This story is fictional and an original work. The characters portrayed are completely fictional and in no way relates to anyone living or dead. All rights reserved, unless permissioned by the author. I merely wrote this story on a whim, and I hope you enjoy.


Chapter Two

(six months later)

Chance, wearing nothing but his gray, cotton boxer-briefs, limped downstairs, favoring his good leg. His other was bruised and cut from his last fight.

"Good morning," his mother chimed, "Is your leg feeling better?"

"Yeah," he lied, "Don't worry about it."

"I swear if that coach keeps running you so hard, I'll give him something to choke on!"


"Don't `Mom" me, you've been coming home with cuts and bruises ever since we moved up here, the next time I find-"

"Mom!" he half-heartedly yelled, "Don't worry, it's alright. Promise."

His mother looked curiously at him. "Well, as long as you're okay with it," she gave in, placing a plate of pancakes in front of him, "I'll be."

"What's this?"

"What does it look like?"

"Well it looks like breakfast," he answered, cutting a piece, "but you never make it for us anymore. What's the occasion?"

"Can't a loving mother do something good for her children?" she asked sardonically. Chance raised an eyebrow, his mother laughing. He loved his mother's laughter, it sounded like a machine gun, fast and high pitched, but full of a love of life that was completely contagious. "Ask your sister," she smiled, joining him by putting three pancakes of her own on her plate.

"And that's supposed to mean...?" he looked at her.

"It means what is means, when you find out from your sister what it means. Hey, don't give me that look," she said when she saw her son pierce her with daggers through his eyes, "go find her if you want to know. `She' expressly forbade me from telling you, because `she's' the one who wants to break the news to you."

"You're a bitch," he said jokingly.

"But you love me," she responded, smiling.

"Yeah, I do," he admitted, kissing his mother on the cheek, after he finished eating. "Where is Sarah by the way?" Chance asked, rinsing his dishes in the sink.

"Jogging," she said simply.

"This early?" he questioned incredulously.

"You know how she is," she winked at him, "Just like your father."

"Yeah, I guess. I'm going to go take a shower."

"Alright, I have to show who's boss to this Sudoku puzzle anyways," she muttered looking over the morning's paper, "It's driving me nuts."

Chance pulled down his boxer-briefs, revealing a very notable package, and well toned buttocks. He stretched, hands raised, taking care with his injured leg. Looking in the mirror, he saw himself, stripped. His biceps had grown considerably, and his stomach, while not bow flex commercial buff, was nicely toned. He ran a finger over each individual muscle, a habit he did not realize he had. Stepping into the shower, he turned on the hot water knob, stepping back as the spray kicked on. After letting the water warm, he stepped under the stream, steam soon enveloping him. After washing his hair, he let his hands drift down to his member, his hands massaging his shaft, his dick soon becoming erect. Thoughts of his girlfriend, Joy, came into his mind.

They both embraced, kissing softly, then harder and more passionate as their hands found each other's. He lowered her to a bed. Giggling, she kissed his nose; she had a thing for them, for his especially. He laughed too, as he slid her shirt up her alabaster skin, her arms stretching to help him, revealing two large, supple breasts, each heaving with excitement. His hands quickly encased them, kneading the erect nipples between his fingers. She pulled his shirt up, scratching him in the process, breaking their kiss only when the cloth passed between them and over his head. He nuzzled her, cheek to cheek, slowly moving to gently nibble her ear, and rub his face in her thick, curly red hair, his only fetish. He started giving her butterfly kisses, pulling down her jeans as he went, her hips lifting up to help him. Going from her cheek, to her eyes, her nose, her lips, her chin, her neck, her breasts, her stomach, and down to her pussy, her hair as red as the hair on her head, he saw, lust overwhelming him.

Chance put his hand on the shower wall in front of him; he was about to cum.

Thrusting his tongue deep into her pink wetness, she moaned in pleasure as he alternated between playing with her clit, and lapping her juices. He looked up into her eyes...and saw his sister's face reflected back.

Cum exploded on to the wall in front of him, catching him by surprise, in the most intense orgasm in his life. He slowly sank to his knees, his sex still releasing the sticky white substance.

"Are you okay?" his mother called up from the bottom of the stairs.

He started, not realizing at until that moment he moaned loudly or at all for that matter, he never did. Panting, he replied, "Yeah, don't worry about it!" Gasping, trying to regain his breath, he shook his head, not wanting to believe he cummed to his sister's gorgeous face. No...just his sister's face. She was only his sister, and would always be his sister. Just my sister, he repeated over and over again in his head, just my

The steam on the mirror clouded over, reflecting nothing but blurs.

Hey, if anybody has any comments, criticisms, or if you want me to continue this story, then please send me an e-mail, at Thanks for reading!
Ignorance is bliss...