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Addiction

Chapter Twenty-two

Boneless

By:

Rufus Quentin

Early March, 1999

This time I thought it was just test-taking anxiety, that uneasiness I'm sure every student gets every once in awhile when sitting down with an exam they are, shall we say, underprepared for. I ignored it for as long as I could, even though it felt as if my stomach slowly twisted like a wrung out rag. Around question twelve any observant bystander would have noticed a green hue beneath the white fur of my muzzle. By sixteen I couldn't take it anymore. I quietly excused myself from the classroom, feeling rather embarrassed as I raced to the door. I padded quickly down the hall, restroom baton in hand, presumably to be very sick. Fuck, I thought to myself as I loudly crashed into the girl's room and into one of the dingy stalls. I reached the toilet not a moment too soon and felt my breakfast about face into the bowl. Every other curse word went through my mind as I recuperated, cleaning my muzzle of the disgusting chunks. I thought I was over that stomach bug. I guess not. This is just another relapse, another of many I lied to myself, another of many.

The first lies are easy. You tell them to yourself. They're little, believable lies, well within the bounds of willful suspension of disbelief. Without that, my story would have been a clusterfuck. Initially it wasn't so hard. The symptoms didn't really hit me until the seventh or eighth week. When they did, the lies I told myself were believable. I'd contracted food poisoning, I thought, even while quivering on the bathroom floor. The meat and produce at the local market were sketchy anyway, but after it kept recurring, that excuse wore thin. That mystery illness soon became attributed to that stomach bug; the one I heard was going around anyway. It's just a bug I told myself, when I first opened my eyes and took in leaden gray winter morning light and knew that it was back. It's only because of those lies I kept coasting so long. I needed them for courage.

The problem with lies is that they grow. They crawl outside your body. You need them to spread. You need others to believe them as well, so you tell them. The first I told were to the high school attendance officer, when I called in on one of the mornings it hit me particularly bad. She was just some anonymous woman to me since I hadn't called in sick in years. I spent the day cocooned on the living room couch, alternating between talk shows and Nintendo to keep my mind off what could be happening to me. It all sounds pathetically arrogant now, incomprehensibly stupid. I thought I was smart. I thought I was special because I was me. I aced Bio and got one-hundred percent on the test on the reproductive system. Smart girls couldn't get knocked up in high school. That happened to others, people whose names you recognize, but that you can't remember having anything to do with, maybe a second or third cousin at nearest to you. Maybe it could happen to your friends, the black sheep among your circle, but never happened in your immediate family. We weren't raised to be hillbillies. It absolutely, positively, couldn't happen to you.

The next lies I told went to Amanda and Jennifer. They were genuinely trying to be nice, since I'd become scarce at school. I turned down an invite to the movies, then to do lunch in Huntington over a weekend. Then the invites became vaguer, more open ended. "Maybe we should hang out," Amanda said on a day she cornered me at my locker. "Sure," I replied with no intention to follow through, but not this weekend, nor the next. I told them I had a huge project coming up. Then I told them my family is coming back in town. They say everybody has their tells when it comes to lies; a flick of an ear, certain vasodilatation in the skin, a lack of eye contact. I could feel myself give away all those things. The truth was I really didn't want to spend time with my friends. I was afraid I'd say too much.

I lied to Bryn as well. After what happened in my bedroom our dynamic changed for the worse. I didn't see her for almost a week aside from the classes we shared. Even then our interactions took place on either side of a barrier of polite but distant discourse. When we talked, there was awkwardness about it, as if I was talking to a different person and not my best friend. Our rapport was gone, replaced by curious verbal dance substituting the banalities of high school life for that confusing sore spot. Bryn caught me camping out in the east stairwell during lunch, where I was trying my best to not throw up into the strategically placed trash can two steps down.

"Heya," Bryn said walking through the propped open door.

"Hey," I replied in a more stifled response than expected.

"Thought I'd find you here, skipping lunch again? You know the teachers monitor this, right?" Bryn said, leaning against the door frame.

I shook my head and looked back at the greyhound. "I could really care less about them right now."

"I'm sure you are under their radar, they are just looking for smokers who skip." Bryn said with a glance over her shoulder.

"Yea," I mumbled. "Bigger fish to fry," I stammered out while rubbing my head.

"You okay?" Bryn asked and checked the hall behind her again.

"Fine," I said, bringing my muzzle up to face her with a forced smile.

"Good. Good to hear that." Bryn smiled and took a step closer. "I've noticed you're not doing that thing anymore," she continued.

"What thing?" I asked.

"The thing with that cloth. You're not covering them up anymore," Bryn said, making a gesture in the outline of breasts.

"Oh," I said, somewhat ashamed. "I just, umm, I donno. I think I overdid it. Been feeling a bit sore there recently. It kinda hurts now." I hugged myself, aware of the disconcerting tenderness I'd felt for some time, but only recently began to question the cause of.

Bryn huffed as if chastising me. "Serves you right. I figured there'd be side effects."

I didn't really have a reply for that and sighed. "Hey!" I said. Bryn had never jabbed me like that before.

Bryn looked at me with a cold gaze of contempt she usually reserved for dumb jocks and class clowns who tried and failed to get under her skin. I couldn't remember ever being on the wrong side of that kind of a look.

"What I do?" I asked.

Bryn shook her head. Obviously a few words needed to be exchanged between us, but neither of us had the courage to say them, nor the experience to even find them. Bryn stayed silent, choosing silence over a lie, as was her style.

