Pull up a chair, you’ll need to be sitting down when I tell you how I found out my wife is actually my half-sister. I’d better start with a description, it’s relevant to the story. My wife Sheila is unique. We have plenty in common, but at the same time, we’re opposites. Just like me, she is Irish and redheaded. She has all the freckles and braids you’d expect on a 24-year-old ginger. But you’d never expect an Irish lass to have such big double-E breasts, would you? Neither would you expect her to have an ass built for TikTok. And yet, she has all those in spades. See, unlike me, Sheila is half black. The same and yet opposite, we’re like Yin and Yang. Or an Irish four-leaf clover version of the Yin-Yang.
I met Sheila at the Irish-American student club, and it was a little embarrassing. See, it turns out the club wasn’t set up by students at all, it was set up by the university. And Sheila and I were the only two members! Picture a bashful guy like me hemming and hawing, trying to small-talk a looker like Sheila. I had never even kissed a girl, and there I was, all alone with a beauty like that. Struggling not to stare at her yoga pants or her sexy freckled midriff.
“Gosh, where is everybody?” I said. “The meeting started fifteen minutes ago.”
“We’re probably the only ones,” said Sheila. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“You mean you’ve been here before?” I said.
“Yeah,” said Sheila. “I know I don’t look it, but I’m actually a senior. I’ve come here four years now but it’s the first time I’ve met another Irish.”
“You mean, all those other years there wasn’t even one other student?”
“Oh, there’s other students,” said Sheila. “Guys come here to try to meet redheads. Like we’re some kind of commodity.”
Sure enough, right that moment, this not-at-all-Irish jock poked his head in. “Is this the ginger club?” he said. “I need a cute redhead for a fraternity party.”
Even though Sheila was out of my league, I felt an urge to protect her. I had no idea what I was doing, but familial instinct took over. “Beat it, Chad,” I said, putting an arm around Sheila’s shoulders. “This commodity’s taken.”
“Thanks,” said Sheila when the intruder retreated. “It’s nice to meet another commodity. Would you like to buy me a coffee?”
So that’s how Sheila and I started dating. I’ll spare you the details: suffice it to say, Sheila saved me. I couldn’t understand how she could tolerate a fumbling freshman boyfriend like I was. But it made perfect sense once I learned the truth. It wasn’t the “beauty falls for loser” trope that it seemed like. The truth was, I was actually her half-brother.
To look at us as a couple, you’d think Sheila wore the pants in the relationship. There she was, about to graduate Summa Cum Laude. There I was, I hadn’t even chosen my major yet. She was so much more experienced, she was almost like a mother. My dorky guy-friends couldn’t believe a girl like that chose me. I pretty much let her make all the decisions. Where to go, what to eat, everything. But in bed was a whole different matter.
In bed, Sheila was the most submissive girl ever. She liked to call me “Daddy” and roleplay that she was my daughter. “Oh my goodness Daddy, what’s this thing in your pants?” she would say in that innocent voice of hers. “What are you doing Daddy?! Daddy, I’m not supposed to let people touch me there!!” I may have been a clueless college frosh, but Sheila turned me into a pervert. In fact, my naivety made me the perfect boyfriend. I was putty in Sheila’s hands. She could mould me the way she wanted me. And the way she wanted me was: watching fucked up incest porn with her while skipping class and hanging around the dorm like degenerates.
My parents were thrilled when I announced the engagement. I was so socially awkward, they would be happy for me to get engaged to anyone. So when they heard the girl was Irish, they almost broke out in a jig. When an Irish family moves to America, the unspoken fear is the grandkids are gonna get ‘Americanized’. Every Irish mother’s nightmare is that her little darling will marry some ignorant American who can’t tell Ireland from Scotland.
A long weekend came and we drove down to meet my parents. Sheila wore her Sunday best. No slut-gear that weekend: she was dressed to meet in-laws. But no Sunday dress could hide that conspicuous mulatto suntan.
“How old did you say you were?” said my mother to Sheila.
“I’ll be twenty-one next month,” said Sheila.
“Hmmm…” said my mother, thoughtfully.
We had a traditional Irish wedding. The groomsmen wore smart green suits and leprechaun hats. Everyone clapped when my uncle played “Here Comes The Bride” on bagpipe. Despite the Irish theme, Sheila insisted on a few American touches. For example, she wanted me to drink champagne from her slipper. I got so carried away, I threw the slipper aside and started kissing her foot. Sheila also insisted I should throw her garter. This led to a bit of a faux pas. See, my Kıbrıs Escort father, not knowing American customs, didn’t realize what exactly it meant. Imagine the smirks when the father-of-the-groom caught the garter and started waving it around cheering. The reception ended like you’d expect: everyone blackout drunk, brawling and throwing punches like mad lads.
