Sibling Romance

The problem with free time is that it’s something we spend so much time yearning for that when we actually have it, we don’t know what to do with it. I’d been looking forward to the prospect of a summer without schoolwork, dull classes or stifling responsibility or, worst of all, my parents discovering my somewhat lacklustre attitude toward those subjects I didn’t enjoy, but within four days I’d found myself wondering around the house looking for something to do. And as the mellow of empty days continued to waft in, so too did the realisation that life isn’t much without objectives to mark it by.

Even worse, I thought as I lay draped over the prized family room lounge, searching the ceiling for recreational inspiration, it’s not just the summer but another whole year. Sure, I had a job lined up after break, and some gigs schedules every couple of months, but the sudden loss of the eight hours I’d spent travelling to and attending school for the past fourteen years was a daunting void to fill. I wondered again at my decision to defer my scholarship for a year–though perhaps “My decision” was an unfair choice of phrase. Whenever my sister begged me to do–or not do–something, those big brown eyes made it nearly impossible to say no. And even in the rare event I managed to resist, the inevitable, relentless bugging only little sisters are capable off quickly ensure I succumbed to whatever request she had of me. This latest one had been for me to wait until she finished high school next year so we could attend university together.

This was stupid for two reasons: firstly, we wouldn’t even be going to the same campus. I’d always been interested in music, favouring the romantics and modernists and choosing the piano and clarinet as my instruments of melodious destruction. Chelsea, on the other hand, was one of those nerds that actually liked maths. Loved it. To the point that she bought old textbooks online and filled them out for fun. So she was off to Bartleys, one of those ancient established campuses that literally had turrets and a gatehouse. Naturally, our parents were more invested in Chelsea’s education.

I didn’t blame them for it–neither of our fathers had a musical bone in their body, and though our mother played the guitar a bit, she admitted it was pretty much just a prop she used to get access to her school’s auditorium for lunch. So while they were proud of my accomplishments–meagre as they were compared to Chelsea’s–they openly admitted they just didn’t understand what I was doing.

“You alright there Curtis? You appear to have lost your bones,” my sister said as she peered at me from the doorway. I looked back up at her and she recoiled dramatically, and I realised my eyes must have looked bloodshot from having my head tipped back for so long. “Or…” she added, “You’ve turned into a zombie.”

I stretched out my arms toward her and made a few vaguely undead noises. “Need brains…can’t…find any…”

Chelsea shook her head and resumed her journey to the kitchen. She’d inherited our mother’s shape, lithe and slight, and the blouse and skirt she wore hung loosely from her small frame. Her hair had been wrangled into something of a ponytail, but as my sister had said many a time; “If it’s out of my eyes, I don’t have to worry about it.” When I’d asked her why she didn’t just cut it shorted than the shoulder-blade-length chestnut brown mess she had, she’d frowned and told me, “People would probably think I was a gross boy.”

While that had been six years ago, when she’d only been twelve, but her sentiments hadn’t changed much since then. She’d also probably been right–really, only in the last several years had she gained something of a feminine visage, and even then with the right combination of baggy clothes and headwear one could have mistook her for the opposite sex. It didn’t seem to bother her as much anymore at least, but I’d noticed in the last few months she’d been experimenting with more form-fitting, pastely-coloured clothes. I’d tried not to notice, but with her being the only female in the house ninety percent of the time, I couldn’t help it.

“What’re you looking at?”

“Huh?” I shook my head, realising I’d been watching her swig from her newly-filled drink bottle. When she wiped her mouth, arm up and crooked at the elbow, her sleeve was loose enough that I could see the pale skin of her armpit. Bare, I happened to note. No form-fitting clothes today, it seemed.

“Man, you’re slow this morning,” she drawled as she topped her bottle back up and shut the lid tight. “For real, has anything with glowing eyes and a foaming mouth bitten you?”

“I’m just bored,” I complained.

“Hang out with your friends.”

“I can’t, they’re all studying.” I’d already done my two performance exams, but my pals Tom, Alex, Shaun and Sarah were only just starting their finals. I wasn’t going to hear a squeak out of them for at least a month. “You could learn something from them. I haven’t seen you study more than a couple hours this week.”

