Despite my having just turned eighteen and so finally being able to drink legally, it wasn't even eleven o'clock when I came home that Friday evening. The pubs in town had all been quiet; presumably most people weren't up for a night out on the evening before Princess Diana's funeral?
I walked into the lounge to find my elder sister Sarah sprawled on the couch; she was notionally studying ahead of her return to university in a couple of weeks time, but mainly listening to music on her Sony Discman and didn't even notice my arrival. Sarah was made-up to the nines and dressed like a slut; nothing unusual there, that was often Sarah's chosen escape from the restrictions under which we both lived
Our father was an Anglican Bishop and while neither he nor our mother overtly laid any of that on Sarah and I, there had always been an unspoken expectation that we dressed and behaved... conservatively. I won't say that I didn't get involved in any hi-jinks and capers with my friends, but I was never the one to start the ball rolling and they looked to me -- on occasion quite literally -- to be the one to call a halt before we got ourselves into any serious trouble. I've no doubt that Sarah found the same.
Still, it did give me the opportunity to enjoy the view: Other than our father's height -- Sarah's remains a good two inches taller than me -- she's the spitting image of our Lebanese mother: Athletically-Slim, olive skinned, ink-black hair & eyes, with cheekbones that you could cut yourself on. Sarah's hot with a capital H and sister or not, I'd been perving on her for as long as I could remember; Sarah had caught me doing so often enough for it to be no secret.
That night was no exception, Sarah's green camisole crop-top barely covered her pert tits and her flat belly not at all; I saw her navel was pierced, that was something new. With the three lowest buttons of her short, button-fronted, denim skirt unfastened, I was presented with a glorious view of Sarah's thighs and even a glimpse of the white panties she wore beneath. I was so engrossed that I didn't catch the moment when my presence registered with Sarah.
"Enjoying the view Andy; burning it into your mind ahead of tonight's wank-fest?" My colour was already rising before Sarah added: "I'd better fit a lock on my laundry basket before you go upstairs and borrow any more of my bras or pants to jack-off into."
My embarrassment was now complete, I must've turned as red as a beetroot. It was no secret between us that I'd peered around partially open bedroom and bathroom doors for years to catch glimpses of Sarah naked; I even suspected that there were times when said doors had deliberately been left ajar to tease me. But the underwear thing... I didn't realise that Sarah had known about that.
Sarah burst into laughter at my discomfiture at this revelation before continuing -- I was beyond speech! - "So, if you're still getting horny from eyeing-up your sister, I'm guessing that you haven't got laid while you were out this evening; little Andy's still a virgin..." I was still bright red from Sarah's earlier quip, so things didn't get any worse. "... Why didn't you take yourself down Green Lane? You'd have got laid there for £50, or for less than you likely spent in the pub, you could at least have got one of the hookers to show you something to fuel tonight's wank-fest."
Sarah was rolling around laughing again when I finally found my voice: "And why would I spend money on looking at the old tarts down there, when I can come home and ogle one here for free?"
That put an end to Sarah's laughter... well, curbed it slightly, as the conversation rapidly descended into the usual circle of good humoured name calling and insults that we'd traded for years, soon followed by the inevitable fight. To my childhood rage and more latterly shame, it'd only been over the previous couple of years that I'd finally been able to win those wrestling matches with my sister.
I won this latest tousle easily; in hindsight, perhaps too easily? Within only a minute or so I'd had Sarah pinned to the floor, with her hands pulled high above her head as I sat astride her knees, with both of us gasping to recover our breaths. Sarah, as ever was the first to speak: "Well, given the circumstances and especially with that erection waving in my face, I'd perhaps better apologise?"
Looking down I was as hard as a nail and creating a very obvious tent in the front of my trousers. The embarrassment was coming back and in an effort to at least say something I enquired "What circumstances?"
Sarah's adopted a teasing smile as she replied: "A vulnerable young woman, alone in an isolated house and knowing that her parents won't be home until the morning; a man could do anything he liked to her... use her like one of those whores on Green Lane and nobody would hear her screams."
"Then in the morning; when her parents came home?"
Sarah's smile turned wicked: "Why, she'd be far too embarrassed to tell them, or indeed anyone else; just imagine the headlines 'Bishop's Daughter Raped!'. No, she'd keep it a secret... forever."
I've no idea how long the silence... and stillness, lasted; but once again it was Sarah who finally broke the spell; she began to squirm and wriggle beneath me, begging for release and pleading for me not to hurt her. My grip on her wrists had eased during that silent hiatus, but Sarah still seemed unable to break free; even when my left hand released them -- though my right one did tighten a little -- Sarah remained... feeble, in her escape efforts; this was unusual though not inexplicable, that wicked smile along with the sparkle of excitement that had by then entered her eyes provided an answer which even someone as naive as myself could interpret.
My free hand settled onto my Sarah's warm belly, circling gently across the soft skin -- how often had I envisaged doing just that? -- while she writhed beneath me and pleaded for me to '"Behave... Stop that right now... I'm not that sort of girl... let me go Andy... I'm your sister for God's sake!" Sarah's words and tone were very believable, but both were undermined by her persisting smile, those sparkling-eyes and the half-heartedness of her struggles.
"Too late bitch... dress like a slut and you'll get used like one." My left hand slid upward beneath Sarah's silky top and didn't falter when it met her lacy bra, I hooked a thumb beneath that and dragged it up and roughly over her tits. That drew a yelp, but not necessarily one of distress, an opinion confirmed when my hand slid back to firmly cup Sarah's right breast and roll the nipple between my fingers; Sarah's gasp was one of pleasure, while her next squirm pressed that soft orb harder against my hand rather than attempting to retreat from it. Sarah was inflamed and I guess I was no better.
I released Sarah's boob for just long enough to scrabble back to the hem of her camisole top and drag it roughly upward; perhaps too roughly as I heard the fabric tear, though neither of us commented on that. I was certainly beyond caring, I just wanted to set eyes on Sarah's tits! I'd glimpsed them often enough over the years, but this would be up close and personal, something that I'd long dreamt of.
Sarah's tits didn't disappoint: Not 'big' by any stretch of the imagination, but they were firm and beautifully shaped, the size of two half-grapefruits each capped with a pert nipple, the size and hardness of a peanut, both those and the surrounding areola were of a brown so dark as to appear almost black; more especially so once each had been moistened by the first pass of my lips and tongue.
My mouth and fingers feasted on Sarah's boobs for what seemed like hours, they were gorgeous, everything I'd ever imagined and while Sarah continued to struggle both physically and verbally against my attentions, those struggles were never sufficient to dislodge me and her foul mouthed invective was too often interspersed with moans, squeals and gasps of delight, not to mention one or two whispers of "oh yes, harder" and an "fuck yes, just like that".
