Three Years Later, My Sister Was No Longer a Girl

It was the first Saturday in November when Rodrigo walked through the family home’s front door. Three years in London. Three years of work meetings, endless rain, and that expatriate loneliness that settles in slowly until you stop noticing it. His parents had gone to Salamanca that weekend with some friends, leaving the house empty. Only Clara. And now him.

Rodrigo was twenty-seven and carried a more toned body and shorter hair than when he left. He set his suitcase down in the hall, drew in that smell of wood and soap the house had always had, and heard quick footsteps coming down the stairs.

—Rodi!

Clara appeared on the landing and came down the last steps almost in one leap. Eighteen, newly turned. Rodrigo remembered her as a teenager with her hair full of colored clips and the habit of stealing his wireless headphones. The person coming down now was something completely different: wide hips, a narrow waist, firm tits boldly outlined beneath her thin T-shirt, no bra.

She launched herself into his arms before he could move. Rodrigo caught her without thinking, lifting her off the floor for a second the way he used to when they were little. But she wasn’t little anymore. Her tits crushed against his chest, hard nipples digging through the fabric, and he felt the bulge of his own cock waking up in his pants before he could control it.

—It’s been so long —he murmured against her hair.

—Three years —she said, pressing her face against his neck—. That’s ages.

They stayed like that a little longer than necessary. Rodrigo’s hands, which had fallen naturally to her waist, felt the heat of her skin through the T-shirt’s thin fabric. Clara didn’t pull away. He felt her rub herself a little, just a small movement of the hips, enough for him to notice his half-hard cock pressing into her stomach. And Clara didn’t move away.

It’s just the emotion of seeing each other again, he thought. That’s all.

When they finally let go, she looked him up and down with that crooked smile she’d inherited from their mother.

—You look so different —she said.

—So do you —he replied, and immediately regretted his tone.

Clara smiled in a way Rodrigo couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t his little sister’s smile.

—Tomorrow morning I’ll make you breakfast —she said—. Like before, remember? We always made pancakes on Saturdays.

—I remember.

—Then tomorrow we’ll do it again. Just the two of us in the kitchen, like old times.

Rodrigo slept badly that night. The house smelled the same, the bed was the same, the photos on the bedside table were still in place. And yet something had changed in the reunion that he couldn’t name. Something to do with the hug in the hall, with that smile that wasn’t the usual one, and with the hard cock that had stood up as soon as Clara pressed her tits against him. He jerked off twice that night, biting the pillow so as not to make a sound, with the image of his adult sister burned behind his eyelids. He came each time with a guilty intensity, and each time the cum smeared his stomach without helping him sleep.

***

Sunday morning came through the blinds in that soft, coppery November light. Rodrigo went downstairs before nine and made coffee. He was leaning against the counter, taking the first sip, when he heard bare feet in the hallway.

Clara appeared in the doorway with sleep-tousled hair and eyes still half closed. She was wearing a white cotton T-shirt, long and worn, that barely reached halfway down her thighs. She stretched, lifting her arms overhead —the T-shirt rode up and he saw the edge of a pair of white cotton panties, simple, snug against her pubis— and walked straight toward him to steal his mug.

—Good morning —she said, taking a sip without asking. Exactly the way she had when they were twelve and fifteen, except nothing was exactly the same anymore.

They got the ingredients out together. Clara found a playlist on her phone and put it on low, filling the silence without breaking it. They started mixing the batter.

—Not like that —she said, taking the bowl from him—. Eggs first, on their own. If you mix everything at once, the batter gets heavy.

—Since when do you know how to make pancakes?

—Since you left and I had no one to make them for me on Saturdays.

She said it without drama. It was a fact. Rodrigo felt it anyway.

They kept cooking. Clara stirred the batter with slow, circular motions, standing beside him, her shoulder brushing his every time she moved. The kitchen filled with the smell of hot butter and that sweet mix of egg and vanilla. At some point, without either of them deciding it, the space between them stopped being the normal space between two siblings.

