In Dreams

The following story contains descriptions of close family members engaged in entirely inappropriate activities that some may find either disturbing or hot. If you find blood relatives fantasizing about or taking liberties with each other or otherwise behaving in very naughty ways, then you probably should stop reading right about…now.

All characters in this story are fictional and are eighteen years or older. Any resemblance to any real person, living, dead or under the age of eighteen, is in your own filthy mind. Sadly, most of the events portrayed in this story are not based on true events. I wish.

If you are still reading and are not offended by MILF or SILF or BILF and believe siblings behaving in very naughty ways is hot, I hope you enjoy this story.

Alyssa was wearing a bra and panties, but nothing felt out of the ordinary. With her back to me, she didn’t see me staring. You would have stared, too. Not that her lingerie was particularly sexy, just cotton–white with some pale pink accents the color of her lips. It’s the fact that my sister normally does not hang out with me wearing only her underwear.

Her milky skin looked so pale and wonderful. She was down by the water looping a rope like there was a boat, but I did not see one. Each time she looped another strand of the rope, the motion flexed muscles barely visible beneath that pallid skin in a way that made turning away impossible.

When she finished with the rope, she undid her bra and slipped out of it. From where I stood, side-boob swayed alluringly, and I struggled for a better view, but she kept her back to me, turning slightly to the side as she looked for more rope on the dock. Her breasts looked larger naked than in real life, more like they were back when she was in college and she weighed more than 100 pounds.

“Where is it?”

I neither knew where or what it was, nor did I care, but maybe looking for it without wearing those panties might help. I didn’t make that suggestion, though. I just watched.

Suddenly, a familiar sensation began. Warm liquid sprayed on me as I felt powerful jets of pleasure, and I realized they were one in the same. I was lying in bed, in the dark, with my own jism shooting inside my shorts. My hands were at my sides as it was doing it all by itself. Several seconds passed until I came to the realization this was a wet dream, and the orgasm continued for much longer than I ever considered possible until that night.

The underwear I slept in was soaked by the time I stopped coming. Only then did I look over at my wife, sleeping quietly beside me. Moving as slow as possible, I slipped out of bed and scurried to the bathroom to wash off, careful to make as little noise as possible because the last thing I wanted was my wife to find me washing schmoo off my stomach in the middle of the night.

This was the first wet dream I could remember, and for years I felt gypped because I had been deprived them. It was freaking amazing! The power and quality of the orgasm was more than I ever expected when I hoped for wet dreams since I first heard of them more than a decade before.

The only strange part was the dream that gave it to me.

My sister lives a few hundred miles away, and we don’t see each other often since we each got married. Holidays, mostly; once or twice a year. Nothing planned this year until Christmas. She is three years younger than I and, although she had always been gorgeous, never before had she appeared in any dreams such as this. We talk on the phone once a week. I suppose every guy has the occasional fantasy about their sister–particularly when theirs is a hot redhead like mine–but we were basically an ordinary brother and sister.

Something about that wet dream made it impossible to get out of my mind.

The phone rang the following Saturday afternoon as she made her weekly check-in call. Everything was fine. Her kids were just starting elementary school. Just chatting about ordinary things. She did not mention her husband.

“I had a funny dream about you the other night.”

Same here, I thought, but instead said, “Oh, really? What was funny about it?”

Her voice had a light quality, the sound of someone smiling. “We had a boat, I think, although I didn’t see it. I was trying to get it ready to tie up to the dock, and you weren’t helping. You were just standing there. I asked if you knew where the boat was, but you never answered, just stood there behind me doing nothing.”

A strange numb feeling swept over me. Is it possible she was describing the same dream? I waited a few seconds, gathering my composure, before I asked in a totally casual, joking way, “Were we wearing proper yachting wear, captain’s hat and all?”

“No, that’s one of the funny parts. You were in a blue bathing suit that looked like boxer shorts. And I was… Well, that’s about all I remember.”

I was dizzy. I was wearing blue boxers that night. In fact, I had to sneak them down to the washing machine in the middle of the night so my wife didn’t find them covered with an alarming amount of dried spunk in the morning.

“That is a funny dream,” I said, so stunned I could not say much more. After that, our conversation sort of trailed off, as though neither of us had much to say. I was afraid to say anything.