She shrugged. “I’ve already done all the worksheets. Honestly, I’m ready to graduate.” My sister had been born the day before the school cutoff, meaning she was by far the oldest girl in her grade, and whether or not it was related, she was certainly the smartest. That didn’t stop me lording my numerical superiority over her, however. “But I’ll have you know,” she continued, “I’m actually heading off to Lyla’s house to study with her and Lil. So there, I’m a studious girl after all.” She gave me a big smile and patted my messy brown hair. “And I’m willing to bet you’re still lying here when I get back.”

She was leaning over me, her shirt hanging low. I coolly maintained eye contact with her. “What’s my reward if I’m not?”

“You get to drive me to Fountain Gate tomorrow. I want to pick up some hanging hooks for my wall and I need a new bra.”

I huffed and lay back on the couch, resuming my examination of the ceiling. “I don’t want to hear that.”

“What’s wrong with hanging hooks? Just because you don’t appreciate art doesn’t mean I can’t put it up.”

“I’d hardly call pinups of Mathew Maniton with his shirt off ‘art.’ But I wasn’t talking about that, I was meaning… you know…”

My sister slid across the back of the couch, staring down at me with amusement. “How immature are you? It’s a bra, Curtis. Girls wear them.”

I levelled with her gaze, saw its challenge, and quirked my own smile. “Those that need them, sure.”

Chelsea humphed and shoved her hands underneath me and rolled me off the couch. “Stuff you, I’ve got great boobs. They’ll stay perky forever.”

“Technically I’ve moved, does that mean I don’t have to take you to Fountain Gate?”

“Not if you want me to forgive you.”

I shrugged, but hidden below the couch as I was she didn’t see it. I heard her stomp dramatically out the door, and decided I’d get up soon and go start something productive.

I had a good relationship with my sister. Probably too good measuring by the sibling relationships my friends had. Tom got on only amicably with his brother, Shaun was constantly telling us how annoying his two were, and Sarah detested her sister. In fact, the only people I knew who got on as well as me and Chelsea did was Alex and his twin sister, but we just put that down to being a twin thing.

We had a small but tight-knit family unit. Our two dads provided for us well out of their joint job in the city, and though they sometimes worked late nights they always put the weekend aside for family activities. We saw our mom often enough too, and I’ve always been glad she still got along so well with her ex husband. We didn’t have any real family beyond that, but I think because of that we were that much closer, and never felt lacking in support or love. And getting the weekdays to ourselves meant Chelsea and I used each other for entertainment, playing board games or chatting about school or the latest happenings of the world. Sure, things were rocky sometimes, but we both cared deeply for each other and weren’t embarrassed to interact at school or when we were with our friends.

Recently, however, there had been… moments. Things neither of us had brought up afterward, but which sat at the forefront of my mind more times than I cared to admit. I was determined not to read into things too much, but especially in the last year, it had sometimes felt like we weren’t brother and sister, but instead… something else. Like three months ago, when we’d been sitting on the lounge watching Battle for Ravenhead Creek and Chelsea’s hand had found its way onto my leg. She’d kept it there for the whole movie, occasionally tapping on it with her fingers, and though I guess it was strange it had also felt nice so I hadn’t said anything about it. When the film ended she’d squeezed my leg, then just got up and headed for bed.

Two months ago, when we’d been at the beach with our dads, something similar had occurred. We’d been walking along the coast, made it quite a ways away from our parents, and at some point my hand had found its way into hers and she’d held my warmly and stayed like that nearly the whole way back.

Last month, when Chelsea had been coming out of the shower, towel wrapped around her middle, she’d unintentionally blocked my passage to the kitchen. When we’d looked at each other in amusement I’d gone red when I realised her towel was low enough that one of her soft pink nipples was exposed from its place atop her small, supple breast. She’d looked down, seen what I was staring at, and rather than telling me off or looking at me like I was insane she’d just giggled, hiked it up, winked at me and gone on her way.

And then there had been last week. I’d been in bed winding down for the evening, one hand scrolling through my phone admiring a gallery of particularly attractive, scantily-clad women, the other hand wrapped around…well, you get it. And my door had opened and I’d thrown a sheet over myself just as Chelsea had strode casually in. With legendary dexterity I’d found a press release from the local government on the news app, and scanned innocently through it so when she inevitably asked, “What ‘cha doing?” I’d been able to shoot back, “Cottesloe is building a new port up near JB and the Greens are going crazy!”

I’d been so proud of myself as she’d grabbed the ruler she’d come in for and hesitated by the door. “Clearly you’re in favour,” she’d said, then shut the door behind her.

