The Brunch My Sister Prepared Just for Me

My parents’ house in Getxo had always smelled the same: of damp wood, freshly brewed coffee, and that cheap perfume of my mother’s that soaked even into the curtains. Three years in London hadn’t changed any of that. I came in dragging my suitcase down the same old hall and stopped for a moment in the living-room doorway, letting the smell take me back to an earlier time.

My parents had gone out to run errands. My mother had told me by phone the night before, in that hurried voice she used when she had too much on her mind. “We’ll be home at lunchtime, darling. Your sister is at home.”

My sister. Valeria.

I had last seen her when she was eighteen, with that badly cut fringe she gave herself and an absurd obsession with period dramas. Three years of pixelated video calls and voice messages that never came through in full were not the same as having her in front of me.

I heard her before I saw her. A soft sound, bare feet on the kitchen’s ceramic floor.

“Marcos?” her voice came from the back of the hall.

“It’s me,” I answered.

She appeared in the kitchen doorway and for a second neither of us said anything. Valeria no longer had a fringe. She wore her brown hair long, loose, still tousled from sleep. She was twenty-one and wearing a large white cotton T-shirt that fell to mid-thigh. Nothing else, at least nothing visible. Her brown eyes, the same as our father’s, looked at me with a mix of emotion and something I couldn’t quite read. The thin fabric of the shirt outlined her tits, and beneath it her nipples stood out, hardened by the chill of the kitchen, two dark points against the white cotton.

“Come here,” she said, and ran down the hall toward me.

She hugged me with that strength that had always surprised me in someone so small. I wrapped my arms around her and lifted her off the floor for a second, just like when she was little, and she laughed against my neck. I felt the pressure of her tits against my chest, soft and bra-less, and the brush of her bare thighs against mine when I set her back down.

“Three years is too long,” she murmured against my chest.

“I know, Val.”

I put her down but she didn’t step away. She kept her hands on my arms, looking at me closely, sizing me up with that direct way she’d always had.

“You look different,” she said.

“So do you.”

Much more than I expected.

There was a brief pause. She filled it first.

“Are you hungry? I thought we could make breakfast together. I’ve got eggs, there’s fruit, and I think there’s some flour left over from last week. We could make pancakes like before.”

“Like before,” I repeated.

“Like before.”

She smiled at me. It was the same smile as always, but something about the whole thing had changed. Or maybe it was me, looking differently after three years away.

***

The kitchen was small. That was something I’d forgotten about this house: how small the kitchen was. In London I’d lived in a flat with a counter by the window and room to move around. Here, Valeria and I kept bumping into each other at every turn.

She was mixing pancake batter in a large bowl while I peeled fruit by the sink. Music played from her phone propped against the spice jar, some pop song I didn’t recognize but she hummed along to without noticing. She moved with that carefree ease people have in their own space, unaware that every time she reached up to get something from a high shelf, her shirt rode up and showed the low curve of her back and the start of her round ass, pressed by the dark underwear.

Don’t look.

I focused on the knife and the peach in my hands. But my cock was getting hard inside my trousers, and every movement she made made it worse.

“Tell me about London,” she said without turning around, stirring the batter in circles. “The last time we talked was like a month ago and you only told me you’d changed projects.”

“Yeah. I moved to a smaller team. Less money, but more interesting.”

“And did you like living there?”

“At first, yeah. Then it gets heavy. Everyone’s always in a hurry. Nobody really knows you.”

Valeria turned toward me with the bowl in her hands and studied me for a moment.

“And that’s why you came back?”

“Partly.”

She nodded as if that incomplete answer told her more than any long explanation could. That had always been Valeria. She listened to what wasn’t said.

“I’m glad,” she said simply, and looked back down at the bowl.

***

The first accident was with the flour.

Valeria was tipping the bowl over the hot pan when the batter resisted and suddenly came out, splashing the counter and part of her shirt. A thick white smear crossed her chest from side to side, right over her tits.

“Jesus,” she said, looking down at herself.

I burst out laughing. She laughed too, but then frowned at the stained fabric.

“It’s going to stick,” she muttered.

Without any preamble, she pulled the T-shirt off over her head and left it on the chair. She stood with her back to me for a moment, looking for something in the drawer of dishcloths. She was wearing only dark cotton panties. Nothing else. Her round, firm ass showed through the tight fabric, and her back curved up to her neck in a line that seared itself into my memory.

I set the knife down on the cutting board.

