Sisters

I have always had a thing for sisters.

My own sister is six years older than I am. As a consequence, by the time I was in high school, she was long gone from the family home, was living on the other side of the world, and I never knew her at all. We were, quite simply, strangers within our own family. But I have always been proud of my tall, elegant, unknown sister.

During my years at university, I would go back to my home town each semester break and over those long hot summer holidays, one year a sweet girl would entrance me and captivate me, and then the next year her sister would do the same. I was like Merlin trapped in his tree, and Nimue and her sisters spun their magic. I was hopeless.

I had survived those angst ridden teenage years where you learn to love and lust, bounce from hopeless crushes to those first tentative kisses, then clumsy gropes in the back row of the movies, hurried hand jobs in cars, the occasional weekends where parents were away and long hair fell down over pale skin, and more memories were chosen and made and remembered.

The bad moments were forgotten, the wondrous minutes expanded into hours, and so little myths and moments became permanent etchings and carvings on shelves in my mind. So many lovely girls had places there. Some might have loved me in their own young, innocent ways, and some held my hand and ran with me in the rain.

One pair of sisters entranced me especially. At the beginning of my second year at uni I sat in the college dining room with my mates from the previous year, and we assessed the girls coming into their first year in the hall. We judged in our chauvinist way whether they had come from state schools or the fee paying private schools, mummy and daddy's little angels; or the Catholic schools, virgins maybe, innocence doubtful. I knew that two girls were coming down from my home town, I didn't know them, but knew of them through my parents.

They were both dark haired, these two, but the slighter, smaller girl beguiled me immediately. Her friend was bigger breasted, taller, not so much my type. But Tori, she was slim and delicate. Her hair was dark, cut just above her shoulders, and she had a way about her when she turned her head to look at me. She would turn her head, but as she did so she would close her eyes, as if she could not bear to see the smearing wash of the turning movement.

The effect was always there - she would turn her head and there would be the movement of her face, and a sway of her hair, but the face that now looked in my direction would always be eyeless. And then she would then open her eyes, slowly, but always looking directly at me. She always did it, and at first it was a bit unnerving because her gaze would always be so direct, once her eyes were open.

Once I got used to it, I saw that there was a more subtle effect, that I'm not sure that Tori even knew. The way she slowly opened her eyes was just so sexy, so slow. It was like a swoon in reverse, this lazy slow look, as if Tori knew that her eyes would open and reveal her thoughts. It was like a little seduction, every time. She was a slight, slender, sexy little thing with languid eyes; a young woman, no longer a girl.

We would often, a group of us, often go for a long walk around the side of the mountain to a swimming lagoon on the lake. The lake was shallow and its water quite warm, and a beach had been constructed with a diving pontoon some thirty metres from shore. That day there were five or six of us, I can't remember now exactly who, but I do remember Tori.

It was the first time I had seen her strip down to her swimming costume, which was a black one-piece, cut low down her back to a scoop of cloth just covering the cheeks of her bum. She was shy, and turned quickly onto her belly and lay with her arms in front of her body, hiding her chest and her small breasts.

It was hot, and the pontoon was the thing, because I could show off my fast swim and slender frame as I climbed from the water, and then we three boys would bomb the water, a competition to make the highest mushroom of spray, a crump as our bodies hit and levered against the water, or a carefully timed flip of our legs in a rotating dive. Water would burst and spray twenty metres with a good martini. I don't know why we called those spraying dives a martini, but that's what they were. We laughed and showed off for thirty minutes or so, and then tired of the water.

The other two knew that I had a thing for Tori, and as we straggled back to the shore, one of them pulled my feet from under me and I floundered in the water. The two of them were orchestrated, and one grabbed my legs, the other my arms, and carried me dripping to where Tori lay.

"Don't you dare, you bastards, she's dry."

But my chivalry was no good. As she turned to see what was happening, the two of them dropped my dripping body right on top of her, my weight pushing her back on to her towel.

"God, I'm so sorry," I panted, "they're such tools. I've drenched you. Are you OK?"