And it hadn’t been until I’d put the phone down on my lap and it had bounced off the rather prominent erection poking up through the sheets and clunked loudly onto the floor that I’d realised just what she’d meant by that. I hadn’t jerked off since… which was probably only making things worse.

“You’re STILL THERE!?”

I closed my eyes in shame as Chelsea stared down at me. “You don’t know my story,” I whined.

“I don’t want to, it’s definitely sad and boring. Curtis, it’s been three hours.”

“I watched some TV.”

I heard her facepalm. “You’re tragic, Curtis. Tragic. Curtis…” She clicked her fingers. “Curtis! Look at me when I’m insulting you.”

“You’re wearing a skirt,” I said, eyes still closed. She was wearing blue underwear, I’d noted before closing them.

“Oh, uhm…right. Actually, I’m just heading up to change. See if you can haul yourself up onto the couch by the time I come back, I wanna watch something.”

It took some effort, but I managed it. I wondered what Chelsea was changing into up there. Pyjamas? No, it wasn’t that late. Maybe shorts, the coastal sun was warm this time of year. Then again, skirts were breezy. I wondered why she was changing at all.

My own clothes were as basic as they came. I didn’t much like wearing shorts, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to wear jeans in this weather so I’d accepted the shame of revealing my pale legs to the world. For a family living in the sunniest part of the country, we were all a little pasty, perhaps a sign of our northern heritage. Well, except for Alexander, our biological father’s husband. He was from the tropics, and his olive skin demonstrated that as much as his height.

When Chelsea came back I tried not to stare. She was wearing a pair of denim short shorts I’d never seen her in before, revealing most of her smooth legs. She was barefoot, and when she walked toward the lounge I could swear she was putting a bit of sway into her hips. They were narrow, much like the rest of her, but the jeans showed them off nicely as did the midriff exposed by her off-the-shoulder top. No bra strap showed, and I tried not to imagine what she’d look like without the tight, pastel yellow garment.

“It’s new,” she said as she stopped in front of me and did a little twirl. “Like it?”

I shrugged in as brotherly a manner as I could muster. “It’s alright.”

She made a face. “Alright? That’s all I get? Come on, I thought I looked nice.”

“It does, you do. It’s just a little…brief, isn’t it?”

“Why, you afraid the other boys are gonna look at me?”

“Not really my concern,” I said with a shrug. I wasn’t one of those overprotective older brothers. Sure, I’d stick up for her if she needed it, but when it came to dating ultimately that was up to her. Though she hadn’t dated anyone yet, and neither had I…both just waiting for “The One,” I guess.

Chelsea pouted and flopped down next to me. “So what have you actually done today?”

“Counted the marks on the ceiling,” I said. “There’s… none. Dad’s really good at cleaning.”

“He is.”

“Pity you don’t take after him.”

“Clean your own messes, you slob,” she retorted. Grabbing the remote, she flicked idly through the afternoon channels and slid into a lying position. I felt her feet nudge my thigh, and with a sigh I let her put her legs over my lap, then asked, “So when exactly did you buy that outfit? You said it was new.”

Her foot twitched. “Today. The girls helped me pick it out. I said I wanted some stuff to wear around the house.”

“Studying indeed. Seems a weird choice though, those more look like ‘going out’ clothes.”

She shrugged, keeping her eyes on the TV. “Well, actually, I also told them I wanted something to wear on a date.”

“Oh. When…is it?”

“I don’t actually have one. Just in case someone asks me, you know?” She gave me a sidelong glance.

“I guess I don’t need to take you shopping tomorrow at least.”

“Yes you do, I still need the hanging hooks. I bought my bra though.” As she looked back at the TV again, I saw her chew her lip. “Wanna see?”

I gulped. Somehow, just those words made me think how we were touching. Her bare legs lying across my lap. Her cute butt, in those tight shorts of hers, at my hip. Was that how brothers and sisters normally sat? “I, uh…wouldn’t that be kind of weird?”

She frowned. “I’m not wearing it, doofus. I meant I could go and get it from my room. I never wear bras at home, too uncomfortable.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” I drawled. That wasn’t entirely true–during winter months, when we’d both been up early getting ready for school, I’d caught sight of little buds poking through her nightshirts. Sometimes when we were outside messing around, climbing trees like we were still kids or playing ball, her shirt would ride up just enough that I could see the gentle swells of her breasts. Never on purpose, of course. Just…happenstance.

Chelsea switched the TV off with a growl. “Seventy-two channels and all of them crap. This is why people use the internet. How long till dads get home?”

