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Sam peeled back the covers and crept out of bed. Rebecca was sound asleep on the top bunk. He stood beside the stacked beds looking up at her sleeping figure, silhouetted in the plug-in night light they used to make their way to the bathroom when those late night urges beckoned. She always hung off the bed, slightly, how he couldn’t figure. She’d had to take the top bunk a long while back when trial and error proved he was incapable of not falling off. He’d broken his arm at age seven. To see Becky, lying face up, hanging precariously over the edge sent a shiver up his spine. However, it was not the only thing that made him shiver.
He’d been doing it for a month now. Becky was a very sound sleeper and she’d never seemed to know it. Sam gazed at her slender arm draped down and hanging in front of him. He leaned forward and touched his lips to her forearm, feeling her warmth, the soft fuzz of tiny hairs and simultaneously breathing her in. She almost always smelled of soap, having taken to bed immediately following her nightly bath.
That’s how it had started. Before he even realized what he was doing, and long after he knew such thoughts weren’t very good, Sam listened to his sister bathe. She was a hummer, that one. As in, she hummed while she washed herself, while she shaved and soaped and soaked. Sam always showered first, that way Becky could, as she explained it, take her time with a bath. She was very smart, good grades and an athlete, to boot. Everyone liked her at school, Sam included. Thing was, he didn’t really know her. They rarely even talked, to be honest. Despite being the same age, 18, they didn’t have very much in common. A few friends, a Bio class and a pair of parents, but that was pretty much it. Sam always felt like he should simply give his sister as much space as possible considering their precarious living arrangement. He didn’t really even think of her when they weren’t in the same room. Of course, her nightly baths were the exception.
He listened to the water, significant imaginings for every soft splash, every audible wake that echoed about the bathroom and slipped through the door and lit upon his senses. He pictured her leg, perched on the edge of the tub, her arm long, delicate and slender, holding in her hand a razor that she brought down on the skin and drew upward, bypassing her knee and ceasing at mid-thigh. The water churned. Cleaning out her razor, Sam envisaged, then reaching back down and doing it again. Often, he would be drift away in these imaginings and fall asleep listening. Hearing her humming and be lulled into a trance, only to wake suddenly and encounter a darkened room. It was as if time had leapt forward when he’d blinked. How had he missed all that had transpired? Becky coming out in a towel, going to the drawer, retrieving her nightwear, disappearing back into the bathroom, brushing her teeth and spitting into the sink.
Or, what had lodged itself among the elite of his fondest moments, when, through slitted eyes, he watched as the door opened. Becky appeared in the threshold, her body silhouetted, her long wet hair, that slender arm reaching for the switch. He would blink and opens his eyes wide in that last moment when his sister stood in the glowing aura cast by the bathroom’s amber light. She’d find the switch and there was darkness. There, in that temporary moment when one’s eyes are unable to adjust fast enough to the sudden change. Sheer blindness, Sam strained and then he saw her, but this time much closer, like a snap shot in a digital camera, raising one’s gaze from the view finder to see that the object of interest is suddenly very close. Like a strobe. Sam felt her foot hook into the edge of his mattress, could already smell her, and watched her strong leg launch herself up onto the bunk. Sam, for no reason that he could ascertain, always wanted to giggle when Becky used her leg to launch herself up. No reason at all. The sudden upsetting of the stacked bed harmony, perhaps? Her sudden proximity, a mutual closeness not experienced since last night at the same hour? Her smell maybe.
Which brings us back to him standing there, his lips pressed to the soft flesh of her arm. He was smelling her, breathing her scent, and indeed, feeling his penis growing stiff. Was it his fault, really? Their parents had promised to build an extra room, his father was going to clean out the den. Who would get the den, anyhow? It didn’t matter. The matter was in regard to a just turned 18 year old brother and sister who still shared the same room. And slept in bunk beds, no less. Neither of them invited friends over to the house. It was for that very reason, too. None other.
Sam looked at the back of his sister’s head. How in the world could she do that without getting a crick? A kink in her neck. Her arm, her lower torso, both faced outward toward the edge of the bed. Yet, against the very nature of things, Becky’s upper torso was angled the opposite direction. ankara escort Her very head turned the opposite direction, facing the wall. It seemed very unnatural to Sam, but then again, one has to recall that he, until just a moment earlier, had his lips on his sister’s arm and was smelling her. So, wondered Sam to himself, what is unnatural anyhow?
