Pete Doesn't Just Tell Me Ch. 02

The introduction to the first chapter explains that this story may not interest readers who don't like to read all the thoughts of the girl who is the main character. Just a warning. I still hope you enjoy it. It has to get more interesting with her all naked.

*

The next morning, I was a little apprehensive about really joining my brother Pete in the bathroom with nothing on. I had, however, warned him that I would; I couldn't chicken out now. Would he have taken my suggestion not to wear his shorts? At the bathroom door, I murmured:

"Don't look," and tried to appear nonchalance as I lowered the ring on the toilet and sat down, then adding softly: "Unless you want to."

My nipples sure didn't look nonchalant. I looked straight ahead at the shower. Had I really imagined he would also be naked? He wasn't. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his head move, then he murmured:

"I wasn't sure you really would."

"I wasn't either, but I had said so, so why not, and since you have already seen me?"

"Hmm? I guess so."

I wiped a forearm over my erect nipples. It helped, until I started to wonder what to say. Could I ask if he would have left his shorts off, if he had thought that I would be naked? Oh, and my other question from the morning before: if she had done anything else with him? I didn't try to make my nipples relax again, knowing they would still be stiff, now that I was thinking about that, about what he had told me he did with her. My first question:

"And if you had been sure I would?"

"Hmm!? ... If I would have too?"

"Yeah, I guess that's what I was thinking."

"You wanted me to?"

"Well, like I said, it seems kind of silly putting something on, if we both sleep n... - that way."

"Hmm? ... You do want me to."

It wasn't a question; I didn't have to answer. He must have recognized that I want to see his cock. Had he, was he remembering what they had told me about it? He was beginning to wash the soap off his face; I had to say something:

"I wouldn't mind. Just seems kind of fair."

"'Kind of fair'," he murmured with his face still over the washbasin.

"Um-hmm," I murmured, hoping it encouraged him to think that was all I was suggesting.

He raised his head and looked at me in the mirror. Could he see my breasts in it, see that my nipples had popped out again? Had he ever seen them when they weren't?

"I don't know," he murmured and grabbed his towel, drying his face before he turned to me. Wasn't his cock pressing a little on the left leg of his boxer shorts? Whatever he was thinking, it knew that I wanted to see it. Of course, he must know it was like that, maybe just not that I could see it. I had long since wiped. I flushed and stood up. I was blushing a little. This wasn't like with my friend, both of us naked. He lowered his towel, that had also been hiding his eyes. They opened wider. If my nipples could be even stiffer -- it felt like it -- they were. In a pure reflex, my arm wiped over them again. It looked like he tried to repress a grin, then murmured:

"At least, you're blushing, and that didn't work."

It hadn't, they were still stiff, but then I could nod with wry smile, shrugging in response. Of course, I had wanted him to look, even though it had made me blush. He stared at me -- up and down -- and then murmured: "I'd better get out of here."

He did. "Had to get out," because his cock had been pressing even more against his shorts? Why hadn't I looked? I took my shower, recalling our conversation. At least, he hadn't said "no," and hadn't said anything about my being his sister; and wasn't "being fair" part of his sports ethics? Well, that was really a contrived excuse. But he hadn't said "no." Didn't guys like to have girls see them naked, like I liked being seen naked? Not just by guys, well only one, I also liked being naked with girls in the school showers after sports. Everyone must like to be naked.

While I was drying myself, the bathroom door open, he left his room and glanced back at me. I grinned, maybe after he had turned away, but he had looked, and seen that I had seen that he had. He couldn't be too bothered by admitting that he liked to see me naked.

At breakfast, although we again reverted to our accustomed roles with our parents, I thought he gave me a veiled smirk. If it was -- were, better English -- he had still been thinking about it -- also thinking about letting me see him naked? If he did, what was I going to say?!

That day we both had different things to do. Luckily, because my thoughts kept returning to our morning conversations and wondering whether he would have his shorts on the next morning. The panties I took in bed with me that night were still a little moist. We hadn't shared the bathroom in the evening. Was that good or bad, hopeful or discouraging, I wondered with my fingers in my pussy and rubbing my clitoris, then remembering that I could ask him if he did that too, thinking about Barbs.