“Another couple of hours. Weekend tomorrow though, hooray. Apparently they have something planned.”

“Never a good sign. Think it’ll be another hike?” We both shivered, then she tilted her head. “Or maybe a beach trip again.”

“I hope so, that was fun.”

“Yeah. It was.”

We were both quiet for a moment.

“So what were you actually looking at?” she asked.

“When?”

“When you were jacking off last week.”

I snorted in surprise and nearly fell of the couch, flinging her off me in the process. She tumbled over and sat up with a glare.

“Hey!”

“Hey yourself! I wasn’t…you didn’t see…shut up!”

She shrugged and poked my leg with her foot again. “It’s fine, we all do it. Well, masturbate I mean. I don’t have a–”

“That’s not something you can just ask someone! Especially not your brother!”

“Why? Was it something kinky?” She stared at me with glittering eyes.

“No.”

“So it was kinky! Hrm…bondage? No, you’re too passive. Watersports. What about furry porn? I bet you’re into anthro badgers and…and squirrels.” She made vaguely crude motions with her hands as I slapped a hand over my eyes. “Or maybe it was something even kinkier! Huge orgies. People going at it in public. Huge public orgies. Or…” She pointed at me. “You were watching people pretend to be related, weren’t you? ‘Step bro, what are–‘”

“Alright, that’s enough,” I groaned.

“Make me stop. I bet you’re just embarrassed because you’re into hot teens pretending to be your sister while they–”

I pounced onto her and clapped my hand over her mouth. She squeaked in surprise, and then her expression changed. Her eyebrows lowered and her eyes glimmered, clearly glad I’d made the first move. The first action of challenge.

That was another thing we’d used to do. Wrestling, the kind of roughhousing all siblings got into. Never truly violent, nobody ever got hurt…but I’d put an end to it after several embarrassing occasions of getting hard during it and having to find excuses to disappear to the bathroom before Chelsea could notice. This time though, there’d be no getting out of it, so I tried defusing the situation. “How about we watch a movie? I heard Crimson Peak is real good.”

She was having none of it. Smacking my hand away, she started moaning between giggles as she pushed me back on the lounge. “‘Ooh, step bro! My shower’s broken and I’m still in it!’ I bet that’s the kind of stuff you watch, isn’t it?”

“Chelsea, stop!” I tried as she crawled on top of me, grabbing my arms and pushing them above my head. She wasn’t that strong, but I was distracted enough doing all I could to keep her butt away from the front of my pants.

“Or maybe you read stories about siblings getting hot while they’re on holiday. Brother and sister, snogging in a cabin somewhere because their parents locked them in there together. I bet that’s the kind of smut you’re into, huh?”

“I’m going to clock you if you don’t stop.”

“Getting rough hey? Just like that story you probably read where the brother takes his sister after prom into her room and screws her while her parents are just downstairs.”

“These are getting weirdly specific. Sure you didn’t actually read them your–”

She froze, and I gritted my teeth. My worst fears had come to fruition; she’d sat back just as she’d been about to launch into a final, graphic tease. Her denim clad butt setting down firmly and unmistakably on the hard lump in the front of my pants. She wiggled side to side slowly, as if testing it out, and I tried not to moan. Then she chewed her lip again and looked down at me. “Well, I mean…I might have been borrowing plots from some of the stuff I’ve read…”

I let out a slow breath. “That’s kinda weird Chels.”

“Shut up, you’re the one that got hard with your sister on top of you.”

“Actually, it’s…that’s my phone,” I confidently said. “It’s in my front pocket, and that’s what you can feel.”

At that exact moment my actual phone in the coffee table drawer buzzed. After giving me a triumphant grin, Chelsea reached over and pulled it out. “Dad’s trying to ring you.”

“Tell him to…call my…other phone that’s in my pants?” I tried. “And I’ll–h-hey!” Chelsea had scooted back and poked my bulge curiously. I slapped her hand away. “What the hell?”

She shrugged. “Just wanted to check. Did I really make that happen?”

“It does its own thing,” I growled. “Don’t take any meaning from it.”

“So, like, it wasn’t because you were actually horny or anything.”

“No, of course not. That’s… no.”

“Oh.”

Another moment of silence, and then:

“Are they all that big?”

