My Sister, My Slut Ch. 01

I came, hard, just as my sister exclaimed her own orgasm, the sound muffled but audible. The action on the screen continued: the masculine grunts, thrusting and withdrawing, leaving a sticky white prize to slide from wet, pink pussy. I sat panting in the afterglow of my climax, my mind quieted, if only for a minute. Better not to consider too long what had just occurred I told myself as I drifted into sleep.

But how am I to escape my own thoughts?

*

The following week was difficult. First I forbade myself from thinking of sex at all, but this of course had the opposite effect. All I could think about was sex, of my sister's sex, of how it aroused and embarrassed me even to see my sister. I told myself it was unhealthy to let the mind malinger on such things, yet once the demon has been let in, does it ever leave? Not willingly, and I lacked the will for that self-exorcism. A part of me, the demon now residing in the dark recesses, longed for a repeat of Friday. What indescribable pleasure it had brought me, to hear and, by mind's eye, bear witness to the most intimate acts of the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, my sister, my Jennifer. To have heard my sister's words, as if whispering encouragement to my own depravity, pushing me further and further from the light. When Monsieur Moustache did not visit again for more midnight R&R, I instead thought of the two of them, rutting away in his car, her skirt hiked up and movements frantic from need. Or perhaps she would follow him into the gents at the cinema, dropping to her knees in the cubical to service his knob, his groaning arousing the envy and silent respect of the fellow in an adjacent cubical. He would leave some white fluid in her golden mane to be born as a badge, all the public to see. My imagination ran rampant, crafting great works from his simple words, 'salope' and 'pute'. There was wicked delight in degrading my angelic sister to these terms.

My madness worsened, unnoticed by my family. One day I went out of my way to avoid going to the gym with my sister, lest I see her in bike shorts, or see her taught, shining figure on the treadmill. The next day I did go, rewarding me with exactly that which I feared and sending me deeper into a tail spin. The calm, rational voice that had served me so well at school, in exams, in piano recitals, had not yet deserted me, but it was that voice of reason that I came to hate half the time.

I was constantly horny. Alice Cooper had hit the nail on the head.

An opportunity for further sordidness presented itself the day before Monsieur Moustache was scheduled to return home to France. My sister was preparing to go on her final date with him at a fancy restaurant in the down town. Determined to look her finest - a sight I thought would blind passer-by's - Jen was hogging the bathroom, constantly flitting between her room and the vanity. I thought it all rather futile owing to her natural attractiveness, and certainly unwarranted by her evening's company, but it did mean I saw her in various states of dress, including catching an eyeful of her lingerie-clad figure when I popped out of my room to get a glass of water. Jen saw me and asked how she looked.

"I wouldn't leave you for the crown of France," I replied.

Touched by my sweetness, she approached to hug me thanks, then withdrew suddenly. I balked - was my crotch awry? Fortunately not. She dashed back into her bedroom, realising that she was half naked. Odd, but exciting all the same.

I had managed to keep my thoughts relatively clean up to then that day, instead playing online poker - a profitable venture - but the sight of my scantily clad sister affected me. Never mind that we were siblings: she was objectively glorious. Her long, stockinged legs and matching white laced bra and panties, combined with her shapely breasts and fine countenance made an exquisite image. To have actually seen in the flesh what I had been imagining sent me wild with lust. Whatever porn I had stashed away was a pale imitation of her; she was Plato's ideal Form. Back in the safety of my room I stroked myself through my jeans thinking on it. I heard the doorbell signalling Luke's arrival.

"See you later Alex!" Jen yelled.

I was reluctant to come out of my room but couldn't resist seeing her again, so I watched from the window as she walked up the driveway to the car. Owing to Luke's average height she wasn't wearing her tallest heels, but what she wore accentuated her lean legs and I subconsciously licked my dry lips at her swaying hips. Once out of sight, I retreated from the window, my cock straining absurdly. My parents were out for one of my father's corporate events and wouldn't be home until late, so I had the house to myself. En route to my computer for a quick jerk I saw Jen's door was open and the light still on, obviously forgotten in her haste to the door. I poked my head in, this time seeing the very panties and bra that she had been wearing mere minutes ago resting on her bed, discarded. This intrigued me. Had she gone panty-less? Had she chosen something else at the last minute? I stepped into her room and picked up the panties, a cute white design with floral cut-outs. They were still warm, testament to their very recent divestment. What's more, I felt the inside fabric was moist. Christ! Immediately I brought it to my nose, quickly identifying the feminine musk of my sister's cunny. Dressing up for her final night out with the Frenchman must have excited her more than I had imagined.

