A N D R E A
Andrea lay sprawled on the couch as though someone
had halfheartedly tossed her there. Auburn hair fell
in tangles that hid most of her face, though
what I could see was an expression and peaceful
with drunken sleep. I swayed a little, unsteady as I
gazed down at my big sister. The pearl buttons of her sweater
were halfway undone, allowing a peek at her smooth,
tan stomach. The skirt lay tossed loosely about her
lap. Her legs draped off the cushions, askew, and
lending further to the image of a rag doll thrown down
and abandonned.
It was a good thing and dad were out of town. I
smirked wryly at the irony of it all. What a good Andrea was in their eyes. If they'd only been here
last night to see their prim eldest and the
'teensy get-together' she'd been allowed to throw in
their absense. I'd barely recognized her, passing
drinks around, flirting wildly, draping herself in the
laps of male guests she barely knew.
I'd agreed not to tell on her so long as I could have
some friends over myself and my buds and I got our
share of the booze. Not a bad trade. But it was almost
two o'clock, and since it was just Thursday everybody
had school the next day and were long gone. I gently
took a seat on the couch beside her and took her
shoulder, shaking gently. I was thinking I'd help
her stumble back to her bedroom, but just a few more
attempts to wake her made me realize that she was out
cold and there was nothing I could do short of
carrying her upstairs myself.
She looked so peaceful and I was still buzzing hard
enough that I figured I might as well make an attempt.
I leaned over her and tried to gather her up into my
arms, but she was too heavy and I was too drunk. I got
her maybe an inch off the cushions before gravity
decided to work against me, and with a lurch fell sort
of half against her. I couldn't help stifled laugh.
She was comfortable and warm, so I stayed flopped on
her like that for a moment, and nuzzled my nose into
the soft angora of her sweater. The scent of her was
heady with liquor and spice, and struck me with a new
intoxication. I wasn't thinking at all, really. All I
knew was that something warm and softly feminine was
right beneath me, and filling my head with that scent.
With no conscious decision whatsoever, I slipped a
hand across the golden flash of stomach and slid it up
until I was cupping her breast.
I wonderingly kneaded the curve of round flesh beneath my big
sister's sweater, then slowly nudged the hem up
enough to close my mouth over one of her pink rosebud
nipples. I suckled lazily, blissfully, as a flush
crept out over my cheeks to drunkenly tingle and
linger. Beneath me Andrea sighed softly, but it didn't
register at all. My affections grew bolder. I pushed
the fabric up completely to bury my face in her chest,
licking and nipping at her with hungry abandon.
But as this went on I began to grow more and more
aware of the hot press of my crotch against her hips,
and it was this that finally startled me out of my
actions. I didn't quite jump off her, but froze in
place, my lips hovering close above her skin, which
was still glistening and wet thanks to the affection
I'd been lavishing on her fine set of tits. A shock
flash of clarity punched me in the gut, the numb
realization of, 'Holy shit Chris, get up. This is
Andrea!'
My heart pounded, but I was too sluggish to even
consider a nimble leap to my feet, let alone a hasty
retreat. And that goddamn scent of hers, it wrapped
itself around my brain and tugged it to a lurching
halt. I was painfully aware of my throbbing cock where
it pressed insistantly into my sister's hip. Digging
fists into the pillow cushions on which I had her
pinned, I tried to push myself up and off her. But my
clumsy attempt at escape only served to rub my groin
along her thigh, sending an electric shudder through
my legs. I drew a ragged breath, paused, and then
pushed myself up against her again. Another lurch
back, another fierce press, and soon I had a teetering
rhythm going as I hushedly panted and bucked against
her with all the gentle restraint I could muster.
Yet frustration was building, a dislike for the cloth
that seperated me from her smooth, glowing skin I'd
been enjoying earlier. Reaching down, I fumbled to get
my dick free of my jeans and pressed clumsily forward,
pushing my erection up into the soft enveloping skin
where her upper legs pressed together and kept her
closed to me. With a desperate grip on the couch and
my weight shifted to my arms, I kept a tenuous balance
above her. A soft moan escaped my lips as I pumped
myself against her, driving deeper into the velvety
tunnel of her thighs with each thrust, until I was
sure the head of my cock would soon meet the
resistance of her panties.
