Drun Sister Needs Help

AUTHOR'S NOTE: No characters under the age of 18 are represented in this work.

Here's a true story about myself and my sister that no one in the family knows...including my sister.

Beth was going through that partying phase of life that clouds a young lady's judgment. You know, hazardous suburban gatherings that lack adult supervision, and the like. I'd been enviously watching it happen for more than a year (coinciding with the time that our parents were separated), and was looking forward to the age when I'd earn the same sort of freedom that she was enjoying. It seemed to take an eternity to get through adolescence.

It didn't help in slowing down her partying that Beth was a curvy girl with a very pretty face and a penchant for wearing low-cut blouses and miniskirts (I'm afraid I'm giving away the era when this happened). When it wasn't skirts it was bell-bottom jeans, skin-tight to show off her ass. She wore her hair long and straight, and did I mention that when she gave out with one of her warm and happy smiles that she had a mouthful of beautiful teeth? Mine were in braces at the time, a socially painful event when you're that age (especially for boys). I resented Beth for her dental perfection alone, never mind the rest of the attention she received.

Despite being related to Beth I still found her sexy and desirable. Hell, I was a horny young man who got a hard-on if the wind blew strongly enough, so daydreams of stripping her naked and having my way with her should in no way be misconstrued as weird or incestuous. Should they? It didn't help that my friends were constantly pointing out her ripe body to me, as though I hadn't noticed.

Anyway, being the proverbial younger brother I could only look on as Beth slid from experimenting with reefer out back of the school, to Kahlua-fueled petting sessions in dark basement rec rooms, and from there to weekend binges with the field hockey team (a tough bunch of girls they were, but somehow they attracted the most popular boys to their parties, invariably held on the wrong side of the tracks).

She was headed for a train wreck, and Beth seemed to get off on relaying the gory details to me at night when she'd get home, stoned or drunk.

The evening I'm recalling was a weekend when Mom and Dad were away in Bermuda "working on their marriage". With neither of us siblings requiring a babysitter anymore, no one else but myself knew Beth had been missing in action for a day or so. This left me alone in the house. I spent this stretch of time playing basketball with friends out behind our garage, eating at Friendly's because I was hoping to meet some girl who didn't look at me with disgust....but, mostly, by studying the Playboys my Dad had stashed in his underwear drawer.

I was trying my best to spy more than a wisp of Connie Kreski's pubic hair, to no avail, but it was a fun pastime. Penthouse wasn't out in the U.S. yet, but at least during the time I'm speaking about Playboy was featuring real women, not the airbrushed fakes featured today. Usually when studying Dad's mags I barely had time for more than furtive, almost desperate masturbation. Given this luxurious amount of time to myself that weekend, I was having a fine time bringing myself just to the point of orgasm before stopping and letting the urgency ebb away. That way, when I finally did let myself go, I figured it was gonna be a lollapalooza.

This means I was sporting a constant erection. I'd slip down to the kitchen to get myself a bite with my throbbing dick hanging out of my Fruit of the Looms, listen to the radio while wolfing down a sandwich, and then mosey back up the stairs to my fantasy Playboy women with that same stiffie leading the way.

That evening my sister got home at roughly 1 AM. I'll never know whether some friend dropped her off or if she took a cab, because being articulate was beyond her abilities that night. All I know is I heard a loud thump downstairs at the back porch, bringing me abruptly out of my fantasy world (of being a pipe-smoking photographer with an unlimited bevy of naked women at my feet).

It sounded like a baseball bat had been applied to the back door. Then I heard a loud voice that vaguely resembled Beth's. Scrambling to put the magazines back in Dad's drawer, I took the stairs two at a time, filled with alarm. At the last possible moment I remembered I was in just my underwear and t-shirt, and that my aching, unfulfilled privates were still hanging out in front of me! As I reached the porch door I stuffed myself into my briefs and peered out into the darkness.

The dim moonlight showed me Beth lying on her back on the floor, a glint of keys in one hand. She seemed to be trying to move and having little success, like a turtle on its back. I was now even more alarmed. I switched on the porch light and flung open the door.

It wasn't until I found myself kneeling next to her and calling her name that I got a whiff of the alcohol, or should I say a blast. I was simultaneously greatly relieved and very pissed off to realize that her condition was due to fool drunkenness and nothing more. As I tried my best to get Beth to come to, shaking her and calling her name, the stupor of unfulfilled sexual arousal was still ruling my mind. This condition had part of me noting that my sister's breasts were quite visible in outline under her sloppily-arranged peasant blouse, and that her nipples were stiff as anything.

I tried to urge her to her feet, which got her to giggling and calling my name. "Sean, Sean", she said, like I was some sort of cute little puppy, over and over again. I struggled to get her body upright, pulling her out of her shoes in the process. Her big tits bobbed and weaved under the blouse, grabbing my attention. I wondered what had become of her bra. Her arms wrapped around my shoulders affectionately, which helped me finally get her into a sort of standing position. Her breath was like an open vat of vodka.