"I'm sorry," I blurted, "about what happened."

"I'm not like that," Bryn said, anticipating what I may have been, and certainly was thinking. She trailed off with an awkward array of paw and body motions that didn't mean a thing to me.

"I know," I said. "Me neither," I continued, beginning to lie to her as well as myself. "It's just that, well, there is a lot going on I haven't filled you in on yet."

"Just don't tell anyone, ok?" Bryn said and checked the hall again. "I'll catch you around." She said and ducked down the hallway before I could reply. Damn she was harsh, I thought.

If I weren't feeling so sick, I'd have run after her. I'd have grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around. I'd have slapped her on her long bony muzzle and told her I never wanted to see her again. Well, I probably wouldn't have done those things even if I were in the best of health, but the fantasies of egregious bridge burning raged beneath my twitching ears. Instead I sat there in my cold, cinderblock corner and dabbed away the tear blurring my vision. I sniffed hoped no one of the renegade smokers should decide they needed to light up in my hiding spot. High school fucking sucked.

I didn't get to tell her how I really felt, what I really wanted and thought about for hours on end. Another secret I kept from Dustin. I knew that her last remark was that of a signed 'goodbye' that meant things had changed more than I had previously thought. Bryn was my best friend. I needed her the most. I wanted to tell her everything. I wanted to tell her how I really felt. I wanted to tell her why I couldn't go through with it. I wished I could tell her about Dustin and that maybe, perhaps, I might be pregnant with his cub. I was afraid that if I started talking to her I wouldn't be able to stop. Now I'd lost that chance, even if I had the courage to use it. My chance at an ally was gone. Her loss burned more than the crippling nausea I felt sitting, alone again, in the stairwell with the period bell ringing far too loud.

I lied to my father too, well, I'd been lying to him since my thing with Dustin became serious. Lies of omission certainly counted. My dad was the kind of guy who could wring honesty out of you by his sheer presence. When we were kids and something went wrong, wrong enough to land before the council of our father, whatever confabulations or disseminations my siblings and I created out of self-preservation fell apart like a house without nails. I'd gotten better at holding things in as a teenager, but still, out of respect, I'd find words better kept to myself falling off my tongue with abandon. I'm not sure what it was about our dad. He never lifted a paw or brandished a switch to punish us. I think his sadness was contagious; an abandoned man, worked to the bone, with a house of unruly children who probably reminded him of a love lost to causes known only to him. We didn't talk about it at the time, but we sensed it and understood. That sadness lashed us into obedience better than any threat of punishment. It was the only discipline I knew.

When Dustin and I first became intimate, it surprised even me. Things quickly became too chaotic, both emotionally and physically, for me to even consider the long term implications of what we did, or what exactly we'd invited into our father's home. When our lovemaking grew more frequent and intimate, and I found myself freshly flopped beside my brother after sex, panting cool autumnal air from the forested mountains, I'd turn my gaze to my naked sibling with his cunning smile and perceive my internal voice reminding me, "Alex, I think you might have a boyfriend now," it began to dawn on me that I had no idea how to fit this new status into my life. Telling our father became impossible, no matter how much gravitas he possessed. That's when the lies began.

Our father started coming home every weekend. More than once my brother and I found ourselves scrambling towards feigned innocence. More than once we had to abbreviate our fucking on the shortest of notice. More than once he'd cornered me in the bathroom during the time spent suffering under that pesky bug. Our dad wasn't stupid, not at all. He'd comment on our seemingly close friendship on multiple occasions. I began to wonder how much he knew. My relationship with Dustin brought me many mixed emotions. Happiness was among them, yes, but so were fear and that impending Damocles sword of imminent loss. How much sadness would our love bring to our father? Would incest between his children rank with the tragedies that shaped his life? I lied constantly to avoid finding out.

When I reflect on these events, and in essence, the total catalogue of my life's mistakes, I know lying is like second nature to me now. It took me a while to realize it, but I'd been lying to Dustin the whole time. I lied about how I felt, what I thought of the escalations. I lied about the reasons I let myself fuck him. I lied at first about what we were doing. I lied when I said "I love you." I lied about my wants and needs. I hid my emotions behind a shield of dissembling. I ultimately lied about my fertility cycle. Now I lied, just so he would leave me alone. I am a selfish person, even after all these years. I lost my place among the good, and I'm not sure when, but I'm certain it happened long before page one.

"How are you doing?" Dustin asked on one of the mornings I'd made myself a canine burrito on the living room couch. He was dressed and ready for school. His backpack slung over his left shoulder. He held his old coal-miners lunch box, which I painstakingly mustered the energy to fill with sandwiches and soda earlier.

I lay weighing the merits of trying to huddle under the quilt for warmth or turning to my side to barf. A trash can stood ready nearby. I mumbled something unintelligible in reply.

"I've never seen you this sick before," Dustin said. "I'm really worried."

"Just the flu," I said under the covers as if with certainty.

"You've been sick a lot recently," my brother said.

"Bad luck. First those fish sticks, then those eggs," I said. "Speaking of which," quickly I leaned to the side and held my muzzle over the waste basket. Some spit and bile left my muzzle as my stomach twisted itself into a knot and expelled what little contents I had left. My nose and ears burnt with shame. It wasn't a good feeling to appear so vulnerable in front of Dustin. That's just part of mateship, being there for the lowest lows. "I'm never going to eat fish sticks again," I said, spitting out the vile flavor in my muzzle.

