Date: Sat, 6 May 2023 15:22:53 +0000 (UTC) From: Jeremy Reynolds Subject: Chapters 1 and 2 of A Shared Heart (Copyright: all rights reserved. This story may be re-published with permission, in the current or in a proofed, edited form approved of by the author.) Hello! Disclaimer: I do *not* at all condone many of the behaviors depicted in this fantasy, seeing as they occur between adults and minors. In real life, someone who does what the adults in this story do are doing something very harmful. At times some of the adults discuss the morality of adult-minor relationships. These are solely the views of the characters themselves and they only serve the purpose of furthering the story along. There is also some material related to pregnancy by way of incest, that I also do not condone. Finally, there is a reference in this story to another of my stories, "A Mother's Infinite Love." The specific reference the character makes is entirely fictional. I do not want to receive any emails with any illegal or morally wrong material. I also do not want anything like dick pics sent to me. Thank you, hope you enjoy! Please email other responses to: jeremyreynolds1234@myyahoo.com. Reminder that Nifty needs your donations to provide these wonderful stories. Please use this link to make a donation: https://donate.nifty.org/) This story features themes of bisexual incest, with depictions of parents and their teenage children engaging in sexual behavior together. There are four main characters in this story: -Evan (13 years old), and his sister, Ashley (12 years old) -Their parents, Paul and Maggie The various chapters are from their various points of view, as indicated in each subtitle. Chapter 1: Evan I had been sneaking into my little sister's room for months already. I would do it right when I got home on certain days of the week, when I knew she had dance practice. It was one of those days. When I got home from school that day, I called out, "I'm home!" a couple times to make sure that I was, indeed, alone. Occasionally Dad would be here doing remote work, while Mom usually got home a bit later these days. No one answered, so I dropped my backpack on the couch in the living room and immediately ran upstairs to my room. There, I stripped off my clothes and took a moment in front of the mirror behind my door to gaze upon myself. I, Evan, was 13 years old at the time, my birthday having passed just last week. I had recently reached puberty but was still in its early stages as far as I could tell. I was taller now than I had been, my face had begun to look more manly, and day by day I was growing more body hair, in different areas. One part of my body that had changed a lot was my dick. It was so much longer and wider these days, especially when I got hard (which was frequent, even in inappropriate settings!), my balls looked and felt bigger too, and the whole of it, shaft and balls, was increasingly covered with dark, curly hairs. Strange that the hair there was dark while the hair on the top of my head was so blonde! I had begun, however, to clip and even shave those hairs on and around my privates, so when I looked at myself in the mirror just then, I saw that I was still fairly smooth. Still naked, I went out into the hall and proceeded to make my way two doors down to my sister's room. My penis, which was nearly erect at this point, bounced and bobbed as I moved. I opened her door, stepped in, and closed it softly behind me. Ashley's room was always so much tidier than mine, though she was a year younger than me. She had some of the items you'd expect in a 12 year old girl's bedroom: stuffed animals on the bed, jewelry and make-up in boxes on the dresser, photos and clip outs pasted onto the mirror and onto a bulletin board Dad had set up on the wall. She had a little desk in a corner next to a window where she kept her stationary, of which she had a large and growing collection. I went over to her dresser and pulled open the second drawer on the left side. There, I was greeted by the sight of two rows of my sister's underwear, her bras on top and her panties on the bottom. Ashley was still so young, but she had entered puberty early and had already, in such a short amount of time, developed a pair of big, bulbous breasts--or boobs as I called them. At least they were big on her, she still being rather petite overall. Our mom had went out and bought her a number of bras to give her much-needed support. I grabbed one of the bras, a white, lacy one, and slid my arms in between its straps. I expertly clasped it behind me, on my back, so that the cups were now tight against my pecs on my front. This one felt a little tighter than some of the others I had tried on. True, I was lacking the body parts that the item of clothing was designed to support, but the bra was definitely made for a smaller person, my sister, in this case. I pulled a pair of panties out of the drawer, placed my feet in its leg openings, and pulled them up until they were snug on my waist, though I hadn't yet used them to cover my dick. That's because I could see a little drop of clear ooze on the tip of my penis, the fluid being what was apparently called "precum." I was still getting used to my thing doing that whenever I got really turned on. I reached over to a box of tissues my sister had on her dresser nearby and wiped up the stuff and tossed the used tissue into her trash. I stretched the panties out a bit and pulled them up over my dick, though clearly I was too big for the thing. Looking down at myself, I could see the bottom of my shaft where the panties were being pushed