Twisted Morales

She lifted her arm and reached for her buzzing alarm clock, and with a heavy hand smashed down on the snooze button. Eyes still closed and her face still half-buried in her pillow, she inhaled deeply through her mouth and slowly released it. Pulling her arm back under the blanket, she lay there quietly listening for anything that would force her to get up. Nothing. She lay there for a few more minutes, and just as she thought about opening her eyes, a knock came on her bedroom door.

“Get up, or you’ll be late. Breakfast in five and we will be leaving in fifteen.” Her father yelled through the door.

Rolling over on her side with her back facing the door, she let out a small groan.

“Alright...I’m up.”

She slowly opened her eyes and met face to face with her little teddy, Brownie. A smile crossed her lips. A gift from her mother last summer when she went for her yearly visit.

“Good morning, Brownie. How well did you sleep last night? I didn’t sleep very much at all...nightmares.”

She lay flat on her back, stretching her arms above her head until her joints popped softly. After similarly extending her legs, she pulled the blankets off and sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her body felt heavy, reluctant to leave the warmth of the mattress. She lifted herself off the bed with effort, her muscles protesting each movement. The remnants of her nightmares still clung to her thoughts like cobwebs. Grabbing her towel from where it hung on the back of a chair in front of her desk, she staggered toward the door and pulled it open. The hallway stretched before her, quiet and dim in the early morning light. She glanced toward the bathroom, took a deep breath to steel herself for the day ahead, and shuffled down the corridor. Opening the bathroom door while yawning, she scratched her head absently and walked inside, placing the towel down next to the sink. When she looked up at the mirror, she noticed it was still slightly fogged from whoever had showered last. The condensation blurred her reflection into an indistinct shape. She wiped her hand across the glass in a broad arc. As the fog cleared and her reflection came into focus, her eyes grew wide. Heat flooded her cheeks, turning her face crimson.

“Oh gosh! What the hell!” she shouted. A hand clamped over her mouth from behind. He bit at her ear; his body wash was flooding her senses. The combination sent a shiver down her spine, and she stiffened as his hot breath tickled her ear. “Do you have to be so loud early in the morning?” he whispered. She wiggled free from his grip, still feeling the heat of his body against her back. Pushing him away, she spun to face him. “What are you doing in here?” He chuckled, placed a hand on his hip, and let his gaze travel up and down her body before smiling. “I wanted to ask the same thing. Why is my little sister waltzing her half-naked body into the bathroom with me?” She glanced down—tube top and panties. Her eyes snapped back up to find him wearing nothing but a towel. Heat flooded her face. She snatched the towel from the sink behind her to cover herself, then fixed her gaze on the floor. The click of the door lock made her peek up. His hand rested on the mechanism. She tried to swallow the knot in her throat. “I didn’t know you were in here. The door wasn’t even locked.” Her voice emerged sharper than intended. “Anyway, why are you just standing there in a towel? And stop staring at me like that—it’s creepy.” He walked toward her. She glanced behind to see if she had room to retreat. Pinned between him and the sink, she felt his hands press against the counter on either side of her. He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “What am I not allowed to look at?” She closed her eyes. His breath ghosted across her skin, igniting a trail of heat that spread through her entire body. A small, involuntary gasp escaped her lips. Her pulse hammered in her ears, each beat louder than the last. She felt her body responding to his proximity—the warmth radiating from him, the faint scent of soap on his skin—and shame flooded through her even as desire coiled low in her stomach. This was wrong. She knew it was wrong. Yet her traitorous body refused to listen to reason. “No... we’re siblings, for crying out loud.” He buried his face in the curve of her neck, his lips brushing against her skin with deliberate softness. The touch sent an electric current racing down her spine. When he straightened, his eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. “Your point being?” His voice carried a dangerous edge of amusement. “Are we not a man and a woman?” He paused, letting the words hang between them. “Besides, we’re only related in name. We don’t share the same blood.” The justification sounded rehearsed, as though he’d been waiting for this moment to voice it. She recognized the rationalization for what it was—a twisted logic designed to absolve them both of guilt. But hearing him say it aloud made her stomach turn, even as some dark part of her mind whispered that he wasn’t entirely wrong. She clutched her towel tightly, doing her best to cover herself and resist his pull. Her head turned to the left, then her gaze dropped to the floor and halfway to his abs. She kept telling herself she shouldn’t be checking out her older brother. “You’re sick, you know that,” she muttered. “That’s why I stay away from you.” He chuckled softly, reached up, and started playing with her hair before kissing it. “But you came in here with me. I thought maybe you’d changed your mind about my offer?” Heat flooded through her as his eyes traveled over her body. Her breathing grew uneven, each breath coming shorter than the last. She bit her bottom lip, and unbidden memories surfaced—what he had offered her last winter, whispered in the darkness when their parents were away. The weight of that moment pressed against her chest. She blinked several times, forcing herself back to the present, and tried to push him away with trembling hands. “Like hell I have,” she said, her voice sharper than she felt. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get ready for school.” He grabbed her hand as her fingers grazed his chest, smiled, and guided her palm over his chest and abs. “You know you’ve been staring at my midsection this whole time. Do you like them?” “What? No, I haven’t—I wasn’t. umm. stop.” She closed her eyes and turned her head away. He reached up and, with his index finger, turned her face back toward him. “You know I like the fact that you want to play hard to get,” he said, “but just remember what I told you last time. You belong to me, so don’t play too coy, okay, my little puppy.”

