Chapter 23
We’re a big Muslim family, with deep roots and rock-solid traditions. A lot of us bend the rules of our faith in everyday life — a veil set aside when no one’s around, a lingering glance that’s longer than it should be, or an inappropriate touch. But when we gather for family events, a kind of silent pact forms. It’s like we all turn into guardians of morality together. Everyone acts as expected, maybe out of fear of the elders’ watchful eyes or just to dodge those sharp tongues that never stop wagging.
My sister was about to turn twenty-one. Her youth, shaped by whispered desires and heavy secrets, was now covered by a single word: marriage. Arranged, as per tradition. Not that she was devout — far from it. When night shadows fell or our parents’ eyes turned away, she slipped out. She’d ditch the veil, let her hair down, and in the freedom of the streets, taste the forbidden flavor of other lips.
But our parents, blinded by love or maybe an unshakable faith, saw untouched purity in her, almost divine. And worse: the groom’s family believed the same. Things are what they are. Her fiancé wasn’t a stranger; he’d been a kid running through the halls of our house back in the day. They only drifted apart when her puberty signaled the start of a new phase in her life.
Even so, the two never lost touch. They went to school together, grew up sharing smiles and looks, and I knew — with the weight of a heavy secret — that they swapped messages like any other teenagers. I saw a few on her phone once. If our parents found out, the fallout would be bad for her.
But I never said a word. I’m younger than her, and though tradition put me in the role of protecting her, I stayed quiet. I should’ve corrected her or warned our parents, since I’m a guy and that responsibility fell to me. But I didn’t, because deep down, I wanted a different world too. Was it unfair to let her live free? Maybe. But it’d be even more unfair to cage someone just chasing the taste of unreachable freedom.
The weekend of the engagement, there was a party. A celebration that lasted days, with both families tangled up in the heat of traditions. They were allowed to walk the grounds of our sprawling property, but with one condition: I’d go along as the guardian of her morals. In truth, I became a reluctant accomplice. I followed them, eyes sharp, but heart wavering — their light touches and hopeful glances full of love made me happy, and I just pretended not to notice.
When we were out of sight, near the old barn that now served only as storage, my sister shot me a pleading look, followed by a discreet hand gesture. She wanted some alone time with the guy inside. I laughed nervously, faking a quick flash of annoyance, but ended up turning my back, letting the “crime” happen.
The two dashed inside like fugitives, hurried and quiet. Curiosity got the better of me. I circled the barn, hunting for a gap where I could peek without being seen. When I found a crack and positioned myself, I froze at the sight unfolding before my eyes.
They stood embraced by the central pillar. The darkness of the place was pierced by shafts of light slicing through the weathered wood of the structure, creating an almost magical glow. The barn, crammed with broken machines and empty wooden crates, felt like an abandoned set, waiting only to become fuel for some forgotten bonfire.
My sister wore a spotless white veil that draped over a long dress, hiding any trace of her curves. The guy, in a simple robe, wrestled angrily under the layers of fabric covering her, his eager hands hunting for skin. The two waged a silent battle through an intense kiss, as if the world around them had ceased to exist.
From my spot, I could hear their breathing, heavy and rhythmic, forming little clouds of mist that faded in the cold air. The muffled, intimate sounds reached me through the wooden gaps, more intense than the silence surrounding it.
My sister smiled, pulling away from him. For a moment, she looked like a nymph — ethereal, lit by those beams of light dancing over the dusty floor. Her face held pure happiness, almost childlike, but loaded with something raw. She knelt before him, movements smooth and deliberate, her hands seeking his waist. I stayed frozen, stunned, caught between curiosity and a guilt that burned like embers from a slow fire.
With delicate fingers, she undid his pants, like untying a ribbon. His cock sprang into her hands, and I saw in her eyes — that hungry, approving smile — the pleasure of having him there, surrendered. Slowly, like she was toying with time itself, she started stroking him. The slide of her hands was rhythmic, firm and teasing, and even from outside, I could feel the weight of that moment. She murmured something low, words the wind didn’t carry to me, but they made him swell, throbbing in her grip with a life of its own.
