An Unethical Proposal Ch. 01


Author’s note: This is a four chapter story about incest between a brother and sister. It’s a story within a story and takes a little before getting to the good stuff, but, there’s lot’s of good stuff throughout. I hope you’ll enjoy it. There is a plot twist in chapter four, so please stick with it until the end. Comments are appreciated. Thanks!

Oh, how intense that wave of release felt. That release, that tidal wave, that orgasm had been building for over a week. My finger tip orgasms were just a tease, barely able to get the job done. My body was saving that orgasm for warm full hands. And, that those warm hands were not my own hands added fuel to the stream of desire that coursed through my body and culminated in that huge explosion. Those hands, my sister’s hands, the hands of taboo, took my desire to another plane, an order of magnitude yet undiscovered by my young and somewhat inexperienced body…

“You were saying?” Jan Martin, my psychologist, interrupted my musing.

“Sorry. I was lost in my thoughts.”

“Tell me about those thoughts, William.”

“I was thinking back to the first orgasm I experienced by Clair’s hands. How intense it was.”

“I’d like to hear about that, Can you tell me more about that orgasm?” Jan inquired.

“It’s hard to put in to words.” I paused for a few slow deep breaths as I lay on her office couch with my eyes closed. My right forearm draped over my eyes added some comfort from the emotional exposure I was experiencing. I felt my inner most self, my perverted self, ripped open, laid raw, examined, and judged by the whole world

“It was like a super orgasm.”

“Can you describe what that felt like?”

“Do you have orgasms Ms. Martin?”

“William, unfortunately, my sexual life is not up for discussion here.”

“Well, by that answer, I’ll assume you do,” I said with a newly found smugness. She didn’t answer the question one way or the other, but I took it as she does experience orgasms. Who doesn’t? In my mind the whole world was having one big orgasm. Some women still don’t, or at least have trouble achieving, according to what you read in the media anyway; it’s a pity if it’s true.

“It was like, take all the orgasms you’ve ever had and pile them up together into one big super orgasm, a super nova of celestial orgasm, a super-gasm.”

“And you’ve never experienced an orgasm like that with anyone else?”

“No.” I answered. It was true. Of all the other girlfriends I’ve had sex with, no one made me cum like my sister Clair.

“Was that because it was your first sexual taboo? Do you still have orgasms with your sister that are as intense as that first one?”

“Sometimes, yes. They’re all different, but they’re still more powerful with Clair than with any other lover.”

“Is that because you love your sister romantically, and not as a sister?”

“I don’t know. We don’t want to be together as lovers, or as husband and wife. Although I wouldn’t mind, but I know I can’t. And not just because we know it’s wrong. Clair is married to someone. I know I should move on and make a life for myself with someone else.”

“But you keep returning to Clair for sex?”

“It’s not just sex. I have girlfriends for that.”

“Then why do think you and Clair still see each other sexually? Can you describe the bond you have?”

“I don’t know…I just need her hands on my cock. It grounds me like nothing else in this world. That’s all I know.”

“And Clair? Why does she continue? What does she get out of it?”

“I don’t know. She’s addicted to me, as I am to her, I suppose. She calls me her ad-dick-tion.”

“You’ve never talked to each other about what you were doing? What you’re continuing to do?”

“Not really.”

“When you say ‘Not really’, What do you mean by that? “

“Just, ‘Billy we have to stop’, or ‘I know Clair, I shouldn’t be here asking you for this…'”

“But, you haven’t stopped? Is that Correct? You’ve never stopped having sex with your sister? “

“Not yet. Well, until recently, Clair’s therapist has insisted she stop seeing me. We’re not even supposed to talk to one another for a while. So, as of the last week, Clair told me we can’t even talk or text one another for a while.”

“That’s a big change for you, William. How do you feel about not seeing her?”

“I don’t think this hiatus will last long,” I said. I was hoping it wouldn’t last and I was counting on Clair’s passion for my cock to end our sequester.

“William, it’s been three weeks now since we started this therapy. I still don’t have a clear sense of what transpired between you and Clair to start your sexual relationship together. You’ve been avoiding telling me the whole story. I only have fragments of information,” Jan said.

