Just For Fun
by Pan
Chapter 3: Just a Fantasy
“Don’t worry about it,” Emily said, her eyes dancing.
“I’m not worried,” I hissed. “I’m just…nervous.”
We’d crossed a line.
I knew we’d crossed a line, but I couldn’t stop.
I didn’t want to stop.
It was too…electric.
“What if my parents notice?”
“They’re not going to notice,” Emily said, rolling her eyes. “You’re still their baby girl, remember?”
I nodded. She was right. I knew she was right.
But still…
“If you’re really worried,” Emily said, leaning forward and whispering into my ear. “Just remember why we’re doing this…”
“Justin,” I sighed, and suddenly all the tension left my body.
This fantasy, this shared incest fantasy we’d been having; it had taken over our sex life. It had elevated it.
Sex had always been good, but…god, now it was something else.
It was hard to say whose idea it had been. When it came to sex, it felt more and more like we were one person.
One person, dedicated to a single goal.
We went back to my parents’ for Christmas every year. It was fun—the five of us (six, if Justin brought someone) opening presents, eating turkey. Holiday stuff.
Somehow, this annual tradition had wormed its way into our fantasies.
“What do you want to give Justin this year?” Emily hissed into my ear.
“Everything,” I answered without hesitation.
“Be more specific, slut.”
“Me. My body. My tits, my ass, my dripping cunt. It’s all for him.”
“What else?”
“You. I give him my girlfriend. You belong to him now.”
Emily moaned into my ear. I rubbed myself harder.
“What else?”
“My soul. My mind. My servitude.”
“Good…”
After we’d both cum, we’d continued watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine—another excellent recommendation from my brother. And that was when the idea had surfaced.
Like I said, I don’t know who came up with it, but we both latched onto the thought immediately.
“We couldn’t, could we?”
“We could…”
“But we couldn’t really.”
It had always been just…a fantasy. Something to think about while we played with each other. I knew that we weren’t really my brother’s dedicated sex-slaves. We were lesbians, and he was…he was my brother.
It was all just pretend.
“Could we?”
The suggestion was simple. Harmless, really.
Over Christmas, we just…tease my brother a little.
He probably wouldn’t even notice. To Justin, I was just his boring older sister, and Emily was just my lesbian partner.
But just the idea of doing what we’d talked about for so long, what we’d cum so many times while discussing.
Just the idea made me throb.
“Do you think he noticed?”
“He definitely noticed.”
“He didn’t say anything.”
“Would you?”
I rolled over, and flipped open the laptop. If anyone walked past my room, I wanted them to hear the TV show, not the conversation we were having.
The black captain faced off against Andy Samberg in the background as I rolled back to Emily.
“…that was so fucking hot.”
“You’re telling me!”
It hadn’t been much. Not really.
Winter in Galena is normally a pretty cold affair. But when everyone is inside, by the fire, it can be toasty-warm.
So we figured it wouldn’t be that obvious if we were to…y’know, strip down a little. Just to our underpants. Just while we were near the fire.
I genuinely don’t think my parents registered what we were doing. If they did, they didn’t care. They put up with my goth years, muddled past my ‘just came out of the closet’ slutty years, they worried their way through my rebellious years…now that I was a successful lawyer in a long-term relationship, I think I could have walked around nude without them blinking an eye.
But Justin…
God, Justin.
“Fuck me,” I whispered to my girlfriend. Her eyes lit up, and she nodded.
Since we’d planned to wear less clothing this weekend, we had a little more space in the suitcase for toys.
Emily pulled out the strap-on, grabbed my hair, and growled into my ear.
“Tease me, will you?”
“Please…”
“Tease your little brother, hmm? There’s only one way to treat a sister-slut like you…”
“Do it,” I gasped.
As the show dipped to an ad-break, Emily and I both glanced at the door at the same time.
It was closed. Of course it was closed. But we were both imagining leaving it open…
“Next year, we go further.”
“Yes.”
December had been over for almost a month, but we were still talking about it.
