Knee Socks Ch. 03

All the characters in the story are at least 18 years old. Information on the protagonists' age can be found in chapter one.

I have received constructive criticism and encouragement from you in previous chapters. I appreciate it very much. More is welcome!

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Andrew wakes up too disoriented for his memories of last night to seem real. And the dreamlike quality of Sarah's warm, soft body nestled safely in his arms isn't helping either. The curves of their bodies fit so perfectly that it's as if they were made for each other this way, as if they were meant to stay like this forever: their legs entwined, their steady breath in the air interwoven, her petite frame spooned by his large one, one of his arms draping over her small waist and clasped to her breasts. It's all too good to be true.

As he fumbles for his phone under his pillow to check the time, Sarah lets out some small, inarticulate noises from the limbo between wakefulness and dreamy oblivion, stirring and shifting a bit in his arms, her hips rubbing against his hard cock. She is practically naked, her shirt unbuttoned all the way down and her skirt bunched up around her waist, the only thing that separates his achingly erect cock from her defenseless slit the thin layers of fabric of his trousers and boxers.

He is so fucking hard.

A blurry glance at the phone screen tells him it's six o'clock in the morning, nearly one hour before when he usually gets up, as confirmed by the total darkness outside the window. It must be because they both fell asleep too early last night. Vaguely remembering with dread that he has an exam in Philosophy today and hoping for some more rest, Andrew finds himself unable to drift back off to sleep no matter how hard he tries.

All he can think about is last night. Well, it's not like he actually thinks about it; it lodges itself inside his brain, pushing, shoving and cramming it full until there's no space for anything else. He would have been frightened if it didn't feel so good, and so unbelievably right.

Andrew doesn't know what it means and he doesn't want to. All he wants is her. Her frizzy blond hair on his pillow that she tries to tame and smoothen to no avail and that he is too shy to tell her he loves just as it is, her sweet scent that is so magically distinct from the pungent artificial smell of cosmetics of other girls only because it's hers, her gorgeous body that he had such power over and gave such pleasure to that he's sure it will always astound him that he actually did. There's no room left in his mind for the loose ends they left last night, or the cold, hostile big world looming out there that could easily tear apart everything they have between them. Just her. Sarah.

As it turns out, it's a very, very bad idea to allow his memory of last night to run wild with a naked Sarah pressed tightly against him. The more he remembers the view and the sensation of his cock wrapped in Sarah's pretty cherry-red lips and her warm, tight mouth, and those dovelike blue eyes of hers that gazed straight into his as she sucked him, the more unable he finds himself to contain the urge to rub his cock rhythmically against her naked hips. And it's only with Sarah's soft moans and the slight twisting of her body that he realizes what he's doing.

Andrew freezes, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. He can't allow himself to be an asshole who takes advantage of her while she is asleep, no matter how sure he is she would consent were she conscious. But before guilt can take shape, his mind is wiped clean by Sarah's slowly but surely taking his hand and pulling it across her naked front down to between her thighs, her fingers guiding his as he starts to tease and rub her clit. It is only then that he realizes she is dripping wet.

"Touch me, Andrew," she murmurs dreamily, "make me come."

He doesn't need her to say it a second time. There's something in him that has been changed forever by last night, and he knows that with certainty that still feels too raw and tremendous in its immediate aftermath. The ability to give and receive pleasure, to be as close as humanly possible, to peer into her eyes as she comes for him and cries out his name. It makes him almost feel like a grown-up. A man. And he wants to keep doing this to her, to keep producing the same effect on her over and over again, until - his mind grows hazy - until they cease to exist.

But all of this is really too much to process when she is gasping and squirming against him as his fingers find the right pressure on her swollen clit, kneading it in a circling motion he is gradually getting himself familiarized with and that he knows will push her so quickly and so close to the edge. There's a vague notion somewhere in his brain that they must keep quiet because Mom and Dad are getting up soon, and that he'd better make Sarah shut up because Jesus fucking Christ her little noises are so delicious and arousing that he wants to come against her this very second, but before he can cover her mouth with his free hand, he realizes it's he who needs to bite down on his bottom lip to keep himself from groaning at what she is doing. His sweet sister has begun to play with her own nipples with her left hand, while reaching down her right hand and starting to slide her fingers in and out of herself in time with the motion of his fingers on her clit. Quivering from so much stimulation all at the same time, she throws back her head, leans back harder against him and tightens her legs around his, her little moans of pleasure the most wondrous music to his ears. His cock is so hard that it hurts.