"Want me to stay home and take care of you?"

"No," I said sternly. "You need the attendance. Keep your grades up."

"I'm sorry Alex," he said with genuine sympathy.

"Not your fault," I said and groaned.

"You sure it's the flu?" He asked.

"What else would it be? Sick to my stomach and just burnt out. Every part of me is sore."

"You should probably see a doctor."

"Just so they can tell me to get some bed rest. No thanks."

"I'm worried," he said.

"I appreciate it, but I think I'll pull through. Go to school. You're gonna be late."

"Sure Alex," he said.

"And bring me my homework, if you don't mind."

"Will do," he said and turned away, leaving me alone with my lies and defensiveness.

For the first time in I don't know how long, I felt happy to be alone. Being alone meant not getting questioned. Being alone meant living in the solipsism of my thoughts, the indulgent pleasure of defying happiness. When I did make it to school, I became a recluse. Even though I kept my changing body disguised under multiple layers of flannel and denim, I sincerely believed that every glance penetrated me like the peering eye of an ultrasound. It felt like every teenager and teacher somehow could see the unconfirmed fetus burrowing into my womb.

It's not that it didn't dawn on me sooner. It should have been the first thing I diagnosed myself with. I was having unprotected sex; a lot of it. Now Dustin scored a few more condoms here and there, beginning rather coincidentally after our unprotected tie. If he was like me, he probably felt the mixture of guilt overlapping with the temptation to try it again. We used them whenever we had them, but in the big picture, safe-sex was just too intermittent to have a real effect. Using them just gave the both of us the impression that we were safer than we actually were. It's easy to remember the times we played it safe since we snuggled up against each other, patting each other on the back for our responsibility. They just supported the cognitive dissonance when the first symptoms of pregnancy arrived, which was the most dangerous thing they could do.

When our stashes were exhausted I let Dustin finish in me way, way too often. I knew it was wrong, but I think I just let a mixture of passion, inexperience, and the precedent of luck get the better of common sense. Without condoms and birth control I only had my calendar to go by and I trusted in it, but that's only somewhat effective if you stick to it attentively, which in retrospect, I did a piss-poor job of doing. I know I should have gone to Dustin and told him that I wasn't sure if I had a period back in late January. I should have definitely told him I missed the one a month later. Now it was fucking March and I'd given up hope on having one, especially after the "slip-ups" we committed. I just coasted on under the attitude of "we'll see. It can't possibly be what I think." But really, deep down, under the covers of denial, I knew I'd become pregnant. Denial is a powerful force.

I needed it more than ever after my lies alienated me from my friends, Bryn, my father, and even Dustin. When it wore thin, I ended up experiencing a new and unparalleled sensation of loneliness. I never knew loneliness that deep and all encompassing ever existed. I was pregnant but barely aware of it. I was terrified. I lacked the words to even address it. As such I was stuck with that dark secret. The world around me ceased to matter. It was just me and my toxic thoughts, spiraling, falling, moved forward only by the grinding passing of time.

As much as I tried to keep to my self-imposed isolation, I failed. I could never totally shake Dustin. That dog was way too persistent. Fuck, I couldn't push him away even if I wanted. Even though I lied straight into his face, I wish I could say I shared everything. I never told him about Bryn, what happened in my bedroom, and the turn for the worse school had taken. I didn't know how to tell him about the missed periods, but I loved him and told him what I could with as much honesty as I could muster.

By March a routine set in. We'd come home, debrief, do homework, and cook together. My libido had grown rather chaotic since my pregnancy began. It was either in the pits, right after those missed periods and early symptoms, when it was hard as hell to construe those signs as anything else but the worst case scenario, or it felt like like every breath I took filled me with some cryptic aphrodisiac. I became amorous, exhibiting behaviors unlike any I'd ever conceive of, even in the most devious attempts to reward my brother for jobs well done. Most of the time all we did was sleep together in a literal sense. Other times I shifted on my chair at school hot, bothered, and suppressing friskiness that put the early days of my relationship with Dustin to shame.

No doubt my brother benefited from those hormonal shifts. More than once I'd drag Dustin away from his work and occupied his bedroom for the entire afternoon, skipping off to shower only after I left him so drained he couldn't keep his dick up for more than a minute. In the big picture sex became rarer, diminishing from once every week, to once every two or so, but all relationships eventually cool down that way, especially when work and stress enters the equation.

It wasn't really about boldness anymore after it dawned on me what we had done. The time for that had passed. At least I stopped feeling the delight in testing boundaries. So the nights, and there were many, where I couldn't sleep and as such decided to sneak out of my room and find refuge under my brother's blanket, weren't about thrill seeking. I needed Dustin. I just needed to be with someone. I could only find sleep with the warmth of another body beside me, with an arm around me, where I could take comfort and know that I was not alone.

Things didn't immediately change after that winter night I foolishly let my brother put a pup inside me. I wanted things to carry on as they had before, because up until that night I'd finally achieved a happy relationship, the one I spent my entire highschool career trying to secure. It may have been with my sibling, and therefore doomed to tragic, or at best, untimely end, but during it all my needs were met. I'd still let it happen from time to time on some of those ever shorter February and March nights. Certain nuzzles on the back of my neck, a paw creeping over my breast or under my pajamas would test the waters. Sometimes I would pretend to be asleep until the molestation stopped, other times I voiced an excuse. Then nights came, usually those after days I'd experienced a new symptom or stressful event, that I'd give in. The need to be touched still existed within me. I just wanted to escape and turn back the clock to before whatever day it was my brother came in me and it stuck.

