Midnight Secrets: Brother Sister Taboo Sleep Sex Story

The first time I felt her lips wrapped around my cock, I thought I was dreaming.

It was the kind of dream that feels too real—the warmth, the wetness, the gentle suction that made my hips buck involuntarily beneath the sheets. I was twenty-two, home from college for the summer, sleeping in my childhood bedroom with the window cracked open to let in the humid July breeze. My parents had long since gone to bed, the house settled into that heavy silence that only comes after midnight.

And there was my sister, kneeling beside my bed in the darkness.

I didn't open my eyes. Not fully. Through slitted lashes, I watched her silhouette against the pale moonlight filtering through the curtains. She thought I was asleep—deeply, profoundly asleep, the kind of sleep that follows three beers and a long day working construction with my uncle. She thought I was oblivious to the world, lost in blackness, unaware of her presence.

She was wrong.

But I didn't stop her.

My sister Emily was nineteen, home for the summer after her freshman year at state university. She'd blossomed in the nine months since I'd last seen her—filled out in all the right ways, her body transforming from the gangly teenager I remembered into a woman with curves that made my throat tighten when I caught her in a bikini by the pool. She'd cut her hair short, a pixie cut that framed her heart-shaped face, and her green eyes seemed to hold secrets I couldn't quite decipher.

Now those same eyes were fixed on my crotch as she slowly, carefully, pulled back the thin sheet covering my lower body.

I slept in boxer briefs—tight, dark blue cotton that left little to the imagination when I was hard. And I was hard. I'd been having a dream about Jessica from my economics class, her red lips wrapped around my shaft in the library bathroom, and my body had responded accordingly. Now my erection strained against the fabric, a thick ridge that tented the material obscenely.

Emily's breath caught. I heard it—the sharp intake of air, the trembling exhale. Her hand hovered over my groin, hesitating, and I wondered if she would stop. If sanity would prevail and she'd creep back to her room across the hall, leaving me with nothing but the memory of her shadow in my doorway.

Instead, her fingers hooked into the waistband of my underwear.

She pulled them down slowly, inch by inch, revealing my cock to the humid night air. It sprang free, thick and veined and pulsing with the heartbeat I could feel thundering in my ears. Eight inches of rigid flesh, the head swollen and dark, a pearl of pre-cum already beading at the slit. I was bigger than average—thick enough that girlfriends had commented, long enough that deep-throating was always a challenge.

Emily stared at it for a long moment, and I saw her tongue dart out to wet her lips.

Then she lowered her head and took me into her mouth.

The heat was shocking. Wet, velvety heat that enveloped my shaft as her lips sealed around my girth. She couldn't take me all—not on the first try—but she worked me with enthusiasm, her tongue swirling around the sensitive underside of my crown, her hand wrapping around the base to stroke what she couldn't swallow.

I kept my breathing steady, forcing myself to maintain the rhythm of sleep even as my balls tightened and my cock throbbed in her throat. This was insane. This was wrong. This was my little sister, the girl I'd taught to ride a bike, the girl whose scraped knees I'd bandaged, the girl whose prom date I'd threatened to kill if he laid a hand on her.

And she was sucking my cock like a porn star.

She'd done this before. That much was clear from her technique—the way she hollowed her cheeks, the way she used her tongue to massage my frenulum, the way she timed her breathing to take me deeper on each downward stroke. This wasn't experimental fumbling. This was practiced, deliberate, skilled cocksucking.

My mind reeled. How many times had she done this? How many nights had she crept into my room while I slept, thinking me unconscious, and used my body for her pleasure?

Because she was getting off on this. I could hear it—the soft, wet sounds of her mouth on my flesh, the occasional muffled moan that vibrated against my shaft. And beneath the sound of her sucking, I could hear something else: the rhythmic rustle of fabric, the wet slap of fingers against flesh.

She was touching herself. My sister was masturbating while she blew me.

The realization sent a jolt of electricity through my groin. I risked opening my eyes a fraction wider, peering through my lashes to watch her. She'd pulled her nightgown up around her waist—one of those oversized t-shirts she slept in, thin cotton that did nothing to hide the shape of her body. Her legs were spread wide, her left hand working furiously between her thighs while her right hand pumped my shaft in time with her bobbing head.