Without thought I put my tongue to the moist fabric, but the taste of fabric overwhelmed the delicate savour of my sister's arousal. Inhaling this drug was more effective, making me so lightheaded I was barely aware of freeing my cock from its denim prison. It was incredibly erect and at its fullest extent, a full seven inches long, veiny and thick. Taking stock of this incredible opportunity, it occurred that I could sheath my length in her panties, which I did with delight. The mix of the slightly warm, moist, soft fabric and, even more poignant, the image of my sister wearing them, prompted a rapid jerking and an incredible orgasm, my ejaculation strong and copious, spurt after spurt of hot cum flowing into my sister's intimate, sexy underwear.

I sat panting on my sister's bed, her delicate panties wrapped around my slowly diminishing erection. I allowed myself a minute to bask in the glow of it all before removing them and then watched as the great quantity of cum gradually soaked into the white fabric, darkening it. It was a marvellous sight, although it did leave me the problem of what to do next. She was unlikely to return for several more hours, possibly the following morning, so my deposit would dry in. They were white, fortunately, but I suspected the staining would still be visible. No choice but to leave them as I found them and hope that she would wash them without a second thought. Trying to wash them myself would be too risky, particularly as I hadn't the faintest how the delicates setting on the washing machine worked, and they mightn't dry quickly enough on this cool evening.

The deed done, I turned off her light and left her room. Over my dinner I couldn't help but think on it further. My rational mind was in session again. What if my sister didn't wash them immediately? Hell, she might even wear them! After all, she had barely worn them for twenty minutes. Or was that man-think? Perhaps women were more fastidious on these issues. There was no way that I could influence her decision without getting caught, which would surely spell my emasculation and eternal damnation. What if she noticed the staining? Would she think it the result of her own arousal, or, now experienced in cum-stained panties, would she identify its true nature? Would my sister work out that her own brother had wacked off in her panties, still warm and moist from her arousal, filling them with his cream?

And if she didn't notice and wore them the next day... then her brother's semen - my semen - would be in direct contact with her slit, rubbing against her labia, insinuating itself into her skin. My musk, mixing with hers. I felt light-headed again, dreadfully aroused but also disgusted at my hedonic myopia.

The rest of my night passed in this state of limbo, this horrible concoction of fear, guilt, lust and disgust, until finally I found sleep. Sleep was purgatory, my dream theatre playing scenes that would pass from eroticism to horror in the course of seconds.

I jolted awake in the bleary grey light of pre-dawn, my heart beating within my chest. Quickly I went to my sister's door which, to my relief, was still open as she had left it. I turned on the light and it was exactly as the night before. Listening carefully in case my parents woke early, I stood at the threshold, aware that I was the criminal returned to the scene of the crime. I stepped in and took the underwear, holding it to the light, searching. In the harsh fluorescence the staining was visible and my heart fell from my throat to my stomach, where it pounded so loudly I was sure it would wake the dead. A cold sweat broke on my neck. If my sister looked closely she would undoubtedly see my transgression. Why hadn't I done this with a pair already in the washing basket? Why had I done this at all?

Nothing for it. I carefully returned the offending garment to its position. It was up to the gods now. Dawn broke with gathering pace. Birds chortled. Did they sing my condemnation like a Greek chorus? I lay in bed watching as light burst around my curtain.

I broke fast with my parents then whiled away time playing piano. Jen returned around 10am. I heard her in the bathroom, then her bedroom. Two excruciating minutes passed, the piano falling silent as I waited for the accusatory call. Several more minutes of silence, my fear easing. Nothing. I was surely safe.

I went to make coffee, my sister entering the room as the kettle boiled.

"Make me one too, please," she said as she breezed in.

I nodded, my throat too constricted to force out any words. She was wearing a long skirt and bright blue blouse, giving me the odd impression of a school teacher from decades past, but her hair fell freely around her shoulders, framing her face in gold. A carefree country lass, then.