The next morning -- the next morning! Through the door, I saw that he was naked! Slender hips, nice ass, at least from my minimal experience.

"Don't look," I warned him again, and went to the toilet. He had already turned down the ring for me.

"Don't you, either," he replied, adding: "just to be fair," but chuckling softly. Then he remarked: "But you're going to, so better now, before I do."

In the mirror, I saw him close his eyes tightly, his face covered with shaving cream, and he turned.

Oooh! His cock! I understood his remark. I had only seen my friend's when it was aroused and then all small, when we were getting dressed. Pete's was somewhere in between: it was still hanging down, but bigger than my friend's had been, when we were getting dressed. And it looked different, a fold of skin covering its head. Not quite; the tip of it was peeking out, and while I looked, more of it was visible. He still had his eyes shut. What would happen if -- when -- he opened them and saw me with my aroused nipples? I wanted to know - of course!

"This is being embarrassing," he murmured, his eyes still clenched shut.

"Better not look then; shave."

With a grin on his soapy face, he nodded. My eyes dropped down and saw that more of the head of his cock was visible, before he turned back to shave. With open eyes, he looked at me in the mirror and murmured:

"It wasn't supposed to be like that."

"Thanks. That's alright; I didn't mind. I can't keep them from popping out when you look, even when I think that you will."

"Hmm? Hm-hmm! Something like that."

We both chuckled, and he shaved. I decided to save all my questions for later, and just sat there, not thinking about them, and my nipples relaxed. When he had finished shaving and washed his face, he turned, letting me see it again, now smaller. I liked that it was, that our being naked together didn't have to be arousing, and my nipples weren't either, until he looked at them before drying his face. Had he covered his eyes with his towel again to let me look at it some more? He could have used one end of his towel and let the other end hang down and hide it. He hadn't; he wanted to let me to see it. At least, it hadn't occurred to him that he could have dried his face that way.

Maybe he knew that he was letting me see it, wanting me too, since the head of his cock peeked out a little more. When he lowered his towel, but not covering it, he snorted with a wry smile and murmured:

"Stop staring! You're not supposed to see it that way."

I grinned with a nod, my eyes jumping back and forth from his face to his cock. Even though its head was wanting to peek out more, he only shrugged slightly, and murmured:

"Well, I guess you do."

I nodded. The roll of skin was slipping further up. Oh, I wanted to watch it let me see the whole head of his cock, which was beginning to be bigger, but I managed to reply:

"You had better go."

He gave me a sweet smile and turned to hang up his towel. Before he left the bathroom, I saw that his cock was even larger, not just hanging. Pleased with my discretion, I took my shower. I had seen it, he had let me see it. We were going to be naked with each other again. I could save my questions until we were both more comfortable -- less aroused -- at seeing each other. But then, if I dared ask him if Barbs did anything else with him, or if he rubbed his cock? Now I had a much better impression of how he could do that, how Barbs could do it, but she probably didn't any more, now that they really did it. But that would be fun, doing that!

The next morning we both were naked again and much more relaxed about it. My nipples only popped out when he stared at them, but then smiling and watching me look at his cock. He must have felt that it moved a little, but he didn't seem to mind, just smiling with a chuckle. He was enjoying it too! Even if I couldn't ask my questions, this was being delightful!

The next morning was even more relaxed, my nipples and his cock. I didn't want to upset that and kept my questions to myself, my nipples not even popping out when I recalled what the questions were about. Funny, how the roll of skin completely covered the head of his cock, almost a little tassel closed around it. I hadn't seen it like that before, but when I was taking my shower, it occurred to me how much loose skin there must be to rub up and down on his cock. I wanted to do that.

That night, did I hear him doing that? I was doing what I could and let a soft moan escape my lips. Yeah, I wanted him to think about that, not just about it's being harmless fun to be naked together. I certainly wasn't, not after hearing that he liked to lick Barbs' pussy and now with an impression of how it could be to rub his cock. Was it bigger than my friend's, when it was all stiff? Did he moan softly in response, or did I just want to believe that I heard him do so?

In the morning, it was just very familiar, both naked, taking it for granted. Even when I asked:

"Do you do what I do at night, thinking about Barbs?" he just snorted and nodded, looking at me in the mirror, then replying jocularly:

"Hope you're not thinking about her."

