Sissy's Revenge Ch. 01

This is a two-part story. The first part was previously submitted as Hide and Peek, but ran into problems although essentially a true story. I have taken critical comments on board and taken the opportunity to refresh some of the dialogue. All characters involved in sexual activity in the story are over 18.

~~~~

After all these years I still get palpitations at the consequences had I been caught.

It was the 'Sixties, just before nudity had been invented. Women wore dresses and skirts below the knee, and the miniskirt hadn't yet been conceived. Worse, my family were Irish Catholics. Strict. I hadn't actually warned that I might go blind ... but then again, Dad would often say, "Keep your body sacred until you get married. You never know you might still find a vocation."

I doubted there was a spare vocation hiding down the back of the sofa, and the chances of me not liking girls sufficiently to remain celibate were lower than the ... well, perhaps I shouldn't go there with the tasteless papal jokes.

There was still worse: we lived in the about-to-be swinging England, in the London suburbs. The fall-out from mini-skirts, free love, and swinging would hit the suburbs very soon after their explosion from the epicentre - Chelsea. My team, by the way, a fine bunch of lads.

Growing up and chastity were painful experiences. Puberty hit me very young but the strictures of the Catechism and priestly warnings about fornication and self-abuse kept me chaste, physically. Mentally, I tried most nights to dream myself into an orgasm, but just couldn't seem to imagine the situation accurately enough to achieve anything worthwhile, what with my hands pinned to my side in bed and all. Then a wet dream would creep up on me in the morning before I was awake enough to enjoy it. You women think you have it hard, but what about the mental torture we men go through for the sake of abstinence.

Anyway, to my story: it began innocently enough as a game on a warm and sunny Sunday afternoon. I was home from uni and which had rent old gang asunder. I had no mates to hang around with so I was kicking my heels at home. "You might as well make yourself useful," said Ma, "and keep an eye on Little Evey whilst I get on with the laundry."

Ma's brother, Uncle Jim, had deposited said kiddie with her so he could go fishing with my Dad. Little Evey was five and, frankly, a pain in the ass to look after. Now, as a member of a large family -- obviously -- I am used to having children around, and even don't mind looking after them as a rule, Evey was simply a pain even to stay in the same room with.

I sighed but dutifully applied myself to occupying my somewhat dim-witted but garrulous cousin. "Let's play hide and seek," she suggested. It suited me because it usually took her an eternity to find anyone in even the most obvious of places. Meanwhile I could fantasise in the comfort of my hiding place; maybe being James Bond, bedding a bevy of gorgeous femme fatales. I had seen Dr No and From Russia With Love and now my imagination had free reign.

"OK, count to ten." I said, then reflected. "No, make that twenty." That should occupy her for a while just recalling the necessary numbers, and not necessarily in the right order!

I grabbed a rolled-up sheet of black scrap book paper near at hand for a makeshift pea-shooter, and some discarded necklace beads. I could take pot shots at Little Evey from my hiding place if she hadn't yet spotted me. It all added to the fun and was compensation for the chore of minding the little sweetie. I guess I'm not making a very favourable impression here, but there had to be some entertainment for me out of this duty.

"I'm off to look for a hiding place in the garden," I added helpfully. I was guilty of mis-direction too, as I headed noiselessly up the stairs. I might seem heartless but the truth was I was sick of being dumped on time after to time to babysit my cousin.

Home was a three-bedroomed semi, with limited scope for concealment. At the head of the stairs, I took stock of my options. To my left was the bathroom. Ahead of me was Sissy's bedroom. To the right was Mom and Dad's room. The bed room I had once shared with my older brother was further right at the end of the landing. I should add that by this time we had lost some casualties amongst my older siblings to marriage and the seminary. I counted going to university as perverse, divine intervention. He who knew all and saw all (what a thought!) knew I wasn't cut out for celibacy.

Sissy's bedroom door was open. Sissy was 20 and her room was Out Of Bounds, but she'd left the door open that day so her room seemed fair game for my purposes on this occasion. Sissy would be out with her boyfriend, as she was most Sunday afternoons, and wouldn't be back until about nine o'clock.

