Archive of Our Own

Chrissy had whipped herself into a frenzy, which was not the least bit surprising. She got like this whenever we were expecting guests: darting about the apartment, fussing over every imperfection, fluffing pillows, prepping snacks, that sort of thing. It wasn’t good for her. I’d threaten to tie her up, but I don’t think she’d take me seriously. There are other solutions, however.

Now seated on the couch, arms and legs crossed, she mock-glared up at me, an amused twinkle in her eye. “You are a cruel, cruel, woman, you know that?” she huffed.

I flashed a wicked grin. “Of course I do.”

“I’m pretty sure withholding cake from your girlfriend is somewhere in the Geneva conventions.”

“Well, you’d better behave yourself then, and take a break. Because I don’t want to be hanged.”

“Hey, while you’re out can you stop by that witchy shop? We’re all out of incense.”

“Sure thing, babe!!”

I leaned over the couch, pressing a kiss to the back of Chrissy’s head, performed my usual wallet, phone, keys ritual, and slipped out the door.

“Love you!” I called over my shoulder.

“Love you too!” She blew a kiss, and returned the gesture.

Groceries were quick, the store was close by, and we really only needed a couple things. There was one small problem, though.

Lyla Today at 1:31 PM:

Hey they don’t have any number nine candles it’s the only one they’re out of

Chrissy <3 Today at 1:34 PM:

Hmm… what if you get two number one candles and a number eight? We’ll use icing to make it say 18+1. Marcy will think it’s cute

Lyla Today at 1:31 PM:

Sounds good 😘👅💦💦

Chrissy <3 Today at 1:34 PM:

🥱😴💤💤💤

Lyla Today at 1:31 PM:

Damn okay

I grabbed a couple more things: a bottle of wine, some chips, a box of day-old donuts, then checked out. There were a few more errands I could run, but frankly I needed to get home. Weed, videogames and the threat of no cake would only keep Chrissy occupied for so long with her little sister’s birthday hanging over her head.

Not that Marcy was really the sort to care if something was halfway less than perfect. Their mom always joked that Marcy must have gotten all of Chrissy’s chill. Besides that, they were mostly the same. Marcy was basically just Chrissy but slightly less drop dead gorgeous, slightly more absolutely adorable.

I got to the car, loaded it up, then made the quick drive to the little witch shop down the road. Inside it was basically the same as every single one of these sorts of shops: shelves crowded with books and crystals and jewelry that only lesbians or your weird aunt (who was probably a lesbian) would ever wear.

If memory served, they kept the candles and incense in the back. Except, when I got there I couldn’t find them. I turned, calling out to the woman behind the counter.

“Hey, uh, I’m looking for incense? You carry the one with the like, temple lookin’ thing on the package right?”

She glanced up from her book. “Oh, no not currently. There was some kind of issue with the supplier.” She had this affect to her, a sort of breathy, deliberately mysterious, faraway quality to her tone, but as she continued, it began to waver. She looked flustered. “We do have incense though… I just uhm, haven’t stocked it yet. My apologies. Come here. You’ll see why.” Bending over, she rummaged beneath the counter, and hoisted up a box. “This is from a new supplier we were able to arrange last minute. I think it’s a small family run operation. I’m told their stuff is quite good though....” she chuckled a little, withdrawing a small paper package and holding it out to me as I approached. “It seems there was a slight misprint.”

It took me a moment to realize what she meant. The packaging was very unassuming, plain white paper wrapping, no logos or even a brand. Instead, it simply said, in plain black letters: “INCEST.”

We shared an awkward laugh. “Well, that’s… difficult.”

She gave a sheepish grin. “Yeah. Like I said, it’s a small operation and I’m guessing English isn’t really their strong suit. That or it was just a very unfortunate misprint. But, these things happen I suppose. I’m going to have to find a way to repackage them, though. I don’t want this just sitting out on the shelves, you know?”

“Totally understandable. But, yeah. Uh, I guess I’ll take a pack of incest sticks,” I laughed.

Genuine relief broke the tension in her face, and she began to ring me up. “Sure thing, I’ll uh… knock a buck off the price since you’re helping me out.”

As I left the shop, all I could think was that Chrissy would certainly get a kick of this. She did.

“Oh my god that’s so terrible,” Chrissy guffawed, turning the package over in her hands. “These things are bound to happen I guess, but god damn. That’s… that’s rough.”

“Yeah,” I giggled. “But listen, I gotta bake your sister’s cake.” I jabbed a finger into her chest, “and you, missy are going to stay on that couch and relax. The apartment already looks great, and all that fussing over every little detail will accomplish is tiring you out before Marcy even gets here.”

“Okay, Mom,” Chrissy sassed, sticking her tongue out and taking another hit from the joint I’d rolled for her earlier.

I rolled my eyes, “yeah yeah,” then pulled her in for a quick kiss.

“Damn,” Chrissy snickered. “That incest really works. I haven’t even lit it yet.”

“Oh my god,” I snorted. “I’m breaking up with you,” Shaking my head, I step away from Chrissy, and turned to the kitchen.

“I still get cake though, right?” She called after me.

“If you’re good.”

Thankfully I’d done most of the prep work before heading out, so all that was left to do was mix everything together, then bake. The process was familiar at this point. It was Marcy’s favorite, she’d asked me to bake this exact cake for her every year for the past five years. A double decker banana cake, with vanilla pudding between the layers, a whipped strawberry buttercream frosting, and chocolate ganache drizzled over top. It used to be even better, because back when Chrissy still lived with her mom, I could use the strawberries from their garden. But still, I knew what I was doing.

As I whisked together the batter, I heard the snap of a lighter behind me, and moments later, the warm, spicy smell of incense wafted out from the living room. My eyes fluttered shut as I took a slow, deep breath, and smiled. Back when we were just dumb teens, still figuring ourselves out, I spent as much time as I possibly could at Chrissy’s house. It was right around that time, when I stopped wanting to go home, that Chrissy’s mom went through a bit of a new agey phase. It didn’t really last, but she kept her fondness for incense. Their house always smelled like it. Usually, when I left, the scent would linger on my clothes.

Something tickled the back of my head. I felt hands around my waist as Chrissy pulled herself into me, kissing my neck that way she knew drove me nuts. I arched my back, relaxing against her and shivering. And wow, all of a sudden that incense smell was way stronger. It had clung to her hard.

Speaking of hard things. Chrissy began carding her fingers through my hair, my scalp tingling at her touch. Her breath warmed my neck, she pressed her lips to my ear. “How’s it going?” She cooed.

“I mean, I’ve only just started but it’s going,” I replied, gently grinding into her. Damn, I was pretty horny all of a sudden, but, whatever. It made sense, Chrissy knew what that spot on my neck was for.

“Hey,” she said, her voice curious. “Your hair’s looking kinda wavy.” She held up a lock for me to see, tracing her index finger down its length. “Have you been using my products?”

She was right, it had the beginnings of that distinctive s-like curve to it. It wasn’t especially pronounced, but my hair didn’t really do that on its own. At least I thought it didn’t. How odd. Maybe I had mixed up hair products? Was that how that worked? “Huh, maybe. I guess.”

“In this light the color looks a little different too,” Chrissy mused. “I like it!”

I shrugged. “It does that, especially in the spring and summer.”