I couldn't see her pussy from this angle, but I could imagine it. Pink and wet and swollen, the same pretty pink as her lips that were stretched so obscenely around my girth. She'd be dripping, I knew—dripping with arousal, her clit throbbing, her hole clenching around nothing as she fantasized about her brother's cock.

The thought was too much. I felt my orgasm building, that familiar tension coiling at the base of my spine, my balls drawing up tight against my body. I wanted to warn her, to tell her I was about to cum, but that would mean admitting I was awake. That would mean confronting the reality of what we were doing.

So I let it happen.

I came in my sister's mouth with a groan I couldn't quite suppress, my hips bucking upward, driving my cock deep into her throat. She gagged slightly—just a little, just enough to make the sound wet and messy and perfect—and then she swallowed. I felt her throat convulse around my shaft as she took my load, gulp after gulp of thick, hot cum disappearing down her throat.

She kept sucking through my orgasm, milking me dry, her tongue cleaning every drop from my sensitive flesh. When I finally stopped pulsing, when the last tremors of my climax faded, she pulled back slowly, her lips making an obscene popping sound as they released my spent cock.

I watched through nearly-closed eyes as she straightened her nightgown, as she carefully pulled my underwear back up to cover my softening length, as she arranged the sheet just as she'd found it. Then she stood, her legs unsteady, and I saw her face for the first time in the moonlight.

She was beautiful. Flushed and disheveled and absolutely radiant with satisfaction. Her lips were swollen and wet, her eyes heavy-lidded with arousal. She hadn't cum yet—I could tell from the way she moved, the restless energy in her body. She'd finish herself in her own room, I realized. She'd lie in her twin bed across the hall and fuck her fingers into her dripping pussy while she tasted her brother's cum on her tongue.

The image made my cock twitch, already stirring back to life despite the orgasm she'd just wrung from me.

She paused at the door, looking back at me one last time. For a moment, I thought she knew. I thought she saw the gleam of my eyes in the darkness, realized I was awake, understood that I'd felt every second of her forbidden ministrations.

But then she smiled—a small, secret smile that made my heart stutter—and slipped out into the hallway, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

I lay in the darkness for a long time, my mind racing, my body humming with confused arousal. What the hell had just happened? And more importantly—what happened next?

The next morning, I found Emily in the kitchen, pouring cereal into a bowl with the casual nonchalance of someone who hadn't spent the previous night committing incestuous acts on her sleeping brother.

"Morning," she said, not looking up. "Coffee's fresh."

"Morning," I managed, my voice rougher than I intended.

I studied her as I poured my own coffee, searching for signs of guilt or awkwardness. There were none. She was wearing a tank top and sleep shorts, her nipples visible through the thin fabric, her legs tan and smooth beneath the table. She looked like any other college girl home for the summer, not like someone who'd swallowed her brother's cum twelve hours earlier.

"Sleep well?" she asked, finally meeting my eyes.

There was something in her gaze—a challenge? A test?—that made my pulse quicken.

"Like the dead," I lied. "You?"

"Fine," she said, her lips curving in that secret smile again. "Had some weird dreams, though."

"Oh yeah?"

She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Sexy dreams. The kind you're not supposed to have."

My grip tightened on my coffee mug. "About who?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She stood, taking her cereal bowl to the sink, her hips swaying in a way that was definitely intentional. "I'm going to the pool later. You should come. Mom and Dad are visiting Aunt Sarah this weekend, so we'll have the house to ourselves."

She emphasized the last word, her eyes holding mine for a moment too long before she sauntered out of the kitchen, leaving me with a hard-on and a head full of questions.

I spent the day in a state of perpetual arousal, my mind replaying the previous night's events on an endless loop. Every time I looked at Emily, I saw her kneeling beside my bed, her lips stretched around my cock, her hand between her legs. Every casual touch—her hand brushing mine as she passed the salt at lunch, her shoulder bumping against me as we watched TV—sent electricity through my veins.

By evening, I'd made a decision. If she wanted to play this game—if she wanted to use my sleeping body for her pleasure—then I was going to make sure she got everything she was hoping for. And more.

I waited until our parents left for Aunt Sarah's house, their car disappearing down the driveway with promises to be back Sunday evening. Emily was in her room, presumably getting ready for our "pool time" that had somehow stretched into an entire weekend alone.

I went to my room and prepared. I stripped naked, leaving my clothes in a pile on the floor—unusual for me, but I wanted to make things easy for her. Then I lay on my back on top of the sheets, my arms spread wide, my legs slightly parted, my cock already half-hard with anticipation.

