Family Snapshots: Solo Trio

Nisan 15, 2024 Yazar admin 0

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Author’s Note: This is what happens when I try to write short fiction, if you’re curious. 10,000 words. I could probably have made it shorter, perhaps split it into chunks, but the tale would have seemed, to me, to be incomplete.

There may be more Snapshot stories if this one is well-received. I’ve a few ideas for scenarios and tales that might suit the format so if I get positive feedback I may write a few extras. If not, no loss.

I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know if you did.


Oh, here’s a good shot of us.

There’s a bit of a story attached to this one, too. You’ll like this one. Actually, this is what made me get into Instagram in the first place.

That’s me on the left, my little sister on the right and our big brother in between. He jokes every so often about how the two of us fight so he’s spent more time in the middle than I have, just trying to keep us apart. That was true when we were kids but as you can see from that photo we’re not kids any more.

Hmm? Oh, it’s only a few years old. I know, I look a lot younger. I blame the lighting. And the stupid haircut.

My sister made me get that haircut just for the night. My hair’s that sandy blonde naturally but I prefer it long enough to tie back comfortably. My friends say it’s girly’ but it’s not like I give a shit. Male pattern baldness runs in my family so I’m damned if I’m not going to enjoy my hair while I’ve got it!

I know, right? Stupid costumes. That’s Hallowe’en for you, though.

We don’t celebrate it much over here in Australia. At least, not like you Americans. A few neighbourhoods try the trick-or-treating thing but it’s usually a bit of a bust. Even fewer decorate their houses, possibly to discourage the trick-or-treaters.

Aussies are nothing if not eager for an excuse to get badly pissed, though.

Over here if there’s celebrations among the adults then it’s a theme night at a club or a piss-up at a mate’s place. That night was… kind of both.

Sure, flick through the other pics if you like. Sit back and I’ll tell you about this story while you do.


My sister talked me into it, like she does with everything.

It was just the two of us at first. We’ve all grown up – well, okay. That’s not true. We’re all legal adults but I suppose that’s not the same thing. Harry, our elder brother, he’s all grown up in every way you can think of – stable job, respectable reputation, wife, kids, own home – and yes, it even has its own white picket fence. Harry’s got a sour kind of sense of humour and I’m willing to bet my left nut that his wife didn’t get the joke.

Carrie and me, though… Carrie’s still at university, doing her sixth year or something, studying palaeontology (of all things). Me, I’ve got a couple of part time jobs I do that add roughly up to a full-time one and I live in a shit hole in the suburbs. No, okay, that’s not true either. I used to live in a suburban rat’s nest. Now Carrie and I share a house that’s much nicer than anything we used to have separately – but when this photo was taken, yeah. Shit hole. She was in a tiny loft apartment that was literally two rooms – a bath and toilet in one, everything else in the other one.

Meanwhile Harry lived in a four bedroom fucking townhouse. Interstate, too, actually. He moved out of Victoria years before that photo.

No, he never moved back. But he visits sometimes. We don’t visit him. He doesn’t like us to.

Like I was saying, though, my sister talked me into it.


“Mark, shit, it’ll be fun!”

“Ehh.” That was the best response I could give. It didn’t seem like much, even to me, so I said it again. “Ehh.”

“Ehh,” she threw back, mocking me. “Look, you just need to let me cut your hair -“

“I don’t fucking think so,” I retorted, but I already knew from past experience that I was going to give in. Carrie knew it, too. It was a game, this back-and-forth, one that we played out for the sheer hell of it. She liked convincing me and I didn’t mind being convinced.

“Please? For me?” Carrie looked up at me, her lovely eyes wide and dark. Her voice carried that tone that seemed to both plead and pout at the same time. Sure enough, her bottom lip was just starting to curl in a petulant manner that we both knew was utterly affected.

I sighed at her. Carrie isn’t a manipulative bitch – at least, she’s not very good at it – but I knew that part of her wanted to be. To be that kind of woman who got what she wanted by tugging at heart strings and toying with affections. In truth, I never really could say no to her, mainly because of how I was brought up. Everyone babied Carrie growing up. Now that our Dad was gone, Harry interstate and Mum in a new relationship of her own, it was really only me who bothered to keep up that ‘tradition.’

Carrie kept watching me, one of her hands keeping a lazy, teasing beat on my cock and the other toying with her pussy between her legs as she knelt in front samsun escort of me. Every now and then she leaned forward to lick the head of my dick or suck on it a little but her eyes never left my face, barely even blinked.