“Yeah, could be. It also just feels kinda silkier and healthier,” she replied. “Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re finally taking decent care of it.” She loosened her grip, gave me a peck on the cheek, and backed away. I watched my hair shimmer in the afternoon light as it slipped from her delicate fingers, then fell away. “Anyway,” she chirped, “can I have some batter pleeeasee?”

I sighed, long and deep. That heady, woody scent overwhelmed my senses. God damn, that shit was strong. It had me kinda woozy. I turned to face Chrissy. She looked up at me with pleading eyes, bouncing on the balls of her feet. I never could say no to her. “Fine. Here.” I skimmed the whisk through the bowl, and handed it to her.

Chrissy took it from me gingerly, and held it to her face. In one long, lascivious, lick, she drew her tongue up the wire from base to tip. Creamy batter dripped to the floor. Another bit smeared on her face. Her eyes fluttered shut.

“Mmmh,” Chrissy moaned. Her free hand kneaded little circles into her thigh as she threw her head and shoulders back, straining her blouse. “God damn, babe,” she shuddered. “You are an incredible baker, you know that?”

“Look you can just eat it, you don’t gotta fuck it.” I did my best to sound casual, but I couldn’t help the little nervous warble to my tone. Chrissy took another lick. My heart fluttered. My cheeks flushed. My belly felt squirmy and my hips wiggly. I couldn’t even look. My gaze glued itself to the floor.

“What’s the matter?” She giggled, tugging playfully at my arm.

“You’re being a tease!”

“So?” She giggled.

“So I’m trying to make a cake for yoour sister.”

That oh so familiar glimmer of amusement shimmered in her eyes. “Yoour? You alright there?”

“Yeah,” I huffed. “Just a mild stroke. Let me work.”

“Fine, fine,” Chrissy bounced away, settling on the couch and resuming her game.

I sniffed. “God is that incense smell getting stronger? Did you light the whole pack?”

“No, just the one. It is pretty strong though.” She grabbed the burner, holding it to her nose and taking a long, slow whiff. I felt myself do the same. God, it smelled just like home. Maybe a little too much like home, my head was starting to swim. From the looks of it, Chrissy’s was too. Her face scrunched all cutely as she wrinkled her nose. “Yeah. Damn,” she grunted through gritted teeth. “I wonder how they do it?” Her chest rose and fell in a shaky breath, then she relaxed. She flashed a shit-eating grin. “Must be a family secret.”

“Shut up,” I huffed. “You are so annoying. I’m gonna strangle you.” I could still feel the fumes overwhelming me. My head felt swollen. Hot, sticky smoke crushed my thoughts into the top of my skull. I exhaled, hadn’t even noticed I was holding my breath, that my lungs were full to burst. Sputtering and coughing, I steadied myself on the counter. The whole motion felt off, like the countertop wasn’t where I had expected it to be. Could incense get you high? That didn’t sound right; I was probably just light headed. The fact that Chrissy kept being all annoying and also stupidly sexy and making me deliriously horny probably didn’t help.

I blushed, why did I feel so embarrassed all of a sudden, or was it closer to ashamed? Maybe just horny. I needed some air. I slipped into a pair of flip-flops, grabbed a lighter and a pre-rolled joint, and slipped out onto our building’s back deck.

Leaning against the railing, taking slow, deep breaths, I noticed our neighbor, Nina, and another girl lounging in their chairs. Nina gave a friendly wave. “Hey, how’s things?” I called, lighting the joint and taking a slow drag.

“Not bad,” she chirped. “By the way this is my sister, Josie. She’s visiting from out of town.”

“No shit?” I chuckled. “Chrissy’s little sister is also coming in to visit us from out of town tonight.”

“Oh how funny!” Nina replied. “Hey you don’t mind if I get a hit off that, do you?”

I shook my head. “Not at all, and you can have some too, if you like,” I nodded to the sister—Josie? that sounded right. The pair stood, and crossed the deck, I handed the joint to Nina, who sucked in, then suddenly exhaled in a fit of coughs. She scrunched her face, hanging her head and massaging her temple. “Holllyshit,” she slurred. “That is some strong fuckin incenst youu’re burning.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “I actually came out here to get some fresh air, didn’t realize it would follow me.”

Josie sniffed the air, and shuddered. “Yeah, wow. I can’t even imagine how bad it is inside.” She leaned over, taking the joint from Nina. Their fingers brushed together, Nina’s index finger caressed Josie’s as she withdrew her hand. Josie blushed. She inhaled, fighting a silly grin. For whatever reason, I suddenly wasn’t even there to them. Josie exhaled, she and Nina not taking their eyes off one another for a moment as Josie handed the joint back. They were both giggling a little, and blushing, like they were both in on some private joke.

“Well, Lyla,” Nina stammered, suddenly short of breath. She wasn’t looking at me, just staring at Josie. “It was nice catching up.” She reached out, and with her thumb, delicately brushed a lock of hair from Josie’s eyes, then trailed it down her sister’s cheek. “But I think Josie and I want to have some time to ourselves. Catch up a bit. Spend some quality time together. As sisters.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. Have a good one.”

“Hunngh,” she groaned back, taking Josie by the hand and walking back to her unit. Weird.

Either way, I was feeling a bit more clear headed, so I stepped back inside. The second I opened the door, the incense smell hit me like a wall. Between coughs, I shut the door behind me, and kicked off my shoes. A few deep breaths, in and out, I managed to recover.

“Y’aright, sis?” Chrissy called.

I did a double take. “Sis? Did you think I was Marcy for a second?” A strange thought occurred to me: how hot would it be if she hadn’t? If she saw me, and instinctively thought: ‘oh, there’s my sister’?

Chrissy turned to face me, and wow, she looked blitzed. Really pretty in this light, too. Which, duh, I knew that. She was my girlfriend, she was pretty in every light. But anyway, Chrissy’s eyes were all blown out, her lips half parted. She squinted, looking me up and down, then broke from her daze. “Uh… yeah… I guess I… I guess I must have? Weird.”

“God, how high are you?” I chortled.

“Not that high, I don’t think,” she said. She held up her joint, only about a third of the way smoked. “I haven’t had that much. Maybe I’m just… tired? Excited to see Marcy maybe? I dunno. I’m definitely looking forward to having all three of us under the same roof again.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Shame mom couldn’t make it.”

Chrissy nodded, “mhm.” Then she snapped her gaze up to meet mine, her eyes sharpening. “Did you just call my mom… well, mom?”

“Uhh… huh. Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” That was not right. I knew it wasn’t. For a few moments, my thoughts just spun out, before haphazardly crashing into the words I was looking for. Damn brainfog, was I the high one? “Uh, Freudian slip, I guess.”

Admittedly, it wasn’t that weird. Sharlese had always told me I could call her mom when Chrissy and I were kids. Sometimes I did, when I really needed one. That was mostly before Chrissy and I started dating. Got kinda weird after that. Still, Sharlese did always kinda feel like more of a mom to me than my birthgiver. I mean, it certainly wasn’t Carolyn who drove me to all those doctor’s appointments.

No sense worrying over it. The incense smell was probably just reminding me so much of those days. But I needed to focus. I had work to do. I slipped past Chrissy toward the kitchen. As I passed, I gave her a little flick to the back of the head.

