The Anniversary

Chapter 3 Part 3

She was lithe and small, yes, but not because she didn’t eat properly. Her fat was precisely where it needed to be, and her muscles were impossibly well formed. The bones, of course, were also part of it, and she knew where and how to show that off without sinking into uncanny valley. She was an anatomical marvel. He bet that if he took a ruler and measured her, every last fraction of her body would have an mathematical precision in its proportions. It was like a statue had come to life, if the subject was a ten-year-old girl-deity, that is.

Finally, he returned to her breast. “You’re so soft. And beautiful, too attractive for any vocabulary. I…” He wasn’t sure how to phrase it. “How?” They stayed silent for a moment, as he looked for the right words. “I can feel everything. Everything. Your texture, your warmth, the motion in your veins. It’s not only my hands either. Even when I licked you. And on my p***s, too. I feel so much of you, and it’s addictive.”

“Ah. I think I’m to blame,” Emilia said. “As you grow up, wear and tear damages your nerve endings, making you less sensitive. I’ve been tapping on some rejuvenating properties from your, well, you know, so I wouldn’t be hurt. It may have rubbed off on you, too, when we’ve been together.” She sighed, disappointed with how little she knew despite all the studying she’d done. “I’m sorry. When we’re… When we’re making love, sometimes it’s hard to tell our bodies apart. I try, but we’re more alike than normal, because, um…” She blushed. “We’re blood related.”

Another sigh, this time deeper. “I’m sorry, but it’s pretty far-reaching, not just touch. Everything on you could be affected, all tissue. You might see or hear different. Um. Perhaps think a little different, I think? I haven’t looked into that yet. Your hands are definitely softer than yesterday. I could try reversing some of it, but—”

“So that’s why I felt so great this morning!” Marcus said. “I thought it was the afterglow.”

“It was, kind of.” They both chuckled. “I didn’t mean it. I know it’s invasive. I had to do it, otherwise yesterday couldn’t have happened safely. I’m so sor—”

“It’s okay, Emilia,” he stopped her at her tracks. “You don’t have to apologise. I knew I was pushing it yesterday too. It isn’t all bad. It’s to my liking; after all, I get to feel more of you.” He pinched her n****e, and Emilia squeaked in response.

“Pervert.”

“The facial hair was a little harder to manage, though. Say, if I’ve had this forever, how come—”

“Because you don’t know how to use it, you i***t,” she blurted out. “You’ve been so busy hating yourself, you never bothered visiting the library. Ugh. You’d think father would’ve tried steering you in the right direction…”

“He did, but I thought it mere superstition.”

“i***t!” she slapped him on the head. “i***t! i***t! i***t!” she slapped him thrice more; he didn’t even bother defending himself. She was so angry, she didn’t notice her muscles complaining at the sudden motions. She bumped into him with so much force, she rolled him on his back and got on top of him, pressing her hands on his chest. “You were a model student! You barely paid attention, and you coasted through the curriculum in record time! You set the record without trying! How the hell did that happen?!”

“Puberty? I think?” Marcus offered, a little unsure himself. “Once I started noticing girls, I knew there was something wrong with me. Body and spirit.”

As comprehension hit Emilia, she turned into a big, red balloon, puffing her cheeks in fury, all blood going to her head. This time, he did raise his hands, so that his face, at least, wouldn’t be scarred; he could hide bruises elsewhere under clothing.

“Surrender the crown and replace it with a jester’s hat, for you are the king of idiots!” Emilia shouted. “You… How could you think that was wrong?! You were made to believe that having something so… so… so divinely beautiful was wrong, that being attracted to me was wrong. That’s…”

“In my defence, you weren’t even born yet.”

Emilia frowned at how poor that retort was, but then she subtracted the numbers mentally, and conceded his point. She exhaled, air and anger both leaving her, then fell on top of Marcus, resting her head on his chest and wrapping her arms around him.

“If you tell me your body and spirit are wrong again, I’m going to kill you. They’re what I love about you, and if they’re wrong, then there is nothing right under the sun. Do you understand? I will kill you, and maybe a city or two so that you commiserate down under.”

Though he was the stronger one physically, something told him that she had more ability to inflict permanent damage among the two of them. “I understand. Stallions and child molesters are the cornerstones of virtue.”

