Forced Mouth, Forced Climax-Brother Sister Incest Story in 1879

The year was 1879. The Alabama sun hung low and merciless over the oak-lined drive of the Whitfield plantation, turning the air into a thick, shimmering haze. Cicadas screamed from the magnolias. The cotton fields beyond the house shimmered white under the heat. Inside the big house the shutters were drawn against the glare, but the heat still crawled in, sticky and relentless.

Nikki Whitfield was nineteen, the younger sister of the household’s only son. She had grown into the kind of woman the overseers whispered about when they thought no one could hear: full breasts that strained the bodice of every dress she owned, a narrow waist that flared into generous hips, and a soft, rounded bottom that moved with a natural sway no amount of corsetry could tame. Today she wore a thin white muslin day dress, the kind meant for cool parlors. Beneath it she had left off her drawers entirely—the heat made every layer unbearable. The soft folds of her sex brushed against the fabric with every step, already damp.

George was twenty-three, tall, dark-haired, and recently returned from a year in Charleston managing family interests. He had always watched his sister with a hunger he never named aloud. Today that hunger had teeth.

They met in the upstairs hallway after the noon meal. The house was quiet; the servants were in the kitchen gardens or resting in the shade. George caught Nikki’s wrist as she passed the linen closet and pulled her inside. The door shut with a soft click. Dust motes danced in the thin bar of light from the keyhole.

“You’ve been walking around like that all morning,” he said, voice low. His eyes dropped to the front of her dress where her breasts pushed the thin cloth outward. “No drawers. I can see the outline of you when the light hits right.”

Nikki’s cheeks flushed, but she did not pull away. “It’s too hot, George. Everything sticks.”

He backed her against the shelves of folded sheets. One hand rose and cupped the heavy underside of her left breast through the muslin. The soft weight filled his palm. He squeezed, slow and deliberate, feeling the nipple harden under the thin layer.

“These,” he murmured, “have been driving me mad since I came home.” He pinched the nipple through the cloth, rolled it, then pinched harder until she gasped. “You walk past me in the parlor and they bounce. You lean over the tea tray and they nearly spill out. I’ve thought about nothing else.”

Nikki’s breath came quicker. “George… we shouldn’t—”

He silenced her with a kiss that was more claim than affection, then turned her roughly so her back was to his chest. Both hands came around and filled themselves with her breasts, lifting, squeezing, thumbs circling the stiff peaks. The thin muslin grew damp where her nipples pressed against it. He tugged the neckline down until the full, pale globes spilled free, heavy and warm in the dim closet. He gathered them, pressed them together, and lowered his mouth to suck one nipple deep while his fingers worked the other. Nikki’s head fell back against his shoulder. A soft, helpless sound escaped her.

“Quiet,” he ordered against her skin. “Or I’ll take you downstairs and do this in front of the house.”

He kept sucking, hard pulls that made her toes curl, while his free hand slid down her stomach, gathered the skirt, and found the bare, slick heat between her thighs. No drawers. Just soft folds already wet. He pushed two fingers inside without preamble. Nikki’s hips jerked.

“You’re soaked,” he said, voice rough. “For your own brother.”

He fucked her with his fingers while he continued to maul and suck her breasts, leaving the nipples dark and glistening. When she started to tremble he pulled his hand away, spun her again, and pushed her to her knees among the folded linens.

“Open.”

Nikki looked up, lips parted, eyes wide. George unfastened his trousers and freed his cock, already thick and flushed. He took her by the hair and guided the head to her mouth.

“Suck.”

She hesitated only a second before the pressure of his hand forced her forward. The broad head pushed past her lips. He did not let her ease into it. He held her head and thrust deeper, until the tip bumped the back of her throat and she gagged. Spit ran down her chin. He pulled back only enough for her to gasp, then pushed in again, using her mouth with steady, relentless strokes.

“That’s it. Take it. You’ve been walking around this house with those tits and that bare cunt all day. This is what you get.”

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, but her hands stayed on his thighs, not pushing away. He fucked her throat until her face was wet and her breathing ragged, then pulled free with a wet sound. A string of saliva connected her swollen lips to the head of his cock.

“Upstairs. Your room. Now.”