Okay, yeah, the scene probably needs a bit of context.

See, my sister and I had been fucking on and off for most of the year. She was twenty-four at the time, I was twenty-six and Harry twenty-nine. That was, what, two years ago? Nearly three? About that. It’s a long story as to how we got to that point but let’s say that bathing suits, angst and a lot of alcohol were involved. Once the dams had burst, though, there was no stopping us. None of our family knew and frankly they had no reason to suspect; Carrie and I had always been close. Hell, we even fooled around once in high school because she wanted to see a dick and I’d never seen a pussy. You know, in real life. We’d both seen porn. That would probably have devolved pretty quickly, now that I think about it, if Dad hadn’t almost caught us.

Anyway, in our twenties we took the plunge and became lovers. My sister’s a bit of a raging slut but I only have one lover – her – mainly because I’m not good with social stuff at the best of times. I know, I know, but it’s different over the internet. You know how it is.

That’s the really rough backstory, anyway. If you like this one enough I might even tell you how we got started in the first place but for now, she’s sucking my cock. Let’s get back to that.

My sister is a hell of a pretty woman. She got our Mum’s dark hair and fine skin, the faintest smattering of freckles which make her look so damn cute it should be illegal, a heart-shaped face and a willowy frame that apparently came from Dad’s side. Her tits are a glorious handful but no more than that and her butt is tight and small. She’s short, too – another thing she got from our mother, though Mum was a much bustier lady than Carrie is.

Me, I’m your average guy, I guess. I got Dad’s sandy hair and light eyes but I’ve got the same heart-shaped face and I have to work out to actually keep any weight at all on my body. My cock – the one that Carrie was running her hand up and down – is only a bit above average but it has a neat upward curve and it rides high, near my belly, when it’s fully hard.

Carrie had me fully hard. She bit her lower lip without realising she was doing it and having no clue how crazy it made me (because I was sure never to admit it).

“Fuck me?” she suggested, unable to keep the grin off her face.

I picked her up and carried her over to her bed. We were at her place, you see, and the living room – well, the only room that wasn’t the bathroom – had her huge queen-size bed pushed up against one wall. It had black sheets on it and they were already badly rumpled; I’d stayed the night before and had made sure she had plenty of reason to sleep soundly.

There I lay her down and bent my head to lick at her inner thigh. She pulled at my shoulder, just wanting me to fuck her, but I shook her hand off. She’d gone down on me and it felt wrong not to repay the service. I made my way up her leg to kiss gently at the mound above her sex but I have to admit I didn’t take as long as I usually did. She wasn’t the only one worked up.

Two fingers slid into her pussy, testing and feeling along the front wall, teasing the thick bump there with a come-hither gesture that made her legs twitch. I kissed around her pussy, lapping now and then at the thin lips – Carrie has one of those ‘innie pussies,’ as she puts it, with minimal and neat labia minora – before finally nudging at her already-swollen clit in its hood. My lips closed around it and soon I was sucking on it, as slow and lazy as her hand had been on my cock before, carefully timed with the beat of my digits.

I don’t really know if Carrie is naturally orgasmic or I’m actually good at pleasuring her. I guess both might be true. Either way it wasn’t long before her spine was twisting and she pulled a pillow over her face, biting into it to stifle the moaning. The woman in the flat below knew I’m her brother and she had to have heard the noise we made the previous night but she never said anything to us. Still, Carrie preferred not to disturb her as she was always at home – she was a writer, I think. If she was writing erotica I can imagine the two of us had given her heaps of material already.

I didn’t let Carrie cum but she got real close. I very nearly missed it but as soon as I saw how close she was I let go, moved up and thrust forward. I missed, my slick cock running over her clit, but it’s hard to tell if she noticed it wasn’t intentional. She moaned, though, so I sawed my rod along her button for a while, watching her white skin go flush with red as her arousal climbed.

Then I put my hand down, angled myself carefully and pushed forward as far as I could go.

Carrie bucked under me, her chest heaving up and her mouth falling slack, her moan of urfa escort approval loud in the flat as the pillow fell away. On a whim I tossed it out of her reach and she gave me a wry smile. My sister is loud – not a screamer, but loud – and I had no problem with her neighbour hearing me fuck her.

