Lying to My Sister

***This is part nine of a 13 part series following an evolving incestuous relationship between adult siblings. You would enjoy this much more if you read the previous eight, but it can also be read as a standalone. All previous chapters are displayed in order under the series "A Brother and Sister's Journey" on my profile. All characters in sexual situations are over 18.***

When my sister and I were kids the only thing our parents thought we had in common was that we were both never satisfied. So much of our personalities were mirror opposites, but in that one way we were absolutely the same. It manifested for Kelly in being an academic and athletic over achiever who always wanted praise and generally received it.

For me it was less about school work, and more about enjoying myself. Our folks always said that I didn't understand the concept of "too much of a good thing" and I could never just be happy with what I had.

As a younger guy I took every opportunity to enjoy myself no matter the consequences. That certainly had its downsides, like just barely avoiding a DUI at the age of 18, and getting robbed and beaten up trying to buy pot in DC in college. But it had an odd upside too. From a young age I loved messing around with computers, and although I wasn't all that interested in the classroom side of school, that love did get me through college and into a pretty decent software design career.

As an adult my desire for more and more enjoyment showed up in my sexual relationships, and certainly led to the end of both my marriages. So much so that I had pretty much sworn off ever being in a relationship again. Then, my sister came to stay with me after her divorce, and after a winding road that started with us masturbating together, we ended with us buying a house together and living privately as a couple. I thought being with Kelly would finally quench my thirst, but my depravity knows no bounds.

Once I had overcome my my own shame to embrace fucking Kelly and all the kinky things we did together, it just seemed to shine a light on other roads I had long ignored. And the road that was currently the most well illuminated was the one that led to Kelly's nearly 19 year-old daughter, Reagan.

I had previously admitted to Kelly that I had jerked off to some of Reagan's Instagram pics and she was oddly fine with it, but that was as far as she was willing to let it go. She wanted no part of bringing Reagan into our incestuous world, and she was quite clear about that.

So, naturally, I was spending more and more time fantasizing about my niece. Despite Kelly's clear instructions I found that beating off to her bikini pics just wasn't enough to scratch my itch and I constantly thought about how I could push it further.

It wasn't long after I started thinking about Reagan this way that I began to push the boundaries further. It started when she came to stay with us again during her spring break around St. Patrick's Day of 2022.

While Reagan is only half Irish, my sister and I are Kelly & Patrick O'Connor and we are super-duper Irish... which is a highly technical term but also very accurate. While no one in the family had red hair, we still read as Irish right away to most people we met. It seemed like the whole family, including our parents and grandparents made being Irish the biggest part if their personalities.

No matter how different our mom and dad thought we were from one another, one thing that we definitely had common was that we both really tried to NOT make our personalities so dependent on our heritage. But, naturally - and in keeping with our usual differences - it was for kind of opposite reasons.

Kelly thought it was ridiculous to care so much about it because our ancestors on both sides had lived in America for at least four generations prior to us. She thought of herself as an American, first and foremost. She had also loved to make my dad furious by pointing out that we were lucky to have an ancestry that it was chic to be proud of at the time, unlike so many which were castigated in the 80's and 90's.

For me it came down to not wanting to be reduced to a simple and lazy stereotype of a guy named Patrick Thomas O'Connor. There was nothing I hated more than a teacher, coach, boss, or date repeating my name with a shitty attempt at an Irish accent copied from the Lucky Charms commercials.

After about 30 years of that you either go along with it to keep things from being weird, or throw a giant turd into the middle of the conversation by saying something like "I don't think of Irish as one of my defining characteristics, and assuming that I'm way into it because of my name would be like asking every tall person you meet if they play basketball, or "how the weather is up there". I had done both more than I would have liked in my life and it pretty much never went well either way.

It should suffice to say that I have never had a Guinness, worn kelly green, or listened to The Dropkick Murphy's. But I did make exceptions for a few Irish foods... oh, and Jameson. That shit is in the blood.

So when Reagan suggested we have our own St. Paddy's party during her break, you'd think it would've been a hard "no" from both Kelly and I. Sadly, Kelly jumped at the chance to be the cool mom, and in the end I was happy to do whatever made my sister happier, if a bit begrudgingly.