They moved quickly through the empty hallway. Inside Nikki’s bedroom the shutters were half-closed; bars of golden light cut across the four-poster bed. George locked the door, then stripped her dress the rest of the way off. She stood naked in the heat, breasts rising and falling, the soft thatch between her legs dark with moisture. He pushed her onto the bed on her back, climbed over her, and straddled her chest.

“Hold them.”

Nikki cupped her own heavy breasts and pressed them together around his cock. George thrust into the soft valley, the wet head sliding between the warm flesh, nudging her chin on every stroke. He reached back and pinched both nipples hard enough to make her cry out. The pain mixed with the heat and the forbidden thrill until her hips lifted helplessly off the mattress.

He kept fucking her tits until the skin was shiny with precome, then moved down her body. He pushed her knees wide, stared at the open, glistening sex, and drove two fingers back inside. He curled them, found the spot that made her thighs shake, and rubbed without mercy while his mouth closed over her clit and sucked.

“George—oh God—”

He did not stop. He forced the orgasm out of her with relentless pressure, fingers pumping, tongue working, until her back arched and a broken cry tore from her throat. Her cunt clenched hard around his fingers, soaking his hand. He kept going through the aftershocks until she tried to close her legs and he simply held them open.

“Again.”

He forced a second climax almost immediately, this one sharper, almost painful in its intensity. Nikki’s voice cracked. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes into her hair. Only then did he pull free, wipe his wet hand across her breasts, and flip her onto her stomach.

He dragged her hips up until she was on her knees, face pressed into the pillow, ass raised. The soft cheeks parted under his hands. He spat into his palm, rubbed the moisture over the tight pucker of her anus, then pressed the head of his cock against it.

“George, wait—it’s too—”

He pushed. The ring of muscle resisted. He pushed harder. Nikki’s cry was muffled by the pillow as the thick head forced its way inside. The stretch burned. He did not stop. Inch by inch he sank into the tight heat until his hips met her soft bottom. She was panting, trembling, the pain sharp and bright.

“Breathe,” he ordered, though his own voice was strained. “You’re going to take every inch.”

He began to move. Short, shallow thrusts at first while her body adjusted, then longer, deeper strokes that dragged against the sensitive ring. Nikki’s hands fisted in the sheets. The pain slowly bled into a dark, heavy pressure that made her clit throb again. George reached around and found the swollen bud, rubbing it in firm circles while he fucked her ass with steady, claiming thrusts.

“Feel that? Your brother’s cock in your tight little hole. You’re going to come on it.”

He increased the pace, the wet sound of his hips meeting her flesh filling the room. One hand stayed on her clit; the other reached under and squeezed a swinging breast, pinching the nipple hard. Nikki’s moans turned high and desperate. The forced friction, the forbidden stretch, the relentless fingers on her clit pushed her over a third time. Her body locked, the tight channel fluttering and clamping around him as she came with a broken sob.

George did not slow. He fucked her through it, then harder, chasing his own release. When he finally buried himself to the root and spilled, the hot pulse of it deep inside her made her shudder again.

He stayed inside a long moment, breathing hard against her back, then slowly withdrew. Nikki collapsed onto her side, thighs trembling, the evidence of him leaking from her used hole. George lay beside her, one hand still possessively cupping a soft breast, thumb stroking the sore nipple.

Outside, the Alabama sun continued its slow descent. Inside the locked bedroom the air smelled of sex and sweat and the faint scent of the magnolias drifting through the shutters. Neither of them spoke for a long while.

George eventually rose, cleaned them both with a cloth from the washstand, and helped her back into the thin muslin dress—still without drawers. He kissed the top of her head, then the reddened tips of her breasts, and left her sitting on the edge of the bed, legs pressed together, the lingering ache between them a secret only the two of them would ever know.

That night at supper, under the formal candlelight and the watchful eyes of the household, Nikki’s cheeks stayed faintly flushed. Every time she shifted in her chair the soreness reminded her. Across the table George met her eyes once, briefly, and the corner of his mouth curved.

The summer was only beginning.

The following days the heat never broke. Thunderheads gathered on the horizon each afternoon but refused to deliver rain. The plantation settled into a drowsy, oppressive rhythm. George found reasons to keep Nikki close—sending the housekeeper on errands into town, inventing correspondence that required her presence in the study, waiting until the servants had retired before walking the upstairs corridors.

