Another new story from my twisted imagination. I hope you enjoy it, and cast your votes when you're done. Everyone in the story is over eighteen, so no one need worry about that.
And to the readers who are hoping I will continue some of my other stories, rest assured I am working on new chapters for Julie and Red, Hank and Brosie, Vonnie and Danny, Buffy and Paul....
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Do you have a sister? If yes, then you might know what I'm talking about. If not, I would gladly sell you mine. Cheap.
Don't get me wrong. As her brother, I love my sister Hannah. I also hate her, and it would appear she hates me back. I've been told that's normal, but I could do without it.
Hannah is only ten months older than me, so we went through life's changes close enough together that she was the girl I first noticed becoming a woman. I think that's about where our relationship took a turn for the worse, and to be fair, I suppose it's at least partly my fault. I admit to spying on her, but she had it coming.
You see, far from the angelic aire she projects for my parents, my sister had been using her body to torture me for years. Very early, she figured out that I was fascinated with her developing curves, and used that fact to make my life hell.
Most recently, in the last year or so, her teasing had stepped up its intensity. Now that she was, um, shall we say, fully developed, she made no effort to hide the fact. Ever since her eighteenth birthday, when she became an adult in my parents' eyes, she had been brutal.
I suppose she felt safe in the fact that I would never act on the thoughts that were being put into my head by her behaviour. She's probably right, but boy, her safety was hanging by a thread by the time I had my eighteenth as well.
Actually, I didn't tell you much about my sister, other than that we hate each other, did I? My apologies. Okay, how to describe my sister, without the description being coloured by my negative emotions toward her? Let's see....
Well, she's blonde. We all are. Blonde hair and blue eyes are the defining feature of our family. More specifically, she has very long, attractive hair, with a nice wave to it, and her eyes are a sexy, icy blue, when they're not expressing their contempt for me. She has lovely, apparently kissable lips, and a pretty smile but for me, the most memorable part is her little smirk.
I'm not sure if it's natural, or cultivated, but that smirk reminds me very much of Natalie Dormer. Watching Game of Thrones became like watching my sister on TV, except for two things.
Two big things.
Picture Natalie Dormer crossed with a stripper, and you get the idea.
Now do you see why I feel I'm being tortured? Could you be teased with a body like that, and not get ideas a brother is not supposed to get about his sister?
In case you still don't get the picture, I'll be perfectly clear.
My sister is gorgeous. My sister has nice, big tits. My sister loves showing off her gorgeous body and big tits, keeping just out of reach. I can't tell you how many times I had fantasized about her, while dealing with my needs in the bathroom. What's worse, she knew it, and often was waiting for me outside the door, with a look of disgust.
"You're quite the little perv, aren't you?" she commented once, her arms crossed over her spectacular chest. She was wearing a tank top, so her posture only succeeded in forcing her tits to bulge up even more prominently, something my eyes couldn't ignore. Naturally, she caught me ogling her cleavage. "Eww! I hate you!"
I did notice that her face had that little crooked smirk on it as she turned away, and her ass had a little extra sway as she walked to her room. Perhaps her hatred was more than it seemed?
***
Hannah was very popular with anyone else but me, and had several friends, many of which were regulars in our backyard, using our pool. True to the idiom about birds and flocks, most of those friends were quite pretty, as well, and a few were equally built. Among those was Stephanie, Hannah's best friend.
Stephanie was hardly new around our house. She and Hannah had been nearly inseparable for the better part of a decade, ever since her family moved into the area. She had been accepted by my family as a sort of honorary sister, and I had personally heard my parents tell her that she was welcome anytime.
So, whether my sister was home or not, Stephanie would take my parents at their word, coming over several times a week to swim and tan in our yard. Her visits became a great source of entertainment for me.
I'm sure you understand what I mean by 'entertainment'. My bedroom window gave me a wonderful view of our yard, and when Stephanie was there, I was always paying attention to the show.
Stephanie was a cute little pixie, a couple of inches shorter than my sister, and only a couple of inches taller than five feet. Her hair was dark, and very long, hanging nearly to her waist. Her eyes were brown, and large, expressing her emotions quite vividly. Of course, none of that was important when she was using our pool.
Her body was, however, of primary importance. Lean and lithe, as so many nineteen-year old girls are, her shorter stature and large breasts gave her astounding curves. Those curves were usually contained by a small collection of quite revealing bikinis, of various colours. The black one was especially nice, with a thong style bottom, but my favourite was the red one. A bit older, and perhaps a bit too small, that top had a problem keeping her yummy tits in. She didn't wear it that often, but when she did, I was paying close attention.
