The Step-sister Pt. 01

She's called Lorraine, she's my step-sister and she's here for a three week visit. A very short notice visit.

My widowed father remarried thirty five years ago and I've known her on and off for all those years. To be honest it has been far more off than on as, after a very brief 'thing', and by brief I mean an evenings fumble on a sofa, we'd both gone our separate ways; me back to the army, she back to university then work, marriage, and life. And we'd lost touch for well over twenty years.

Then, five years ago, at one of my father's more notable birthdays, we'd started chatting, exchanged phone numbers, and said we'd keep in touch.

A year later she had called me, we'd laughed, and ever since, periodically, we'd kept in touch. And, for no real reason, over the last year or so, we'd started chatting more frequently.

Then two weeks ago she'd called me, we didn't often actually speak to each other, just messaged. The phone call, on her instigation, had turned into a video call, which really had been a first.

She'd clearly been upset about something, I'd kind of picked up on that whilst we'd been speaking; just something in her voice.

But once I'd seen her face it had been obvious, she'd been crying, and was still close to tears then.

They'd had a massive falling out; her and her partner. I hadn't asked what it had been over, none of my business. But she had been leading up to a question, that much was also obvious.

Then she'd said that she needed a break and was there any chance that she could come and stay with me. For a couple of weeks.

I'd obviously said, 'Of course you can come and stay.' What else could I have said?

I'd immediately realised, from how upset she had been, that it would be something that she would want to do sooner rather than later.

And so it was that she'd arrived three days later having driven the two hundred plus miles from her home in the north-east.

She got out of her car and we kissed on the cheek, she's quite composed, no sign of the upset of three days ago other than perhaps looking quite tired and drawn. We'd messaged often over those three days; making the few arrangements necessary and me asking questions like 'what don't you eat, what do you drink?' Things you should perhaps know of a step-sister you've known for thirty five years.

She asked if she could stay for three weeks and, again, I said of course. But I knew in my head that that could change, either way.

It's quite a strange experience seeing her again: let's face it, one meeting in over twenty five years, and that was five years ago at the birthday celebration, and even then I wouldn't say that we'd had a real conversation, so you can't say that we know each other.

And now here she is, at my place for a three week stay that, to me, seems to stretch interminably ahead.

This might be hard work.

She hasn't changed much, from five years ago. She has quite an angular face with high cheekbones, thin lips, brown eyes and thick black eyebrows. Her hair is the same coal black and, for as long as I've known her, has been cut in the same style; a plain, straight bob parted on the left leaving it constantly falling across her eyes. She is perhaps 5' 9", and if memory serves, she's around ten years younger than me, so mid fifties, and wearing 'comfortable' clothes. In those early years she'd been quite fashionable; wearing short skirts and multicoloured tops but she'd been about twenty and at university, plus it had been the tail end of the '70s with all the fun rebellion that went with them.

Five years ago she had been much more conservatively dressed in flat shoes, loose fitting tartan trousers and baggy jumper. Which is how she is dressed now, except the trousers are plain black.

She loved the house; she also lives in the countryside, although more open fields than deep in the woods like me, but she's an inveterate walker, has been for decades, and went walking as often as she could, so the woods will be perfect for her.

After settling her stuff in her room we had an early dinner and then went for a short walk, during all of which we chatted quite comfortably but avoided the subject of what she needed a break from: that would come later, if she wanted.

The next morning I showed her the intricacies of my ancient coffee machine then went off to one of the few gardening clients I still had and Lorraine spent the time having a better look around my place. In the afternoon we went for quite a long walk, once again avoiding the 'needing a break' subject.

That evening, after dinner, she asked if she could have a bath. I said that of course she could, I'm saying that a lot, and that as she was going to be here for three weeks then she needed to stop asking if she could do things. She smiled, said thank you, and went upstairs.

An hour later she came back down wearing a knee length fluffy bathrobe and matching slippers. Her hair looked a little damp and her skin shone.

She dropped onto the sofa and drew her legs up beneath her bum: I'm positive that women have rubber knees.

My lounge is quite small so I only have a two seater sofa and an armchair; more than enough for me, so I'd left her the sofa and, for the duration, I'd moved to the armchair.

I muted the tv. 'Wine?'

'Mmmm, red please.'