My balls touched her arse as I bottomed out in her hard, hearing the soggy wet smack of my flesh against her pussy. That tight coin-slot got amazingly wet when we were together. I wondered to myself, as I pulled out of her almost all the way and then rammed back home, whether she got that wet with all her lovers. Then I wondered why the thought of her fucking other people never made me jealous.

Every single stroke I could feel her cunt – her hot, molten cunt – loosen to let me in and then grip hard when I pulled out. Th effect was amazing, like she was wanking me while I fucked her, trying to trap me deep inside where I had no choice but to spill my seed. Her body desperately wanted babies and mine was mad with desire to give them to her; that’s biology for you. Neither of us wanted kids, though, and Carrie was on the pill, so it was unlikely that brother-sister infants were in our future.

But damn if the thought wasn’t exciting.

I rocked my cock in her, grinding my pubic bone over her clit. She pushed up, pressing her breasts with their rock-hard nipples into my chest as we kissed hungrily, desperately. She shifted my hand to wrap it around her throat and I knew that signal. Tightening it enough to make her breath rasp a little, I closed the other one around her hip for leverage.

Then I began pounding her hard, fucking her with a vengeance, Screwing her insatiable cunt like it had offended me somehow. I could feel her back wall stretch every time I slammed into her and I knew that the angle was dragging the head of my cock over her g-spot again and again. I wanted to cum in her, to fill her until she was dripping on her sheets and I could feel my orgasm fast approaching. I tried slowing down but Carrie just started bucking her hips against mine, keeping it fast and groaning her pleasure.

There’s no way to explain how much I get turned on by Carrie’s sex noises. Every one seems to be an encouragement and an approval, a demand to be fucked longer, deeper, harder. I knew she had a regular stable of studs she kept herself satisfied with and I couldn’t blame any damn one of them. Hell, I guess I was one of them.

The hand around her throat tightened until she couldn’t breathe and I only vaguely registered her face turning a bright, beet red. Then she tapped my wrist, I let her go and she let out a long- ragged scream-moan as orgasm ripped through her. The depths of her hole boiled and turned to liquid as her cum burst out, gushing up around my cock to drench my flesh and soak the sheets. It wasn’t often that Carrie squirted but when she did it was a sure sign she was delirious with pleasure.

“I’m close, sis,” I warned her, my voice louder than it probably should have been, but I suddenly wanted the woman in the room below to have no doubt what we were doing. This wasn’t just great sex, it was filthy, glorious incest. “I’m gonna cum soon, sis…”

She giggled breathlessly when I called her ‘sis,’ something I never really do. No doubt she guessed why.

“Cum in me,” she moaned, “cum in your little sister’s disgusting, wet cunt! She’s a fucking slut, cum in her!” A bit over the top, maybe, but we were playing up to the whole thing. Dirty talk always got us both red hot, in any case.

“Y-you stupid whore,” I stammered, partly because I was so close to bursting but also because I hadn’t mastered the skill of calling Carrie filthy names, as much as she loved it.

“I am,” she squealed, gleeful, “I’m a stupid whore! Fuck your stupid whore sister!”

“Whose whore are you?” I growled, my face screwing up with my effort to keep my orgasm in a little longer.

She didn’t hesitate. “Yours! I’m your fucking whore, your dumb cock-slut, I’m a worthless little cunt who belongs to her big brotherrrrr!” The last word trailed off into a real scream, this time, as she came again and much harder. I felt her juices splash hard against me and I just couldn’t take it any longer.

I pulled out and moved up, kneeling over her. My fist moved in a blur over my shaft and I came thick, ropy splashes of spunk that arced up and then fell on her glorious tits, her adorable face, her flat belly, her dark hair, shoulders, the sheets under us. I couldn’t hear anything for the blood pounding in my ears but I could feel her hand frigging her pussy hard, forcing herself to keep cumming, gushing her juices for as long as she could.

Then I collapsed next to her and we panted wordlessly, wrapped in one another’s arms.

In the relative silence that followed we both suddenly heard a noise, one that set us both laughing.

The woman downstairs was applauding.


What Carrie was trying to convince me of, by sinop escort the way, was to attend a dress-up party that one of her friends was holding at a function room the next weekend, on Hallowe’en. Specifically she wanted to coordinate costumes. As you can see from the photo she managed it better than she’d hoped. Three Star Wars outfits, one for each of us.

