Familiar Sin
A Freaky Friday Short
Mike stared at the steam rising from his coffee mug, the kitchen clock ticking like a metronome in the quiet dawn. At 38, he had built a life of quiet stability, or so it looked from the outside. He had a beautiful, loving wife, Sarah. He had a steady job as an architect that paid well. He even had a gorgeous home in the suburbs that smelled of fresh paint and contentment. But lately, that contentment felt like a cage, rattling with the presence of her. Brooke, Sarah’s younger sister, had crashed into their lives six months ago after her messy divorce. She had moved into their guest room, and Mike hadn’t had a moment of peace ever since.
Mike’s mind wandered to her body, her infectious laughter, her dry sense of humor. That body. At 23, Brooke was far younger than Sarah, who, after 16 years of marriage, barely allowed him a lingering glance, let alone a touch. Brooke moved through the house with boundless energy and vigor, tinged with a touch of naivety. Reflecting on it, he realized she awakened something in him: a reminder that he was a man with unmet needs, and that he could still be desired and useful. She’d seek his help with minor car repairs, showering him with gratitude for his efforts. She’d pepper him with questions about relationships, finances, and career choices, all queries that made Sarah roll her eyes dismissively.
She’s family, he reminded himself daily, a mantra against the rising tide of desire. Your wife’s blood. Touching her would shatter everything. Sarah’s trust, our home, my soul. Yet the guilt only sharpened the ache, turning every glance into a battlefield.
He shouldn’t think of her this way. God, no. She was vulnerable, piecing together a broken heart under his roof, and he was the steady brother-in-law, the helper. But every morning, like this one, Mike found himself lingering in the kitchen, heart pounding as he heard her soft footsteps descending the stairs. This is madness, he thought, clenching the mug tighter, knuckles whitening. Push it down. Be the man Sarah married. But the thoughts came unbidden, a torrent he couldn’t dam: the curve of her hips in those yoga pants, the way her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders when she stretched, oblivious to the fire she ignited in him.
What kind of monster am I? Lusting after her while Sarah sleeps above us?
Brooke entered the room, rubbing sleep from her eyes, her tank top clinging just enough to outline the swell of her breasts. “Morning, Mike,” she said, her voice husky from dreams. She poured herself coffee, briefly brushing past him. It was an innocent contact, but it sent electricity through his veins. He turned away, pretending to check his phone, but his mind screamed: Touch her. Just once. Feel that skin.
No. He loved Sarah. This was betrayal in thought alone, a sin that gnawed at his soul, leaving him hollow and ashamed.
The day dragged on in torment. At work, sketches blurred as fantasies intruded: Brooke’s lips parting in a gasp, her body arching under him. He gripped his pencil until it snapped, staring at the broken pieces, his rock-hard cock pounding away under this drafting table.
Why her? Why now? He agonized in the bathroom mirror during lunch, splashing water on his face, eyes haunted. She’s not even trying to seduce you. It’s all in your head. You’re the one twisting innocence into filth. Sarah deserves better. End this before it consumes you.
Back home that evening, Sarah was out at book club, leaving him alone with Brooke. They shared takeout on the couch, the TV murmuring dialogue to a movie he had wanted to watch, but now couldn’t pay attention to. Her knee bumped his, and she laughed it off, but Mike’s cock stirred, immediately hardening against his will. He shifted, crossing his legs, pulse thundering. Control yourself. She’s your sister-in-law. Think of Sarah. Think of her smile, her touch. This isn’t you, Mike!
Brooke leaned back, sighing. “You know, Mike, you’re the only guy who’s ever just... listened to me. Without wanting something.” Her eyes met his, vulnerable and searching. The irony twisted like a knife in his gut. Such naivety, he thought. He wanted everything. He wanted to hear her moans, he wanted her to surrender to his wishes, he wanted the taste of her skin. His hands itched to pull her close, to confess the war raging inside him. I can’t. I won’t. What if Sarah finds out? It would kill her. It would kill us. Even with this battle raging in his head, his body betrayed him, arousal coiling tight, pre-cum dampening his boxers. The room felt smaller, the clock mocking him with every tick.
As the movie ended, Brooke stood to clear plates, her ass swaying in those damn pajama shorts that barely covered anything. Mike followed her to the kitchen on autopilot, as though she was a magnet and he was metal dust, unable to resist her pull. Her proximity was intoxicating. Not realizing he was right behind, she turned quickly, bumping into him, her breasts pressing against his chest for a split second.
Time froze.
Brookes eyes widened, a look of understanding passing over her. Did she feel it? The hard length of him, his neediness, against her thigh? Shame flooded him, but desire won.
“Brooke,” he whispered, voice rough, hands trembling at his sides.
She froze, her soft hand on his arm, but pulled back slightly, conflict etching her features.