He kissed her lips and drew her close, their bodies pressing together through the thin barrier of her towel. The warmth of his skin seeped through the fabric, making her acutely aware of every point where they touched. Pushing her against the sink, he lifted her slightly and settled her on top of it. The cool porcelain contrasted sharply with the heat radiating between them. One hand cradled her bottom while the other traced upward along her thigh, his touch deliberate and unhurried. Her breath hitched as his fingers mapped a path across her skin, each stroke sending sparks of sensation through her. She gripped the edge of the sink, her knuckles whitening as she fought against the conflicting impulses warring within her—the urge to pull him closer and the desperate need to push him away. Her heart hammered against her ribs, so loud she was certain he could hear it. She felt his hand roam across her skin and his lips brush against hers, a tingling sensation spreading through her body as she lost herself in the moment. Though she knew this was wrong—even as it felt achingly good—she tried to resist after a few seconds, pushing weakly against his chest. He released her lips and took her hand in his, then kissed it while holding her gaze with those golden mustard-colored eyes. His lips traveled down her arm as he pulled the towel from between them, making his way to the crook of her neck. He paused there briefly, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin before continuing down to her chest. She gasped and let out a soft moan, biting her bottom lip to stifle the sound. Her mouth opened slightly as she struggled to catch her breath between each quiet whimper. With her eyes glazed over from the waves of pleasure coursing through her body, she sat there and let her mind drift. Why did his touch affect her so intensely? A storm of tingles wrapped around her, pulling her into an endless cloud of sensation. Part of her wanted to push him away, to remember all the reasons this was forbidden, but her body refused to obey. He slid his hand up one side of her panties, his touch deliberate and possessive. She trembled as he inserted two fingers inside her, a sharp intake of breath escaping her lips. Moving them slowly in and out, he gripped her bottom firmly with his other hand, anchoring her in place. His gaze never wavered from her face, studying every flicker of emotion, every subtle shift in her expression. He seemed fascinated by the way pleasure transformed her features—the way her brows knitted together, the way her lips parted involuntarily. There was something almost clinical in his observation, as if he were cataloging each response, learning what made her body surrender despite her mind’s protests.

Her eyes flew open, struggling to focus on him through the haze of sensation as he studied her intently. Her mouth fell open, and her breathing grew ragged and uneven. She fought to suppress the sounds threatening to escape—soft moans and desperate groans that rose unbidden from somewhere deep within her. One hand gripped the porcelain edge of the sink until her knuckles whitened, while the other pressed against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palm. Something shifted inside her then, a surrender she hadn’t consciously chosen. She began moving in rhythm with his fingers, her hips rolling forward to take them deeper, chasing the building pressure. The bathroom, the locked door, the family just beyond it—all of it dissolved. In that moment, she forgot who he was, forgot who she was supposed to be. Her mind emptied of everything except the raw hunger consuming her and the exquisite tension coiling tighter between her legs. The wrongness of it all—the taboo that should have stopped her cold—faded into insignificance, drowned beneath waves of pure physical need. Some distant part of her consciousness screamed in protest, horrified at her own abandon, but that voice grew fainter with each deliberate stroke of his fingers. She was lost to it now, lost to him, and the shame of that realization only seemed to intensify the pleasure coursing through her trembling body. He watched her face as she moaned and rolled her eyes back. The excitement he felt from seeing her face flushed with sweat, from hearing her pant like a desperate, sex-crazed creature, overwhelmed him. He smiled as she tried to muffle her voice, clearly terrified of catching anyone’s attention. Her struggle between desire and shame only made the moment more intoxicating. Then, just as she felt herself approaching climax, he withdrew his fingers and held them up for her to see. She watched as he played with them, pulling them apart. He examined the clear substance that stretched between them before breaking. His fingers glistened with her arousal up to his knuckles. He looked at her and smiled, then placed those same fingers against her lips and pushed them into her mouth. Moving them in and out, she began to suck on them instinctively, tasting herself as it mixed with the taste of his skin and her own saliva. The act felt degrading and thrilling all at once. He pulled his hand away and kissed her once more, inserting his tongue to taste her himself. Then he backed away and walked over to the bathroom door, unlocking it with a soft click. He glanced back at her sitting on the sink, her face pleading with him to finish, her legs spread wide, and her panties visibly soaked. Such a beautiful sight to him: his little sister showing him the face of a woman completely undone.

“You shouldn’t protest so much if you enjoy it when I touch you,” he said and chuckled before walking out of the bathroom. She climbed down from the sink, her face flushed and her panties soaked. Turning to face the mirror, she watched tears stream down her cheeks. “Why...” she whispered to her reflection. “He’s my brother. So why do I let it happen every time? And why does he always stop right when I’m about to—” She covered her face with her hands, unable to meet her own gaze as she cried. Her fingers traced her neck and lips where he had touched her. “Another scene for later,” she murmured bitterly. “When I’m alone at night in my room.” She gripped the edge of the sink. “Another morning of being played with. Another morning of feeling disappointed that it didn’t go any further.” Her voice cracked. “Why does he do this? Is it fun for him? He has to know I’m a virgin—that everything he’s done to me was my first.” She looked up at her reflection, searching for answers. “What I can’t understand is why he only goes as far as kissing and fingering me. Maybe I’m not good enough to sleep with. Maybe he doesn’t find me attractive—maybe he likes to toy with me.” She wiped her eyes roughly. “Whatever the reason, I don’t know what to do or how to feel anymore. I know I feel dirty afterward.” Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. “Doing something like this with your sibling is wrong, even if we aren’t blood-related. Our parents are still married. We’re still family. I know this, but secretly...” She paused, meeting her own eyes in the mirror. “Secretly, I wish I didn’t care so much about breaking a taboo and committing a sin.”