Jedediah Yoder was twenty-two, broad-shouldered from years of plowing fields, with a thick beard that still looked new and hands the size of dinner plates. His sister Priscilla was twenty, soft-spoken, with the kind of full hips and heavy breasts that the plain dresses of their Amish community could never quite hide. They lived on the family farm just outside the settlement, the rest of the household having gone to a neighboring district for a three-day barn-raising. The house was quiet. The only sounds were the distant lowing of cows and the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of the butter churn.
Priscilla sat on the wooden stool in the kitchen, both hands working the plunger up and down. Her simple blue dress was damp with sweat between her breasts. The afternoon heat made the fabric cling to her thighs. She hummed an old hymn under her breath, lost in the steady work.
Jedediah came in from the barn, shirt already unbuttoned from the heat. He stopped in the doorway and watched her. The way her arms flexed. The soft bounce of her breasts with every push of the churn. The faint outline of her nipples against the thin cloth. His cock stirred hard and fast, the way it always did when he looked at her too long.
He had been fighting it for years.
Today he lost.
He walked up behind her. Priscilla felt the heat of him before she heard the soft rustle of fabric. She turned her head just as he shoved his trousers down. His cock sprang free—thick, veined, and so long it nearly reached his navel even half-hard. It thickened further under her stare, the heavy head already glistening.
Priscilla’s eyes went wide. Her mouth fell open.
“Ooh my, brother… look at your gigantic cock.”
The words came out soft and stunned, almost reverent. She had caught glimpses before—when he washed at the pump, when the nightshirt rode up—but never like this. Never this close. Never this hard and heavy and aimed straight at her.
Jedediah’s voice was rough. “Been hard for you since breakfast, sister. Watching you churn that butter… thinking about you on your knees instead.”
Priscilla’s hands stayed on the plunger, but they had stopped moving. Her cheeks flushed deep red beneath the white prayer covering. She licked her lips without realizing it.
“It’s… it’s a sin,” she whispered.
“Then we’ll both burn,” he said, and stepped closer until the hot length of him brushed her cheek.
She turned fully on the stool. Up close the size of him was almost frightening. She wrapped one hand around the shaft and her fingers didn’t meet. She stroked once, slow, feeling the heat and the pulse under the skin. Jedediah groaned like a man in pain.
Priscilla leaned in and licked the head. A thick bead of precum smeared across her tongue. She moaned at the taste and opened wider, taking as much as she could. Her lips stretched obscenely around the girth. She bobbed, gagging softly when he hit the back of her throat, but she didn’t pull away. She wanted more.
Jedediah buried his hands in her hair, careful not to knock the covering off completely, and fucked her mouth in slow, deep strokes. Spit ran down her chin and onto the front of her dress. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes from the sheer size of him, but her hand stayed between her own legs, rubbing desperately over the thick fabric of her undergarments.
He pulled free with a wet pop. A string of saliva connected her swollen lips to the head of his cock.
“On the table,” he ordered.
Priscilla stood on shaky legs. Jedediah lifted her like she weighed nothing and set her on the edge of the heavy wooden table. He shoved her dress up to her waist, yanked the plain undergarments down her legs, and spread her thighs wide. Her cunt was already soaked, the soft pink folds glistening.
He dropped to his knees.
The first long stroke of his tongue made her cry out. He licked from her entrance up to her clit, slow and filthy, then did it again. When he sealed his mouth over the swollen bud and sucked, her back arched hard. He slid two thick fingers inside her and curled them while his tongue worked relentless circles.
Priscilla’s thighs started to shake. “Jedediah—brother—I’m going to—”
He didn’t stop. He sucked harder, tongue flicking fast, fingers pumping. The pressure built until it broke. She came with a broken scream, cunt clenching around his fingers, and then she squirted—a hard, sudden gush that soaked his beard and the table beneath her. The orgasm rolled on and on, mind-blanking, her whole body jerking as another wave of fluid pulsed out of her. She sobbed his name, hands fisting in his hair, riding his face through every aftershock.
Jedediah kept licking until she was trembling and oversensitive. Only then did he stand, cock in hand, and drag the thick head through the mess between her legs.
“Ready for me, sister?”
“Yes,” she gasped. “Please—put it in me.”
He pushed in slow. Even soaked and open from the orgasm, she was tight. The head stretched her wide. Inch by thick inch he fed himself into her cunt until his hips met hers and she was completely full. They both groaned.
He fucked her in deep, steady strokes at first, letting her feel every ridge and vein. The table creaked under them. Priscilla’s breasts bounced with every thrust; he yanked the front of her dress down so he could suck on one nipple while he pounded her. Her second orgasm hit harder than the first—cunt spasming around him, more fluid squirting out around his cock and running down his balls.
He pulled out before he came, flipped her onto her stomach over the table, and spat on her tight little asshole. Priscilla looked back over her shoulder, eyes wide but hungry.
“That too?” she whispered.
“All of you,” he growled.
He worked the head against her rim, patient but relentless, until the muscle gave and the fat tip popped inside. Priscilla cried out—pain and pleasure tangled. He pushed deeper, slow, until half his length was buried in her ass. Then he started to thrust.
The stretch was brutal. She clawed at the table, moaning broken Amish prayers that turned into curses and then into pure filth. “Harder, brother—fuck my ass harder—”
Jedediah gave her what she asked for. He fucked her ass with long, powerful strokes, one hand reaching under to rub her clit. She came again, squirting across the floor, body shaking so hard she nearly collapsed. He followed her over the edge with a roar, burying himself to the hilt and pumping thick ropes of cum deep into her ass.
He pulled out slowly. Cum dripped from her open hole. Priscilla was a wreck—dress half-off, prayer covering crooked, thighs shiny with her own juices and his seed.
But Jedediah wasn’t finished.
He turned her around, pushed her to her knees on the kitchen floor, and stroked his still-hard cock. “Open.”
She did. He painted her face in thick, hot ropes—across her cheeks, her lips, her tongue, even a stripe over one closed eyelid. Cum dripped from her chin onto her bare breasts. She looked up at him, smiling through the mess, and licked her lips clean.
They didn’t stop there.
For the next two days, while the rest of the family was gone, they used every room in the house. He bent her over the butter churn and fucked her cunt until she squirted down the wooden sides. He made her ride him in the loft of the barn, her breasts bouncing while she took every inch. He ate her out on the porch at dusk until she soaked the boards and screamed loud enough that the cows answered. He fucked her throat until she gagged and cried and begged for more. He took her ass again in the morning light, slower this time, kissing the back of her neck while he filled her.
Every time he came he aimed for her face or her tongue or her open mouth, marking her over and over. Every time she came from his tongue she squirted hard enough to leave her shaking and empty-headed, whispering “brother” like a prayer and a curse.
On the third morning, before the others were due back, they stood together at the wash basin. Jedediah cleaned the last streaks of dried cum from her cheeks with a soft cloth. Priscilla looked at their reflections in the small mirror—his gigantic cock still half-hard against her hip, her own swollen lips and marked thighs.
“We’ll burn for this,” she said quietly.
Jedediah kissed her forehead, then her mouth, tasting himself on her tongue.
“Then we’ll burn together, sister.”
They straightened their clothes. Priscilla pinned her covering back into place. Jedediah buttoned his trousers over the heavy bulge that never fully went down around her. Outside, the first wagon wheels could be heard on the lane.
They stepped out onto the porch side by side, the perfect picture of modest Amish siblings.
Only the faint smell of sex and the wet spot still drying on the kitchen floor told the truth of what had happened while the butter was being churned.
And both of them already counted the days until the next time the house would be empty again.
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