Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day

by Andre Moreau

Copyright© 2002 by Andre Moreau

Incest Sex Story: Mature brother and sister incest. A story of a love that grows into consenting sexual intercourse.

Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Incest Brother Sister .

My story begins ten-years-ago when my sister, Celia, phoned one winter evening. She was unemployed and seriously in debt with her credit cards. The phone company was threatening to cut off her phone, her car had been repossessed and the landlord was about to evict her.

I didn't really like the woman but she was, after all, my sister. I listened to her tale of woe. A winter gale howled around the building. It was cold as the Arctic outside.

"Could you help me, please," she pleaded?

Well, what could I do? "Sure, I replied, how much money do you need?"

"Oh Mike, I don't want to take your money. I just need a place to stay for a few days.

Against my better judgement, I heard myself say she could use the spare bedroom with the ensuite bathroom.

"Oh Mike, you are a sweetie," she said.

The next day Celia arrived with half a truck-load of furniture, books, dishes and assorted cd's. I had furnished my condo to suite me and didn't appreciate her showing up with a load of junk but I figured she had enough trouble right then and didn't complain. Looking back on it, I'm sure she knew I'd be upset but women have a way of getting around a man and she had me outsmarted from the start.

She stayed mostly out of sight for the first couple of months... I wondered where she went because she didn't arrive home until after I was asleep. I discovered later that she was afraid I would think she was in the way. She stayed in bed, in the morning, until I left and then she went to the library or a movie in the evening. If she thought it too early to arrive at the apartment she would sit in a doughnut shop until she was sure I'd be asleep. She caught a nasty cold being out on winter nights. The cold became pneumonia.

Her coughing awakened me from a deep sleep. It was a deep, chesty, barking cough. Right in the lungs. Hell, I thought, she's not going to make it through the night with that cough.

I dressed and knocked on her door. She opened it and one look was enough to prompt me to say: "Come on, we are going to emerg to see a doctor." She didn't argue.

The doctor told me to confine her to bed for 10 days, make sure she took her antibiotic and keep her inside until the weather warmed. We arrived home at two in the morning. I phoned the office, left a message, said I had a family emergency, and took two weeks vacation time. The next day we slept till noon. I arose, cooked some hot cereal, made some coffee, poured some orange juice, put the whole works on a tray and went to her room. She looked bad. Her temperature was up, she was wet with perspiration and she was incoherent when I spoke to her-this was one sick woman. She took her medication, drank the orange juice and went to sleep.

I phone my own doctor for advice. He said, give her aspirin, all the fluids she could drink and have someone give her an alcohol rub to bring her temperature down.

So there I was, standing in her room, with a bottle of methyl-alcohol, wondering where to begin. I poured some on the washcloth and proceeded to gently pat her forehead, cheeks and neck.

"Oh, that feels so cool," she said.

Relieved to hear that she was coherent, I replied: "Doc Jones' orders are aspirins and alcohol rubs till the temperature is normal."

A couple of hours her temperature was still 104.5. I told her I'd have to use the alcohol again. To my surprise, she sat up and undid the buttons on her pyjama top. In response to my surprised look she sighed and with resignation written all over her face, said: "If you are going to give me an alcohol rub then you must cover enough skin area to be effective."

I protested that I wasn't a pervert. I wasn't into lusting after my own sister. I finished by saying I'd be embarrassed to rub her bosom.

Celia gave me a tired, sick look and said: "Oh, for heavens' sake Mike. I'm too sick for this nonsense. I'm too sick for lust or sex or anything else. My temperature is at least 104. I need to bring it down. Close your eyes if you have to but give me an alcohol rub. You are my brother, for Pete's sake."

That's exactly what I did. I closed my eyes and said to her: "Okay, take of your top and I'll keep my eyes closed." She wasn't too sick to laugh out loud.

"Mike, you are so straight," she said.