I entered the room and studied the lay of the land. Window to the left beyond the bed -- check. Sissy had left the curtains closed, and a diffused light from the sun through the thin curtain material cast various areas of the room into soft light and shadow. Double bed in left hand corner beside the window -- check! Mirrored door wardrobe in opposite corner to the right -- check! Chest of drawers on the far side of the window to my left -- check! The wardrobe was the obvious choice, but I had read 'The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe' and didn't fancy a trip to Narnia that day. I preferred it warm. I dived under the bed, reasoning that it would be in relatively deep shadow.

The bed had an iron sprung sub-frame which hung low. I had had great fun Illicitly trampolining on it in my younger days when the door had been left invitingly ajar. I lay on my stomach in the very limited space and waited quietly, listening for any evidence that Little Evey might have exhausted all possibilities for concealment in the garden. I reflected with some satisfaction that the heavily rusted bolt on the shed door should occupy her puny hands for a while.

In the confined space I could hear the amplified sound of my own breathing, and the occasional rumbling in my stomach. I hoped Little Evey wouldn't track me down from the sound if she came into the bedroom. I listened for any extraneous sound.

From behind me, the other side of the bedroom wall, I heard the unexpected, muted sound of glugging. It was the unmistakable sound of residual bath water making its noisy evacuation down the plughole. I knew my older brother was out, Dad was fishing. Ma was doing the laundry downstairs, and dear Little Evey should still be engaged on her assignment in the garden. That meant by my powers of deduction ... it had to be Sissy! As if to confirm my theory, the sound of the bathroom door opening was quickly followed by footsteps entering the bedroom. The bedroom door shut with a slam. I guessed she had entered the room wrapped up in her towel as she usually did after her bath.

I was trapped in Sissy's room, under her bed with my sister potentially standing there with next-to-nothing on. Might she discover me? What should I do? What followed was a rapid evaluation of the ethics and risks of my predicament. Thoughts and counter-thinks zapped about in my brain, but could be analysed down to two essential issues: (a) I was concealed under my bigger sister's bed, knowingly (or so the Prosecution would assert) whilst she was in the bathroom. This would be hard to explain.

(b) I should immediately alert Sissy to my accidental presence before she lets the towel drop. I would of course explain the circumstances and apologise profusely for any embarrassment it might cause her.

Events overcame me, though. I saw the towel drop on the floor by the edge of the bed, but to one side. It was too late for option (a). However I tried to explain, Sissy would be naked when I alerted her. I had just one option left.

Lie low and keep quiet, and hope that eventually Sissy would go away.

Being concealed in her bedroom with my naked sister close by was a situation I had fantasised about many times but would never have had the courage to act on. Sissy was full bodied for her age, but not fat. She had a generous bust and broad hips with a small waist. I had seen her in her swimsuit on holidays and imagined how she would look naked. She excited me physically, but the sensation simultaneously appalled me because of my conditioning.

~~~ When my big brother left home I had the room to myself. A box room, to be precise, not room to swing a cat, which would have been cruel anyway; and rather cramped by our old bunk beds. I had spied on Sissy in the past from my top bunk through the crack in the top of the partly opened bedroom door when I was in bed and she was leaving the bathroom. She had last winter got into the habit of warming her towel on the radiator outside the bath room door. She would open the door a crack and look to see the coast was clear before reaching out a long arm to quickly grab the towel and shut the door again. I was usually lucky to get a peep at half a breast at most because her body was mostly hidden behind the door.

Once I had devised a plan to get her to show more of herself.

One time she used a towel which was fraying at the sides. Whilst she was in the bath I crept up to the door and wound frayed threads around the radiator thermostat valve. A quick tug confirmed it was secured. I retreated back to my bunk bed to watch the floor show. After an eternity I finally heard her unlock the bathroom door and peek out. Satisfied the coast was clear, she reached out for the towel and tugged. It snagged on the trapped threads. Sissy tugged a few times to no avail. I waited with bated breath. Slowly she emerged further from behind the door and, with a quick check around the landing, she stepped out naked and wet, to investigate what was trapping the towel.