They probably would have by that point, if she'd been
wearing any. Instead, as I slowly nudged her legs
apart with my hips, I met only warmth. Still a
barrier, but with the teasing promise to give with
just a little more persistance, just a couple more
steady thrusts...
I wasn't thinking. Thought was just no longer an
option, nor was rationality, regret, retreat...
Especially not retreat. Because I was there, on the
brink of toppling into a pleasure I'd only imagined,
only mimicked until now, as though the grip and
release of my palm could compare to this: my body
pinning hers, my cock probing insistantly against her
clit each time I drove my hips forward.
It was all one big headrush, potent and consuming. I
wasn't consciously aware, so I can't describe the
precise moment I forced my way past the lingering,
resisting grip her thighs and tried to maintain
even as she slept. All I know is that in those next
few blurred, elated moments I'd managed to drive
myself up into her and slowly begin to fuck her.
Reality and awareness escaped me and when it finally
started to return, only came in brief, reeling flashes
of dizzy confusion that couldn't penetrate the snarling
call of instinct that kept me clinging to her needily,
my breath lost to gasps and whimpers as I pumped my cock
into her with a growing urgency.
I can't believe I didn't wake her. Maybe she'd had so
much to drink that her coma-like state was actually pretty
serious, or dangerous even, but that was so far from my
thoughts. God, I was such a dumbfuck, I didn't even
pull out. It was another one of those blurry, beyond-my-control
moments. The rush of it raced through my legs and exploded
into my brain. Cock buried to the hilt, I cried out, wild
and sharp at first as though in pain, but slowly warming and
stretching as the sound was drawn out though the slow moments.
And then my outburst had softened to a rumbling, pleasured
moan as I pumped the last of my into her then slumped
against her with a sigh. All the muscles I hadn't realized
I'd been clenching went slack and my head buzzed happily.
Draped atop of her, lightheaded and with glowing content,
I'd drifted asleep even before my dick had gone fully soft
within her.
I didn't wake up again until hours later, as the sun was
starting to rise. Dragging myself off her, I managed a wobbly
upright and stood over her, groggy and blinking away sleep. But
as I stood rubbing my eyes, dusting away the remaining cobwebs
of sleep, the experience finally registered as far too intense
for a dream. At first it was entirely numb, the recollection, as
I stared blankly at the sight of her rumpled skirt pushed up and
exposing her. Her legs were spread obscenely. I almost wish the
numbness could have lasted. Instead a thread of panic and sickness
started to wrap itself around my stomach, twisting and knotting
with guilt, confusion, and the terrible weight of realization.
Andrea. My sister. I raped my sister. It's a hard
realization to and come to terms with. To be honest, I
never did.
Because I remember.
I remember how I'd carefully patted her skirt back down,
so gently arranged her in a more innocent position: her cheek
nestled against the armrest, arms dangling limp, pearl buttons
all fastened. She looked angelic. I forced my gaze away and
stumbled back to my room blindly.
I remember how cheerful she was that next evening. How
she'd asked me several times what was wrong. How she'd flung her
arms around me and squeezed gratefully at my somber offer to help
her clean up before and dad saw the mess of the party.
"You're the best," she'd sighed, before dancing off to find the
vacuum cleaner.
I remember how her scent always made my head reel
thereafter, and how even now I'll see her once in awhile, all
grown up and married, a of two. And I remember. That same
lingering, heady musk rolls off her approach and caresses my
bruised psyche, and it sends me right back to that night on the
couch as I gasped and shuddered against her.
I remember how I grew up too, how I stumbled into manhood,
going through girlfriends and professors and promotions, distraction
after distraction after distraction... Nothing lasting. And even
today every wet dream and lonely night finds its way back into the
velvet tunnel of her thighs.
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