It was a grand ball, held in a palace full of gilded furniture underneath crystal chandeliers lit with real candles. Everyone there was from another time, at least a century before. Women in colorful, full dresses shaped like bells, men in morning coats with those striped gray pants, some wearing top hats. I stopped at an oval mirror on the wall to make sure my uniform looked impeccable, and it did. White military jacket decorated with dozens of medals, and I had the most amazing bushy sideburns that grew down into a full mustache.

I make quite a dashing dandy!

Women were dancing in a grand circle with handsome gentlemen, but I was lost. The mirror confirmed what I looked like, but that is about all I knew. No one else in the entire ballroom looked even vaguely familiar.

“Hello, Captain!”

It was Alyssa, dressed in a red gown that matched the sash across my shoulder. It was one of those with a bustier that pushes up the boobs so nicely, and hers formed the top curves of a perfect heart. “Shall we dance?”

“Of course!”

I have never taken a ballroom dance class in my life, but we spun around the dance floor like we were floating on a cloud. She was light in my arms, and I held her up with one hand at her waist, her hand on my shoulder, holding the other out away from us. Her skin was warm to the touch.

“I can’t dance,” she said.

“Don’t worry; I’ve got you!” And I spun her like I was fricking Fred Astaire and she was Ginger Roberts.

Her hair was done up in a Victorian style bun with red curls hanging down from it, and she wore a pearl necklace.

The music stopped, but I held onto her and she to me. I tried to unzip her dress right there in the middle of this elegant crowd, but she had no zipper, only a never-ending series of tiny round buttons up the back, so I started unbuttoning them.

For whatever reason, she did not object. Instead, she leaned close, full lips painted an unusual bright red close to mine. So, I kissed her, and she kissed me.

Our tongues danced like we had danced a moment ago. Her lips were so soft and her tongue attacked mine hungrily. No matter how I tried, the buttons were endless, but I kept unbuttoning them, each time I got one, she seemed to kiss me more passionately.

The orgasm awakened me from the dream. If anything, it was more intense than the first one, and lasted longer. Cum must have continued shooting out of me in unbelievably ecstatic waves for close to a full minute. The amount of jism was truly prodigious. I swear, it was the most powerful orgasm I could remember ever having.

It was hard to wait until that weekend, and this time, I called her. With only one thing on my mind, I somehow kept it to the boring details of a boring week until I just could not stand it any longer.

“This week, it was my turn to have an interesting dream.”

A long pause at the other end. “Oh, what was yours about?”

“You were in it.” I tried to make my voice sound casual as possible, but that was hard. “There was this grand ball, like from a European court in one of those movies, maybe in the 1800s. You were in a red ballgown and I had this white uniform and the craziest mustache thing you have ever seen.”

“The kind attached to your sideburns?”

“Exactly!”

There was more silence at the other end. “What else do you remember?”

“Not much. We waltzed, and we were good, too. And…” now I paused, not sure whether to tell her, but decided to see what her reaction might be, “I think we kissed.”

“And?”

“That’s when I woke up.”

“Woke up?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Was it weird?”

“What, the ball?”

“No, the kiss.”

Hmm. Interesting response. Still not sure where she was going, but I had the sneaking suspicion she had a similar dream, so I decided to tell her the truth. “It was kinda hot.”

“Listen, I hear the kids up to something. I probably should go.”

Shit! Should have kept the last part to myself. After we hung up, I could not shake the feeling she had the same dream, too, just like we shared the same dream the week before. Had I upset her by admitting that I enjoyed it?

We were swept up in a flood.

Alyssa clung to me, her arms around my neck and legs wrapped around my waist so her crotch was tight against mine. Her wet cheeks rubbed against mine, and when we turned to look around, our lips brushed against one another. I was hard as a wooden nightstick, and rubbing between her legs like it was guaranteed that was not about to change any time soon. I held her hips to keep her close.

It wasn’t particularly realistic, because in such a situation you’d expect to be ground to paste between an uprooted oak tree and a car floating by. That didn’t matter, because it was totally hot. Firm breasts pressed against me as she held me tight. The water flowed fast as in a river of whitewater, and each movement of the flow rubbed her crotch against my woody. I could feel her ankles crossed in the small of my back, and her face was against mine. Drops of water covered her face, and now her lips touched against mine, panting against each other.