I gently patted her chest, yes her breasts, with the alcohol soaked cloth and I guess I lingered longer than I should have. I mean, even with my eyes closed, I could feel that the cooling effect of the alcohol had made her nipples erect. Her breasts seemed firm and I could tell that the areola had swollen and the nipples had hardened. Okay, I confess, I opened my eyes-but just the tiniest bit. I must say, Celia has a spectacular bosom, so round, so high, so beautifully contoured, not even a hint of droop, white, flawless in every way. Just a hint of blue vein under translucent skin with pink nipples surrounded by dusty pink areola that puffed when I caressed it. Her breasts were like those of an adolescent girl, yielding yet inviting, firm yet soft.

When I had finished with her front she rolled on to her stomach and I rubbed her shoulders and slowly worked my way to her lower back. I was surprised that she began to tremble as I patted her just above her pelvis. Sick as she was, I noticed her hips move ever so slightly, just a flutter really, but more than a couple of times. No, I thought, I'm just a dirty old man. She was just getting comfortable-right? But, all the same, it appeared that she had almost begun to wriggle her hips and had trouble controlling the impulse.

I did notice that she has beautiful shoulders. Nicely rounded deltoids without being too muscular, firm lats and softly protruding shoulder blades. Her arms are like the arms of a Doulton figurine, not muscular but sweetly rounded and blemish free. Her upper back tapers downward to a beautifully slender waist which in its turn meets the sweetly feminine outward curve of her pelvis while her behind is firm and smooth, shaped like an inverted heart, not a hint of cellulite.

As I finished, she sighed contentedly and her slow even breathing told me she was asleep.

When I took her temperature a couple of hours later it had fallen to 100. I was mightily relieved.

I hadn't ever thought of Celia in a sexual way. She had always been my brat sister. As I stood in the doorway of the bedroom I felt strange, lustful yet guilty, aroused yet embarrassed, at peace but troubled.

Celia recovered as the days passed. She kept her pyjama tops on and I kept a respectful distance.

It was the contest that changed things. I had recently bought some new clothing at a trendy downtown mens' store and had been automatically entered into a contest in which the prize was two weeks in a secluded Bahamian resort. I won. The flight and accommodation was for two persons. I thought a trip to the Bahamas was just what Celia needed to fully recover from the pneumonia. Celia was thrilled. She had just celebrated her 30th birthday. I was 35. It was an apropos birthday present

Yes, I gave her my credit card to buy some vacation clothes. I have to admit, we seemed closer. Affection that I didn't think we had for each other was suddenly there. If we were walking along a street together, she would impulsively squeeze my hand and when I looked at her, our eyes would meet and I would feel an intimacy I had not previously known. Sometimes she would hug my arm and pull me to her bosom. There were other times when she would think I wasn't aware of her observing me and I would look up suddenly and surprise her and she would appear a little flustered, smile and look away. Times, when I would look at her when she was unaware and my stomach would do a slow roll as I saw the sweet contour of her breast, the line of her thighs and hips, the soft curve of her belly where it joined her thighs. Once or twice she stood on tiptoe, unexpectedly, say when we were in an elevator or waiting in a line, and lovingly kissed my cheek. When we were walking together we held hands, like lovers. I guess you could describe our relationship as loving, non-sexual. I think we grew comfortable with each other's company.

She did, however, model some of her vacation clothes for my benefit. I guess the outfit that intrigued me was a cotton, print caftan with a zipper down the front. As she modelled it, with a seductive smile, she slowly lowered the zipper to reveal the soft curve of her bosom. Next, she modelled her Victoria's Secret underwear and finally a bikini that covered the tips of breasts and provided a tiny triangle of fabric front and behind for the bottom. I could see her pubic hair curling around the front of her bikini. "Better shave," I advised her. She made a face and stuck here tongue out and went off muttering about how men were so unromantic.

