Humilated by My Twin Sisterbyted_marx38©
Just after our eighteenth birthdays, in our senior years at high school, my twin sister Jen and I entered a period of sexual awkwardness, awkward at least for me. Unlike most twins we'd always gotten along quite well for brothers and sisters and even at this troubling age of rampant physical and emotional turmoil, things seemed to be working out quite well. She was blue-eyed with long, straight blonde hair that reached to the middle of her back, just a bit of gentle curl at the sides, very attractive, and as I'd come to notice lately, filling out quite nicely.
I'd been getting enough attention from girls at school to suggest that I wasn't so bad myself. Not that it made much difference – we had a very repressive upbringing, were both very much still virgins and had yet to have a romance of any sort, despite our ages. Fundamentalist parenting had really taken a toll.
Jenny and I had never bathed together, played doctor, show 'n tell or anything like that. We were taught early on that our bodies were our castle and that no one else, even or perhaps especially each other, was permitted access of any sort. As Jenny developed and my hormones raged, however, this became problematic for me. It all erupted and peaked in one brief episode that I'll describe in this story. As you'll see, Jen put the problem to a concrete end.
With our bedrooms right across the hall from one another, with us living in the same house and sharing a Jack 'n Jill bathroom, I had recently had a few peeks at her cleavage, her underwear, her in a bath towel, and this became progressively more stimulating. Surely she felt my stare at times, but Jen had a shy streak and never seemed comfortable verbally expressing her anger at me, so she seemingly ignored my peering. In any event, I found myself thinking of her when I masturbated, desperately wanting her to be a part of it, wondering what she looked like without clothes. Nasty stuff in light of my upbringing, though the guilt abated with each solo session.
A few seemingly trivial episodes in our lives together made these feelings all the more powerful for me. One was a lengthy embrace that she initiated the night I'd won the district wrestling title in my weight class. Just before I closed my bedroom door to call it an evening, she yelled, "Ben, come in here for a second." I walked into her room and she stood up from her bed, still wearing her red cheerleader sweater and accompanying short pleated skirt. She stood right before me, and as she was only an inch or so shorter of me, we were eye-to-eye. Without saying a word she draped her arms around me and gave me a firm hug, pressing her breasts into my chest. Quietly she whispered in my ear "So proud of you", and we held each other for a few moments. I could hear and feel her rapid breathing in my ear, and I liked that. I liked the way she felt there, me holding her body, her soft hair against my chin, smelling the fragrance of her shampoo, my fingers against her bra strap; I started to become erect. When we let go, her face was about as red as her sweater, and so was mine. I turned quickly so she wouldn't see the bulge and then within a few minutes, I took care of myself under the sheets. Immediately I felt a sense of shame, an icky feeling about touching her in any manner. Conditioning, I guess, the Christian stuff.
Another time we were at some friends and one of them popped a pornographic movie in the DVD. It showed a guy getting a hand job, a good one, and he blew all over the naked giver's clothes.
When Jenny and I walked home, she offered up, "Did you believe that?"
"No", I said. "I wasn't expecting that."
"Me either", she said. "But hey, it was kinda neat, don't you think? I mean, the way she told the guy she wouldn't jack him off unless he stared into her eyes the whole time so she could see his reaction when he shot his load?"
"Yeah," I said. I'd seen these many times before but wasn't sure if she knew that. I was a bit surprised at her reaction and the words she used, didn't know if this was new stuff to her. So I merely said, "You're right, it was kinda neat."
Between the hug and the movie discussion, I felt myself overpowered with a growing intensity of physical pressure regarding Jen. The touching part still felt wrong, not to mention impractical, and so the intensity manifested itself in an urge to see. This is where the aforementioned Jack 'n Jill bathroom came in handy. It was designed such that we could both enter from our rooms as it had two doors. We lived in an older house and in the process of the structure settling over the years, Jen's bathroom door frame had developed a small crack next to the wall. The crack was only large enough to fit perhaps two credit cards in, as well as some light. And as luck would have it, with my eye pressed to the crack, there was indeed light – a visual gateway directly to Jen's dresser. I couldn't see much else of the room but this literal staging area where, as I discovered, she chose to dress and undress, was all there before me if I chose to accept it.