"Hm-hmm! Of course not!" I answered, but his reply suddenly suggested something entirely new.

Could he mean that I could be thinking about licking her pussy, or her licking mine? That couldn't be any different from his licking it; and if he liked to lick hers, why shouldn't she like to lick mine, or me, hers? That must be what lesbians do. I had heard the word but never considered what they might do with each other. I remembered that he had nodded and remarked:

"That must be messy, when you do."

He nodded and replied:

"I have an extra washcloth."

"Hm-hmm! Takes care of that. I just have wet fingers; can wipe them on my thigh. Well, I usually lick them first, but they're still wet, of course."

He chuckled, giving me a smile in the mirror. I returned it and remarked:

"Must be better when she does it. Well, I guess she doesn't any more, since you really do it."

He nodded again. Before I realized it, I was saying what I was thinking:

"That must be fun, being able to rub it up and down. I'd like to do that."

He was about to take another pass with his razor, but stopped suddenly, his body stiffening. I blushed at what I had said. He didn't look at me, just murmured:

"With mine?" but then did look at me in the mirror.

"I wasn't really thinking about yours, just one like yours."

Like hell, I wasn't thinking about his, for sure, not after he asked that! He resumed shaving, then murmured:

"I hope so."

"Yours is just the only one I know like that."

"You're my sister."

He was thinking that I wanted to do it with his.

"It would still be fun," I murmured, mostly to myself.

It was only then that I recognized that his last remark -- and my thoughts -- were about incest, but we weren't going to do that, really do it. He washed his face like he always did and got his towel. His cock wasn't like I had expected. Didn't he know? It was larger than the previous morning, its head again peeking out. Whatever he was thinking or not thinking, his cock knew what we were talking about. He finished drying his face and looked at me. My nipples had already popped out, but my thighs twitched slightly.

"We shouldn't," he murmured.

But he hadn't said we wouldn't, that it was absolutely out of the question, and his cock seemed to agree, more of its head peeking out. When he saw me glance down at it, he snorted softly with a wry expression and added:

"Shouldn't have let you see him, but still: we shouldn't."

He still hadn't said that he wouldn't let me. We had talked long enough; I had to shower before breakfast time. I murmured again: "Still would be fun."

He left, and I showered. At breakfast with our parents, assuming our old roles was at first a little forced, but then became easier. But when we were alone together during the day, I had the feeling that he occasionally glanced at me at times when I didn't think he usually would, like when we were both reading books we had received for Christmas. I guess that I also glanced at him that way.

Getting ready for bed that evening, we took turns using the toilet as usual, still with all our clothes on, not sharing the bathroom. The previous evening, we had also brushed our teeth, still with all our clothes on, although in the past we had often been down to our underwear. He had gone first, so it was usual for him to brush his teeth first. As I was about to take off my sweater, it occurred to me that after all our talk in the morning, maybe he was assuming we should keep our clothes on. I had the hem of my sweater in my hands, already pulling it up, when I saw a flash of white cloth as he went back to the bathroom. He was just in his shorts!

I quickly pulled my sweater off and let my skirt drop, shuffling out of my loafers. I had to stoop to take of my knee-high socks, but then I was down to bra and panties, and joined him. When he finished, we silently changed places. He could have gone back to his room, but he didn't. When I was almost finished, rinsing my mouth, he murmured:

"I know what you're thinking; we shouldn't."

He did know what I was thinking. He didn't have to say anything, but he had, and he didn't have to strip down to his shorts. In a sudden flash I understood: he had had three opportunities to say that we wouldn't, had even added the third one unnecessarily. We "shouldn't," but since he hadn't said anything stronger, his saying that again was almost an admission that he was thinking we could, that maybe we would, an invitation to. Was his cock thinking that too? What should I say? He wasn't going to say that he wanted to. He was asking me to. Why wasn't I wearing that bra that could let him see my aroused nipples? He still could go back to his room, but he was waiting for me to reply.

I just wiped the water off my face with my hand and turned. While turning, my eyes glanced ahead and saw that his cock was pressing against his shorts. I looked up at his face. He could have said something, maybe just "good night" and gone to his room, but he didn't. I resisted another glance at his cock and murmured: "I want to. ... You don't have to do anything."

