Into the Attic

The Usual Disclaimer: This is a work of fantasy. All characters featured in sexual situations are over 18. The characters in these stories are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead or undead is purely coincidental. Do not try this at home.

The idea for this story was inspired by an e-mail I got from Gobred, here on Literotica. I always appreciate corresponding with him. I hope you like this story, man.

*

The events in this story started out in 2012, the year I graduated from high school. I had lived my entire life in the same house in the same suburban neighborhood. My name is Daniel, and my parents, Mitchell and Mary, bought the place five years before my oldest sister was born. At that time, it was the newest house on the end of the block. I have seen pictures of the house when they first moved in. My parents, looking shockingly young, standing in front of a house surrounded by farmland.

In the twenty-eight years since, the surrounding farmland has been replaced by newer homes. By my senior year of high school, there was no farmland within ten miles of the house. It is all suburban sprawl; block after block of single-family homes punctuated by strip malls and the occasional apartment complex.

My older sisters both lived at home and attended the local community college. They worked part-time jobs and attended college part time as well. Neither of them seemed to be in a big hurry to move on with their lives. That was fine by me—I love my big sisters. What they didn't know is that I have enjoyed fantasizing about them for years.

Colleen is the oldest of the three of us. Over her teenage years, she had often clashed with our parents. At sixteen, she had gotten a seriously short haircut and had gone through a rainbow of different hair colors. The entire family had been shocked at first. Colleen had beautiful, long brown hair almost to her waist before that first drastic buzz cut. It had been an act of rebellion, aimed at our mother. In that regard, it had been a success. Mom wept openly when she saw what Colleen had done to her beautiful hair.

Colleen dated guys that were openly disrespectful 'bad boys.' She started drinking when she was far too young to do so legally. She never got into major trouble in school, and she was never arrested, but she was always in trouble at home. Her grades slipped through high school, and she graduated in the bottom quarter of her class. Four years later, she was finally starting to mature enough to regret many of her foolish mistakes.

My other sister, Hope, is a year older than me. We both watched helplessly when Colleen squandered her opportunities and alienated our parents. Hope had avoided making the same mistakes, and she was always the one who tried to play the peacemaker in our home. Hope was the classic over-achiever. She worked tirelessly throughout school and got the best grades she could. Unfortunately, despite her sweet disposition, she just wasn't terribly bright.

When she would get into trouble, it wasn't because she was looking for it. It was because she didn't see it coming. I got to witness the most memorable occasion firsthand.

* * *

Colleen had been dating a particularly unsavory fellow named Kirk halfway through Hope's senior year. He happily provided alcohol for Colleen, who was only twenty at the time. One day, the two of them had been drinking in the house while our parents were at work. Hope and I had come home from school to find them making out in the living room.

Colleen was drunk, and I just stopped and stared in disbelief. Her hair was disheveled and her bra sat on the back of the couch. Kirk had his hand between my sister's thighs and she wiggled and shuddered, clearly enjoying what they were doing. They were kissing and moaning, oblivious to everything around them.

Hope spoke up, finally snapping Kirk and Colleen out of it.

"What are you doing?" Hope asked.

Kirk whirled to look at us, and Colleen panted for a bit before lowering her shirt to cover her thighs.

"I guess the kids are out of school," Kirk said.

His voice was bitter. Things had been going well with Colleen, and he had probably expected to get laid. He gave Hope a nasty look, but it was lost on her. She was genuinely curious what they were doing. Hope walked around in front of the couch and stared at what Kirk's fingers were doing. Colleen was too drunk and turned on to protest, and Kirk was drunk and belligerent enough that he didn't stop. I was still frozen in place watching the scene unfold from twenty feet away.

"Does that feel good?" Hope asked, turning her head slightly to get a better view.

"Yes," Colleen murmured in response.

Hope was completely focused on Kirk's hand, and didn't look aware she was doing it when she slid her hand beneath her skirt to touch herself through her panties. Kirk's eyes lit up at that. This might be even more interesting than he had hoped!

I realized that I was forgotten across the house where I stood. I shook my head in disgust and made my way to my bedroom. I heard Kirk's voice and turned to look again.