I'd discovered this many years ago and hadn't even thought of acting on it. But the night of the movie discussion, under my covers where I masturbated, I realized the opportunity before me and also realized I could no longer resist. I fought the urge for several days but soon it overpowered me. So I looked.
The first time was in the evening when I knew she'd be changing for bed. She liked to shower and wash her hair at night before bed, and as soon as she finished with the hairdryer and closed her bathroom door to her room, I rushed quietly into the bathroom through my door, leaving the light off. I figured she would have been able to see the bathroom light through the crack and would have seen my head blocking part of the crack.
I stood by her door, stared at the crack, and held my face up to it. My heart was pounding and I felt faint, but I looked, and I saw. I saw her standing draped only in a towel, brushing her hair. She let the towel slip off of her and I saw her beautiful ass, absolutely perfect. My knees started to buckle. She then turned and I saw her front, all of it. Her firm breasts, nipples erect, just five feet or so away. Her pubic hair was blond and thin and I could see the lips to her vagina. I'd seen all this on porno movies and such but never live, and here it was, beautiful, in person, my sister. Worried that she'd hear me or worse, I quietly slipped back to my room.
I did this each night for five days and became more brazen with each experience, staying longer, taking more chances by doing so. I knew it was always possible that she could unexpectedly re-enter the bathroom and bust me but as it hadn't happened and there wasn't even a close call, I became careless. I figured my backup excuse IF it happened would hold anyway – that I had to pee, figured she might be in bed, and therefore had left the light out because if I'd turned it on, the light under her door might be disturbing.
Seemed plausible but on the sixth night it all fell apart. Jen did the towel thing in front of the dresser as usual this night, but this time she would not, absolutely WOULD NOT drop the towel. This went on for about fifteen minutes and with the energy I was expending on my pulsating heart and rapid breathing, I grew tired of standing, and sank to one knee while keeping my eye firmly to the crack. I'd gotten to where I looked at this endeavor as an investment and damn it if I'd cash in before getting the dividend. And like that, quicker than I ever expected, she turned her back to the dresser, walked straight to the bathroom door and opened it, hitting me in shoulder.
"Ouch!" I yelled in surprise, falling backward and ending up seated on my butt.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, switching on the light. "What were you doing?"
I was speechless. The having-to-pee story suddenly seemed utterly ridiculous and my heart was beating so fast that I didn't even bother speaking as I would have been stammering at best.
"Why did you have the light off?" she asked, still innocently, an inquisitive grin on her face.
I looked up at her as she seemed to now tower over me, clutching her bath towel tightly. Looking away, I felt myself inexplicably glancing at that crack and the light from her room streaming through it, now looking like a supernova. She saw my glance and leaned over me and put her face to the crack, and saw exactly the stage I'd been viewing. She stepped back and now it was her turn at breathlessness, and when I glanced at her she had a look of hurt and rage.
"That crack's been there for years," she said, glaring at me and then looking at her feet.
"Yeah, I know," I said, looking at the floor. I was hoping this opening volley and less-than-aggressive pose from her was a sign that her longstanding shyness about expressing anger might rule the moment.
"So is this what I think it is, Ben?" she asked softly.
I said nothing and sat silent for a long moment, which only seemed to inflame her, making her eyes glow and her stance become more and more rigid.
"This is some private fucking showroom for you, isn't it?" she said finally.
"No Jen, it's not that at all." I knew she was furious because she almost never swore.
"Well then what the hell is it? I suppose you've shared your peeping experiences with everyone?" She was so angry that her voice quivered and cracked.
"No, absolutely not. I'd never do anything like that."
She stood silently for a minute, as if not really sure what to do. "Good night then," she said. "We'll have to talk more about this tomorrow after school, before Mom and Dad come home."
The next morning and throughout the day at school, Jen wouldn't look at me. I generally avoided eye contact myself and on the few occasions where our eyes met, she looked away and blushed –- not of embarrassment but disgust. Late in the day at school, though, our eyes met and she had a bit of a gleam about her, almost a smirk.