outward away from my waist. I looked up at myself in my sister's mirror and ran my hands along myself on my sides, up and down a few times. I brought my hands up to the cups of the bra, and squeezed my pecs together as much as I could, trying to create cleavage. I half-turned so that I could look at my butt. The panties were so tight that I could see the top of my crack. All in all, I thought I looked pretty good! Why was I doing this, you ask? Was it because I wanted to be a woman? No, I didn't think so. I actually had some friends who identified as transgender, and whenever they related their experiences to me I didn't see myself in them at all, or almost at all. I definitely felt male, very much so. (I did sometimes think it would be really fun to have big boobs, but besides that I liked being a boy!) I think I did this, cross-dressing or whatever you'd call it, because first, it was kind of fun, second, I think I did look pretty good, and third, this being perhaps the most important reason of them all, I had a crush on Ashley and doing this helped me feel closer to her, somehow. Yes, I did have a crush on my own baby sister. You heard that right! I knew, of course, that it was wrong to feel that way about her and for a while I had tried to fight myself about this, but I had finally given up and not only began to admit it to myself that I felt this way about her, but to even actively fantasize about her and to brainstorm ways to see her naked, or to touch her. As I looked at myself in the mirror, then, I imagined it was her I was seeing, and she looked hot. She and I had always been close, having only been born about a year apart. We shared the same shade of thick, wavy blonde hair, big, sparkly blue eyes, as well as a slew of similar interests, and our sense of humor. More than that, maybe our sense of our world, the way we saw it and reacted to it, in many different situations. We had always seen eye-to-eye for the most part and had passed many of our moments feeling deeply connected to each other. I had first started looking at her in a sexual way, though, about a year ago, shortly after I had had my first wet dream. The dream, of course, had featured the two of us, she and I, locked in each other's arms in my bed, naked, with my dick pressing into her. I had woken up with that strange smelly stuff, which I later learned to be cum, soaking my underwear and the bed sheets. Later that morning I had seen her, Ashley, coming downstairs toward the living room and I had noticed, consciously for the first time, that she was very pretty. That day, she wore a plaid skirt and a blouse that she had buttoned up most of the way, leaving the top button unbuttoned so as to show a bit of her upper chest. Her legs had looked so long and smooth beneath the skirt, her calves and thighs so shapely, her butt so bubbly. She hadn't really developed breasts yet, or maybe had but as of yet they were only little buds. "Hey, Evan," she had said, smiling down at me. "What are you doing?" "Uh, nothing, sis," I had said, probably looking like an idiot, something that would happen more and more whenever I was around her. "I, uh, wanted to know if you want breakfast. I mean, cereal for breakfast." "I always have cereal for breakfast, silly, unless Mom makes us something," she had said, giggling at me for a moment before heading to the kitchen. I have been thinking about her ever since, wondering at how beautiful a woman she was becoming, marveling at how quickly her breasts had developed and how big and full they had grown in that time. I had also begun to fantasize about her and about us being together. I had done this by way of writing increasingly elaborate erotic stories in which she would somehow or other come to realize she loved me and we would end up having sweet, hot sex. I didn't know a lot about sex then, except for what I occasionally seen on TV or on the internet (this was difficult, seeing as I didn't have my own computer and had blocks on my phone at the time, and Dad kept his home office locked; I had managed to get in there anyway a handful of times but it was a super risky endeavor, too much for my taste, so I tended to avoid that these days). But despite not knowing a lot about sex, my stories were, I thought, very sexy, or were to me at least. I probably got many of the "mechanics" wrong, but that's okay since it was all make-believe anyway. I had made myself orgasm several times thinking about her, maybe while writing these stories or by jerking myself off in the shower or sometimes at night in my bed. At one point, however, I felt myself feeling intrigued by the idea of sneaking into her room. I had done so and had found her diary and had read bits and parts of it, something I still did to this day, and then I had found her underwear. For some reason or other, I had felt myself drawn to it, first just to holding it and sniffing it, maybe, but then I had desired to put them on. I had been doing this now for months, and was doing so again on the day that I'm now recounting. I went to her desk, opened one of her drawers, and pulled out her diary. I took it with me to the bed where I plopped down on my stomach. I leafed through the little book and found yesterday's entry. Though objectively there didn't seem to be very much going on in her life, she had a rich subjective, inner life, including a sensitivity to others' feelings that I found so endearing. "Mandy and Tamera were making fun of that new girl again, Chloe," she had written. "I told them that we should just leave her alone already. They said okay but they did it again later. I love