Yeah, our names. It’s no coincidence. My parents went to see Star Wars in the cinema as soon as it got to Australia, way back in the 70s. Harry – short for Harrison – Mark and Carrie. They figured it was less obnoxious than calling their kids Han, Luke and Leia. I guess they were right but it’s always kind of dogged us, you know? Carrie’s a crazy Star Wars fan-girl, even had her Princess Leia costume already made because she’d worn it to conventions before. We worked together to get my Whiny Farmboy Luke outfit in shape, though to be honest she did most of the work because I can’t sew and she wouldn’t have trusted me to try in any case.

Harry? Yeah, good ol’ Interstate Harry. He was there too, obviously. Neither of us actually knew he was going to be, though, until the day before the party when he knocked on my door.

Which was sort of awkward because Carrie and I had been fucking like mad and she was having a shower.

I was sitting in the lounge room in a dressing gown, having had a (far shorter) shower before my sister when the knock came. Not the doorbell, but a knock.

Now, the doorbell’s obvious. It’s right there and even has a whimsical little brass plaque underneath it that reads ‘PUSH ME,’ a relic from some former tenant that I hadn’t bothered to pull off the door frame. So the fact that whoever was at the door – yeah, it was Harry, but pretend for a moment that it isn’t obvious – they’d consciously ignored the doorbell or were really, really fucking unobservant.

I looked over at it, pretty stupidly I bet, in complete surprise. There was a pause and then another knock, somewhat more impatient this time. Shrugging and pulling the dressing gown tighter around me I went over to see who, oh who, could be a-knocking.

Harry looked like he’d been crying, but not recently. His eyes were that pink of weep-recovery, not the angry how-fucking-dare-you-burst-my-capillaries-with-your-woe red. Still, it was weakness and that was weird. Harry was never weak, never vulnerable – and almost never, you know, at my doorstep.

“Harry, what the hell? Come in,” I added, a bit sheepishly, holding the gown shut extra tight. “What’s happened? You didn’t say you were coming down.”

“Hey, Mark,” my brother said, his voice holding firm but nonetheless betraying a tremble that said he was only just keeping it together. He looked around my place and smiled his crooked half-smile, the one I’m sure he perfected by actually watching Harrison Ford. It was as if he’d never seen my shit-hole flat before which, of course, wasn’t true.

I braced for the inevitable snarky comment about the state of my home. It didn’t come.

That worried me just as much as the signs of his recent tears.

“Sit down, I’ll get you a cup of septic coffee,” I joked, trying to prompt the interplay but Harry just nodded. “Shit, no comments about the state of the kitchen or the slum I live in? What the hell’s shaken you up so much?”

He didn’t answer at first. Instead he lifted his head and tilted it as if listening. Harry threw me a sidelong glance, the smirk replaced by a look of confusion.

“You left the shower running, or something?” he asked.

I froze, eyes wide.

Carrie. I’d forgotten about Carrie. Fuck.

“No, I, um -“

“You’re getting some? Hah,” he nodded, no humour in his voice but no resentment either. “Lucky you. At least one of us is.”

I frowned. It no secret that Harry’s marriage to his wife Bethany (no clever Star Wars reference there, which had always seemed for some obscure reason to annoy Carrie), was not exactly idyllic. At least that’s how I would have put it. Harry would have said it ‘has its difficulties’ and Carrie would have used a lot more f-bombs. I probably should have guessed as soon as I saw him that Bethany had something to do with his current state. Who else could get him that shaken? Hell, he was a rock when Mum died.

“Things aren’t, um, going too… well?” I asked, carefully not answering his question. What was I going to say? ‘Why yes, my brother, actually I’ve been fucking carrie for about ten months?’ I don’t think so. I stayed by the kettle as it boiled, a neat glass-bodied thing with a blue light inside that I’d bought at K-Mart for the princely sum of bugger-all.

“You can say that again,” Harry sighed, rubbing his face, looking over to add, “but don’t. So who’s the girl? Should I leave?”

I didn’t get the chance to answer because just then Carrie walked out.

Naked, of course.

Because the implication alone wasn’t going to be awkward enough.

Harry’s eyes went wide. So did Carrie’s. I covered my face. The kettle clicked off so, with the obvious intention of not looking anyone else in the face, I bent to the task of making coffee. Without asking Carrie I took down another mug for her and one for myself as well, reaching for the teabag tin.

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