After passing her her glass I sat back down. 'How was your bath?'

She smiled. 'Lovely, sooo relaxing. And I love that you have candles. I hope you don't mind me lighting them.'

I laughed. 'Of course not, they've been there for years, they could do with using. Same with the bath, I'm definitely a shower man. Please use the bath as often as you like.'

'Thank you, I will.'

And we continued chatting aimlessly, talking about our lives, about my house, but still avoiding the subject.

And all the time I can't stop myself from glancing at her legs.

She has the calves of a seasoned walker; thick but not unpleasant, and waxed or shaved smooth. Not bad, not bad at all.

After about an hour I can see that she is fading, her eyes beginning to droop until, just on the point of dropping off, she starts. 'I've had it, think I'll go to bed.'

She got up and, bending over me, kissed me on the cheek. 'Thank you for this David, I really do appreciate it.'

I smiled. 'That's ok, my pleasure.'

And off she went.

Half an hour later and I'm in bed reading a book. And just as I turn out the light I hear it; a very faint buzzing, right on the edge of being inaudible.

I'm not even sure I can hear anything at first, I almost dismiss it as one of those little noises you get from a house. But I know my house: all the moans and groans it makes as it breathes, and this isn't one of them.

And I know what it is: and it isn't my imagination making it up because it likes the idea.

Lorraine is using a vibrator.

But, just as my mind begins to form a very pleasurable image, it stops.

Shame. Still, nice one Lorraine.

The next day pretty much follows the same format but in the evening we went down to the pub, had a couple of drinks and something to eat.

Getting home pretty late, Lorraine took herself off to bed and half an hour later, after giving her the time in the bathroom, I followed.

And, ten minutes after I get into bed, I hear the same very faint buzzing. I'm straining to hear it, but the more my brain isolates it the clearer it is.

It's a lovely image, and I quickly get hard. But she doesn't play for long, just long enough for her I guess.

I do like the fact that she plays. And I do like the fact that she does it in my house.

The following evening she has another bath then heads straight to bed. But it's still far too early for me, I have this thought that it would seem a bit pervy if I dash up straight after her, so I stay down and watch some TV, thought about muting it but decide that that would probably be as noticeable as me creeping up the stairs. By the time I do go up it's clear that I'm far too late for any illicit listening. Should have been pervy.

The next day is taken up with another walk then pottering, both of us, around the garden. I do so enjoy this retirement lark, nowhere near as hard as working.

That evening she cooks and I watch. It's still hard to tell what she's like beneath her clothes as she has a real preference for the baggy look, but I'm beginning to get a good idea of her shape, and that rather Victorian look I'd had at her lower legs was promising.

Yet again I'm thirty minutes behind her going to bed and ten minutes later I'm rewarded with the faint buzzing from her room.

This time it goes on for quite a lot longer than previous occasions and gives my imagination plenty of time to play.

And now we're one week into her stay.

Lorraine has driven into town for a look around and a change of scenery.

She returned by mid-afternoon and we sat in the garden drinking coffee and chatting.

After dinner we watched a movie on TV. Nothing unusual.

Then she went up for what's becoming an every other night ritual, a bath.

Forty-five minutes later and she's still in there so I head up to bed anyway.

Climbing the stairs I'm surprised to see that the bathroom door is open, I must have missed her coming out.

I peek in to find that I hadn't, she's still in there,

It's a decent sized bathroom so I'd installed a pedestal bath that isn't tucked in the corner but stands away from the walls. She seems to be surrounded by a hundred candles that flicker in the semi dark.

Just her head, resting on a rolled up towel, and lower legs float above a mass of bubbles. Her eyes are closed and her legs hang over the sides of the bath.

I lean on the door frame and study the scene.

Should I leave her undisturbed? Or should I surrender to my instincts?

Instincts wins.

I slip in and go to the end of the bath. A moment's hesitation, then I touch the back of my hand against her foot. She flinches and I stop, try to see her face in the candlelit gloom. She doesn't move again but I think I detect a faint smile, hopefully I'm not imagining it.

Very slowly I trail my fingertips around her foot then up the outside of her leg to her knee. Her skin is taut and very smooth, I circle her knee then move back down, across her calf to her ankle then to her toes. I push a finger between each of them then, bending down, I lick the very tip of her big toe, suck it into my mouth, swirl my tongue around it then let go, move from toe to toe.