I would like to report that I enjoyed the free show as she struggled to wrench the towel free from the radiator valve. Certainly I remember her being naked, and her breasts dangling and swaying as she bent forward to investigate the problem. But it was all too quick for me to memorise what I was seeing. Sadly, she diagnosed the problem and disengaged the threads with clinical efficiency and retrieved the towel within seconds. Wrapping it around her, her eyes alighted on the partly open door of my bedroom. She seemed to look straight at the crack in the top of the doorway behind which I hoped I was hidden from view. Then she retreated back into the bathroom and slammed the door shut with exceptional ferocity, which I thought was inconsiderate ... she could have woken me up - if I'd been asleep!

Later, I couldn't recall in pictorial detail what I had seen. It had all been a waste of time.

~~~

Now, I looked around me as best I could in the confined space under the bed. No shoes or slippers near me ... good, so maybe she wouldn't need to search under the bed for anything. As long as I kept quiet, maybe I could tough it out until she had dressed and gone out. I listened for any sound which might tell me what she was doing. All I could hear at first was a loud and insistent thumping in my ears. Was it music, no it was pounding in my ears from my heart beat. Boom, boom, boom. I swear I thought it must be reverberating through the floor boards, like a gong beating on a kettledrum. Then I heard Sissy speaking to herself.

She was apparently conversing with an imaginary admirer - I assumed that was it because I would have noticed if the bed room had been occupied when I entered it.

I froze. Had she rumbled me? It wasn't her natural voice -- more a sort of language and intonation of a Jane Austen type of character. This was doubly embarrassing: being under sissy's bed and witnessing her fantasies. Sissy was 'going out' and engaged, but not yet married. I assumed she was still a virgin as well, but what did I know?

Her playful tone indicated that this was a well-worn fantasy which Sissy was playing out potentially before my very eyes ... if only I could catch a peek! She sounded like she was feigning surprise at his presence. She didn't know the half of it! As I peered out of the shadow, her firm, shapely calves were moving away from the end of the bed towards the wardrobe. I had to see more. But what if she spied me? Was the underside of the bed sufficiently dark to conceal me?

"What do you think of my ... neck?" Sissy was seeking her invisible interloper's approval.

I gingerly eased my body forward by degrees so that I could see progressively more of Sissy beyond the underside edge of the bed frame. I couldn't quite stretch enough to see her neck. What I did see, though, stunned me bodily like an electric shock. I gasped involuntarily at a sight I had never dared to hope for as my eyes swept up Sissy's legs and lower body. Slender calves led up to the firm backs of her thighs, then up to a firm rounded bottom. She was alternately dipping one knee then the other, causing her bottom to sway seductively from side to side. I was transfixed by the delicious sight as she supposedly sought her voyeur's appreciation of her .... neck?

I could stay in that position and just enjoy the vision of her rear lower half and remain safely hidden in the shadows. But I wanted to see it all.

I reflected: if I move further to improve the angle of my vision, Sissy might spot the whiteness of my face, reflected in the muted light through the closed curtains. I must retreat to find some camouflage. On the presumption that something black was less likely to be seen than something Caucasian white, I decided to fashion a makeshift mask from the black paper. It wasn't likely to see service as pea shooter now, anyway.

I eased backwards further into the cramped and gloomy netherworld under the bed and searched with my hands for the would-be instrument of torture. I located it and unrolled it whilst listening to Sissy continuing her conversation.

"Why thank you; (slight pause) .. and my shoulders?" Her admirer would seem to be making slow progress in the sweep of his eyes over Sissy's naked body. I suspected that he had in fact long ago given up waiting for her permission and concentrated his gaze further south.

I folded and creased the large scrapbook paper in two, length ways. The longer portion would sit on top of my head and the shorter piece would cover my forehead and eyes. I pinched out two peep holes for my eyes and tested the serviceability of my makeshift mask. With one hand holding the sheet of paper in place on top of my head, I gently eased myself forward again until I could once again see out and upwards at my naked elder sister. Sissy was sighing with gratification as she continued her questions, " And my beautiful, pear-shaped hips?" I peered further up and saw her elbows moving as she slowly caressed down the sides of her hips. Sensuously, she continued to sway. I could just make out the side of her fulsomely heavy but firm left breast before she moved her hand onto it. The commentary had ended. Now Sissy had switched off that fantasy and moved to her main agenda.