At the peak the motions and emotions resembled those of before. I could feel wanted and loved with my brother hugging me, thrusting into me from behind, working to the best of his ability to ensure both our climaxes. Occasionally I'd even let him tie with me under the sheets. I felt in my heart before I knew empirically that it didn't matter if he tied or not or even used protection. The decision, if there always was one, depended on how close I wanted to feel to my brother, and on if I needed to fall asleep with Dustin locked intimately within me, to prevent him from ever slipping away.

On one of those nights I found myself tossing and turning again. I still hadn't taken the steps to prove that I was carrying my brother's pup, but I knew I had to, and soon. I had enough symptoms, the reason to suspect it, and more importantly, I had the feeling. The nights I was alone with those thoughts made rest an elusive goal. I sat up and got to the edge of the bed, feeling dizzy and anxious. My heart pounded within my chest, guilt gnawed at me. I stood up, and followed my instincts. My paw found the wall, and from there the doorknob. Quiet steps guided me the familiar path down the hall. I crept into my brother's room and stepped blindly through it until my knee bumped into my brother's bed. He awoke startled, ripping his head off the pillow and darting it my direction.

"Sis?" He whispered questioningly, expecting no one other but me in his room this late.

"Yea," I said, "it's me."

My brother scooted aside, making room for me. It'd become a fairly common ritual. He flipped over the blanket, allowing me to crawl under the covers. We moved covertly, sparing extraneous sounds. I felt relief as I wiggled into the body warmth he left for me. We snuck a kiss as soon as the covers came over us. I turned my back to him and felt him grow flush with me, his arm swinging over me. Another kiss pressed into my fur at the base of my neck. I shivered despite the cocoon of warmth. We rested for a moment until our breathing slowed to the point we could have been mistaken for sleeping. In that moment I felt content and my sorrows seemed just a bit more distant. There, cuddled together, I felt things were how they should be, just my boyfriend and I, and I within his arms.

Dustin slept shirtless as usual, either going commando in his pajama pants or wearing boxers beneath. I usually slept the same way, except with an extra large band shirt appropriated from our oldest sibling. My brother's paw rested right over the logo of the 90's grunge band, pressed upon my belly. I closed my eyes and began to seek sleep, figuring if my brother wanted to start something he would have already shown some hints. Only then did he move his paw, caressing my belly from the elastic of my pjs to just beneath my breasts. For the first several moments things seemed chaste enough, just a little bit of love before succumbing to sleep. Then I began to notice his latest passes, perhaps intentionally, bunched my shirt's fabric just below my breasts.

In those seconds I decided he wanted to play before sleep. The day had been a rough one and I was feeling exceptionally lonely. It's not that I didn't want to make love, I mostly wanted to just feel loved, and it was hard not to feel love when my brother and I lay naked, impossibly close, in midst of copulation. Therefore I didn't resist. I just felt that anticipatory deep tangle inside my chest as my body computed that it ought to prepare for the situation I put it in. I took in a deep breath, feeling my heart begin to accelerate as my brother continued to pet my exposed belly-fur. From there his paw slipped beneath, his fingers running through the bare fur on my stomach. He caressed me in the way he knew would get my libido going. My brother always found a way of exploiting my weaknesses.

If only he knew his paw caressed a tiny distance away from that tiny speck of life within my belly. If only he knew I carried a pup, his pup, which I so foolishly let him place inside me. If only I could tell my brother he was already a father, yet another 18 year old teen dad in a stupid part of the world. That bombshell stayed stuck in my throat, yet again. I merely blushed in the dark as Dustin inched closer and bucked beneath my tail, confirming the mood he was in. I wiggled closer to him, informing him that I was game. He let his caresses grow broader, nonchalantly letting each pass inch further up my body, sliding his arm up my shirt until he finally reached my breasts and involved them in his exploration.

Dustin kissed me on the back of my neck and whispered, "I love you," into my fur, his words instantly caused me to melt as effective as his touch.

"I love you too." I whispered back, totally and utterly his at that point.

His paw cupped my breast, tenderly fondling my mound with a gruff eagerness as if we were four years younger and I let him touch me for the first time. I sighed when he located my nipple, his paw-pads brushing the little skin bump in sensual circles. I felt the same excitement I felt months before, back when all this was just a game of 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours.'

I reached behind me to encourage Dustin with a touch of my own. My paw found his flank. I followed his lean torso downward to the edge of his pjs, daring to slide my fingers beneath the rim. My paw wiggled beneath, barely able to reach his butt with my finger tips. After a moment of re-strategizing, I began the search in the dark for my brother's drawstring. A quick tug and it came undone. The added slack easily let my paw return beneath my brother's tail, and squeeze his butt in the same way he went after my breasts.

Dustin mimicked my actions. His paw left my breast and moved down to my own draw string. I felt it slack and then my brother's fingers brushing through my pubic fur. His paw wedged between my legs, covering my sex. Repeated sensual strokes brushed lengthwise along my sliver. I murred softly, another erogenous trigger achieved. I felt blood flow shift between my legs and the unmistakable arousal deep inside my sex, the longing, the growing need to have something fill me, something fortunately close at hand. Each slow pass and every accidental or intentional brush of his paw-pads upon my lips and upon my hood incrementally nurtured that longing. He had me squirming, my legs scissoring apart, begging for the next escalation, to have just a fingertip dip between my labia and tease my entrance.

