Pool Party (Incest)

The water lapped at my chin, cool and forgiving against the July heat. Voices scattered across the backyard like confetti—my mother's laugh, my father's spatula clanking against the grill, the hollow thump of a volleyball hitting someone's palm. I floated near the edge, my arms resting on the warm concrete, letting the sun paint my shoulders pink.

Two days. No—tomorrow. Tomorrow I would marry Mark.

The thought should have anchored me. Instead, I felt adrift, bobbing on a current I couldn't name.

A ripple disturbed the water beside me. Jason surfaced, water streaming down his chest, his grin already in place. He leaned his forearms on the edge beside mine, close enough that his shoulder brushed mine.

"Enjoying yourself, bride-to-be?"

"Trying to." My voice came out lighter than I felt.

His hand dropped below the surface. Found my hip. Squeezed.

I didn't pull away.

The grill hissed. My father's voice boomed across the yard. "Emma! Want a burger or a dog?"

"Burger!" I called back, my voice steady despite the fingers now tracing the waistband of my bikini bottoms.

"Coming right up." He turned back to the flames.

Jason's hand slid lower. His fingers dipped beneath the fabric, finding my cleft through the water. The pool offered cover, a liquid curtain hiding everything below my navel. He pressed, once, twice, then his middle finger pushed inside me.

I gripped the edge of the pool. The concrete bit into my palms.

"Jason—"

"Shh." His breath was warm against my ear. "Just relax. Look around. Everyone's having a good time."

My father turned, a spatula in one hand, a plate in the other. "Emma, you want cheese on that?"

"Please." The word came out strangled.

Jason's finger curled inside me, finding that spot that made my vision swim. My father was talking about the coleslaw, asking if I'd tried it, and I was nodding, smiling, while Jason worked me under the water with slow, deliberate strokes.

"You're so wet," he murmured. "Even with all this water around you."

I wanted to tell him to stop. I wanted to tell him to keep going.

My father turned back to the grill. Jason withdrew, a flicker of disappointment in my chest—then his hand returned harder, faster, two fingers now, stretching me, filling me. I bit my lip, tasting copper.

My father turned around again, directly facing us. "Emma, did you remember to pick up the—"

Jason was gone. A sleek shadow cutting through the water toward the deep end.

"—extra napkins?"

"I—what?"

He laughed. "Napkins, sweetheart. Did you get them?"

"I'll grab them later." My voice sounded thin, even to me.

He shook his head, smiling, and turned back to the grill.

The water settled. I exhaled. My body hummed, unfinished, aching.

Then the hand returned.

Jason's fingers slid inside me, and I closed my eyes, letting the sensation wash over me.

"Are the burgers almost ready?" A voice. Male. Familiar.

My eyes snapped open.

It wasn't Jason beside me. It was Ethan. My brother.

He was just at the grill.

The fingers inside me curled, and I realized with a cold, electric shock—

Ethan's hand. Ethan's fingers.

He was looking at me, a big shit-eating grin on his face.

I looked down. Through the rippling surface, I could see the shape of him beside me, his hand buried between my thighs.

"Oh god," I whispered.

His fingers moved faster, pressing deeper. I should have pushed him away. I should have screamed. Instead, I gripped the edge of the pool, my knuckles white, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

My father turned, holding a plate of burgers. "Emma, you want yours now or later?"

"Later." The word was a croak.

Ethan's thumb found my clit. He pressed, circled, pressed again. My hips bucked against his hand, betraying me, wanting him.

This is my brother. My brother.

The wrongness of it should have cooled me. Instead, it burned hotter, a fever I couldn't shake.

His fingers drove into me, relentless, and I felt the coil in my core tighten, wind itself into a knot that was about to snap. I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood. The world narrowed to the pressure of his hand, the rhythmic curl of his fingers, the knowledge that my brother was making me come while our father stood ten feet away.

The orgasm hit me like a wave. My body convulsed, my thighs clenching around his hand, my mouth open in a silent cry that I drowned in the splashing of the pool. He kept working me through it, drawing out every tremor, until I was limp against the edge, gasping.

He withdrew.

I turned my head, meeting his eyes. He was already pulling himself out of the pool, water streaming down his back.

"Come up to my room," he said, low enough that only I could hear. "Give me five minutes."

Then he was gone, drying himself off with a towel and walking toward the house, board shorts clinging to his thighs.

