I look at them more and more often. My daughter and son have become so close. The way they laugh, the quiet secrets they share, the casual touches that linger a little too long. It's beautiful. But lately, my thoughts have been lingering on forbidden heat. I imagine my daughter's gentle hands sliding down his chest, cupping his hardening cock as he kisses her deeply. I imagine her spreading her legs for him, her wet pussy glistening as he thrusts into her, their bodies rocking together with the same easy intimacy they've always shared.
These images make me ache between my legs.
Last night, I finally whispered it all to my husband, lying in bed. My voice trembled as I described how I still fantasize about them having sex, how she rode his thick cock, her breasts bouncing as she moaned his name. He didn't look surprised. Instead, he pulled me closer, his fingers sliding between my thighs and exploring my already damp skin. “Keep thinking about it, baby,” he murmured, stroking my swollen clit. “Don’t fight it. Imagine them together, her tight pussy stretched around him as he filled it with cum. And imagine us there too… watching, touching, sharing.”
His words sent shivers down my spine. He spoke softly and sensually about how natural this could be. An entire family sharing pleasure without shame. He described us all tangled: my son’s mouth on my daughter’s pussy while I sucked his cock, my husband fucking me from behind while we watched. He painted a picture of one vast, loving, incestuous circle, where hands, mouths, and penises moved freely between us all, where every orifice was open to familial love.
Now I can’t stop wondering. Every time I see them, my pussy pulsates with new fantasies. I imagine myself getting inside, her on her knees, swallowing his cum, and then pulling me into the room so we can all have a good time. My husband's smile and the way he fucks me harder every time I confess these thoughts make me wonder how long I can keep this fantasy inside me.
I'm scared. I'm wet with tears. And I want more.