You can't take it anymore. Try to seduce your brother

You sense an immense sexual tension between you and your brother, ever since he arrived yesterday. Your body's hormones are not letting up, pushing your thoughts to him and how good it would feel to have him inside you.... NO! you must get a hold of yourself. You summon your resolve to not slip up and try to avoid any temptation that might doom you today—but the resolve cracks almost immediately, the curse's whisper turning "avoid" into "indulge just a little."

The day starts innocently enough. After breakfast, where he kept stealing glances at your legs and you pretended not to notice how the shirt rode up, you both settle on the couch for more TV. You're still in just the oversized t-shirt and black G-string—nothing else, the hem barely skimming the tops of your thighs, leaving your ass cheeks peeking out whenever you move. You curl up at one end, him at the other, a safe distance.

Your brother laughs at something on the screen, his arm stretched along the back of the couch, fingers inches from your shoulder. He looks so normal—strong, familiar, safe. Your eyes linger on his jawline, the way his t-shirt stretches over his chest, the casual sprawl of his legs. A forbidden thought slips in: What if I just scooted closer? Let my thigh brush his. See what happens. You bite your lip hard, forcing your gaze back to the TV. No. He's your brother. This is the curse messing with you. Fight it. But the voice weakens, replaced by a sly urge: Just a little closer. Test him. You adjust your legs and sit down again. Slightly closer to him than would be considered normal.

She's sitting so close, he thinks, trying to focus on the screen but failing. That shirt's riding up again—can see the curve of her ass, the string disappearing between those cheeks. Fuck, last night I almost… I almost came inside her. What the hell was I thinking? She's my sister—I mean brother. I can't let that happen again. But god, she's killing me like this.

As the show plays on, you "adjust" your position deliberately, laying on your back towards the armrest, uncrossing your legs and letting them fall open gradually—first just a little, then wider as you relax into the cushions, your open hips facing him directly on the couch. The t-shirt bunches higher with the movement, riding up to expose the full expanse of your inner thighs, the thin black G-string pulled taut over your mound like a teasing veil. The lace is sheer enough in the soft light that the outline of your swollen, glistening lips is visible—puffy and parted slightly from the constant arousal, a dark damp spot blooming at the center where your wetness has soaked through. The angle gives him an increasingly clear glimpse: the subtle knob of your clit pressing against the fabric, a faint sheen of slickness on your skin where it escapes the edges, every small shift of your hips making the string shift to the side slightly, revealing a hint of your outer lips. Close your legs, the fading voice pleads, but you ignore it, pretending to be absorbed in the TV show, thighs parting just a fraction more as you sigh contentedly, knowing he's looking. You catch his sharp intake of breath, his eyes locked there hungrily before he jerks them away. Heart racing, you slowly and teasingly close your legs, cheeks flaming, but the thrill overrides the guilt. Oh god, he saw everything. How wet I am? Good—let him want it. No, this is wrong—stop!

Lunch is ****. You heat up pizzas in the kitchen, bending to grab plates from the lower cabinet, taking a second longer than you would need to—and as you do so you flash your barely covered ass right at your brother sitting at the table behind you. Your brothers eyes almost pop out, the sight reminding him of his taboo deed last night. Last night I was inside her, thrusting… almost bred her. I can't think like that—she trusts me. But fuck, one more touch and I might lose it again.

The afternoon drags in a haze of escalating temptation: cards at the coffee table, where you kneel opposite him and lean forward deliberately, letting your breasts sway into view, the t-shirt gaping to expose the full swell and hardened nipples. But during one hand, as you both reach for the deck in the middle, you "accidentally" cross arms in a way that presses your breast firmly against his forearm, dragging your nipple across his skin in a slow, teasing rub before pulling back with a breathy gasp. The voice inside screams: What are you doing? He's family! But you ignore it, voice husky as you say, "Oops," face flushed, thighs squeezing together to hide the fresh flood of slickness.

He clears his throat, shifting on his knees—his sweatpants tenting obviously now, though you pretend not to notice, your eyes flicking down lingeringly to the growing bulge before snapping away with a coy smile. _Did I just feel her nipple? Hard and poking right into my arm… so perky, he thinks, cock twitching at the memory. She's gasping like that, flushed—turned on. If she knew I fucked her last night, pulled out just in time… she'd hate me. But god, her body's begging for it. Stay strong—don't give in._

During a break in the card game, you excuse yourself to pee, the pressure in your bladder mixing with the constant throb between your legs. You leave the bathroom door slightly ajar—"accidentally," though the curse's voice whispers let him see. As you sit on the toilet, legs spread wide for balance, the stream starts, warm and relieving, but you notice the door's gap in the mirror's reflection. Your heart pounds: Close it! He's out there! But instead, you pretend not to see, angling your hips slightly, letting your thighs part wider than necessary, giving a potential peeker a clear view of everything—your swollen pussy lips glistening with arousal, the G-string pushed aside for the moment, the golden stream flowing from you in a steady arc. You even let out a soft, exaggerated sigh of relief, running a hand down your thigh teasingly as if scratching an itch, all while feigning oblivion. When the stream ends, you reach for the toilet paper and wipe slowly, deliberately—drawing the paper across your slick folds, pulling away gooey strings of your juices that stretch like taffy before snapping, the creamy arousal clinging to the paper in viscous strands. You "absentmindedly" do it again, wiping in slow circles that tease your clit, a soft moan escaping your lips as if unintentional. The inner conflict flares: This is sick—stop torturing him! But the thrill wins, your clit pulsing at the idea of him watching and having to control himself.

From the hallway, he notices the ajar door and freezes—guilt slamming into him like a truck. I shouldn't look… last night was bad enough. She's my sister. But his feet move on their own, drawing him closer, peeking through the crack. The sight hits him hard: your legs spread wide, pussy fully exposed, swollen and wet, the stream arching out in an intimate display. He sees everything—the way your lips part, the faint glisten of arousal mixing with the pee. Then the wiping: slow, teasing, strings of creamy juices pulling from your folds, the moan that shoots straight to his cock. His erection strains painfully, straining against his pants. Fuck… she's putting on a show. Does she know? No, she can't… but god, I want her. Guilt wars with desire: Turn away—protect her. But he stays rooted, breath shallow, until you finish and "accidentally" flash even more as you wipe and stand. Your brother quickly returns to the couch, pretending he did not just peek on his sister relieving herself.

You sit back down on the couch, closer to him than neccessary. He changed the TV channel to a stupid sports show. You reach for the remote in his hand and change the channel. "Hey! I was watching that." he angrily exclaims. "Come and get it, if you can" you tease, wiggling the TV remote in front of his face.

Your brother lunges at you in a playful wrestling match that turns serious - and dangerous - almost instantly. His initial lunge puts him on top of you, his hips pressing into yours, framed by your naked thighs. He snatches the TV remote from your hand and holds it high above his head. You buck up, throwing him off balance and sweeping on top of him, straddling his chest. Your damp G string is pressed firmly against his muscular chest. Trying to reach the remote still high above you, you "accidentally" slip higher and higher until you eventually sit on his face squarely. Finally snatching the remote from his hands, you sit back down, smothering his nose and mouth with your dripping wet pussy. You look down into your brother's eyes- and realize that there is no turning back now. His mind is gone, drowned in the pheromones and slickness of your alluring body.

He snaps completely—grabbing your hips bruisingly, eyes blazing with unchecked hunger as he yanks you down harder, his resolve shattering. "Alright slut, have it your way. I'll let you relive the last night - don't you dare think that I will pull out this time!