We’d only spent three days with my parents—with Justin—but we’d made them count.
On the first night, as planned, we’d stripped down to our underwear. Not our new, Justin-bought lingerie; some old stuff. Stuff that wouldn’t make anyone suspicious.
After all, this was just for fun. We didn’t want to permanently affect my relationship with my parents.
With Justin.
The second night, we’d worn a similar set…but Emily had casually draped herself on top of me.
Both of us had spent the night acutely aware of our skin touching, the sight that Justin must have noticed—two blonde bombshells, their legs intertwined.
For him.
It was all for him.
Not that he knew that, of course.
The third night, we’d pushed it. My parents had bought some schnapps, and without saying a word, Emily and I had both agreed to act much more intoxicated than we were.
Half a bottle in, we were on the couch, making out. We were clothed, this time, but it was such a thrill. My lips on her lips, my hands on her skin, both of us knowing—knowing—that we were being watched.
That Justin—Justin—was staring at us, his lesbian older sister, her partner. Watching us touch, caress each other. Watching us perform.
Perform for him.
We’d relived that night so many times in the weeks after, burning through the rest of Brooklyn Nine-Nine in the process. At Emily’s insistence, we’d gotten a new copy of Friends from Justin—Justin—and we were starting the mighty rewatch.
I say ‘rewatch’—we would put the show on, fall into each other’s arms, and forget that it was on.
“Next year, we make out in lingerie.”
“Further,” Emily moaned.
“We ‘lose’ our bras, and spend a day topless.”
“More…”
“We invite Charlotte”—another lesbian friend of ours—“and the three of us make out by the fire…”
“Yes…”
“We should call him,” Emily said. I could barely hear her over her vibrator.
She was on another trip. It had only been forty-eight hours, but I was already climbing the walls. I wanted to feel her, touch her, taste her. I wanted her in my arms, her voice in my head.
Well, Skype helped with the last of those.
“Call him?”
“Yeah. Pause the show. Let’s call him.”
My cunt pulsed at the idea.
“Emily,” I gasped. “We can’t.”
“Come on,” she said. I could tell that she was close. “Call him. Don’t you want to hear his voice while we cum?”
“Emily, no.”
“Oh, he won’t have any idea. I know you can cum silently—I’ve seen you do it.”
It was true. I didn’t come out to my parents until I was eighteen. I’d had a solid four years of practicing stealthy sex, getting off during what my parents thought had been innocent girly sleep-overs.
“No…that’s…it’s wrong.”
“I know,” she moaned. “God, isn’t it wrong?”
I knew that as soon as my girlfriend came, she’d realize what a terrible idea it was. She’d call the whole thing off.
I knew that if I told her Justin wanted her to cum, if she were doing it for my brother, she would.
So why wasn’t I saying anything?
Matt LeBlanc’s face briefly distracted me, and when I tuned back in, Emily was huffing and puffing, and I realized that she’d just cum.
Good thing. Otherwise I would have…I would have…
I would have called my brother.
My own orgasm overcame me at the thought.
“Do you think Justin would fuck me?”
“Of course he’d fuck you,” I gasped, trying to push Emily’s head back between my legs. “Please…don’t stop…”
“I know he’d fuck you,” she said, and I opened my eyes.
Emily was talking about Justin fucking me. This was important.
I turned the show’s volume down slightly.
“Of course he’d fuck me,” I said, slightly dazed. “What are we talking about?”
“Think about it,” Emily said, a dreamy look in her eyes. “Your role is to be his fucktoy, right?”
“Yesss…”
“You’re his slut.”
“Mmm…”
“You exist to get him hard, to get him off.”
I nodded fervently.
“You’re just a set of wet holes for his cock.”
“I am.”
“And you’re his sister. As if your perfect body wasn’t enough, there’s the taboo of your relationship.”
“What’s your point?”
“So what am I for?”
I loved being able to talk so candidly about this with Emily. We both knew that none of it was real, that it was just a fetish we shared.
But part of the fantasy was getting into it, treating it as though it was real. Shaping our lives around it.
And that meant discussing every detail. That was part of the fun.
“He’ll be able to fuck you, of course.”
“Of course,” Emily agreed, without hesitation. She’d slipped up beside me on the bed. I loved being able to smell my pussy on her lips.
Justin would love that as well.
“But I think I’m his slut, and you’re his slave.”
“Oh yeah?”
“You’ll be, like, the maid. Cleaning, taking care of the house.”
“Taking care of Justin’s property…” Emily murmured.
“Like me.”
“Like you,” she smiled, and moved her lips to mine.
I could taste myself on her mouth.
“What if we ‘accidentally’ sent him a photo? Or a video?”
My cunt clenched at the thought, but I shook my head.
“We can’t,” I said reluctantly. “It is not our role to decide when he takes pleasure from our body.”
Emily nodded. The two of us were walking in tandem on the treadmills that we’d had installed in the TV room. We’d decided that we were going to get in better shape.
For Justin.
“Did we do the wrong thing at Christmas?”
I considered the question.
“No,” I replied thoughtfully. “No, that was us showing off. We should always show off our bodies around Justin.”
“We should always show off our bodies around Justin,” Emily repeated.
“If he wants to look, he can, but we’re not forcing anything upon him.”
Emily went white at the thought.
“We would never…”
“I know,” I said comfortingly. “We would never do anything Justin didn’t want.”
We continued to walk until the end of the episode, not talking, just enjoying the show.
The show, and the nipple clamps we were both wearing.
“I am Justin’s perfect sex toy,” we chanted in unison, staring into each other’s eyes, hands roaming each other’s bodies.
“I am Justin’s devoted servant,” Emily said.
“I am Justin’s sister slut,” I replied.
Friends was on in the background, but we weren’t watching it.
We were too busy.
“I am owned,” we both said. “I am a piece of property. I belong to Justin.”
Emily had read somewhere that repeating a mantra several times a day was a good way to reinforce important ideas, to make the brain truly accept them on the deepest possible lesson.
We couldn’t think of anything more important.
“All I am is Justin’s. He owns my mind, my body, and my soul.”
That was my favorite part. Emily always ran her hands across my nipples when we got to it. I liked to give her ass a firm squeeze in return.
“I will dedicate everything I am and everything I have to pleasing him, now and forever.”
I tried to let my mind go blank, to let the words truly sink in, but it was hard. This was so much fun. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was that Emily shared this weird, special kink with me.
“I exist to sheath his cock,” I said.
“I exist to serve,” Emily replied.
“Submission brings me pleasure,” we both said simultaneously.
My whole body was throbbing. We only let ourselves cum once we’d finished the complete mantra—Pavlovian training. Emily believed it would further shape us to fulfill my brother’s every desire.
To that end, I would have done anything.
“I am obedience. I am slavery. I am slut.”
The mantra went for five minutes. We’d spent several days writing it.
“I am cunt, mouth, and ass. I exist to be filled by Justin.”
Emily nodded at my words.
If we said it slowly, letting each word truly sink in, it went for ten minutes.
“I am a drooling slut. I love to be fucked. My life is dedicated to Justin.”
I wanted to cry with pleasure. Every words I spoke brought me closer to perfection.
“Slavery is my purpose, and my purpose is to serve.”
As she spoke, I slipped three fingers into Emily’s wetness. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t slow down, not even for a second.
“I am submission,” we said at once. “I am pleasure. I am arousal.”
We took a deep breath, and nodded at each other, prepared for the final words.
“Justin is my life.”
With that, we came. With that, we moved one step closer to fulfilling our true purpose.
My eyes were glassy. My knees were weak.
But still, I obeyed.
“Tell me how it happens,” Emily hissed in my ear.
“We crawl into his room,” I said, making sure to get it word-perfect. It had to be perfect. “We offer ourselves as his slaves.”
It had to be perfect.
“When?”
“When the time is right.”
“How do we know when the time is right?”