—Taste it —she said, bringing him the spoon.

Rodrigo took a little batter. His tongue brushed her fingers almost by accident, or on purpose without him realizing it yet. Clara didn’t pull her fingers away. She held them there against his mouth half a second longer than necessary.

—It’s fine —he said.

—Just fine?

—It’s very good, Clara.

She smiled and turned back to the pan. The T-shirt slipped off one shoulder, leaving her collarbone bare and a thin strip of naked back. Rodrigo looked away, but not before noticing that beneath the fabric her tits were moving freely, loose, each time she stirred the batter.

***

It happened when she reached for the sugar. Clara stretched her arm toward the high shelf and her elbow bumped the bowl Rodrigo was holding. The creamy white batter spilled onto her shoulder and ran down her neck, sliding slowly over her skin and slipping into the neckline of her T-shirt.

—What a mess! —she exclaimed, looking at the blotch.

They looked at each other for a second and both burst out laughing.

—I’ll get a cloth —said Rodrigo.

—Doesn’t matter. —Clara tugged at the hem of her T-shirt and pulled it over her head with the matter-of-factness of someone who had already decided that before stepping into the kitchen.

The silence that followed lasted barely two seconds.

She stood in front of him in panties, tits bare, pink nipples already hardened, flat stomach and a soft trail of down disappearing beneath the white elastic band of cotton. The batter was still dripping slowly down her shoulder, a white, shiny thread across her skin, until it disappeared between her breasts.

When she turned, there was no discomfort in her expression. Only that strange calm people have when they’re waiting for something they don’t know how to ask for.

—Will you help me? —she said softly.

Rodrigo had the cloth in his hand. He held it for a moment. Then he set it on the counter.

He leaned toward her and ran his tongue over her shoulder, following the batter downward. Slowly. Clara’s skin smelled of soap and that specific warmth of sleep just abandoned. His tongue followed the sweet line along her collarbone, down over her sternum, and when he reached her breast he turned his face and sucked her nipple into his mouth, batter and all, pressing it with his lips and then with his teeth.

She tilted her head slightly back and let out a short, muffled moan.

—Rodrigo —she whispered. Just his name. No question, no explanation, as if she wanted to confirm it was real, that this was really happening.

He lifted his head and looked at her. There was no doubt in Clara’s eyes. This was something that had come from far back, from before the trip to London, from that last night when they had both stayed in the hallway until four in the morning talking, unable to explain why neither of them could sleep.

—This shouldn’t be happening —he said.

—I know —she said—. But I’ve been imagining it for three years. Fuck me already.

And neither of them stepped away.

It was Clara who closed the remaining space between them. She put her open hands on her brother’s chest and looked up at him with the gaze of someone who had already decided and was no longer afraid. Rodrigo put his hands on her waist. His thumbs found the curve of her hips and slipped down without permission to squeeze her ass over her panties.

—Three years —she said, very softly.

He kissed her. A kiss that began carefully and lost its caution as it went on. Their tongues tangled without shame, with delayed hunger. Rodrigo’s hands slid down her back and slipped his fingers inside the waistband of her panties to grab her bare ass, squeezing it with both hands. She arched toward him, shamelessly seeking the contact, and for the first time felt her brother’s hard cock against her stomach, a thick, insistent bulge pressing just above the pubic bone.

—Fuck, you’re hard —she whispered against his mouth.

—Ever since you hugged me in the hall yesterday —he answered.

Clara let out a low, rough laugh and bit his lower lip.

***

Clara had her back against the counter and her eyes closed. Rodrigo’s mouth moved down her neck, over her collarbone, over the trail the batter had left before. He stopped again at her tits and sucked them one by one, tongue fully out and lips closed, tugging at her nipples until she moaned for real, without holding back. She made a soft sound, almost a long exhale breaking in her throat, and tangled her fingers in her brother’s hair while he kept going lower.