"I'll just put on some washing," she said, and left.

That set my heart racing. Perhaps I could check to see if the white ones were included? That would set my mind at ease. But how to check without arousing suspicion? I plunged the coffee and poured a mug. A click as the washing machine was closed and the hum as it started, then my sister returned to the kitchen.

"So, sis, Luke is leaving today?"

"Yes, his flight is this morning - I saw him off at the airport before coming here. Coffee's good, by the way."

"I'm glad."

"What?"

"I mean, glad that you're back home. You've been out a lot since returning from Asia, you know, with Luke and co. I feel like I haven't seen you much this year."

Jen smiled a warm, sincere smile. "You're a good brother. I missed you too."

The case of the white panties was not resolved until later that day when I saw them out on the line. All my fear drained from me and I laughed at my how stressed I had been. There was no harm in it after all.

*

It was mid-January and the days were long, the mercury high. A new week began. While the sun was up I felt clear headed, able to focus on reading, music and games, despite seeing my sister wearing cut-offs and tank tops on a regular basis. I went to the gym each day with Jen and managed to avoid undue distraction, although I delighted in watching her work up a sweat. Nights were different. I tried to maintain a balance in my solitary exertions, using anonymous online erotica, my own experience and thoughts of my sister in equal measure. There was no repeat of my recent misadventure, for want of opportunity, so the memory had to suffice.

"You should come out with me tonight," my sister said at lunch.

"What did you have in mind?"

"Oh, the usual. Clubs, drinking, talking to people: a little thing called living, dear brother."

I scoffed, "Clubs and talking to people in the same sentence?"

Jen rolled her eyes. "You need to get out there. Take that as sisterly advice; take that as an order from your elder -whatever. Too much lounging around the house."

"Yes ma'am."

My sister could be condescending at times, though she probably considered it 'helping'.

"Will you be my wing-woman?"

"Hmmm... No. Maybe you can rope in your friend, Sam? He's quite a charmer."

I face-palmed. Jen chuckled.

The first club of the evening was a non-starter, in my opinion. I handed over my money, received my alcohol and watched as slutty-dressed young women gyrated with poorly dressed young men. How common. Jen was with a small group of her girlfriends, and probably for that reason no one approached her to offer a dance or a drink. I observed a few chumps waiting in hope that she would split herself from the group, but it didn't happen. Perhaps they needed to work together.

The second club was classier. There were low tables and chairs sunken into a quieter area of the club, a glass bar with glowing bottles of exotic liquor and a dance-floor in the centre. Male tactics were better here, for over the course of an hour Jen's friends were wooed away until only she remained of her group, sitting at the bar, probably waiting for someone to buy her an outrageous cocktail. She wore the same backless top and short skirt combo I had seen a while back, giving an excellent view of her figure. She wasn't drink-less for long.

Me, I was having unexpected success with a petite brunette named Jacqui. Her clothing was conservative despite the warm night and she looked out of place. Her refusal of my offer of a drink indicated that she was probably a designated driver. I led her to the quieter area.

"You came in with the blond at the bar, right?"

"Yeah, she's my sister. How about you, are you with anyone?"

"Some friends. I have to drive them home."

"That sucks. I mean, it could be boring."

She laughed, "Boring depends on company. Are you a boring man, Alex?"

"Dullest man alive, I'll have you know."

"You don't seem so bad. What do you do?"

"I'm starting university, studying naval architecture."

"That sounds fun! So you want to, what, design boats?"

"Yeah, something like that. You know Blohm & Voss? Anyway, they build ships. I've always been interested in building stuff, big things. Too much Lego as a young'un."

We spoke for a while, on topics I normally wouldn't broach with a girl at a club at midnight. Maybe her equal discomfort in the setting eased my mind.

"Tell you what, I have to go but here's my number. Perhaps we could meet some time."

She scribbled a number onto a cardboard coaster and passed it to me.

"Yeah, I'd like that. Take care."

