Michael Smith - Siblings

Then her lovely legs bent at the knee and her feet rose slowly until her curled toes were pointed at the ceiling. I could see the outline of her finger moving jerkily beneath the now-exposed crotch of her panties. I found the vision of her heated body being stoked even further incredibly arousing.

After a few minutes, she lowered her legs again and this time spread her bent knees. The cotton crotch was a vertical white band separating her smooth thighs. Her hand continued to move, but now she pushed the cloth aside and attacked her pussy with a cupped hand. Her breasts were rising and falling rapidly as she sucked air in and hissed it out. Her lips curled back slightly and her hand flashed ever faster, until she sighed deeply and seemed to sink into her mattress. Her legs relaxed and a satisfied smile crept over her face. She gradually extricated her hand and flexed her fingers as if to remove a cramp. She hesitated and then brought her fingers to her face and inhaled. The aroma was perceptible even out in the hall. My cock had been pushing hard against the front of my briefs for several minutes, and when Alex slipped her fingers into her mouth and silently sucked them dry, I nearly came myself.

As she turned over on her side and pulled the covers back up, I moved slowly and carefully back to my own bed. I lay there for an hour, replaying the vision over and over. And when my sister finally wandered into my room and ruffled my hair to awaken me, I felt a nearly overwhelming desire to grab her hand and suck on her fingers myself.

Dad was gone on one of his trips just before Christmas and the winter cold had exacerbated Mother's arthritis. She was holed up in the downstairs bedroom and Alex and I had the Upstairs all to ourselves, as usual. The heat wasn't working properly in Alex's room for some reason, and she came into my room with a quilt gathered around her. I was sitting up, half under the covers, reading.

"Can I stay in here with you tonight?" She was shivering. I was comfortable, even a little too warm. My internal thermostat always was set a little higher than hers.

"Why don't you wear your flannel thing?" She grimaced and shifted from one bare foot to the other.

Under the quilt, I knew she was probably wearing only a tee-shirt; even though she chilled easily at that age, she hated sleeping in anything that twisted around her like a mummy's wrappings. There we agreed: I usually slept in my briefs, not pajamas with a top.

"Sure, why not?" I scooted over a bit and hauled back the comforter.

She crossed the room in two quick, deer-like leaps, shedding the quilt on the way, and slid quickly under the covers. I was right: One of my old tee shirts clipped off at navel-length, and the standard cotton panties. She immediately drew up her knees in a cannonball and hiked the comforter up under her chin.

"Thanks! I was getting frost between my toes!"

I radiate a lot of body heat at night and she inched over a little at a time until she was snugged up against my left side, her nose tickling my ribs. She sighed contentedly. And a quarter of an hour passed.

We had cozied up in bed together dozens of times in the past, sometimes when it was cold, or to swap giggling gossip from school, or sometimes just for company. We enjoyed being together more than being alone most of the time, even when we were each silently engrossed in our separate thoughts. But now, for the first time that I can remember, I forgot the book I was reading and my imagination suddenly snapped into focus on Alex.

I was still holding the book but on the movie screen in my head all I saw was a still shot of her in mid-leap on her way to the bed, long legs outstretched, tee shirt flipped up by the movement, already nicely-shaped breasts in momentary free flight beneath the cotton. Jesus. My cock twitched as I studied the picture.

I knew my sister had an attractive body – not that I thought of it that way consciously, not yet. What experience of my own did I have to compare her body to? Almost absolutely none. And here my penis was getting the better of me. I had been masturbating for two years, usually to the throb of my imagination, sometimes with the help of a smuggled PLAYBOY. I had even been known, when desperate, to beat off to the lingerie section in the Sears catalog. Recently, I had been replaying in my mind the vision of her masturbating in the early morning… but somehow, I thought of her in that scene as "girl," not specifically as "Alex."

Part of my brain, the intelligent part, tried to get my attention. What was I thinking about here? Was I going to try to put the make on my own sister? I loved her, I really did. And I knew without a doubt that she loved me, too. We had understood that, without actually saying it, since the street fight when she was eleven. If I became a sister-rapist, I thought wildly, I would have to commit suicide.

While I was thinking these sudden new thoughts, my left hand detached itself from the book of its own accord and slipped under the covers, heading straight for Alex's left breast, the only one accessible. She had dozed off now, her breathing light and regular, almost hypnotic. My thumb began to brush her nipple through the thin cloth of her shirt. After a moment she shifted her arm slightly and sighed. I found I now had better access to my target. She was asleep but her nipple sure wasn't. It slowly rose an eighth of an inch to reach for my slowly moving thumb.

I saw a tree branch move in the cold wind outside the window and glanced up. When I looked back a second later at what my thumb was doing, Alex's eyes were half-open and a sleepy smile moved around the edges of her lips. I froze. After an hour-long moment she moved a tiny bit, rubbing her breast against my thumb this time.

"Don' stop… 't feels good," she murmured.

Wow. She moved her breast again. She seemed to mean it, at least here and now, but did she really know what she was doing? Maybe she just thought she was dreaming. I remembered her embarrassment when I had walked in on her masturbating a couple months before. She had joked about it later. But did I really want to take a chance with this? Would she scream at me for taking advantage of her after she awoke and remembered? Was I analyzing too much and losing this opportunity?

Objectively and rationally, I knew I ought to stop (and if she ever mentioned this evening I would lie, let her think she*had* dreamed it), but my more basic drives beat that thought down and killed it. All teenage boys have experiences with girls in which their gonads overrule their better judgment, and they end up embarrassed, or ashamed, or even in real trouble. I understood that even then, sitting there in bed trying desperately to make out with my sister.

Subjectively? I had no choice but to continue, and I knew that, too. I brought my first and second fingers into play and began tracing slow, easy patterns around the base of the nipple, which was now hard and firm. I plucked gently at it, trying to make it grow even more, and Alex drew a deeper, more ragged breath. Her obvious arousal was also arousing me.

I adjusted my pillow with my unoccupied hand and scooted down under the covers, face to face with Alex. She uncoiled and stretched out her legs, which were as long as mine. (Girls grow faster, they said. Boy, did they ever.) The bed was toasty warm by now from the body heat we were both beginning to produce.

I looked into her lovely, heavy-lidded eyes and smiled what I hoped was a seductive smile. I felt one leg move again and her kneecap touched mine. My hand had begun to tremble a little so I moved it carefully down between our torsos and then slowly up under her shirt, gliding my fingertips up the rungs of her rib cage. Her breast was just the size of my hand and I began to caress it, taking care to be gentle and slow. I might be beyond control, but I wasn't going to just grab and squeeze, the way I had seen guys do with girls under the stands at school. I don't want to hurt her, I thought. I also don't want to scare her, because she might make me stop.