My paw moved around his waist to see if I could accelerate things. I found his sheath firm and already peeking. My fingers curled around his furry tube and bare canine cock-tip. I molested my brother with the same tantalizingly slow patience, feeling him stir and swell within his sheath. I always enjoyed the feeling of him growing within my paw. Only then did he start sliding one of his fingers between my folds, touching my most intimate details hidden within the lips of my sex. I sighed, growing a bit distracted from my own efforts. Only after a moment could I redouble my attention and tug his sheath down his length, exposing more of him with each pass.

Before my brother indulged me with any deeper foreplay, he slipped his paw away to tug down my pj bottoms. I helped out as best I could; wiggling so he could ease them off my hips, and using my toe-claws to pull them down my legs and off my feet. I kicked them off my paws and down to the foot of the bed. He did the same to himself a moment later. I took the opportunity to free myself of my shirt, flinging it into the dark. We cuddled together totally naked. Our paws made a bee-line for each other's sexes. Mine took turns stroking his length and fondling his balls. His rubbed my hood against my clit and then went for deeper probing, this time free from any semblance of restraint.

A shiver passed through my body, despite the heat under the blanket. Dustin's finger slipped into my vulva and teased between my labia until he found my vaginal entrance. Little circles teased my folds apart, and spiraled inward in ever broader ellipses. Paw-pads and fur brushed my opening. This time he didn't slip his finger in until he had me leaking, until he had me more than ready to have that aching void inside me filled. He made me tense and shudder with just his finger thrusting into my sex, his paw-pad wasting no time in brushing my G-spot and all the sensitive corners he knew I liked. Once he had me audibly wet, and I had him bucking through my paw, my brother shifted into a position we'd taken on numerous occasions, one that lined us up perfectly should we intend to fuck. "Do you want to?" He asked, gently stirring his finger inside me, always the gentleman.

"Sure!" I agreed without delay. I hummed sensually and wiggled against Dustin.

Our paws left each other as we perfected our side-by-side position. I presented myself to my brother as best I could, keeping my tail raised and my butt angled so he wouldn't have much trouble finding my sweet spot in the dark. He inched closer and within seconds his canine cock brushed beneath my tail. His tip followed my crevice and found my wet labia. I held my breath and resisted pushing back, letting my brother discover my entrance all on his own. Then I felt it; the wonderful return of his length through my body. His canine point parted folds I hadn't let him touch in far too long. My passage grew tight around his shaft, causing me to squirm as my sex reconfigured around the familiar, albeit always disconcerting presence of my sibling's cock. As soon as he hilted, his arm came around me, paw caressed its way upon my breast, and pulled me into him. I almost squealed at the feeling of being so full and brought so close. It was exactly the sensation I was after.

Dustin murred softly and so did I, exposed to my warmth and tightness, and I to the stiff fullness scratching a metaphorical itch. He gave me a moment to get used to his size; an appreciated courtesy since I had to adapt to all of his inches, including his base and developing knot. Taking my brother all at once always felt overwhelming and it had me panting before I even felt his sheath-fur pressed against my lips. Only then did i find myself breathing again, nearly panting. My heart raced as the first endorphins of sex made it into my bloodstream, my own body rewarding me as if blind to breed and fur patterns, and all the telling genetic markers on the man who I allowed to take me without a condom.

Dustin commenced after as much waiting as he could bear. Thus began the unmistakable movements of sex, slow undulations, our bare bodies intimately rocking under the covers. Our facial fur and indeed everything around me shone gray in the absence of light. Dustin's hips repeatedly flexed, pressing against my presented butt and stiff, restrained tail. The bed squeaked, though our love making was anything but furious. My brother's bucks were sensual and easy, as if trying, albeit failing, to keep covert the incest occurring in his bedroom.

His slick stiffness and tip tugged at me in reverse, only to be swiftly shoved back to the deepest corner of my vagina. Before I knew it my body was rocking, propelled almost imperceptibly quicker by the moment as my brother settled into a pace exploiting what my body had to offer. Dustin's paw handled my breast. The other pinned my tail to my thigh with compassionate authority, clutching me as close as possible, and pulling my willing body down onto his canine shaft. I turned over control of my body to my biological brother and let his restraint commit me to the taboo. Effete grunts left my muzzle with practically every hilting push, honest little confessions of how much I enjoyed making love with him.

The sound of my fur bristling against the sheets and pillow filled my ears. It became impossible to isolate the individual sensations, so quickly did they arise and change. I wouldn't even try; I'd just relax, tend to my pleasure, and see to my brother's as well. Soon I felt the hard bulge of his knot plow through my entrance. The small, but quickly growing, firm spot added that much more pleasure as it hilted inside my vagina. I came to relish the sensation of that intimate bit of canine anatomy, the feeling of it stretching me, growing inside me, and locking me to my mate. It was that fateful kink that had already gotten me in the worst trouble of my life. Still, as if daft, I found myself ready to repeat that mistake. Perhaps had I not already suspected it was too late, I wouldn't have been so willing, but like I said, fuck-ups lead to more fuck-ups, even on a less conscious level. Though the risk increased with each mistake, it didn't feel that way. What harm was there in another tie and a little bit of cum. I bucked back at my brother, not letting him entirely pull out, wordlessly communicating to him that if he wanted, I was his to breed.