"Would you like a drink?" Kirk offered Hope.

"Sure," she said.

"Help yourself," he said.

There was a pitcher of a really fruity rum drink on the coffee table. I found out later that it was strong stuff, but it was so sweet that Hope didn't notice the alcohol. She poured a glass and took a tentative sip. She nodded her head and then drained half the glass. I raised my eyebrows at that—noticing that Kirk did the same thing. Kirk spoke up first, so I didn't have to say a word.

"Whoa! Slow down, there, Hope," Kirk said quickly, "If you chug that too fast, you'll make yourself sick."

"Oh," Hope replied, taking another small sip, "Thanks, I didn't know."

I stood in my bedroom doorway and watched for a second. Colleen's face took on a really intense look—her eyes shot open, and then her mouth did the same as she shuddered and gasped there on the couch. I couldn't watch any more, and retreated into my bedroom. I set down my book bag on the floor next to my desk and then started getting out my homework and setting it on my desk. I could hear Hope's melodious voice drifting through my doorway, along with Kirk's rude tones.

Again and again I shook my head as I tried to focus on my homework. Then I heard Hope moaning and Kirk's voice sounded sinister. I turned my head, but still couldn't make out their words. It sounded like Hope was protesting, though, so I got up and walked slowly out of my bedroom.

I stopped and stared in shock.

Hope was bouncing up and down in Kirk's lap! Her panties were now on the floor where she had been standing before I retreated into my bedroom, and I just knew that bastard had taken advantage of my naïve sister when she was tipsy from that alcohol. I was furious, but I couldn't just charge in there to do anything about it. Kirk was huge, and I was still a fairly small kid.

Hope looked over her shoulder at Kirk's face.

"What are you doing?" she gasped.

"I'm fucking your sweet pussy," Kirk responded, thrusting even harder into her.

Hope's eyes were wild as she shook her head and gasped, but then she saw me over Kirk's shoulder.

"Daniel, make him stop!" she cried out, unable to do it on her own.

Kirk's head whipped around. He saw me standing there and he sneered at me.

"Why don't you take a picture?" he said mockingly, "It will last longer."

Now, I am not a big guy, and at that age I was even smaller. Kirk was a grown man over six feet tall. I had no doubt he would easily kick my ass. Still, it was my sister. I had to do something. I thought about what Kirk had said.

Why don't you take a picture?

I stood and pulled out my cell phone, activating the camera and starting a video recording. I walked closer to the couch, panning the phone to take in Colleen as well as Hope bouncing on Kirk's lap.

"Shit," Kirk laughed, "I didn't think you'd actually do it. You are one messed up kid."

"Oh, I'm sure my parents will love this," I responded.

Kirk stopped thrusting abruptly, and I continued.

"Here we have video evidence of you getting two minors drunk, and now you're fucking my underage sister. I wonder how long you'll be in prison?"

I was bluffing, of course. There was no way I would show this video to anyone—especially my parents—and Hope was eighteen. Kirk had no way of knowing that, though. He snarled and shoved Hope from his lap.

"Give me that phone!" he yelled.

I started walking toward the front door, acting as if I had called my mother.

"Mom?" I said into the phone, "You know Colleen's boyfriend, Kirk?"

"You little bastard!" Kirk screamed.

He jumped up, but his unfastened pants caused him to fall on his face. In his drunken state, he could barely walk straight. I ran out the front door, keeping an eye on Kirk following behind me. Kirk had managed to fasten his pants, but he could not keep up with me. Once we were outside, I sprinted away down the block, and hid in some bushes around the next street corner. I carefully controlled my breathing as Kirk charged past.

I kept an eye on him until I was back around the corner. I sprinted all the way back to our house and locked the front door. I stood in the front room of the house and watched out the curtains for a while. I was holding my phone in my hand, ready to dial 911 if I had to. Eventually, Kirk returned, got into his car, and sped away. I finally relaxed, but that was short-lived. Hope spoke up from behind me.

"Thank you, Daniel," she said.

I felt guilty as I looked at her. I knew I should have acted sooner. There was no malice or accusation in her face, though.

