Author’s Note.
This is a fictional story involving incest, but it’s not just a story about incest. It focuses on harem literature.
All characters participating in any form of sexual activity must be over the age of eighteen.
None of these events are real, no matter how much we wish they were. (It sucks, doesn’t it)
Please rate and comment.
enjoy.
*****
Part – 1.
Chapter 1.
My sister, Tori, has been the bane of my existence since childhood. I was five when she was born and I was glad I had a little sister to look after. That all stopped when she became able to speak. As soon as she was able to talk, she would run to her parents and tell them everything I did; she loved my parents and craved their attention, and the best way to do that was by telling on her beloved brother. As we reached adolescence, she became even worse: she was malicious and always looking for ways to get me into trouble. I could have prevented this by not doing things that got me into trouble, but I was a teenage boy and I just wanted to have fun. After high school I moved to Melbourne to go to university – I could have studied in Sydney, but I really wanted to get out and experience life on my own. I didn’t have a close relationship with my parents; Dad was always working and mom spent all her free time with Tori, shopping, and going to spas. Their social media accounts are filled with all the expensive, boring crap they do every day, and sometimes I wonder if my little sister ever goes to school.
When I graduated, my parents left for the ceremony but luckily my sister stayed back in Sydney. They came and said what was expected of them and then they left, Dad needed to fly home as soon as possible and complained about the huge time wasted. He is definitely a bit of a jerk.
After college, I moved in with some friends and started dating a girl I met. She was nice; a cute redhead with glasses. We were together for about a year until I found out that she and my roommate/best friend were sleeping together. They were said to be in love, but I just don’t understand it. I was surprisingly calm about it all – sure, it hurt to find out that two of the people I trusted the most were lying to me and having sex behind my back, but honestly, this relationship wasn’t going anywhere. She was cool and the sex was great – which is what I’ll probably miss the most – but I didn’t care much about being with her. So when my workplace offered voluntary redundancy, I took one and booked a flight home.
Now I’m standing there waiting to board my flight back to Sydney. I would have said “home”, but that means I have a home. You see, my sister is now eighteen, graduated from high school, and they have decided to sell their childhood home, buy a luxury apartment on Bondi Beach, and go off to Europe on a second honeymoon. Although they said I was welcome to live in the apartment, I wasn’t too happy that I was going to be living with my sister’s brother, who decided college wasn’t the right place for her and daddy’s credit card was all she needed. Of course, he gave her everything, daddy’s little girl.
I always feel bad when I think about my sister. I decided I only had enough time to move in with her while I found a new job and my own apartment – the redundancy package from my last job was a good buffer for me to cover my expenses while I was looking. I hoped my sister would have matured in the years I was gone, but I hoped not. One Christmas I saw her again when I was visiting home and it was a royal disaster so I decided not to do it again. She was fifteen at the time, but it still broke my heart. But three years is a very long time and anyone can change.
When I got on the plane, I decided I would give her the benefit of the doubt. I would welcome my little sister with a smile and a hug and be a mature big brother. After all, mom and dad are overseas so she can’t really sell me on them if I decide to party, not because I’m the party type. I prefer staying at home and playing games with my friends – most of them live all over Australia and I’ve never met them before, but they’re still my friends.
I sat down and sighed to myself as a man weighing at least 150 kg walked slowly down the aisle, stopped near my seat, checked his ticket, checked his seat number, checked his ticket again and then sat down. I was relieved I wasn’t sitting next to him on my way home.
“Sorry to disturb you. May I go ahead?” a voice said to me. I looked up and saw a pretty blonde girl holding a small bag in one hand and her boarding pass in the other. She gave me a friendly smile. I smiled back, but for a moment I was at a loss for words.
“I’m in the middle seat,” he said, keeping his tone friendly.