my friends, but what they're doing is bad. That poor girl! Her feelings must hurt so much!" So sweet. Another excerpt from yesterday's: "Mom said that I am probably getting too big to fit into my bras today, so she said I could borrow some of hers until we went to the store again." That brought something to mind, an idea I had considered at one point not long ago and reconsidered now: how about I try on some of Mom's stuff? I mean, her underwear? She was taller than Ashley and her breasts were larger (by far), so maybe they'd fit me better? Sure, they weren't Ashley's, but Mom had offered for her to borrow them, so maybe they would kind of be her's soon. Mom's panties would be larger too, maybe large enough to fit my whole dick into. I carefully disrobed and lay Ashley's underwear back in her drawer. I also put her diary back where it had been and I straightened up her bed a bit. The panties had a little of my precum on them on the inside, so I put that pair down below some others so as to give it time to dry. The thought of her, Ashley, wearing the panties with my dried cum against her private parts kind of thrilled me. I made my way--my penis bobby and bouncing again--down the hall, past my bedroom, and then down to my parents' room. I opened the door and went inside. It was a little darker in there than it had been in Ashley's room since the blinds in the windows were closed. The bathroom was brighter, however, since my parents had a big, frosted window in there. The light cast from that window illumined the area around the open door. I made my way toward that area so as to reach my parents' dresser on the other side. I stepped into the light and glanced into the bathroom--and saw something, or rather someone, I had definitely not expected: my mother. Mom was in the bathtub, one of those old-time tubs with the twisted legs. She was laying in it, naked, her long, slender arms dangling on its sides. Her legs too, were showing, or parts of them were, she having bent one of her legs up somewhat while with the other she kind of had it draped over the side of the tub. Her big, heavy breasts were in full view, their areolas (I had looked the word up once!) looking a little pinched up around her nipples which were dark and about the size of the tips of my fingers. Her eyes were closed and her long, luscious blonde hair was hanging down toward the tile below. I stood there, temporarily forgetting my nakedness, feeling lost in looking at her, gazing at those long, smooth legs, her elegant arms, her shining hair, and of course those huge, pillowy boobs with their pokey nipples. Wow. She was a beautiful woman. Ashley was beautiful too, of course, but this woman, my mother, was a goddess. Amazing that I had never noticed before ... Just then, she turned her head toward me and opened her eyes. Her's met mine and they widened in surprise. She appeared to take a quick up-and-down glance at me, her eyes lingering a little longer over my groin, at my still totally erect and dripping dick. She brought her eyes back up to mine a second later and said, her voice somewhat broken, "Evan, hey, what are you doing in here?" "Uh, nuh-nothing," I said, finding myself swallowing hard, my mouth suddenly feeling so dry. "I didn't know you were in here." "It's okay," she said. "I got home from work early and wanted a bath ... Are you okay, sweetheart?" "Um, yeah, I am, Mom," I replied, half-believing it, half-not. "I, uh, am going to go." I seemed to have briefly forgotten that I was naked. I looked down at myself, at my hard dick, and put my hand around it, somehow thinking that would cover me up sufficiently. My balls no doubt still showed below my fist, dangling between my legs. "Okay," Mom said simply, and smiled. I made my way out of her room and came back to my own. I closed the door behind me and lay out on my stomach on my bed, my hand still down on my dick. I was breathing rapidly now, feeling both fear and something else, a thrilling feeling. I felt then about Mom what I had felt already about Ashley: a kind of forbidden desire, an exciting, invigorating experience both in my mind and in my body. I couldn't help but see Mom in my mind, her beautiful naked body on display in the tub, her huge boobs looking so full and heavy, so round and billowy. "I'm so sick!" I told myself then. "I gotta take a cold shower!" I scrambled up from my bed, wrapped a towel around myself, and headed down to the bathroom I shared with Ashley. Chapter 2: Paul I and Maggie had done our best to raise our two children right, Evan and Ashley. We had made it a point to go out of our way to acknowledge their feelings, to validate their experiences, to trust them enough to give them room to expand into hobbies and interests they enjoyed, to develop their talents. They seemed to love us for it, and in my mind they and I and their mother were all as close and connected as we had ever been. There was a minor wrench, however, to be thrown into the gears: I was a pedophile, or maybe that and a hebephile, and I was insanely attracted to both Evan and Ashley and had been since they were little. When I say that I was--or am--a pedophile, however, I don't mean that I have or would ever act on any of my urges. I knew, or thought I knew, that it would be deeply morally wrong to do so, most of all with my kids. But over the years I had grown more comfortable with my sexuality, personally at least, and had found what I considered healthy outlets for it such as reading stories on erotic websites such as Nifty.org, where themes such as adult-minor love or incestuous relationships were to be found. I