I tried not to let my ego inflate. She’d just been feeling the outside, after all. Or, maybe she’d never seen one in the flesh. Either way, this was absolutely not a conversation I should’ve been having with my sister. But my lack of answer spurred Chelsea to seek her own. Still holding my phone, she unlocked it–of course she knew my password–and started tapping about on it.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking up dicks. I wanna compare.”

“Hey! Not on my phone!” I made a grab for it but she lifted the device out of my reach. I couldn’t help but glance at her tight stomach as her shirt rode further up her chest.

“What’s the big deal? We’ve already established you look at porn.”

“Yeah, but not dicks.” That wasn’t entirely true. Hey, I was a little curious.

“Woah, check this one out. It’s bigger than–Oh, hang on, I think I just emailed it to someone.”

“CHELSEA!” I made another grab for the phone, but in a miscalculation of my limited dexterity I knocked it out of her hands and onto the floor. Chucking her off me, I stood up to find where it had fallen when a resounding crack rang through the room. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath. “Please tell me that was your glasses I stepped on.”

Chelsea clicked her tongue. “I hate to tell you, but I don’t wear them.”

“So then it’s the remote controller, right?”

She slowly wiggled the TV remote in front of me. I peered down at the crushed object under my heels, then decided the sight was too painful and brushed it under the lounge. I sat back down on the couch, and Chelsea perched quietly beside me.

“That was mostly your fault,” I said.

“You knocked it out of my hands,” she said. “Then stepped on it.”

I sighed. Chelsea wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into a hug. Despite everything, I appreciated the gesture and rested my head on her neck. Her hair smelt nice. She rubbed my back slowly.

“Alright, maybe I shouldn’t have teased you so much,” she said. “I couldn’t help it. You do that to me.”

I huffed into her neck and she shivered. “Buy me a new phone and we’ll call it even.”

“I’m eighteen, I can’t afford that. Dad won’t even let me get a job till I finish year twelve exams. How about I…do the dishes for a week? And I’ll let you use my phone until you get a new one. And I’ll clean your room, how about that?” She drew away and looked down between us. “You’re still hard. Guess not even losing your phone can turn you off, huh?”

“Can you please stop looking at my dick? I’m mourning the loss of a close friend here.”

She chewed her lip again. At this rate, she wasn’t going to have much of it left. “How about I give you handjobs for a week.”

“I don’t think doing my chores will…eh?” I blinked. “Jobs?”

“Hand-jobs. You know, like…” she mimed gripping a dick and sliding it up and down. “Only because if I hadn’t made you hard in the first place you’d still have your phone. And so if I, like…” She was clearly making it up as she went along. “You know, maybe it’ll help. And I don’t want you breaking anything else, so if I… like, jack you off, then you won’t be… hard. Anymore. And…” She reached the end of her reasoning and went quiet, staring down. I didn’t really know what to say. It was like a dream–socially a nightmare, probably…but as much as I hated to admit it, a scenario in which my hot little sister gave me a handjob definitely fit the dream category. Unrealistic, impossible, purely fantastical…or at least, that’s how it should have been.

No Chelsea, that’d be crossing the line. “You’d want to do that to me?”

“I mean I’ve already touched it,” she said, and to demonstrate the point she reached down and grabbed my bulge and squeezed it gently in my hand. She didn’t move her hand away.

We should stop this. “And you’d be fine jacking me off?”

“Yeah.”

“This kind of feels like paying a fine with sex.”

“Woah there brother, nobody said nothing about sex. Just handjobs. Because otherwise that would be incest.”

“…Yeah. Uh, I’m not sure you’ve grasped the meaning of–”

“Come on, just let me get you off,” she whined, squeezing my dick again. “Please?”

“Uh… o…okay?”

Chelsea beamed and slid across me again until she was sitting on my knees. I was glad she was light. She grasped the edge of my pants, paused, then nodded and pulled them down. She let out a cute little gasp when my dick flopped out, smacking her hand and then slapping onto my stomach. I was nearly fully hard, and it twitched a bit as it expanded to its full size. I wasn’t a stallion or anything, but I was a healthy size, I’d like to think. And next to Chelsea’s lithe form, it looked huge.

Chelsea began by examining me closely, admiring the smoothness of the skin, the sponginess of the head, the shape of my balls. I guessed she really hadn’t seen one in the flesh before. At the tip, where a small hole leaked clear drops of fluid, she ran her thumb over it and then held it up.

“So this is precum.”

“Yep.”

“Cool.”