Something floated by that looked like a barn, with animals standing on the roof, and we watched it go by and laughed.

We were in the exact position we might be if screwing, if making love, but we were fully dressed and just trying to keep our heads above water. Somehow, we did not sink despite neither of us making any effort to swim.

I blew my wad staring into her gorgeous sapphire eyes this time, then I woke up as waves of cum shot into my boxers.

Alyssa sounded strange that weekend when she called. I probably sounded a bit off, too. We literally had nothing to say. Kids are okay, work is okay. Health is okay.

Her voice tailed off, then she asked, “Can I ask you something strange?”

I was counting on it. “Sure.”

“Did you have any dreams this week?”

“Did you?”

“You start.”

I swallowed hard. “Okay, there was this flood. We were both in it…”

“And I was holding onto you?”

“And I was holding onto you.”

“Did you see anything floating by?”

“Like a barn?”

“With goats and cows standing on the roof?”

“Exactly.”

Silence.

“What is going on?”

“I have no idea.”

A minute passed in silence. Two. I imagine she was having as much difficulty thinking of words to say as I was. The silence was harder than anything we might confess to, so I asked, “How can we be having the same dreams?”

“I have no idea.”

“Let me ask you this: does anything else happen?”

“What do you mean?” By the sound of her voice, she understood exactly what I meant, just didn’t want to be the one to admit it first.

“Like, something that is not part of the dream. When you wake up.”

“Oh my god! You, too?”

“Do women have wet dreams?”

“I guess so! I never had one before this.”

“Alyssa, did you dream about the ballroom, too?”

“Yes.”

“Did we kiss in your dream?”

“Yes. And you were trying to take my dress off but were having trouble with the buttons.”

“And the one at the dock–in your dream, what were you wearing?”

“Lingerie. Well, I was, but I took my bra off, for some reason.”

“Okay, this is all so weird! I have to ask, but did you climax in each dream?”

“Well, maybe not in the dream, but I did when I woke up.”

Much of the next part of our conversation dealt with the impossibility of what we were experiencing. Yet, there was no escaping the undeniable fact that we were having the same dreams at the same time. And getting off on them.

Let me tell you, once admitting to sharing simultaneous orgasms with your sister, it creates a new form of intimacy that allowed us to speak more freely than we probably ever had.

The weird thing is, getting off on my sister did not turn me on nearly as much as knowing she got her rocks off dreaming about me. That is so damn hot! During the rest of the conversation, I was hard as if she was grinding against me in a flood.

“What do you think this all means,” she asked.

I had no idea, and told her so. “One thing for sure, these aren’t simply dreams. It’s more like ESP or telepathy or something.”

“How can you say we aren’t just, you know, perverts of something? I mean, with all the issues I’m going through with Dale and all, I can see myself having deviant sexual fantasies out of frustration intended to punish myself at the same time.”

This was the first she’d mentioned having marriage problems. Then again, this was probably the first time we had discussed orgasms in the whole of our lives. As I said, this had turned the dial on our intimacy level up to 11. “Sorry, I had no idea. But it can’t explain the rest of the dreams. The boat dock, the Royal ball in the next, the flood. Those are way too random and specific and not related to anything we have discussed or experienced to explain away.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Then tell me: what are we going to do about this?”

Far as I was concerned, there was no need to do anything about it. Unless she had some plan to have our dreams more often than once a week, I had no intention of interfering. In that moment, though, this did not seem like the right thing to say. The last thing I wanted was to seem more eager to have our dreams than her. “What do you mean?”

“Well, should we just be letting whatever this is happen?”

“If we don’t know what it is, what choice do we have?”

“Exactly my point! What is this? And, who or what is causing it? If this is some sort of, oh, I don’t know, astral projection or mind control or something, which one of us is doing it?”

“You mean, which one of us is the deviant getting into the other’s head?”

“Well, one of us is doing it–somehow. We need to find out which one it is–then we take it from there. Pick a night.”

“Tonight?” Damn it! So much for playing it cool.

“Wow. Really?”

“Why wait to get to the bottom of this?”

