Anderson Family Journals #01
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I do not give permission to re-post, sell, or archive my stories on any public websites. If you want to download my story for personal use, be my guest, but that’s as far as my permissions go.
I wrote this journal-style story when I had a subscription page. It’s twenty-six chapters long, around 86,000 words, and it’s the kind of story that can go on forever. I’ve had to rewrite portions of each chapter in order to post the story to Lit. For those who were a part of my subscription page, you’ll notice the changes.
The nice thing about a journal-style story is that I can rewrite the chapters at my leisure. So, I hope I can make this rewrite work. I have no planned upload schedule. They’ll come as they come.
This story is about a high school wrestler, his dominating older sister, his innocent, little tomboy sister—triplets in this version of the story—and his MILF of a Mom. For fun, you’ll see that the biggest cheerleaders at his wrestling meets are the Team Moms, and every MILF who cheers on her son would love to have her boy’s cock— or any wrestler’s cock—balls deep within her muff. And, if I’m up for continuing this journal once I’ve uploaded the entire thing, we’ll throw some horny volleyball players into mix for fun.
Teased by My Older Sister
The nights are killing me. It’s hot. So fucking hot. I use my fan, but that’s not enough. Our central air conditioning doesn’t work at the moment, and instead of fixing it, Mom told us to suffer in silence after my older sister called her cheap for not getting on the phone with a repairman right away. I think my sister meant it as a joke, but she’s a bitch; what can I say. Mom didn’t come from money—she’s earns hers—and she said, “If I could take it when I was a kid, then so can you guys.” I don’t know why that has to apply to me. I wasn’t the one who made the joke.
Fuck my life.
Why am I revisiting my old journal? I don’t know. Maybe I need something to do other than thinking about all the sex I’m not getting in my life.
Who am I as of this writing? It’s been two years since I wrote anything in my journal. I’ve changed.
I’m eighteen years old, and I’m the meat of a girl-boy-girl triplet sandwich. I’ve gone over my past entries, and it’s nothing but “What do I want to be when I grow up” and “I think that the so and so likes me” and “My older sister is a bitch” and “Why couldn’t my younger sister have been a younger brother?”
I think I should update my family status since it’s been a while since I wrote anything down.
Diana is the oldest triplet; she looks older as well. She’s looked like a woman since forever. My friends say that she’s all woman: tits and ass and legs and abs and a volleyball player’s body that belongs on a bikini calendar—and I tell them to shut the fuck up. They’ll talk about every part of my sister’s body until every single one of us has to nut.
Abbey is the youngest triplet. She’s a cutie, I guess, who likes to follow me around when she’s not skating with every tomboy in our high school. Oh, yeah, she’s a skater with no tits—I’m not looking—but I told her that one day for some reason, and I still tell her she has no tits because it makes us laugh. With her short blonde hair and light freckles, she could pass for a boy underneath her baseball cap, and it’s too bad she’s not a boy because I don’t think a tomboy sister can replace a younger brother.
The funny thing—it wasn’t funny at the time—is that Abbey is a year behind Diana and me in school, despite being a fucking genius. Our Dad, wherever he may be, had custody of her when we were younger. I don’t know what kind of dumb fuck judge splits up triplets, but this one did. Dad enrolled Abbey in school a year after Mom enrolled Diana and me—I think he did it to piss Mom off—then, he just gave up custody of Abbey and disappeared. Abbey has been following us around ever since.
Mom is thirty-eight or thirty-nine, I don’t know. I won’t remember Beşiktaş Escort until her next birthday. I don’t know why I keep forgetting her age. She look, I don’t know, thirty-ish. She’s divorced, and she likes to dress up and workout because she saw an infomercial about toned-up MILFs, or maybe she was watching porn. She does that and sometimes I can hear it through our shared wall. Anyway, Mom decided that she wanted a fit, mature, cougar body capable of hunting down a young cub. When it comes to the girls, Diana takes after Mom, while Abbey takes after our Dad’s leanish, boyish, mother and sisters.
This is strange to write, but there’s a difference between a fit, almost forty-year-old woman and an eighteen-year-old girl. No, I don’t compare Mom’s and Diana’s bodies, not really, but that doesn’t mean I don’t notice them. Both are in great shape, but the body of an older woman is different. An older body is more weathered, the flesh slightly looser, clinging to the muscles underneath so that there’s more of a ripple when they move, and their skin doesn’t hold the glow of youth the way it once did. The contrast between my sister’s and my mother’s bodies is incomparable: I couldn’t tell you which one is hotter, not that I ever think about it. But if I had to choose. . . . Why am I writing this down? (I was watching porn earlier, that’s why, and this step-incest is the flavor of today.)