And this is how it went for the younger brother by seven minutes. He stood there, pondering the vast and intangible possibilities of his and his teenage sister’s proximity for perhaps a half an hour, an hour maybe even two, he hardly knew anymore. Only, tonight Sam felt an odd twinge. The twinge that asserts itself upon a person who’s suddenly grown bored and dissatisfied with what has passed thus far. He’d gotten to the point when the unnatural seemed natural and therefore, dull. It was time to try something else.
See, it had taken Sam a solid five days before he’d gotten the nerve to do the lip thing, just now exhausted. He was, until recently, content with a lean, perhaps a tickle of the arm hair against his nose, a drag off her freshly soaped skin. Sam, virile teenage Sammy, experienced a sudden sense of urgency.
He knelt a little and examined his sister’s dangling hand, her tender fingers. The clear polish caused her nails to gleam in the nightlight. Sam held his breath and brought his face very close to her hand. His lips parted, his teeth too, and he took her thumb into his mouth. How interesting, he thought. His penis certainly swelled, and it ached so. He raised his eyebrows, titled his head back some to see whether his sister had registered the intrusion on her dormancy. She hadn’t. Sam carefully rolled her thumb around on his tongue, especially careful not to graze it with his teeth. He could feel every ridge, every dimple, curve and bend, and even sense the aftertaste of her fingernail polish. He was quite surprised also, to be able to sense her very thumb prints within the cradle of his tongue. The tiny ridges were a miraculous stimuli to the under stimulated young man. Such was Becky’s brother.
Presently, Sam began to suck on his sister’s thumb, wondering idly if he could keep it up long enough to prune her digit. It came in the form of a vague memory, something he’d performed on himself when just a toddler. An odd image, indeed, but Sam found it terribly amusing. Imagine his sister waking in the middle of the night in the midst of an urge to urinate, flipping on the bathroom light to find that her thumb was strangely moisture wrinkled. She would examine with sheer bewilderment. Had she been sucking her thumb? she would wonder. Sam almost laughed, but that would certainly put a quick end to his fun, so he did restrained himself. But he did imagine his sister tucking her thumb into her fist, sitting there on the toilet racking her brain, mulling away in post pubescent angst. My God, do I still suck my thumb?
Sam’s mouth popped off Becky’s digit and the boy, not quite a man, furrowed his brow. He gazed upon the back of his sister’s head, wondering, wondering. He glanced over his shoulder at the digital clock. It’s red, glowing numbers resembled fire ants stuck nose-to-ass. So filled was Sam’s mind with what to do, what to do, that he failed to even register the time, or perhaps he had, but subconsciously judged the hour innocuous, and thus returned his attention to the desire at hand, now above and beyond his sister’s . . .yes, hand.
The boy wonder raised his gaze, up the smooth scape of his sister’s lightly tanned appendage, up some more, falling at last upon the rise and fall of her chest, particularly, the mound upon which sat her magnificent breast. From where Sam was standing, only one of her two mounds presented itself for viewing. He considered the mass as it rose and depressed, the slightest notion of a distended peak resting upon its plateau. Her nightshirts were hardly flattering, again something Sam had taken almost no notice to until very, very recently. Briefly, Sam eyed the orb, the tiny summit atop a summit and then dropped his gaze once again to Becky’s hand, the palm upturned and opened as if ready for, not a high-five but a low one. Should I not set my sights so high? he thought. Should I stick instead to what has been extended to me, the warm, life-filled object which dangles nightly only inches above my face? The last thing I see before I fall asleep! No. The answer came that fast. No! Resounding. He lifted his gaze once more. That object is foreign to me, now. And his eyes fell yet again upon Becky’s beacon. Beacon, indeed, thought Sam, as if able to hear the writer who narrated his thoughts, like some movie he’d recently seen.
He began scheming anew, considering the best means by which to come into contact with the undulating bud, newly locked into his eye line. At once, he turned and saw it. A chair, Becky’s chair, tucked into Becky’s desk. How fitting. He took two measured steps around the scattered shoes and escort ankara overturned book bags and seized the chair, returning with it to bedside. With impregnated meaning, he stepped up onto the chair and took the world in from the new height at which he reigned. Sam was unprepared for the sudden ability to see so much more of his sister and he felt slightly dizzy or drunk over how the vantage point was wrenched so easily into his favor.