"I would have done something sooner," I said, "but I thought you were enjoying it."

"Oh, I did," she replied with a shiver, "but if I didn't stop him, he could have gotten me pregnant."

Later that night, after dinner, I showed the video to Colleen and Hope before making sure they both watched as I deleted it.

* * *

My senior year was drawing to a close. By now, I had a small library of videos, all shot from my phone, of my sexy sisters. I never managed to get them on camera having sex or masturbating. They were just surreptitious little videos like when one of them hadn't worn a bra under her thin t-shirt, or when Hope wore a nightie that was far more revealing than she realized. Twice I had gotten a long video of Colleen sitting on the couch without panties. Once in a skirt, and once in loose-fitting shorts; both clips gave a clear view of my sister's pussy for five glorious minutes.

I also had three videos of our mother in that collection. Those were actually far more revealing than anything I had of either of my sisters. Mom had a habit of wearing a thin housecoat in the mornings, particularly on the weekends. She usually wore panties beneath it, but on those three occasions, she had been completely naked under the thin garment.

I always felt a little guilty when I locked myself in my bedroom and jacked off to images of my sisters or mom. The guilt didn't stop me, though. Those videos got me far more aroused than any of the pornography I found online.

I did date girls from school, but I just wasn't as interested in any of them as I should have been. I got laid a handful of times, but I found myself thinking about Colleen or Hope when I finally came. My mother had been added to the masturbatory mix only recently. I was troubled by this obsession, but couldn't bring myself to stop doing it.

My sisters were unaware that I was watching them. They thought I just spent far too much time on my phone. The camera on my phone let me zoom in on them, examining them closely without even looking directly at them. Whenever they would take note of me, they had no idea how intently I was checking out their bodies.

* * *

It began to get really hot that May. Even though the air conditioning was running continuously, it was uncomfortably warm and muggy in the house. My father had complained about the heat at work, which led to a discussion with his co-workers. As best I can recall, this is how he described it:

"That's odd, Mitch," his friend Tom said, "Our place isn't that uncomfortable. What do you have your thermostat set at?"

"Seventy-two," my dad replied, "but it never gets there. It's usually in the upper seventies, and it's really humid."

"Have you checked the refrigerant?" Pete chimed in.

My dad nodded. "I did that, and vacuumed out the vents around the house. I checked the condenser outside. Everything should be working fine. Do you think I need to replace it?"

"It might just be your insulation," Tom said, "How old is the insulation in your attic?"

My dad blew out a breath. He hadn't considered that. It was probably the original insulation from when the house was built.

That evening, Dad and I climbed up into the attic. It was indeed the original insulation—now almost thirty years old. We could feel cool air leaking into the attic from the house below, everywhere we walked. Worse, the attic was cluttered with all sorts of junk. That would have to be sorted out before we could replace the insulation.

Over the years, we had largely ignored the attic. A few times each year, something would get thrown up there. Outside of the plastic Christmas tree and a few plastic containers full of ornaments and decorations, nothing ever came back down. My old crib still sat on one side of the attic, covered with cobwebs and surrounded by boxes and other loose junk. Several old computers and monitors were spread about. There were hundreds of things that would have to be taken down to the house.

"I don't have time for this," my dad muttered. He looked at me. "I can't imagine you want to do this any more than I do," he said.

I looked around and tried to imagine how long it would take to clear out this mess. I was going to agree with my dad, but then I thought I spied light coming up from one of the bedrooms below. That intrigued me. I wondered whose room it was, and wanted to check it out. I turned to my father, noticing that we were both already covered in sweat.

"You know, Dad, I wouldn't mind doing this for you," I said, "It's really hot, even in the evenings, so it won't be fast. I can start working on it tonight and see how far I can get this week."

My dad already knew how much it would cost to have contractors do all that work. It would definitely put a significant dent in the budget if we had to pay for that. On the other hand, if the two of us could replace the insulation ourselves it would be fairly inexpensive.

"Thanks, son," he said, "If we can do it ourselves, that would be awesome."