The vacation resort was paradise. A group of secluded Bahamian out-islands with a security guard to ward off uninvited visitors. We arrived about eleven in the morning and by noon had settled in... We decided to go for a swim. As we headed for the beach the conversation drifted into topless and nude bathing. I observed that in French locales the femmes either went topless or nude. She didn't reply. When we arrived at the beach I noticed a big water-skiing raft about two-hundred yards from shore. "Let's swim to the raft," I suggested. About 100 yards out I stopped and turned around to see how Celia was making out. She was about 20 yards behind and swimming strongly. "Come on Celia, it's now or never," I said. A second later I heard her shouting, "Mike, Mike."

Turning around I could see her, laughing gaily, her right arm high in the air swinging her bikini top. She had misunderstood my comment. I was merely urging her to swim not encouraging her to remove her top. I reached the raft and climbed on. Turning, I held my hand out for her and pulled her onto the raft. She lay on her back, in the sun. The raft was shielded by the skis which were placed vertically, like a fence, on the shore side. I lay on my belly. The waves gently rocked the raft and the sun was warm as it dried the water from our bodies. After a minute or two I propped myself on my elbows and looked at her. She lay with her eyes closed, sunning herself. She opened her eyes, looked at me and smiled. On impulse, I leaned over and kissed her. She returned the kiss and I could feel her tongue probing my lips. I sucked her tongue into my mouth. She responded eagerly. My hand found her breast, I heard the sound of her breathing, as though she was almost breathless, and I felt her nipple grow hard at my touch. I lowered my head and my mouth found her nipple, salty with the taste of the sea. I felt her hands, not quite pushing me away but restraining me gently, on each side of my head, "Oh Mike," she softly sighed, "are you sure we are doing the right thing?"

"Celia, Celia, Celia," I heard myself say, "I love you more than anyone in the world."

Her hands pulled my head to her bosom and I heard her murmur, "Mike, darling, darling, lover, don't ever stop loving me." At that moment we started down the sunlit, joyous path of incestuous enlightenment and found the greatest happiness we have ever known.

I reached down and my hand found the place where her thighs joined her body. She spread her thighs slowly, as though she was savouring the moment, and I slipped my hand inside the bikini bottom. She was so very wet and her clitoris was erect and hard within the folds of her womanhood. My own erection was so hard it was painful and I had difficulty controlling the urge to ejaculate spontaneously. My fingers explored the soft opening of her outer labia and felt the sensitive skin of her vagina. She was moaning softly to herself and moving her hips in response to my caressing fingers. I looked up, to savour the moment, the sun sparkling on the blue water, the birds circling in the sky, the raft gently rocking, the faint sound of music from the shore, Celia lying beneath me, her eyes closed, her expression in peaceful repose... It seemed everything had begun to move in slow motion. I could feel the Caribbean sun on my shoulders and the heat of her body beneath me. She tugged at my swimsuit, and I removed her bikini bottom, hands on either side of her hips, felling the silken smooth skin, as I moved between her thighs and felt my penis, being guided by her hand, open the soft, warm, wet petals of her vagina. My penis jerked involuntarily and I was apprehensive that I might prematurely ejaculate, but will-power won out and I slipped smoothly into her silken sheath. I felt her vagina flutter, in tiny, pulsing contractions, around my shaft, as though she had spontaneously climaxed. She thrust her hips upward, her thighs spread and she raised her legs to lock her thighs around my waist. I moved within her for a couple of minutes then looked at her face. She wept softly, the tears streaming down her cheeks. I could feel the spasms coursing through her body as she trembled with orgasm, after orgasm which seemed to reach a peak and then subside until they were a gently flutter in her abdomen. I though my own orgasm was going to shake the fillings from my teeth. It wasn't violent, for we are not violent persons but it was powerful.

Voices along the shore warned us of the afternoon water-skiing group and we quickly replaced our swimsuits all the while giggling like adolescents. We returned to shore and walked, hand-in-hand, as lovers, along the beach.