For a while, it seemed as though that would be his course. He pushed into me so deep, his tip filled places inside me that couldn't always be reached. I clenched my fangs, pretending the house was full and that a real risk of discovery existed if I vocalized too much pleasure. His knot stretched within me in that tantalizingly perfect spot. I flexed to see if I could will an early tie. I was already looking forward to that ultimate fullness and the subsequent satiating throbs. Then my brother grew uncharacteristically hesitant, slowing down, and eventually pulling his knot out entirely, leaving me gaping.

I winced as it came free, feeling a deep sense of loss at the emptiness it left behind. I turned my head back at Dustin and whispered, "Don't you want to mate me, puppy?" With words carefully chosen to be as irresistible as possible.

"Not tonight, sis," he said into the darkness, perplexing me deeply.

"Why not?" I asked.

"I'm out of condoms," he said, sounding strangely responsible.

"It's okay, I'm safe," I said, definitely not lying, but also covering up quite a bit.

"I'd rather not risk it."

"You sure?" I said, feeling disappointment. Moreover, I was worried about what came over my brother to turn down a tie.

He kissed me in reply and resumed his movements, making me feel that knot of his striking just outside of where I wanted it. It didn't take too long for me to forget about the tie, I've done without enough times to care too much, though that extra interval of closeness would have been nice. His strokes grew quicker and the vigor of his pushes harder, just shy of forceful enough to shake the bed. It took willpower on my part to stifle all those tones catching in my throat, and keep from rocking the bed to its limits.

My paw crept down between my legs and into my pubic fur. My fingers V'ed on either side of my spread sex, finding the skin and fur there soaked. I felt my brother's shaft slip between fingers and his knot strike upon them. I spread my sex for him, letting his knot kiss my folds with all the force he could muster. My clit stood firm and erect, peaking from under its hood. I couldn't resist the desire to massage it between my fingers. My paw moved quickly, my digits darting from spot to spot, brushing my clit with paw-pads and fur. I felt myself getting closer, but I was in no race to get off. Before I'd let myself, I had wanted certain conditions filled, conditions that weren't guaranteed without a tie.

I felt my brother getting close, since I could read his signs like an open book. While he huffed and panted well within that final stretch of chasing those self-serving sensations, I held tight and squeezed, caressing his slick form with my thumb-pad and guiding him to my sex, tugging him toward me as if inviting him to strike me with his knot as hard as he liked yet careful not to interfere with his motions.

"I'm gunna," he huffed seconds later, warning me about the imminent for the first time in a while.

"Do it Dusty," I said, squeezing his knot and pressing back into his thrusts.

"You sure?" He vented again.

"Yea," I whispered.

"You really sure?"

"Please," I practically begged.

"Oh fuck," he sighed, following through with a few last, particularly long and deep thrusts.

I grunted softly, accepting those authoritative womb deep prods, ones I knew from experience imminently preceded the spilling of my brother's seed when he chose not to withdraw. Like dozens of times before, the words 'pull out' stuck to my tongue unspoken as Dustin's last ditch demonstration of vigor pushed me closer to the edge of the bed. I sighed just as I prepared myself for that tidal wave of pleasure, but my vocalization came from disappointment. That sudden shocking vacancy I hadn't felt in quite a few weeks took me by surprise. Dustin's cock slipped from my pussy and his arm scrambled to grasp his slick arousal. A few strokes later and I heard the familiar panting breaths in my backs-swept ear.

My own paw slipped down and found my brother's bare cocktip. My fingers curled around his first few inches the same moment he started to cum. I held him just in time to feel the erotic twitch disappointingly outside my body. Dustin's cum pulsed through him beneath my paw-pads and began to spurt out across my inner thigh, landing in lines as far up as my pubic fur. "Dusty?" I whispered with the initiation of a question as his essence drained outside of where it belonged. An orgasmic, masculine growl became his only reply as his stroking grew more eager in his last ditch attempt to shake out as much of his canine white stuff tantalizingly close.

My fingers carefully tugged the sensitive spots just beneath Dustin's upcurved tip to make sure he enjoyed his climax to the fullest extent. With what authority I had, I angled my brother's cock toward my aroused and parted vulva and let at least some of his semen land upon the exposed pink of my sex. The warm sensation of Dustin's cum and the languid, illicit trickle upon my lips brought me considerable satisfaction I would not have found otherwise. His last pulses of semen seeped between my fingers, wetting them with familiar, sticky heat. His scents followed, making the loss seem astute. Meanwhile I felt my orgasm grow more distant by the second. I caressed my brother as if somehow I could feel vicarious pleasure, but to no avail. I badly needed the feeling of fullness, the addicting internal presence and the danger a full load of semen meant when deposited beside my cervix.

I heard Dustin chuckle beside me, comfortably satiated. My paw darted to my abandoned sex and began to reboot the patterns of pleasure I felt mere seconds ago. It didn't matter that my fingers were covered in cum. I purposefully directed the sperm my brother shot nearby to my arousal and used Dustin's slickness as lube, caressing my lips, pee-slit, and vaginal entrance with paw-pads coated in canine cum. A few months earlier I wouldn't have allowed myself to do it, but this time I didn't hesitate to slip a sperm-matted finger into my opening, desperate to rekindle what sensations Dustin's cock brought me a moment earlier. I knew it was foolish, but I rubbed the warm, sticky incestuous essence into every fold and permitted it into my vagina, indifferent to all the risks.

