Stacy's Secret Ch. 01

At last, the house was empty, leaving only Mom, my sister Stacy and myself and a great emptiness where, I hoped, my father's spirit lingered.

He was only fifty-eight. He didn't smoke, rarely took liquor, exercised regularly with tennis and swimming. But he went into cardiac arrest a week ago on the commuter train from Boston, the victim of a defective heart valve no one knew about.

Most of his genes favored me, and I heard it all day at the funeral from long lost (or in the case of a couple, discarded) relatives: "You look just like Warren." "You have your mother's eyes, but everything else looks like your Dad." "Just cut your hair a little closer, no one could tell the difference."

It was true. Dad and I had the same wavy brown hair, square jaw, broad shoulders (I swim and play tennis, too), and stood at 5'10". They were right about the eyes; Dad's were a deep, stark blue, like little sapphire chips. But it was my mother's soft, mossy green that blinked away the tears in the mirror. The sight was suddenly painful, and I turned away.

"Could you do some of the picking up, dear?" my mother asked. Her eyes, red and wet, glistened with grief. "It's been an exhausting day."

"Of course, Mom." Though her body was drained with grief, she was still a striking woman, ten years younger than Dad, with high sculpted cheekbones, long, elegant neck, sharply defined features and smooth white skin; contrasted with her black pearls and simple black funeral dress, she evoked a graceful bird, perhaps an egret. Today, an egret with its wing down.

I doffed my suit at last, and spent the next hour and a half washing and drying dishes, straightening up the living room, even cleaning the bathroom. I did not run the vacuum cleaner, due to the late hour, but didn't think a shower would make too much noise. Donning my dark blue terrycloth bathrobe, I made my upstairs to the guest room, and saw light streaming under the door to Stacy's room.

I had forgotten all about her; I hadn't seen her in at least three hours. Dad's death hit Stacy the hardest, but that would make sense because not only was she the youngest, she still lived at home.

I noticed the sobbing then, the gasps for breath, then the tears, as if she had just heard the news. I lingered, not knowing what to do. Finally, I gently opened the door and stepped in, startling her.

"Oh! Oh. Charles. It's you. I'm sorry."

Stacy sat up, pulled another tissue from the dispenser on her night table, blew her nose, and tried to fake a smile. She wore a bathrobe over a white satin nightdress. She pulled the soft garment closed, covering the outline of her firm, slightly conical breasts, as if cleavage would somehow be on my mind at that moment. Her light brown hair, soft, short and fine, danced around her red and vulnerable face. Again, Mom's eyes took me in, but Stacy got a little more from Dad than I got from Mom.

Stacy patted the spot next to her on the bed. I sat next to her, my hands in my lap, still not knowing what to do.

"It's hitting you harder than I thought it would," I said.

"I'm sorry," Stacy replied. "You have no idea what we meant to each other."

"No one could see this coming, Stacy."

"I know, but …" She plucked another tissue and started crying again. I gathered her in my arms and let her tears flow onto my shoulder.

"Who will love me now?" she asked. "Who can I tell everything to?"

"I love you. I'm here, Stacy. I'm here," I said, and kissed some of her tears away.

Stacy crushed my body to hers, and I caressed her hair as the storm passed. She drew away and looked into my eyes, into my face, searching for something, I didn't know what. I had only the most urgent desire to comfort my sad, vulnerable sister and see her smile once more.

A slim white hand now lay against my cheek, and began caressing it. Stacy's expression changed. Her face grew a little stern, as if she were making a decision.

"You look so like him, Charles," she said tenderly, bringing up her other hand and laying it on my neck. "Do you love me?"

"You know I do."

"Could you love me like Dad did?"

"I don't know what you mean."

Stacy pulled my lips to hers, surprising me. Her kiss was gentle, sweet, the scent in her hair like a fresh breeze from a lake. Her arms went around me now, and, not knowing what to do, not wanting to hurt her, reject her, I kissed back, let her draw my tongue to hers.

As our tongues blended, I pulled Stacy closer and felt great heat coming from below. I wore only my robe, and unless something changed, my sister, this divine woman I was French kissing as though she were the last of the species, would soon be treated to the sight of an eight-inch crowbar jutting from between my legs.

Only when the kiss broke for a moment did I realize the meaning of what Stacy had just said.

"You … and Dad?" I was incredulous.

She nodded, and said, "Do you see now?"

My mind would have been reeling, but Stacy kissed me again, and I felt her hand slide along my thigh, her sharp fingernails tantalizing my balls. I felt a tug at my sash, and my robe parted, allowing my growing cock to snap free, tall, red, and insistent.

"My," she said, placing her fingers over my cockhead and cupping the upper shaft in her palm. "It's so hot."

"You have no idea," I replied, my throat dry.

Stacy grasped my cock now, her sensitive fingers curling around it, squeezing, exploring. I let the robe fall from my shoulders, giving me the room I needed. Gently, I laid her on the bed and let her stroke me to full erection.