In the days leading up to Reagan's arrival we went out and bought a bottle of Jameson, some corned beef, boxty ingredients, and stupid shamrock hats and decorations. I also reluctantly agreed to get a bottle of green food coloring for our case of Harp.

Reagan was bringing a friend with her who she had met on campus, and Kelly seemed less than happy that Reagan had neglected to mention her friend was a guy. it wasn't because Kelly was a prude, or had religious concerns like Reagan's dad would've.

Rather, she was sensitive to instances when Reagan seemed to play on her worries that she was a bad mother because of the divorce. She didn't bat an eye when Reagan said Ash (short for Ashton, not Ashley as she had allowed us to mis-assume) would be staying in the guest room with her, but she was mad that Reagan wasn't just up front the whole time.

After Kelly told Reagan that she didn't care if they stayed in a room together, Reagan seemed a bit deflated. From the outside looking in it appeared to me like Reagan might be trying to wind her mother up. When Kelly asked if they were a couple, Reagan got all indignant saying "not all boys who are friends are boyfriends you know mother!"

"Why doesn't she trust me Paddy?" she wondered to me as we cooked the food while Reagan and Ash sat laughing in the living room, only two green beers in.

I sure as hell didn't have anything approaching a cogent answer that I was willing to give Kelly. My life experience told me it was best to try and be supportive of her as my sister and lover, so I decided to keep my honest opinions to myself. Kelly didn't need to know that I thought Reagan was fully aware of her mother's worries and willing to exploit them.

After we ate, Kelly kept mixing more green Harp's for herself and the kids while I slow played it, nursing two Jameson's the whole night. Sadly that left me sober enough to be annoyed when Reagan put on an "Irish Rock" playlist and they all danced around the living room like idiots.

Late into the evening Kelly got increasingly more sloppy, and rightfully decided to call it a night after dancing a bit too close to Ash asCome on Eileen played for some reason. While Reagan didn't seem all that bothered by her mom macking on her friend-who-is-a-boy, I was livid that this song was even on the Irish rock playlist, since Dexy's Midnight Runners were clearly English. I may not be overly proud of being Irish, but Iam a first class music snob and pedant of the highest order.

After Kelly left I must've closed my eyes a bit too long as I sat in my easy chair, because I heard Reagan joke to Ash "the old people can't hang!"

Rather than object, I just kept my eyes closed and played possum while they drunkenly giggled at one another. After about ten minutes passed The Proclaimers songCap in Hand came on and I had to muster all the strength I possessed to stifle a groan. When the Scottish song was over I realized I no longer heard Reagan or Ash, so I opened my eyes and saw they had slipped out at some point.

I turned the music down and headed upstairs wondering if they had gone to the guest room to fool around. When I got to the top of the steps I could see that the door was open, the room was empty, and someone had left the closet light on. I may not be a dad, but I'm still not paying to light up the whole neighborhood, so I went in to turn it off.

Flipping the switch darkened the room enough that I could see through the window that the patio light was on. When I looked down I saw Reagan and Ash in one of the Adirondack chairs where Kelly and I had our morning coffee.

Ash was seated in the chair and Reagan was straddling him as they kissed. His hands were all over her back, but he didn't seem to be brave enough to try her ass. Based on the frenetic pace of Reagan's gyrations I am just about certain he wouldn't have been rebuffed if he made a move.

College kids from Fundamentalist Christian schools can obviously be big prudes, even when drunk.

The more I stood there in the dark perving on them, the more my eyes adjusted to my surroundings. There was just the one light that faced the patio, but between that and my night vision sharpening I could get a much better view of what was going on beneath me.

Reagan was now grinding her crotch hard on Ash's lap while they haphazardly made out. It became more and more obvious to me that Ash was a bit of novice at all of this, but I still wanted to see where it was going.

Reagan eventually stood up and pulled Ash's legs up so that his feet were flat on the patio, causing his knee to raise up about 3 inches off the edge of the chair. Then she lowered herself down on to his left leg, and pulled one of his hands up and under her sweater as she resumed grinding with renewed vigor.

