Goodnight My Love
My advent had been a big surprise to my parents. When five-year-old Sandra had learned that she was the proud owner of a brand spanking new baby brother, she was most enthusiastic. To all accounts, she played the role to the hilt. For years, that’s what she called me, “Baby Brother.” She said it and meant it with such obvious affection that I never took it any other way. Even now, I love to hear her call me by that name. My whole life has been in one way or another shaped by her attentions and genuine regard.
The summer that I was sixteen my sister Sandra turned twenty one. I think Sandra and I are as close as siblings ever get. I have never called her Sandy – Sis was as close to a nickname as she would allow.
At twenty one, Sandra was drop dead in the street gorgeous and I was in awe of her. Her smile alone could make grown men stupid and old men weep. It always turned me to jelly. Her piercing gaze can make anyone stammer. I’ve seen her do it to Traffic Cops and Nuns. If she had wished it, my father, and I both would have been her willing bond slaves.
I could not have articulated it then but, my affection and adulation for her amounted to a deep and abiding devotion. I worshiped at her feet. I still do. There is nothing I would not do for her. In fact, the previous summer, at risk to life and limb, I took on a young loud mouth stud her age who had impugned her honor. I was so enraged that I beat him senseless. That is, however, another story altogether.
We had never been overly casual about nudity in our house. That is not to say that we were prudish about it either. We simply regarded it as natural – nothing to blush or snicker about. But it was never flaunted or forced on anyone. Respect for person and personal privacy was highly re-garded.
Sandra was the image of our mother and her twin sis-ter, Aunt Patty. One of the best pictures I ever took is of the three of them as they stood facing the water at the deck rail of our boat. Their heads are turned into the wind, dark hair streaming and their left hands raised to shade their eyes. Sandra is in the middle. They are wearing only their bikini bottoms. Except for the fact that Sandra is half an inch shorter than Mom and Patty, you cannot tell them apart. The black and white print is the best.
Our Aunt Patty was in the hospital diagnosed with breast cancer and scheduled for surgery. Our parents had gone out of town to be with her. The prognosis was not promising and Mom was distraught. We did not expect them home until the following weekend, if all went well. So, San-dra was the duty responsible adult until then.
It was a Friday evening in mid August, I had done my chores, so I was reading and listening to music, Vivaldi, I think. Sandra was in her room up-stairs reading, or so I thought. I wanted to go out to Baskin Robin’s for some “No Sugar Added” ice cream (I have diabetes), so I went upstairs to see if Sandra could be bribed into going to Rally’s for dinner and then for ice cream.
When I reached her door, I heard her give a muffled, almost strangled cry of what I thought was serious pain. I didn’t wait to knock. I shoved her door open, terrified at what I might find.
She was lying naked on her bed with one hand on her breasts and the other buried deep in her snatch. I was stunned and my dick went instantly hard.
Flustered, I stammered, “Good God, Sis… are you… are you alright? I heard… You sounded… in pain…”
She lay there gasping and giggling, “My intrepid protector.”
Red faced, I said, “I… I’m sorry, Sandra,” and closed the door.
I was very confused and embarrassed. To my surprise and chagrin, I was also extremely aroused. Sandra, on the other hand, seemed neither sorry nor embarrassed. She called me back into her room. With some trepidation, I went back. She had not covered herself and I could not help ogling her, but what stopped me was the expression on her face. It was languid to the point of being stuporous. To say the least, this aroused in me (no pun intended) a deep concern that she might be slipping into insulin shock. Sandra and I both have juvenile diabetes. We are both insu-lin dependent. A very large part of our lives is devoted to self-monitoring and some gentle nag-ging of each other to make sure we keep to the routine. I went right to her dresser and opened her kit, intending to test her blood sugar.
“No, Baby Brother, I’m OK – I don’t need that.”
Undeterred, I loaded a fresh blade into her auto-lancet, ripped open an alcohol swab, and stuck a new test strip into her blood glucose meter. I carried this stuff to her bedside.
Setting the meter on her night table, I asked, “Then, just what the hell is wrong with you?”
I lifted her hand from her breast. I could not help but notice that her nipples were erect and that she continued to stroke herself with her other hand. My dick throbbed and I swallowed hard. This was not lost on Sandra as I swabbed her ring finger.
“It’s Friday night, I have no date and he asks what’s wrong,” she announced to the ceiling. “Ouch!” I’d stuck her finger.
I collected the blood drop on the test strip and set the meter back on the night table. Impul-sively, I licked and sucked her finger, then swabbed it again with alcohol and returned her hand to her left breast.
With my hand resting on top of hers, I said, “But you never date. You’re always telling me that the guys you know are pin heads and cretins.”
