I don’t tell her everything. Some things I have kept secret even though she tells me every single solitary thing, both good and bad, both sinful and angelic. Everything. We are like mirror images of each other, not just physically but also what resides deep within.
We were born twins, only a few minutes separating us. She was born first. I, of course, was born last. That has never hampered us in any way. She, however, has not, nor ever will she, come to know the feral animal hidden deep within me. I choose my moments well for when she is revealed. Even then, those around me often do not realize what they are witnessing.
My sister was born the angel of the two of us. She is optimistic to my pessimistic. She always looks towards the light, while I look into the darkness. We both watch others. We will sit at times and make up stories around the couples we see or the person. Her stories are always, never without fail, a story of love and devotion, of lover going to meet with lover, always the optimist. I, however, curb my gift for seeing into the dark corners. I will hint at lovers crossed in battle, or a husband going to meet with his mistress, but never will I tell the stories of the darker predatory natures I witness. I keep those to myself. I cannot break her heart. I cannot destroy her optimism for I need it to pull me up out of the dark rabbit hole I often find myself lost within.
I learned early not to tell her everything. It came as a shock one day when I tried to tell her about Stan. She adored Stan. Whenever he was around, her young eyes followed him everywhere he went. He obviously adored her as well. I have to admit he protected her. He kept her safe. So, when I tried to tell her about Stan, it hurt deeply when she didn’t believe me, her sister. Since then I kept my secrets. Secrets she never imagined or would ever think possible.
Stan knew this about her. He knew about us. He knew we were twins, not the identical kind, just close enough in looks that when we stood together some couldn’t see the difference. But Stan could, he often told me, we looked like bookends. Everyone thinks bookends are identical but they aren’t. Bookends are mirror opposites. Stan always could tell us apart. He also knew how different we were inside though many others never looked that deep.
My sister being one of them. She thought we were identical in every way, though at times she puzzled over the difference in the stories we made up of individuals or couples when we watched them. She confessed to me one day that she thought I only made those stories up to entertain her. I did no such thing. I only tried to help her open her eyes to the shadowy part of life. I knew it would be hard for her whenever circumstances exposed the shadowy nature of things to her.
So, when I saw she didn’t believe me when I tried to tell her about Stan, I laughed it off and told her she was right. I told her I had only told her those things because I was jealous of how Stan protected her and not me. Stan knew better when she told him how I felt. But to protect her he started treating me the same way whenever she was around. When she wasn’t it was a whole different story, one she will never hear or learn about from him or me.
I don’t know how Stan knew about me. Maybe it was something I revealed but just wasn’t aware I had done so. Or maybe it was the one time Stan was with us while we sat eating ice cream he had bought us both and we sat observing other couples at the tables. We immediately fell into making up stories which entertained Stan immensely, until he asked us to make up a story about what others thought about the three of us.
My sister, Alesia, of course just went with what we were, just good friends sitting together eating ice cream. My mistake was probably in telling a more darker version, of Stan having both of us as lovers. My sister laughed, saying how funny she thought I was, that no one would think such a thing, while Stan looked across at me with a very thoughtful glint in his eyes.
I shrugged that day off, not thinking a thing about it. Stan being six years older than us, he treated us both like younger siblings, always being gentle with Alesia and her obvious crush. He was gentle and kind with her. He was as well with me when Alesia and I were together, but even so, not so much as he was with her. I suspected he somehow knew because of her angelic nature, if he did her harm, it would be far more severe for him, than harming someone like me.
My sister and I shared a bedroom. We lived in a rancher with our parents. Normally air conditioning isn’t needed so our home was built without it. One spring, we had one of those rare hot spells. It was so hot and sultry my sister and I lay in the darkness of the night completely naked using small spray bottles of water to cool our skin. It didn’t work all that well since there was no breeze other than the ceiling fan that moved lazily above us. We had the window open, listening to the insects. Even they sounded miserably hot.
There was enough light from the street lights outside to see each other in the dark. My sister never knew how I enjoyed looking at her body, so much like mine and yet so different. As developing girls we learned how to groom and care for our bodies, even talked about what we learned from other girls and tried different things. Like waxing versus shaving, removing all hair versus trimming or leaving just a small patch. I smiled when we both realized we enjoyed being smoothly shaven. Yet again something which made us more like identical twins than not.
That night as the ceiling fan moved the air over our naked moist bodies, I saw a shadow outside our window. We had turned eighteen a while ago, our birthdays earlier than most we went to school with. We were generally the oldest in our class. I am not one to become alarmed easily though my heart skipped a beat or two and then sped up rapidly when I realized the shadow was of a man.