It’s true. I’ve been dancing around the issue. I really didn’t want to be there, on that couch, or any psych’s couch for that matter. I was only seeing a shrink to appease my sister; she asked that I start counseling the same time she did. I figured istanbul escort if I showed good faith, sooner or later she’d want to compare notes, and I’d be back in her graces.

“I’ll be out of town for the next two weeks. I’d like you to do some homework while I’m away. Are you up for doing a little homework, William?”

“I guess. I don’t know. Depends…”

“I want you to write your story. Take it from the beginning and don’t leave out any important details. I don’t need to know what you ate for breakfast each day, or what you watched on TV, unless it’s important to the events leading up to you and Clair becoming sexually active. OK?”

“I’m not a good writer. I don’t know…”

“That’s fine. I don’t need you to be the next great novelist. I just need a good understanding of what transpired. Writing it down and reading it yourself will also help you come to terms with what you and your sister have been doing, since you’ve yet been able to admit that you have been in an incestuous relationship with Clair.

That’s all the time we have for today. So, I’ll see you this same time in three weeks.”

As I got up from Jan’s office couch, I stared at her quietly for a moment. Her head was down and she was writing staccato like on her note pad. She was a hot looking woman in her early thirties, too hot to be a psychologist. Looking at her sitting at her desk, I admired her short bob-cut blond hair, her dark rimmed glasses, and her red business suit.

She was the third psychologist I’d talked to. The first two were males and I couldn’t relate to them. I didn’t feel I could open up to them, and it seemed a waste of time and money. Why did I stay with Jan? Why was I comfortable with her? I wondered, as I gathered my coat. Certainly she was easy on the eyes. In fact, I dreamt the other night she was giving me head as I related my story, my so called “problem,” to her. Was that it? Was I sexually attracted to my psychologist? So cliché, but there it was. I felt a twinge of excitement stirring within my loins. I’ve never been sexually attracted to female authority figures before; no teachers excited me; no women bosses got me juiced up; not even any older females in my childhood, aunts, or cousins. So why her? Why now? It certainly didn’t hurt that I was pouring my perverse sexual proclivities out to her. We were a team now. She was on board.

“You should upgrade to the twenty first century,” I said as I put my coat on.

Jan never looked up from her writing and said, “Come again?”

“You’re hand writing your notes. They make electronic tablets now, like an iPad.”

“Yes I know, I have an iPad, William. I’ll transcribe my notes later to my computer. And, I do use my iPad for notes too, sometimes, but short hand on a note pad is still quicker for me than working the stylus. Especially when I’m listening to my patients and taking note. You do want me to listen to you, don’t you, William?” She looked up and finally smiled.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to infer you were…”

“Speaking of technology, William. I’d like you to send me whatever you have written at least one full day before our next session. I’d like to read it before our session so we can talk about it. My email address is on the card I gave you the day of our first session. Do you still have it?”

“Yes, I still have it.”

“Good. So I’ll look forward to reading your story. See you in three weeks then,” Jan said as a final word for our session. She went back to writing her notes.

As I drove home, I agonized over writing my story. English was my worst subject in school, even college. I hated the writing assignments. I could never think of anything to write. To be sure, my story was already in my head, and I revisited it often, but to actually write it, how would I begin?

Later that night I sat in my home office, with my laptop open and a blank new document staring at me. I attempted a few sentences, and then deleted them. I tried again and managed a paragraph. I read what I wrote, and it was all incomprehensible jumbled up words; I deleted it. “Jesus! I suck at writing,” I stammered out loud.

I picked up my phone and punched out a text to Clair, “what are you doing”.

I attempted again to refocus on my writing, but I was clearly not in the mood, and what I wrote was again garbage. As I thought of my story, my thoughts, of course, turned to sex between my sister and me. My cock stiffened as I thought of her and her silky smooth hands on my cock. This, of course, didn’t help my concentration.

My phone pinged. I looked at the screen. Clair answered, “not 2 much how bout u”

“Bored… thinking of you,” I responded.

“me 2,” my phone lit up.

“Can I come over?” I typed.

“Billy, we shouldn’t.”

“I know, but I need U. I’ll explain when I get there.”

“No! My shrink says we shouldn’t be in contact with one another,” she texted back.

“Can I call you?” I texted.


“Hi. I needed to hear your voice,” I said to Clair, my voice conveying rus escort what my fingers couldn’t.