She jumped, whirling around. “Hey!” She reached a flailing hand out to grab at me, I danced away, and set myself to the task at hand. After all, Marcy needed her cake, and someone in this family had to bake it.

The batter was all mixed, so I filled up the cake tins, and placed them in the oven while I started on the icing. I didn’t need to look anything up, I’d been making this since I was little. It was an old family recipe, with a couple of twists. Chrissy’s grandmother had learned how to make it from her mother, then passed it down to Charlese, who’d then passed it down to me. Why’d she pass it down to me again?

Because Chrissy and Marcy didn’t really care for baking, obviously. And Sharlese always said I was like a third daughter to her. Well, she used to say something else, but then it changed when I did. After that I started dating her actual daughter and she stopped saying that so much.

“Hey Lyla?” Chrissy called.

“Yeah?” I shouted back.

“Am I still not allowed to do any work?”

“Nope!” I answered.

“Okay, well, can the icing wait? I need a favor,” she said

“What’s up?”

“The dryer just finished. Can you fold the clothes while they’re still warm?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Also put the spare dirties in the wash?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Thaaanks,” she sang.

I headed down the hall to the dryer, and set to work folding. Though, some of my clothes seemed a little small. Had they shrunk in the dryer? Then again, they looked about the same size as Chrissy’s, so why exactly did I think they were small? It wasn’t even really accurate to call them mine. We basically shared our entire wardrobe, always had. Except, no, that wasn’t true, I was bigger than her. But we were the same size. But we weren’t. A soft groan escaped my lips as I turned the two conflicting truths around in my head. Because they were both true, weren’t they? Chrissy and I were certainly the same size. But also my clothes were too big for her. And that had to make some sort of sense, right? Because—fuck, my head hurt. The incense. It had to be the incense. It was just getting to me, making me woozy.

It wasn’t as strong this far away but still, I was damn near choking on the smell. It didn’t matter, I had clothes to fold and laundry to do. I quickened my pace, clearing out the dryer, then moving on to the washer.

Strangely enough, as I handled the basket of dirties, the incense smell got a tiny bit stronger. Though, it was pretty common in our apartment to have a stick burning, so maybe the scent was just stuck to our clothes? Whatever, I didn’t care enough to investigate further. I grabbed clothes by the handful, and stuffed them into the washer: tops, bottoms, socks, panties. Chrissy’s panties. A pair of lacy lingerie: delicate, pink, butt hugging. They had a faint stain on the front. And I’d grabbed them right there. “Eugh,” I tossed the panties in, wiping my hand on my jeans, and finished the rest quickly as I could.

I spun about, and Chrissy stood behind me. I jumped, “oh god, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

She had this odd look on her face; she was staring at me, face an inquisitive mask, and I could not understand what had her interest so piqued. Then, her expression melted into a sly grin. “Sorry,” she snickered, then stepped into my personal space. I backed straight into the washer.

“What are you doing?” I tittered nervously. Why was my heart beating so fast all of a sudden?

She leaned closer. Her breath was warm, her eyes were bright and beautiful, her cheeks rosy. We gazed into each other. I mentally traced lines between her freckles, like how I used to play connect the dots with them when we were kids. I always thought they were cute. I still do, though it’s a different kind of cute. Her lips were so close to mine. I wrinkled my nose, leaning away and huffing. I felt so hot and itchy all of a sudden.

“Hey,” she whispered, in such a gentle, loving tone. “Is it just me, or does the incest somehow smell stronger over here than in the living room?”

“What?”

“The incense,” she repeated. “It smells way stronger over here, right?”

“No it’s—” I sniffed the air. It was. “Y-yeah,” I murmured, narrowing my eyes in confusion. “Why is that?”

“It smells a little different too, I think. At least compared to what I’m used to it smelling like. It’s… muskier, brighter, almost a little sour.” Her voice had taken on a certain quality, not just curiosity, but fascination, an urge for more.

“Yeah,” I breathed. “And also a bit floral. Like…” I took a slow, deep breath, reveling in the head rush, and shuddering as I exhaled. “Lilacs.”

A musical giggle caressed my ears. “I think that’s my hair you’re smelling, silly. Though I’m glad you like it.” She brushed her thumb across my cheek, and I flinched. Her touch was electric. She leaned closer.

“What are you doing?” Nervous laughter bubbled in my throat.

Chrissy just smiled. “Don’t worry about it.” Her lips found the space where my neck and shoulders met, and she began to suck.

Invisible strings yanked me up on my toes as my whole body tingled with nervous glee. “Wh-what are you doing?”

With a wet smack of her lips, she broke the kiss, and grinned up at me mischievously. “I said don’t worry about it.” She thrust forward, latching on to a spot just below and beside my throat.

I gasped, and again, felt my body yank itself upward, onto the balls of my feet as my muscles tensed, then relaxed and sank into a shaky exhale. “Stoooop,” I whined.

“Why?” Chrissy asked before peppering me with rapid-fire kisses. Cool air tickled my skin wherever her saliva lingered, while the rest of me ran hotter and hotter. Her hand snaked under my shirt, creeping up my belly. I squirmed and whimpered, collapsing backwards against the washer.

“Because we—” I panted, “because you’re—” each breath came more ragged than the last. I was so dizzy. Could barely think. Barely breathe through Chrissy’s ministrations and the choking haze of incense. It was somehow stronger than ever. This was wrong. She was my—fuck that felt incredible. “What if—haah—what if M-Marcy gets here and—and she doesn’t know and she—” a gurgling moan stole my words.

Chrissy paused. She pulled away slowly, saliva trailing from her tongue to my neck. She held me in her gaze. Her lips were parted, her breathing heavy. Before, she’d been playful, teasing, giddy. Not anymore, a look of pure lust and hunger lurked in those lidded eyes. “And. She. What?” Chrissy hissed. She lunged forward, kissing with fury and passion, devouring every unclaimed inch of my neckflesh.

“You’re leaving hickies,” I whimpered. “She’ll see. She’ll know it was you.”

“Good,” Chrissy growled.

No, no, not good. This was wrong. It was bad. It was gross. She was my—for a split second, the light hit her just right. My body reacted before I could. I yelped, and shoved her away as hard as I could.

“Get off me!” I cried in disgust. Not with her, with myself. I couldn’t believe I’d want something like that from my—my—.

Chrissy glared at me, eyes aflame: shock, anger, lust. “What the hell was that for?” she snarled. Was she serious? That bitch.

“Are you kidding me?” I shouted. “You’re my—” I paused, blinking hard as my head began to clear. “My… girlfriend.”

Chrissy twitched, anger fading into surprise, then confusion. “Y-yeah,” she muttered, nodding slowly. Then, more confidently, “yeah I am. I mean, of course I am,” she laughed a little, it sounded forced. “Duh, what else would I be? So, wait, why’d you push me? You did it hard.”

“I’m sorry,” I said meekly. I closed the space between us, laying a hand on her arm where I’d gripped her. “Did I hurt you?” God, I was such an asshole. Her skin was so soft. So silky. So smooth and plush.

“No, no I’m fine.” Chrissy shook her head, then did it again more vigorously. “Sorry I’m just, I’ve been feeling kinda off today. Not bad, just… foggy.”

“Yeah, same. It’s probably because we lit the world’s strongest incense stick.” And also the best smelling one. I couldn’t explain why, but despite the overpowering haze, I just wanted more: to bury my face in it and take a long, deep breath. “You don’t think there was anything else in there, do you?”

Chrissy hummed, stroking her chin. “Honestly? I’d almost believe it. Like I said, I didn’t smoke nearly enough to be this fuzzy, y’know? But that can’t be it, right? It’s just incest—uh incense,” she chuckled nervously.

My toes curled, eyelids fluttered. Little tingles scampered from my scalp down my spine and out my extremities. I pretended to cough, forcing composure on the recovery. “Yeah well, I guess you weren’t wrong the first time either. It is…” I paused, finding myself suddenly short of breath. Chrissy was so beautiful. How long had I been stroking her arm like this? Slow up and down caresses, tracing my nail over her flesh. I licked my lips. “Incest,” I purred, then forced the fakest laugh anyone has ever laughed. “Cause, y’know, the packaging of course.”

“Yeah,” Chrissy gasped: a breathy exhale through parted lips. She was staring at me, eyes unblinking, chest heaving.

“Can I uhm—” my voice caught in my throat. “Can I tell you something?” I rasped.

Chrissy nodded, eyes wide, begging.

“I’ve been weirdly horny since I got home. And, uh,” I pictured her lips on mine, and gasped. It took me a moment to recover, and when I continued, my was weak, wavering. “I’ve been just absolutely plagued by this one particular thought.”

“Mhm,” she whimpered, nodding again.

“I don’t really know where this came from. And. Hah. It’s kind of a funny coincidence. But…” I fidgeted in place, free hand grasping at my shirt as the other gripped Chrissy tighter, tighter still. “Well, you’re my girlfriend,” I definitely wasn’t reminding myself of that. “Of course. But I’ve been having these… incessant,” I watched her perk up, only to be let down. “These incessant thoughts about how hot it would be if we were uhh, if we somehow turned out to be…”

Chrissy gulped.

“Sisters.”

She was on me in a heartbeat, mauling me into the washer as her mouth devoured mine. There was no sound save our heaving, panting moans, each muffled in the other’s mouth, and the whirring of the washer behind us. Her tongue thrust its way into mine as her hands scooped me up and hoisted me onto the washer. It bucked and shook beneath me. I pressed my aching nethers against the lid, gasping in delight.

Greedy hands pawed at my chest. There was no finesse, no technique, just the raw need to touch and feel. Chrissy hoisted one leg up onto the washer and ground into my thigh. Clumsy fingers fumbled with the button for her shorts. And as the washing machine gave a sudden lurch, we both screamed in delight. Chrissy threw her head back, gasping and shuddering.

“Please,” she hissed. “Sis, don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”

“I’m not even doing anything yet, dummy.,” I teased.

“I don’t care,” she moaned. “Just touch me, feel me, show me how much you need me.”

I gripped her blouse in one hand, and yanked it up, it got stuck halfway off her head. It didn’t matter. I saw my target. My sister’s beautiful, perfect breasts. With one hand making a half hearted attempt to help Chrissy free herself from her blouse, and the other clawing uselessly at her shorts, I really only had one option left to get at them. I thrust forward, pressing my face into her chest. She smelled like incense: warm, and calming and lovely. I took the cup of her bra between my teeth, and tore it away. Her nipple stood pert and pink and perfect.

I nibbled, and licked, and closed my lips around it, feeling the bumps and curves with my tongue as I traced it and down, then sucked greedily on my sister’s tits. Well, just the one, for now.

“Fuck,” Chrissy whimpered. She tugged her head through her blouse, and let it hang limp off her arm. One hand around to trace her nails along my back, the other gripped me by the back of my head, and pressed me harder against her chest. Her voice was strained and hoarse, caught in the heaving of her breaths. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?” She panted. “All those years,” a moan, “we shared a room,” then a squeal, “we could’ve been doing th—” through some miracle, I managed to undo the button to her shorts. My hand dove downward, and cupped her, and cut her off. She was so warm, the cry of her voice so lovely.

I nuzzled into her chest, nibbling and sucking all the harder as my fingers crept around the hem of her panties. “God, Sis how are we gonna ever get anything done again?”

I stopped short, breaking away and looking at her. “Fuck,” I muttered. “The cake.”

Chrissy froze, “Oh,” she said. Then, slowly, began to disentangle herself from me, and back away. “Yeah. Of course. The cake.” She pulled her blouse back up over her head, and buttoned her shorts while I scooted off the laundry machine, and straightened myself out. “The cake that you’re making for…” Chrissy drew a sharp breath. Her eyes shut oh so briefly, and she bit her lip. “Marcy.”

I swallowed hard, nodding my head. “Yeah. Marcy.” I reached up and fixed my hair. It was really getting in my eyes. Had my bangs grown out that much already? “Your little sister.”

Lips sealed tight, hand grasping at the hem of her blouse, Chrissy nodded. “Mhm.”

“Because I’m your girlfriend,” I continued.

Chrissy’s eyes widened, her lips parted. “Right, yeah. Of course. Why uh,” she fanned herself with her blouse. “I mean why w-why—why’d you even say that. We both know that.”

“Uh-uh,” I replied. “Just felt like saying it I guess.”

“Yep.” Chrissy said. “We’re girlfriends, and we love each other.”

“Exactly!” I bobbed my head enthusiastically. “We’ve been dating for years now.”

She chewed her words as she spoke. “Yeah because we were. Best friends. Growing up. And then. When we got older. We realized we’d fallen in love. Which is why you’re my. Girlfriend.”

My tongue wriggled about in my mouth, struggling to form words. “I… think… I should get back to making the cake now.”

“Okay.” Chrissy shifted in place, unable to look me in the eyes. “And you probably want me to go back to relaxing right? Because you’re such a considerate. Girlfriend.”

“Are you okay?” I asked, finally managing to say something that didn’t come out stilted as fuck.

Chrissy seemed to hear the warmth, and concern in my tone, and visibly relaxed. “Yeah,” she breathed, her shoulders sinking and her fidgeting hands falling to her side. “I’m sorry I just feel kind of awkward after that. I really said some things, huh? God, us? Sisters? Can you even imagine?"

She blushed so prettily, gazing wistfully into the distance. I, no doubt, was doing the same. I managed to laugh, to cover a dreamy sigh. That helped. I think. “Yeah. But hey, we had some fun. And there’s nothing wrong with trying something new.”

“Totally! Yeah,” she brightened a little. The room lit up with her. “Maybe next time you’ll even remember how to take off my shirt.”

“Fuck off,” I chortled, and strode down the hall. As I passed her, she took me by the wrist, and leaned in for a kiss. I recoiled, turning my head away, then caught myself. ‘Uh, sorry, don’t know where that came from. Guess I’m still a little rattled from how intense that was.” Another fake laugh. I leaned in and kissed her on the lips. Chrissy’s eyes went wide as startled yelp rang in her throat. She broke away, and stared at me, looking alarmed. “Uhm, I love you! I have to go to the bathroom,” she blurted, then turned and scurried off.