My sister and I had often lay naked at night talking. We were not shy around each other. Most nights we had the curtains closed, though I remember a few like tonight where we opened them after we turned the lights out because we needed the fresh air. I wondered how many of those nights I didn’t see a man standing in the shadows looking in at us. The thought races my heart, sent an excited pulsation through my body and a sudden surge of wetness to form between my thighs.
Instead of looking at Alesia, I gazed out the window as though I were gazing at the stars. I knew from the position of the man that he looked at me, not my sister. She would be hidden from him at that angle.
We had stopped talking and it wasn’t long before I heard Alesia’s breathing change to that of sleep. I had become accustomed to it and could tell most times when she had drifted off. I got up and lightly covered her with her sheet and put the spray bottle on her nightstand. It brought me closer to the window when I approached her bed. I could see it was Stan who peered in at me, watching me as I moved. As I passed, I whispered so low to him that he shouldn’t be here, I wasn’t sure if he heard, until he answered back, “come outside if you don’t want Alesia to find out.”
I don’t know what I was thinking. Alesia would never believe it unless she saw him with her own eyes. He had positioned himself so she would never see him and could slip unnoticed away if she did get up and move to the window. I just know, I wasn’t thinking, when I picked up my gossamer robe and slipped silently out the back door of our house. Our parents having gone to sleep hours ago and their bedroom on the other side of the house.
I met Stan, in our backyard, well away from the window to either our bedroom or my parent’s bedroom. We stood in the darker shadows of the night. Those shadows which always made me feel at home, comforted, and protected.
Stan wasted no time revealing his darker nature, one that seemed to match my own. He told me he had something to show me as he stood before me stepping slightly back so I could see him completely. He was barefoot, in what I recognized was an old threadbare pair of his button down jeans, with an untucked t-shirt which currently covered those buttons my eyes used to scan down when he wasn’t looking.
In one slow gradual movement, his hands lifted the bottom edge of his t-shirt to reveal unbuttoned jeans and the largest erect cock I had ever seen. Not to say I have seen many. My sister and I had gotten our hands on a porn magazine one time in which with wide eyes and mute tongues we got our fill of hard bodies and hard cocks. Once we finally found our tongues we started to express our surprise at the varied sizes and shapes. I couldn’t help but compare Stan to those pictures realizing he would have outshone them all as he stood there before me.
He knew Alesia and me very well. I was certain he knew this was my first experience in actual presence of a naked erect cock. If he had asked I would have been embarrassed to admit it to him. Thank god he never asked. Instead, after he knew I had gotten a good look at him, he dropped his shirt and stepped forward. I backed up slightly feeling the rough texture of the brick wall behind me. He stepped closer, even still, until I could feel the heat of his body.
“I just wanted you to see what watching you does to me.” He spoke softly. I was so focused on his face, I jerked slightly when his finger touched me lightly and traced down along the bone of my jaw. When it left my skin, I felt bereft. I wanted it back.
I didn’t move. I kept staring at his face. His eyes never left mine. My heart beat so wildly in my chest, not from fear, but from excitement. I could feel the gossamer material of my robe move, when I took the chance to look down, I saw my robe was open, his hands held either side open and away from my body. Looking up, I saw his eyes roaming over my body, taking in every delectable inch.
Then for the first time in my life since I started bathing myself, I felt a man’s hands touch my skin. I watched as his hand traveled down my stomach to the well shaved juncture between my thighs, his fingers sliding in through my lips and becoming coated in my wetness.
He moaned out two simple words, “Touch me.”
Those words finally penetrated the shadows encasing my mind and my mind burst with the realization of what was happening. I started to move, slide to one side but the jagged edges of the brick wall clung to the thin gossamer material of my robe. I wanted to flee but it held me just long enough for Stan to pin me to the wall with one hand while his other hand worked his magic between my legs.
His fingers were coated slick from tip to his large knuckles and were buried just as deep and trying to go deeper practically lifting my small frame bringing me onto tip toes.
“Oh, no sweetheart, you aren’t going anywhere. Don’t make a sound or you will break your sister’s heart.”
I moaned for two reasons. First, because he was right. Alesia would hate me if she found me like this with Stan. Second, because his fingers were driving me wild. He was pumping them in and out, not fast, but deep and hard. I could hear the wet sounds they made.