On the third afternoon he took her in the formal parlor while the rest of the house slept through the worst of the heat. He sat in the high-backed leather chair, trousers open, and pulled her astraddle him. Her dress was hiked to her waist; her bare sex settled over the hard length of him. He did not enter her immediately. Instead he made her rub against him, the slick folds sliding along the underside of his cock while he filled both hands with her breasts and sucked one nipple, then the other, until they were dark and sensitive.

“Look at you,” he murmured against her skin. “Riding your brother’s cock like you were made for it. No drawers, tits out, already dripping.”

When he finally lifted her and lowered her onto him, the stretch made her gasp. He held her hips and fucked upward in short, deep thrusts, the wet slap of their bodies the only sound in the quiet room. One hand stayed on her breast, squeezing and rolling the soft flesh; the other reached between them to circle her clit. He forced another orgasm out of her before he allowed himself to finish, flooding her while she trembled and clung to his shoulders.

Later that same day he bent her over the writing desk in the study, skirts shoved up, and took her from behind while she tried to keep quiet. The position let him reach around and play with her hanging breasts the entire time, pulling and twisting the nipples in time with his thrusts. When she came he felt the rhythmic clench around him and only then pulled out, turned her, and pushed her to her knees again so she could clean him with her mouth. He held her hair and used her throat until he was hard once more, then took her back to the bed and finished in her ass a second time, slower, watching her face as the burn faded into reluctant pleasure.

By the end of the week the pattern was established. Whenever the house was quiet, whenever the heat made the air too thick for anyone else to move, George found his sister. He sucked and pinched and mauled her full breasts until the nipples stayed permanently sensitive. He made her kneel and open her mouth whenever he wanted. He forced orgasm after orgasm from her until she was limp and oversensitive, then took her the way he preferred—deep in her cunt or stretched tight around his cock in her ass—until he was spent.

Nikki never locked her door against him. On the hottest afternoons she would leave off the drawers deliberately, walk past his study with her hips swaying just enough, and wait. The forbidden nature of it only sharpened every sensation. The knowledge that any servant could walk in, that the entire household believed them proper brother and sister, made every forced climax more intense.

One particularly brutal afternoon the temperature climbed past anything the house had known that summer. The air itself seemed to press against the skin. George found Nikki in the upstairs gallery, leaning against the railing in nothing but a thin shift, the fabric clinging to every curve. He did not speak. He simply took her hand and led her to the large copper bathtub that had been filled earlier for a cooling soak that never happened.

He stripped the shift from her, guided her into the lukewarm water, and climbed in after. The tub was large enough for both of them. He settled her astride him again, breasts floating just above the surface, and spent a long time simply playing with them—lifting, squeezing, sucking the wet nipples, watching the water bead and run down the soft slopes. When he finally entered her it was slow, almost gentle, the water making every movement slick and quiet. He brought her off twice with his fingers on her clit while he stayed buried deep, then turned her so she faced away, bent her forward over the rim of the tub, and took her ass with the same deliberate pace. The water lapped against their skin. Nikki’s soft cries echoed off the tiled walls. When he finished he stayed inside her, arms wrapped around her middle, hands still cupping the heavy weight of her breasts, until the water cooled and the sun began to drop.

That night, after the household had gone to bed, he came to her room again. No pretense of heat or opportunity. He simply locked the door, undressed her, and laid her out on the sheets. He spent nearly an hour on her breasts alone—kissing, biting, sucking, leaving faint marks that would be hidden by high collars the next day. Then he made her suck him until his control frayed, flipped her onto her stomach, and fucked her ass until she came with a muffled scream into the pillow, the pain and pleasure tangled so tightly she could no longer separate them.

Afterward he stayed. In the dark he traced idle patterns on her soft stomach, occasionally returning to cup a breast or brush a fingertip over a still-sensitive nipple.

“This is ours,” he said quietly. “No one else will ever know. You’ll walk around this house every day with my marks under your clothes, and I’ll know exactly how wet you get when I look at you across the dinner table.”

Nikki turned her face into his shoulder. She did not disagree.

Outside the plantation the cotton waited under the moon. Inside, the brother and sister lay tangled in the humid dark, the forbidden line they had crossed now a permanent part of the summer that would not end.