"Hungry," I asked?

"Mmm," she replied, "Hungry for you, Mike." She gazed up at me shyly, her eyes sparkling yet loving with just a hint of mischief.

We returned to the dining hall and drank more wine than was wise with lunch. Relaxed, mellow and deeply in love, we returned to our room. She closed the door and set the latch.

"I'm heading for the shower. Want to join me, Mike?

"Sure," I said, "I'm covered in salt from the ocean."

We stood in the shower as the water cascaded over us. I washed her as a loving parent washes a child. I shampooed her hair and rinsed it with the hand-held shower head. I soaped her face, her cheeks, her sweet upturned nose, her lips, her chin, all the while exchanging loving kisses. Descending, I alternately kissed and soaped the lovely white column of her neck, then her softly rounded shoulders and then the sweet, soft breasts that held themselves proudly like white roses in a summer breeze. Their tips with a hint of blushing pink which sweetly converged to the deeper dusty rose that are her areola and nipple. Her breasts trembled as I bestowed kiss after kiss upon that soft and yielding garden of delight. Her nipples hardened and erect thrust outward and her areola puffed a darker pink to blend with the nipples... I knelt and, half in worship of her, soaped her abdomen and as I placed a kiss upon that dear place where her thighs join her body, she sighed a sigh of love and her hands were around my head pulling me softly to her womanhood. I felt the curl of her pubic hair against my face. I could not help myself, my tongue penetrated the soft lips of her labia and tasting the female nectar that emanated from her vagina, my tongue found her clitoris. She shivered, she trembled, she shuddered and uttering a sharp cry she collapsed against me as she tumbled through the swirling tunnels and endless canyons of her orgasms. Her clitoris stood out hard and her labia were puffed with desire. I stood up, looked at her face and once again she was weeping tears of happiness and release as she hugged me to her body. I turned her gently and soaped her back, how beautifully her waist tapered to her buttocks which were firm and round. She leaned forward slightly, from the waist, and my soap covered hand slipped between the silken cleavage of her bottom. Gently I probed for her anus and, when I found it, even more gently I slipped my finger into her. I heard her breath a short sharp intake of air. She looked back at me, over her shoulder and it was a look of complete surrender, submission and sensual pleasure. Gently, I slipped my finger back and forth in an anal caress. She began to move her buttocks in time with my finger. Tiny shivers of sexual pleasure caused her body to tremble. She moaned and whispered my name, "OOOhhh, Mike, Mike."

She looked at me and said: "My turn now." She shampooed my hair and washed my face and neck with soap. Then she soaped my shoulders, chest and abdomen. I held my breath in anticipation of her hands upon my genitals. Gently, as a lover, she took my penis and testicles in her hands, caressing me with her finger tips and my erection jerked uncontrollably and tiny spurts of semen shot from it in a kind of semi-ejaculation. She stopped, looked at my penis, jerking with a life of its own, then at me and said, "Okay bath-time is over. Lets dry-off."

The sweet, sensual pleasure of drying her and seeing her eyes half-closed as she swooned in sexual-surrender, oblivious to anything but the sexual moment, like Eve first tasting of the tree of knowledge; of softly patting her face with the towel, then her neck, in which the blood pulsed in time with her breathing, her beautiful breasts which were like pink tipped pendants with the areola puffed until the nipple had disappeared in the swollen tip. Her stomach muscles contracted involuntarily as I wiped water from her abdomen and when I descended to the blossom between her thighs, she spread her legs and moved her pelvis toward my hand in short, forward and backward motions, wriggling to position her clitoris to be caressed by my hand. As I dried her thighs and lower legs I could see that she was almost comatose with sexual desire. At that moment we were all the lovers of all the world, Romeo and Juliet, Eloise and Abelard, Tristan and Isolde.

She knew I was gazing at her with a questioning look and I seemed to be asking: "What's next?"

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