Then, with surprising skill, she took him into her mouth. The sight froze me. I watched the steady bob of her head, forward and back, like a carefully rehearsed dance. His cock emerged and vanished, glistening under the dim light filtering through the barn, and the wet, rhythmic sounds hit my ears with almost tangible weight.
I stayed there, rooted, soaking in every detail of that forbidden show, with his moans as the soundtrack to the sin unfolding right in front of me. As a witness, I felt guilty for getting turned on watching my sister with the guy — it was weird, the desire consuming me, showing plain as day through the hard erection straining in my pants.
Inside, the guy made a sudden move, pulling her away with a rough jerk and a muffled cry of panic that even startled me. She stood up laughing, letting out a light, almost cheeky sound, while wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. There was a confidence in her that unsettled me, like the moment was hers by right.
They talked for a bit, swapping kisses between words I couldn’t hear from there. The low murmur got lost in the wooden cracks, but what held my attention were the gestures. She never let go of his cock, keeping it firm like a rope tying them together. She only released it when, with almost theatrical resolve, she turned her back to him.
She bent forward slowly, arching her ass toward him — an silent, provocative offering. Her skin, flawless white, seemed almost unreal under the beam of light piercing the roof. It was like the sun itself had picked that spot to rest, illuminating her and making her even more ethereal, almost heavenly.
For an instant, it felt like I was watching an ancient myth come alive. She was a fairy, a supernatural vision of beauty and mystery, while he, the guy, loomed behind her like a hungry satyr, ready to claim her in the silence of that forgotten barn.
The man pressed in from behind, tense, almost animalistic, searching for a way to fit. She rose on her tiptoes, offering what he needed to find the path. I saw his first attempt fail, cut short by the small whimper of pain that escaped her — a subtle but thick sound, like wind through tight leaves. She glanced back, and in her eyes was a language only they understood.
Then I knew. The moment arrived. The instant their skin truly met, and I watched their faces melt into pure bliss. For a brief second, their bodies locked — muscles taut, breaths held, the whole world pulled into that single point. And when the pleasure hit them, I could almost feel it: a wave that surged and melted all the tension, letting them slump into surrender. They closed their eyes, shedding the weight of sight, giving themselves blindly but completely to each other — they were finally connected.
The sound echoed through the vast space like an orchestra of chaos and lust. Each thrust, like a violent drumbeat, felt like a punishment he delivered to her body. She looked at him with pleading eyes, mouth parted, whispering disjointed words like fragments of a spell she couldn’t quite cast. Her commands, cut off before fully forming, hung in the air like lost murmurs. And I, the captive spectator, couldn’t look away. Something chained me to them, as if the act was a ritual, a secret I was never meant to witness.
My sister arched back more and more, her movements almost an offering, a raw surrender. He, relentless, took her with a fury that seemed to want to tear her apart and devour her whole at the same time. The air hung heavy, charged with something beyond flesh and desire.
Then came the climax. Everything halted, frozen in time, as their voices merged into a single note — a primal melody, beautiful and terrifying all at once. Their faces twisted, like masks of pain and ecstasy carved by the devil himself. She straightened up, head thrown back, as if seized by evil spirits. Something in her seemed to push him out, a near-supernatural force driving him from her body. He, defeated, pulled back with his cock still hard, dripping the remnants of their union.
And in that instant, between the final echo of that raw chorus and the silence that followed, the world seemed to bend to them, as if the scene sealed a pact, a transformation, something that could never be erased. An awkward laugh rose between the two, showing we were all a little embarrassed and satisfied.
Hiding my erection, I ran to the front of the barn and called for her, keeping some distance — they’d been away from the party too long, and people would come looking soon. I never mentioned it to her or anyone. My sister was happy.