Seeing my 18 year old niece dry humping this good young Christian guy was just the right amount of fucked up to really turn me on. I pulled my cock out and started tugging at it from my hidden perch in the room they were about to share.

The more she grinded, the harder I got, and when he used his free hand to grip at the back of Reagan's sweater he did me the amazing favor of pulling it up just enough to expose the top of Reagan's thong, sticking up out of her shamrock PJ bottoms.

As an avowed panty fetishist, seeing my niece's panties while she rode this clueless dude was both an instant turn on, and the inspiration to go even further with my little obsession. Pants still open, and cock bobbing around, I used my phone to light up the floor of the guest room looking for soiled underwear.

None, damn it.

I went into the bathroom across the hall and didn't see any in there either. I did catch my own reflection in the mirror though, and was a bit startled how crazed I looked. I went back to the room and flipped Reagan's suitcase open and saw an absolutely bonkers amount of clothing for a 4 day visit, and an empty laundry bag, but no dirty panties.

I guessed that she hadn't showered yet since she arrived that afternoon, so I returned to the window feeling a bit defeated. By now Reagan had her hands on Ash's shoulders - almost as if she was holding him down - and she was thrashing about on his leg, either doing a great impression of an orgasm, or coming like a natural. Or the daughter of a natural.

When she was done she got down on her knees and made for Ash's belt, but he stopped her. He stood up and dragged her up off her knees and said something to her as if he was lecturing her. She pivoted on her heel and started to walk away.

I penguin-walked out the room and down the hall to the master suite, not even bothering to put my cock away. I laid down on the bed and retrieved the baggie containing our waitress from Aruba's panties and started sniffing them as I jerked off to Reagan's Instagram pictures on my laptop.

I was just about to come when I heard Reagan and Ash talking as they climbed the stairs. Once their voices dyed down I intensified my sniffing, staring, and stroking and brought myself to a truly satisfying climax.

As I laid there cleaning up I heard what I was pretty sure was the shower down the hall. I took that opportunity to slip downstairs to ensure that everything was turned off. Of course, I found all the lights still on and the music still softly playing, so I remedied that and straightened up a bit in the kitchen.

I poured myself another Jamison and returned to my chair where I downed it in one go. I decided to wait for whoever was in the shower to be done. As I heard more footsteps from above indicating that the second person was now showering, I laid my head back and smiled to myself, enjoying the events of the night and waiting for the all-clear so I could return to bed.

I never made it. This time I fell asleep in the chair for real, and when the sunlight came in through the curtains a bit after 7:00, I woke up with a clear head, but a stiff neck. I went into the kitchen to put my glass in the sink and accidentally knocked over the still open bottle of Jameson, losing about two thirds of it in the process.

I frustratedly mopped up the counter and threw the rag in the sink before heading upstairs to get a bit of horizontal sleep before the other three woke up.

At around 9:30 my phone buzzed with a text from Kelly.

I'm guessing from the stench in the kitchen that you decided to one up me after I turned in last night. I hope the kids weren't a bother. I'm taking them shopping and for lunch at Chesterfield Towne Centre. See you when we get back

That meant that I had the house all to myself for a few hours. I made a pit stop in the bathroom to piss, and this time the mirror showed a calm version of me rather than the lunatic I appeared to be in the same situation the night before.

I went into the guest room and there, balled up on the floor were Reagan's shamrock PJ's, but no panties inside. I looked around the room for a second before remembering the plastic drawstring bag in her suitcase. Kelly always used one for her dirty laundry when she traveled and it was a case of like mother, like daughter.

I opened the bag and pulled her balled up panties out like the prize they were. I took them to my room and - speaking of "like mother, like daughter" - I was absolutely expecting that Reagan's would smell just like Kelly's, only, they didn't. I'm not sure if I was disappointed that they had their own unique smell or exhilarated by it.

There was no doubting that I was over the moon to be holding this tiny, soiled, scrap of black nylon and spandex to my nose though. I groaned as I rolled my hips from side to side while stroking my dick with the other hand.

