Terence Fitzbancroft - My Sister, My Sin

One morning in the summer of my fourteenth year I woke up with a much stiffer and thicker erection than any my young loins had ever before sustained.

I knew it must have some link with my sister, whose arrival the night before had made it difficult to get to sleep. I had scarcely seen her for five years, for after our mother and father separated we had been shuttled about from school to camp and back again.

But I knew as soon as we had rushed into each others' arms on her arrival that the slavish love for her I had felt as a young boy-when we had taken baths together and played tickling games, exposed ourselves and played house-was undiminished, even if she was now fifteen.

I slid out of bed, slipped on a bathrobe and headed for Sandy's room. Then I thought better of it and took off the robe as well as my pyjamas. What was the sense of covering up? We were going to have a whole summer together, under the half-blind eye of dotty grandma, while the parents wrangled far away in the city over the settlement and our custody. I looked at myself in the mirror. I had shot up in the last year, and even if I was a year younger than my sister, I was a couple of inches taller. I wasn't a skinny rail like most kids my age, either, but had begun to flesh out smoothly, and my erected standard was that of a man, not a boy.

I tiptoed into Sandy's room and closed the door silently behind me. She lay stretched on her stomach, facing me, still asleep. During the night she had wriggled free of the light covers, and either because she was too hot or too restless, had let her nightgown ride all the way up her thighs and halfway up her buttocks. I was amazed and excited by how much those perfectly round hills had grown, and how white they were in contrast to her golden, suntanned thighs.

I walked up to the bed and kneeled alongside her. She continued to breathe deeply in sleep. Her full red lips were parted in a sensual smile. Her long blonde hair lay strewn on the pillow, sparkling in the light from the open window.

Leaning forward, I brushed her lips with mine. She whimpered softly, but did not stir, so I laid my hand on her bare buttocks, marveling at their smoothness, and shook. She whimpered again.

“Wake up,” I said, and slapped her hard on her fanny.

She squealed, rose to her elbows, looked at me, looked down at her naked backside and with one motion covered it with her nightie and rolled over onto her side to face me.

Her breasts had grown alarmingly since the last time I had seen her with so little on. Their fullness pressed against the transparent silk of her garment and her sharp red nipples surrounded by their pink aureoles glowed through the fabric.

I vaulted onto the bed opposite her and stretched out in an imitation of her posture, chin in hand. Kneeling before her on the floor, my nakedness hadn't been visible to her, and now she let out another squeal, putting her hand to her mouth.

“Terry, you're naked!” she said, blushing a fiery red. “Put some clothes on!”

“What for? You've seen me like this a million times before. We're brother and sister, remember? Remember how we used to take baths together?”

“We were just little kids then. It was different.”

“Sure it was different. You weren't such a spoilsport then. Remember that time out in the woods when we stripped and I tied you to a tree and took those birch branches and-”

“No! I don't want to remember. Now put some clothes on.”

“Why don't you just take yours off?”

“I'm going to in a minute, as soon as you leave.”

“I'll stay. I'll put on something of yours.” I got up and went through the clothes piled on the chair alongside her bed. Picking out a pair of transparent bikini panties, I squeezed into them as Sandy watched me from behind. I turned around, and she started to giggle and blush again. I looked down and realized they were much too small and were slipping away, acting more like a sling than a garment.

“Terry, you're awful. You're a worse show-off than you were as a kid.”

“Let's take a bath,” I said.

“No!” She was off the bed, pushing me toward the door.

“It can be a bubble bath if you're afraid of showing your disease.”

“What disease?”

“Your skin disease. I knew there was something wrong with your body when you were so ashamed to be naked with me. You never were before.”

“There's nothing wrong with my body.”

“Then prove it.”

She let out a haughty grunt, wheeled around and pulled the garment over her head. I gasped at the sight of her naked buttocks again, now even more sensuous in their full context, in contrast to her girl's tiny waist, so smoothly flowing into the poised arch at the small of her back. Then she turned slowly, hands on her hips, inhaling deeply so that her ripe young breasts stuck out even more fully. The large, conical aureoles were of the smoothest, moistest pink flesh, and her cherry colored nipples were erect as two pencil erasers. The thighs, golden, which looked so firm from the side, were fleshly and round from the front, and converged on a thatch of peach-colored fuzz that only barely covered the two red lips of her sweet core.

I was quivering with desire now, and the chafing of the panties had agitated me almost to the point of explosion.

“God, Sandy, you're really beautiful!” I drank in the sight of her naked body, trying to cover every pore with my eyes as I walked up to her. “Wow! Can I touch you?” I stepped closer to her, and our bodies touched at three points.

“Skin disease, huh?” she sneered. “You'll pay for that remark!” She began shoving me toward the door. “You can take your bath by yourself, kid. Now get out!” She pushed me out altogether and slammed the door in my face.

Stunned and delirious with desire now, I staggered into the bathroom, stripped off the panties and began filling the tub. In case Sandy should change her mind I threw in some of the bubble bath she used to like and jumped into the steaming froth.

Two minutes later the door opened and closed and I looked up to see her standing beside me wearing a grin and nothing else.

“How's the water?”

“Hot. You change your mind?”

“Yup.” Facing me, she lifted a toe and lowered it into the water, spreading her legs as she did so. She pulled it back immediately.

“It is hot!”

“That's what I told you.”

Slowly, she lowered herself into the opposite end of the tub and leaned back, squeezing her buttocks between my legs and resting her feet in my lap. Her breasts were well above the water level, and when she began soaping them the nipples peeped through the lather like cherries in a wash of whipped cream. I wanted to eat of them, to bite into the pit.

“They're beautiful,” I said. “They've really gotten big.”

“What?”

“These.” I lifted a foot and pressed the sole softly against one of her breasts. I was surprised at how hot and hard the nipple was. “I can remember when they were just little buttons.”

She laughed and let the foot caress her as she breathed deeply and pushed into it. Then she brushed it away and let it drop into her hot lap. “I can remember when you were just a thimble,” she said. “You've gotten pretty big yourself.” With this, she slid her foot across my thigh until it rested squarely against the swollen, throbbing underside of my organ.

“That feels great,” I said, rubbing myself against her and shuddering with pleasure. She smiled slyly and slid her other leg across my thigh so that both feet now held me in a firm, fluid grip. As she played with me, so I began to play with her, sliding one foot against her abdomen, up to her breasts and back again and squeezing the other under her buttocks and coming up between her legs. I probed her with my wriggling toes until she began to sigh and gasp.