Luckily for me she had a sense of humour, and she just pushed me off herself and sat up, wrapping her towel around her slightness. It was probably just as well that the water was a bit cooler now, because I was saved the embarrassment of a swelling cock against her. I have to say, I didn't mind what had just happened. But still, not cool.

But I wrapped my own towel around myself and dried off in the sun. Tori and I chatted about this and that, how her course work was going, that sort of thing. The sun was warm and a gentle breeze caressed our skin. Tori forgot that she was a nervous fawn, and lay on her back, her head resting on a pillow of our clothes. She was slender and her limbs were fine, and lying on her back her small breasts flattened on her chest.

Damn, that one-piece was nicely cut. It scooped in at the sides of her waist before splitting into two long triangles of cloth that separated over her slight breasts, but could not hide the bumps of her budding nipples, slightly peaked in the cooling breeze. I couldn't help myself and had to gaze at her lovely curves. And she turned her face towards me, with that slow, heavy lidded stillness, and when she looked up at my face, she could see the direction of my gaze, and I was caught.

Tori's big brown eyes opened just a fraction wider than her familiar look, and I knew that I was seen, looking at her body. She looked down at her body, as if to intersect with the direction of my look, and when she slowly moved her eyes back up, she dragged the line of my gaze and silently commanded me. We looked into each other's eyes, and it was a different kind of seeing. I had seen her, and maybe she was realising I was there.

We made our way back along the path to the hall and I carried her bag full of gear, my towel draped across my shoulder. If it was a walk to the library I would have carried her books. The others were content to leave us to wander along by ourselves, behind the gang, and they were giving us space and time. We were friends together and knew each other's moods well. The boys could fool around where there was water and sun, but we would give each other space as the sun went down. And the girls were innocent and learning, and as the low moon rose, their moods were ethereal, weaving spells over us and especially me. Tori was slight and dark, with something of the fey about her.

But this was something simpler. I had been dropped on her unawares, wet and cold, and she had laughed as she rolled away. But she had felt my body on hers in the warming sun, and even though she was quiet and reserved, maybe Tori would respond in her own slow time, her languid look as she turned towards me, turning sultry. I hoped so, oh yes, I hoped so.

In the end it was in her own slow time and in her own unique way, which I did not expect. About a week or so after our walk back from the lake in the dusk, Tori came to my room one evening late, a quiet knock on the door. I had been reading, lying on the bed opposite the window, with just a single lamp on.

The window was open, a mild late summer breeze lifting the scent of a freshly mown grass lawn up to the second storey in the cooling night air. A half moon had risen, casting a pale blue shadow over the courtyard and the room. Tori put her finger to her lips, hush, not a sound. She pulled a chair around so that its back was against the window, shucked off her shoes and was bare legged, bare footed, wearing a pleated skirt and a loose shirt buttoned down the front.

She kneeled on the cushion of the chair and leaned on its back, looking out the window, not saying a word. Her elbows rested on the back of the chair, and her chin rested in the palms of her hands, her fingers like a little prayer on each side of her face. The moonlight cast a pale shadow into the room, her shadow a darkness on the floor. She was motionless for two or three minutes, not saying a word. I put my book down and turned off the lamp.

This was not usual for Tori, and I knew something was unfolding here, but it was her play, not mine.

She looked slowly back at me and then back out the window. In the shadow of the chair I saw that one hand had dropped to the edge of her skirt, and her fingers curled around the hem.

Slowly, slowly (God, this girl did everything slowly), slowly she started to roll the skirt up her thigh, a tantalisingly slow roll of cloth. Then there was a tighter bunch, and she stretched out the fingers of her hand to grip a fuller fold of the pleated cloth, but still the slow rising of the cloth was slow. One side of her skirt was raised near her hip now, and there was a diagonal of cloth draping across the back of her legs down to the other knee, and now this side of cloth also started to slide upwards.

The high side of the cloth was now as high as her hip, and bunched up close to the waistline of the skirt. Half her ass cheek was now a pale half crescent, and I realised I could not see the line of her panties - surely by now I would be seeing the soft curve of her underwear? And then she shifted her knees, so they were spread maybe eight inches apart, and now she was twisting on the waist band of her skirt so that the other side also lifted higher, and now the full curve of the bottoms of both cheeks were slowly visible.

