Sinful Sister Ch. 01

Camille was my sister, and she was well known as a "total knock out". At 18 years old, a high school senior, she had mile long legs that met with a perfect bubbled ass, a toned flat stomach with the slightest hint of abs, and surprising D cup natural breasts. She had toned arms, dainty hands and manicured fingers. Her posture was always on point, her chin held high above her slender neck. Her eyes were a dazzling light blue, and were incredibly expressive. Her long natural blood red hair appeared painted against her pale skin, with natural loose curls that splashed over her shoulders and often across her cheeks. She had a flawless smile with gorgeous white teeth, and she was often chuckling and smiling in a conversation. She was tall, at 5'10, but a slender 125 pounds.

It is obvious that I have observed how she looks. I can't help it. In our small town, and an even smaller high school, she was easily the hottest chick around. She was outgoing, drop dead gorgeous, and friends with everyone. As a matter of fact, I nick named her "Chameleon" instead of Camille, as she could go from clique to clique easily. She fit in with the nerds (she wore glasses and often was buried inside of a sci-fi novel) and maintained a 4.0 GPA. She had gauged ears, a lip piercing, and a fore-arm tattoo of a hibiscus plant that Dad bought her for her 16th birthday present in Nevada, and a knack for listening to death metal, so she was quite popular with the "rockers". She wasn't a big party animal, but she smoked weed fairly often, and the stoners always had nothing but respect to her. As if that wasn't enough, Camille was a cheerleader, gymnast, and softball shortstop. Lastly, she assisted with the school plays, and last year even had a speaking role in the spring performance of "West Side Story", guaranteeing that she fit in with the drama-geek crowd.

You would think that Camille would be shooting down guys left and right, but honestly, besides a few dates, she never really steadily saw anyone. I told her that it was because guys were intimidated by how attractive she was, and she laughed her unique chuckle, and flashed her smile. I could see how guys would be nervous to approach her. She put off an alpha-female vibe that was undeniable, the kind of woman who you just assumed had a massive-gorilla muscled boyfriend nearby ready to rip you apart if you even talk to her. Not that Camille intended to put out that "I'm better looking than you, and I know it" vibe, she actually stayed incredibly modest, (even when she was recognized nationally for a academic scholarship and the local paper ran a huge article on her). She told me recently that she feels empathy is a dying art form, and that if people put themselves in another's shoes, the world would look very differently. She admitted she never wanted to be seen as someone sitting in judgement of others, but that she would rather be known as a selfless person.

She was a genuine, down to earth, loving person. I admire her. I really do. I want to grow up and be like my little sister, if you could imagine that.

Oh, yeah, by the way. Camille and I have been fucking for a little over a week now. This was the story of how it started.

She stumbled in late last week, well past midnight. I could hear Mom and Dad from their bedroom down the hall, Dad's snoring rumbling gently through the hallway. I had just finished jerking off to a personal favorite porn star of mine, and the images of her tight body whimpering underneath a mountain of a man who was splashing his cum across her body still flashed in my mind. I was just opening my bedroom door to get something to drink downstairs when I heard the front door open, shuffling around, and the living room t.v. turn on. "Hmm, that's odd" I thought to myself. Camille was supposed to be in bed hours ago. Wasn't she at dinner with us? I couldn't remember.

I poked my head into the living room expected to give a sheepish "goodnight" to Camille before heading back to my slumber. When I looked around the corner, I saw something I did not expect to see. The dim flickering blue light from the t.v splashed gently across the living room, and illuminated Camille who was sprawled out across the couch. Her nude body was spread wide, and her hand was working furiously over her completely shaved pussy.

Holy. Fuck.

I stood in complete awe as my post-sexed brain tried to understand what I was observing. Camille was masturbating while watching the t.v (which I then realized was muted). She must be watching porn! My stomach completely flopped. In a split second, multiple thoughts seared through my mind: I should NOT be watching this. I should walk away immediately. I need to watch and see what she looks like as she is cumming. I need to forget I saw this. Her bra is black and lacy and she hasn't removed it. I should confront her and tell her to be more careful. I should peer closer through the dark and see what her slit looks like, and fully aroused. I need to make a noise so she knows I'm awake, or here.

Wait, what the fuck? Why the hell did those thoughts pop into my head?! I suddenly felt a hot blush of shame across my cheeks. I can be a sick fuck, I thought to myself. God, I need to pray tonight and beg forgiveness from whatever higher power there is. I'm not even religious, but I should ask for forgiveness, that seemed like the right thing to do. Right? Shit, now I'm distracting myself. How long have I been standing here? Fuck, has it been seconds, or minutes?

