Sickster (sentimental version)

The room was startlingly silent. I lay next to my sister on her hospital bed, on my side, facing her, with my arm across her torso, and we had been staring into each other's eyes for at least a minute or two. Her unspoken request had our past replaying in my mind.

When she was 1 year old, and I was four, I accidentally hit her face. It was nothing serious, but she did start crying in our mother's arms. Mom wasn't mad, but after she coaxed my sister back into silence, she told me that I needed to be more careful because it was my job to look out for my sister and to protect her.

At the time, I did not think much of it, but it was something that stuck with me over the years. I remembered those words every time my sister fell when she was learning to walk, and every time she hurt herself with a toy.

It developed a sense of purpose in me. It made me feel powerful.

When she was old enough to sleep in an actual bed, we shared a room, and sometimes she got scared and crawled into my bed with me. We'd curl up with her back in my chest and my arm over her, and she'd sleep soundly with me guarding her against whatever threat her imagination concocted. Eventually, she got her own room, but on the rare occasion, she'd sneak in and snuggle up.

In my early teens, it became more about watching out for her as we played outside since she wanted to do things like climb trees and play on monkey bars as I did, but I never discouraged her. Part of protecting her was teaching her to be able to protect herself.

I didn't want her to be a weak damsel in distress, so I would playfully wrestle with her a lot and generally be rough without being too rough. I made sure it was always fun for her.

Eventually, she just seemed to be getting a little clumsier, but it progressed to a point that became very concerning to our parents, and her general health seemed to be decreasing.

It turned out that she had a rare degenerative disorder that was slowly degrading her muscle tissue. I was told the name of it once but blocked it out soon after expressing my desire to never hear it mentioned by name again.

For the most part, everyone was able to accommodate me without inconvenience, but even when it was mentioned by people who didn't know any better, I mentally rejected it.

It was something I had no ability to guard her against, and I couldn't tolerate having that name in my memory. I hated that disorder for making me feel powerless, so I chose to ignore it as an entity. That was the only way I was able to stay positive for her.

When she got to the point where she was stuck in a hospital bed, I stayed with her as much as I could, and our lack of privacy developed a special form of communication between us. Well, the lack of privacy as well as an unwillingness to give voice to certain tough realities to bear.

Certain facts and feelings were expressed indirectly through passing comments and jokes. Often, things were not realized until pieces of the puzzle were put together.

In time, when her constant presence in a hospital was no longer required, our parents bought her a very large and elaborate hospital bed to put in her bedroom. They wanted to make her as comfortable as she could possibly be.

I was living in an apartment at that time, mainly to be closer to the hospital, but the move back home defeated that purpose. To make matters worse, a live-in nurse had moved into my old room, so I could not move back home. The consolation was that I didn't have to worry about visiting hours, and I at least had a reasonably comfortable sofa to sleep on if need be.

The increase in privacy was the biggest boon, but we still maintained our secret communication, and the bed was wide enough that I could lay close alongside her while we read, watched movies, or talked. In an odd turn, this was giving me a sense of security and reassurance.

On occasion, we found ourselves just silently staring at each other with soft smiles. Despite her thinness from lack of activity, she still looked relatively healthy. She had a good diet and she had help getting what exercise she could, even though she could not leave the bed.

The waves in her long, black hair still shone, and there was still a sparkle in her eyes. She managed to remain a beautiful woman in defiance of everything working against her, but maybe that was just my opinion.

From about age fifteen, it became increasingly apparent that she probably wouldn't make it to age twenty, and that was being optimistic.

I admired her ability to joke about the various things that she would never be able to do, but in the later months of her seventeenth year, our unspoken language became a little more regret oriented. Her impending eighteenth birthday cemented certain realities in her mind.

She would never have a boyfriend or go on a date. She would never get married or have kids. More to the point, she would never experience intimacy with a man.

So as I lay beside her, my heart began to pound as I debated what I would eventually do with my hand that rested on her right ribcage. Her eyes stared into mine patiently but made no request, themselves.