“Y-yeah me too,” I called after her. “I’ll use the other one.” I darted into our master bath, and threw open the top drawer, snatched the mouthwash, and poured some straight into my mouth. I gargled, spat, then snatched my toothbrush and scrubbed my tongue ‘til it hurt. When I finally finished, I shuddered. “Eugh,” I groaned. That felt so dirty. Why did it feel so dirty? Maybe it was ‘cause the hornyness had simmered down? And that whole sister thing was gross? Cause like, Chrissy was my girlfriend. Not my sister. Maybe the roleplay thing had me getting my wires crossed, and, I guess it just felt a little shameful how hot that was in the moment.

But that wasn’t important. We’d talk about it later. In a few days we’d probably be laughing about this. For now, I had a cake to finish. Thankfully the oven hadn’t gone off yet. Though I’d cut things dreadfully close. Setting the cakes aside to cool. I heard the door to the main bathroom open. Chrissy stepped out wearing only a towel. “Did you take a shower?” I asked.

She froze, “uhh yeah. I just felt kind of gross,” she replied, then added quickly, “because of the sweat and saliva and stuff! I didn’t wanna be covered in that when Marcy got here.”

“Totally!” I gave her a big, bright, definitely not forced smile. “You look great by way… b-babe.”

Chrissy visibly grimaced. “Uh,.. thanks. I think I’m gonna light another one of those incesnst—incestn—insence sticks. The first one is mostly burned up.”

“Yeah…” I droned. I sniffed the air. “Yeah you’re right. It isn’t nearly as strong as it was a bit ago. Anyway I’ve gotta finish this cake for your sister.”

I turned away and got to work. A few moments later, I heard the lighter flick on. I exhaled, held it, counted to ten, then breathed in, long and slow and deep. That rich, warm, musky scent flooded my lungs. Lilacs tickled my nostrils. And I felt so, so much better. Tension I didn’t even know I had sublimated, and billowed out, away in the smoke. Now, I had icing to make.

Having finished all the measurements, I set to work mixing, and whipping things together. This was always my favorite part, though it was a little sad making this alone. It was such a shame Sharlese couldn’t make it out. I hadn’t done this without her since, when, freshman year of college? I took another slow, deep breath. Pure nostalgia. The memories came flooding back. Chrissy and I had been homesick. So one night, we made a late grocery run, and I whipped it up in our dorm’s kitchen. Chrissy even sort of helped. That was the same night the cheapo shit electric whisk we’d bought flew apart mid use and sprayed icing all over Chrissy’s shirt.

She’d freaked out because it was a brand new, white shirt. Immediately she whipped it off to soak it in the sink. And as she stood there, her back turned to me in only her bra, I couldn't look away. Light and shadows played off her back muscles and shoulderblades, shifting and contracting while she scrubbed at the stain. Her bra strap dug into her soft, supple skin. And the look she gave when she glanced back, and caught me staring? I was captivated. She was too. We stared at each other in silence for what felt like minutes, cheeks flush. Without a word, we retired to our dormroom, icing half finished. That night, we pushed our beds together, lit some incense and slept in each other’s arms. Suddenly, we weren’t so homesick anymore.

I felt a hand come to rest on my upper arm, and gasped, whirling around, I was face to face with Chrissy. I shrank against the counter; she watched me through curious eyes. They pinned me in place, framed me, cast me in a mold of my own nervous delight. Each breath came short and fast, my lungs coated and clogged with dizzy, heavy incense. I could barely speak, needing to push every word through the lump in my throat. The smell was so strong. “H-hey,” I breathed.

“Hey!” Chrissy said. “Just wanted to check on you. You’re done with the frosting right?”

I reached for more words, but couldn’t fight past the tightness in my chest. So instead, I simply nodded.

“Do you want help assembling?”

“Okay,” I squeaked, it was a miracle any sound escaped at all.

Chrissy rolled her eyes, and punched my arm. “Lighten up, dork.”

The ballooning tension popped. I laughed. She took my hand in hers. We stood in silence, blushing, neither able to meet the other’s gaze, Her thumb traced slow circles across my skin, as mine did the same.

“We should, uhm, probably start, right?” Chrissy asked. Her voice was low and breathy.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“I hope Marcy likes it.”

“She always does.” We broke away, fingers interlocking one last time before release. I got to work removing the cakes from the oven, while Chrissy filled the piping bags with ganache, and the smaller batch of normal buttercream I'd made to write with. The decorating part was always Chrissy’s strong suit, and the only step she actually enjoyed. I spread the pudding layer atop the bottom cake, then set the other on top. With slow, careful strokes, the two of us worked to spread the icing layer. It was a labor of love. We both loved Marcy so dearly, after all.

Our work complete, Chrissy readied the piping bags, then paused. “Would you like to try?” she asked.

“I’m never any good at this part,” I said.

She smiled, “I’ll help.” Her trembling hands guided the piping bag into mine, and clasped them. She was so warm. Chrissy positioned herself behind me. Her chest pressing into my back, her hips flush against mine. Gentle pressure, she began to squeeze oh so slowly, carefully.

The ganache slid from the bag, and she led me in slow, back and forth motions across our creation, swaying her entire body and mine. As we went, her hands would subtly tighten or loosen around mine, to bring variation to the line thickness. It became a slow waltz: a near hypnotic dance of her warm hands squeezing and relaxing against mine. I barely even noticed when we finished the initial drizzle.

Next she guided me around the cake's edges, creating loops and flourishes. Such a beautiful pattern, and it was ours. Our gift to Marcy, the best little sister anyone could ask for.

“Do you remember when mom taught us how to do this?” Chrissy asked.

“Yeah, I think that was the first time Sharlese had ever asked you to help me in the kitchen,” I laughed. Chrissy gave me a rather perplexed look, but didn’t add anything more.

The Ganache was done now, and Chrissy repeated the same process as with the white buttercream, only this time, we were spelling out a message: “Happy 19th Birthday, Marcy! Love, your Sisters.”

And yeah, Marcy had always been like a sister to me, so I didn't object. It felt right. Chrissy guided me through a few finishing touches, then we set aside the piping bag, and admired our work.

“It really is beautiful,” I said. “You think she'll like it?”

“Of course she will, dummy,” Chrissy scoffed. “You made it for her.”

We stood in silence for a moment. Chrissy’s hands, still wrapped around mine, slowly relaxed, then peeled away, sliding down to my belly. I shivered.

“Hey,” Chrissy whispered. “Do you wanna take that bowl of extra frosting over to the couch and smoke the rest of that joint with me while we watch tv?”

“I could be convinced,” I replied, taking the bowl in my hands.

“Perfect.” She reached forward to dip her index finger in the bowl, then brought it to her mouth, enclosing her lips around her finger, then pulling it away. “Fuck it's so good,” she moaned, then she stuck her saliva covered finger right into my ear, and bounded away in a fit of giggles.

“Oh you bitch!” I shouted after her, unable to contain my own laughter. I spun about, and darted after her, setting the bowl on the coffee table beside us as I tackled her into the cushions.

Pinning her beneath me. I scooped a glob of icing on my finger, then smeared it all across her face while she squirmed and shrieked with laughter beneath me. My finger slipped between her lips. I felt them enclose around the tip: soft and pillowy and warm and wet. Then I felt her tongue. It caressed my skin, squirming and exploring my finger as Chrissy began to suck.

For uncounted seconds, I sat stunned, staring at the blissful expression on her face, reveling in the feeling of her tongue and her lips and oh god oh ew what was I doing? I recoiled, pulling my finger away, pretending not to see the strand of saliva connecting us, pretending not to watch it stretch and break. Pretending not to gaze at the way my finger glistened under the light.