He still could have told me that he wouldn't let me, but he didn't. The corners of his mouth moved slightly, not a smile, but if his lips could move, but he still didn't say anything. ...?! I reached back and unhooked my bra, suddenly wonder if this was how a woman seduced a man -- yes, a "woman," not just a teenaged girl, and a man, not her brother. Forget the word for that. When he looked at my arouse nipples, I glanced at his cock -- more aroused than before. More aroused than I had ever seen it?

"I want to," I murmured again. He nodded very slightly. It could have been just a reflex, acknowledging what I had said, but not agreeing to it. I had unconsciously given him another chance to say something, but he didn't. With my bra in my hand, I began to shove down my panties. Stooping a little, I could glance at his cock again. No, I had never seen it that aroused, pressing against his shorts as though it wanted to spring up. I was drawing my feet out of my panties, when he finally spoke:

"If you want to."

"I do," I replied softly and stood up.

He began to shove down his shorts. Like my friend, he had to pull the elastic forward to get it over his cock. It was sticking straight out at me. The roll of skin slipped back off its head. I hummed involuntarily. This was so much better than I had imagined, getting to see it, since I had imagined that if he let me, it would be in dark in his room. He murmured a final time:

"We shouldn't," but it was now only the confirmation that we were going to.

He turned off the light in the bathroom. I tossed my underwear in my room and followed him in his. In the dark, he found his bed and got under the covers, moving over to make space for me, lying on his back. My pussy was all wet! Naked again in bed with a man! And he even put his arm under my head, holding me! My hand found his cock! Was it bigger than my friend's? He moaned. Oh yes! Now he wanted me to do it, didn't mind letting me know that he wanted me to.

Barbs had been so right; it was so much fun to be able to rub the skin up and down, up around its nice round, firm head. But I had to feel it with my bare fingers, so silky smooth. Did it have that funny little ridge of skin? It did! And his cock twitched strongly, when my fingertip rubbed over it, making him moan. Better not do that too much; I wanted to enjoy playing with it. Up and down, feeling his stiff cock through the loose skin, and feeling it twitch. It was just so good, feeling it and knowing I was making it twitch, and hearing him moan.

Oh, his hand was sliding around under my arm. Yeah, hold my breast! Oooh! And rub my nipple. I moaned, nodding on his arm. He must do that with Barbs, maybe forgotten that it's his sister squeezing and rubbing his cock? I wanted to tell him how much fun I was having, but if he had forgotten that it was me making his cock twitch, maybe wanting to forget, I'd better not remind him. Was I doing like she did? How else could one do it? Just more, like I was, and then it was going to be all over the place. That was going to be good. How much, how many times?

Yeah, squeeze my breast and moan. You want it. I want it. Um-hmm, your hips twitching, moving your cock in my hand. Moan. Oh, your other hand is raising the covers; you know it's about to happen. Got your extra washcloth handy? Not before I get to smear it all around. Does it taste like my friend's? We know it's about to happen; I have to moan with you. God, it's arousing, my thighs twitching together, squeezing my pussy.

"Uhnn!" he groaned with a stronger rock of his hips. I felt it shoot through his cock. I had done it! But keep on, that was just the first time. Did he come more times than my friend? It seemed like it, clutching my breast and rocking his hips again and again. He groaned and murmured:

"Stop, enough."

Of course, he couldn't hold my hand still: one on my breast and the other one having to hold up the covers. His last drops were running down on my thumb. I had done it! I squeezed his cock, no longer rubbing it. He sighed with satisfied sounding moan, and I moaned softly, nodding on his arm.

What was he going to think, when I smeared it around, found the globs and smeared them around all over him. I had never touched his body before, and he certainly hadn't touched mine, not naked and holding my breast.

Oooh! It really was all over, some up on his chest and more down his stomach. Did Barbs do this too; had she done it, before it always came in her pussy? He chuckled, and I chuckled. My hand was all sticky from it. Then my fingers found a little puddle in his belly button. He tightened his stomach with another chuckle. I hummed, but he didn't know why, until I had my fingers in my mouth. It tasted about the same as my friend's. He gave a surprised "Uhn," then murmured: