful with every thrust as his penis rubbed against the soft internal tissues of my inner pussy. I moaned happily and was already beginning to climax. I didn’t try to prevent it, enthralled by the pleasure he was giving me. There was no need to force anything as his beautiful body lay atop mine, our lips pressed together passionately. I could tell that he was enjoying every moment, his beating fast as my nails dug into his sides. Our movements flowed like a well oiled machine, such a sensual form of incestuous intimacy for which I cannot believe there could be an equal.

Encouraged by the pleasure I was causing simply by allowing him inside me, I started to move a little faster, taking it in deeper and deeper. I moaned out louder with each passing moment as an orgasm built within me, hurtling towards its climax. My whole body tensed and I let out a shrill scream of ecstasy. He didn’t stop there though, he couldn’t. With every jerk and twitch, he was edging closer to that final orgasmic release of his own. I could feel it coming, like a burning heat within that was about to catch fire. I was truly fucking my brother by that point, forcing him down into me as hard and as fast as he could. Pressing my body against his as he rammed his cock back and forth, over and over.

At the last, the very peak of the rise, he withdrew. In a single, deliberate motion he pulled back, revealing the full engorged length of his cock, the erect penis with which I had been impaled by. It’s swollen shaft from base to the very tip of the throbbing gland was covered by a sheen of bodily fluids that reflected the room’s ambient light. Overcome by the pure, untempered pleasure of my orgasm, every muscle convulsed in unison. His face contorted into a terse grimace and expelled a deep groan. Too slowly I reached to grasp for his manhood as the wave of inexorable pleasure washed over him.

The foremost squirt of ejaculate released aimlessly to strike upon the mound of my exposed vulva. A string of milky sperm landed across my skin, oozing around the tiny hood and down into the open slit betwixt my labia. The second release came with his own firmer grip for greater aim, but alas produced only a sustained dribble. It landed upon my crotch with small pools of semen, which lasted only until my fingers arrived to rub in his juices like a creamy lotion. Drained and tired, my brother rolled to the bed, and feeling the weight of my own eyelids, I closed by eyes and began to dream.

Waking In Damp Patches

Was that the end?

Sex always ended like that. It was normal. At least I thought so.

It finished just as it should, that triumphant orgasmic climax and after, when the last of his semen had been wiped away, I had fallen asleep.

But that wasn’t right. I didn’t want to asleep. I shouldn’t. Not again. How could I fall asleep? Because that’s how it started. That’s how it always started and I try to explain it.

I opened my eyes and knew in that moment of awareness I was somewhere else. A damp patch had formed between my legs, spreading out from the crotch, sticking to my skin, and I clung to the threads of memory quickly fading. Holding on to dreams in the waking world was like trying to catch the rain. Rivers formed by rain flowed to the sea, only to evaporate and fall again as rain once more. Yet somehow it always managed to slip between my fingers until everything disappeared.

They were gone. I suspected as much when I opened my eyes. Where my twin had lain wrapped in my arms, our naked bodies entwined, there remained only emptiness. It wasn’t the same place though. Everything around me had changed and I was back at the beginning as though nothing had happened. The memories faded too quickly, the dream before was slipping away like the rain, but for a few scattered details. I felt dazed, half awake and rubbed the sleep from my weary eyes. Only odd impressions and images were left like puddles when everything else had dried. If a connection between them existed, it was eluding me. Had it all been just a dream? Some erotic wet dream? Except, there was the mirror staring back at me.

I wasn’t me either. I mean, I was me. Of course I was me, but also not. It was my consciousness. I was in control, or at least I felt like I could be, but the body wasn’t the same as it had been. Although I recognised my reflection, there lingered a sense that I was older once, or before, or something. I looked different, felt different, probably even thought differently. I could remember my brother, my twin, his handsome face. But that was all in the dream, wasn’t it? Awake again, I was me and he was gone. Yet I remembered the mirror, the way it was, and somehow it was always there, reminding me of things I should remember.

The things I’d seen. All the things that happened, the pleasure, the stimulating sensations, I was there as witness. No, it was more than that. I was involved, complicit in ways no boy my age was expected to behave. It had been sexual, deeply emotional, like the connection I had with my twin sister. But in my dream, she had been... No, I had been... before... I couldn’t remember. I recalled hardly anything at all, certainly nothing useful enough for my salvation. Half way between sleep and the waking world I struggled to separate dream from reality. I’ve always had strange dreams, like disorganized thoughts randomly coming and going. They seemed real for a time. But then all this weird stuff comes around, filling my head with stuff I shouldn’t know, those perverse erotic images going around and around in circles, like a line drawn in such a way that it curls back on its self, akin to a snake being forced to eat its own tail. Or like me, bent over with my head shoved up my own arsehole.

It often gets me thinking about the cycles of nature. The way planets rotate upon their axis while orbiting a star. The star in turn rotating, revolving in orbit of a massive black hole somewhere at the galactic centre. Just one of so many galaxies swirling through the cosmos. Everything exists in motion, maintaining perfect harmony. The cycle has no recognisable beginning, no middle, no foreseeable end. There’s a birth to be sure, and a death, but like the eternal chicken and the egg I had to wonder, which came first?

Without understanding, I felt along my body for any clue I might find, anything real I could hold onto. The moist patch on my clothes was warm and sticky to touch. Finding myself clothed was unexpected, a revelation to what I had been quickly forgetting. The material was familiar at least, denim. I was wearing jeans. Damp jeans in bed was odd, out of place. The bed was normal though, white cotton sheets and a patchwork blanket. There was nothing unusual about the room either, candlelight flickered on the walls, reflected in the mirror. I sniffed at my wet fingers, filling my nostrils with the scent of fresh semen.

