Sister Act Ch. 01

I pushed the rack of clothing to one side, and searched the darkness of the closet floor. After a few minutes I was ready to give up. I didn't actually see it but my hand felt as I stooped down and groped into the darkness. My fingers closed on the sleek heel. Strange. It was in the far corner, across the whole length of closet away from my neatly arranged rows of shoes. Could it have been kicked that far?

I was going to join the black pump with its mate but something didn't feel quite right. I held the shoe to the light. The straps hung limply off the shoe. Thinking a strap was undone, I gentled separated the straps. My face immediately flushed with anger at I saw the broken strap.

I poured myself a glass of Chablis and sat on the leather sofa. I stared out the balcony window. In the distance the ocean was a rare deep blue that was oddly calming even as I saw the white waves beating furiously against the rocks.

I heard the key turn in the door. She looked startled at first. Like a deer caught in the headlights. But she was quick to follow up with an open wide smile. She was quite an actress.

"Hey, Janice. Didn't know you were home yet." Her long blond hair hung down in my face as she leaned over to kiss my cheek.

An image popped into my head of me roughly grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling. Pulling hard.

"God, you should have seen this creep today in my Rhetoric class. Pathetic loser. He was trying to hit on me..."

"Is that my blouse?" I said. My voice sounded distance, like it was bubbling up from somewhere deep inside of me.

"invited me to this party..."

"Is that my blouse?"

She looked at me, and flashed a smile. "Well ... yeah."

I stared at her as I carefully sat the tall wine glass down on the coaster.

"Look ... I didn't have anything to wear." She dropped her smile.

"I asked you not to borrow my stuff."

"Yeah ... it's just a blouse. OK?"

"I asked you not to, Sandy. This is my condo. My place. You need to respect my rules."

"Your rules? You are not Mom. We're not at home any more. And I'm an adult now. Not your baby sister to boss around."

"Did you borrow anything else of mine?" I could felt the shoe at my back.

"You want your fucking blouse, bitch ... you can have it back." Sandy's hand fumbled furiously with the top button.

"Fuck you. You are not my parent." Her fingers continued to fight that button.

".. and you are not my babysitter." She looked at her with accusing eyes. I felt a flash of shame that did nothing to dissipate my anger. Quite the contrary.

She gave the blouse another frustrated tug, and the button flew across the room and hit the hardwood floor with an audible click. I saw Sandy's blue eyes grow wide as she caught my gaze. For a moment I saw the scared little girl who had broken her big sister's toy. But the anger within her seemed to burn away the fear in her eyes.

"Fuck this, and fuck you!" With a sudden yang she ripped open the front of the blouse. "I don't care what I promised Mom, I'm moving out."

She was wearing a lacy white under-wire. Her cleavage jiggled as she tore the blouse off. 36C, I had remembered. A full cup-size bigger than me, a fact she had gloated about since her mid-teens.

She threw the blouse to my feet, and stood there. Daring me, a hesitant voice said in my head. She threw up shoulders up, which had the effect of lifting her breasts more forward.

It played like a movie in my head. It was like I was a spectator. One moment I was looking at her with her boobs half hanging out. The next, I was on my feet, grabbing her around the neck. Her bra pressed against my arm. Struggling, I pushed her toward the couch. Her face pressed against the broken pump.

"I found it, you fucking brat. Right where you stuck it in the closet."

"I .. didn't", she said in a half-muffled voice.

"Sure you did. You have always taken my stuff. Even as a kid."

"Get off of me NOW, Janice" She started to life her head but I pushed her face into the torn and broken pump.

"Say you're sorry for tearing my things."

"Fuck ..." I leaned into the couch to gain leverage and throw my weight into her. She probably had almost 15 pounds on me but I had better muscular tone and enough righteous anger to push her through the wall.

"Say you're sorry!"

She struggled but I pushed her roughly into couch.

Her stocking foot clipped me hard in the chin. I held her legs down with one arm while I yanked on her hair with the other.

"Leave me alone. Now. I swear I'll ..."

Her short white skirt hiked up, exposing a glimpse of blue panty underneath. The blue matched my now-ruined blouse, a voice said in my fevered mind.

"Ohhhh ..." She exhaled suddenly in surprise as my hand hit her rump. It felt right, God help me, as my palm slapped my sister's butt with a satisfying smack that was muffled only slightly by her tight skirt.

SLAP!

She squirmed madly, which pushed up her skirt higher. By the third slap I was now smacking nylon. Sheer-to-waist, I noted in the back of my mind as I continued spanking my sister's butt. Would she be now be pink or deep red under the pantyhose and the blue panties, my mind aimlessly asked.

SLAP!

"Nooo..."

SLAP!

"Please, Jan...

SLAP!

"..ice! Oh, God ..."

SLAP! SLAP!

She was sobbing loudly now, her words were incoherent guttural sounds.

My palm was now throbbing. How must Sandy's butt be hurting now? I didn't want to really hurt her, did it?

I stopped, tired and spent. What had I done? Was there any way of walking away from this -- starting over?

I wiped the sweat from my forehead. When I put my hand down, Sandy squirmed suddenly as she felt my hand rest against her rump.

"Oh, God, Sandy... I'm so -- so sorry."

Tears were running down my eyes.

"Sandy, I--I'm not going to hurt .." but my voice was cracking too much to continue.

I gently placed my hand on Sandy's bottom, doing it slowly enough so she could maybe realize I didn't want to hurt her. More? an accusing voice said in my head.

Her butt through the nylon was soft, like the familiar feel of a favorite over-stuffed pillow. I could feel the heat under my palm. Her back, bare, except for the thin bra straps were glistening with perspiration.

The nylons and panties were also soaked. With alarm I looked for signs of blood but saw nothing. Must be sweat, I thought. I thought of pulling down the panties to inspect the damage but thought better of it. I wasn't a doctor.

What had I done? She must be in so much pain. Should I take her to the emergency room? I envisioned a stern-looking battle axe of a nurse glare at me from across the ER, as Sandy told her the story between painful moans. "The police are on the way, Hon." the nurse would say as the wheeled Sandy into the operating room. And suddenly Mom would appear in the seat next to me in the waiting room. "She was your baby sister. You were supposed to take care of her. Why? Why?" Mom shrieked...

Sandy said nothing but she was breathing heavily. At least she was still alive. Dear God. A tear fell down my cheek to land on Sandy's bottom.

The morning sun woke me up. I found myself on the couch. My mind was groggy with sleep as I struggled to a sitting position. I held my head. It felt heavy as if filled with warm blood.

I saw it out of the corner of my eye, and my heart sank. The torn pump sat next to me on the couch. And I smelled something. Eggs?

"I was just going to wake you, sleepy-head."

"Sandy ..."

"Come on. Your breakfast will be getting cold."

As I followed her to the kitchen I noticed that she wore a white babydoll nighty instead of her usual oversized football shirt. I could see the outline of matching white panties under the nighty. Was she red underneath? I fought hard to push away that thought.

The table was beautifully prepared. She had gotten out the crystal from the china cabinet. On the table were a bowl of fresh fruit, bananas, grapes and oranges. She had a skillet in her hand. With the gleam of the morning light from the kitchen window the outline of her high breasts was clearly visible. I turned away quickly. God help me.

"Sunny-side up?"

"Ye ..." I saw an image in my mind of her bottom in my lap. Sunny side up. I fought furiously to shove that image aside. "Yes..." I muttered as she placed the eggs on my plates.

I saw her wince as she sat down.

She saw the concern in my eyes. "It's not so bad."

"Sandy, I'm so-so sorry. I don't wha.."

"I was out of line I know. You don't need to say anything. I didn't respect you or your generosity in letting me stay here" "But last night ..."

"Last night was just a sister-sister thing between us. I just needed some attitude adjustment. I'll just have to stand up during my classes for the rest of the week."

"Oh, God! Sandy ..."

"It's a joke, big sis. A joke. I'm OK! Really!" She smiled at me, and I tried to force a smile in return.

She finished chewed and a mouth full of eggs.

"And I'm going to pay you back for the blouse and the shoes. I'll get a part-time job"

"No, Sandy. I have plenty of money. And you need to attend to your studies."

"Yeah, big sister Warbucks. But how about if I fix you breakfast every morning."

"I could get used to this, definitely. You don't have to, though."

"I want to! It's the least I can do. At least you can keep harping about me not eating breakfast."

"OK". I felt a burden lifted from my shoulders. "I won't argue any more about it. Just keep 'em ... sunny-side up"

"I'll be your very own breakfast bitch."

"What??"

"Oh, just relax, sister-of-mine. A joke, OK?"

That evening as I was sleeping I heard the sound of footsteps.

My head shot up.

"Sandy?"

"Janice ..."

"What's wrong, Sandy."

"Can I sleep here tonight?"

This was getting weird.

"No, Sandy. Go to your own room."

"I'll sleep on the floor."

"Sandy? Please you need to go."

"I'm scared."

"Scared of what?"

"Just scared. I think I heard something."

"Sandy, we have a security system. You probably had a nightmare. Just go back to sleep."

"Janice. Please?"

"Go." I turned around on my pillow at faced away.

"Janice?"

"Sandy, just go to your room. You need to go."

"Janice?"

"Go away, now."

"Janice?"

I closed my eyes.

"It hurts."

I sat up.

"What hurts?"

"You know ... my butt."

Oh, shit. She was really hurt, after all. Could her tailbone be broken? Were there internal injuries? The hot flush of guilt drove away the sleep-grogginess.

"Ah...sure...OK."

"I'll just lie on the floor."

"The floor? No way! You can come into bed with me."

"Hmmm ... think I've heard that pick-up line once or twice before."

"Pick-up line? Sandy ..."

"Hey, relax. Joke. OK?" She crawled tentatively under the covers. I could feel her heat next to me. Being a private person with a definite sense of my own personal space, I was surprised to find it comforting to share my bed. But she was my sister. Who I had hurt!

I tried to sleep but couldn't.

"Can I get you a Motrin?"

She said nothing.

"Sandy?"

Nothing. 'Was she in a coma?,' a panicked voice said deep in my head.

"Sandy?" God, please let everything be alright. Please.

It was only then that could hear the soft rhythm of her snoring.

"Morning!" she said cheerfully as she poured the coffee. She was wearing the same short baby-doll nighty. The rich smell of the coffee was intoxicating.

"How are you ... feeling?"

"Great!"

"I mean about last night..."

"I must have had a nightmare or something?"

"Are you still hurting?"

"Hurting?"

"your-your bottom."

"Oh, _that_. No problem, see?" She turned around and lifted the back of her short nighty. Although her panties were fairly translucent I could not see any redness or sign of trauma.

She grasped the back of her panties.

"Do you want to see?" She pulled them down enough to see the start of the crack of her ass.

"Sandy!"

She released the waistband and turned to face me. "It's not so bad, you know. My professors don't mind me standing."

"Sandy!"

"Just fucking witcha, big sis."

There were no more night episodes. Things genuinely seemed improved between us. Although we both had erratic schedules, with me working late and Sandy out clubbing or even sometimes actually studying, breakfast was our time to come together and fill in each other on our days. It was nice to actually interact with my kid sister as a adult, and see what a special person she had grown to be.

Like a married couple when the excitement of the honeymoon wear away, the cracks start showing underneath. After about three weeks Sandy began to test her limits with me. One time she left the kitchen a mess and refused to clean it. I tried to let that go since we hadn't actually discussed the ground rules for cleaning the kitchen. We were both neat freaks of sorts and generally took care of our own messes.

"Fuck you. I fixed you breakfast. You can at least clean up once in while."

"Sandy, you were fixing breakfast as part of our agreement."

"Agreement? Don't you mean punishment?"

"We both agreed..."

"What are you going to do?" She looked me hard in the eye. "...spank me again?"

"Sandy..." I closed my eyes and tried to inhale softly. "... please can't we work something out."

"Yeah, like what?"

"We can take turns washing the dishes..."

"Well...". She sounded skeptical.

"...And I'll start today, OK?"

Using a technique I learned in some business negotiations I didn't even wait for her to reply. I just starting cleaning up, and assumed her compliance.

There were no outbursts for the remainder of the week. But somehow things seem strained between us for no reason I could discern. The breakfast conversations seemed to deteriorate to a few grunted answers between swallows of food. Maybe I was somehow to blame but I could swear I was really trying hard to keep up new-found relationship.

Something seemed to be bothering Sandy but she refused to acknowledge there was anything wrong.

One day I came home in the evening to an empty condo. When I entered my bedroom I immediately saw something was amiss. Someone had rummaged through my room. My first thought was burglary. No security system was perfect, my condo manager had told me one time as he tried in vain to hit on me, they can only stop the amateurs. A professional could defeat the system in no time.

Sandy. My heart jumped. Was she alright? Was she here when someone broke in?

"SANDY? Oh, dear God!" I searched the condo frantically, praying I wouldn't find her body lying in a pool of blood.

I dialed her cell phone. "Ring ... ring ... ring ..." "Please pick up. Please"

I left a frantic voice mail for her to call me immediately. And waited. And waited.

I looked over my bedroom again. Amazingly, no jewelry seemed to be missed, although I had several expensive pieces laying in plain view on top of my jewelry box. After some inspection it appeared that my lingerie drawer was the only thing appeared to have been disturbed. The drawer itself was pulled out of dresser and number of white and pastel panties, bras and stockings seemed to have been removed and scattered haphazardly around the room.

A pervert? I vaguely recall the term fetish burglary from a Criminal Justice class in college. Disgusting.

I searched through was left in the drawer and what was scattered about. I couldn't say for sure if anything was actually taken. But I probably had enough lingerie that any number of things could have been taken without me knowing for sure.

Sandy? If some pervert stole my underwear, wouldn't he also be interested in Sandy's?

I entered her bedroom. Again, I saw nothing amiss but I started opening her dresser drawers. Her lingerie drawer was the bottom one.

Certainly, if I couldn't tell if my own underwear was missing I couldn't tell if she was missing something but I searched through the neat piles of satiny and silky underwear. She had some nice things, my mind registered without really thinking. Plenty of expensive Victoria's Secrets that out-classed most of my sensible undies.

In the bottom of the drawer I felt something solid. I should have stopped there; but curiosity got the better of me. I pulled something out; and held up to the light. Oh, shit. I almost dropped it. It was a large black vibrator.

It was none of my business. Some college girlfriends used to joke about their plastic fantastic lover when their boyfriends came up short; but I never tried one myself. I think the main reason was a fear about possible damage a motor could make to very delicate tissues. Silly, I know. Many women use one with no apparent emergency room reports. And how about the embarrassment of actually buying one? I couldn't just go into a sleazy adult bookstore, and ask some pimply, smirking guy behind the counter for a vibe.

But here was my kid sister. She had had a number of boyfriends since high school -- with her looks she never had any problems getting dates. I assume she was sexually active but it was hard to think of my baby sister this way. We never discussed such things together.

I felt embarrassed and sickened that I had violated her privacy this way. The vibrator felt heavy in her hands. Black? Did Sandy date any black men? There was nothing wrong with this of course. Nothing wrong. I wasn't a racist. It was none of my goddamn business who she went out with -- or what her fantasies might be. I held up this instrument. It was huge. Painfully huge. Could a real one be this big? I fought hard to suppress the image of a black cock impaling my baby sister. What was wrong with me?

I started putting the vibe back. But wait! One of the briefs that the vibe had been wrapped in caught my eye.

The panties looked like mine! They were white cotton simple panties, more suited for functionality than for enticement. Maybe most panties look similar but I recognized these as the brand and style I wear for work. These looked like part of a batch I bought at a Macy's after-Christmas sale. A final check of the tag confirmed that these were size 7. Sandy, with her wide womanly hips likely hadn't worn a 7 since grade school. I searched the tags on several of her panties. 10.

Why would Sandy have my panties? Mix-up in the laundry? Yes! Easy enough to do.

I was still puzzled and didn't completely buy my own explanation. There were too many questions not yet fully realized that were buzzing around my cranium. I held up one of my own panties, not sure of what I was looking for but the analytical lawyer in me began her discovery process. The panty felt moist to the touch. And the odor. I pressed the soft cotton to my nose. It was strangely intoxicating. The unmistakable odor of a woman. I inhaled once more. My sinuses were immediately flooded with the musty odor. The dark animal smell of estrus slammed the back of my head.

Were these panties dirty? Worn by me? By Sandy? Her ssssmell?, a reptilian voice said inside her skull. I felt sick with digust. But could she even fit into my panties? Maybe, then, it was my own smell; but then it was no less disgusting.

Or - a sick thought hit me -- did the vibrator have something to do with this? Some kind of -- eh -- leakage from the vibe? It was a coincidence that my panties were involved here. Yes! My mind pleaded with the ladies and gentlemen of the jury. It had to be a coincidence! But as I made my closing arguments I couldn't entirely drown out the uglier possibilities.

I carefully put everything back into Sandy's drawer. As I closed her lingerie drawer I realized I had distracted myself for my original concern. What about _my_ lingerie drawer?

Who went through my drawer? Some pervo? Or -- Sandy? Why would she? Certainly no panty taken from my drawer had been dirty. If Sandy had taken them (why?), how would they get dirty and end up in her drawer? I was too confused to do anything until I had talked with Sandy? Please, please answer your cell phone. Did she forget to charge it?