I vigorously rubbed the sensitive bump beneath my clitoral hood, willing forth the sensations that would bring me over the edge. I let my fingers slip down around my brother's shaft, picking up some his product coating his softening length, and spread that collie-scented substance throughout the rest of my folds. My brother assisted me by letting go of his dick and playing with my sperm-slick folds. The sensation of his paw-pads clumsily fingering my sex in pursuit of my opening, and subsequently brushing against my inner walls slipping through canine semen, helped do the trick. As always, Dustin had me squirming, trying to make the most of those sensations and will the sensations to last a moment longer. I found myself holding my breath, feeling the sensual pressure grow, rubbing my biological brother's sperm into my clit, fiercely improvising in pursuit of the final threshold where all that potential inside me could turn to satisfaction.

Finally climax arrested my body. I could finally exhale my pent up breath in a shuddering fashion. I instinctively pressed back into Dustin, skin tingling, the walls of my sex quivering around his spermy fingers. Little bright stars appeared in my peripheral vision, floating through the darkness like bottle rockets. The pleasure pulsed outward from my lower belly, filling every inch of me with that blissful, carefree euphoria. My fingers audibly flicked through my wet and messy labia as if begging the waves to persist a moment longer. The spasms drew out and my paw slowed, until I just slowly played with my clit and hood, feeling the stiff little bud only occasionally jerk between index and middle finger. I found what I wanted, the distraction and the physical, undeniable presence of love.

My brother and I panted, illicitly close together. He planted a few kisses upon my shoulder and neck, nibbling and nuzzling my fur from behind. Eventually his fingers idly traced through my sperm-slick folds and experienced the last after-spasms of my climax. As always it abated too soon. Without his knot in me my brother felt strangely distant, even though he held me flush with his warm body.I still felt horny and needy. The emptiness Dustin left when he pulled out ached. The incident dumped cold water on the moment, a rapid and unpleasant rocket ride back to reality. I felt loose and gaping, like a used little pup lovingly tarnished in genetically far too similar collie seed.

I let Dustin continue to play with me, his finger running up and down my inseminated folds. His paw-pad repeatedly touched all my most personal features, clit, pee-slit, vagina, without evoking a negative response from me. I was too tired to care. I let him have his fun, myself gleaning vicarious comfort from the prolonged intimacy and proximity. I started to feel my tiredness too, much to my relief.

"Hey sis," he said, whispering into my ear. His fingers continuously stirred between my lips, idly fingering my wet post-coital opening, and stirring his semen hidden in my loosened vagina. "We've been doing this a lot recently," he continued with an indicating wiggle. "When was the last time you had me pull out?"

"It's been a while," I said, my ears sweeping back in an admission of guilt.

"I know I should keep track of it myself, but I figured you know best."

"I do," I said, in partial truth.

"You remember Kevin?"

"Yea."

"He's probably my best friend at school."

"I figured."

"Well, he told me the other day he knocked up his girl."

I tried to remain still, but the warmth of trouble flushed my ears and muzzle. The uneasiness returned to my stomach. I hoped my brother wouldn't notice. "Damn," I said, trying not to let my voice falter.

"They're a lot like us, if you think about it. Our age. Keeping it relatively hush-hush, you know, because the family doesn't really approve of them dating one-hundred percent. I got to thinking after he told me. It's sort of a grim reminder. I really don't want that to happen to us, especially because of your future. You know? Maybe we need to start taking a few more precautions. Do this a little less often," his finger wiggled in my pussy, stirring the tangible slickness of his semen in an effort to remind me that I had nothing to defend myself from the potential efficacy of the substance.

I felt myself zone out. My lips parted to speak, but no words came to me. I just felt hollow. The secret that I bore within suddenly became the source of a new and intense order of loneliness, the quality of which I never felt before.

"Are you okay with that? I mean, we can still do this," he said, repeating the indication that we had just performed consanguineous unprotected sex. "You know, whenever the timing is right. You know I'm always trying to dig up more condoms, and maybe we just have to bite it and ask dad to get you the pill. I know he ain't gonna be happy about it, but I'm sure he'll be even more pissed if I knock you up. Though that's your call. Meanwhile we can just make pulling out a thing again. I just don't want anything to happen. I worry about you, sis."

"Yea," I said in a gasp, speaking in a pure automated response. My body tensed and my face felt warm to the point of burning. I felt sure my brother had to notice something about me and the way I'd been behaving. Secrets like mine could not be kept for long. I lay motionless, feeling as if I were in a claustrophobic full body cage, inhibiting every movement down to my breathing.

"You sure you okay?" He asked.

"Yea," I said again, straining to hide the near panic. I pulled away from my brother and sat up at the edge of the bed. I felt Dustin's cum lubricating my vulva and every crevice within me, feeling as foolish for my choices as I did two months earlier after our first unprotected tie. Instincts informed me that it was too late for his sperm to cause any more harm. The feeling in my stomach made me queasy, as if the hypothetical life within kicked and tore at me, clawing at my womb with the same tenacity to break free as I wished I could reveal my suspicions of its existence.

"I'm sorry," Dustin said, himself leaning up and flicking on a lamp on his nightstand. "I should have brought this up sooner, like before we fucked, but tonight wasn't exactly planned and you really seemed to want it. Just because it happened to Kevin and his girl, doesn't mean it'll happen to us. We'll learn from it, take precautions, you know?"

I winced and shut my eyes with the sudden blinding light. "And what if it happened to us?"