I didn't really have a fully fleshed out plan, but I guess I had just assumed that I would pull up Reagan's Insta again to look at pictures while I stroked. Instead, inspiration struck and I jumped off the bed and opened the closet. I rooted through the hamper looking for a pair of Kelly's panties, and once I had secured what I was after I returned to my stroking; alternating between smelling mother & daughter's private scent... sister and niece.

As I got closer to the edge I started stroking myself with Kelly's panties wrapped around my throbbing cock. The soft feeling of the fabric on my sensitive head was amazing, and that coupled with deeply inhaling Reagan at the same time was more than I could take. I twitched and spasmed as my come shot into Kelly's panties and I left them hanging there, coated with my come as my body went totally slack.

After I cleaned up I reluctantly returned Reagan's panties to her little laundry bag and awaited their return. I was just finishing up a very late lunch when I heard them pulling down the driveway.

Reagan and Ash got changed and headed out into the woods for a bit of a hike. I cautioned them to be sure to not wander past the crumbling stone wall which marked the edge of our property, since our neighbors took their privacy even more seriously than we did, plus they were well armed.

As soon as they were gone Kelly came over and kissed me deeply before laughing and telling me how horny she had gotten the night before while dancing with her daughter's friend-who-is-a-boy.

"I went to the apartment and rode Kong till I fucking passed out." Kelly said sounding very proud, and rightfully so. Kong was our name for the fantasy dildo we had bought a few months before. It was pretty big at the tip of it's tentacle but positively massive at it's base.

"Goddamn Pat, I would love for you to watch me fuck that guy..." Kelly began, but despite having come twice in the past 14 hours I was overcome with the need to fuck her.

So I put my had over her mouth and then spun her around and forced her to bend over the kitchen table. I reached around and unbuttoned her jeans, yanking them to the floor but leaving them on her ankles above her shoes.

My pants quickly followed and I spit in my hand and slathered her pussy with it. It wasn't often that I wanted to fuck anyone like this - especially Kelly - but the previous 24 hours had me horned up beyond belief. So, I grabbed her by the hips and just started railing her, no foreplay no dirty talk just grunting and pelvis slapping into ass.

The first few thrusts were rougher than was ideal, and I began to think about adding more spit, but the harder I fucked Kelly the wetter and wetter she got.

"Fucking slut." I grumbled, quickening my pace.

I wasn't thinking a bit about Kelly's pleasure, but she never needed much help. As the sweat began to drip off the end of my nose and chin Kelly fought to free one of her arms from between her chest and the table and pushed back on me hard enough to create a small opening to slip it beneath the table to rub her clit.

Naturally, when I planned on using my big sister solely for my own pleasure she enjoyed it so much that she came before I could. Feeling her come on my dick as I pounded her like this on our kitchen table tripped my wires and I unloaded inside her.

I staggered back to the counter and pulled my jeans and boxers up as Kelly lay there panting. She cupped her hand over her pussy and shimmied over to the half bath before sitting on the toilet.

"Where did that come from?" she called through the open door.

"I guess I got pretty horny watching you dancing around with Ash last night too!" I lied.

----

Reagan and Ash returned from their hike and I grilled dinner for all of us, nothing Irish in sight. The rest of the weekend was more of the same, and aside from Kelly seemingly being obsessed with the idea of fucking the good young Christian guy her daughter had brought along, and me subtly checking Reagan's ass out at every opportunity, it was a nice family weekend.

Sunday they headed back to school and Kelly brought all of her stuff back to our shared bedroom. That night we had more normal sex, but even while I was inside her my mind was occupied with my secret.

Not ten feet from our bed was my temporary hiding spot for the pair of Reagan's panties from St. Paddy's night. On the Sunday morning I had snuck back into the guest room and swiped them while they all ate brunch.

After we both came my mind was awash with a jumble of thoughts and emotions ranging from excitement and an odd pride all the way to guilt and familiar nagging shsme. Naturally, Kelly picked up on my odd mood.

"Pat, I can tell something is wrong. What is it?"

I lied and told her I was just overtaxed from the kid's visit, which was a dick thing to do, because she was already worried that they had bothered me. Seeing how much my lie bothered her only made me feel like a bigger piece of shit.