She experimentally wrapped her hand around me, only just managing to touch finger to thumb. I had pianists hands, so the contrast of what I was used to and seeing her delicate hand holding me made me feel…well, I don’t know what really, but it made tingles run up my back and made my dick twitch again.

I let out a quiet breath as she began stroking. It felt nice, far different to my own hand, and I tried to imagine it wasn’t my sister doing it. But every time I pictured someone else, they just morphed into the curious brown-eyed, chestnut-haired eighteen-year-old girl in front of me. After a while I gave in and just watched her do it.

Chelsea was almost graceful in her strokes, tilting her hand to follow the contours of my dick as she reached the base and rose back up again, her thumb nudging my head each time. But for all the effort she put in, it was clear she was copying what she’d seen on the internet: gripping just a bit too hard, moving just a bit too fast, keeping the exact same rhythm and touch without variance.

“Does it feel okay?” she asked earnestly. With a giggle she added, “I’m not really sure what I’m doing.”

“It’s nice,” I said, and Chelsea frowned.

“It’s not supposed to be nice, it’s supposed to be amazing.”

“It feels good,” I insisted, until she started jacking me faster and I had to put a hand gently on her wrist. “Woah there, slow down. Just a little looser… yeah, like that, that’s perfect. And try changing speeds a bit.”

“Oh, like when I’m fingering myself?” she asked seriously, still concentrating on masturbating my cock. I wasn’t really sure how to reply, but she already seemed to be learning, lengthening her strokes and making them broader, slower, sliding up and down my dick and building up, going faster, then stopping for a second before starting the whole thing over. I couldn’t help groaning and she seemed to like the verbal assurance. She looked up and gave me a heart-melting smile. “Better?”

“Yeah, perfect, like that.”

She beamed proudly and kept it up, occasionally glancing back at me to make sure she was doing it right. I was leaking more precum now, enough that it mixed into her hand and let her slide easier. A quiet shlck, shlck filled the room.

After a while Chelsea pulled her hand away, shaking her wrist. “How do you do this for so long? Don’t you get tired?”

“Erm… how do you know how long I do it for?” I asked.

“I…what I mean is…well, actually Curtis, sometimes you aren’t all that quiet. I do sleep next door. But I don’t mind though!” she added quickly. She gave me another bashful smile and, though only a quick, fleeting moment, when our eyes met there was a moment of loving trust between us that immediately quashed any doubts I had left in my mind. She wasn’t just doing this to pay me back…she was doing this because she wanted to.

Chelsea shook her wrist one last time then returned to my cock, pumping with renewed vigour. I let out another moan as she started feeling my balls with her other hand, squeezing them and rolling them about in her palm. “How about that?”

“Yeah, I think it’s nice. Just–not quite so hard.”

“Right.” She held me looser and I relaxed back into the lounge, sighing happily. Now, instead of trying to picture other women, the fact that I knew it was Chelsea, my sister, holding my cock made me even hotter than ever. It was enough to bring me to the edge.

Seeming to sense my building pleasure, Chelsea put all her effort into stroking me. Not just by doing it fast, but by combining everything I’d told her into some kind of power finish I wasn’t expecting. With a grunt all I could say was “Cumming” before she pushed me over the brink and my mind exploded with pleasure.

The first spurt shot high into the air, arcing over the lounge and landing somewhere on the floor of the dining area behind us. Chelsea watched in amazement as a second and then third spurt shot up in a long string before descending down and splashing onto her nose. She jerked back in surprise, just in time for my cock to twitch and shoot directly at her chest, thick drops of my cum disappearing down the neck of her shirt. Yet she kept stroking me, bringing me through the rest of my orgasm like a pro. When I finally could take it no longer I gently removed her hand from my throbbing shaft.

Chelsea watched me lie panting on the lounge for a while, until, “So… how was it?”

I looked at her through one eye, breathing heavily. “Amazing.”

“Yay!” she giggled, and wiped her thumb over the head of my cock. I gasped, overly sensitive, and she smiled and examined the substance on her thumb closely. It was thick and only semi-translucent, oozing slowly down into her hand. “Kinda hard to believe this is the stuff that makes kids, huh.” She glanced down between her legs.

“It’s also a bugger to clean up. I, uh… appreciate you taking most of it.”

“I wasn’t trying to!” she said indignantly, well aware her face and neck were spotted thickly with the stuff. “You started shooting everywhere, what was I supposed to do?”