The two of us spent half an hour bringing boxes down to the house, and Mom and my sisters started going through them. A shriek from one of them brought me and my dad charging back down from the attic. A big, fat, hairy wolf spider had taken up residence in the top of one of the cardboard boxes. The arachnid had died years before, but that made it no less fearsome. Hope was shaking visibly as our father disposed of the dead bug.

After that little incident, I was left largely on my own to clear the attic. I would bring boxes down to my father. He would open them and pull out the contents, taking the empty boxes out to the garage. Mom, Colleen and Hope would then sort out everything from inside the boxes. More than half of those things were destined for the garbage.

I did take the opportunity to walk over to the spot in the attic where I had seen the light coming up earlier. The bedroom light had been turned off, but there was enough light from the hallway coming into that room that I knew it was Colleen's bedroom. I thought that was odd; I couldn't recall seeing any cracks in the ceiling of her room. I wandered around the attic as I gathered more boxes and found similar spots all over. They were gaps between the boards and insulation that gave a narrow view into every room in the house.

Some time later, I came down to use the bathroom. I kept looking up at the ceiling and finally figured out that the gaps were in the corners of the ceiling. The old crown molding had sagged just a bit in the center of each wall, leaving a gap of a couple of millimeters. As I stood in the bathroom, I realized that I was absolutely drenched in sweat after less than two hours up there, and this was in the evening. I pulled off my sweat-soaked t-shirt and wrung it out in the sink. A lot of sweat poured out of my shirt.

I made sure to drink a lot of water over the next hour as I worked in the attic.

At that time, it seemed rather useless. Sure, there was this tiny crack of a view into my sisters' bedrooms and the bathroom, but I would have to lie on the fiberglass insulation and shove my face into it just to see into any of those rooms. Just thinking about that made me itch.

Two days later, though, on our way to school, I had that 'Eureka!' moment that changed everything. We were driving past a strip mall, when my eyes happened to light on a store called Spy Gear. I don't even know if those are still around now. I had never been inside the place, but they did advertise on the radio. I knew they sold surveillance cameras that could be easily hidden.

Hope dropped me off at school, and I asked if she would mind driving me over to that strip mall after school. It was close enough to the house that I could walk home from there. She was such a sweetheart, agreeing to do that for me without asking a single question.

I remembered that a guy in my school had gotten a 'spy camera' from that store that was inside a working pen. He had been a little too excited to show it to everyone. He also mentioned that it was a lot less expensive than he had thought it would be. After only a couple of days, it was confiscated by one of the teachers.

I really didn't know what to expect when I walked into the store that afternoon. I only had forty dollars to spend, and didn't really expect that would be enough to buy a real, live spy camera. To be fair, I didn't even know how those worked. The gentleman who ran the store was surprisingly patient with me, and explained the difference between surveillance cameras and portable, hidden cameras.

He also explained how modern surveillance cameras worked. I had expected they would require lots of cables and wires, but for most of them that was not the case. My face fell when I saw how much those cameras cost, though. I thanked him for his time, and was about to leave, when I saw a large box that had been marked down substantially. The box said that it was an eight-camera surveillance system, and it was only thirty dollars.

"Why is this one so cheap?" I asked the man.

He grimaced.

"Those were not very good, even when they were new," he said. "They aren't weatherproof, so you can't deploy them outside. They don't have batteries, so they have to be hardwired to an electrical system. The software is...shall we say 'clunky?' There's a five- to thirty-second delay between the camera and your monitor, depending on how far away you are. They're fairly small cameras, but they're square and they are obviously cameras. The only thing good about them is that they have really high resolution video."

I almost screamed out "Sold!" at that point. I read the box. The heat in the attic wouldn't be a problem—it was water that would short them out. The cameras themselves had a metallic finish. They almost looked like little electrical junction boxes. The lens could be adjusted up or down relative to the casing. I could install them in the attic, and they would look like part of the electrical wiring once I hooked them up for power.

"Could you show me how to wire these into the electrical system?" I asked the man.

"Sure," he replied, "Just...if these things have problems, you won't be able to return them. They are sold 'as is.' I don't want to screw you over with this."