New Story Title: What Are Big Sisters For? (Incest/Taboo)
Everyone involved is over 18.
Enjoy reading..
“What the fuck are you doing?!” my older sister screamed as she threw open my bedroom door.
As if she really couldn’t tell.
I was lying back on my bed with my boxers around my knees. One hand was holding my iPad in front of my face, the other was on my bare cock. I froze in mid-motion, halfway up the stroke. I didn’t even have time to cover up. A loud groan came from the screen.
“Oh, fuck yes!” it said – the exact opposite of my actual reaction.
My sister, Darcy, stood in the open doorway, her hands on her hips. Face contorted somewhere between anger and opprobrium. She was dressed like she was about to go to work: a pink blouse over a white tank top, and a knee-length black skirt with dark stockings and sharp heels. Darcy’s makeup drew attention to her pink cheeks, thick lips and bright green eyes. Her light brown hair was tied back in a long ponytail.
“Well, Ethan?” Darcy asked. She started to tap her foot.
I took my hand off my dick and turned off the video. I put the iPad down on the bed next to me and drew my boxers back up to my waist. All under my sister’s disapproving glare.
“I was… I mean,” I gestured fruitlessly at my exposed fruit, still quite erect despite my current predicament. I was wearing an old, yellow t-shirt and, now, a pair of tatty blue boxers. My hair, tight brown curls, were in their always uncontrollable state. Like my head was permanently frozen in mid-explosion
“I know what you were doing, E,” Darcy said my nickname like it was a curse word. “I just don’t understand why.”
I had a hard time believing that my older sister didn’t understand my need for self-pleasure. I mean, I was an eighteen-year-old boy – a species best known for its hedonist habits. I spent most of my waking hours working my wiener in all sorts of ways. I doubt I was much different than any other living, breathing male at my age (and probably some dead ones as well). Though she was single at the moment, my sister was no prude. There was no way she was that naive about the inner workings of a teenaged boy.
To be fair, Darcy had been away at college for the last four years, visiting only briefly for holidays. Even summers, she spent out at internships or living with friends. So, I suppose my sister was used to the (relatively) sweet, young boy she’d left behind and not this masculine, masturbating monster.
Darcy, now aged twenty-two, had only been back at the house for a few weeks. After her four years of schooling were over, she’d moved in so she could start her career without worrying about extraneous expenses like rent and food. My parents, hippy-dippy folks who both worked with computers, didn’t understand their daughter’s career-driven lifestyle. But the benefit of people like that is, even if they don’t get it, they’re supportive. Darcy could have taken a decade off to follow the Dead and our parents would have still been encouraging. In fact, they probably would have understood that more
Myself, I was more like my Mom and Dad. High school was over, and I supposed I ought to get a job at some point, but for the moment I was enjoying my newfound freedom. I was a smart kid, good with computers like the ‘rents, and I had a scholarship waiting for me in the fall if I wanted it. But there was a whole summer out there, man, and I wanted to take advantage.
I spent the first few weeks smoking pot, goofing off, and doing, well, this: looking at porn and pulling at my penis. I didn’t have a girlfriend. All my friends were working. Jerking off was the height of entertainment for me at that age.
Meanwhile, even though Darcy was back to living at home, I never saw her. We passed each other at meals, sometimes, but mostly she was like a ghost who’d taken up residence in the spare bedroom. A rumor, but nothing more.
Well, this morning my sister was very much real and staring down at me like she’d caught me red-handed. Which… Yes, OK. She’d done exactly that.
“Admit it, Ethan,” Darcy said. She leaned against the door frame, watching me carefully. Like studying a particularly strange-looking beetle. Masturbationus Coleoptera. “I want to hear you confess to what you were doing.”
I stared back at my sister, eyes goggling. My tongue and jaw worked to move but no sound came out. Only a few strangled susurrations.
Darcy sighed, then stepped into my room. Most of the time, I was sleeping in when she left for work. She must have been running late or something. But Darcy didn’t seem hurried. Instead she casually walked around, looking at my space like seeing it for the first time.
My room was still dressed for high school with light blue walls covered in posters of supercars and superheroes. I had two beat-up, fake-wood dressers. My bed was a tiny twin with Star Wars sheets and a denim comforter. I’d decorated the floor with discarded clothes from over a series of months. There was a small trash can on the side of my bed and it was overflowing with dirty tissues. Darcy’s nose wrinkled and it occurred to me that my room was probably quite ripe.
Finally, after completing her tour, my sister took a seat down at the edge of the bed. She patted the empty spot next to her.
“Come here, E,” Darcy said.
Warily, I rolled over and sat down next to my sister. When my butt took the spot where Darcy’s hand had been resting, she simply put her palm back in the same place, now resting on my bare, hairy thigh.
My big sister looked me over, but I couldn’t meet her eyes. Instead I stared down at my overlarge, pink feet.
“It’s not right, Ethan,” Darcy said, “What you’re doing to yourself. You know that.”
“Come on Darcy, what’s the big deal?” I said, finally finding my voice. It was whiny and oddly high but at least it was there. “I mean, I’m sorry you caught me and all. I’m sure that was uncomfortable. But everybody does it. Don’t pretend that you don’t.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Darcy said. She slid her hand slightly up my thigh, to the point where her pinky was actually touching the bottom of my boxers. “It’s wrong for you to do that when your big sister is around.”
“I didn’t know you were here,” I said, “Usually you’re at work by now.”
“Hm,” Darcy said, as if considering my argument, “You know what? That’s fair.” Her hand slid up further. Now her pinkie was actually under my boxers. The nail, painted a neon pink like the rest of her fingers, tickled at my shaft. I couldn’t hold back my gasp as my sister’s finger made contact then dragged up and down my cock.
Like I said, I didn’t have a girlfriend. In fact, I’d never had one. There were a few sloppy makeout sessions with Cara O’Brien during summer camp my junior year, but that was the limit of my experience. No one, besides myself (and a physician, probably), had ever touched me below the waist. My sister’s little finger felt fantastic and my cock responded in kind, staggering upward till it poked through the fly hole of my underwear.
I froze. I expected Darcy to recoil. To jump off the bed and start shouting all over again. Instead, she just smiled.
“There’s a good boy,” she said.
My older sister took her hand off my leg. She daintily pulled the hole of my boxers open, allowing my dick to fully pop free. It pulsed in the cold air.
“You shouldn’t be stroking your dick when I’m not around, either,” Darcy said. “In fact, you shouldn’t be stroking it at all. Ever.”