Triptych, An Erotic Adventure (19 page)

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Authors: Krissy Kneen

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BOOK: Triptych, An Erotic Adventure
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‘Call me sister.’ And he did, the word so strange on his tongue after all these years, and yes, it was arousing to remember that this was a most unusual connection.

‘My sister,’ he whispered into the small of her back, and followed her lead as she leaned herself across the back of the chair.

‘Spread me for him. Show him how wet and damp my sisterly love can be.’

And he opened her to the camera and marvelled along with the naked stranger at the glistening excitement of his sister. He slipped himself inside her and it seemed suddenly to be a breaking of taboos, this coupling that had become so ordinary in their day-to-day lives became a kind of transgression through the lust-filled gaze of the stranger.

‘He can’t come inside me, you know. Because it is sibling sperm. He must not come inside me. See him holding back?’

And suddenly Aaron needed more than anything to come. He tried to think of other things. Ham sandwiches on white bread and, when this did not work, their mother making ham sandwiches on white bread. But even this idea only added an extra layer of arousal; he remembered suddenly the wonderful excitement of the fear of being caught.

That time when their father popped home to pick up
a letter he had forgotten on the kitchen bench. The terrified cessation of all movement. Aaron pausing mid-thrust, his sister lying face-up with her hips raised up on a pillow, the glorious sight of her new breasts so young and firm, her eyes wide with the knowledge that this might be about to end for them. The moment stretching out; their father calling out his name.

He remembered his voice shaking as he yelled back that he was in the bathroom.

Okay, well, we’ll be home pretty late. Make sure you feed your sister.
And then, hearts pounding as the car pulled out of the driveway, his sister’s relieved laugh.
Go on, then. Feed your sister.
And his excited answer with each thrust of his hips.
Feed her? Like this? Eating it? Eat it.
And the wonder of her slipping out from under him, taking his penis in her mouth still slick with her own juices. She would be able to taste herself on him. She licked his penis clean and the sight of it was too much for him to take. He held her head hard up against him and she pinched him when he thrust too deeply into the back of her throat.

He pulled back from inside her and the man on the internet would be looking at his penis, twitching against her still-shapely arse. When he came the seed spilled onto her back and she was laughing as he finished. She was turning to kiss his lips, adjusting her position on the chair.

‘Too soon,’ she said, more to the man on the internet than to Aaron. ‘I think you need to help me finish.’ She spread
her thighs and he dipped his panting face towards her. The wonderful bitter-sweet taste of her. He thought of truffles and parmesan and perhaps a hint of anchovy. The salty brine of her juices. He lapped at her and it was all now as it had once been.

He noticed her hips twitching with the oncoming orgasm, slipped his fingers inside her. He liked to feel her coming around some part of him. He liked to test the violence of each orgasm, sometimes they were so hard that they sucked greedily at him, sometimes so gentle that it was like an animal sighing and turning over in its sleep.

She rocked back on the chair, her neck exposed, her face tilted towards the ceiling. Her thick dark hair spilled down and over the back of the chair. He watched as her nipples jerked tighter. He could see the beating of her heart inside her ribcage, a little fluttering of the pale flesh. A fine layer of sweat sprang up on her shoulders, a sudden scent of sex so strong that he felt his penis surge with blood again. She was more beautiful at this moment than she had ever been and he was moved to stand and press his face, slick with her juices, against her mouth. She tasted him hungrily and when there was some space for breath she gasped and told him she loved him and he hugged her so tightly that it squeezed a single tear from his eyes.

‘I love you,’ he said, ‘I’ve always loved you. I always will love you. Forever and forever.’

Aaron turned towards the computer screen and noticed
that at some point the man had disappeared, turning his webcam off or changing to a different site. He assumed that the man had come and then gone: a mutually satisfying end to this first experience. He did not really care either way. He reached out and shut the laptop and hugged his sister tighter.

‘I’m sorry I fucked Trent,’ she told him. ‘I promise I’ll never do it again.’

‘Don’t say never. Don’t say it. Just tell me if you feel like doing it with him again. Perhaps we could have him over for dinner sometime. We never invite your friends.’

And here they were twinned again, Romulus and Remus. Taking their turns, sucking from the same teat.

Acknowledgments

 

 

I gratefully acknowledge the support of Varuna, The Writers’ House, Kári Gíslason, Katherine Lyall-Watson, Anthony Mullins and Ellen Thompson, and the endless invaluable support of Fiona Stager and Avid Reader Bookshop.

Thank you to Mandy Brett; her tireless, insightful and sexy work as an editor should never be undervalued.

For this book my thanks go to the strong, smart and sexy women in my life: Judith Lukin Amundsen, Rebecca Harbison, Belinda Jeffrey, Kris Olsson, Donna Hancox, Dr Maureen Burns, Naomi Stekelenburg, Anita Heiss, Elissa Freeman, Kristina Shultz, Kate Lee, Kasia Janczewski, Anna Krien, Nike Sulway, Jay Court, Jen Clark, Zoe Strout and Helen Bernhagen.

To my Varuna Chatroulette team, Benjamin Law, Anna
Goldsworthy, Linda Jaivin and Shalini Akhil, you all have very nice breasts (even Ben).

And to the men, my muses and creative companions, Chris Somerville, Christopher Currie, Scott Spark, Jason Reed, Trent Jamieson, John Hunter, Ronnie Scott, Peter Cossar, Patrick Holland, Colin, Marty and James Cosier, James Butler and Stuart Carrier (yes, Stuart, I did indeed tell them the dog story).

Thanks also to the providers of my ‘offices’: The Boys Café, Café Bouquiniste and Mad Espresso.

And finally to my families in their various forms—I hope you forgive my profanities: my maternal tribe, Wendy, Sheila and Lotty Kneen; my sister Karen; my father Barry Elphick and stepmother Denise. To my family by marriage the family Mullins, and my surrogate families the Cosiers, the Somerville/Gordons and the Avid Reader family.

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