For ten years, twins Ro and Corey have dropped everything to rendezvous at an upscale New York City to celebrate their birthday. But this is a party for only two, and instead of feasting on cake these kinky sisters feast on each other. For only one night a year, Ro can let her hair down and submit to her every desire. Nothing will prepare her for the special surprise Corey has planned for her this year…
Eating My Twin Sister's Birthday Cake is an 8,000-word short story.
I’m so excited I’m bursting at the seams. My high heels click ferociously across the marble floor all the way to the elevator. My fingers tremble as I call the twenty-eighth floor.
The doors close. I see myself in their reflective surface. The smile on my face is enormous.
As the elevator car zips me toward our room, I look myself over. Silky, bronze-colored button-down blouse. Black pencil skirt that hugs all my curves. Long black hair tied up into a neat bun. No bra or panties. I headed for the airport immediately after leaving the office early, knowing that I couldn’t be late for our rendezvous. We only get to share this night together once a year, and this one will be extra special—the tenth anniversary of our first night in this luxury New York City hotel together.
Tonight, we’ll be staying in room 2808. Last year 2708; the year before, 2608. Our first night here we were eighteen and staying in room 1808, and have kept the same room, different floor tradition ever since. We’ve decided this will be the last time. I try not to think about it as I step off the elevator and walk down the twenty-eighth floor corridor.
Chewing my bottom lip, I stand before the closed door, key card in hand. My whole body buzzes with anticipation. I slide the key into the lock and push open the door. The curtains are drawn, the room dark and silent.
She’s not here yet.
Disappointed, I drop my duffel bag on the lush, carpeted floor beside the king-sized bed. The digital clock on the nightstand reads 7:15. Where can she be? She’s never been late before.
It’s still light outside when I peek through the thick, heavy curtains. The mid-July sun is setting, casting golden rays across Central Park. The view is more spectacular the higher and higher the room.
But we won’t be paying attention to the view.
I sit on the foot of the bed, kicking off my heels, wondering how to pass the time before she gets here. After fixing myself a glass of bourbon—neat—at the room’s mini bar, I pick up the remote and aim it at the TV. Shopping channels, reality shows, news—I pass them all right until I get to the X-rated channel. The channel we’d stumbled upon that night ten years ago. The night that changed everything between us.
A threesome is taking place on the screen. Two busty women dressed like belly dancers writhe against some guy with an enormous erect cock. The guy reclines on a bed, much like the one I’m reclining on right now, and strokes himself as the ladies turn toward each other and kiss. They begin to undress each other, hands sliding over each other’s stiff nipples. My own nipples harden and press into the fabric of my blouse when I realize how much the two women look alike. Almost identical.
A soft beep startles me just before the door to the room flies open. I click off the TV and stand, almost losing my balance from the anticipation. Through the doorway she appears, dropping her bright pink, coral-printed carry-on bag on the floor. Her sundress is also pink and coral. Her black hair is loose and curly, flowing just past her shoulders. Different from mine, but still identical.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says as she steps toward the bed. “Flight delay.”
It doesn’t matter to me. I’m just elated to see her.
And turned on.
She steps closer toward me, close enough that I can smell the peppermint on her breath.
“Happy birthday, Corey,” I whisper.
“Happy birthday, Ro,” she says, pulling me into a deep, hard kiss. My hands tangle into her curly hair as I press her against me, wanting more of her mouth. Traces of peppermint gum linger on her tongue as I suck it.
With a low moan Corey breaks away, and before I can respond she’s popping open my blouse.