“We’ll know. Justin will let us know.”
“Good girl,” Emily said, and kissed me.
I shuddered. I was so close. I was SO close.
“No…” I groaned, and Emily pulled back.
She knew exactly how far she could go.
“You will obey,” she said sternly.
“I will obey.”
The moment passed, and I felt like I could breathe again.
“What do we offer him?”
“Everything,” I panted. “Oh god, Emily, please…”
“No!”
“So…close…”
Again, she pulled back.
“Be specific.”
“Can’t.” My brain was foggy. I was nothing but a pair of tits. Tits. My brother’s. I was a pair of tits for my brother.
“You will obey.”
“I will obey…”
“What do we offer him?”
“Me,” I gasped. “My tits. My…my pussy. My ass.”
“What else?”
“My obedience. My slavery.”
“You’re forgetting something.”
“My orgasm.” I was twitching now. “Please…”
“Your orgasm belongs to Master.”
“Yes…”
“Say it.”
“My org—…my orgasm belongs…belongs to Master.”
“You will not cum without his direct permission.”
“I will not cum without his direct permission.”
“Good girl,” Emily smiled down at me, before slapping me twice.
I’d been edging for almost three hours.
I hadn’t cum in weeks.
Emily and I had decided almost a month ago—our role was to please and serve Master. He owned us.
He owned our orgasms.
We would not cum again, not until we were truly Justin’s.
Justin’s.
The thought alone was almost enough to make me cum.
It was just a fantasy, of course. It was just for fun, a way of spicing up our sex life.
And yet, it had been almost a month since either of us had cum. We spent hours each day playing with each other, hours each day playing with ourselves. We used toys, we talked dirty.
We were filthy sluts who enjoyed each other’s bodies. But we didn’t cum.
We wouldn’t cum.
Not until Justin said we could.
And since it was only a fantasy…maybe Justin never would.
Maybe I’d never cum again.
I moaned at the thought, as the end credits began to roll.
“Another episode, slut?” Emily whispered.
“Yes, slave.”
We wrapped our arms around each other as the next episode began.
We were on our fifteenth rewatch of Friends when Emily brought it up.
We didn’t really go out much any more. We went to work, we came home, we watched Friends, and we prepared ourselves for Justin. Mind, body, and soul.
The mantra was burned permanently into my brain. Even at work, I’d sometimes find myself muttering it under my breath. It had replaced my thoughts.
It had replaced my thoughts.
My free will was gone. In its place, servitude. Obedience.
Devotion.
I hadn’t cum in almost six months. My sex life had never been better. Emily and I were wholly focused on our task. We never spoke of anything else unless we absolutely had to.
Our relationship had never been stronger.
It had purpose. Our lives had purpose. We weren’t lesbians, not really. We were playthings.
We were Justin’s playthings.
We weren’t a couple, not really. We spent time together to turn Master on. We spent time together to train each other, to get the other prepared. To make each other wet.
For Master.
“It’s time,” Emily said, and I gasped. My entire head was thrumming—the show’s volume was at max, although I wasn’t watching. Chandler’s sarcastic retort filled my brain.
I wanted to cum, but I knew I wouldn’t. I had become an expert at getting myself to the edge, then pulling back for just long enough.
I’d become an expert at doing the same to Emily.
We didn’t talk much. We said our mantra, we sometimes whispered fantasies into each other’s ears, reminded ourselves of why we existed.
But more and more, we sat silently, touching each other, tasting each other, getting the other riled up. For Master.
Pliable. Wet.
Ready.
“It’s time,” I agreed.
We groomed each other. Slowly. Deliberately. We’d talked about it a thousand thousand times, and imagined it ten times as often.
I chose the perfect set of lingerie for Emily. She chose the perfect set of lingerie for me.
We put black trenchcoats on and began to walk towards the front door, our steps in perfect unison. We were a perfect pair.
Justin’s.
Master’s.
It was time.
I turned the TV off as we left. It was the one with all the cheesecakes.