"Sarah," Andrew breathes, "what are you doing?"

"I love it when you touch me," she murmurs, "and I love touching myself...I want to come. Am I a bad girl, Andrew?"

How can there be an answer to this question?

"Tell me I'm a bad girl."

As Sarah looks over her shoulder back at him while continuing to touch herself, her eyes glistening in the morning glow, Andrew realizes something powerful and monstrous inside him is desperately seeking an outlet. He wants to do something to her, something so rough and vicious that it would hurt her and make her cry. He actually wants to make her cry. And he knows this is what she wants. To submit and give in, to be degraded and owned. This knowledge is awakening the dormant beast deep inside him, spurring it on, threatening to goad it into a bloodthirsty rampage.

"I've been very bad," turning her head back around, Sarah whispers helplessly, her breath more ragged and the grinding of her hips against his cock more eager as Andrew suddenly increases the pressure of his fingers on her clit purely because he can, "because good girls don't touch themselves or make their brother touch them as I do..." a moan escapes her lips as he bites down on the soft flesh of her neck, licking and suckling it, his breath hot on her perfect skin, "...they don't want their brother to fuck them. And I really want you to fuck me."

"And why do you want me to fuck you, Sarah?"

They're playing a very dangerous game, he knows that. Sarah's fingers on her nipples and in and out of her slit are moving faster, harder, more and more out of control. Andrew can tell by the palpably growing tension of her body and her fast, shallow breath that she is close, very close, and he knows he has the power to push her over the edge whenever he chooses to. He didn't know a girl could be as wet as she is now.

The door of their parents' bedroom from across the hallway cracks open, and the familiar heavy steps of their father emerge into the hallway. As if by a tacit agreement, neither of them is pausing or slowing down their movements. The bathroom light switch is flipped on and water starts to run from the faucet, before the door closes with a bang. Sarah starts to tremble.

"...Is it because my sister is such a pretty little whore who wants to take her brother's cock while their parents are right in the next room? Do you want to come on my cock, Sarah?" He whispers, almost affectionately, to her ear.

And she comes so hard that the sheer force of it leaves him absolutely dumbfounded. He's never seen anything quite like that before, so breathtaking and all-consuming in such a savage, primal way, the pure nakedness, the utter vulnerability of being one's true self and being beside oneself at the same time. Perhaps he is even more stunned by how he just made it happen, how he pushed all the right buttons in her almost on the first try. It finally feels like the hours he has spent on researching what she might be into based on the links she sent him are now paying back, although he was still too insecure and ashamed to admit it when questioned last night. Two weeks ago, he would never have believed that he would hold such power over her, the power that she handed in to him on her knees, much less that he'd know how to use it. But now, as Sarah thrashes and convulses against him, her head thrown back to emit a soundless wail, her hips bucking helplessly from the lingering shock of orgasm, the significance of it all starts to sink in.

They are never going back to being who they were before, and the relationship between them as well as that between them and the world will never be the same again, for better or for worse.

Holding her tight against him to soothe and shush her with as much force as he can muster, he rides out the remaining spasms of her body with her as she grabs his hand and bites down hard on his fingers to suppress her noises. Rolling her over so that they now lie face to face and cupping her face in his palms, he starts to kiss her with such intensity and fierceness he didn't know he was capable of. She smells like heaven. Biting, suckling and licking his lips, her tongue twisting with his, Sarah flings one leg over his waist so that her sodden slit is positioned right against his throbbing hard cock, gasping into his mouth as he reaches down again to play with her tender folds.

"Sarah, my God," he murmurs, "you're so wet."