There was semen drying upon the crotch of my jeans. I was obviously mine, the physical result of a pleasurable wet dream. Yet the pieces still did not add up. Don’t ask me how I knew. It wasn’t anything physical, anything tangible, I couldn’t exactly define it or put my finger on it. There was just this lingering sense that I shouldn’t know anything about semen or what it smelt like. I’d not seen it before and yet I was not mistaken. Then again, I had been someone else before, in my dream, someone older, someone female, and now I wasn’t.

It wasn’t possible to share another’s body, to possess them as though some spirit or ghost. That was just fiction, the work of an overactive imagination. Such magic couldn’t really exist, could it? No. It may have seemed like reality in my head, but it was only a dream. A strange, very passionate and blissfully erotic dream, but a dream none the less. Thinking about it wasn’t helping. Outside a new day was about to start, the dream had passed and I was back in the waking world.

At least, I was pretty sure I was awake. I mean, I had definitely woken from a pleasant dream. It was still night, only darkness beyond the curtains. The candle had burnt low and only the faint glow of embers remained in the fire’s hearth. I pinched at a fold of skin just to make sure, digging fingers into my chest until there was pain. I felt its sting rapidly intensify, but nothing more happened. I did not wake, for I was already awake. That confirmed it. The pain was convincing enough to be certain and I rubbed my fingers gently around, soothing the skin I had bruised.

Maybe in hindsight the chest was not the most appropriate place to be pinched, even if it was with my own hand. The masculine nipple of my young pectoral muscle responded as I brushed over it and with curiosity returned to explore further. The little bud felt much harder than it had been moments earlier, pushing against my top as though aware of what I was doing and preparing itself for more. I pinched again, causing in one way a more intense pain and then in another something else entirely, something more evocative, almost pleasurable. The sensation was base, going much deeper than mere flesh, carnal as though arousing the very soul. Cautiously I explored further.

My body wasn’t accustomed to that kind of attention. I mean I had touched myself before, washed and cleaned regularly, dutifully attending to every nook and crevice. But that was different. I had not possessed of that intent before, never dared to touch myself in a sexual way and certainly hadn’t let anyone else. I’m not even sure my mind had considered it until that moment, until I’d had that dream. Where it had come from, I could not be certain. Too much of it had faded from my memory to recall the detail, but it had been vivid and sensual. No, not just sensual. It had been deeply erotic, awakening something inside me that I didn’t know existed.

My hands passed over my body as though I was feeling it anew, like the first footprints on a beach, pristine and fresh. Every part of me felt unfamiliar, felt different than I remembered. There was an incipient energy there, like electricity crackling across my skin, running through every nerve and for perhaps the first time I felt truly alive. It was like I had pressed a button, opened some kind of gate and flooded my system the moment I reached down and pushed a hand inside my jeans.

There were realms of thought which believed that it was immoral for a person to touch themselves in such a manner. It should have felt wrong, for it was perverse in ways I couldn’t begin to comprehend and yet I didn’t want to stop. Of course the issue with hormonal adolescence is that anything that could be perceived as wrong was an instant aphrodisiac. Lithe fingers rubbed over the delicate skin as I took a firm grip of my penis. I could feel every little brush of their tips upon the sensitive shaft, learning sensations I had not experienced and finding enjoyment in every moment.

One slender forefinger slid over the head and circled around the hood of my foreskin. My willy was unexpectedly rigid, much firmer than I had remembered it being. I held it there in my hand, feeling it’s girth in the palm of my hand and wondered how long it actually was. The sensation felt familiar, although I could recall why. Almost every day I cleaned myself, washing between my legs in the bath with a flannel, but that wasn’t it. The feeling inside me then was very different to washing. Washing was more like a job that had to be done and it didn’t feel the same as that, not like a chore at all.

I wanted to feel more, discover all the pleasures I could coax out of my penis. It didn’t take long to realise that I could pull my foreskin back, dragging it down the shaft like peeling back the skin of a moulting snake. I new it could do that flaccid, but the more I moved my hand up and down it’s swollen length without forcing it, the better it felt. I remembered that feeling, as though I had felt it before somehow. Perhaps I had dreamt it, and although how escaped me, I knew I should keep going. I tugged at my cock again and was promptly rewarded with more of the feelings I lusted for. Oh how good it felt, touching myself, feeling everything my young body could experience with my own hand. I had barely started, but I was already becoming addicted to those wonderful sensations, even though I didn’t understand why.

I wondered if it would feel better if it was my sister was touching me like that. The errant thought strayed into mind, perverse on so many levels that it caught me off guard and yet it excited me more than I could have expected. It shocked me how much I liked the idea as it grew within me, expanding beyond merely touching. It was shameful, for we weren’t just related, we were twins. Yet the more I thought about her, the more I wanted her there with his fingers around my dick instead of my own. No, not just her fingers. As the fantasy expanded, my heart pounded faster in my chest, my hand worked harder, rubbing faster and with greater desire than before.

Embraced in my fervour I stared into the mirror. On the other side there was a boy staring back. He looked exactly like me, precisely how I looked, right down to the freckles on my cheeks. He moaned silently as his hips bucked in time with mine. I watched him masturbating there on her bed, wanking himself off, and I guessed that he saw me the way that others saw me, but that wasn’t me. It wasn’t the way I saw myself. Perhaps I had once, but I was changing, growing, and maybe he was too. The erection in his hand looked as long and as my own. I began to shake, just a little at first and then more so. Uncontrollably so. With one last, triumphant tug I came.

From somewhere within me a string of white gloop erupted from the end of my cock, squirting up into the air like lava from a volcano. All the pressure, all the tension and aching in my body eased into a blissful serenity of self-induced pleasure. Engulfed in total ecstasy, my head rolled back and my eyes closed.

Circle Dreams Around

I gazed into the mirror and sighed. Here we go again…