“Wow,” he mouthed, for now he was overlooking she. Becky was without her sheets, favoring the cool night air and comfort of her nightwear to the confinement of pesky bedding. And such as his vista permitted, Sam could now gaze upon not simply one, but both of his sister’s glorious breasts. Did it matter that they were veiled by a Duke University t-shirt? Perhaps, but perhaps Sam ought to temper his expectations for one evening. The boy wonder shook his head, determinedly. Not tonight, he reckoned.
His hand snaked out from where it had been tethered at his side. He reached, his fingers wide, palm open and hovering above Becky’s left tit. Yes, tit. That’s what it was. The notion excited Sam to the point that his sweat pants tented at the crotch. He grinned inwardly. The immense heat roiling off his sister’s body was a stark upgrade from the sweet warmth generated by the mere flesh of her arm, he thought. Maybe he was imagining it, but Becky truly felt a furnace of energy, so near her breast yet not touching. But what about that?
Sam, oh so gently, set his hand upon his sister’s tit. His eyes became alight when he felt her nipple against the very center of his palm. He closed his eyes, but quickly reopened them realizing that his balance depended on it. His heart jumped as he saw into his imagination’s own imaginings. He’d almost thought he’d done what he had not yet even decided to do, which could be nothing else but, to squeeze! The notion gave rise to the supposition that indeed, his mother may have been right. That boys did have another brain, powered and pulsing and located in their penises. For, in that moment only so recently past, he could have sworn his hand betrayed him, went forth and committed to a motion that his true brain had not yet weighed, voted on, and passed!
Sam looked at his hand, his only lament, a very minor one being that it now covered her tit from view. But, of course, touch was more! Much more, and hence the defining moment. His next move! Sam stared at his hand and gently, oh so gently, squeezed.
“Wow,” he mouthed, his eyes going wide. The firmness was indescribable. Taking quick stock of his status of unnoticed, creepy brother, Sam looked upon Becky’s face. He could see half of it now still facing the wall, her exposed eye, still heavily lidded. Sam zoomed in on that one lid he could see, zoomed and focused. He exhaled slowly and gently depressed his sister’s glorious tit once more. The eyelid! Had it moved?! No, no it hadn’t. Excellent! Sam carefully lifted his hand from her bulbous mound and wiped his forehead. This devious midnight behavior was tedious work, indeed. Speaking of which, what time, Sam wondered, did Becky usually get up to urinate? His eyes rolled around their sockets, thoughtfully. Not before two at least, he reckoned. Good, he nodded. Good, good, good.
Sam held his hand, the infamous hand, to his cheek. He looked at her tits. So warm was that hand, carrying on its surface a breath of the fire that must continually escape those luscious orbs throughout the whole of the night. How miraculous they were. Suddenly, he knew. He had to have his mouth on her breast. The notion gave his body a good quiver and his penis really began to ache. It was quite clear to Sam that this desire, now wholly formed, would not lie unabated.
But first, Sam had to make sure all was well. He couldn’t very well lean over. This foresight had not been with him when he first positioned the chair beside the bunk. Nor could he do so even if the chair were closer. See, there remained the pressing presence of the problematic hand of Becky. Sam down at it. How could the thing have become so alien to him, now actually something of an adversary? Ug, how it suddenly disgusted him, in fact. There it lay, jutting out at that unusual angle, an obstacle to his newest and latest, most pressingly, demandingly daunting desire!
Not to despair, Sam was as resourceful as he was dirty. Or at least, very nearly. Reluctantly, promising himself the hiatus would be temporary, he descended, stepping from the chair and moving it aside. His was a single-track thought process. It was occupied by a sole dilemma, a dilemma whose day, or night rather, was numbered. Scratch that: Had all but come to an end. Sam left his and his sister’s room. What on earth was he doing? How would leaving the room solve. . .Ah ha!