"Oh god," he said. "I've been worried about it. I don't know what we'd do if that happened. Lets just not find out." He placed his paw on my shoulder, leaning a little closer.

I covered my breasts with my arms and flinched. His words cut like the blade of a very sharp knife, a cold rip before the pain set in.

"You alright?" He said, his paw gently brushing my fur.

"Yea," I lied. "It's just this talk. It's got me nervous. Thinking about it makes me a bit queasy."

"I had to bring it up. In light of what happened to Kevin, it seems we've been acting just as reckless."

"You're right," I said. "Things need to change." I paused and continued, very much speaking the truth "I'm really worried too."

"If we weren't related, this wouldn't be as big of an issue. I'm not sure I want to go to college anyway. I'm not totally opposed to having a little beastie running around. Just not yet, you know? I always figured I'd be the one taking care of things, sorta like dad. I know his life sucks, but you gotta respect the man. If you do the math, he couldn't have been much older than us when he and mom got together and had Nate and Danny. He probably made the same mistake my buddy did with his girlfriend. I just want a little control over it; after all, it didn't go so well for mom and dad, or us as their kids. I care about you a lot sis; I know your dreams are a lot different. You need to go to college. That's your path. I don't want to be the one who took that away from you."

I stayed still with ears and eyes downcast. I felt my nudity and my defenselessness. My tongue twitched in my muzzle, formulating the words to a number of statements I burned to reveal, but couldn't bring myself to say. My muteness became my language.

Dustin leaned back onto the sheets with his arms behind his head. He stared up at the ceiling and sighed. "Hopefully I didn't ruin the night for ya."

"What's Kevin going to do?"

"He hasn't told me."

We stayed silent for a few minutes. I reached over to my brother's nightstand and grabbed a paw full of Kleenex. I used them to clean between my thighs, suddenly not feeling like wearing any of Dustin's cum any more.

"Sis," Dustin said in a soft voice, turning his muzzle to me, "if it happens, will you tell me?"

"Yea," I said, inspecting the wad of tissue I held, seeing the translucent threads of collie semen glow like a warning sign in the dim light. Even if there was a tiny little chance I wasn't pregnant, even if all the signs that I had were as benign as I hoped, I may have ended that just then. I could be getting pregnant that very moment, I thought. I could shower, clean, but nothing could effectively undo that last cum-shot, nor all the others I'd let into my body that year. I sighed, taking in the familiar strong scent of my biological brother's sperm. "I will," I said, and I would, even though it felt impossible, just not that night. Not until I felt sure, until I knew for sure.

"Come to bed," my brother said, tugging on my tail. "I didn't mean to scare you."

I anxiously crawled back under the covers, letting the dirty Kleenex fall to the floor. I lay stiff and terrified on my back next to my brother, staring at the ceiling. He turned to his side, swinging his arm back around me and pulling my body close. "I love you," he said. "You know I do and will whatever happens. I like what we have. I just don't want that to change." He kissed me on the cheek, before reaching around and turning the light off. Darkness re-enveloped us both.

I turned to my side and let myself fall into the gaps of his body. "I don't want things to change either," I said, truthfully.

"We'll be fine," he reassured. "Been lucky thus far. Just need to rethink our strategies."

"And if it happens?" I uttered.

"It won't, but if it does, then we'll burn that bridge when we get there."

"You keep using that expression wrong. That's not how it goes."

"No, I say what I mean. Don't stress it. We've been keeping track and only played around that. It's not the best method, but it is a method, and it's worked for us."

If only he knew, but the reassurance felt good. Maybe he was right. I loved how he could talk me out of what my instincts screamed were true. "I love you," I whispered into the dark.

"I know," his muzzle spoke into my ear.

I shivered, feeling my nakedness as if exposed in a dream scenario. Unlike usual I received no pleasure from the trace of my brother's semen left inside me, a thin coat, but more than enough to potentially carry out my deepest fears.

"Night," he said, pressing his lips upon my shoulder.

"Good night," I said, and turned to my thoughts and the normally satisfying reminders of coitus, soreness and slickness from bareback lovemaking. Those sensations, pleasant as they were, burned as though they were wounds. My brother fell asleep well before me. He left me awake, thinking of what pregnancy would be like. How big would I get? Cesarean or vaginal? Would I keep it, or 'take care of it?' Would it hurt? Of course it would. I imagined all those future pains projected onto my body, a psychosomatic orchestra of discomfort deep in my belly and bones. Beyond all those imagined aches, the most present and immanant hurt the most. True loneliness is a rare breed, a well camouflaged animal invisible to even the most experienced observers. Even under warm covers beside the one I called my mate, I caught a glimpse of it and it terrified me.

True loneliness is when the fates pull you from your comfort and drag you by the nape of the neck and pull you in front of a mirror. Their broken claws pry open your eyes and force you to behold what you're trained by nature to repress. What you see causes you to doubt your own goodness. You see your face without makeup, and memories of you committing acts that disgust even you. You're a liar. You're selfish. Everything you've ever done has been for your benefit alone. The worst part is you know you lack the willpower to change. You're damned. You will run in circles. It's the closest to hell I'd ever felt. Now when I get there I know what to expect. Incest was a crime in my state, and a much greater offense in the cosmology of culture, worse so if offspring resulted from the union, which given my symptoms, it might. Eventually my thoughts turned to feedback loops of worry, but fortunately they spiraled into sleep, a nap more accurately, curtailed by the return of that mystery illness and the first light of dawn.