The strange part of the whole situation was that Stephanie and I had a better relationship than I had with my sister. She knew I had eyes for her body, and had caught me gawking at her several dozen times, but she took it in stride, and was far more civil to me than I can ever remember my sister being. We were as much friends as she was with Hannah, but that friendship took a form that wouldn't offend my sister.
***
I can trace the beginning of the change back to one day, in particular. It's not the day that makes it memorable, as it wasn't the type of weather a person usually wants to remember. No glorious sun, azure skies, or gentle breezes.
Quite the opposite, really. It was grey, and wet, and oppressively still, with a constant rain that seemed like it would never stop. The type of rain that seems to suck up every other sound in the world. At least it was summer, so it wasn't that cold.
Nevertheless, I could hardly believe my eyes when I looked out into the backyard. My parents were out, and Hannah was also away, yet Stephanie was there, in our yard, sitting on the end of the diving board, dangling her feet in the water. Her feet were no more wet than the rest of her, as she was soaked to the bone. Her hair a stringy, bedraggled mess, every bit of clothing she wore was plastered to her body.
Sexy as it was, I was concerned for my friend. She didn't look happy.
Isn't there a song about crying in the rain? How it hides the tears?
That it may do, but it doesn't mask the sobs. Stephanie was distraught, and as I approached her from behind, I could see her body being shaken by her emotions.
"Steph?" I asked her, from under the umbrella I had found outside our back door, "Are you okay?"
She didn't look up, or turn around, merely shaking her head.
"No," she sniffed. "I'm not. I might never be okay again."
That sounded ominous, if overly dramatic. If she wasn't sitting out on the tip of the diving board, I would have sat with her, but as it was all I could do is talk to her from a distance.
"What's wrong, Steph?" I asked, hoping she'd at least turn to face me. Her head was hung low, soaked hair forming dark curtains that blocked out the world. "You can tell me. I promise no one else will ever know. It might help to let it out?"
Somehow, my words found the target, and she not only looked at me, she turned her body on the board, giving me a place to sit beside her, albeit a precarious one. She nodded, and I carefully took a spot next to her, sitting in a puddle of rain, hanging over the pool, with my feet in the water. My weight dipped her deeper into the pool, but she didn't seem to care.
At least now, she was under my umbrella. She tucked her soggy hair behind her ear, letting me see her face.
Even in distress, she was still pretty. I'm not sure I'd ever been this close to her before, as we sat, almost touching.
"You talk, I'll listen," I smiled. "No judgements. I promise."
Stephanie smiled weakly, and took a deep breath.
"Okay. Thanks for this," she began. "You're probably going to think it's silly girl stuff, but...."
"No judgements," I repeated, smiling again. Her return smile had a little more conviction behind it, this time.
So, sitting in the rain, under the protection of a small umbrella, Stephanie told me the tale. The early words came out slowly, reluctantly, as if forced out by her will, but as time passed, the flow increased. I sat there, listening and nodding, saying nothing, until everything burst out in an unstoppable tsunami of words and emotions. She was angry. She was frightened. She was embarrassed, sad, lonely, betrayed, confused....
And pregnant?
Okay, that one definitely got my attention, and I looked at her in surprise, but she was blubbering and bawling, no longer in control of what she said, or how it came out. At last, she was empty, and leaned heavily against me. I put my arm around her shoulders, and she put hers around my neck, sobbing into my chest.
What was her problem? Well, I'm paraphrasing a little, but essentially, her boyfriend dumped her, and she really liked him, and now he was with this other girl, who was a real slut, and this was after she had let him finally take her virginity, and now people were talking about how he had fucked her, and she thought she might be pregnant, and she couldn't talk to her parents about this, because they'd hate her for having sex, and now she felt cheap, and ugly, and she didn't know what to do, or how she could go on, and that even Hannah didn't know, and that her life was over.
Whew
. Yes, that was the short version. But, I promised her no judgements, so I just held her, and let her cry, feeling her wet body against mine. She was wracked by emotions, but also shivering. Warm rain or not, she was freezing.
"Steph, we need to get you in, out of the rain," I told her, my first words since she started talking. "You'll catch pneumonia or something."
"Okay," she shuddered, nodding her head.
I was able to shift sideways enough to reach the deck with my feet, and was standing when she tried to get to her feet on the wet, slippery board. In retrospect, it was a doomed attempt. Wet board, shoes filled with water, narrow room to stand. I had her hand in mine, trying to help, when she slipped, and pulled both of us into the pool, umbrella and all.
