Sibling Rivalry_(0)

He worked his hand up along my calf to my bent knee. The slow, erotic brush of his fingertips made it difficult not to gasp or flinch. In fact, it took genuine effort to keep my breath even and continue to feign sleep. 

We had pushed this cat-and-mouse game to the limit – the culmination of a summer’s worth of teasing was summed up in this tremulous confrontation between my younger brother and I. Our parents sleeping just a hall away, he had crept into my bedroom to molest me in my sleep. Or had he? Was he betting that I was faking? Was he just calling my bluff? 

I shifted slightly and gave a little yawn, cocking my head to the side so that I could open my eyelids a fraction of an inch. Daniel drew back and hesitated, staring at me intently. Although he didn’t remove his hand from my knee, it went dead still. I continued my even breathing. His body language said it all: he wasn’t gambling on anything; he believed I was sleeping.

He had never made so bold a move before, trespassing into my room. At least, I didn’t think there had been. For all I knew, he might have been sneaking in to peek on me every night. The little pig!

Of course, it was hard to be indignant. I had been putting him through adolescent hell ever since he’d hit puberty. I never knew what possessed me when my wicked instincts took over – but I was constantly tempted to flash him and brush up against him. At dinner, in the car – whenever and wherever we were alone together. I was never overt with my gestures and teasing, however. I was careful to make him believe he was getting a lucky glimpse or touch. Still, years worth of coincidences must have given him some doubt – he had to wonder if I was doing these things to him on purpose.

Daniel had always been a shy, lanky kid, as sweet and doting a little brother as any older sister could hope for. He never whined or played pranks, so I was happy to drag him around with my friends. He had sort of become the little pet of my circle of friends, the girls always cuddling and spoiling him while the boys introduced him to beer and creative cursing. 

When I’d gone off to college he had pouted the entire week leading up to my departure – and been an absolute grouch since my return. I didn’t see what he had to be so growly about; I’d left him a reputation as the coolest junior at the high school where I’d reigned. Now in his senior year, he had lettered in wrestling and was a grade-A catch for any teenage twit. He was in the right crowd, and no slouch to look at.

In fact, my little brother had gone through an interesting metamorphosis since last I’d seen him. All those gangly limbs were now thickened with muscle. His unruly, sandy hair had darkened and been cropped short. He even had a trace of mustache and goatee shadowing his square face. The brown eyes were still the same, but the innocent little boy I’d teased to sin was gone. I didn’t recognize this brooding bear who’d assumed the role of my only sibling. 

His hand began to move again, now openly caressing my thigh while he urged my legs wider apart. I let them limply comply, excited and curious to see how far he was willing to push his luck. The tension was exquisite. 

I couldn’t help but recall the car trip we’d taken to Orlando a few years back. Mom and Dad had been bickering about something in the front seat while I’d lounged in the back, my feet spilling over onto Daniel’s lap. I had wiggled my feet back and forth, as though swaying them to music – the entire time my heels resting on his crotch. He’d had a raging hard on by the time our parents had figured out which of them had messed up the directions – and I’d pretended to fall asleep, the arch of my feet snugly cupping my brother’s hard cock. I was relatively sure I’d forced him to jack off in a dozen different rest stops between Florida and Michigan before we’d returned home. 

For all that he’d endured, it was impossible for me to even pretend to be shocked now, waking to find him kneeling beside my bed. There was a raspy sound emanating from him, the rasp of labored breathing. He was all but panting as his squeezed my tight, slim thigh, and his excitement was contagious. My hardened nipples stood out firmly beneath the thin, satiny fabric of my short nightdress, and I felt the damp heat that was starting to make the matching panties slick. 

It was time to wake up and end this before it went any further. 

With a stretching yawn, and then a pretended start, I gasped and sat upright. 

“Daniel,” I exclaimed in mock astonishment and confusion. “What are you doing here?” 

He didn’t answer me, and much to my surprise, he kept his hand solidly planted on my inner thigh. No fumbling apology. No hasty retreat. No boyish sheepishness. We were face to face, and even though it was too dark to tell, I could feel his stare burning into me, smoldering there in the dark. He inched his hand up.

“Daniel,” I scolded, but there was no trace of real reproach in my tone. “Get your hands off me and get out of my room.”

In open defiance, his fingers lifted off my thigh, only to press roughly against the crotch of my damp panties. I cried out in stunned scandal. 

“You’re wet,” he stated flatly without a hint of shyness in his tone. Before I could utter the briefest murmur of denial, his mouth was on mine.

I had been kissed a lot in my time. From my pre-teen years, I had always had boys buzzing after me like bees to honey , all of them a swarm of sticky fingers and humming mouths. But nothing had ever felt quite so raw and hungry as my brother’s kiss – both poisonous and luscious. Yet, more ravenous than his dominant lips were his aggressive fingers – wasting no time as they traced the lips of my pulsating pussy through my drenched panties. 

Dazed, I leaned into both his kiss and his touch – it was so open and primal, I couldn’t help but be lulled into the pull of his lust. Carnivorous and confident, he crammed his hand fully into my panties.

I tasted his groan when he made contact with my freshly-waxed baby-bare little box. I’d known before the summer was over, I’d be working on my tan down by the lake, and so I’d endured the pain of a full bikini waxing. A Brazilian wax was what the rather hefty woman at the parlor had called it. By whatever name, I was still unaccustomed to the intensity of sensation that radiated off my bald puss, and the contact of my brother’s fingers on my smoothness made my body arch off the bed.

“Daniel, get off me and stop this!” I tried to sound authoritative, but I was trembling and my voice couldn’t help but betray it. A zealous thrill combined with chilling dread in my stomach to produce a decadent rush of awareness in my flesh. 

“No,” was his simple reply, and he moved his body half atop me while pushing me back into the mattress.