An image of her descending down onto my cock, wrapping her lips around it and swallowing my seed down flashed through my mind. “No, uh… you did good. Great.”

“Thanks.” She looked down at my cock again. “I guess we should go wash up.”

“Hey, not so fast young lady,” I said. Chelsea raised an eyebrow as I sat up and leant over her, our faces close. Her eyes went wide and she squirmed under me but I held her tight against the backrest of the lounge. “Hardly fair if you’re doing all the work, is it?”

Her breath was shaky and I could practically feel her heart racing. She was chewing her lips again. Why did girls do that? She looked down and then back up at me, her voice husky. “Y-you want to…?”

I smiled. “If you’ll let me?”

“Could you, um… hold me tighter?” Her face was red.

I looked at her blankly, not really knowing what to do. Slowly, I gripped her wrists tighter. “Like this?”

“Sort of.” She winced. “Actually, not really. You sort of have to…” She pulled my arms up above her head, trapping her own wrists on top of the couch. I got the hint and held her there and she shivered. “Yeah, perfect. Just enough that I can’t move too much.” She wiggled her wrists experimentally. “And now you can, uh…” Her eyes flickered downward and she slowly wiggled her hips. I went to unbutton her jeans when she snorted. “You gotta keep holding my hands though.”

“Right, got it.” My hands were big enough that I could hold both her wrists with one hand, and with the other I fumbled about getting her shorts button undone. “Sorry, you’re going to have to bear with me here, I don’t know much about this stuff.”

“It’s alright,” she said, looking up at me with adoring eyes. “You know, you’re super hot.”

“You’re pretty hot too…sis.” I managed to pop the button and she lifted her butt up as I awkwardly slipped her shorts down. It took a while, but we managed, and I kept her in my grip the whole time. Just her underwear now…which wasn’t blue anymore, I noticed. It was white, and…lacy? “Don’t tell me you put those on for me.”

“Just in case my brother was a perve and wanted to look at them,” she said. “And thankfully, he is.”

I licked my lips and reached out, fingers inches from her sex. I could feel the warmth there, see the spot of darkness where she was wet behind her panties. I’d touch her on the outside first, feel her slowly, then reach up for the waistband and–

“Fuck, headlights.”

“What? Why’d you stop?” she whined.

I jumped away from her and tried to brush myself down, then stared in dismay at my now cum-covered hands. I peered through the blinds in a panic, headlight filling the room a second later as the car pulled into the front. “Dads are home.”

Chelsea squeaked and jumped off the couch too, and like deer we stared at the car as it pulled to a stop. Thank god they wouldn’t be able to see in. We still didn’t move as the engine cut off and our father stepped out, dimly lit by the porch light. From the passenger’s side our tall, slim second father got out, went around to the boot of the car and began taking out shopping.

Finally, my body let me move and I stared around the place in terror. “Shit. Chelsea, there’s cum on the couch.”

“There’s cum on the couch!?”

“All over the couch.”

“I thought I caught it all with my face.”

“Fuck! You’ve got cum on your face!”

“I know I’ve got cum on my face“, she hissed. “You put it there!”

“I didn’t mean to! Oh god, and it’s all over my hands.”

“Why did you have to cum so much!?” she growled and I threw my hands up in dismay.

“I can’t just decide how much I’m going to cum!” I stared after Chelsea as she ran to the stairs. “Where are you going!? Don’t leave me here!”

“I’m not greeting dads with your semen dripping off my nose,” she growled.

“You can tell them it’s sprite?” I tried and she scowled and sprinted up the stairs. I heard the boot slam shut and saw our fathers heading for the door. I sprinted to the kitchen and spun out the paper towel, grabbing as many sheafs as he could. I ran back, his still-hard dick bouncing around in my pants, and I could feel the stickiness inside. Absolutely not a pleasant feeling. I desperately wiped the backrest of the couch, getting as much off as I could before I heard our dads dropping their shoes on the rack outside the door and I dived onto the floor, shoving the paper towel underneath the chair to hide with the remains of my phone.

“Guess who’s got exciting news!” shouted a cheery tenor as the door banged open. “We promised something special, and now we’re delivering!” When nobody answered, I heard our dads murmur something, and then; “Oh children of mine, I know you’re home. There’s enough lights on in here to power Herren Bay.”

From my position lying prone in front of the lounge I watched Chelsea descend anxiously down the stairs, hair a little damp but mostly cum-free. “Hi dad. Hi dad. What’ve you got?”

