Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.
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"Tom. You need to get yourself over here this evening, after work. Need to fix the radiator in the sitting room." Liz was never one for saying please. She had been my younger sister for 49 years and I don't remember her ever saying please – she simply expected people – well, me – to do what she wanted. Don't get me wrong – she was a good sister, and had been a great support when my wife had died three years before. But she was a bossy older sister – three years older than me.
We had grown up together with our parents until she left home at 21 to live with her first serious boyfriend. After two or three more boyfriends she settled down and married Kevin. The marriage survived 20 years until Kevin could take no more of being bossed around, and left for a girl he met at work. There always seemed to be more we never heard about in the relationship of Liz and Kevin, and times when things seemed a bit odd. I remember once visiting and was puzzled that Kevin seemed to want to stand up all the time. I asked him why, and he said Elizabeth had got angry with him. He wouldn't say any more! Apparently Kevin and the girl from work were living happily together, Kevin looking considerably less "oppressed!"
When we were young I adored Elizabeth, but over the years we went our separate ways with me and Fiona living overseas until her health problems became serious and we moved back to the town where my parents had lived, where my sister still lived. Of course we kept in touch, and Elizabeth and Kevin came to us for holidays – the advantage of having family living in hot places! Elizabeth and Fiona were good friends, and would often joke about how they needed to keep me under control as they kept Kevin under control! They were both strong women, but despite the jokes I always felt "adored" by my wife, and loved as a brother by my sister.
When we returned home, Elizabeth and Kevin had already broken up, and Elizabeth was a great help. Elizabeth also talked about a new partner – George – but for some reason we never met him. They didn't live together for the first couple of years, but they had moved in together six months ago. George travelled for work, however, and our paths never seemed to cross.
When Fiona died Liz was there everyday, kept me fed, helped me through the tough times, and occasionally tried to set me up with women, but somehow it always felt too early to start dating again. Now, three years later, I felt I was on an even keel, work was going fine, and I was enjoying more of a social life. And Liz – Elizabeth was still trying to run my life, set me up with one of her friends and telling me what I should be doing. All of which I generally ignored! At least as much as I could.
So she had phoned me at work, and I found myself ringing the bell to her house, and Liz letting me in. "I'll get something cooking, but if you want to get started on the radiator..." she pointed in the general direction of a radiator and disappeared into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a cup of coffee.
Luckily I understand heating systems – I used to do plumbing work before going overseas to run a campsite. I checked out the radiator. It needed bleeding, but also the brackets holding it on the wall needed replacing, or at least re-setting into the wall. Often a sign someone had been sitting on the radiator!
I did most of the work before Liz served me some lasagne, then took half an hour after to finish, although I would have to get a new bracket to mount the control for the radiator. By eight I'd finished.
"Oh, by the way I found these stuck down the back of the radiator." I held out the pair of panties I'd found to Liz – black lacy – probably having fallen down the back when they were being dried.
Liz gave a wry smile. "You may as well keep them. You used to like them when you were young!"
I wasn't sure what she meant, but my heart had leapt... "What..."
"Well, I used to find my panties in the wash stained with – well you know!" She smirked again.
My face went hot and bright red with embarrassment – that was 30 years before, and I thought no-one knew I liked to play with her panties...
"So I know you jerked off into them. Expect you sniffed them and licked them as well – men do. So you can take these away with you. I'm sure you haven't changed!"
I was so embarrassed. I put them in my pocket, got my coat and left. She shouted "See you soon..." as I left, "Come and fit that bracket when you've got it!" The door closed behind me.
I got home. I looked at them. They were black, they were lacy, they were sexy, I did play with them again...
By the weekend I had the part I needed, so arranged with Liz to fit it on Saturday afternoon. I thought I might even get to meet George, being a weekend. For a couple of days I had felt nervous, following the "panties" incident. What would she say? Do? What would happen the next time I saw her. However, when I phoned she acted as if nothing had happened, so on the Saturday I was nervous, but hopeful nothing would happen. But then I had an idea... a very bad idea, although I didn't realise it at the time. Or maybe a bad idea which ended up fantastically...
Why not wear the panties? How hot would that feel?