Fictional Tale of a Divorced wife who becomes pregnant after a night out with her own brother. Two boys in their twenties and a daughter who is yet to be born. Over the years I have been through so much crap. My aunt died who was as much a second mother as my real mother is. The only saving grace is that in the last couple of years my brother Phil and I have patched things up and are once again talking and getting along with each other after a ten year fall out that was my EX husbands doing in the 1 st place. God it felt so wrong but at the same time felt so good as it eased slowly into my velvet love tunnel. I was now feeling hot and turned on and wanting to be fucked until I cum. Phil turned us onto our sides and began fucking me harder. I groaned in pleasure allowing myself t be incest fucked, my cries of pleasure echoing and filling the room. Why do guys always want to fuck a woman in her arse?
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This story from Jane has been read 1 8 4 3 2 times. My Brother got me Pregnant Written by Jane , on , genre incest I had been married 5 years and had been trying to start a family without success. I had see doctor a few times and I was told there was no problems with me. I asked my husband Richard to get a ceckup and he said he was okay. So one night when he was drunk and passed out as he usually was he drank alot. I sucked him off and got a sperm sample and had it tested. It came back that he had a very low sperm count and we would artificial help for me to get pregnant.
Mom and dad announced on our annual camping vacation they were renting a small travel trailer, the bad part it only slept two. That meant my sister and I would share a tent together. Not that would be a problem since we did get along nicely. The first night was quite uneventful, on the second night there seemed to be an unusual aura between. Hot and humid all day and the tent held the heat with only a slight breeze making it through the mesh screen.
I know being a schoolgirl mother almost seems like the fashionable thing to do these days but when I had my first child, a son, at the age of fourteen it was almost unheard of and I was put through the mill by neighbours and society. But I had the support of my parents and a very helpful social worker. Clive, the father of my child, stuck around and gave me moral support and seemed genuinely interested in our son, Tom. As soon as we were legally of age, we were married. We had a lovely big house in a leafy suburb and were raising Tom and his sister Melanie, three years younger. We had a happy, loving marriage; life was rosy and seemed destined to become rosier. Then, at one of the many parties we attended, Clive started down the road on heavy drugs. Head Office pulled him in and gave him a written warning and he tried to straighten himself out but within a couple of months he was back to his old ways.