I began to doubt my interpretation of her unspoken words. Did she actually want me to do anything, or was I imagining it? And if I wasn't imagining it, then could I do anything? She was my sister, after all.

It was a little suspicious that we just happened to have the house to ourselves for the entire day and night after her birthday party, so it was not a question of opportunity but a question of willingness. I'd never felt anything sexual towards her before, but I did still have the overwhelming drive to do everything I could do to protect her, and in this case, it was protecting her from sadness and regret.

As if of its own accord, my hand moved about an inch higher and her eyes flashed ever so slightly wider for the briefest of moments. The web of my thumb and index finger was practically at the underside of the small mound of her pajama shirt. Her eyes were still making no request, but what stood out to me was the fact that they were not trying to dissuade me either.

She was not trying to pressure me in the slightest, but it became clear to me that she, at the very least, did not object. That's when I noticed that I could feel her heart pounding. My hand moved up slightly again, and then she closed her eyes as she turned her face upward.

I think she knew that I would not have been able to do anything while she was looking at me. This was her request. This was her permission. I no longer had any excuses.

My fingers slid around the swell of her breast, and her lips parted slightly to inhale a sudden, shallow breath.

A jolt shot through me, thankfully not causing me to flinch. I was doing this for her, but the fact was that I'd never done that with anyone before. I was effectively dedicated to my sister during the course of her degeneration. While it had never been sexual, I had eyes only for her.

Despite that, the fact remained that I now had a woman's breast in my hand. The mound yielded to the pressure of my fingertips. It lightly cushioned her pulsing heartbeat, and its apex grew firmer between my digits.

She remained unmoving beyond what she could not control. Like me, she was enthralled by the sensations, and it was my job to provide them. This realization sent another jolt through me.

I had no clue how to please a woman, as they say. Was I destined to fail miserably? But then again, she had no point of reference either. I decided to just try my best to put myself in her position, even though it was at odds with my own desire to explore.

I moved to her left breast for a short time before working up the nerve to slide down to the hem of her shirt. I became hyperaware of the fact that my palm rested right above her crotch, but that was not my destination, at the time. My fingertips crept beneath her shirt and slowed as they crossed over the bumpy material of the elastic waistband. I was about to contact the skin.

She let out a delicate whine as my hand slowly moved up her soft belly. It rose and fell with her shallow breaths. Across her navel and up to her sternum, I watched her face intently, both enjoying her reactions and making sure none of them were negative.

When I felt ribs, I eased over to her left breast once more, finally feeling it in my palm for real. I could not help but close my eyes to focus on the fleshy mass submitting to my manipulations and the contrast of the small, hard nipple. I immediately felt my erection develop, but I wanted to maintain focus on her. It was time to progress to the next stage.

Back down over her abdomen, I hesitated at her waistband once more, but then pushed into her flesh enough to dip beneath and cause her to gasp. She was the only sound in the room, but not the only sound in my ears. I briefly cursed my heartbeat before pushing further.

I felt her pubic hair graze along the ends and sides of my fingers, taking note that it was trimmed. Did she normally keep it trimmed, or was this just for me?

Still contemplating the question, I was caught off guard by both her high moan and the upper edge of her crease. I opened my eyes to check on her and found pleasure in her face. I looked down at her body and was momentarily absorbed by the sight of my arm angled across her and my hand down the front of her pajama pants.

I had my hand down the front of my sister's pants, and she was enjoying it. I needed a moment to come to terms with that reality, but then I returned my thoughts to the mission at hand. Her legs seemed to twitch as I lightly traced further down across the crevice, and as I reached the bottom, I felt warm liquid.

So enticingly slippery, I felt compelled to spread it along the length of her slit and to work my finger deeper into that soft, inviting warmth. My motion was driven initially by a desire to feel the textures but soon it was her sounds that inspired me.

I was bringing her pleasure, which in turn pleased me.