When she turned around, she made no move to cover herself. She looked at me with the same naturalness she would have used to look at anyone. And there they were, fully exposed: a pair of medium-sized tits, round, with pink, hard nipples pointing forward, a flat belly, a small navel, and lower down the dark panties stretched taut over her cunt.

“We’re siblings,” she said, as if she’d read the silence. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

She was right, but not the way she thought. I wasn’t about to say anything about her nudity. What I was about to say was much harder to put into words.

That you’re gorgeous. That I don’t know where to look. That my cock is hard as a rock and I don’t know what to do with that.

Valeria went over to the pan and flipped the first pancake with a spatula. The kitchen smelled of sweet batter and hot butter. Her back was bare, her hair loose and falling over her shoulder blades, her ass tight in the dark panties moving with every turn.

I stayed still by the sink.

“Taste this,” she said suddenly, bringing me the wooden spoon with a little raw batter on the tip. “See if it’s sweet enough.”

I leaned in and tasted it. It was fine.

“It’s fine,” I said.

But her eyes hadn’t left mine while I tasted it. And they didn’t look away afterward. There was a still moment between us, with the soft hiss of the pan in the background and the music from her phone, and in that moment something shifted. Not all at once. Like when a door you’ve known has been there for a long time opens for the first time.

Valeria lowered the spoon slowly.

“Marcos,” she said in a low voice.

“Yeah.”

“Can I ask you something weird?”

“Depends how weird.”

She hesitated for a moment. She bit her lower lip, a gesture I’d always known in her when she thought too long about something before saying it.

“Do you feel it too?”

I didn’t need to ask what “it” was. I knew immediately. I knew because I’d been feeling it since I saw her appear in the doorway.

“Yeah,” I said.

***

Nothing happened immediately after that. Valeria turned back to the pan and I finished cutting the fruit. The pancakes came out one by one, perfect, stacking up on the plate. We set the table in silence, but it was a different silence from before. Heavier. More self-aware.

We sat facing each other. She was still topless, leaning back in the chair with the kind of confidence that sometimes made it hard for me to believe she was twenty-one. Her tits bare, nipples hard, with no attempt to cover up.

“Tell me when you started feeling it,” she said, drizzling honey over the pancakes.

“This morning,” I answered.

“Lies.”

I laughed despite myself.

“Before I went to London,” I admitted. “Before that. And I buried it because that’s what had to be done.”

Valeria nodded, chewing slowly.

“I noticed two years ago. When you sent me that photo from the Thames. I don’t know why that photo specifically, but I kept looking at it and thought something I shouldn’t have thought. And after that I couldn’t get it out of my head.”

“What did you think?”

She held my gaze for a second and then answered without lowering her voice.

“That I wanted you to fuck me.”

The word fell into the kitchen and stayed there, hanging between the plate of pancakes and the open honey jar.

“And that I’d been putting my hand in my panties at night thinking about you,” she went on, just as calmly. “That there wasn’t a single night that didn’t end with my fingers inside me, coming, biting the pillow so they wouldn’t hear me. Two years, Marcos.”

She spoke with a calm that disoriented me. No drama, no visible shame. Just the facts, said in the low, steady voice of someone who’s spent too long keeping something quiet.

“And now?” I asked, and noticed my mouth had gone dry.

“Now you’re here,” she said. “And my parents don’t get back until one.”

***

I got up from the chair. I walked slowly around the table. Valeria followed my movement with her eyes without turning her head, waiting. I stopped behind her and put my hands on her bare shoulders. I felt her tense for an instant and then relax.

“Are you sure?” I asked softly.

“I’ve been sure for two years, Marcos. Fuck me already.”

I bent down and kissed her neck. Slowly, without rushing, feeling her breathing change. She tilted her head slightly to one side and I put my mouth on the curve between neck and shoulder. Her skin tasted like soap and something warmer beneath, something uniquely hers. I slid my hands down her arms and then forward, covering her tits with my palms. Her hard nipples pressed into the center of my hands. She let out a low moan and leaned back into the chair, pressing herself against me.

“Fuck,” she murmured. “I’ve wanted you to touch me like that for so long.”

I pinched her nipples between thumb and forefinger, first gently, then a little harder. She arched her back and parted her lips. I moved one hand down her belly, slowly, to the edge of her panties. I slipped my fingers inside and found her cunt wet, soaked, the lips swollen and hot.

“You’re dripping, Val.”

“I told you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Two years.”

I ran my fingers through her slit, up and down, feeling her clit harden under my fingertip. She spread her legs as far as she could in the chair and pushed her hips into my hand. I slid one finger inside her, then another, and she gave a long gasp, clamping her thighs against the wood.

“Yes, yes, like that,” she gasped. “Put them all the way in.”

I pushed them in to the knuckles and she started moving, riding my hand with little thrusts of her hips. I bit her neck while I fucked her with my fingers, feeling her cunt contract around me. With my other hand I kept milking her nipple, tugging, rolling it between my fingers.

Valeria turned sharply in the chair until she was facing me. She looked up from below with those dark eyes I suddenly didn’t fully recognize, her mouth parted and her breathing heavy, and lifted her hands to my chest.

“Sit down,” she said.

I sat on the edge of the chair she’d left free. She came closer and put her hands on my shoulders, standing in front of me, very close. The distance between us was only inches. My face was level with her tits and I couldn’t not look. The pink nipples stood out, begging for a mouth.

“Three years waiting for this,” she murmured, more to herself than to me.

I put my hands on her waist. It was narrow, warm. I leaned forward and sucked a nipple into my mouth, wrapping it with my tongue, tugging gently with my teeth. She let out a sharp moan and pressed my head against her chest.

“Oh, fuck, yeah, suck them,” she gasped. “Suck them hard.”

I moved to the other nipple, nibbling it, and she writhed standing between my legs, the dark panties already marked by a wet patch darkening the cotton between her thighs. I pulled her a little closer and she didn’t resist. She pressed against me with that ease the body has when it knows it’s where it wants to be.

I kissed her on the mouth.

It wasn’t a soft or tentative kiss. It was the kiss of someone who’s spent too long holding something back. She answered in kind, hands on my neck, body pressed against mine, her tongue sliding into my mouth without shame. She tasted of honey and sweet batter and something forbidden that had no exact name but filled everything.

***

Valeria pulled back just enough to breathe and rested her forehead against mine, eyes closed, breathing hard.

“I didn’t think it would be like this,” she said.

“How did you imagine it?”

“I don’t know. More complicated. More guilty.”

“Don’t you feel guilty?”

She opened her eyes and looked at me closely.

“A little,” she admitted. “But less than I should. And that turns me on even more. What about you?”

“Same.”

There was a pause. Then both of us smiled at the same time, an awkward, honest smile that felt more real than anything either of us could have said.

She kissed me again, this time more slowly. Her hands slid down my arms, then my stomach, and stopped at the hard bulge in my trousers. She squeezed me through the fabric and breathed against my mouth.

“Holy shit, you’re huge,” she whispered. “Your trousers are going to split.”

“Your fault.”

“Good. Let it be my fault.”

Suddenly she pulled away completely and knelt on the cold kitchen floor in front of me. She looked up from below with a direct, unadorned expression.

“I want to suck your cock,” she said. “I’ve spent two years thinking about your dick, I want to know what it tastes like.”

“Val…”

“Shut up and let me.”

Her hands went straight to my belt. She unbuckled it with a calm that surprised me, not in a hurry but without hesitation. She yanked my trousers down to my knees and then, more slowly, my briefs. My cock sprang free, hard, swollen, pointing at her face. She stared at it for a second and a small “fuck” slipped from her lips.

I rested my hands on the chair back and let her do it.

She took me at the base with one hand, squeezing. With the other she stroked my balls, weighing them. She lowered her head and ran her tongue from the root to the tip, slowly, sucking the skin as she went. When she reached the top she circled the head once with her tongue and then took it all the way into her mouth, closing her lips behind the crown.

“Ah, fuck,” I blurted, throwing my head back.

Valeria smiled without taking me out and started to work her way down. She took my cock into her mouth centimeter by centimeter, staring up at me with those brown eyes, until I felt the tip hit the back of her throat. She gagged a little, pulled back, and went down again. This time she went farther. The third time she swallowed me to the base, pressing her nose against my pubic mound.

“Holy shit, Val, you suck so good,” I gasped.

She pulled my cock out of her mouth with a wet sound and smiled, her lips shining with saliva.

“I practiced,” she said. “With a banana. Thinking about you.”

The image drilled into my head and I almost came right there. She took me back in and started really sucking my cock: down and up with rhythm, her tongue working the underside, her hand following what her mouth couldn’t cover. She sucked with a firm, noisy pull, without any delicacy, letting saliva run down her chin and drip onto her tits.

“Yeah, like that, slut, that’s how you suck a cock,” I said without thinking, and she moaned with my cock inside her, a long moan that vibrated through all her skin.

When she looked up again, something in her eyes had changed. There was something older there, more tangled. Two years of thinking about something you shouldn’t be thinking about ending on the kitchen floor of your childhood home on a Tuesday morning, with your brother’s cock in your mouth.

I grabbed her hair with both hands and started guiding her head myself. I fucked her mouth slowly at first, then faster, driving from the hips, and she let me, her hands braced on my thighs, her throat opening to take me whole. It sounded wet, sloshing, with gasps escaping her between thrusts.

“I’m going to come,” I warned her. “Val, fuck, I’m going to come.”

She didn’t pull away. On the contrary. She sank down to the base and stayed there, lips tight around my shaft and her tongue moving beneath. I came in her mouth with a growl, gripping her hair, feeling my cock jerk spurt by spurt in her throat. She took all of it. Swallowed two, three times without taking me out, tears in her eyes but fixed on mine.

When she finally let me out, a thread of semen mixed with saliva hung from the corner of her mouth and dropped onto one tit. She caught it with a finger and brought it to her mouth, sucking it slowly, never taking her eyes off me.

“Tasty,” she said.

“Jesus, Val.”

“Now is it my turn?”

I grabbed her arms and lifted her off the floor. I pushed her backward until she was pressed against the kitchen counter, between the empty bowl and the plate of pancakes. I hooked my thumbs into her dark panties and yanked them down to her ankles. She stepped out of them and kicked them aside.

Her cunt was shining, soaked, with short-trimmed brown hair and swollen pink lips parted. I put a hand behind her knee, lifted one leg, and rested it on the counter, opening her up. I knelt.

“Marcos…” she began.

“Your turn.”

I pressed my mouth to her cunt and started eating her slowly. I ran my entire tongue up her slit from bottom to top, gathering all the wetness, and she let out a long moan that echoed through the tiny kitchen. I took one lip between my teeth, tugging gently, then the other. I licked her entrance, pushing my tongue in as far as I could, up to my nose pressed against her pubic mound.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she panted, gripping the edge of the counter with both hands. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

I found her clit with the tip of my tongue. It was hard, swollen, peeking out from the hood. I licked it in circles, first softly, then closed my lips around it and sucked it like a tiny nipple. She gave a strangled cry and pressed my head harder against her cunt with one hand, the other tugging my hair.

“Like that, like that, keep going, don’t stop for God’s sake,” she panted, her voice broken. “Suck my cunt, brother, suck it properly.”

The word “brother” said in the middle of that shot me again. I slid two fingers into her while keeping my mouth on her clit, curling them forward, searching for the soft spot inside. When I found it, she convulsed and let out a moan that was almost a howl.

“There, there, there, don’t leave there,” she pleaded.

I fucked her with my fingers and sucked her clit at the same rhythm, faster and faster. Her cunt started clamping around my fingers in spasms, her legs trembling, and she clutched my hair with both hands.

“I’m coming, Marcos, I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m com—”

She came with a muffled squeal, biting her own arm so it wouldn’t be heard outside the kitchen. I felt her cunt contract around my fingers in waves, soaking my hand, my chin, everything. I didn’t let her go. I kept licking while she came, stretching it out, until she pushed my head away begging for a break.

“Stop, stop, I can’t anymore,” she laughed, breathless. “Jesus.”

I got up from my knees. My face was soaked. I wiped it with the back of my hand without taking my eyes off her. She was still leaning against the counter with one leg up, tits rising and falling, cunt open and dripping between her thighs.

“Fuck me now,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Fuck me before I change my mind.”

“You’re going to change your mind?”

“No. But fuck me anyway.”

My cock had gone hard again without my even noticing. I took her by the base and rubbed it against the lips of her cunt, up and down, smearing my tip. She flinched every time I brushed her clit.

“Put it in already, fuck, don’t make me beg,” she moaned.

I thrust into her all at once, all the way to the hilt. Valeria gave a strangled cry and arched her back, bracing herself with her hands on the counter behind her. I felt her squeeze around me inside, hot, slippery, so tight I almost came on the first thrust.

“Ah, ah, fuck, you’re so big,” she panted. “You’re filling me up.”

I started fucking her right there, against the counter, one of her legs hooked against my hip and the other foot on the floor. I hammered into her, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in to the base, and she let out a sharp “ah” with every blow. Her tits shook, her nipples bounced, and I lowered my mouth to one while I kept pounding her.

“Yeah, yeah, give it all to me, fuck me to death,” I told her in her ear, gripping her ass. “Fuck me, brother, fuck me like I’ve been wanting for two years.”

“Slut, dirty little sister,” I answered, pushing harder. “Look at how much you like your brother fucking you.”