"My God, Charles," she whispered. "I don't think I've ever felt anything so hard."

"Stacy, I--"

But I couldn't think of anything to say. My hand glided to Stacy's mound, a soft tuft of kitten's fur. Our eyes met, and then she sighed and closed her eyes when I sank my index finger into her womanly heat.

Stacy whispered my name again, pulled my face to the nape of her neck. Understanding, I began to lick and nibble, even as I used my thumb and finger to tease my sister, to guide her to the sky, and now, in the back of my mind, to compete with my father, to be the best lover my beautiful Stacy would ever know.

I bit her earlobe gently and massaged her clit. We kissed again, her hand squeezing and pulling on my ravenous red cock, our breathing hurried and hot, when suddenly Stacy's head snapped away from mine and began to thrash from side to side.

I felt a gush of warm, sweet juice on my palm as Stacy gave herself over to the orgasm, the orgasm I had given her. On the third wave she held my eyes, staring at me with bliss, a sense of wonder and discovery alive in her face. A final shudder, and it was over.

"My God, Charles!" she gasped when her breathing returned to normal. "I had no idea!"

I smiled with benevolent satisfaction and kissed her.

"Sweet, beautiful sister," I whispered.

Stacy stood up now and looked down me in as I lay back, my cock staring at her with its glistening red eye. Never in my life had I ever been so aroused, and though I had just given my sister an orgasm, I felt no shame at all, only a burning lust.

Stacy's robe fell to the floor, and the nightdress flew over her head. My exquisite sister, naked and lovely, her slender curves, her breasts tight and proud, loomed above me briefly, giving me a chance to admire the prize I would soon take.

She joined me on the bed then, and brought her body close to mine. We kissed again. I dipped my face to her sleek, not quite round, cone-like breast and flicked the stiff nipple with the tip of my tongue. Her sharp intake of breath told me I had done the right thing, and so I continued to stimulate her, and massage her clit again at the same time.

But Stacy took the lead, and as I moved back up her lovely torso to those soft, satisfying lips, she maneuvered her body underneath mine. God knows, I was ready.

There would be no taking this back, I knew, as my cock lay on her belly, hot and throbbing. We kissed again, and I felt Stacy's gentle caress around my cockhead, and for a moment, panicked, thinking she might have changed her mind.

But no. With a gentle smile she let her legs part and slid into position. My cock lay now on her upper lips. I reached down and rubbed it against her clit.

"Charles! What are you doing?"

Grinning with satisfaction as my sister went back into the contortions of passion, I lay my thumping prick along her belly, not going inside, and masturbated her with a length of hot cock. I kept the stimulation going until she was almost there. Then, with a quick stab, I plunged inside her, where it was moist and wet and hot and tight, and went in all the way.

That sent her over the waterfall. I did not move as Stacy writhed and moaned under me, calling my name, almost bouncing off the bed, her pussy gushing on my cock as I concentrated with everything I had not to come, not yet, to make this moment last, for it might never return, except in my feverish dreams at night.

Stacy stared at me in wonder when the orgasm subsided, and barked a joyous laugh. Then, it was my turn. I started to move my cock now, drawing out slowly at first, and then going faster and faster as my beautiful, lusty sister moved in concert with me, bringing her hips up to meet my thrusts.

"Stacy!" I cried. "I love you! I love you!"

"Charles!" she gasped. "More! My God! You--"

"Oh, darling!"

A surge of voltage ran along my prick as all its power went to the head. My tight balls jerked with force as they fed a fat load of seed deep, deep into my sister, then and forever the center of my love.

Stacy cried out inarticulate vowel sounds as the third round of orgasm hit her. Her breasts crushed up against my chest as her pussy squeezed me and milked me. I thrust in one last time, gave her a final spurt, and then it was over. We kissed slowly, tenderly as the storm clouds of passion slowly dissipated, and our bodies separated. We lay on our backs, our fingers idly playing with one another.

"Charles!" she sighed at last. "Wherever did you learn to make love like that?"

"College," I said. "You?"

"Dad."

"Oh." In my joy, I had forgotten what sparked this sudden, sensational interlude.

"Don't think about that now, Charles," she said, drawing closer. "Don't think about anything but what we found tonight. About what we have now. Think about how you've saved me."

"Stacy, this is … overwhelming."

"I've never had love like that, darling, never. You had me flying in the stars."

"Stacy, Stacy." All I could think of to say was her name. My mind was staggering with confusion now. How long had Dad and Sis been lovers? How did it start? Did Mom know? And where were we going from here?

"I know what you're thinking," she said softly, nestling her head on my shoulder, and draping a leg over mine. "You're tired, Charles, and there's so much to say. Rest, Charles. Stay with me and we'll dream of love."

She was so right. Stacy drifted off to sleep, eventually rolling off my shoulder and onto her side, presenting the lovely sight of curves, curves that looked like gentle rolling hills. I, too, fell asleep, and dreamed of making love to my darling sister in the meadow on a warm summer's afternoon.