Rodrigo knelt slowly. He kissed her side, the curve of her waist, the hip bone, the soft line of hair below her navel. Clara’s hands searched for the edge of the counter to hold herself up when he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her panties and pulled them down her legs until they fell to the kitchen floor.

He stayed a second looking at her. His sister’s cunt, almost completely shaved except for a thin strip of brown hair, was already shining wet, the lips parted and pink a few centimeters from his mouth.

My God, she thought, feeling Rodrigo’s hot breath against her cunt. How long have I been keeping this without even knowing I was keeping it.

—Spread your legs —he said, low.

Clara obeyed, placing one foot on the banister of the stool. Rodrigo dragged his whole tongue from bottom to top in one slow stroke, and she jerked her hips against his mouth without being able to stop herself.

—Fuck —she gasped—. Fuck, Rodrigo.

He took her with his mouth without haste, hungry but unhurried. He opened her cunt lips with his thumbs and found her clit with the tip of his tongue, circling it, not touching it fully, playing with her. Clara squeezed her eyes shut. Rodrigo knew what he was doing and did it with a deliberate slowness that made it unbearable in how good it felt. His big hands held her hips against the counter, not letting her move. When he finally closed his lips around her clit and started sucking, she let out a long, sharp moan that bounced off the kitchen tiles.

—Oh, fuck, like that, don’t stop, don’t stop —she begged, voice breaking.

He didn’t stop. He slid two fingers into his sister’s wet cunt, curling them upward while he kept sucking her clit with his mouth. Clara started trembling. The pressure rose on purpose, leaving her unable to do anything but cling to the edge of the counter and let it happen.

—I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m going to come in your mouth —she moaned, clamping her thighs around his head.

When it happened, it hit all at once, without warning. Clara dug her fingers into his hair and pressed against his mouth, biting her lip so she wouldn’t scream. The orgasm was long and complete, the kind that leaves your legs useless; her cunt contracted in waves around her brother’s fingers, and warm wetness ran down the inside of her thighs. Rodrigo didn’t let her go until she gently pushed him away, trembling.

Rodrigo stood slowly, chin shining, and looked at her. He had that calm, slightly dark expression he’d worn all morning. Clara was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling, nipples still hard and reddened from his mouth.

She kissed him again, tasting herself on her brother’s tongue. Her hands slid down his torso, finding his belt. She unbuckled it without taking her mouth from his, lowered the zipper, and pulled his cock from his boxer briefs in one swift motion. It was thick, hard, with a drop of fluid shining at the tip. Clara wrapped her hand around it and squeezed, stroking the skin up and down a couple of times without stopping the kiss.

—Me too —she said softly against his lips—. Now I want mine.

Rodrigo looked at her. She held that gaze without blinking.

Clara slid down calmly, kneeling on the cold kitchen floor. She took him with both hands and looked at him for a moment before bringing her mouth to him. She ran her tongue all the way from base to tip, very slowly, following the thick vein on the underside, and finished with a wet kiss on the head. She kissed him slowly at first, with a focus that had nothing awkward about it. She took his full head into her mouth and sucked slowly, sealing her lips and drawing saliva around him. Then she opened her lips and took him all the way in, as deep as she could, moving with a slow rhythm that grew deeper as she found the angle.

—Fuck, Clara —he gasped.

She pulled back to the tip, paused, licked his balls one by one, taking them halfway into her mouth, and swallowed his cock whole again. A string of saliva hung from her chin. Rodrigo braced one hand on the counter to keep his balance. The other fell onto his sister’s hair without pressing, resting lightly on its softness. Clara looked up at him without stopping, with his cock deep in her throat and her cheeks hollowed from suction. That look from below was enough to make him lose all the composure he’d maintained since the hall the night before.

—Clara —he said, rougher than he meant to—. If you keep doing that I’m not going to last.

She pulled his cock from her mouth with a wet sound and jerked him slowly, aiming him against her lips.

—Then come —she said—. Come in my mouth, I want to taste it.