I watched as she rounded up a couple of others and departed. Not bad, all things considered. Over at the bar another hopeful had approached and was talking to my sister. He was tall, taller than me even, and muscular. My guess: at least twenty five years old. He irked me. I walked to the opposite end of the bar. Now that I was closer I could see he had a hard face, neither ugly nor handsome. It looked like my sister was uncomfortable or unimpressed, but I didn't want to annoy her: she was, after all, capable of fending for herself. She had a half-empty glass in hand. However, now that Jacqui had left, I wanted to go home.

"Excuse me," I said, standing next to the two of them.

They turned and the man sized me up.

"Beat it kiddo, can't you see I'm talking to this nice lady?"

Yep, he was a jerk. Jen looked relieved at my arrival.

"Chill dude. I just need to have a word," I replied.

This had the opposite effect. He now looked angry, intimidating.

"I said talk to someone else, kid."

My sister opened her mouth to calm the situation but I wasn't impressed by his arrogance.

"You need to back off, mister. She's my sister, and she's not interested."

His lip curled at this and I thought he was going to growl and bare his teeth like an angry bulldog. I may have made a terrible mistake, this guy was huge. Then he smiled.

"Well then. Enjoy your drink, miss."

He left. I turned to my sister, who was flush with the sudden excitement.

"Come on sis, let's go home."

"I can't believe you said that to him," she giggled.

"Yeah, well, he was being a jerk."

My sister took a last swig from her glass and put her arm around me as we walked out of the club, her balance and coordination off. By the time we reached the bus stop Jen looked dizzy.

"How much did you have to drink Jen?"

"Uh, not so much," she chortled in reply.

Too much, it looked like. I had stopped drinking when I started talking to Jacqui, almost an hour ago, but Jen looked out of it. I realised I'd never seen her drunk before.

"Woah, I need the bathroom."

"The bus will be here soon and we'll be home in twenty minutes."

She grinned broadly, revealing her dazzling white teeth, "No, like: now."

This wasn't so very amusing in my opinion. She tried to stand up off the bench but lacked the coordination for that and instead slumped into my shoulder, then rested her head in my lap her refulgent blue eyes gazing up at me, pupils dilated.

"Come on, let's get you home sis."

"You're so clever Alex. It makes me so -" she stopped as the bus pulled up.

So what? My sister was kind of cute now, in a childish way, but mainly weird. I lifted her by the shoulders. The bus driver disapproved of the scene before him, the doors closed and the bus drove off.

"Did that bastard just drive off?" Jen said, giggling hysterically.

I called a taxi, realising I probably should have started with that. My sister was once again using my lap as a pillow. She put her hand on my right thigh and began idly rubbing it up and down. What?! This wasn't good. My beautiful drunk sister, clearly out of her mind, was sprawled over me and rubbing my leg as if intent on arousing me! Christ, it was like a dream I had. I gently took her small hand in mine and moved it to her own leg, where the rubbing continued, closer and closer to her crotch. The sheer perversity of the scene was both confusing and exciting. I felt my manhood stir beneath my sister's head, so I clenched and unclenched my fists repeatedly.

Fortunately the taxi pulled up before any further madness could occur and I helped Jen in and gave our address.

"She looks unwell. Make sure she isn't sick in the car," said the driver.

He was right. She did look unwell, sort of manic, simultaneously energetic and unfocussed, uncoordinated and ecstatic. This didn't seem to be merely the effect of alcohol. I thought carefully as I watched my sister's odd, lewd movements, her head on my shoulder and hands in her lap. Drugs? But my sister did not take drugs, I was certain of it. If she had taken drugs, surely she would have done it hours ago and therefore exhibited this odd behaviour earlier in the night. Then it hit me. She had been drugged, surreptitiously, probably by that last guy. My brow furrowed. What had he said as he walked away? Enjoy the drink, miss. The fucking bastard must have spiked her drink, there was no other explanation. My sister had very nearly been the victim of date-rape.

The taxi pulled up outside our house and I paid the driver then got Jen out of the car. She was frantic now, desperate to pee but barely able to walk. Gritting my teeth, I lifted her up and carried her, rushing down the driveway to the door, which I struggled to open while still carrying my sister, who was now laughing silently. She was light enough to carry fairly easily, but her squirming made climbing the stairs difficult. Finally we made it to the bathroom, whereupon a warm sensation spread as my sister relieved herself in my arms, completely wetting her skirt and me in the process.