Three Years Later, My Sister Was No Longer a Girl

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

Rodrigo was twenty-seven and carried a more worked body and shorter hair than when he left. He set his suitcase down in the hall, breathed 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 a leap. Eighteen, freshly turned. Rodrigo remembered her as a teenager with her hair full of colored bobby pins and the habit of stealing his wireless headphones. The person coming down now was something completely different: wide hips, a narrow waist, firm tits showing brazenly beneath the thin T-shirt, no bra.

She threw herself into his arms before he could move. Rodrigo caught her without thinking, lifting her off the floor for a second the way he had when they were little. But she wasn’t little anymore. Her tits pressed flat against his chest, her hard nipples stabbing 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 to his neck—. That’s ages.

They stayed like that a moment longer than necessary. Rodrigo’s hands, which had naturally fallen to her waist, felt the heat of her skin through the thin T-shirt. Clara didn’t pull away. He felt her rub a little, just a slight movement of hips, enough to notice that his half-hard cock was pressing against her belly. And Clara did not move back.

It’s just the emotion of seeing each other again, he thought. Just that.

When they finally pulled apart, she looked him up and down with that crooked smile she had inherited from her mother.

—You look very different —she said.

—So do you —he answered, and immediately regretted the tone.

Clara smiled in a way Rodrigo didn’t know how to classify. It wasn’t his little sister’s smile.

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

—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 nightstand 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 hallway, with that smile that wasn’t the usual one, and with the hard cock he’d gotten the moment 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 semen stained his stomach without helping him sleep.

***

The Sunday morning came in through the blinds with 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 open. She wore a white cotton T-shirt, long and worn, that barely reached mid-thigh. She stretched, lifting her arms overhead —the shirt rode up and he saw the edge of a pair of white cotton panties, plain, tight against her cunt— and walked straight over to him to steal his mug.

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

They took out the ingredients 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 dense.

—Since when do you know how to make pancakes?

—Since you left and I didn’t have anyone to make them for me on Saturdays.

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

They kept cooking. Clara stirred the batter with slow, circular motions, standing beside him, her shoulder brushing his each 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, holding out the spoon.

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

—It’s good —he said.

—Just good?

—It’s very good, Clara.

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

***

It was when she went to grab the sugar that it happened. Clara stretched up toward the high shelf and her elbow hit the bowl Rodrigo had in his hands. The creamy white batter splashed onto her shoulder and ran down her neck, sliding slowly over her skin, slipping into the neckline of the T-shirt.

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

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

—I’ll get a cloth —said Rodrigo.

—It doesn’t matter. —Clara pulled the hem of the T-shirt and took it off over her head with the ease of someone who had already made that decision before coming into the kitchen.

The silence that followed lasted barely two seconds.

She stood in front of him in panties, bare-breasted, with pink nipples already hard, a flat stomach, and a soft fuzz disappearing beneath the white elastic of the cotton. The batter kept sliding slowly down her shoulder, a white shiny thread over 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 quietly.

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 trail of batter downward. Slowly. Clara’s skin smelled of soap and that specific warmth of sleep just left behind. His tongue traced the sweet line along her collarbone, moved down her sternum, and when he reached her breast he turned his face and sucked her nipple into his mouth whole, batter and all, pressing it with his lips and then with his teeth.

She let her head tip slightly back and gave a short, muffled moan.

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

He lifted his head and looked at her. There was no doubt in Clara’s eyes. It was something that had come from far back, from before the trip to London, from that last night when the two of them had stayed in the hallway until four in the morning talking without being able 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, for fuck’s sake.

And neither of them moved away.

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

—Three years —she said, very softly.

He kissed her. A kiss that began carefully and lost all care 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 until he was holding her bare ass, squeezing it with both hands. She arched her body toward him, seeking the contact without modesty, and felt for the first time her brother’s hard cock against her belly, a thick, insistent bulge pressing just above the pubic bone.

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

—Since you hugged me in the hallway yesterday —he answered.

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

***

Clara had her back against the counter and her eyes closed. Rodrigo’s mouth moved down her neck, her collarbone, the path the batter had followed moments before. He stopped again at her tits and sucked them one by one, tongue fully out and lips closed, pulling at the nipples until she moaned for real, without holding back. She let out 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 brace herself when he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her panties and slid them down her legs until they dropped 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 inches from his mouth.