Getting down on my knees beside the bath I stroke back up across her calf, reaching her knee I pause, watch her face again, wait a moment for any reaction, seeing none I continue on, my hand dips into the warm water, strokes up the even softer skin of her inner thigh.

Reaching the hollow at her hip I trace tiny circles, backs of my fingers brushing against coarse hair.

Carrying on over her hip I cross her tummy button to the other side, then keep moving up until my thumb touches the side of her breast.

I can feel her chest rising and falling.

Spread my hand and cup her breast, it's heavy, full. My thumb finds her nipple, drags gently across it, it's big and puckers into a hard nub, I take the weight of her breast in my palm before sliding underneath it to move slowly across and find its twin, this time my fingertips brush gently up the rising mound until I feel first the areola then the nipple, I pinch the puckered flesh.

Letting it go I move back down, through her cleavage, down across her ribs then her stomach until I feel the beginnings of her brush of hair. Again I stop, I can feel a gentle fluttering under my fingertips. Drag my fingers into the coarse hair, feel the slight bump of her pubic bone, then the dip into her sex, glide over it, down, brush across her silky lips, a gentle stroke as I pass but no more, keep moving until she is cupped in my hand.

A soft squeeze and her hips lift, a slight push against my hand, I squeeze again and my middle finger slips between her outer lips. She groans faintly and again her hips push, a little rub up and down and a damp heat builds, I crook my finger, a little pressure and it enters her body.

Slide it in then out, rubbing against the roof of her pussy, index finger slips in, both now rubbing in slow strokes. Stretch a little further until I'm rubbing across the hard ridges.

Start to squeeze and rub with the heel of my hand. Get a rhythm going. My whole hand flexing against her.

Her juices mixing with the warm water lubricate my fingers, a stickiness builds around them. I slip a third into her, then twist my hand until my thumb can reach her clit, press the tiny bump of nerve endings against her pubic bone.

Keep rubbing and squeezing; my whole hand working on her, rubbing and squeezing, my arm elbow deep in warm water, fingers as far into her as they will go, thumb constantly rubbing on that one tiny spot, rubbing and squeezing.

Her hands come out of the water, grip the edges of the bath. A groan at the back of her throat, a foot slips off the edge into the water then comes back up. She starts to quiver, only a little at first, but increasing in intensity as she nears orgasm. My fingers are constantly moving as her hips push against them, then her legs tense, the tops of her thighs grip my hand and her inner muscles grip my fingers as her breath whistles through clenched teeth.

It passes: her orgasm quickly dissipates, her body softens, sinks back.

Slowly I remove my fingers, swirl them in the water, stand and leave her, her eyes still closed.

Sitting in bed I contemplate what has just happened. Doubts grow. I'm pretty certain that she wanted it, but my mind tells me that I might be wrong, too late now, tomorrow will have to tell. It took me ages to get to sleep,

I actually slept well but it was still dark when I woke the next morning. After lying there for quite a while worrying about the previous night I decide to go down and get some tea.

To my surprise I find that Lorraine's bedroom door is open, her bed is empty and there's a light on in the kitchen.

I contemplate not going down; a fear of having got last night badly wrong, of her confronting me. But realise that she'll have to be faced at some point. I chide myself for being a coward and descend the stairs, butterflies in my stomach.

I find her leaning against the kitchen sink in her bathrobe, she's already holding a mug of tea.

She doesn't look very happy.

My stomach sank further, the certain knowledge that I really had got it badly wrong.

In a very flat voice she said, 'Well, I don't know what to say, I think you have some explaining to do.'

'Err......I......'

Then she took pity on me and her face broke into a mischievous smile. 'I'm sorry David, I shouldn't have done that. I loved it, last night, loved it, that was the best bath I've had in years, it was like having a dam released. I'm sorry for being horrible just now, I couldn't resist.'

I was taken aback, not sure what had just happened. 'Err.' I repeated. 'Really?' Now I began to feel a bit silly. But it was a huge relief.

I laughed rather weakly then muttered, 'Cow.' But it really was a relief, I really thought I'd fucked it up big time.