“Oh crap! Sorry.” I immediately stood up and walked towards the aisle to let her pass. It was very crowded and when she sat down she walked over to me. She smelled like lavender and her hair shone like gold. She kept it casual in blue jeans and a black long sleeved top. She didn’t show a single shred of skin but I was instantly enamored by her and thanked the non-existent gods for putting me next to this adorable blonde girl on our trip home.
I sat up and looked at the blonde girl.
“I’m Jason,” I said, extending my hand in greeting.
“Abby,” he replied with a smile and shook my hand.
“Nice to meet you, Abby,” I said.
“You are too Jason,” she smiled at me then. We were interrupted by someone loudly clearing their throat. I once again had to switch seats with a very temperamental middle-aged woman who didn’t seem too interested in sharing her seat with two young rowdies – not that she said so, but I just assumed she expected anyone with unshaven white hair to be rowdy. She had a hairstyle that said, “I want to talk to your manager!” As she settled into the window seat, I was glad I wasn’t sitting next to her.
Once everyone was seated and strapped in, the plane began to take off down the runway. This has always been my favorite part of flying, the plane moving so fast, lifting a group of people into the air, traveling a long distance in a short amount of time, it’s that much speed – it really is something remarkable. It appeared that Abby did not share my enthusiasm for flying; I noticed her hands were gripping the armrests tightly, which must have been causing pain, and her eyes were fixed on the back of the chair in front of her.
“Don’t you like flying?” I asked, smiling at the beautiful blonde girl.
“What happened?” he asked, smiling.
“Just a guess,” I added.
“I’ve never flown alone,” she said, still looking at the seat in front of her.
“Well, you’re not alone,” I said more casually than I expected. Abby looked away from the seat in front of her and smiled at me.
“Thanks,” she said, looking thoughtful for a moment. “This is going to sound crazy, but do you mind if I hold your hand?” She looked down, a slight blush on her cheeks. “I know I must sound like a child, but holding Daddy’s hand during takeoff always helps.”
For moments like these, I send my praises to the heavens once again.
“It’s alright,” I said, placing my hand on his. He quickly interlaced his fingers with mine and squeezed my hand tightly.
“Tell me if I squeezed it too tight. I didn’t mean to,” Abby said.
“It’s okay, I can handle it,” I replied.
I did, although her grip was amazing for a girl of about fifty kilograms. During the most difficult part of the takeoff, I thought she would break every bone in my hand. But I handled it like a boss, neither complaining nor shaking my shaking hands after her vice-like grip loosened. For the first few minutes she kept apologizing, but I kept reassuring her that I was fine. I was so happy that this cute blonde girl was sitting next to me and talking to me.
The flight attendant came over and handed out drinks and snacks, and I ordered a Coke — the flight was only a few hours long and I didn’t have to bother ordering any food.
“So where are you going then?” Abby asked me.
“I just got home. How are you?” I replied.
She said, “Same. My semester is over so I’ll stay with my parents until I go back next year.”
“What are you reading?” I said after taking a sip of coke.
“Nursing,” she said, smiling. “I like helping people.”
I pictured her in a slutty nurse outfit. I immediately dismissed the idea so as not to embarrass myself by losing my temper on the plane home.
“That’s a good thing, we can always hire more nurses,” I said.
“Have you just arrived in Melbourne?” Abi asked.
“No, I live there, but I decided it was time to go home,” I replied. I didn’t want to bring up the fact that my girlfriend and my best friend almost left me. I said, “I’m going to stay at my parents’ house with my sister until I find an apartment.”
“Well, at least you have a family to live with,” he said smiling again. She’s a really friendly girl. Very pretty too.
“Yeah, that must be great,” I said, without any of the sarcasm I meant to say. It’s always hard for some people to understand how difficult it is to be around my family.
We spent the rest of the flight chatting. I found out she loved video games as much as I did and she did some Twitch streaming, and while neither of us was that into music, we had some similar tastes. When the flight landed, I wished a few more hours would pass so I could continue talking to this blonde beauty. But soon enough, we stood up from our seats and walked out of the cabin. We walked together to get our luggage and headed out of the airport.
“Well, my dad is waiting,” she said, pointing to a middle-aged man wearing sunglasses standing next to a shiny red sports car. Wearing a brown leather jacket, he looked like he was in the midst of a mid-life crisis.
“Maybe I’ll see you again?” Abby said, giving me a slight wave.
“Yes, of course. Nice to meet you, Abby,” I replied. As she walked towards her dad, she gave him a big hug. I cursed myself for not asking for her phone number. In a big city like Sydney, the chances of me seeing her again were slim. I sighed and looked around. I wasn’t expecting to see my parents, but I was half expecting my little sister to come pick me up – rather than hoping I’d call a cab – but no luck.
I got into the first taxi I found and gave him my home address.
Soon we were entering the bustle of Sydney traffic. I largely ignored the sounds of taxi drivers trying to negotiate and the beeps and horns of Sydney motorists returning home from work or on their way somewhere. I always find it incredible that so many people need to get to so many different places at the same time – it’s as if the government pays them to drive all day and block the roads. The vehicles no longer look like people, but like the city landscape.
I had actually never been to Bondi before and had no idea where the taxi driver took me, but it seemed like the longest route.
We parked in front of a large apartment building labeled “Vanity House.” I thought it was an appropriate name to identify my mother and father. I quickly checked the address, then paid the ridiculous fare and got out of the cab. I walked to the front door of the building and reread my mother’s email. I was going to go to Apartment 1 and talk to Mike, the building manager. Who would give me my pass and keys? I slung my bag over my shoulder, pressed the door to apartment number one, paused for a moment and then pressed the door again.
“What?” said a man who seemed very angry.
“Hi, uh… my name is Jason, Jason Parks. My mission is to get the keys to your parents’ house from you,” I replied. Keep my tone as polite as possible.
“Oh my God! Is it today?” the man replied. He said, “I will come out immediately, just wait a minute.”
I sit on a low brick wall in the apartment entrance way and scroll through photos of my ex on my phone while I wait. I’m struggling again to delete the photos of me and my ex – some of which just have her smiling. Maybe I should delete them, but I haven’t been able to get rid of them yet. Plus, they might come in handy for getting some important bank information in the next few days. I would love to see Abi again though.
Before I could daydream about the blonde beauty I met on the plane, the door of the apartment building burst open and a group of giggling girls in tiny bikinis stepped in. Behind them was a dark-skinned man in his thirties, wearing only swimming trunks and a pair of sunglasses.
“Okay, you guys. I’ll see you at the beach, ladies,” he said to the girls, who waved at him before leaving. I stared at them for a while. The abundance of female flesh amazed me.
“Pretty much, isn’t it?” the man said. I looked at him. He put his sunglasses on his head and stared at the girls’ retreating backs. “Eighteen is sweet,” he added. More to himself.
“Yeah, they’re hot,” I replied. Not sure what else to say.
“So, you’re Little Jason?” he said. Turning his attention to me. “I’m Mike,” he extended his hand toward me. I stood up and shook his hand. In high school I was always called “Little Jason” because I was much shorter and skinnier than most of the people in my grade. Even though I grew to six feet tall by the time I graduated – I wasn’t huge, but it was better than my five-foot six-inch stature I had spent in high school – the name stuck with me ever since I was a kid. I’ve changed a bit since moving away. I learned the importance of good health and worked hard to stay fit and maintain a healthy diet. But I’m still a white ass; there’s no point getting skin cancer just to look like Mike’s old bag.
“Yes, that’s me,” I replied.
“Okay, come on, I’ll take you to that place,” Mike said.
I waited in the lobby while he walked right through the front door to his apartment. When he came out he gave me a key card and a set of keys.
Mike instructed, “This card allows you to enter the building and activate the elevator. Each card is set to allow only tenants access to their apartment floor.”
I followed the brown-haired Mike into the elevator and he pointed to a small cushion next to the door. It is round and made of smooth metal that has been polished to give it a mirror-like shine.
“Just swipe your card on it and the lift will take you to your floor,” he said.
I placed the card in front of the sensor and heard a beep and a small green light flash as the door closed and the elevator car began to rise.
“You’re going to love this place, it’s literally a den of pimps,” Mike said, a shit-eating grin on his face. I already disliked this guy; the fact that his apartment, where my sister also lived, housed a few legal teens made me nervous around him.
I replied, “I’ll stay here until I find a place of my own.”
We continued the rest of the tour in peace, which was perfect for me. The door opened with a bell and we walked into a small corridor. There are two doors besides the elevator. On the right is a metal door with an exit sign and on the door is a sign indicating the stairs going into the building.
“That lock?” I asked, pointing to the fire stairs.
“Yes, a red-head key will open it, but only people who live on that floor can use your floor key,” he replied.
“Do you have their keys?” I asked.
“Yes, I have to do it for my job,” he finally said. His smile made me uneasy.
The other door is a set of double doors with no visible handles. I walked closer to it, looking for a keyhole through the smooth wooden surface, but saw nothing. There is no door latch either. Then I noticed a keyhole on the right side of the door. I picked up the second key on the key ring, inserted it in, and turned it. The door slammed and then slid inward like a scene from a James Bond movie. I knew my parents were rich, but I didn’t know they would buy such extravagant things, was it to protect them from someone, or was it just for prestige? I shrugged and decided I didn’t really care, I’d just stick with over-the-top security measures for now.
“Well, thanks for showing me the apartment,” I said, turning to Mike. His face had an annoyed look on it; he clearly wanted me to invite him in – maybe for a beer – and try to make peace with me while my family was away. Not going to happen, my friend, I thought to myself.
“See you later,” I said, entering the apartment without waiting for an answer. Inside, I noticed a button next to the door frame and clicked it. The door closed, making a muffled click as the locking mechanism slid into place.
“Okay, this is really good,” I said to myself.
I turned and looked into the main room of the apartment. This room alone is bigger than the entire apartment in my hometown. The entire east wall is glass. I didn’t see curtains and was wondering how I could get some privacy, but being on the top floor you probably don’t need much. I looked around and wondered if this apartment took up the entire floor? I always knew a penthouse could take up an entire apartment floor, but I never thought I’d be standing in one, let alone living in one for a while. The money my dad spent on this place probably makes me cry – thinking he made me pay half the price of my first car. I’m sure when Tori turned eighteen she bought a brand new convertible.
To my left is a huge kitchen island counter with a gleaming marble top. The oven looks like you could climb into it and take a nap, and it has room to turn around, and the drawers and cupboard doors are all mahogany. All the kitchen appliances have the same solid stainless steel finish. To my right was a modern set of stairs that led up to the second floor, which had no railings and appeared to be just a catwalk overlooking the living area. Behind the kitchen is the living room, which is lower than the rest of the apartment. Two staircases run alongside the living area, and anyone who descends them enters a thoughtfully designed entertaining space.
There is a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall to the left, and because it is so large I almost think it is an actual wall. In front of it is a set of neatly arranged lounge chairs and a long, curved, C-shaped leather sofa. Carefully ordered volumes and editions – my father was many things but he was not a stupid man. I think I got my love of reading and learning from him. It certainly wasn’t my mother – now that I think about it, she was more of a fancy wife.
Between the two bookshelves is a wooden bar with decanters, bottles, and glasses neatly stacked. The rich wood gleams and the sunlight coming through the open windows shines on the glass, showcasing the rich wine within each container. I bet some of them cost more than my car. There is a large polished wooden dining table on the floor in front of the bookshelves. There were six matching chairs on each side, and two slightly more ornate chairs at the head and foot of the table. The decor is full of my mother’s style. It’s like she believes she is some sort of royalty.