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

—Open your legs —he said, in a low voice.

Clara obeyed, planting one foot on the stool rung. Rodrigo ran 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 in his mouth without haste, hungry but unhurried. He spread her cunt lips with his thumbs and found the clit with the tip of his tongue, circling around it, not quite touching it, teasing her. Clara squeezed her eyes shut. Rodrigo knew what he was doing and did it with a deliberate slowness that felt unbearable because it felt so good. His big hands held her hips against the counter, not letting her move. When he finally closed his lips over her clit and started sucking, she gave a long, sharp moan that bounced off the kitchen tiles.

—Oh, fuck, like that, don’t stop, don’t stop —she begged, her 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 to tremble. The pressure kept building deliberately, until she could do nothing but hold onto the edge of the counter and let it happen.

—I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come in your mouth —she moaned, clenching her thighs around his head.

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

Rodrigo stood slowly, his chin glistening, 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, her 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, pulled down the zipper, and tugged his cock out of his boxers in one motion. It was thick, hard, with a drop of liquid shining at the tip. Clara wrapped her hand around it and squeezed, sliding 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 close. She ran her whole tongue from base to tip, very slowly, following the thick vein along the underside, and finished with a wet kiss on the glans. She kissed him slowly at first, with an attention that was anything but clumsy. She took the glans all the way into her mouth and sucked slowly, closing her lips and drawing saliva around it. Then she opened her lips and took him in whole, as deep as she could, moving with a slow rhythm that became deeper as she found the angle.

—Fuck, Clara —he panted.

She would pull back to the tip, pause, lick his balls one by one, taking them halfway into her mouth, and then swallow his cock whole again. A thread 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 pressure, resting only on its softness. Clara lifted her eyes to his without stopping, with his cock all the way to the back of her throat and her cheeks hollowed by suction. That look from below was enough for him to lose all the calm he had kept since the hallway the night before.

—Clara —he said, his voice rougher than he meant—. I won’t last like this.

She pulled his cock from her mouth with a wet sound and jerked him slowly, aiming him at 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, pushing his hips into her face, fucking her mouth with two, three, four short thrusts.

When the moment came, she did not 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, never stopping sucking, milking him to the last drop. A little of it escaped the corner of her mouth and ran down her chin. Rodrigo had his hand in her hair, still, not moving it. They stayed like that for a few seconds, saying nothing, their breathing mixing in the kitchen 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.

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

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

Rodrigo pushed slowly and his cock worked its way inside her. Clara gave a long moan that caught in her throat. She drove 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 sped up. The counter creaked beneath her. The pan with the last pancake was still heating in the back, forgotten.

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

He grabbed 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 thrust. He kissed her neck, bit her shoulder, whispered her name through clenched teeth. She dug her nails into his back, marking him.

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

Rodrigo lifted her off the counter without pulling out and turned her against the cabinet, putting her with her back to him. He pushed her head down until she bent forward, pressing her tits against the cold surface, ass raised and legs open. He shoved back into her in one thrust. From that angle he went in deeper, and both of them felt it. Clara cried out, muffling it against her arm.

—Like that, like that —she panted with every thrust—. Break me.

He grabbed her hair with one hand and with the other landed a smack on her ass that left a red mark. Clara came from that, her cunt tightening around his cock in spasms that stripped him of the last control he had left.

—Not inside —she panted 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 jets over her buttocks, hot semen slipping between her cheeks and down to the cunt still throbbing. Clara was trembling, braced against the cabinet, breathing hard with her mouth open against the marble.

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

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

But everything had happened. And they both knew it.

***

When their parents came home that afternoon with shopping bags and cheerful voices from the hallway, 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 into the kitchen.

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

Everything was as always. Their father commented on the traffic on the way back. Their mother said it was cold for November. Rodrigo answered questions about work in London. Only he and Clara knew that under that normal table his foot was brushing hers, and she had not moved it away. Only they knew that Clara was still wearing no panties under the clean T-shirt, and that she could still feel her brother’s semen drying inside her thigh.

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

—Tuesday —Rodrigo said.

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