As usual, she sat with her friends, and me with mine on the bus, and we got off the bus at our stop in front of the house together. I didn't say a word as we went inside and neither did she, and when she went upstairs to her room and closed the door, I was hoping she'd decided to let the whole thing from the night before go. I was wrong.
Quietly I went up to my room and as I took my sweater off, she opened her door and said quietly, "Ben, come over here please."
She'd never said "please" like that. I knew this wasn't good. Obediently, I stepped into her room, and she closed the door behind me.
"Sit on the bed," she said, and I obeyed, and then she sat down next to me. She was wearing that same cheerleading sweater and pleated skirt from the night when she'd given me the hug.
She ran her hand through her long blonde hair as if contemplating what to say and then launched into it. "You really humiliated me last night," she said. Her voice was steady, not angry or quivering like the night before.
"I didn't see anything," I said.
"But let's face it, last night was one of many. You've seen me naked, haven't you, many times?"
"No, I haven't."
"Don't lie to me Ben. I'm not stupid and you'll just make this worse."
I knew she had me. So I simply nodded "Yes".
"Well, at least you're honest. So, maybe you ought to see what it feels like to be humiliated."
My heart started racing as the possibilities of what she had in mind exploded in my head. "What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well, would you like me to tell your friends, my friends, Mom and Dad, everyone, that you're a pervert who spies on his sister when she's nude? How about if I do that and then you'll be the one feeling humiliated and then we can compare notes."
"Jesus Jen, please don't do that."
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"Yes Jen, I'm sure, and I'll never, ever do anything like this again." My voice was shaking and I was dead serious – I never wanted any part of something like this again.
"Okay then, I won't."
"Thanks Jen. Really, I mean that."
"There's still one problem though," she said, staring deeply into my eyes. "I'm still humiliated and you aren't, and that's not fair, is it?"
I was speechless.
"What are we going to do about that, Ben?"
I had no idea what to do or say so I sat silently, trembling a bit, and she simply stared at me without saying a word. Then she got up, grabbed some extra pillows out of her closet and propped them up against the headrest of the bed.
"Here," she directed, grasping me by the shoulders, "Sit back against these, in the middle of the bed." I did as she ordered, afraid and literally unable to speak. "Scoot down now so you're sort of lying down and sitting up all at once. There, now put your hands under your back," she said, grabbing me by the wrists and guiding my hands beneath the small of my back.
I didn't like that feeling at all and immediately pulled them up in protest. "Why, what's this, I don't get this." I said.
"Do you want me to tell everyone what you've been doing?" she asked. "Is that the way you'd like to be humiliated?"
"Okay then, put your hands back where I said and don't pull them out from behind you again. Whatever you do, don't do that because you'll just make this worse."
"Make WHAT worse?" I asked. I was so scared and freaked out that I couldn't keep quiet any longer.
"Just do it."
I looked at her in disbelief and then sighed, reluctantly doing as she said. I felt very vulnerable and powerless in this pose.
She scooted over next to me, sitting to my right side, stretching her feet out on the bed so that her legs were beside me, her thighs brushing my side. Reminding me to keep my hands where they were, she then reached for my belt.
Immediately I grabbed her hands, and she pinched them until her nails dug into my skin and said very firmly, "DON'T. Put them back."
I put them back. She then unbuckled my belt and I can't describe the feeling of weakness I felt as I watched my beautiful blonde twin sister, just inches away from me, undoing my belt as I held my hands behind my back.
"Jen," I said weakly, "please don't do this."
She looked at me blankly and said, "I'm evening up the score. You asked for it. Now keep your hands where they are, like I said."
With that she went for the trouser snap, undid it and then slowly pulled down my zipper. Whatever feelings I'd had of being powerless and weak before her a second ago now increased tenfold.
"Raise up a little" she ordered, slapping me lightly on the hip. Slowly she worked my trousers down, all the way to my ankles, her blonde hair brushing against my thighs at one point.
She then reached for the elastic around my underwear and I again grabbed her hands without thinking. She glared at me in silence and I sheepishly put them back where they belonged. She put her fingers under the elastic and rapidly pulled my briefs down, exposing my penis, pulled them down to my ankles and then sat back staring.