I inserted a second finger and felt her depths as well as played over her clitoral hood with my thumb. I momentarily felt nervous with her increased moaning, but then remembered that there was no one else in the house, and there would not be until the next day.

"Ohhhh," she moaned as I began pumping my fingers in and out, eager to hear her volume rise with her pleasure. She vocally exhaled and then said, "Yes," in such a breathy tone that I could feel precum suddenly release into my underwear.

She was so physically excited that I became concerned about whether or not she could handle it.

"Are you okay," I asked.

"Yes. Keep going," she managed to say in labored breathing.

Her fidgeting legs drew up a little, I felt her begin to tighten around my fingers, and then she moaned, "Yeeeeesss." I then felt more warm liquid flood her. It was an amazing feeling for her and me both, though obviously more so for her.

I watched her turn her face toward me and open her eyes. They were filled with sultry gratitude. She breathed through parted lips that I suddenly wanted so badly to kiss, but I refrained. Instead, I carefully withdrew my fingers and held them between our faces to inspect the glistening juices that coated them.

Spreading them repeatedly created sticky strands, and the heady scent eventually found its way into my nostrils. I watched her staring at my fingers as I put them in my mouth to taste her, and once my lips were closed, she moved her gaze to my eyes.

It was a curious flavor, to be sure. Salty and a bit acidic. It was not sweet, as I had heard such juices often described, and I wondered if it was because of her poor health. Regardless, I treasured it as a reward but also for her sake. I wanted her to know that I was pleased with her.

My thoughts were suddenly disrupted by her fingers moving across the front of my shorts. Her eyes were still on mine, but her fingers sought out the bulge of my rigid length. It seemed as though it may have been my turn, and her light grip cause another release of precum.

I hesitated but then nervously maneuvered onto my back as we both gazed downward to watch me push down the waistband of my shorts and underwear. I was filled with a mix of apprehension and eagerness to show her what she had inspired.

I glance up to see her staring intently and then back down to watch her fingers nervously move over my length. She felt only with her fingertips at first, but then they eventually wrapped around the shaft and she almost instinctively began slowly pumping up and down.

"Oh, my god," I quietly sighed as the intense pleasure moved up through my belly. I was so much more primed than I thought I would be as another round of precum spilled over the head of my dick and joined with her hand. She made a point to spread it around which doubled, if not tripled the pleasure she was already giving me.

I felt the urge to take over control, but I wanted her to have the exclusive honor of bringing me to climax.

"Oh, faster," I said. "Grip harder."

She complied well and I my hips raised and lowered as I erupted over her magnificent fingers. It was an effort to refrain from touching myself, and I felt a slight disappointment in the knowledge that, despite how amazing that was, it could have been better if I had helped.

As I had with her juices, she brought her hand up to inspect my sticky, white semen, and with a brief moment of hesitation, put her fingers in her open mouth and tasted before sucking them dry. As much as I wanted to know what she thought of the taste, I did not want to risk her having to tell me something dissatisfying. Perhaps that is why she did not ask me about her flavor. Either way, she gave no impression of disliking it.

I wanted to kiss her so badly, but for some reason, it felt like it would be awkward. A rather ironic thing to think, but it felt inappropriate.

"Need to clean up," I said gently before swinging my legs over the edge of the bed to stand. As I reached for a nearby box of tissue, she used her remote to raise the head of the bed into a sitting position. I wiped the remaining cum, threw away the tissue, and reclothed myself.

She sat staring at her lap and looking contemplative. I hoped nothing was wrong. I wouldn't have been able to bear it if she ended up remorseful of what we'd just done. I waited for a change and was about to ask her if she was okay, but then she said, "I want you to take off my clothes."

I had been under the impression that we were done, so my first thought was that she felt like she needed a bath, which sent a mild dread through me. Did she suddenly feel dirty? I was frozen in uncertainty.

"What?"

She leaned forward.

"Untie my shirt."

Her pajamas appeared normal from the front, but they tied in the back similar to a hospital gown. Since she was unable to dress by herself anyway, these made it easier for the nurse to dress and undress her.