Fuck it. If I had to choose. . . .
My older sister is a bitch.
My mother is not a bitch.
My mom wins—end of story.
Why the fuck am I writing about my family like this? I’ve been watching too much of that show Game of Thrones again, and I’ve wanted to bang Lena Headey since the show first aired. Too bad she didn’t do some hot sex scenes with her twin in that show. She’s about as hot as a woman can get. She kind of looks like an older version of Abbey. I can tell that Miss Headey has been hitting the gym during the last season of that show, and there’s a sexy thinness to her that borders on lean without being cut. All right, I’m ending this entry; I need to go jerk off again.
Something I’m not proud of happened today. It’s summer. It’s hot. Summer classes are over at noon, and then I workout with the wrestling team if I want to—those who aren’t in other sports—and then I go home. Today, I went straight home, having to ask my older sister for a ride. I’d have a car right now if I hadn’t failed my driver’s test twice. I have a license—the third time is a motherfucking charm—but Mom is still making me wait till the end of the year before she’ll buy me a car, unless I want to get a job and buy my own, which I’m considering. . . .
Anyway, Mom can understand someone failing a test once, but twice? That’s heresy in my house. I guess her feelings are fair. I should have taken the responsibility of driving more seriously. Oh, and then there was that one time I borrowed my mother’s car without permission, so that might have something to do with it.
Funny thing, Abbey has a license, but she’s never asked for a car, and Mom offered to buy her one. Her skateboard or bike has always been good enough. She had wanted a motorcycle, still does, but Mom isn’t going to buy her one of those.
What was I writing about again? Oh, yeah, I wasn’t proud of something. I was home. It was hot. There was no air conditioning, blah, blah, blah. Diana and I were in the living room. The young one was out doing tomboy stuff with her little boi friends, getting into trouble, breaking windows, making out, who knows—the things she thinks boys are supposed to be doing. Good for her.
We have a big living room. It’s open, with lots of space. There’s a long couch and two loveseats placed in a blocky U formation, along with a coffee table and a large smart TV, and a fireplace. There’s a lot of white in our house. The living room leads to the dining room, which wraps around to the kitchen, then to the great room that Beylikdüzü Escort Mom call’s her ballroom, then to the foyer, and then we’re back at the living room once again. There’s a stairway that leads up to a second floor, and—why the fuck am I describing my home? I know what it looks like. Oh, yeah, right, because I don’t want to write what happened with Diana in the living room.
I wanted to watch TV. Anything, maybe a hot tub girl on Twitch or something on Youtube, I wasn’t sure. Diana was lying on one of the loveseats. She was wearing pink cotton boyshorts and a dark gray, cropped cotton tank top. Her long body looked even longer stretched across the loveseat. Her upper ribs shone the way a stripper’s ribs would—I don’t know why I thought of that when I was looking at her. I could see the gloss of whatever lotions she had used earlier in the day gleaming across her body. (Sometimes, I think I need a girlfriend.)
“Toss me the remote?” I asked her, having to pull my eyes away from her ribs. I dropped down onto the couch, against the armrest furthest from her, kicked my feet up, and waited.
Diana turned her blue eyes toward me. She held a cup of ice water in her right hand and nothing in her left hand. She grabbed the remote that lay next to her and looking into my eyes like she did a lot lately, she said, “No. I was going to watch something.” Then she slowly stuck her tongue out at me, which she was doing a lot lately as well.
Bullshit. I could have argued. I should have. I think she likes to argue with me. I don’t know why, but arguing with me has always fired her up. I let it be, but I didn’t leave the room. I sat down and waited for her to watch something. Anything.
She chose something I had no interest in, one of those Real Housewives shows. I don’t think she had any interest in the show either, but I knew she was trying to make me leave, just like some people get loud and make fun of what you’re watching with passive-aggressive cowardice when they don’t want to watch what you’re watching. She was doing it to fuck with me because that’s the kind of person she was. She was a fucker.
I stayed where I was. I watched the pointless show, in the heat, with no fan, as my sister drank her ice water. Halfway into the show, my sister turned to me and said, “Get me some more water.” Ice filled her glass, but she had drunk the water.
“No,” I said.
“But it’s soooo hot, Timmy.”
“I’ll give you the remote.”
“Fine, be that way, jerk.”
She turned away from me. The clinking of her ice cubes drew my eyes. My sister swirled the glass in a circle, then she tipped it to her lips and let an ice cube slide to the glass’ rim. Her long tongue collected it. She lowered the glass. A frozen half-moon-shaped piece of ice protruded from her lips, and she grabbed the cube with her left hand and lifted it into the air above her head.