I stroked her hand with my fingers. She stared at the obvious bulge in my khaki shorts. She was no longer smiling as she drew her hand from under mine then placed my hand on her breast and pressed my trembling fingers into her hot flesh.
Then, looking directly into my eyes, she whispered, “I’m horny and frustrated. Don’t you ever get horny, Baby Brother?”
My brains scrambled at the feel of her under my hand. I dared not even let my fingers twitch. I tried to keep eye contact but I couldn’t, partly because I found the circumstances so embarrassing. I also found them disturbingly arousing and that was even more embarrassing. My throat had gone Mojave dry. It took several tries to answer her.
I finally croaked out, “Yes, Sandra. I do get horny. I am horny right now and I’m very sorry about that. But, I’m sixteen, looking at linoleum makes me horny.”
Yeah, she actually said that. She released my hand and very reluctantly, I removed it from her acheingly lovely breast. Sandra coyly pulled a corner of her sheet over one breast. My dick throbbed in response to this provocative little act. I seriously thought that my zipper would loose the battle to keep the little monster at bay. I also thought that if this funny business continued much longer, it could only end badly.
The scent of her sweat and her sex was very heady and I desperately wanted to help her stroke her womanhood in tandem with her. I wanted to shower her breasts with my kisses. The urge to touch her again was so strong that I had to close my eyes, step back, and shove my hands into my pockets. At that moment, her meter beeped. Saved by the bell.
I took her meter back to the dresser. When I could get my hands to stop shaking, I wrote the reading in her Logbook. It was 72 mg/dl, a little low but normal. It did not account for her bizarre behavior. So I turned to her closet. Her old terry robe was hanging on a hook. I grabbed it then put it back in favor of her black silk kimono with the scarlet trim. My thought was that something pretty might make her feel better.
I opened her undies drawer and picked up the first pair of panties I saw. I covered her with the kimono. The soft folds of black silk hugged her form. Her breasts and nipples were clearly visible. I took her unoccupied hand, placed the panties against her palm, and then I gently folded her fingers over them. On impulse, I kissed her fingers and caressed her cheek. She sat up, holding the robe more or less in place with the hand that had been busy between her legs.
She looked at the panties. Then the weirdest thing happened. Sandra started laughing and crying at the same time. I was thoroughly spooked. The hair on the back of my neck stood at attention. My traitor dick gave my zipper another hard nudge.
She tried to say something but the tears and laughter garbled it. I thought for a second that she was choking. She held out the panties for me to see but I didn’t get it. Sandra held them to her breasts and the laughter lost. She sobbed uncontrollably.
Now, I felt completely helpless. I put my arms around her and just held her against me with shaking hands. I let her cry it out with my stupid dick pocking her in the side. When she started to run down, I handed her some tissues. She dabbed at her eyes then turned toward me and stood up.
I took the kimono and held it for her. Sandra turned and shrugged into it. When she turned to face me again, I closed the kimono and tied the sash for her. She was a bit unsteady on her feet so I held onto her elbow. She sat back down on her bed with the panties still in her hand. She sat looking down at them turning them over in her hand then shrugged and let out what might have been a chuckle. Without looking up Sandra handed them back to me.
With a husky catch in her voice, she whispered, “Don’t these look familiar to you, Kev?”
Hesitantly, I took them from her hand. I was unsure why any of her intimate things should look familiar to me. They were pearl gray, mostly lace and incredibly soft. But, as I unfolded them, they did seem somehow familiar. I suddenly realized that Sandra was tautly alert and watching my face very attentively.
I glanced back down at the bit of gray silk lace in my hand. Then I felt Sandra’s hand under mine, gently pushing the panties closer to my face. I let her.
When they were only a few inches from my face, Sandra said, “Close your eyes and sniff.”
My eyes flicked to hers. “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I thought you didn’t want me to become a pervert. Didn’t you lecture me about that once?”
The words were barely out of my mouth when I had a full-blown, living color memory of Sandra smiling shyly and wearing little more than these very panties. For about thirty seconds I just stood there, my mouth agape. Then, as Sandra had instructed, I closed my eyes and sniffed – lavender – her signature scent.
“Aunt Pat… She gave these to you.”
“You remember.” She whispered.
“These are your famous birthday undies. Patty also gave you the lavender. You wore these for me that day when you… when you… it was the day I fell…”
When I realized what I was about to say – out loud – I broke off, in a sudden panic and cold sweat. I tried to recover by changing tack. “How is it that they still look brand new?”
“Because, my darling Baby Brother, I only ever wore them for you. I never wore them again. That afternoon was so special that I could never bring myself to wear them casually. I began falling in love with you that day, Kev.”