“Billy…we shouldn’t… I’m not supposed to be talking to you right now.”

“I know Clair. Just a little. Please. My shrink wants me to write what happened… you know… about us. How it started… all the details.”

“So?” Clair sounded impatient.

“I can’t get started. I tried. I wrote some stuff and then deleted it. I wrote some more and deleted that too. You know I sucked at English in school.”

“Write it like a story. Like your writing a fictional story, but it will be a real story,” she offered, trying to move this subject along.

“I don’t think my psychologist wants a story per se Clair, she just wants to know what happened.”

“But you’re stuck. You can’t seem to just jot down what happened. You’re not facing it Billy… what we did… what we’ve continued to do. Treating it like your writing a story to someone else, someone who’s never met you, or me for that matter, should help you organize… Oh for god sakes Billy! You should be able to just write it. It should just flow from your mind. It’s your story…”

“It’s our story,” I interrupted her.

“Just write what’s in your head. You know how it went down,” Clair said, exasperated.

“Why the tone Sis?”

“I shouldn’t be talking to you right now. We’re never going to get over this thing if we keep it up Billy.”

“We’re just talking Sis. Is John home?”

John was her husband. They married two years ago. We said we’d try, for the sake of their marriage, but Clair and I never stopped seeing each other.

“Yeah, he’s in the other room.”

No one has found out about us, not even her husband. He thinks she’s seeing a shrink for anxiety.

“I can’t write a fucking story to save my life Sis.”

“Jesus, Billy! Just go on the fucking internet and search ‘writing stories’. There’s a ton of tips and help out there. There’s also erotic story websites, go read a few and figure it out. And make sure you paint me in a good light, Little Brother. I want to read that story of yours when you’re done. If you write something bad about me, I’ll cut your dick off.”

“I love y…” CLICK. She hung up before I got it out.

I took Clair’s advice. I scoured the internet for articles and tutorials on writing. I also ordered a few books on the subject, and down loaded them.

After a week of self study, I once again sat at my computer with a blank text document staring at me, but this time I dove into it with the conviction of a new convert.

‘My Sister’s Hands.’ I wrote for a title. I stared at it for a while and decided I liked it.

I wrote on:

Chapter one –

It was a warm June night as I rode my bike along a dark stretch of winding mountain road. I felt a chill up my spine. The chill was sudden and out of place given the warm air wafting across my face. That should have been my clue that something ominous was about to happen. But I didn’t heed that chill; I powered on ever more.

DEER! BAM! That fucking deer ran right out in front of my motorcycle. It came out of nowhere, bounding into the road smack in front of me. I had no time to react; it was instant DEER! BAM! I was thrown from my bike in a split second.

A week had passed since my accident when I arrived home from the hospital.

“Help him to the recliner.” My father instructed my sister, who had a hold of my left side while he had my right, as they helped me out of the wheel chair at the door of our modest ranch house. With their help, I hobbled across the living room floor. They helped me get situated in my father’s musty, old beat up recliner. My father set my plaster of paris arms upon the recliner chair arms. He then pulled the lever and the recliner foot rest came up hard against my legs. “Ouch!” I screamed. My right leg was sore in its cast and any movement still hurt.

“You’re styling in those shorts Bro,” my sister said with a comically disapproving look. My nurse told my father to bring me some baggy gym shorts when he came to pick me up at the hospital. With a full leg cast I’d need something easy to slip around that bulky white hulk encasing my leg. He forgot. So he stopped at the Good Will store next to the hospital and picked up some long ago donated, very large, old guy’s, plaid golf shorts. I’m sure I looked totally frigging ridiculous, but I didn’t care right then. I was glad to be home.

Fuck! Damn! That Rat Bastard Deer! I had been looking forward to a nice summer off. My freshman year at college just completed two weeks prior, and I was hoping I could pull off just hanging around town and seeing what kind of trouble I could get into with the local girls. I was not a stud back in high school. I had had an awkward body, and that made me self conscious, but I did manage to lose my virginity and tag a few pussies before heading off to college. My body had matured while at the university, and I grew into myself, as they say. I was no longer as gangly as a şişli escort hangman stick character. I had worked out at the university gym five times a week, and put on a few pounds of muscle.