THE HONEYMOON
I wanted to go somewhere romantic, but Sheila insisted on a Disneyland honeymoon. She said she always dreamed of being a Disney princess. I think it was just an excuse to dress up and make me play “Daddy”. She wanted the Little Mermaid hotel suite, but there was a mixup and we got Beauty and the Beast. Picture me sitting on that big frilly bed, it was like a princess’s bed, but big enough for a grownup mommy and daddy. The clock and candelabra had cartoon faces on them, I guess some people like being watched. Sheila was in the bathroom finishing up her outfit, humming and combing her hair. I was dressed up as Gaston, with that belt-buckle and those gloves and oversized boots. The bathroom door opened and Sheila floated in, a redheaded Belle in her French villager dress.
“Oh, Daddy!” she said, throwing herself at me on the bed. “I’m so glad you’re home safe from the fair!” She started kissing my chest and my biceps. I ran my fingers through her hair. She helped me pull off my gloves, then she went down on her knees and pulled off my boots. I started undoing the belt but Sheila stopped me. She wanted to do that herself. “You relax, Daddy,” she said. “You must be tired from your journey.” The belt was hard to unfasten, Sheila struggled adorably. Finally she got it off and got my trousers open. Have you ever had your dick sucked by a Disney princess? It was so obscene and forbidden, that innocent village bookworm was bobbing her face up and down, gagging on my member. I grabbed her pigtails and pulled her down harder. She was really getting into it, wiggling her slutty ass and moaning all over her half-brother’s dick.
“Naughty girl,” I said, thrusting into her, making her cheek bulge obscenely. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you how to behave?”
She pulled her mouth off my dick so she could lick it like a lollipop. “No Daddy,” she said. “Maybe you can teach me.” She stood up and started stripping. If you were that clock or that candle, you would have gotten an eyeful. Sheila always had an amazing body, but somehow it looked even prettier now that she was my wife. She twirled around, showing off that ass and those titties.
“May I have this dance?” I said, standing up and grabbing her. We spun around together, kissing and embracing. Somehow in the midst of dancing, I lost all my clothing. She turned her back to me and shook her curvaceous ass against my dick. I was hard as steel and Sheila was getting more excited by the minute. Finally I couldn’t take any more dancing. I grabbed my bride and pushed her down on the bed.
“Daddy!” she said, arching her back, offering those big delicious titties to me. I jumped on her and just fuckin’ took her. It’s easy to tell if you’ve got yourself a loving wife, because if you do, she’ll just go crazy as soon as you enter her. Sheila was thrashing around, bucking her hips up against me. “Take advantage of your girl, Daddy,” she said. “Stretch me out with that big nasty thing, Daddy. Oh Daddy, I’ve been naughty.”
We made love like that for awhile, then I wanted to change positions. I sat up and pulled Sheila onto my lap. She was on my lap facing me. She gazed in my eyes as she bounced up and down, legs wrapped around me. Her titties were bouncing so erotically I simply couldn’t help myself. I know it’s out-of-character for a ‘father’ to do that to his ‘daughter’ but I just HAD to suck on those nipples. “Daddy what are you doing!” she squealed, my tongue was making her body tremble. She was cumming right on my lap, her little redhaired pussy was squeezing my dick, milking it. “You aren’t supposed to kiss me there Daddy!” I ignored her protest and sucked even harder. I even bit down on her, eliciting a yelp. What had been a mild orgasm escalated into uncontrollable ecstasy. She buried her face in my shoulder trying to muffle cries of joy. She was clinging to me as tight as she could, her body convulsing. When she was finally finished, she breathed hard for air. Now I wanted mine too. I stopped sucking and I shoved Sheila down on her belly. I mounted her, entering her horny pussy from behind, and I went crazy. I was pounding her as hard as I could, making the bed shake. “Yes Daddy, harder!” she said. “Make me yours, Daddy! I’ll make you forget Mommy!” I pushed in as hard as I could and filled my sister with cum. She was wiggling her ass, encouraging me, the horny slut wanted my seed. Damn it feels good getting your dick milked by a hungry red-haired pussy. My half-sister and I were in marital heaven.
TWO YEARS LATER
Things went swimmingly for a while. Sheila graduated Summa Cum Laude and Lefkoşa Escort got a well-paying job. Management was the perfect career for her, with her dominant personality, at least outside the bedroom. It paid dividends in bed, too. After a long day bossing her underlings, Sheila always came home eager to be put back in her place. She was every man’s fantasy: a confident mother-type who takes care of everything, but in bed, a submissive pervert who wants you to dominate her. She was completely obsessed with her incest fetish. I guess that’s what happens when a girl never meets her real father. We did all sorts of scandalous roleplay. I would play as her brother, her uncle, sometimes even her son or her grandpa. But the game she loved best was Daddy and Daughter. The poor girl was hopeless. She couldn’t even walk through town without getting distracted seeing some father with his daughter. Then she’d drop everything and run home to re-enact a dirtier version of it.
One evening we were cuddling after a nice leisurely love-session. “Daddy,” she said, idly kissing my shoulders. “Would you be willing to try something kinky?”
“What do you have in mind, baby?” I said.
“I wanna get into spanking,” she said. “I never got spanked by my foster parents. They were such goody-two-shoes.”
“I dunno,” I said. “I’m not really into that kind of thing.”
“Please Daddy?” she said, giving me doe eyes.
“I’m just not into it,” I said. Then, I don’t know why I said what I said next, it was a pretty dumb thing to say. “You haven’t been naughty enough to deserve a good spanking.”
Well, I guess I should’ve realized what a trap I had set for myself. A couple days later, I was walking home from class and I got a text message from Sheila. When I opened it, it wasn’t a text, it was a picture. There was my wife at her workplace, with her blouse open and some other guy fondling her titties. My heart started racing. I started walking home faster. Another text came. This one, she was kissing him. It was her intern, a guy around my age. I couldn’t believe she was open-mouthed kissing him. My whole world started spinning. Finally a message came. “Am I naughty now?” the text said, with lovey heart emoticons.
I got home and Sheila was waiting. Usually she changes out of her work clothes but this time she didn’t. She still had that blouse on from the picture she sent me. Not only that, but her makeup was smeared. I couldn’t believe it. I felt anger and hatred. How could she just casually send me an image of her making out with another man? I almost wanted to kill her, that’s how jealous I was. She was on the couch, arms crossed defiantly. I didn’t say one word. I just grabbed her. She struggled, but she was no match for me. I shoved her down, shoved her face in the cushion. Then I started wailing on her. I was smacking her ass with genuine anger. Over and over again I spanked her, she was yelping and squealing, whole body shaking. Squirming and digging her face down like she could escape into the sofa. I kept on walloping her for what must have been five minutes. Finally I stopped, my anger exhausted.
My wife was sobbing, her whole body quivering. But between the sobs she said: “Thank you.” She got herself together and sat up. “Oh, Daddy,” she said. “Thank you!” She stood and threw herself at me, embracing me, kissing me. I already had a monster erection from spanking her. I returned her kiss passionately, and we fell on the couch together. For the first time ever, I fucked Sheila in her work clothes. The same exact suit she’d let her intern kiss her in.
So once again just as always, Sheila got her way. Spanking became a regular part of our love life. We would get in bed for the evening and right away she’d start talking. “Daddy, I failed my math test,” she might say, for example. “Daddy please don’t spank me. I promise I’ll study harder.” Then I’d sit up and bend her over my lap and start smacking her. “Oh Daddy!” she would wail, squirming with delight. This would get her pussy soaking wet every time. Then I’d climb on top of her and just fuck her daylights out. She’d start cumming in no time, writhing and thrashing. She’d get so excited she would claw my shoulders and bite me. I know it’s wrong to say this kind of thing about your own loving wife, but damn she was hot and sexy as fuck.
Sometimes Sheila would have a gleam in her eye at the breakfast table. Whenever she got that look my stomach would sink. I knew what was coming later in the day. Sure enough, just like clockwork, my phone would chirp on the way home from classes. With dread I would open my texts and be confronted by Sheila’s latest scandalous photograph. She’d be kissing her intern, or sitting on his lap, or he’d even have his shirt off and she’d be kissing his chest. Every time without fail, this would put me in a rage. I played right into Sheila’s perverted hands, rushing home to unleash my fury. “You brat!” I’d exclaim, slapping that defiant Magosa Escort look off her face. Then I’d push her down on the bed, pull off my belt and start whipping her. “When will you behave yourself!” Sheila absolutely loved this. I didn’t even have to take my dick out, she would cum just from being punished. Thankfully these provocations were infrequent, only once every few weeks, if even that often. And she never went any further with her intern than kissing. Clearly she didn’t actually feel anything for the guy. She was just using him to torment and manipulate me. Still, that didn’t take the sting out. How would you feel if your wife texted you pictures of another man kissing her?
We should’ve known if you play with fire you get burned. It was only a matter of time before someone walked in on Sheila kissing her intern when she was supposed to be working. There was a whole lot of drama and we’re lucky Sheila didn’t lose her job. To play Devil’s advocate, it was partly the company’s fault for handling things so unprofessionally. I don’t know how, but somehow the affair ended up all over Facebook. Now not only did I have a wife cheating on me at work, but now all my friends knew about it. I was humiliated. Sheila held me close in bed, comforting me. “Shhhh,” she said soothingly. “Don’t cry. Everything’s okay, sweetie. Mommy will make everything better.” In a lot of ways she really was like a mom to me. She always knew how to comfort me. And she was right, these things happen and then in a month or so, people forget them.
Except, I guess my real mother doesn’t forget them. One day just when the scandal was dying down at last, my mom texted me asking to see me. I emailed my professors letting them know I’d be absent, then I drove down to see Mom. Driving down the highway I was filled with angst. I just knew she would lecture me about my wife’s poor behavior. What I didn’t know was, I was about to learn something more scandalous than a wife with an intern.
Mom was on the living room couch. Dad was away on a business trip, it was only the two of us. She said: “Pull up a chair, you’ll need to be sitting down when I tell you this.”
MOM’S STORY
“I know you think I called you here to lecture you. You’re wrong. I called you here because there’s something you need to know. I know all about what you and Sheila are going through. Years before you were born, I did the same thing to your father. You remember I used to be a student counselor at the community college? Well, there was this troubled young man once. His name was Barry.”
As Mom talked, she got this dreamy, far-off look in her eyes.
“Barry was real good with girls. And he was black. Around campus he was known as ‘Barry Lyndon’, because he had a reputation for… you know. It was a few months after Barry’s 19th birthday. I had him in my office for counseling because he was in trouble. See, Barry was TOO good with girls. He was so good, he got his own big sister pregnant.”
“‘Don’t you know you shouldn’t do stuff like that with your sister?’ I said. Back then everyone was a lot more conservative. There was a risk Barry might get expelled from college. As his counselor, I wanted to help him. I liked him, and I didn’t want to see his life ruined over a mistake. And believe me, being black in those days, getting kicked out of community college WOULD ruin your life.”
“‘I know, Mrs. Robinson,’ said Barry. ‘It’s just my sister’s real pretty. I just can’t help myself around pretty girls. Especially when they’re my sister. I get so excited thinking about what I did to her, even though I know it was wrong. She looks real nice with her belly showing. Her being my sister makes it feel kind of thrilling. Haven’t you ever thought like that about your brother, Mrs. Robinson?'”
“‘Every girl thinks that way sometimes,’ I told him. ‘But just because you’re tempted, doesn’t mean you should act on it. Besides, I don’t have any brothers as good looking as you are. When a boy is as handsome as you are, Barry, every girl thinks of him as her brother. That means you have a huge responsibility. You have to behave yourself.'”
“‘Gee, Mrs. Robinson, do you think I’m good looking?’ said Barry.”
“‘You look swell, Barry,’ I told him. ‘If you were MY brother, you’d have to behave yourself. I know I sure couldn’t. I know there’s no way you could really be my brother, I mean look at us. You’re black, and I’m an Irish lass. But if you WERE my brother, I couldn’t control myself. Which is why a boy as cute as you has to try to behave.'”
“‘That’s exactly it, Mrs. Robinson. I know I’m supposed to behave myself, I just can’t. And it’s just like you say. Even if I could behave myself, my sister’s always teasing me. Any time our folks are out, she parades around wearing almost nothing. She rubs herself against me and asks if I need help with my homework. I always see her staring at the bulge in my pants, Mrs. Robinson. She doesn’t try to hide it. She even told me I look bigger than her boyfriend. What am I supposed to do, Mrs. Robinson? She looks so nice and she smells so nice and we’re home alone all the time with Mom and Dad always working. Mrs. Robinson, did you ever climb on your brother’s lap and pretend you were doing it to see the TV better? That’s what my sister did.'”