Sandy Stephan

Sister's Incest Secrets

CHAPTER ONE

The train was far from full. I sat by the window, a blanket over my knees to keep the chill off, and my bags were stacked up on the seat beside me. That was to keep strangers at bay. I had to get things straight in my mind. Going home for the first time in a year was hard enough, but to go back for the first time since The Incident, that was something else again! I'd just turned fifteen when Dad had found me in bed with my brother Bob. The next day Dad had made the arrangements and Bob and I had been separated without further ado. How would he feel about me now? And would Dad still hold it against me? I hoped not. If he did I'd have to go back to that rotten boarding school to spend another year away from my beautiful brother.

The mesmerizing, regular sound of the train wheels clacking along the track established a peculiar rhythm in my mind, one that caused me to relive that fateful night in vivid detail. It felt as though it was happening all over again… perhaps I was dozing a little or perhaps I'd thought about it so often that the incident had turned into a well-known play, one with which I titillated myself in spare moments. And, as usual, while the story ran through my head, my hand crept down between my legs to give my pussy the moral support it needed.

Bob and I had always been close; ever since I can remember he took care of me, helped me with my schoolwork, taught me how to ride a bike and a horse and all the other skills that big brothers know so well. He would be eighteen soon. Had he changed? No matter what had happened to him he'd always be the same to me. I could trust Bob, and he understood me as well as I did. For years our love had been pure, innocent, as brotherly and sisterly love is supposed to be. But as my breasts budded and his voice broke and deepened numerous other changes began to take place. Of course I wasn't aware of them at first. Bob's sudden interest in my body was just another game to me.

My fifteenth birthday was the watershed between innocence and bliss. For some weeks prior to that event my body had been reacting quite strongly to Bob. He'd taken to touching me now and then, very off-hand but always accurate. His hand would slide along the pert slope of my breasts or he would rest his hand on the full curve of my buttocks, touch my inner thigh, each time making it look as though it was accidental because he was afraid of consequences. That's what he told me later. He thought I might tell mother or something. Those brief caresses of his had an increasing impact on me. I suppose my body was developing very rapidly at that time, with all the sensory equipment going into action. Whatever the reason, I loved his touches and began to wonder if there wasn't a way to get more of them.

The party thrown for my birthday was small, family only. My father, that pillar of righteousness and industry, tried to unbend a little by putting on a party hat. My mother, sensual of body but barren of mind, sat next to him and had one drink too many in honor of my birthday. Elaine, the youngest, sat on one side of me and Nora, the oldest, on the other. Bob faced us, drinking his beer with a manly flourish. He was now allowed to drink and I'm afraid he overdid it a little.

Much later in the evening when our folks had retired into the wonderful world of television, and Nora and Elaine had gone up to their respective rooms, Bob and I sat on the porch and gazed into the dark night. He was very loose-tongued for once, talking about all sorts of things, none of which interested me. But then he said something that made me prick my ears up.

“I've got to tell you, Kathy, that you're my favorite sister. In fact I think I love you more than a brother should. Did you know I have dreams about you? It's true… yes sir, it sure is true.” He lapsed into a moody silence suddenly, nodding to himself and staring straight ahead. I didn't know what he was talking about, at least not with my mind. But my heart took an abrupt leap as if my instincts knew only too well what he meant.

“Yeah, I dream about you all the time,” he went on, still avoiding my eyes. “They're beautiful dreams, Kathy. When I wake up I just want to crawl right back into them. Because they can never come true.”

“Why not?” I asked in a voice that was just a little too high.

“Because,” he said.