And I waited.

The house was quiet. I could hear Emily moving around—footsteps in the hall, the sound of her bathroom door opening and closing, water running. Time stretched, minutes feeling like hours as I lay exposed and vulnerable, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Finally, my door creaked open.

I kept my eyes closed, my breathing deep and even, playing the part of the sound sleeper. I heard her pause in the doorway, heard her sharp intake of breath as she took in the sight of me—naked, erect, waiting.

"Andy?" she whispered.

I didn't respond. Didn't move. Let her think I was oblivious.

She approached the bed, her footsteps soft on the carpet. I felt the mattress dip as she sat beside me, felt her hand hover over my chest before gently touching my shoulder.

"Andy?" she tried again, her voice barely audible.

When I didn't wake, she grew bolder. Her hand traveled down my chest, over my stomach, to the thatch of hair at my groin. Her fingers wrapped around my shaft, and I had to fight not to gasp at the contact. She stroked me slowly, her grip firm and knowing, bringing me to full hardness in seconds.

"God, you're beautiful," she whispered, more to herself than to me. "So fucking beautiful."

She lowered her head, and I felt her breath on my cock a moment before her mouth enveloped me. This time, I didn't have to pretend to be asleep—I could let myself feel every sensation, every flick of her tongue, every suction of her lips. And god, it was better than I remembered. The wet heat of her mouth, the way she worked my shaft with her hand in tandem with her sucking, the occasional hum of pleasure that vibrated through my flesh.

I let my hips move, just slightly, just enough to thrust deeper into her throat. She took it, moaning around my girth, her free hand going between her legs just like the night before.

But tonight, I wasn't going to let her stop at a blowjob.

Tonight, I was going to fuck my sister.

I waited until she was fully absorbed in her task, her head bobbing eagerly, her fingers working her clit beneath her nightgown. Then, slowly, I opened my eyes.

"Emily," I said, my voice thick with sleep and arousal.

She froze. Literally froze, my cock still buried halfway in her mouth, her eyes wide with shock and fear as they met mine.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. The air between us crackled with tension, with the weight of what she'd been caught doing, with the terrible, wonderful knowledge that the game was over.

Then I reached down and stroked her hair, my fingers tangling in her short pixie cut. "Don't stop," I whispered.

Her eyes went even wider, if that was possible. She pulled back, my cock slipping from her lips with a wet sound, and stared at me. "You're awake," she breathed.

"I've been awake," I admitted. "Last night, too. I felt everything, Em. Every lick. Every suck. Every swallow."

She turned crimson, her face flushing from her chest to her hairline. "Oh my god. Oh my god, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—I just—"

"You just what?" I asked, sitting up, my cock bobbing between us, still slick with her saliva. "You just wanted to suck your brother's cock? You just couldn't resist sneaking into my room and using me while I slept?"

"I—" She stammered, unable to meet my eyes. "I'm so sorry. I'll go. I'll never—"

I caught her wrist before she could flee, my grip gentle but firm. "I didn't say stop," I said softly. "I said don't stop."

She looked at me then, really looked at me, and I saw the moment understanding dawned. The fear in her eyes transformed into something else—hunger, need, the same desperate desire I'd seen in her face the night before when she'd swallowed my cum.

"You want this?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"I want you," I corrected, pulling her closer. "I want my sister. I want to know what it feels like to be inside you. I want to make you scream loud enough that the neighbors hear. I want to fuck you until you can't walk straight."

Her breath hitched, her chest heaving. "That's... that's so wrong."

"It's the hottest thing I've ever heard," I countered, and I kissed her.

It was our first kiss, and it was electric. Her lips were soft and tasted of mint and something uniquely Emily, something I'd unknowingly craved my entire life. She melted into me, her resistance crumbling as my tongue swept into her mouth, claiming her, marking her as mine.

We kissed for what felt like hours, exploring each other's mouths with desperate hunger. My hands roamed her body, finally free to touch her the way I'd been fantasizing about all day. I cupped her breasts through her nightgown, feeling her nipples harden against my palms, then pushed the fabric up to bare them to my gaze.

They were perfect. Full and round with pink, puffy nipples that begged for my mouth. I leaned down and captured one, sucking hard, and Emily cried out, her hands clutching my head, holding me to her breast.