"It's because of you," she whispers before sealing his mouth with another kiss, reaching down and starting to fumble with the waistband of his boxers and trousers. Andrew's heart is hammering so hard in his chest that he's worried it would burst open. Right when she is about to pull his rock-hard cock free from his boxers, he grips her wrist and stops her.

"Sarah, we can't," Andrew is struggling to breathe. The room is lightening up as dawn blossoms outside the window, and he can finally make out how irresistibly beautiful she is, "we can't."

"But I want-"

"No, Sarah, listen to me-"

The door of their parents' bedroom opens again, and Olivia's swift footsteps can be heard in the hallway before they disappear into the bathroom. The twins stop in their track, motionless, their raspy breath the only sound in the quiet of Andrew's room. They can hear the sounds of a conversation and muffled laughter from the bathroom whose door must have been left ajar. Daniel's footsteps emerge from the bathroom again shortly as the door closes behind him, tramp past Andrew's room and down the stairs, and in a minute, the TV in the living room downstairs has been turned on. The sounds of the morning news start to drift up to his room as their father always keeps the volume high, and in the kitchen, the old coffee machine rumbles while the blender shrieks. A car swishes past along the avenue before the house.

Looking up almost with apprehension, Andrew finds Sarah staring at him with big eyes full of such longing that he knows she must be seeing the same in his eyes. Her shirt has been pulled off one shoulder, and the curves of her naked collarbone have a faint glow on them that is making it impossible for him to think straight. His fingers can feel how wet, hot and tight she is. How soft she feels. If he wants to, he can bury the head of his cock into her soaked slit. Just a bit, just a tiny little bit-

As if having sensed his determination crumbling, Sarah grabs and tugs hard, finally pulling his cock free from the constraint of his clothes. Panting heavily, her fingers wrapped tightly around his cock, her eyes closed shut, she guides it slowly to her slit despite his half-hearted attempt at stopping her. He trembles and groans at the sensation of the sensitive head of his cock sliding up and down along her warm, soft wetness, from her still swollen clit to her tight little entrance, back and forth, over and over again. Both of them are shivering, panting hard, teetering on the precipice of an abyss that leads to both heaven and hell, feeling powerful and powerless all at once.

"Sarah-"

He can't recognize his own voice, so croaked and distorted by fear and desire. With a sweet little whimper and a forceful pull, she finally buries a fraction of the tip of his cock inside her.

Andrew's mind is wiped entirely blank. Moaning and shuddering in unison, their movements frozen again, they peer at each other with widened eyes, as if incredulous as to what is happening. Sarah closes her eyes and bites her bottom lip, tightening her grip on his cock, and his heart lurches-

He grabs her wrist and pulls the tip of his cock out of her.

The bathroom door from across the hallway opens, but no footsteps come out. It's only after a while that Olivia turns off the light and leaves the bathroom, her brisk footsteps going down the hallway before disappearing into the sounds from the TV and Daniel's cooking downstairs. The air in his room suddenly feels too thick for him to breathe.

For a moment neither of them moves. It's only when Sarah starts to wriggle against him in protest, trying to free herself from his grip, that he realizes how hard he is clenching her wrist.

"Andrew-"

"Sarah, listen to me," he interrupts her. He has to. It doesn't feel like it's he who is talking, but a grave, alien voice in the void, faraway and detached from himself, "we can't do this. Because once we get started, we can't stop it. I know we can't. There's no turning back. We'd do it all the time, everywhere. That's...that's how much I want you. You're driving me crazy," he swallows, "we'd keep doing it, and get caught, and people would know. People know each other here and it would be a disaster. We could go to jail. We can't do this to Mom and Dad."

Her wriggling quietens down as she raises up her head to stare at him. He knows she is listening. His cock is screaming for release and he strains every nerve inside him to ignore it, stuffing it back into his boxers and pulling his waistband up with excessive force and frustration.

"So what? We're just supposed to be saints?" She sounds helpless, and it's harrowing for him to hear her like this when she is always so strong and assertive. It makes him feel helpless too. But he has thought this through and needs her to know that.

"We can get out of here next year when we leave for university. We can go to a big city where no one knows us. People come and go and your neighbor would never find out your name after twenty years living in the same building, much less whom or what you are fucking as long as you leave his dog alone."