“God Chrissy what the fuck you're so gross!” I shouted.

“Am I?” Without a moment's hesitation, Chrissy lurched forward, knocking me off balance. Her legs locked around my midsection, and she flipped us both around, leaving me on my back, with her looming above.

Her breathing was slow and heavy. Every breath I took, I choked on the smell of incense as she scooped another finger full of icing, and lowered it to my lips. I turned away in resistance, thrashing beneath her. My lips parted. Her finger slid inside.

The icing was divine: light, fluffy, buttery, sweet and fruity. It tasted like home. I had outdone myself. I didn’t care. Running my tongue along Chrissy’s slender fingers was better than any sweet. Back arched, hips rolling, I felt my lids screw shut. I took a long, deep breath. This time I didn't smell incense. I smelled her.

I opened my eyes. My sister loomed above me, a smug, cocksure grin plastered on her stupid, pretty face.

We shared a look, and that composed confidence disintegrated. Her breath caught in her throat. Her lips trembled. Her eyes softened as they locked with mine. They were so beautiful. Everybody always said Chrissy got mom's eyes, but I got her smile. I smiled up at her. Chrissy blushed.

“Sis?” I asked, voice trembling. I couldn't take my eyes off her lips.

Her reply was barely a whisper “Yeah?”

“I… I think I wanna kiss you?” There. I'd said it. It was gross, and wrong, and that only made me want it all the more.

For a split second, I wondered if maybe she would be disgusted. It was a ridiculous worry, considering that tender, warm look in her eyes.“”Me too,” Chrissy whispered.

My heart leapt. I felt like a teenager. Though, back then I would have feigned revulsion..I wasn't yet ready to admit the truth then. There was no sense hiding from it now: I was in love with my sister.

Heart hammering in my chest, I watched as those quivering lips drew nearer. It suddenly felt so real. I was about to kiss my sister on the lips. I’d slip my tongue into her mouth, and dance with hers. This was wrong, this was gross, what would mom think? What about Marcy? What if she walked in just now and—my breath hitched in shame and delight at the thought.

Then, her lips were on mine. So soft, so welcoming. So familiar. She tasted like warm, woody smoke, like lilacs, like home. Chrissy pressed in closer, stroking my hair, sliding her hand under my shirt. Exploratory touches found my bra, slid underneath to oh so sweetly fondle and caress.

My tummy did flips as I felt her brush my nipple. And my heart fluttered as she broke the kiss, and whispered, “I love you, sis. I always have.”

I could not speak. I released a choked gasp, and nodded back at her. Then we were kissing again, and the nerves, and reservations, and nagging feeling that this was wrong, faded into the background radiation of our burning love. I held her tight in my arms, tracing patterns over her spine. I must have brushed something sensitive, because Chrissy arched, breaking our kiss with a gasp. We shared a warm, safe, loving gaze, one just for the two of us, where we could linger for as long as we needed. Where the world around us would evaporate into nothing. And all that would ever be was her and I.

She giggled, and I burst into an uncontrollable fit of tinkling laughter. Chrissy kissed my nose, then my cheeks, then my forehead. Another kiss on my lips, but brief this time: she traced my cheekbone with the tip of her thumb. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this, Lyla.”

“I think I might,” I said. So many nights alone, afraid, yearning for a real home. Not anymore. Mine was right here, in my sister’s arms.

Chrissy burst in more giggles, giddy and gleeful. She dipped her finger in the icing, and slid it between my lips. “God, you’re so fucking hot,” she whipsered.

I took my time cleaning her finger, licking dutifully and thoroughly. Then, as it slid from my mouth, I grinned up at her. “Right back atcha, sis.”

She preened a little, wiggling back and forth with a self-satisfied smile on her face. “Of course I am,” she said, then brought her lips in close. She spoke in a low, husky murmur. “I look just like you.”

Her words shocked me from my reverie, pulled me up and away from that bewitching bliss. I felt something tighten in my chest. First, confusion. “What?” I hissed. “No I don’t.”

She cocked her head in confusion. “What do you mean no you don’t. Of course you do. We’re twins. Not identical, but surely you’ve noticed that we look alike.”

“What are you talking about?” I snapped. I felt pressure. Pressure in my head, pressure in my chest. “This is… wrong.”

Chrissy shushed me, soft and soothing. “Hey, it’s okay,” she cooed. “I feel it too. It’ll be our secret.”

I shook my head. “No, no, it’s that!” I screwed my eyes shut. When did it get so hard to breathe? “You aren’t my sister!” I insisted.

I opened my eyes. Chrissy regarded me with a look of confusion, and concern. “What do you mean? Of course I’m your sister. Are you okay?”

“No, no you’re not!” My protests were falling on deaf ears. “We aren’t actually related. You’re my girlfriend, not my sister. You know that right?”

Her lips splayed into a nervous, bewildered grin. “Uh yeah, Lyla, we’re related.” She studied my face, eyes scanning up and down. “Is this part of it for you?” She asked. “Are we like, pretending this isn’t,” she paused. Moments stretched. Her tongue slid across her plump, red lips, I saw them move. I saw them form the word before any sound reached my ears. But what a sound it was: her dulcet voice crackled with vocal fry; the word itself struggled to stay afloat, submerged as it was in the rising tides of a warbling moan. “Incest?” The sound slipped past my ears, and sank into my belly, where it tied my insides into a dense little knot of throbbing, swelling pressure. My lips ached for hers. I wanted to wipe that stupid smirk from my sister’s face. Later. I had to focus.

“Sis… we aren’t really related,” I said. “Like, is this not a scene we’re doing, like earlier?”

Inquisitive eyes studied my expression. “A scene earlier?” Chrissy said. Then understanding crystallized on her face. Her expression softened to one of patience, and tenderness. “Oh, I think I understand,” she murmured. She fished her phone out of her pocket, and unlocked it. “Let me show you something.” She handed me her phone. Her camera was open. I could see her though it except, no, that wasn’t right. This girl looked like Chrissy, but here and there were a few subtle differences. She was also lying on her back. On the couch. But that meant…

“This is. This is me?” I stammered. And for the first time, I noticed the sound of my own voice. I heard something years struggling to voice train had never quite managed: I liked the sound of my voice. Chrissy always said she thought my voice was lovely, but through my own ears, it always sounded so wrong. But not this voice. This voice was musical and lovely and it sounded so, so much like hers. But that couldn’t be. It made no sense.

“No, dummy,” Chrissy teased. “It’s the Queen of Scotland.” She cupped my cheek, beaming. I’d seen her look at me this way before, her eyes endless wells overflowing with the sweetest, tenderest love and care. But it felt different, it felt more. Like she understood me, and I her in ways I’d never thought possible until this moment. “Of course it’s you,” she whispered.

It wasn’t. It was a trick, a filter, something. I retrieved my own phone, surely I would see that familiar face, the magic eye painting where every so often, when the light and angle was just right, I would like what I saw. I unlocked the screen, opened my phone app, and that same lovely girl stared back at me: lips parted, wide eyes darting to and fro; she looked so much like Chrissy. So much like mom, but not quite. “This can’t be right. Why do I look like…”

“Like me?” Chrissy offered.