“Touch me,” he demanded this time. His voice hard and loud against my ear though I know if someone stood beside us they would not have heard a word.
I was surprised how badly I wanted to touch him. To make him groan in pleasure, while at the same time, I wanted out of there. I tried to move again. I tried to push away. Stan is strong. He is big. He not only works out but his job is very labor intensive. Alesia and I had gone to his job site one day and watched as he worked. Alesia was enthralled by his skills. I was entranced by his strength. Just as I was now.
I had boys trying to get into my pants, some even tried to force the issue. Although I have a small frame, I could always over power them, but not Stan. Stan could hold me pinned with one hand. My two hands combined couldn’t stop him but I wasn’t sure I was really trying all that hard. Every time my hands touched his skin, all they wanted to do was caress him, touch him. I pushed back, trying to deny the pull he had over me.
I felt something rise within me. I felt the dark matter within me joined with something else, something quite feral. When he growled those two words into my ear for the third time, I felt something deep within me answer his call. I growled back as my hands moved, while my brain screamed ‘no’ and my lips stayed tightly clenched, wrapping around his hardness which was surprisingly silky smooth and soft. My hands had found their way beneath his t-shirt to grasp his naked flesh.
My ears burned with the instructions he growled out in a light whisper, telling me every movement to make with my hands, while his fingers continued to withdraw slowly, then return deep and hard. The feral creature inside of me realized his instructions duplicated the movement of his fingers and she took over. When his fingers moved fast and sure so did my hands. When they moved slow and deep, so did my hands.
Until in one sudden movement, he had me lying flat on my back on the ground, his face buried between my thighs and I felt the most delicious sensation of my life as his tongue lathed me then made me shatter.
I tried again to get away from him then but he held me tight. His hands grasped my wrists and held them firm. I could do nothing but whimper as his lips, tongue, teeth took every drop, every suck, every nip they wanted to take. I was so sensitive from my first orgasm I thought I would go mad.
Another shock wave plummeted my body when another orgasm burst forth stronger than the first. In the midst of this one, he lifted his head, smiled, climbed on top of me and thrust his massive cock in one deep penetrating movement. In that same moment, his mouth covered mine swallowing the moan I could not hold back from my first time of being penetrated. His fingers didn’t count. By god, he was big. It didn’t hurt, it just stretched me so, and filled me so completely, I struggled at the shock and tried again to get away.
His hands held my wrists firm against the ground as his cock pummeled my insides, over and over again. I struggled but no longer to get away. My struggles were that of my inner beast trying to answer. My legs wrapped tightly around his legs, using the leverage to join him thrust for thrust.
I saw realization flash across his face as he raised his lips from mine which had begun nipping and biting. It was me looking out from my eyes, and yet not me. It was the me no one had ever perceived, not even Stan. My head leaned forward and my mouth bit down on the thick muscle joining his neck to his shoulder and hung on tight not letting go as Stan’s body arched in answer. Together he went deeper yet and I felt the knowing pain of my beast as my heels dug into his legs, thighs strained pushing hips upwards taking him as deep as his cock could go.
We were like two animals in heat. Eventually, he rolled onto his back with my urging. Straddling him I rode him letting my feral beast free to consume him. I growled and bit and took everything he gave until I burst with another orgasm which took him with me. Feeling his seed spurt forth inside of me sent a deeper tremor through me enhancing the already shattering orgasm. The feral creature inside of me wanted his seed and I crawled off of him and proceeded to lick him clean and suck him dry. I lowered my dripping wet cunt over his mouth and dared him to do the same to me.
He did. Once done, I grabbed my robe and ran back into the house, into the shared bedroom with my sister. I stood next to her bed, watching her sleep peacefully. Seeing a sheen of sweat on her brow, I gently pulled the covers from her naked body. I looked at her and knew I could never tell her what had happened though days later I had tried to warn her about Stan, she wouldn’t hear it. So now I keep my secrets to myself.
I try to stay away from Stan. I try to only be around him when my sister is present. But there are times when my sister is gone, when she stays over at a friends house, or takes a trip with our parents while I stay home. I seem to find reasons to stay home more than I find reasons to go with them.
During times like those, I can’t keep him at bay. He finds his way in. I fight him. I try pushing him away. I try all the defense moves I’ve been taught. I don’t know why, but the word ‘no’ never crosses my lips. I fight him at least until he awakens my feral beast. Then all bets are off. We both walk away afterwards with bruises, bites, bloodied and sore and our beasts soothed and satisfied. At least for a while.