would spend hours sometimes reading a good, long story, edging myself all along the way, ending my session in a powerful orgasm. I had even communicated with some authors and had heard some amazing stories about real life incest among consenting participants. I kept all this secret, of course, even from my wife. I didn't think Maggie could ever accept me if she knew. I sat now in my office, between clients, staring at a picture I had hung up on the wall. It showed me, a dark haired, tall man in my mid 30's, my wife, Maggie, blonde and voluptuous in her low 30's, and the two kids in question, Evan, 13 (now--but 9 when we had taken the photo), and Ashley, 12 (8 at the time). I honestly thought all of them were beautiful. And not just that. They were sexy, all of them in their own way, especially the kids. I know saying this makes me a pervert but I'm just telling the truth. That being said, I would never, could never, act on my feelings. Well, I had maybe messed up a few times over the years, if what I'd done counts as messing up, which I was doubtful about. For instance, when we went camping last year together at Redwood State Park, the trip where we had actually taken that photo, something happened between my son and me that some people might take umbrage with, especially if they knew how I truly felt about him. I'll briefly explain below: The trip had been going well overall. The four of us always enjoyed spending time outdoors, camping and hiking, and we had developed many meaningful traditions of so doing at this park in particular. It was fairly hot that trip, especially in the late afternoons, so it was typical of us to shower up before or sometimes after dinner. One night, I announced that I'd be taking my shower just then. Maggie and Ashley nodded from where they sat by the fire. Evan, however, spoke up, saying, "I'm going to take one too." So we had gathered our towels and things and had headed over to the bathrooms not far from our camp site. I went up to one of the four shower rooms, pulled its handle, and it didn't budge. Someone was in there, apparently not having started actually showering. Both of the other rooms were also occupied by people we had seen just going in when we walked up. Evan went over to try the fourth room and voila, that door opened. It happened to be the larger, handicap shower room designed to accommodate wheelchairs. "This one's free, Dad," Evan said. "Ok, you want to go first?" I asked. I immediately had another idea, though, one that had seemed to have popped into my head after having first traveled--apparently very quickly--up to it from my groin. "Can we shower together?" I asked. Evan appeared to be thinking it over for a second, and then replied, "Okay, I guess." "It will save us time," I added, feeling like I needed to justify this to him. "Mom and Ashley said they want to do s'mores soon." We went in and shut and locked the door behind us. We placed our things on a bench there, hung up our matching grooming bags, kicked off our boots and socks, and then stood there looking at each other. I laughed awkwardly and said, "Ok, so let's, uh, get undressed." He nodded. We both removed our shirts first and tossed them on the floor. Obviously, I had seen his bare chest dozens or hundreds of times before and he had seen mine, but right then it looked so lean and even a little muscular in certain areas, for example around his pecs, for his age and body type. I felt myself growing aroused looking down at him, and maybe just because of the situation. I could tell my penis was plumping up in my pants. "Ok, so pants?" I asked, feeling stupid that I had felt the need to ask him anything. We both unbuttoned and unzipped our pants simultaneously and watched each other intermittently as we dropped them and pulled them off, stepping out of them one leg at a time. Now we were in our underwear, me in my moisture wicking pair and he in his pale green briefs. I could see the shape of his penis behind the thin fabric, noticing that he, too, had apparently plumped up a bit. Before I could even think to ask if we could remove the last bits of clothing we had on, he slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of his briefs and began pulling them down. I quickly did the same, not stopping until my underwear was totally free of my legs and feet and I had cast it aside. I stood up straight again and saw that he had done the same. Despite feeling ashamed about it afterward, I glanced down at my son's naked body, my sight hovering over his little cock and balls a few moments. He was small, of course, not having gone through puberty yet, and completely hairless. He was sporting a semi, his 4-5 inch shaft pointing at my knees. Meanwhile, my penis was rapidly hardening, bobbing a bit in rhythmic pulses as my body pushed blood into it. I knew I'd be fully erect in no time. "Well, let's get going," I said, when our eyes met again. "Okay," he said, nodding. I turned around and grabbed some items out of our grooming bags: soap, shampoo/conditioner and a couple loofahs. I half-turned toward him and seemed to catch him looking at my butt. Whatever he had been doing, though, he averted his eyes then, looking over into the shower. "Here, son," I said, handing him his loofah. I resisted the urge to glance at his private parts again and entered the actual shower. I reached over to turn the faucet and a moderately full stream of water began coming out. I held my hand out to gauge the water's heat. After a few moments I was satisfied that it was warm enough and I stepped under the stream and briefly enjoyed feeling the warm