I had a little luck with a few girls at the university, but nothing steady. I really wanted to revisit my old stomping grounds. I was hoping the new me would turn some heads, and open some legs. I guess that was out of the question now; how pathetic I’d look trying to pick up girls with two arms and a leg in casts.

I broke both arms and my right leg. I was doing 60mph when I collided with that deer. I don’t remember a thing except waking up in the hospital. According to a witness, I flew 30 feet in the air and landed with my arms out trying to stop myself. I then cart wheeled a few times, and that’s apparently when my leg got fucked up. The breaks were so severe they needed to use hard casts, and the one on my leg went from my toes right on up to my crotch. Both my arms were in full long casts, from my finger tips to my upper arms, and permanently bent at the elbows.

I no sooner got relaxed in my father’s past-it’s-prime recliner, and I had to pee. Now what? I was on the bed pan plan in the hospital, and the nurses took care of everything. It suddenly dawned on me, perhaps my home care needs had not been planned out well.


“What is it?” my father yelled from the kitchen. He was fixing some lunch for himself to take back to his job.

“Can you come here?”

“What?” He said in an annoyed tone.

“Can you come a little closer?” I begged.

“Jesus Billy. I’m busy getting lunch. I’ve got to get back to work. You’re lucky my boss let me take a few hours off this morning to pick you up from the hospital.”

“I have to take a piss.”

The look of bewilderment that came over my father said it all. He hadn’t thought about this aspect of caring for me at home. Since Mom left five years ago, my father has been trying to do it all. He works hard to support us, and to put my twin sister and myself through college.

“Well, what did they do in the hospital?”

“A bed pan.”

“Well, we don’t have a bed pan. Can you use a cooking pan, or…I don’t know what you call it…a…a baking pan. That’s it. Can you use a baking pan?” My father stammered at me.

Apparently, I must have had a look of horror on my face at the thought of using a baking pan to piss in.

“Damn! I can’t deal with this right now. I gotta get back to work before I lose my job. Clair, get in here!”

“What?” My sister yells from her bedroom.

“Get in here! Now!” My father bellowed.

My sister came into the living room, shoulders slumped, head cocked to the side, mouth agape with an exasperated look. Helping me home from the hospital was enough of an inconvenience for her that day, it seemed.

“I gotta get back to work. Your brother needs a nurse and you’re it.”

“A nurse? I’m not a nurse,” my sister said in discussed tone.

“You are now. And I don’t want to hear another word about it, or I’m not paying for your college next semester,” my father yelled in a stern tone.

“But I need to get a job this summer. I was going to go into town today and see what’s available,” Clair whined angrily.

“Your job this summer is to nurse your brother, and your pay is your tuition next semester. I don’t want to hear another word about it. You’re over eighteen now, and I can legally ask you to leave this house. So, if you want to stay and be a part of this family, and continue to receive my financial help with college, then you’ll buck up and take on this responsibility.” My father laid down the law with Clair and then grabbed his lunch and headed for the door.

“The first thing he needs is help taking a piss. Get a cooking pan, or baking pan, or whatever the hell you call it, and help him out,” he said sternly as he stormed out the door.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me, right?” Clair said to me. She looked at me like I just ruined her life, not just the summer.

“Sorry Sis. It wasn’t my fault. That deer jumped right in front of me. I had no time to react.”

“If you hadn’t bought that damn motorcycle, like Dad warned you, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“I think Dad is pissed at me about that, and that’s why he sounded so hard on you. Don’t take it personally.”

“I know that! I didn’t do anything wrong. You just fucked up my summer Little Brother. Thanks!”

“Speaking of pissed, I really gotta go. If you don’t help me I’m going to piss my pants.”

Clair storms into the kitchen. She returns with a baking pan and throws it in my lap and starts heading to her bedroom.


“What now!”

“I need your help.”

“Fuck! Billy, what now?

“Do you think I can get my pants down with both my arms in these casts?”

The look on Clair’s face, as she realized just what level of nursing would be required of her, was priceless.

As the initial shock wore off, Clair busted up laughing. I would have laughed too if I wasn’t in so much pain and in such a need of a pee.

“You want me to do what?” she said with a big shit eating grin on her face.

“I don’t want this any more than you do Sis, but I’m begging you, please help me, or I’ll piss my pants.”

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