At this point, with the enormity of being exposed in the most thorough way, the violation of that peeling development of nakedness having just unfolded so quickly, my heart was pounding. I felt kind of sick, and I could no longer look at her. I stared at the ceiling and tried not to think about anything. All the same, the concept of her being there, staring at me, at it, her beautiful body just inches away, that wonderful hair, her thighs against me, started to make me become slightly erect, which I didn't want but couldn't fight. I did not want to have her see me with an erection.
I sat silent for what seemed like several minutes as she stared at my nakedness. Finally I asked, breathlessly, "Are we even yet?"
"I'll tell you when we're even."
She reached over and placed her hand on my inner thigh, to which I immediately responded by grabbing her hand and sitting up.
"Look, Jen, enough's enough" I said, sitting up as if to cover myself with my own torso, suddenly feeling strong and righteous. "This can't happen. I didn't touch you and now you've seen me too, I'm humiliated, so let's forget this."
She would have none of it and grabbed both my hands firmly, pressing her face right up against mine. "Yeah, you didn't touch me," she said, in a husky whisper. "But I didn't sneak around on YOU. And who knows how many times you saw me? This is but once. Sit back now. And put your hands back where I said. Keep them there this time."
I stared at her in defiant silence but she was unyielding and it was clear who was in charge. "Now, Ben!" she said softly.
I did as she said but still protested, firing off rambling queries and arguing with abandon. "Jenny, please, the touching part just feels wrong to me and always has. Please don't do this to me. I don't know what you're thinking, what ARE you planning, you have to stop?"
It didn't matter to her apparently. Without speaking, let alone answering, she put her hand back on my inner thigh and started slowly massaging it, tediously working her way up it while keeping her other hand flat against my belly, as if to intercept any protest on my part. She massaged my thigh thoroughly, methodically, staring at my thigh and my erection for the most part and then also looking at me with those piercing blue eyes of hers.
I was fully sitting up now and she was leaning more over me such that our faces were level with each other, and I could hear her rapid breathing, smell her hair and feel her hot breath on my naked crotch, my shoulder touching hers as she leaned over and into me.
It felt like she was raping me even though she was only rubbing my thigh. The powerless feeling of being at her mercy was beyond anything I'd ever experienced and despite my erection – merely a physical function of it all -- I wasn't liking this, didn't like not knowing how far she was going or what she had in mind, and wanted it to stop.
But it didn't. The skin on my scrotum had grown tight with my erection and when she reached my sack and cupped it, I jerked in reaction and grabbed her hands, pulling them both away, shivering.
"Please Jen" I begged. "This could really mess me up, please, will you please let it go and stop all this now."
"No, I won't," she said calmly, but with a slight quiver in HER voice this time. "So, put your hands back like I've been telling you." She grabbed my wrists again and I could feel the slight moisture in her palms, apparently brought on by her own excitement.
She proceeded to cup my balls in her warm, somewhat moist right hand and I twisted in a convulsive jerking motion, a chill overpowering me such that I shook all over, emitting an audible moan for the first time. She then let go of my belly with her left hand and placed it around my scrotum, and then slid the fingers of her right hand around the base of my shaft and slowly and firmly with her right palm began working her way up the base of my shaft. I shook even more and said "JESUS!" through my teeth.
She stopped there, firmly in control of my penis with both hands, and looked into my eyes, at me, through me, and then back to my penis, and sat still for a moment. Then she continued up with her hand, her moist, warm palm enveloping the most sensitive parts of my shaft, generally going up but also pumping up and down a little, moving ever so close to the head, and finally, encasing the head with her entire right hand and eliciting from me another more thorough round of shakes and chills, and an indescribable full-body eruption of sensation that caused me to shiver and lean helplessly against her shoulder almost in tears crying "Stop Jen! Just stop please!" as she now worked up and down ever so slowly but thoroughly, still holding me at the base with her other hand.
I was helplessly resting my face on her shoulder, pushing her away with my chin, trying to make her stop, feeling shameful, dominated, humiliated and horrified. I pulled my hands out from behind my back and wrapped them around her, hugging her as if pitifully asking for mercy.