“Yeah, I like it, it makes me so horny, so fucking horny,” she panted, completely unfiltered now, voice broken. “Break my cunt.”

I pulled her off the counter and turned her around. I pushed her by the nape of the neck until she was bent over the kitchen table, face against the cloth, ass raised, the cold pancakes beside her cheek. I spread her cheeks with both hands and drove my cock into her again from behind, watching her cunt swallow it whole in one thrust.

“Ah, God, like that, like that,” she shouted into the cloth.

I started fucking her from behind with long, deep thrusts. I grabbed her hair and pulled, lifting her head. She arched her back for me, pushing her ass higher, offering herself. I slapped one ass cheek hard and my handprint stayed red there.

“Again,” she gasped.

I slapped the other cheek. And again. She moaned and pushed her ass back, seeking every blow.

“Nobody’s fucked you like this, have they?” I asked without stopping.

“No, never,” she gasped. “Nobody fills me like you do, nobody.”

I slid a hand around to the front and found her clit with my fingers while I kept fucking her from behind. I rubbed it in circles, fast, to the rhythm of my thrusts. I could feel her cunt starting to clamp around me again in little spasms.

“I’m going to come again, Marcos, again, oh God, again,” she whined.

“Come on your brother’s cock, slut, come on.”

She came in a long shudder that shook her whole body, squeezing my cock inside her with a force that dragged me under too. I held out as long as I could, biting my lip, driving all the way in, but it was too much.

“Val, I’m coming, where…?”

“Inside,” she gasped without hesitation. “Come inside, I’m on the pill, come inside, I want to feel it.”

I sank all the way to the base and let go. I came in her in spurts, holding her hips with both hands, feeling my cock jerk as it emptied into my sister’s cunt. She let out a long moan when she felt the heat and pushed her ass back to take me even deeper.

We stayed still like that for a long moment, her bent over the table, me on top of her with my cock still inside, both of us panting. I kissed her between the shoulder blades. She let out a small, weak laugh.

“Fuck,” she murmured.

“Fuck,” I repeated.

I pulled out slowly. I watched a thick thread of semen begin to slide down the inside of her thigh. She straightened slowly, turned, and looked at me with red cheeks and shining eyes.

“Good?” she asked, in that same voice as before.

“Yeah,” I said. “Very good.”

She smiled. A small, satisfied smile, with no triumph in it.

***

We cleaned the kitchen in silence. I washed the dishes while she soaked the pan and put away what was left of the fruit. The music kept playing, quieter now, or maybe it only seemed quieter. She was still naked from the waist down, semen running down her thighs, in no hurry to clean herself up.

At one point our hands brushed over the sink and neither of us pulled away immediately.

“My parents get back in two hours,” Valeria said.

“Yeah.”

“And then everything goes back to normal. Or whatever normal is.”

“Can you?” I asked. “Go back to normal, I mean?”

She looked at me for a moment.

“I’ve been doing it for two years,” she replied. “I guess I know how it works.”

It was an honest answer, and a little sad, and we both knew it. I kept washing the last plate. She dried it when I set it in the rack and put it back in its usual place in the cupboard.

“Do you regret it?” I asked.

Valeria thought about it for real before answering, which was another thing I’d always known about her.

“No,” she said at last. “But I also don’t know what we do with this from here on.”

“Neither do I.”

“Although,” she added with half a smile, glancing sideways at me while she pressed her thighs together, “if tonight you knock softly on my door after they’re asleep, I’m not going to turn the latch.”

“I’m not going to lock it either.”

She nodded, as if that equal uncertainty was enough for now. She put her stained T-shirt back on, already half dry, and headed for the hall.

“I’m going to shower before they get here,” she said from the doorway. “If you want coffee, there’s some in the machine.”

I watched her walk away down the hallway of our childhood, barefoot on the same floor as always, with the short shirt showing her bare ass with every step, and I stayed leaning on the counter with my hands still wet and my head full of things I didn’t yet have names for.

I poured the coffee.

I stood by the window overlooking the small patio, the same patio where, as kids, we had once pitched a tent and not lasted until midnight. The coffee burned a little but I drank it anyway, slowly, looking out at the empty patio.

Two hours.

In two hours my parents would come home loaded down with shopping bags and conversations about things that didn’t matter much, and everything would slide back into its usual place. Valeria would come downstairs with wet hair and look at me in a way nobody else at the table would know how to read, and I would return that look, and between us there would be something that still had no name but already existed, solid and real, like a new room in a house you thought you knew by heart.

I finished the coffee.

I left the cup in the clean sink.