“Oh yeah. Good point.”

Whew! “What are we doing tonight?”

“You pick what we are dreaming about. Don’t tell me, just write it down. Better yet, schedule a tweet to come out tomorrow with just the theme. That will prove you wrote it before we discuss what happens in our dream.”

“Like Lady Godiva riding on horseback or bound & gagged or something?”

“Wow. Just wow. Thirty years old, and just now I realize what a pervert my brother is.”

“I’m not going to use those. Just brainstorming.” Although the mental image of my sister riding nude on horseback, slow-motion, boobs bouncing, thighs spread wide across the horse’s back? Yeah, it made me even harder thinking about that one. “In that case, why don’t you pick tonight? That way, you can set the mood. I’ll take, say, Tuesday night.”

“Sure, that’ll work. And if we have a dream on one of those nights, then we will know for sure.”

The minute we hung up, I went to the bathroom, locked the door and rubbed one out imagining my sister with her gorgeous red hair grown down to her waist riding through town bareback, naked as a jay-bird. In super-slow motion.

The strangest part is, good as masturbating felt, it had barely a fraction of the power of the orgasms in our wet dreams.

A book was laying on the table, so I picked it up to check it out. I was on the cover, my shirt wide open and blowing in some breeze, my chest as bare as before puberty but with muscles much bigger than I had back then. Bigger than I have now, for that matter. Abs covered with baby oil. My hair looked like Fabio’s.

 

My Brother’s Keeper

 

 

by

 

 

Alyssa

 

Hmm. Sounds interesting, I thought, and sat down to read. I suppose I knew it was a dream, but it did sound like a titillating book. There was a bookmark about fifty pages in, so I picked up where I left off.

“Under a full moon, there in the garden cloaked in a dark cape stood a mysterious figure. My heart leapt. Although it was too dark to make out his features from this distance, I knew right away it was Jean-Claude.”

Jean-Claude? Since I was a kid, everyone has called me J.C., including Alyssa, but it stands for Jason Charles. Oh well, I guess a book can’t be too literal, right?

As I started reading again, the book became a movie and I became Jean-Claude waiting in the garden for a surreptitious, clandestine meeting with my lover. Alyssa ran to me, wearing a dress similar to the one from the ball, although in the moonlight, it could have been red or black or any other color. Her boobs pushed up by a tight bustier jiggled with each step and glowed bright in the lunar light.

“Oh, I am so glad you came.”

“How could I not, my Lady? Today has been pure torture, waiting until our agreed-upon meeting.”

She stopped a step away and we held both hands out between us.

“You look beautiful, even in the dark.”

“If the Duke finds out we are meeting like this, he will have both of our heads.”

“Better to lose my head for a chance to be with you than to regret never coming to you for all the days of my life.”

I pulled her into my arms and we kissed, a deep, passionate, intense kiss. The best of my life–or hers. We held each other close in our arms, melting into each other’s embrace. Her body, so tiny and frail yet full of life, of passion. My head swam. Her tongue was the sweetest and softest candy, melting in my mouth. I loosened the ribbon down her back holding her corset in place, threading it through, and she turned to allow me to begin disrobing her. When loose, she turned again, holding it in place, allowing it to slowly slip away to reveal the most perfect alabaster orbs.

Her nipples faded in the dim starlight to the pallid color of her breasts, with only a hit of their shape visible. She smiled nervously, her breath deep and halting, heaving her breasts up in the most remarkable manner…

BOOM! I awakened in the middle of the most intense orgasm of my life. Cum was flowing out so fast and so heavy, each spurt shooting out with the most amazing pleasure imaginable. Scratch that–it was about ten times more pleasure than any orgasm of my life, and the struggle it took to not scream and wake up my wife lying six inches away took the last of my self-control.

Holy fucking shit!

If my sister does not sit down and write a regency romance novel about Lady Alyssa and Jean-Claude so I can find out the rest of their story, I may actually lose my fricking mind!

I checked her Twitter feed first thing in the morning. All it said was Romance Novel. But she had a link to a book, and on the cover was a guy looking exactly like I had looked on the cover, only it was Fabio, and standing behind him was Lady Alyssa, red hair, milky skin and all, wearing the corseted dress from our dream.