She stopped swaying, opened her legs and stiffened her bottom as she leant towards the mirror thrusting out her bust. I gazed up adoringly at my first ever close-up view of a real pussy from the rear. Sissy had very generous folds of skin either side of her vaginal slit and a crease which ran up between her cheeks to the pleated indentation of her anus. It was firmly shut, but I had a sudden urge to reach out and touch it. I was highly aroused. I promised to say ten Hail Mary's later.

Now for the first time I noticed the discomfort of my hardened penis pushing down painfully against my shorts on the floor. The extension of my burgeoning manhood was lifting my youthful groin off the floor in a sort of penile press-up. Comfortable, it was not. Nature hadn't designed it for that purpose. I had to relax it.

Jamming my head up against the underside of the bed springs to jam my mask in place I worked at unzipping my flies and easing out my prick from my pants; difficult in that confined space, particularly when one is trying to do it quietly. My engorged and throbbing penis pushed eagerly forward against my belly inside my tee shirt. I could now concentrate again on the tableau being played out by Sissy.

She had returned to her fantasy -- probably because she did not know how to develop the action as a virgin (?)

"Aren't they a handful?" she giggled girlishly as she gently pushed and squeezed her breasts for her admirer's inspection. I could barely make out from behind her back what she was doing with her hands, but I guessed from her elbow movements that she was pushing them together to accentuate her cleavage.

Sissy's performance was over-stimulating me and I became aware that I was absent-mindedly rocking my belly backwards and forwards against my erect penis to stimulate it further. I risked giving it carpet burns, which would have been difficult to explain to a doctor, but not something I was thinking clearly about at that point.

Show him your bottom, I urged Sissy mentally, so that she would turn round and give me a view of the sight she had been offering to her admirer in the mirror. She wasn't receiving my mental suggestion though and she continued to knead her breasts for what seemed like an inordinately long time. She obviously thought they were her best feature, worthy of a prolonged study.

Finally her right elbow dropped, as I guess her concealed right hand caressed its way down her belly. As it reached her brown curly pubes, Sissy stuck out her ass and bent forward at her waist.

Her pussy was now more clearly visible to me from between her parted cheeks. The sun had found a crack in the closed curtains and was performing the role of a spotlight magnificently. Her pussy was just a few feet away from my eyes. I admired it's closed up pear shape compressed between her upper thighs. It was close enough for me to reach out and touch it, but of course I didn't.

Then Sissy arched her back and stood further apart to make room for her fingers between her thighs. She began rubbing back and forwards against her pussy, pushing apart her pussy lips. She had forgotten all about her imaginary admirer's presence again and was now following instinct in pleasuring herself.

I was sure Sissy was still a virgin, although I was by no means an expert yet on sexual matters, or rather, I was an expert at still being a virgin myself. I mentally remembered to say ten Hail Marys for Sissy, too: it was the least I could do in the circumstances!

Sissy's masturbating slowed and became more specifically targeted. Now she was using only her finger tips to play with a burgeoning growth at the top of her parting pussy lips, which I knew from Biology lessons to be a clitoris. As I watched, fascinated, imagining my prick thrusting in and out of that pussy, I saw glistening juices forming on her pussy lips. This monumental experience was the start of my real sex education, there is no substitute after all for seeing the real thing. Somehow, line drawings in text book don't cut it.

Finally she seemed to respond to my mental suggestion and swivelled round to observe her rear view in the mirror. Facing me now, with her head looking backwards over her left shoulder into the mirror, I could concentrate my attention fully on the fabulous sight of her pendulous breasts, now dangling tantalisingly a few feet from me, and her fingers massaging her clit. Suddenly, she was looking straight into my eyes. Had she seen me despite the shadow under the bed? After a few moments more masturbation she withdrew her fingers and straightened her body.

She began to scrutinise her bottom closely in the mirror, stretching her torso to improve the line of her profile, lifting her cheeks and checking them out from various angles. She stretched her body and admired it from every angle. I guessed the performance would soon be drawing to a close so I memorised what I could of the sight of every inch of her front, and particularly the upwards view of those large, firm breasts. I found myself quietly panting now as my excitement began to climax. Almost without noticing I had grasped my prick in my right hand and was pumping it vigorously as I imagined myself pushing it in and out of that fabulous, dripping pussy. I hoped that I had not made a sound.