Sarah lets out a little laugh that makes his heart melt. He kisses her gently, and she kisses him back, her fingers stroking his hair slowly. It feels unreal.

"But which city...?"

It's only with this question that it suddenly occurs to Andrew that they haven't even properly talked about the future. What are her aspirations? What are his? What are they going to do with their lives? What would happen if they make this choice or that? It's all too daunting to contemplate, future, an overwhelming yet inescapable weight crushing down on them harder and harder with each passing second. Time waits for no one.

"I don't know. I just know..."

"That we will be free." Sarah whispers.

Andrew stares down at her in wonder. She leans in and kisses him again, her lips warm and soft, tinged with the fragrance of her breath.

"What time is it?"

Andrew twists his body around awkwardly to fish his phone out from under his pillow and glances at it, "six-forty. We're supposed to go down in twenty minutes."

"Do you think I can make you come in twenty minutes?"

Andrew's breath catches in his chest. Kicking aside the covers, pulling a little away from him, Sarah starts to rid herself of her shirt and skirt, leaving her entire body naked save for her knee socks, her blond hair as thick and smooth as the finest silk. Andrew watches her, enthralled. He thinks he has never seen anything as beautiful before.

"Sarah," he murmurs, his voice husky, "you're killing me."

Pressing another kiss onto his lips, she rolls over, sits up and straddles him, her wetness pressing tightly down against his cock. She is staring down at him with deep, dark eyes, her naked body in the dim light as luscious as a marble nymph. She is so perfect, from her delicate neck and collarbones, to the voluptuous curves of her plump breasts, her slender waist and the faintly visible lines of muscles on her lean stomach, her lovely blond hair, fluffy and luxuriant, tumbling down her small shoulders, the soft morning light glimmering on her flawless skin as if on supreme velvet. Panting heavily, Andrew props himself up on his elbows, grumbling as she starts to rock her hips back and forth at a steady pace against his hard cock. He literally shudders under her as she cups her naked tits in her hands and starts to play with her hardened nipples, throwing her head back and closing her eyes shut, moaning with abandon. Blood is roaring so furiously in his ears that for a moment he can only hear his frenzied pulse. He can feel how hot and wet she is even through the fabric of his clothes, and the friction of her movements against his cock, combined with the amazing scene before his eyes, feels like the sweetest torture he can ever conceive of.

Jolting his torso up with a groan until his face is pressed against her naked breasts, Andrew grabs her hips with both hands to guide her up and down, making her movements against his cock harder and faster, his teeth and tongue teasing her sensitive nipples, drawing more delicious moans out of her lips. She responds by grabbing the hair on the back of his head and presses him tighter against her, and without his hinting, she reaches her right hand down and starts to rub her clit again while keeping on riding him through his trousers.

"Make me come again, please," she begs, biting her lips and twisting her body, the glowing skin on her cheeks and her neck flushing crimson, "I want some more...I want you to come with me."

"So eager," he murmurs, squeezing her hard nipple between his teeth, staring up at her as she whimpers from pain and arousal, "look at yourself. So beautiful when you blush like this. Such a pretty little slut."

If he was worried that he would go too far with these words, his worry has been proven unnecessary by how faster Sarah is moving her hips or how louder her moans become upon hearing them. It finally starts to feel like he can get the hang of this, trying out different things and gauging her reactions, neither too slowly nor too hastily, but just for her at just the right pace. Meanwhile, had he not been attempting to distract himself, he would have already come several times by now. But now, with her wetness grinding relentlessly against his cock, her hardened nipples in his mouth and her little noises growing louder and louder in his ears, Andrew finally stops resisting the inevitable. He moans into her breasts as he comes hard against her, and she leans down, biting down on his lips, her fingers moving frantically on her clit. It only takes a few more seconds for her legs to quiver and the rocking of her hips to lose control, orgasm roaring through her like a tidal wave, leaving her gasping and spasming desperately in its wake. Taking her into his arms as she whimpers into his mouth and collapses on top of him, Andrew kisses her hair on her cheeks drenched by sweat, holding her tight.