water on my face. I turned around a bit so that the rest of my body could get wet, and then I backed out and away and turned to face my son again. I did glance down this time at him and saw that his cock had gone fully erect. It pointed up at me now, his little hairless balls appearing tight underneath. He again appeared to have been looking at my butt--either that or I had merely imagined it! As had happened moments before, he quickly averted his eyes once I had turned around to look at him. This time our eyes met. He bit his lip nervously. "Go ahead. I'll soap myself up," I said, gesturing toward the stream. He nodded and came over to it and stepped beneath the water, allowing, as I had, the water to soak him all around by way of making a few turns. I began soaping myself up with the loofah, but he had all my attention, or most of it. I watched him as he stepped out from under the water and soaped himself up. I looked down at his groin as he scrubbed himself on and around his cock, pressing it down a few times in the process, with it bouncing back up again each time. He turned around once or twice and I found myself openly gazing at his butt, at those white, round globes. I imagined myself grabbing hold of each of his cheeks and squeezing. "Evan," I said, not knowing what would come next. He turned around and looked up at me, pausing. "Yeah? What's up, Dad?" "You are just a good-looking kid, you know that?" I asked, smiling. I glanced down at him again, staring at his cock a little longer this time. "Thanks, um, Dad ..." he said softly. He looked at me, then, down at my own groin and at my hard cock. "Is it normal for it to get hard? I mean, like, randomly?" Our eyes met again. "Oh yeah, happens all the time," I answered. "Even when guys are around each other, like we are." I had felt the need to reassure him that being like this, like we both were, didn't necessarily mean anything. He didn't fully know or recognize, of course, that it did mean something to me. For weeks afterward I would touch myself in the shower remembering that night, sometimes stroking myself and imagining that he and I had kissed and touched each other and that I had eventually fucked him. I saw it all in my head: his back to mine and mine up against the tile, my cock buried between those beautiful cheeks. Another instance, or another moment, where I had maybe messed up a little: once, while giving Evan and Ashley a bath. This happened when they were both much younger, Evan age 5 and Ashley age 4. Normally their mother gave them their nightly baths together but I was filling in because she was off visiting her sister. At this point in their youth, I had not yet acknowledged to myself, at all, that I found children attractive, least of all my own. So it was with some surprise, then, that as I washed the kids that night I found myself getting hard, really hard, and that I eventually started leaking precum, some of it making its way through my briefs to create a damp spot on the front of my jeans. I had looked at them in such a different way then, in that moment, finding myself admiring their smooth little bodies, their every curve and bend. I ran my hands up and down their bare skin, feeling many of those curves and bends. I explored their private parts, fondling Evan's little balls and thumb-sized penis, which hardened at my touch, and cupping Ashley's cute little vagina in my fingers. I told them to stand up and turn around, and I touched both of their butts, and slid my fingers along the spaces between their round, bubble cheeks. "Daddy, that feels weird!" Ashley had said then, smiling back at me. "Good in a weird way, sweetheart?" I asked, sliding my finger in a little further so that I was touching her anus very lightly. With my other hand I continued to caress Evan, in the same place. He was playing with a toy. "Maybe!" Ashley had said. I gently pulled them both around so they were facing me again, still standing above the water. I rested my hands on their little waists. "You both are so beautiful," I said then. "I love looking at your bodies, and touching you ... I want to touch you both again like this. Would you like that?" I had actually never touched them like that again, though I'd certainly been tempted to a handful of times. I had gone to bed that night after the bath and after I had put them to bed, and I had masturbated thinking about them. I lay there afterward, semen dangling from my chin, strings of it spread over my chest and stomach, and I had asked myself aloud, "Am I a monster?" It had taken years for me to get to where I am today, a self-identifying pedophile or hebephile (probably both). I made a vow to myself to never act on my urges, as far as actually trying to initiate a sexual encounter with either or both of my children. I did think about them a lot though, and I occasionally engaged in sometimes really complex fantasizing about them, and I'd very often reach orgasm as an outcome. I did still love my wife too, by the way. Don't think I didn't. She was gorgeous and our relationship was healthy and vibrant, including our sex life. She had actually grown to enjoy sexual role-playing with me, sometimes as my daughter or sister and once as my baby daughter (she had agreed to wear a diaper!). All of this and more had shown me that I had found the right woman for me. Despite that, I still felt like she could never, ever know the truth about me, the full truth. Now, in my office, I looked at that photo on my desk, at each of their smiling faces, Maggie's, Evan's, and Ashley's, and I sighed aloud and wondered about how I had got so lucky.