I saw, in the dark shadows of the chair, in the shadow of the moonlight, that there was another dark shadow, that was the darkness of Tori's splitting crotch being revealed before me, uncovered except by the cloth of her skirt. Which was now fully lifted and bunched about her waist, and before me were the two taut cheeks of her ass, curved above the bare thighs, and a dark shadow between her legs. And her hand stopped its upwards pull of the cloth.

Again, she slowly turned towards me, her eyes closed until she was ready to look, and then the languid, slow opening of those heavy lids, and her eyes were dark. She looked back to the window, and shifted her knees maybe another two inches apart. Her skirt was bunched high around her waist, her ripe bum was exposed to my stare, and now her slow hand reached for the buttons of her shirt, undoing them slowly one by slow one. Damn, her seduction was slow and freezing me motionless, my eyes a burning heat within my astonished skull.

Again Tori turned towards me, and this time she nodded, just the once, a permission. Her skirt was bunched right up around her waist, and her shirt all undone, but held close to her body, nothing showing. Across the courtyard the opposite rooms were either darkened windows with curtains drawn and glimmers of light around the outside, or black windows; the rooms unoccupied.

Directly across from my window was Tori's darkened room, her lights off, for her darkness was here in my room. But Tori wasn't taking anything to chance. Should anyone have looked up at her at my window, they would only have seen a dark silhouette of a girl, gazing out the window, with a shirt held warm around her. The bareness of her legs and backside and the glorious darkness between her legs were a secret thing, for my eyes alone, inside the room and in the moonlight shadow.

And for my hands, because now I was willed to move by her slow-eyed look, and I quickly crawled out of my clothes and made my way to her on the floor, for I instinctively knew she did not want any sudden movement to be seen from outside, no movement to attract attention. I was behind her, my face inches away from her shadowed groin, and the curves of her bottom were taut and fine before me.

I slowly ran one hand up the outside of her leg, as slow as her lifting of her skirt, and she took that one hand in hers and placed it further up inside her loose shirt and onto the tight peaked nipple rising tight and proud from her small breast, and held it firm to her heart. She squeezed my hand to her breast, and in turn I held her breast firm and tight, and ah goodness, I could just feel the quick flutter of her heartbeat against the cup of my palm. Her movements and her look may have been slow, but her quick pulse beat another story.

I gently pressed on her hardened nipple and her small breast, which was hot under her shirt, and enjoyed the delicate weight of it on my palm, and her breast was nicely curved. And now she took one of her fingers and ran it between her legs, slowly, a gasp emitting from her throat, and a sigh. Satisfied with her wetness, Tori reached further back and found my other hand, and brought it with her own up to her nestled sex, and made me cup her sweet dark place.

She pressed her weight down upon it and slowly squirmed upon my palm, gently rocking from side to side, back and forth, and her sex was wet on my palm, her lips slick. She clasped her hand to my hand that was against her breast, and pressed it hard to her. So both my palms cupped her two hot places, and both her hands pressed my hands to her heat.

"Kneel down behind me," she whispered,"I want you in me."

I carefully climbed onto the chair behind her, and placed the head of my shaft to the centre of Tori's wetness. She was light and delicate, and I had a length, but I did not know how experienced this girl was.

"Come down on to me," I urged, "I can hold your weight."

She was a fairy light thing, dark and lithe, but clearly knowing what she wanted. I was astonished at her audacity in this seduction, and she had either thought this through many times in her head, because her seduction was preternaturally slow and determined and I was being entranced by her, or she was moving moment by delicious moment. It didn't matter, it was slow and magical.

But Tori was frustrated by the clumsiness of our bodies on the chair.

"Back on the bed, go back to the bed," she murmured.

As she left the window she pulled one curtain across so there was only half a moon beam, but it cast its blue light over the thrown back blankets. She pushed me onto my back on the bed and pulled that twist of her skirt down her legs and cast it to the floor. Tori left her shirt on, but it swung open as she climbed on top of me, sitting upright.