Tension in my chest, I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath. “Yeah,” I exhaled.

“That’s because you’re my sister,” she said. Every word oozed adoration. “My sweet, perfect sister.”

“No!” I said. “No this isn't right!” My words were caught in my throat. When I managed to speak again, it came weak, quivering. “Why does it make me so happy?” I choked.

“That you're my sister?” she said.

“That I look like you,” I reply.

She stroked my hair. “Probably because my sister is very beautiful.”

“But I’m not your sister!" I shouted.

“Is that what you want?” Chrissy asked. My racing thoughts, and surging emotions came to a screeching halt.

I gaped up at her, dumbfounded. “What?”

“Is that what you want?” she repeated. “For us to not be sisters? For this,” she leaned in close, stealing another kiss. “To just be a kiss between two normal girlfriends? Instead of…” she gave a knowing look, dropping lower and tickling my ear with her perfect lips. She made wet, filthy, marvelous love to every syllable, climaxing on those final two delicious words: “between. Two. Incestuous. Sisters?”

I swallowed hard, squeezing my eyes shut and failing to suppress a whimper. “Of course that’s what I want!” I insisted. “T-to be girlfriends, I mean!”

Chrissy snicked. “Shhh,” she murmured, caressing my cheek. She planted a long, sloppy kiss in my ear. I shivered as her tongue, slick and soft and lovely, slipped from between her parted lips, and traced slow circles. Warmth and wetness trickled deep down inside me, my sister’s saliva seeping into my brain, saturating my thoughts, my truth with her. She moaned into me, relished in the kiss for a few moments more, then broke away. Another kiss, just as wet, but briefer: she mapped a trail along my jawline, before coming to a halt with our lips inches apart. I couldn’t take my eyes off them. ”Don’t argue,” she whispered. “Don’t think. Just take a deep breath,” she drew in, long and slow, and I found myself mirroring her. “Just smell the incest.”

Stripped bare beneath her piercing gaze, I shivered, my voice a shaky whimper. “You mean incense?”

A sharp-toothed grin. “No,” she said. Our lips met; a fleeting dance, but it was warm, and soft, and safe, and so deliciously wrong. Chrissy seized me by the hair, and thrust my face into her neck. My sister’s scent drowned out all else. That delicate, heady musk oh so subtly unique to her and her alone, the sweet tang of her sweat, and lilacs. Somewhere underneath it all I could still smell warm, woody smoke. A nostalgic scent, to be sure, but I did not need that smell to feel home. My sister was right here.

Our legs tangled along with our lips. We rolled over on the couch, swapping places. I loomed over her, sharing a giddy smile, then collapsed on top of her. The feeling of her body against mine was divine. I nuzzled my face into her neck, stretching languidly as we settled into each other’s arms.

Ear to her chest, I took in the sight of my sister's lovely face. I luxuriated in the sense of perfect belonging here with her, wrapped in a warm blanket of contentment and belonging. We shared a meaningful look; she understood exactly how I felt: there was no place in the world I’d rather be than here, with her. “Sis?” I asked. “I don't understand. I'm supposed to be your girlfriend.”

She hummed a little contented noise, between slow strokes down my back. “You can still be my girlfriend.”

I gave her a pointed look. “That’s not what I meant.”

She sighed, and pulled me in closer, pressing my face to her perfect breasts. “I know what you mean, my love. But isn’t this better? You remember, don’t you? Growing up together, not as friends, but sisters. You remember Mom, and Marcy. You remember coming out to us. And because Mom—your real Mom, not that other woman—loved you for you, you got to transition at a much younger age. You never had to deal with the wrong puberty. You just got to be my sister. I got to watch you bloom.”

And she was right. I did remember. So many happy memories, so many perfect moments, and more than a few soaked in the awkward awakening of so many confusing new feelings. Their culmination here, today, made this moment that much more perfect. Even so. “But these memories, they aren’t real.”

Chrissy rolled her eyes, a playful smile visiting her lovely lips. “Of course they’re real,” she said. “I bet we could call mom right now and she would agree. I bet when Marcy gets here she’ll tell you the same thing.”

Was that how this worked, whatever this was? It was beside the point. “But that isn’t how it actually happened! You do remember, right?”

“Of course I do,” she said. “But don’t these new memories feel so much more real?”

What did that even mean? I knew which ones were real. How could the new ones ever feel more real than the truth? “They don’t feel more real, they just feel happier.”

“And moving forward whenever you do choose to look back, which ones will you pick?” She asked.

It wasn’t a hard question. “...Probably the nice ones. No, not probably, definitely.”

Satisfied, Chrissy wiggled her hips a little, shifting me in for a kiss. When it broke, she tapped me on the nose, and fluttered her eyes at me. “Seems like you have your answer then.”

Was that all the truth I needed? Maybe it was. Maybe all that mattered was how happy I was to be here with my sister. “I love you, Chrissy.”

“I love you too, little sis,” she crooned.

Aghast, I propped myself up on my elbow and scowled down at her, playfully smacking her flankside with the back of my hand. “We’re twins!”

Chrissy gave a self smirk. “I was born twelve minutes earlier,” she gloated.

“I was literally a couple months older than you before this!” I protested.

She shrugged. “True, but any way you wanna slice it you did join this family after I did. So I’m the big sister. Seems fair to me.”

Utterly defeated, I collapsed back onto her. “I fucking hate you.”

“Shut and kiss me,” she said. She didn’t need to ask twice. I kissed my sister long, and slow, and disgusting. An erotic thrill surged through my body at the mere thought of what I was doing, who I was doing it with. The shame was such a delicious garnish. Forbidden fruit always tastes so much sweeter.

An exploratory finger drew a slow, winding path down Chrissy’s front. She shivered and squirmed, eyes widening as she realized where I was going, what I was doing.

Alarmed, she recoiled, glaring at me, eyes wide with revulsion. I understood why. I couldn’t believe I was doing it either. “Lyla you—” I pressed my hand to her mouth, and pinned her to the couch, locking her legs with mine as a chorus of muffled screams accompanied my downward trek.

Reaching her waistband, I took my time circling and teasing her belly. This was filthy, wrong in all the ways that mattered. She bucked and squirmed beneath me; I brought my weight down atop her, pinning her across the chest with my elbow. She sank her teeth into my hand, and I yelped in pain, freeing her mouth as I pulled away.

“What are you doing?” she cried, still pinned beneath my elbow, weakly squirming beneath me.

“What does it look like?” I asked. My free hand tore open her shorts. Fuck, this was wretched. My hand crept lower, fingernails tracing her pelvic area, spiraling lower, lower.

“What’s wrong with you?” Chrissy spat, shimmying her hips up a little while she continued to struggle against me. “We’re sisters!”

I clenched my jaw as delightful shame and revulsion lit up me from head to toe. “Yeah we are,” I panted. “What’s the matter? We were just kissing, weren’t we?”

“That’s different!” She insisted. Chrissy tried to cross her legs; I thrust my knee between them, pressing into her crotch. She squeezed her thighs against me. A shudder passed through her, then a groan; Chrissy began to grind herself into my knee. “A kiss is just a kiss! We had a little weed, got a little handsy, we were experimenting! And a little experimenting between sisters is fine, but this? this is…” she wrinkled her nose, “disgusting.”

