Big Tits and Correct Opinions 2 – The Beach

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

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

* * *

Big Tits and Correct Opinions 2 – The Beach

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

—The concept of straight people was invented during the Catholic reformation—
—No, it wasn’t—
—Hamsters can go an entire month without drinking—
—Your brain can go an entire month without thinking—
—Jewish women have big breasts so we can survive longer in concentration camp conditions. It’s an adaptive trait, much like the camel and his hump—
—Kat, what the actual FUCK is wrong with you—

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

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

The arguing stopped.

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

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

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

She wriggled close, grinding her oversexed body into mine.

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

A shudder twisted through me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I glanced to the front seat.

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

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

I nodded. Right.

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

clap…clap…clap…

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

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

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

“Kill yourself.”

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

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

Breast. Belly button.

Lower. Lower. Lower.

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

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

shlick shlick shlick…

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

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

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

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

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

shlick shlick shlick…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I knew that face.

An orgasm was seconds away.

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

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

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

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

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

Splurt! Splurt! Splurt!

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

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

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

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

They had heard nothing.

They had seen nothing.

They knew nothing.

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

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

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

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

* * *

We pulled up at the Santa Monica beach.

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

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

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

“No. Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

Mom and dad and Kat seemed lost in existential thoughts.

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

* * *

Kat and I ditched our parents in short order.

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

Mom and dad shared a glance which became a nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Relax, hertzele. It was a joke.”

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe it was already too late.

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

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

* * *

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

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

“Wanna go?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

We’d told our parents we were going north.

Instead, we walked due south.

Toward the bluffs.

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

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

I guess. They look almost the same.

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

We did not look like boyfriend and girlfriend.

Not by half.

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

We looked like what we were.

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

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

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

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

It was like they knew.

* * *

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

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

The Pink Strip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A line, pointing at her mouth.

She looked afraid.

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

“ZACK! OOmmmff!”

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

GLORP!

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

SHLA-SPLORRPP!

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

Tongue.

Throat.

Uvula.

Oropharynx.

Esophagus.

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

Down, down, down.

Jabbing, pumping, humping, squeezing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not soon.

Immediately.

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

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

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

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

And then I busted.

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

Splurt! Splorg! GLOORRRRT!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“FUCK YOU!”

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

* * *

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

“We”, meaning “mostly Kat Dennings”.

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

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

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

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

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

Who’s that tall kid? Her boyfriend?

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

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

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

But those tits…

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

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

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

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

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

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

She stamped, and her lip trembled with rage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

“Am I forgiven?” I asked.

“No.” She scowled, but also smiled.

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

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

“Zack, I’m tired.”

Tired of this.

“Do you have the butter?”

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

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

I remembered how all of this had started.

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

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

They’re excuses.

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

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

* * *

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

Oy vey. A parent’s curse.

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

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

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

The penalty for incest is death.

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

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

And yet…

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

Well, they had no choice, did they?

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

He does not know.

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

That is, if he can stand to look.

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

* * *

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

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

I smacked her ass. SLAP!

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

Kat squawked in outrage.

I was only getting started in violating her.

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

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

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

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

Then I tore them apart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…do it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

I pinched her asscheek. “Louder, bitch.”

She hesitated. Gathered strength.

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

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

Well, with an invitation like that…

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

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

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

“I don’t care! Just please fuck me!”

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

Fine. I’ll join them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who are you? My biographer?”

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

“But yes, sis. I am.”

Then I sank down into her.

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

SQUEELLCH-SPLUUURRRKK!

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

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

Her anal walls felt alive.

Like fucking a squirming heap of snakes.

“Zack…..ooooOOOOHHHHH!”

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

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

SKLOORRRCHHHISULLLCHHH!

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

Inside. Outside.

Deep. Shallow.

Fast. Slow.

Glurrrchhh! Bluuurppp! Slooorshhh!

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

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

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

Sklurrrchhh! Skloorrrchhh! Splorrrkkk!

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

Plooorpshhh! Squeelkkk! Gluuuuckkkk!

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

Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

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

Schlopp! Plapp! Blapp!

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

“Zack, I’m-uh gonna…!”

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

Spasms torqued through her, and around me.

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

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

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

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

“Ooohh Zack! ZAAAAACKKK!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cumming—

Pulse…pulse…pulse…pulse…

—in my sister’s ass.

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

Pulse…pulse…pulse…pulse…

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

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

Pulse…pulse…pulse…pulse…

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

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

SCHLOOORRRKKKKKKK!

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

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

“Woahh…”

And then she fell too.

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

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

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

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

“Sis, I don’t even fucking remember.”

* * *

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

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

Smiling up at me. So lovely. So sick.

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

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

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

“Oh, right. Lemme go get it.”

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

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

A lot of time had passed.

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

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

“I know, I know.”

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

Uh oh.

Gut punch.

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

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

“We…have a problem.”

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

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

This was very bad.

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

They shook their heads.

“Nah, bro.”

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

Either way, my parents were waiting for us.

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

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

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

I shrugged. “I’m open to ideas.”

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

“Ooooh…I have an idea.”

I leaned forward, and listened. And then cringed.

Kat had an idea, alright.

A good idea? Yeah, not so much.

* * *

His wife receives a text from their children.

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

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

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

He will disconnect the camera in his bedroom.

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

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

There is simply no way to ever know.

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

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

He has begun to lust after his own daughter.

Such a mishegas.

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

Kat was on her knees.

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

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

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

“Deal!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

slurrpp suckkkahhh sklllchhh!

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

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

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

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

“Wait, why are you guys going soft?”

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

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

My mouth fell open. “Fuck you? Now?”

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

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

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

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

Anticlimactically, I plugged my swelling cock into her pussy.

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

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

splurkkhh gulppp glushhhhhh

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

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

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

Splurt!

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

“Ah, es la leche!”

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

Clap! Clap! Clap!

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

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

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

I was so excited that I forgot something critical.

No contraception.

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

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

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

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

“No we’re not.” Kat said.

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

Marquis and Jevonte turned out to be pretty chill dudes.

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

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

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

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

Kat and I shrugged. Party time.

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

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

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

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

Not sure why.

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

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

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

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

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

Kat tried to pick a few fights.

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

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

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

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

I was so tired.

I needed to rest.

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

But then she said something that was sort of profound.

“We fight a lot, don’t we?”

“Yeah.”

“Because people fight over stuff that matters.”

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

“Yeah. Don’t you?”

“I don’t know. I guess a little bit.”

In that moment, I got it.

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

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

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

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

Hate is never denied a voice.

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

I don’t really hate you, sis.

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

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

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

* * *

Truth knocks at inconvenient times.

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

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

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

Then he puts the wrong card in.

A video auto-plays.

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

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

Empty hours of eggshell offwhite emptiness stretch out.

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

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

There is nothing to see. Just an empty bed.

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

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

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

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

So.

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

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

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

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

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

Arayot, Mr Dennings thinks. It is arayot.

That which is punished by death.