“Idiot.”

Marcus leaned forward so that he could pull the first layer of bedding from under him, Emilia still clinging on him. He then covered them both with it, preparing for good night’s rest.

“So how did you find about all this?” he asked.

She fumbled a bit, trying to find the most comfortable position for sleeping. “Anna dropped the first hint, something about family history. She, uh, promised me chocolate,” she admitted, and Marcus could barely hold back laughter. She ignored him. “I think it was father who told her how to do it. A letter, maybe. I’ve never asked. He had to set this family straight somehow, so he went for the more dependable child.”

“Yeah, even though he had to motivate her with chocolate,” Marcus said, taking extra care to make it sound as comically immature as possible.

“Shut up, king of insecurities.”

She placed her nose on his chest and inhaled, his musk stronger now after the exertion of copulation. She felt very nice on him, a tiny, light, soft humanoid blanket, skin against skin, a position emphasising their antithetical builds. He could get used to this.

“I’ll teach you once I’ve ironed out the quirks,” she said, softer now, answering an unspoken question. “You iron out yours.”

“Good night, little sister.”

“Good night, big brother.”

He put his arms around her, locking them behind her back. “I love you.”

She mumbled something which sounded like, “Dream of not being a dumbarse,” but he couldn’t make it out.

Ten minutes later, Marcus was sleeping like a log, but she was still restless, a certain stiffness in her that wouldn’t dissipate. The solution came to her immediately, instinctively. She lowered her hands to her groin, and very carefully touched her anus. She circled around it, feeling the texture and size, wondering how Marcus would fit inside.

Imagining how Marcus would feel inside.

The memory of her previous orgasm was still fresh in her mind, and, as she had after her first time with her brother, she made sure it was committed in perfect clarity for future reference. In the process, she brought her feet together, rubbing her soles against each other, a remembrance, or perhaps a ritual. She couldn’t move too much, couldn’t be very loud. Her finger was a poor substitute for her brother, but it would suffice; her colon wrapped around it all the same, another step in its transformation from a defecation pipe to her prime s*x organ. Her climax was far less pronounced this time, her brother not there to assist her, save for his smell and his body heat. She hoped he wouldn’t feel the moisture leaking from her orifices, unsuspecting of his coating in vaginal and anal yen.

Or maybe he would, in a sense, in his dreams, where he could do unspeakable things to her little body, his ten-year-old sister, his actual wife. Inside his head, no one could know, and everything was allowed, even if his desire was f*****g her the very day she was born, welcoming her to the world not with her mother’s teet, but with his c**k. She loved him so much. She wished this would never end, that this night could go on forever, two royal siblings who had broken every taboo they’d come across, obsession melting into lust melting into affection.

Big brother…

She totalled four orgasms over two hours m**********g on top of him. By the time she was done, she had submerged them both in her juices and sweat, glistening in the moonlight peaking from the window, their bodies slippery inside their liquid veils. After each time, her brother’s smell seduced her again, the smell that reminded her of the first time she’d seen him naked, her most erotic memory. After that, she was no longer a bipedal pet, an asexual blob doing cute things, endearing in her ignorance, more impulse than thought. She was a woman. She was human. She had self.

What was Marcus to her? Brother fell short; lover was too temporary; even soulmate was an understatement. When she saw him that day, when she truly saw him, in sudden, keen awareness, her heart racing and her anus twitching, enough sense forcefully inserted that not making sense of things held meaning, she was pulled out of the dark cave to gaze at the stars, and their infinitely distant holocausts so graciously made cinder of the hollow that it would have soul, and she could be alive; a tiny, fragile flicker, if nourished, soon to burn the cosmos. The bringer of the light, who selflessly made man man, only to be punished for his benevolence.

The stiffness hadn’t gone away, but her exhaustion was greater now, so at least she could sleep. It might never leave, not until she had fulfilled her promise, her first fantasy, to have him make love to her rear. There was no one to see, but she would smile all night, a strange, pleasant dream befitting the world’s most beautiful child, the most exquisite princess, the most caring sister. In that fleeting moment, she had infinity.

Who could say it was wrong? What soul so mutilated it saw evil in that? Did true fiends flaunt their foulness in earnest, or clothe it in scripture and law?