Her arms flailed, slapping me wherever she could reach. She pressed her palm against my face, struggling to push me away. It wasn’t enough. My hand flew from her panty-line and caught her by the wrist, prying her off me. I bore down on her. We locked eyes, short of breath, struggling, straining, quivering. “Say that again,” I growled.

Her movements slowed. The air around us bristled with tension. We shared a frozen moment, me pinning her hands and torso to the sofa, her laying exposed, helpless. Her lips peeled into a vicious sneer. “It’s disgusting," she repeated; venom dripped from every syllable. I shuddered. “Contemptable,” she snarled.

“Yeah?” I urged, voice quaking. My hips began to gyrate; hers followed suit. We built a slow rhythm. I released her wrist, and my hand crept back to rest upon her pelvis.

“To do something so depraved with your own sister. That would be... ” Chrissy’s lips parted; her tongue slid across her teeth. Her back arched as her lips formed the word. But she didn’t say it yet—the tease—she just felt it on her lips, savored its texture on her tongue, gorged herself on the hedonistic debauchery that was speaking it. And I watched, listened in rapt attention, flesh crackling with pure anticipation.

She took her time. Slow, and lascivious, Chrissy inhaled, felt the cool air, thick with her sister’s scent, flow down her windpipe; she felt her chest swell, not just with air, but with the word that air would become. Chrissy paused. She relished in the feeling of holding that word inside her. I squeezed her arm, hard. I needed to hear her say it.

Chrissy batted her lashes at me. She did not care how long it took; she wanted to luxuriate in this. To taste it. To feel the word take shape in her mouth as it slid up her trachea. It bulged in her throat, tickled her tonsils. Her tongue slithered around it. Her lips spread to make room. Her voice dripped delight as the word oozed from her lips, and into my waiting ears. “Incest.”

Her back arched as I plunged my fingers inside her. She was velvet. She was perfection. I charted course through her most intimate places. I drank in every twitch of her muscles, the way her belly tensed and flexed, the expression on her gorgeous face as her gasps caressed my senses.

Reluctantly, my fingers slipped from inside her. I yearned to explore her depths further, but first, there was something I needed to do. My fingers glistened with her. Chrissy, still recovering, fell back into the couch, and eyed me with delicious revulsion. “You wouldn’t,” she gasped.

“I would,” I countered.

“Do you have no shame?” Chrissy hissed.

I shared with her my most devious smile. “No shame? But sis, that’s the best part.” I darted forward, sealing my lips around my fingers. My tongue set to work immediately.

The taste was, well, it was nothing new. This was hardly my first time tasting her.. But that didn’t matter. Chrissy was my sister. Shame cooked me head to toe. It electrified my skin. It tingled in my deepest places. I didn’t miss a single drop.

“You pervert,” she scolded. My fingers slid from my lips; we shared a look, and both burst into giggles. I collapsed atop her, nuzzling into her neck and sighing contentedly.

“So uhh,” I mused. “I’m not the only one right? We’re both like, crazy into incest now? It’s like, insanely hot that we’ve become sisters, right?”

“Oh extremely.” Chrissy agreed, bursting into giggles. “I don’t know if I was actually into this before or not but holy shit am I ever now. And, uhm,” she blushed. “We might need to be very careful around mom and Marcy from now on.”

“Oh shit you're right!” I said. “I honestly have no idea how we're gonna keep this from them.”

“Yeah and also…” Chrissy paused in thought, staring off into the middle distance for a few moments, before the blush warming her cheeks ignited into a full on inferno. Turning redder and redder by the second, she squeaked, “that's maybe not the only reason we've gotta be careful around them from now on.”

“Wait, you don't mean?” In my mind's eye, I conjured an image of my mother's beautiful face, her stunning, voluptuous figure, her gentle maternal voice. I imagined the woman who raised me caressing my cheek, and parting my lips with hers. I imagined being cradled in her arms, my face pressed to her bare chest. I imagined—oh, oh god. "Mommy,” I whimpered.

“Yeah,” Chrissy agreed. “We should maybe uh, try very hard not to think about Marcy that way right now.”

I sealed my lips tight, and nodded, banishing any and all thoughts of doing something like that with my very pretty, very sweet, and oh so cute little sister.

Thankfully, I had just what I needed to take my mind off that. Snuggling in close, I held my sister tight, pressed a kiss to her neck, and basked in her presence.

* * *

Marcy’s birthday dinner went off without a hitch. We were very thorough in putting out the incense stick, and clearing out the smoke, because as delightful of a little accident this had been, we were not about to do that to our little sister.

Upon her arrival, there was a brief moment of confusion when Marcy opened the door and saw me. But something about how this works—whatever “this” is—filled in the blanks. It was a conversation to have, and we had to artfully omit a few details about the actual nature of how we felt about all this, and each other. On the whole, however, Marcy was very accepting, and thrilled to have me as her new older sister, even if it didn’t really feel new to her.

The cake, of course, was delicious. Mom taught me well, and I would never fuck up my favorite little sister’s birthday cake. Then we spent some time just chatting, enjoying one another’s company. And there isn’t really any other way to say it, I felt so, so happy. I had a family that loved me, the one that, when I was younger, I’d spent every night praying to wake up an actual part of. That was, of course, before Chrissy and I had started dating. But hey, now we had the best of both worlds. We weren’t exactly sure how the hell we were going to tell mom, or Marcy for that matter. But that could wait. In a word, it was wonderful.

A few hours later, Chrissy and I had retired to our bedroom, and were making ready to turn in for the night. There was still only one bed, which, to be clear, we were very grateful for, but it did raise eyebrows when Chrissy and I retired to the same room, and the same bed.

As I undressed, taking a moment to admire the gorgeous body which felt somehow both brand new, and like I’d had it my whole life, we heard a knock at the door. Chrissy and I exchanged nervous glances. If Marcy caught us both stripped nude and about to share a bed, surely that would mean many difficult questions.

“Uh… yes?” I called.

Marcy’s voice sounded from the other side, meek, and a little nervous. “It’s me.”

“I figured, sis. Do you need something?” I said.

There was a long pause, which frankly I was grateful for, because it gave me the chance to throw something on.

“Can you, uhm, maybe open the door? So we talk face to face” Marcy asked.

Chrissy and I shared a nervous look. Had our cover been blown? She shrugged, shaking her head and mouthing an, “I don’t know.”

I turned toward the door, crossing the room, as my hand reached the knob, I froze.

“Psst, Lyla,” Chrissy hissed. I glanced back to her. Eyes wide as dinner plates, she asked, “do you uh, do you smell…?”

I nodded.

“Oh no,” she said. Her eyes were saying something very different. Maybe we were wrong. I mean, by this point I had a hard time differentiating the smell from Chrissy’s. So maybe it was just that? I turned the knob, the door swung open.

Marcy stood before me, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt, and panties. In her hands, she cupped our incense burner. A trail of smoke rose from the stick inside. Marcy and I locked eyes. My little sister bit her lip.“Hey uh, sis?” she asked. “Is it just me, or is this incest—. I mean, incest—. I mean, I wanna make out with my sisters,” She shut her eyes in concentration, when they opened again, they were lidded, and lustful. With great effort, Marcy continued. “I mean the incense, that’s it. Incense. Anyway, is just me, or is this incest really strong?”