Sam had returned from the kitchen! In his hand, his devious hand, not yet cool to the touch, was his mother’s feather duster. The game was on. ankara escort bayan Sam grinned and returned to his trench beside the bunk. He surveyed his enemy, projecting its retreating trajectory and then he, the boy wonder, assailed it. He wiggled the feathers over his sweetly dormant sister’s hand, and tasted the most instantaneous and delicious success since the first spark of flint lit the wife of the caveman’s hair on fire. Up went Becky’s hand, in full ascent, retreating to the safety and hopefully, Sam prayed, long-term comfort of her splendid abdomen.
A young man on a self-defining mission, Sam desired the wasting of no more time. He dropped the duster and repositioned the chair. With the utmost care, he mounted once more and regained his righteous throne. Upon his stage, masterpiece before him, audience surrounding him and gazing on with wide eyes, Sam breathed. It was always the most important thing, breathing was. Couldn’t forget to breathe, lest one ruin everything. Unless, of course, one needed to hold his breath, in which case breathing beforehand was crucial.
Sam, minutes younger brother to beautiful Becky, leant against the mattress upon which lay the very subject of his torturous machination, his mouth mere centimeters above that sister’s beautiful globe, her yes, her tit. And success! His lips found the 100% cotton foundation, and his tongue, guarding the front gate to the drool headquarters, sought the distended nipple which did not fail to meet and exceed expectations so unexpectedly well, in firmness and mere presence, that Sam did nearly crumble atop his mighty dais.
He redoubled his effort to maintain composure, demanding that his knees remain locked. This was no small task considering the extra blood flow his lower brain, i.e. penis had just requested at the Emergency Plasma Allocation Meeting or E-PAM, convened at that precise moment near the young man’s heart. Taking into account the circumstances, as well the very gravity of its vehicle’s present situation, equally so the correlation of said vehicle’s tight bond and fond history with the lower brain, i.e. penis, more so lately than that of the upper brain, the heart was left with no other alternative than to grant an unusual request for even more blood. . .for everyone! The reserves were called up and there was much rejoicing.
By now, Becky’s dear, and might we add, relatively perfect tit was becoming quite sodden by her brother’s mouth pressing down on it. For his part, Sam could naught but breathe her in. This was truly the creme de la creme. And what’s more, while we were busy narrating that side story concerning the young man’s internal goings on, young Becky’s nipple had hardened under the daunting pressure put upon her by Sam’s taste buds. Apparently, deep within her subconscious a certain stimuli quite approved of the sensation. Sam’s hand had bypassed the elastic band holding his sweat pants about his waist and he was in fact, stroking his penis.
The penis, taking advantage of what it judged to be a newly gained or preordained right of passage, went ahead and called the next move, right there from the field command center, whose freshly painted walls had not yet dried! Why, the ribbon still lay on the floor, having just been cut not a moment earlier! There wasn’t even time to drink the congratulatory champagne. Instead, Sam’s quivering lips began closing on Becky’s tit, gently, gently until within their chapped and happy grasp was her very erect nipple.
Becky moved! Sam jerked upright, his mouth forgetting to close, a bead of saliva stretching to the point of improbability, someone get a measuring stick this could warrant a call to Guinness, before finally snapping. The boy wonder’s head cocked, his eyes widened in dread as he gazed up his sister’s lids. But, nothing. A mere shifting. Should he take a gander at the clock behind him? No, keep watching. Watch for any telltale sign that this night’s adventures are about to reach their dreaded conclusion. Go over escape routes, ditch outs, excuses. Most importantly, excuses.
Hold the phone. Sam’s eyes caught movement at nine o’clock. He turned his head and found his focus at an ongoing gesture that had the potential to produce devastatingly positive results. Becky, fruit of the same loin that yielded Sam, was moving her arm, the arm. Where it currently ventured was the subject of interest and much speculation as Sam watched it take a cautious journey southward. Curious, indeed. The journey continued, until Oops! This hand seemed to be doing a fine impersonation of its brother’s, which had only moments ago seen the inside of a pair of sweat pants laden with the smell of Get It On.
Sam’s mouth was really open wide now, as he watched his sister’s hand make an exceedingly deft move right under her elastic, then disappear into oh! man’s land. Not for the first time did Becky’s brother mouth a certain word. What, pray tell, was she doing in there? Or, as Tom Waits queried with curious alarm, bordering on hysterical paranoia, “What’s He Building In There?” Oh Sam, what have you done now!? This is magic, is it not? Do mine eyes deceive me, or is my sister doing a dainty diddle on my behalf?
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