Well, now… there it was. The thing I had been terrified of saying aloud. Terrified that if she knew, she would think I really was a pervert – that she could no longer love me. But now, they were Sandra’s words echoing my own thought, my own feelings. I was stunned. My jaw dropped, my hands dropped to my sides and I dropped to my knees. My hands still shak-ing, I placed the gray lace panties on her knees and carefully refolded them. She reached out to me then, caressing my cheek.
“I know that you fell in love with me that day,” she said. Our eyes locked. There were ten seconds of deafening silence as my heart tried to tear itself out of my chest.
“Yes… Oh Sandra… God help me… yes, I did,” I whispered.
I took her hand from my cheek and kissed it. I took a long time kissing her hand. Then with the same hand, she brushed a tear from my face. She silently opened her arms to me. Still on my knees, I moved forward and nestled between her knees, I put my arms around her. I let out a long ragged and broken sigh when I felt her wrap her arms around me. I gave myself over, trembling, to the warmth of her embrace.
“Aren’t we a pair?” Sandra mused after a few minutes.
“We are that,” I mumbled into her shoulder. I chuckled.
“What’s so funny, Baby Brother?”
“I only came up here to ask if you wanted to go out to Rally’s and then for some ice cream with me and then the universe collapsed.”
“Rally’s and ice cream I can manage. The universe is on its own. Let me shower first. OK?”
“Sure, Sis – do you need any help?”
“I think I know how to take a shower…” There was a slight edge in her voice.
“Don’t turn cranky on me now, Sis, or I’ll be checking your blood sugar again. You were none too steady on your feet just a few minutes ago. Let me rephrase that. Do you want any help?”
Her smile returned but she did not answer. I stood up and took a step back. I bent down and retrieved the forgotten panties. Sandra stood up and took them from me.
“We can’t have you collecting souvenirs, Baby Brother,” she said with a coy grin. She returned them their proper place in her dresser. She took my arm and though she seemed quite recovered, she let me escort her to the bathroom. I flipped on the light, handed her in and turned to go.
She caught my hand and said, “Stay, please… at least until I get in.”
Turning to face her, I asked, “Are you really OK?”
Her gaze was steady as she replied, “Yes, I think so… I just… I don’t… I just want you near me right now.”
Something in her voice, something in her eyes – clawed at me painfully. I swallowed hard and stepped into the bathroom after her. It answered whatever that “something” was. Sandra very deliberately put her arms around me and as deliberately put her head in my shoulder. I returned her embrace and kissed her cheek. She sighed heavily.
“You are so good to me. You really are my true knight and I love you, Kevin.”
There are moments between two people that are so tender, so pure, and so intimate that they make you ache.
This would have been one of those moments but for my shamelessly bloated dick. With renewed vigor, it was straining against my pants and pressing firmly into her thigh. For about two seconds I actually thought, "Perhaps she won’t notice." It was pure foolhardy wishful thinking. After a moment or two of silent basking in the warmth of her arms, I felt her stiffen. She shifted her pelvis, not away from my offending member but directly against it.
I cleared my throat and tried to step back. She would not let me retreat gracefully, if anything, she tightened her embrace. Then she thrust her mons against me pinning my erection to my thigh. We both gasped at the same time. My brains scrambled again and I lost control as she ground herself against me.
I grabbed a fist full of her hair and pulled her head back. Hungrily, I sought her mouth with my own. Finding her lips, moist and parted, I gave her the most passionate kiss I had ever given.
It took her half a beat to join in. She returned my kiss with equal passion. The feel of her questing tongue slipping into my mouth nearly undid me as I came to climax. I don’t have a clue as to how long the kiss lasted nor what kept us from going straight to wanton groping. I was barely conscious when we came up for air. We both struggled to catch our breath. There was a low rumble of thunder in the distance.
I disentangled myself and held her at arms length, my hands on her shoulders. I stood there, overcome by fear that I had crossed the line of propriety. It wasn’t about kissing my sister, I was way passed that. It was because I had forced my kiss on her.
Gasping for breath, I croaked out, “Oh Sandra… I’m so sorry, Sis, I… please forgive me.”
“Don’t you dare apologize for love, for loving me. It’s too rare, too precious Kev.”
The heat and force of her passion was scorching. I just gaped at her, trying to blink back the tears that flooded into my eyes. I turned away. To busy my hands, I took two towels from the linen shelves and placed them in the warmer. My dick was sticky wet and so hard that it hurt, there was a poisoned thorn about a foot long sticking into my heart. When I turned back to her, her stricken expression was the last straw.
She stood teary eyed with one side of her lower lip between her teeth. I lowered my face into my hands and wept. I felt her hands in my hair. She stroked my neck and the side of my face making soft reassuring sounds. I was able to get hold of myself after about a minute and she dried my eyes with the sleeve of her robe.