A teardrop splashed against my sister’s forehead. She closed her eyes and lowered the cube to her skin, and then she swept the ice down the graceful slope of her nose. Water slid over her, tracing a path down her cheeks to the armrest below. The tip of her tongue emerged from her mouth, pressing against the cube as she slid it across her lips and down to her chin. She lifted the cube back into the air, and small droplets of liquid fell, exploding against her like sparkling diamonds.
I couldn’t look away, and a chill caused my shoulders to tremble. My sister was beautiful. She’s what teenage sex is supposed to look like. Diana kept her eyes closed. Ifocused on the end of the ice cube, my gaze spiraling into a narrow tunnel of vision that left the edges of the world a blur. I watched as the water drip from the cube onto the golden skin of my sister’s neck and then slid down to her left shoulder.
My groin stirred as the tip of my cock tingled and tensed beneath my sister’s display of aqua sexuality. (Did she Beyoğlu Escort know what she was doing? Did she know what she was doing to me?)
I followed the descent of my sister’s hand down to her neck. Liquid streaked across her, and the solid block of water skirted over her neck in a downward arc towards her chest. Diana uttered something between a moan and a sigh as she painted the cube sideways across her upper breast. Another moan-sigh left her lips, sounding sexual and hungry—wanton. My heart thumped beneath my chest while dryness coated the inside of my mouth. What the fuck was going on here?
My sister’s breasts rose and fell beneath her cropped top. Her tits perky roundness were big enough to fit in a man’s hands and then some. My hands? Her nipples hardened. One second they were two small lumps against the cotton of her top, and then they were two tall peaks of hidden thickness straining against the thin fabric covering them.
My balls tingled, my sack tightened, and I had to squeeze my thighs together and shift my ass on the cushions to get comfortable. My cock swelled slowly, and it wouldn’t stop no matter how much I begged to deflate. I looked at my sister’s profile, my eyes drilling into her skull.
I managed to shut my eyes, but I didn’t turn my head away. Then, my eyelids rose, stretching as I tried to fight their spasms until the bottoms swept upwards over my pupils. I saw my sister brushing the ice in a lazy circle against the toned muscles above her belly button. Her fingers pinched the melting crystal, and the pressure of her grip caused the liquid to flow faster. Her firm stomach rippled beneath the water dripping across her sweat-beaded flesh. She sighed again; oh so satisfied. Her breasts rose and fell, their smooth curves hypnotic and tempting.
She licked her lips.
I licked my lips.
Light shined across the surface of her abdomen; her muscles tensed, creating small islands that my eyes wouldn’t pull away from. When my sister allowed the last of the ice to fall into her naval, she gasped and turned her head, looking at me as if knowing that I had been watching her sexual display the entire time.
“What are you staring at?” she whispered, and then she licked the water from her fingertips, never taking her eyes from mine.
I didn’t answer her. I turned on my side and faced the TV, thanking God that I hadn’t gone fully hard . . . yet, but the blood swelling my prick into semi-stiffness wasn’t letting up. I heard my sister laugh—at me? At what she had done? Strangely, wrongly, her teasing, self-pleased giggle made my cock harden to its full length.
What a bitch.
Not much happened for the rest of the week. One thing did happened, but it happened several times on several different occasions. Diana always found me alone in the living room, and each time she brought a glass of ice water with her to one of the couches. She’d twirl the glass, making sure the ice cubes clinked together, and every time she finished the water, she’d tell me to refill her glass. No, she ordered me to refill her glass. I said no every time. Then she’d get up, refill her glass and not come back. It didn’t stop her from trying to get me to refill her glass, though, every time.
Finally, today, I said yes when she told me to refill her glass. I was so tired of her bullshit. She had looked into my eyes when she had spoken to me, and I couldn’t look away. She held out her glass, and I walked to her and took it from her hand. When our fingers touched, I broke eye contact with her as I suppressed a shiver that had ran through my arm. I went to the kitchen and refilled her glass with fresh ice and water—I almost used a new glass. When I brought the glass back to her, she pulled her lips into a sly, quarter smile and looked me up and down before saying, “Thank you,” in such a smug tone that I had curled my fingers into fists.
Then, I went back to my place and sat down.
My sister drank her water, and when there was no more left to drink, she plucked an ice cube from her glass and slid it across her skin until it had melted away, leaving her golden body wet.
And I watched her do it.
There are more chapters to come, in time. As I said, I have to rewrite them to make the story work for Lit, but I’ll get it done.
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