She laughed and pouted. 'That's not very nice David, but you're right, I shouldn't have done that.' She pouted again. 'Perhaps you're due some compensation, and I do owe you one for last night anyway.'

She put her mug down and pushed herself away from the sink. Took a couple of steps towards me.

Looking me in the eyes she slipped her hands inside my bathrobe. Wrapped one hand around my flaccid cock and pushed the other down to cradle my balls.

Her eyes widened a little. 'David! You shave them.' Her fingers hefted my sack and stroked around the back, a finger stretching along my perineum. She smiles. 'It's been a long time since......' Her smile flickers. 'It's just been a long time since.'

I'm still in a little shock but, not being too far behind in coming forward, my cock begins to respond to her warm fingers.

Her voice husky, she whispers, 'Mmmm, that's nice.' And sinks to her knees.

Letting go of me for a moment she pushes my robe apart.

'Mmmm, that's reeeally nice.'

I continue to respond as I feel her warm breath, then her tongue, and that puts the finishing touches to me, and I'm suddenly rock hard.

She groans, 'Oh yes, that'll do very nicely.' And her wet mouth sinks down my length.

And she doesn't stop until I feel the tip of my cock touching the back of her throat, and to my intense surprise she doesn't even pause, just keeps going until her forehead is pressing against my stomach and her lips are wrapped around the root of my shaft.

Fucking hell but that is something else!

She's not gagging or showing any discomfort, just kneeling with my rod all the way in, my cock-head down her gullet.

I put my hands on the back of her head and try to centre myself, try to control myself. It's such an intense, unexpected experience that I'm at real risk of unloading right there and then, of sending the whole lot down her throat.

I can feel my thighs shaking as I listen to her breathing through her nose. I'm on the point of pulling back, but Lorraine senses what I'm about to do and grabs my thighs with both hands, presses her face against my groin and moans.

I close my eyes, grit my teeth and really try to concentrate; I don't want to cum, not yet, I want to show some level of restraint, some ability to last.

But then her tongue flicks across the underside of my shaft and she starts sucking, her saliva swirling all around me, leaking out of the corners of her mouth and dripping down my balls.

Oh fuck!

Then she moves her head.

Just a tiny bit. Just a fraction of an inch up and down my cock.

I can feel everything. The top of my shaft rubbing against the roof of her mouth. Her teeth against the base of my cock. Her tongue against the soft underside of my shaft. But most of all I can feel my glans against the back of her throat. Suddenly I'm hypersensitive; it's like every nerve ending has been flicked on.

To be instantly followed by a bullet of hot electricity that zings from the tip of me all the way down my entire length into my balls.

And the bullet is followed by a recoil of hot cum.

Suddenly I'm not in control: it's so intense it almost hurts.

And she's stopped moving: her fingernails dig into the backs of my thighs as she pulls my groin against her face, totally accepting the continuous pulses of hot, thick spunk as bolt after bolt of it follows the last down her throat.

Suddenly she jerks back, drags her mouth off my cock and gasps for breath.

Looking down I catch her wiping a last glob of cum off her cheek with her fingers then licking them clean.

Then she leans forward and, wrapping her hand around my rapidly fading cock she licks the end clean before taking my cockhead back into her mouth and sucking as though it's a baby's bottle.

She sees me watching her and lets go, grins guiltily.

'Can't waste it. Thought you were never going to cum, couldn't have lasted much longer.'

And there was me thinking I'd only lasted seconds. 'Fuck Lorraine, are you kidding me, you nearly blew me away.'

She laughed. 'That was kind of the plan.' She shuffled onto her hands and knees then got to her feet. 'Cover yourself up man.' She said, glancing at my still gaping bathrobe.

She watches me adjust my robe then. 'I'm popping up to the bathroom, why don't you get your antique coffee machine going.'

I watched her leave, thinking......well, not actually sure what to think, so I just got on with two coffees.

Once I'd made them I decide that, as the sun is now coming up, I'd take them outside and wait for her there.

She isn't long and came out to join me, she's still wearing her gown.

Sitting down she took a sip of coffee then turned her face to the sun as it climbed above the trees and closed her eyes. 'I haven't done that for years......decades in fact.' Her face took on a wistful look. 'In fact I haven't done anything for a long time.' Then she caught herself, looked at me. 'Sorry if I surprised you this morning, caught you out.'