“Well, then… I think that if this keeps up we’ll starve to death,” she said with a wry smile. “Splash some cold water on your face, Hon, then bolt so I can scrub the skunge off of my delicate body.”
“Yes… I will but… I… Sandra, I do love you… with all my heart.”
She pressed two fingers against my lips and said, “Sush now, my sweet, save that until we are both fully clothed and well fed. Declarations of love made in bathrooms are always to be sus-pected, especially when the object of such declarations is more than half naked.”
Trying to match her smile, I did the cold-water thing then went back down stairs to wait for her – after a brief detour to my room. It was that traitor dick in my pants. I went to my room and put on clean BVDs and khakis. I had ejaculated in my pants during our desperate kiss. My angelic sister had made me climax. I found this very disturbing and at once very exciting.
Sandra descending the stairs made my heart jump.
If that doesn’t sound sappy, I don’t know what would. It is, however, the truth. At sixteen, I was a hopeless romantic. She was dressed pretty much as I was; white shirt, khaki shorts, white knee socks and docksiders. It was the added red silk scarf tied round her neck that gave that great black thorn sticking in my chest a quick half turn. This spooked the cloud of black, arctic butterflies living in my stomach.
Well, of course, I exaggerate. There isn’t any other way to tell this story. Everything about this story is perceptually exaggerated and emotionally charged. Since 5 PM of that particular day, the entire universe as I knew it had slipped out of phase. As far as I could tell at that point, nothing – nothing – was ever going to be the same again. That thought was both extremely exhilarating and not a little frightening.
Sandra descending the stairs, fresh from her bath in a cloud of lavender with scarlet silk at her throat made my heart jump.
A flash of lightning and the answering thunderclap made the rest of me jump and left my ears ringing. Do I sound more than a little over emotional? I have no doubt, but you must keep in mind that since about five in the afternoon of that day I had been suddenly and unexpectedly thrust into sensory overload.
Hormones were singing bawdy songs in my ears. Synesthesia and time dilation were tugging at the edges of my perception. And no, I was not on drugs, though my adrenaline and testosterone levels must have been rather elevated.
She seemed to move both in real time and in slow motion all at once. Her scent was a soft caress against my face and all her movements were a haunting Celtic melody.
Sandra descending the stairs in a vapor of lavender with her long, dark, wavy hair bouncing about her face and shoulders and a scarlet flag of her passion fluttering at her throat made my heart jump.
The lightning had struck somewhere near by and all the lights went out. Sandra quickly crossed the room and opened the front door wide to watch the storm. I was right behind her, but as you might guess, my attention was divided.
The clouds roiled as the lightning danced and the thunder chanted the litany of fire.
Sandra and I have a thing for thunderstorms. As we stepped out onto the front porch, the wind took her hair. A brief spate of hail rattled on the roof and then the rain cut loose. It rained so hard that we could not see across the street. The darkness grew dense and the dancing lightning and thunder were blinding and deafening.
Sandra backed into me and said, “Hold me, please.”
I put my arms around her. She mirrored my arms and hands with her own. I had lost count as to how many times I had embraced her in the space of a couple of hours or so and I could not foresee where all this touching (and kissing) would lead. I only knew that I did not want this newfound intimacy ever to end. Her taut buns pressed my groin and surely she felt my tumescence. I put my chin lightly on her shoulder and we watched the storm thrashing and crashing around us.
It’s a Queen Ann house, so the roofed porch extends across nearly the entire front (east) of the house and wraps around to cover the entire south side. There are lots of hanging plants and bamboo privacy screens. Very little of the porch can be seen from the street; however, visibility from the porch is not much obstructed.
Feeling sufficiently private, Sandra slid my right hand up her body to her left breast. She stopped just short of placing my hand on her breast. On impulse, I kissed her ear. She sighed contentedly and settled back against me. She leaned her head back onto my shoulder, enjoying the storm and the embrace. Sandra turned her face slightly, pressing her cheek against mine and wiggled her buns against my insanely exhibitionistic boner.
She had my full attention, so I heard when she said, sotto vocce, “I’m having some very naughty thoughts about you, Kev.”
Kissing the nape of her neck, I replied, “I bet they’re not as naughty as my thoughts about you, Sis.”
She turned in my arms to face me. Her embrace was so thorough that I felt naked in her arms. She had that deadly serious look. “We really need to talk about this, Kev. We seem to be headed into uncharted water.”
The thorn in my chest made another half turn and I saw my misery reflected in her eyes but I asked, “Can we eat first?”
END Part 1
Do you want more? Let me know.
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com
with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.
<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/incest/good-night-my-love.aspx">Good Night, My Love</a>