I stepped closer and leaned to untie the top, middle, and then bottom strings before straightening up again to wait. It was within her ability to pull the shirt off at this point if that was what she really wanted. She pressed the remote again and lowered the head of the bed back into a laying position.

"Please take my clothes off," she said almost timidly. This was not needing a bath.

I carefully climbed onto the bed, swung a leg over, and straddled her thighs while standing on my knees. She looked somewhat nervously into my eyes and reached out for the material. She raised her arms enough for me to slip the shirt down, slowly exposing her shoulders.

I internally flinched right before the tops of her breasts became exposed, but I did not stop. Soon I had my first sight of those mounds of flesh that I had previously only felt. I further exposed her abdomen and then set the shirt aside entirely.

She looked so fragile. I placed both hands on her sides and gently slid up and over her ribs and ended with her breasts in my hands once more. I bent over and explored them with my lips and tongue. She let out a moan and then I felt her hands on the sides of my head.

I kissed down her body, moving backward to cross over her belly, and then paused with my fingertips curled under the waistband of her pajama bottoms. I looked up into her eyes in search of any objection, and finding none, I pulled the material down her hips.

I closed my eyes, at that point, not wanting to see just yet, because I wanted to fully remove the bottoms before proceeding. That done, I returned to position, held her hips, and then gazed down her mat of trimmed black hair and the crease that glistened as my fingers had before.

The heady scent rose and I inhaled deeply to appreciate it before lowering to meet its source.

"Oh my god, yes," she sighed under my tongue. I lapped and scooped and flitted about her clit until she came, and then I inserted my fingers to join the play until she came again. After licking her clean, I kissed my way back up her body to her lips. It finally felt right.

I felt clumsy, not having any prior first-hand experience, but I supposed she felt like she was in the same boat, so I didn't let it bother me. As we both got the hang of it a little more, we got more excited as well. I still had to be gentle, but I let her set the pace, and to my surprise, she was rather rampant.

She held my head as best she could and was breathing heavily, and then to my shock this delicate impression I had of her shattered when I heard, "I want you to fuck me and cum on my face."

I pulled away suddenly and stared at her in awe and confusion. She gasped, almost as surprised as I was. Her expression calmed quickly and then after a moment, she added in a more familiar tone. "I want you to."

I kept my eyes glued to hers as I raised to maneuver between her legs and then push down my shorts and underwear. Hovering over her once again, I kissed her as my hand pushed the head of my raging cock into her slowly.

She moaned into my mouth as I eased deep enough to let go and pump back and forth in that soft exquisite heat that hugged my dick tightly. I had to move almost excruciatingly slow in order to keep from cumming inside her.

"You feel so good," I breathed into her ear. I carefully pushed in as far as our hips would allow where I had to hold a moment to avoid cumming.

With some concentration, I managed to get my mind into a place that would allow me to repeatedly thrust into her without threat. I wanted to give her a fair chance at the experience that she desired.

Every breathy "Yes" encouraged me, but when I started going too fast or hard, she let out a short "Oh" that let me know to ease up.

Soon I felt her contract around me, and I had to stop before it sent me over the edge. She lightly shuddered beneath me and I hugged her close until she calmed and then I pulled out of her and made my way up to her face.

"Are you sure about this," I asked desperately.

"Yes," she replied, and then I stroked myself only a few times before finally sending streams of white across her nose, lips, chin, forehead, and cheeks. I tried my best to avoid her eyes and fortunately succeeded.

She weakly gripped my cock and opened her mouth immediately taking the head in and suckling on it. I panted fixated on the sight of my sister's face striped with my cum and her joyfully draining the rest from me.

She eventually let go and occasionally let out a laugh as she wiped me from her face and licked me from her fingers. Once satisfied, she wrapped her arms around me and weakly pulled me close.

I curled my hands under her shoulders to return the hug, and then she whispered, "Thank you," into my ear. "Thank you," she repeated.