Father must have harbored suspicions to the titillating games my sister Genevieve and I played; we quenched our desires for each other, stealing away to Mother's gardens or embracing in the cellars of the estate. Inevitably, father whisked her away to be betrothed in Paris. Her husband idolized her, but he was no longer young. He lavished upon her everything her heart could desire. But his gifts and kindnesses somehow missed the mark, and with every passing day Genevieve grew more despondent. Deprived, I suffered, but not for long. I left as soon as able to see the lovely Genevieve, and she offered me hospitality and a room.
One evening after dinner, Genevieve and husband retired for the night; I pretended to do likewise, but concealed myself in a place whence I could hear everything that transpired between them.
"Tell me what you want–anything, really–and as long as it's within my power to make you happy, I'll do anything you want…" her good husband said.
"Anything? Regardless of the circumstances?" Genevieve considered; she bit her lip, vulnerable to temptation. "Some things we cannot ask even of our closest loves."
"Anything," her husband growled, bargained for, and sealed the deal with a kiss on her hand. A devilish bloom lit up on her face; she could not resist such a sinful temptation.
The next day, Genevieve called for me; I hastened to her room. "Come here, brother," she beckoned cheerfully. When I appeared before her, she had already undressed down to her nightgown; a scarlet one, with translucent fibers that clung to her lithe body and revealed the shadowy outlines of her nipples and pubic mound. Her radiant auburn hair, liberated from their pins, spread out over the pillows; her husband lounged near the bed on a green plush arm chair. He was a willing spectator to the upcoming sordid affair, but I knew my role.
"Your sister Genevieve is a blessing to behold," he said, pointing at her naked body writhing on the silken sheets; her litheness arched and