And she took him back in. She kept moving, deeper, hungrier, until Rodrigo’s breathing turned ragged and his knuckles went white around the edge of the counter. He grabbed the back of her neck without meaning to, driving her hips against his face, fucking her mouth with two, three, four short thrusts.

When the moment came, she didn’t pull away. She stayed where she was, holding him, his cock throbbing between her lips as the first wave of semen filled her mouth. She swallowed what she could, not stopping sucking, milking him to the last drop. A little cum slipped from the corner of her mouth and ran down her chin. Rodrigo’s hand was in her hair, still, not moving. They stayed like that for a few seconds, saying nothing, their breathing mixing in the kitchen’s silence.

Clara wiped her chin with the back of her hand and licked her thumb, looking up at him with a half-smile.

—Tastes good —she said.

After that, Clara stood up from the floor. Rodrigo wrapped her in his arms, still with his trousers half down, and sat her on the counter. He spread her legs again and positioned himself between them. His cock, still half hard, rested against his sister’s wet cunt, sliding over her lips without entering.

—Again —she whispered, taking hold of him and guiding him—. Put it in already. I’ve been waiting three years.

Rodrigo pushed slowly and his cock opened a way inside her. Clara let out a long moan that caught in her throat. She dug her heels into his thighs and pulled his head toward her tits while he started moving. At first the thrusts were long and slow, measured, making her gasp against his ear. Then the rhythm quickened. The counter creaked beneath her. The pan with the last pancake was still heating in the back, forgotten.

—Harder —Clara gasped—. Fuck me harder, Rodi, I don’t care, harder.

He gripped her hips and drove into her to the hilt, skin slapping against skin in a wet, obscene sound that filled the kitchen. Clara’s tits bounced with every удар. He kissed her neck, bit her shoulder, whispered her name through clenched teeth. She dug her nails into his back, marking him.

—I’m going to come again —she moaned—. Fuck, again, don’t stop.

Rodrigo lifted her from the counter without pulling out and turned her against the cabinet, putting her with her back to him. He pushed her nape down until she folded forward, pressing her tits against the cold surface, ass raised and legs open. He rammed into her again. From that angle he went deeper and they both felt it. Clara let out a cry she muffled against her arm.

—Like that, like that —she gasped with each thrust—. Break me.

He grabbed her hair with one hand and slapped her ass with the other, leaving a red mark. Clara came from that, her cunt clenching around his cock in spasms that took the last control he had left.

—Not inside —she gasped just in time—. In my ass, come in my ass.

Rodrigo pulled out of her cunt at the last second, jerked himself twice against his sister’s crack, and came in hot spurts over her ass cheeks, the warm cum sliding between them and down to her still throbbing cunt. Clara was trembling, braced against the cabinet, panting with her mouth open against the marble.

They stayed like that for a few seconds, him bent over her back, forehead pressed between her shoulder blades, her trying to catch her breath. Then Rodrigo took the cloth he’d left on the counter before and cleaned the cum off her back and ass with a disconcerting tenderness, almost conjugal.

Both of them remained leaning on the counter, listening to the song still playing on the phone as if nothing had happened on that November Sunday.

But everything had happened. And they both knew it.

***

When their parents came back that afternoon with shopping bags and cheerful voices from the hall, Rodrigo and Clara were sitting at the table with the pancakes on a plate between them and the coffee already cold.

—Did you have breakfast without us? —their mother asked, peeking her head into the kitchen door.

—Brunch —Clara corrected with a completely normal smile—. It’s almost two, Mom. About time.

Everything was as always. Their father commented on the traffic coming back. Their mother said it was cold for November. Rodrigo answered questions about work in London. Only he and Clara knew that under that ordinary table his foot was brushing hers, and that she hadn’t pulled away. Only they knew that Clara still wore no panties under her clean T-shirt, and that she could still feel her brother’s cum dried inside her inner thigh.

—When are you heading back? —their father asked.

—Tuesday —said Rodrigo.

He glanced sideways at Clara. She was looking at her plate. But she was smiling.