Camille shifted position on the couch, and was now slipping fingers deep inside of her pussy and cupping her breast through the bra. There was no denying it. This was the hottest thing I've ever seen. What the fuck do I do? I desperately wanted to see her finish. I knew if I did, she would catch me standing by and watching. I was stuck. It was a lose-lose.

Then, I had the thought. A glimmering moment of clarity. I literally just talked to Camille about how guys get intimidated by her. The poor girl, she must be lustfully stricken, and with no boyfriend, she has to resort to sneaking downstairs late at night to jill off. What would happen if a man was confident to her? What would happen? Would she meet the challenge? What if a guy didn't ask for her, but told her that he was taking her?

I can be a shy guy, but I usually didn't have a problem talking to girls. I looked at myself in the shadows, and did a quick assessment of myself. I'm definitely tall, at 6'3, and 210 pounds of mostly muscle thanks to years of football. I shared my sister's blue eyes, but my hair was much darker than Camille's and was chocolate brown. At 19 years old, I could easily charm a woman, but I only had ended up "sealing the deal" with two different girls. I can do this, I thought. I can do this. Be confident. After taking a short breath of confidence, I stepped out from the shadows.

Time stopped.

The t.v kept flickering blue luminescence throughout the room, but the moment I stepped forward, Camille's quick working nimble fingers stopped dead. Her eyes whipped directly to the shadow emerging from the shadows, and when her eyes could, they found mine. All the confidence I mustered in my brief moment of preparation completely evaporated and I shuddered. My knees locked just as hard as our eyes did. Camille's glistening fingers were frozen motionless in the dim light from the t.v. I took this moment, this time stopping moment to study Camille's eyes. As I said, they are expressive, and Camille was never good at keeping secrets. Her eyes said everything. They always did.

This time, when I looked into her eyes, I saw something completely different than any other time. She had a look that I had only seen once before. It was the look my ex-girlfriend Sarah had in the back of my Monte Carlo last summer by the lake. I was about to fuck her, and after hiding our flirting from her family we were camping with all damn day long, she was ready. She was dripping wet and actually had cum once from the foreplay before I even entered her. Sarah was the second of the two girls I had "sealed the deal" with. The look in Camille's eyes were the same as Sarah's that night. The look of I'm-Desperate-to-Fuck-and-do-it-Now.

Camille's glistening fingers worked in a quick circle motion over her tiny clit, never breaking eye contact with me. She shuddered. Pause. Smile. She angled her spread legs towards me. Smile. Quick circle.

The next few minutes were a blur. From time standing completely still and frozen, it seemed to triple in speed to catch up. I remembered flashes of what happened. I remembered her hand one my neck, pulling me deep into a kiss. I remembered her bite my bottom lip after breaking our kiss. I remembered her warm skin and thighs squeezing me. I remembered her moaning and shuddering against me. I remembered finger nails being drug across my back.

I don't remember her pausing to toss me a condom from her purse. I don't remember my pajamas coming off of me. I don't remember actually getting hard, or entering her. Our bodies melted into each other. She didn't end, and I didn't begin. I don't remember if I ever did actually see her cum, like I so desperately needed to. I don't remember if the t.v ever was turned off, or if we were loud or quiet, or if it went for minutes or hours.

Not a single word was spoken. I was sitting on the edge of couch, a spent condom laying on the coffee table.The light was on, the t.v. was off. My pajamas were on again, and Camille was putting on her panties, her plump ass bouncing slightly as she jumped to tug them on. She turned to me, the same black lacy bra still on, her ample breasts seeming to spill out of the top of it.

Again, her devilish smile, and a small wink. "Goodnight, Alex." And she picked up her last scraps of clothes, and bounced up the stairs to her bedroom.

My dry throat croaked some kind of a reply, but I doubt it was actually words. Again, I felt the same hot blush of shame on my cheeks. What the fuck did I just do? What did this mean from here on out? I stood slowly, and picked up the condom from the coffee table. Fuck, that looked like two shot glasses full of cum. I was too turned on, I thought. I had to sneak to the kitchen and hide it under some trash so Mom and Dad wouldn't see it on top tomorrow morning. I stretched, and glanced at the clock. It was almost 1:30 am. I needed sleep, and I didn't know if I would get any, as my mind was absolutely racing. Oh well, I've gotta try.

~That was last week. So much more has happened. Check back soon for the continued story!~