Her breasts were hard nippled and firm, just a slight curve of flesh on her delicate body. She was small framed and lithe, a flat tummy and narrow waist, a shadow of dark hair at the base of her belly. She was little, but oh fuck, what a woman. Tori had surely decided exactly what she wanted, and was taking it, getting it. She may have been only nineteen, but she was a woman, not a girl. Damn, she was heat, smouldering.

She looked down at me, her big eyes open wide, pupils black and dilated. Her black bob of hair was dishevelled now, falling about her face and hiding it like a veil, a dark, black veil. Her nose was little and upturned, her lips full. Tori's tongue was a concentrated little point just piercing her lips, as she raised herself on her haunches and started to lower herself onto my hardness.

Slow, wet inch by slow, wet inch she slowly impaled herself onto my shaft, her eyes never blinking and never moving her gaze from my face. I sank into her eyes as my heat sank into her wetness, and the two of us were making little moans together as she sheathed me in her tightness. Christ she was tight, and arched her back as if to make room for my length.

She collapsed onto my body, and sprawled her littleness along my tall slimness, and I held her close on top of me, my hands cupping her taut ass and pressing her to me. She nuzzled her mouth into my neck, and then rolled to her side, taking my length with her so that we lay on our sides, my cock deep inside her, one of her legs pulled high and resting on my hip.

Our hands laced fingers through and through, held to our chests like a mutual prayer. So we lay slowly together, quiet and slowly moving. We had no urgency and her slowness was restful, and she lengthened my time and made sure I was hard in her for a long time. Just lying gently on our sides, hardly moving, just a slow, sweet caress of our moon blue skin.

Her slowness was so slow, and her langourous, heavy lidded gaze so langourous, and her smouldering sexuality so burning and intense; that there was a weave of conflicting magical spells in the room, all cast in blue under the cooling moonlight. We both wanted this intensity to peak and explode right now in a surging fire of ecstasy, in a shower of gold; but at the same time we both wanted this slow, liquid molten heat to last forever like a slow river of silver weaving and meandering through a forest.

So we resolved the impossibly good dilemma by scattering and caressing the touch of our delicate fingers up and down each other's bodies like moths darting near a flame; our kisses murmuring endearments over our throats and cheeks and eyelids, tongues penetrating lips and sucking heat into each other's mouths.

Our words to each other were soft little exhalations at the wonder that was between us, no real words or sentences, just our thoughts made breath. This was a firstness between us, and might be a last, so in that mutual moment it was as if we both wanted it to last forever. And for a moment, it did.

Our gentleness and wet unhurriedness was so slow, so gentle, that at one point, and it might have been for ten minutes or ten seconds, I don't know, we fell asleep in each other's arms, my hardness still deep in her wetness and in her clench, her delicate fingers a soft palmed embrace of my cheek, her hand feeling the pulse over my heart, my hand a stopped caress of her silk black hair.

With a small start I shifted awake and opened my eyes. As I did so, I felt a rolling twist of my body and when I blinked, there gazing back at me were not the dark black eyes of Tori that I expected to see, but a piercing gaze of blue, looking back at me, deep into me. Then there was the rolling twist once more, and I opened my eyes again, to see Tori's familiar slow eyed gaze, her eyes slowly opening with that direct, familiar look.

"I think I've just seen my own eyes," I said. "I think I just rolled out of my body, looked at my own eyes, and rolled back. That was incredible."

"How can that be?"

"I think it's a peak moment of intensity, that triggers something in the brain. You've peaked me, lovely girl, you've reset my brain."

"Reset mine," she urged, and began to move on me with a new urgency. She dipped her finger down between us to pull some of her wetness up over her clit, and I could feel the urgency of her finger frigging herself. Her other hand snaked around to my ass, and she pulled me hard into her. She clenched, and bit her lip and then bit mine, and a salt taste was in our mouths, and a new passion was upon her, rising and speeding. Her finger on the top of her sex was like a switch, and her movements were no longer slow and considered. Tori was in a new place now, a hot surging place.