I stayed in the water, my body trembling, my mind a hurricane of shame and desire. The party continued around me—my mother refilling a pitcher of lemonade, a bridesmaid cannonballing into the deep end, my father flipping burgers and laughing.

This is insane. He's my big brother.

But my legs were already moving, pulling me toward the ladder, my feet finding the wet concrete. I grabbed a towel, wrapped it around my waist, and walked toward the house.

My mother called out. "Emma, honey, where are you going?"

"Bathroom. Be right back."

The lie slid out like honey.

The hallway was dim, cooler than the backyard. The stairs creaked under my bare feet. His room—the one at the end of the hall, the door slightly ajar—the room he would never let me enter while we were growing up.

I pushed it open.

Ethan sat on the bed, his board shorts already on the floor. He was naked, his cock hard, jutting out from his body. In the afternoon light filtering through the blinds, I could see every detail—the thick vein running along the shaft, the dark head already slick with pre-cum, the way his hand wrapped around the base, stroking once, slowly.

"Close the door," he said.

I did.

He didn't speak. He just pointed at the floor in front of him.

I crossed to him. My knees hit the carpet. The towel fell away, pooling around my hips. His cock was inches from my face, and I could smell him—chlorine and clean sweat, something darker underneath.

"Open your mouth."

I did.

He guided himself inside, the head sliding past my lips, heavy and warm. My tongue traced the ridge beneath the head, and he groaned, a low sound that vibrated through my chest. I took him deeper, my throat opening, my hands finding his thighs.

He let me work for a long moment, his fingers threading through my wet hair. Then he pulled back, tugged me to my feet, and tossed me onto the bed.

The mattress bounced under my weight. He was on me before I could catch my breath, his fingers pulling my bikini aside, his mouth finding my center, his tongue diving into me with a hunger that made me arch off the sheets. I came again, faster this time, a sharp, gasping climax that left me shuddering.

He didn't stop. He licked me through it, then pulled back, his face slick, his eyes dark.

"Stand up," he said. "Look out the window."

I obeyed.

The window faced the backyard. Below, the party continued in miniature—my mother sipping her lemonade, my father handing a burger to one of the groomsmen, Richard sitting next to his wife, stealing glances at the tanning bridesmaids. My fiancé. He was talking to my mother, his hand gesturing, his smile wide.

Ethan pressed against my back. His cock slid between my thighs, finding me wet and ready. He entered me in one slow, deliberate push, and I gripped the windowsill, my breath catching.

"Look at them," he murmured against my ear. "Look at Mark. He has no idea."

He began to move. Slow, deep thrusts that rocked me against the window frame. I watched the scene below—the normalcy of it, the innocence. My father served burgers. A bridesmaid adjusted her sunglasses. And in the hot tub, I saw Jason, his arm around Sarah, my maid of honor. Her head was tilted back. His hand was below the waterline, moving in a steady rhythm.

He's fucking her. In the hot tub. At my party.

The realization should have disgusted me. Instead, it fed something dark and hungry inside me.

"I've always wanted to do this."

Ethan's hand snaked around my waist, his fingers finding my clit. He pressed, circled, pressed again, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. His cock drove into me, hitting places that made my vision flicker.

"That's it, Em," he breathed. "Come for me again."

I did.

The orgasm tore through me, violent and silent, my body clenching around him as the scene below blurred into a haze of color and movement. He followed a heartbeat later, his hips pressing flush against mine, his hot release flooding me in thick, pulsing jets.

We stayed there, frozen, as the party continued below.

He pulled back, his breath ragged. "Go, Sis. I'll follow in a few minutes."

I adjusted my bikini, my fingers clumsy. The damp fabric pressed against my skin, against the warmth of him still inside me. I walked out of the room, down the stairs, through the hallway, and emerged into the sunlight.

Back to the party.

I slipped into the pool, the water closing over my trembling body. Mark waved at me from the grill. I waved back.

Ethan appeared a few minutes later, diving into the deep end. When he surfaced, he caught my eye. A single, knowing look.

My heart hammered.

Tomorrow, I would marry Mark. Tomorrow, I would say vows. Tomorrow, I would become his wife.

I looked at him across the yard—his warm smile, his trusting eyes—and felt a wave of guilt so sharp it stole my breath.

Once the vows are spoken, I told myself, I'll be faithful. I'll be good.

But even as I thought it, I felt Ethan's seed still warm inside me, felt the phantom weight of his hands on my hips, and I wondered if I was already too far gone to find my way back.