“Hey hun,” greeted Alexander cheerily from the kitchen as he sorted the shopping out. “Where’s Curtis? We wanna wait till everyone’s here.”

Chelsea glanced down to me. She blinked. “I think he died from watching too much TV. You alright there bud?”

I didn’t move for a second, just rubbed the side of my neck while staring at her with wide eyes. Surreptitiously, she ran a hand through her hair and down to the same spot on her own neck, wiping away a drop that had survived the washing process. When she was clean, I hauled myself up and peeked over the lounge. “Hiya.”

“…hi,” said Ryan. He peered at us suspiciously. “Why do I get the feeling you’re plotting something.”

“Oh leave them be,” Alexander said. “They’re always up to something. Now come on, tell them!”

Dad gave us both a broad smile and clapped his hands together. “We’re all going up to Pennsbrooke for the long weekend! Do some farming, go for walks at dawn… you know, all the stuff you hate but will look back on with fond memories.”

“Pennsbrooke? That big farm place?” We’d been there before, back when we were kids. It had been a sweet, simple few days Chelsea and I had enjoyed immensely and had bugged all three of our parents about returning someday.

“Hey! That’s great!’ beamed Chelsea. ‘Do I get to wake Curtis up with a bucket of water like last time? That was my favourite morning ever.”

“Can I bowl her over a fence into some mud again?” I retorted, and Dad waved his hands.

“Please you two, a little decorum. You can get all farmy when we’re actually there.”

Chelsea and I beamed. ‘Thanks dad. We can’t wait.”

“Good. I… invited Julie, so she’ll be coming along too. I hope that’s alright.”

Chelsea looked at him in pleasant surprise. “Mum’s coming?”

“Yeah. That okay?”

“Of course! It’s been a while. She’ll definitely be okay with…” she trailed off, glancing between her two fathers. Alexander leant over the counter with an eyebrow raised.

“Please, we’ve all hung out before. It’ll be fun! Plus, we…” He paused, looking down over the counter in confusion. “What’s that?”

I froze. We’d forgot the splatter that had landed behind us. I was out of ideas, but quick as a flash Chelsea came to the rescue with “That? It’s Sprite. Bugger, I must have spilt a bit when I went upstairs.”

“Chelsea, you can’t just take soft drink without asking,” frowned dad, and my sister hung her head.

“I know. Sorry. Just got tired after all my studying today.”

“Well, we’ll call it a special treat. Grab some paper towel and…oh. Curtis, can you grab another roll from the laundry? I swear I just filled it up…”

Silently thanking my sister for everything I was worth, I skittered off to the laundry and let out the breath I’d been holding since they came in.

After a dinner of trying not to look at each other, my sister and I helped clean up, bade our parents goodnight and went upstairs. We both arrived at our bedroom doors at the same time, and both stopped to look at each other.

“Uh… night,” I said.

“Night,” she said.

Neither of us moved. I looked down at the ground. “Did you want to–”

“Yep.” Chelsea came as quietly as she could into my bedroom, shutting the door tightly behind her. She leant back against it, staring at me through her eyelashes. “I can’t believe I jacked you off.”

“Is it weird?” I whispered, then clarified, “As in, too weird?”

My sister shrugged. “I’ve always thought you were weird but it never stopped me hanging out with you. I guess I like weird.” The room was dark, but my blinds were open and the pale blue tinge of the night crept inside to illuminate her eyes, making them glitter. She licked her lips. “I think you were just about to do something before we were interrupted.”

“I think I was,” I said and moved toward her. She pressed herself harder against the door, slowly bringing her arms to her sides, and I took the hint and grabbed her wrists, pulling them above her head again. “You really like this?”

“Yeah. I don’t know why, it just…” She grinned as I pressed against her, “It makes me wet.” She bit her lower lip as she felt me grow against her, and just like before I held both her wrists in one hand as my other trailed down her cheek, brushing against her soft skin. We both watched my hand continue its journey down her neck, over the fabric of the nightdress she’d changed into. I bumped over her collarbone, and hesitated as I met the gentle rise of her chest. I’d never touched a girl’s boobs before. It felt like it should have been a momentous occasion, but instead it just felt like a perfectly natural part of showing my affection for Chelsea. I cupped her gently, squeezed her impossibly soft flesh. She let out a quiet sigh as I rolled it in my palm, brushed my thumb over her nipple. And then I was moving on again, over her stomach, her hips, and finally to the front of her dress.