“Mike... we can’t. Sarah’s my sister. This is wrong. I shouldn’t even be thinking about it.” Her voice wavered, eyes darting away, but her body lingered close, heat radiating between them. He could hear her breath trembling.
She’s struggling too, he realized, the shared torment only fueling his need.
“I know,” he murmured, stepping closer despite the voice in his head screaming to stop. “God, I know. But I can’t fight it anymore.” He cupped her face, crashing his lips to hers in a kiss born of desperation.
Brooke resisted at first, her hands pushing weakly against his chest, a muffled protest escaping her. “No... we have to stop,” she gasped, breaking away, her cheeks flushed with guilt. “Think about Sarah, Mike. She trusts us both.”
The words hung heavy, mirroring his own inner storm, but her eyes betrayed her, dark with the same forbidden hunger. The chemistry between hung in the air, a weight that pressed them closer.
Brooke’s resolve cracked; her fingers trailed down his chest, tracing the lines of his flesh through his shirt, sending shivers through him. “Damn you,” she whispered, going all in, yanking him back into the kiss with fierce urgency.
She tasted like sin, like sweet, forbidden wine. This will destroy everything, his mind wailed as he deepened it, tongues tangling. But his body surged forward, lifting her onto the counter, hands roaming under her shirt to palm her bare breasts. Nipples pebbled under his thumbs; she moaned into his mouth, wrapping legs around him, her earlier resistance melting into raw need.
Brooke tugged at his belt, freeing his throbbing cock. His flesh was stretched tight over his need for her, his cock veined, aching, leaking for her. “I shouldn’t,” he gasped again, even as he yanked her shorts aside, fingers plunging into her slick folds. She was soaked, clenching around him. She didn’t need to say a word, her body answered for her.
Turmoil raged inside Mike, his guilt like acid in his veins, but his primal need overpowered it, pressing it into the farthest reaches of his mind. He positioned himself at her entrance, her legs spreading wide on the counter, thighs quivering in anticipation. Her arms looped around his neck, pulling him closer, their faces inches apart, breaths mingling hot and steamy, fogging the air between them, filling the room with their desire. Her eyes locked on his, wide with lust and lingering doubt, her lips parted in a soft pant that brushed his skin like fire.
With a guttural groan, he pushed forward, his cockhead breaching her tight heat. The sensation was overwhelming. Her velvet walls enveloped him inch by inch, slick and scorching, gripping him like a vice designed for his ruin. Ecstasy exploded through him as he sank deeper, the initial penetration a blaze of pleasure that short-circuited his thoughts: waves of bliss radiating from his core, her warmth milking him, every nerve alight with the forbidden perfection of it.
Oh God, she’s perfect. Too perfect, he agonized inwardly, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain, guilt amplifying the high until he was lost in it. Fully sheathed, he paused, buried to the hilt, their bodies fused in sweat-slicked union, her gasps mingling with his ragged breaths, her arms tightening around his neck as if anchoring them both in this moment of surrender.
He fucked her with frantic urgency. Each plunge was ecstasy laced with agony: Sarah could walk in any minute. If she sees me balls deep in her sister, this ends us. But Brooke’s walls gripped him, her breaths ragged pleas, pulling his brain back to her. Back to that beautiful forbidden pussy squeezing the shit out of his hard cock.
“Harder, Mike. I want you deep, she panted, needful” He did as he was told, sinking into her, biting her neck, losing himself in the rhythm. She came first, grunting, pressing into him as she shuddered around him, squirting onto his shaft. The sight undid him; he pulled out just in time, stroking furiously as cum erupted in hot ropes across her exposed pussy, painting her swollen lips and clit in sticky white.
Still throbbing, pulse racing with aftershocks, Mike couldn’t resist. He guided his cock back to her entrance, pushing the warm cum inside her with a slow, deliberate thrust. Her walls clenched around him anew, mixing their essences in a filthy, intimate claim. The sensation, slick, messy, utterly depraved, sent fresh waves of ecstasy through him, his cock twitching as he ground deeper, ensuring every drop was buried within her.
Panting, reality crashed back.
Brooke touched his cheek, eyes soft but shadowed with regret. “We can’t do this again,” she said, sliding down, adjusting her clothes.
Mike nodded, horror mingling with satiation. What have I done? How do I face Sarah? The inner storm quieted to a whisper, but he knew it would rage again.
Before he could respond, the front door clicked open. Sarah’s voice called out, cheerful and unsuspecting: “I’m home! Traffic was a nightmare.” Mike and Brooke exchanged a panicked glance, hearts racing as they smoothed their appearances, the scent of their betrayal lingering faintly in the air. The cage was cracked, and desire waited in the shadows, now shared in secrecy.