How I got her into the house and up the stairs I can't fully remember, but I do recall how dead her weight felt under my hands as I cursed her inability to move on her own. There's nothing quite like a drunken human being to drag you down – she felt like two hundred pounds. At the same time I felt a thrill of sorts at being more or less in charge of her, realizing that her body was at my disposal, sort of. Sorry if that sounds sick, but any guy who remembers spending practically a whole evening poring over nudie mags will know it's difficult to clear your head in a hurry.

I had to grip her pretty strongly on the way up the stairs. Beth's miniskirt had ridden up so that my right hand was grasping bare thigh, and my left had slipped under and was supporting her panty-clad ass. I was happy she wasn't in jeans, like usual on weekends, but I wondered why she had on no stockings, or if she'd even put them on before going out. I guess I'll never know, and anyway I didn't mind.

She was giggly and happy, still softly chanting my name. Her half-lidded eyes looked so relaxed I feared she'd go to sleep before I could get her to her room. As we crested the stairs and turned the corner she fluttered them open in alarm and announced "Gotta go pee," in a silly little voice I'd never heard from her.

Man, was she plastered! I made a quick "lesser-of-two-evils" sort of calculation: (1.) the trauma of helping my own sister onto the can, versus (2.) laundering some urine-soaked bedding and maybe some carpet along the way. I hurriedly pulled her into the bathroom and managed to hold her in place with one arm while getting the lid up with the other. Then I let Beth flop down into a more or less sitting position.

I know what you're thinking: how was she going to piss with her panties on? Well, the fact that such a thing hadn't occurred to me may give you an idea of how little experience I'd had with women, and also how unprepared I was for dealing with an incapacitated one. Right then I was more concerned that she might flop forward onto the floor. I pulled her skirt up until it was scrunched around her waist, to protect it from getting splashed, but somehow hadn't twigged that her panties would be a problem.

From my standing position before my sister as I was doing this, looking down, I found myself again captivated by her breasts. They moved around so provocatively under her blouse as she swayed a bit from side to side. It was hypnotic. That may be another reason it hadn't yet occurred to me that her panties would be an encumbrance.

Beth steadied herself and looked up at me with those happy, loopy eyes, catching me looking at her tits. "You're bad," she admonished, and then I heard her start to piss, the urine drizzling into the bowl quietly. My automatic reaction would probably look comical now: mortified that I'd forgotten her panties being in the way, I rushed to kneel down and reach between her legs to pull the fabric aside. It was like some sort of autonomic system within me at work.

Part of my brain registered all the "firsts" I was experiencing: my first time touching a woman's panties; my first time seeing female pubic hair; my first time brushing my fingers over a woman's pussy; and my first time feeling a woman piss on my fingers. All of this in about three seconds.

It would've been overwhelmingly erotic if I hadn't been in such a panic to keep my sister from peeing all over the floor and herself. Having succeeded in getting the wet cotton vee of her panties pulled aside, her liquid was gushing now all over my fingers. I abruptly pulled them away in a sort of horror and amazement, clambering to my feet. Beth just looked up at me, contentedly drunk, and whizzed away.

Her thighs had lazed open, and I couldn't help staring. Beth's healthy growth of light brown pubic hair didn't hang low enough to cover the lips of her vulva, so I received a good anatomy lesson there despite the cotton vee being only pulled halfway aside. The coral pink of her opening was a revelation, as was the startling sight of just how much liquid a bladder can hold – she seemed to go on and on. It was pouring out of her. She even giggled at the spectacle herself, looking down at herself and then up at me with a stuporous grin.

"Hadda go," she whispered, as though we hadn't both noticed. And then: "Your underwear looks funny."

Funny? What could be funny about my underwear? My fuzzy-thinking brain, still lust-addled after hours of wanking without completion, couldn't fathom what she meant. And then I saw that Beth was studying the front of my briefs with some weird sort of interest. It seemed like she was trying to focus her eyes on something.

Holy shit - I still had a hard-on! I was standing in front of my own sister (who was just finishing up her marathon piss, and sloppily peeling off some toilet paper) with a huge bulge in my tight briefs. My god, my equipment was a mere couple of feet away from her face, the way she was sitting before me on the toilet. I could not breathe for a moment as I stood there, frozen in time, and watched her studying my underwear with curiosity etched onto the slack features of her pretty face.

Beth was drunk and uncoordinated, but she still managed to wipe herself clean with the bit of paper she'd torn off the roll. So, here was another first for me: seeing a woman clean her pussy after a pee. She was acting as normal as possible, under the circumstances, but was clearly all on automatic pilot. Those moments seemed to stretch out forever, and now it's comical to think of the two of us like that, me standing there in the bathroom in front of her with an erection curving up the front of my underwear, watching Beth tidy up while she stared at my crotch.

I was completely unprepared for what she did next. Apparently unable, in her trashed state, to figure out why my underwear "looked funny" like that, she reached out with her free hand and unceremoniously felt me up. I'm sure her frontal lobes had no idea what she was doing, but at the same time it was a sort of "expert" exploration that her hand gave me; nothing tentative about it, assuring me that she'd done that sort of thing many times before.

For my part, all I could do was groan. The part of my psyche that was so involved with sex (okay, masturbation) at that age responded deeply and wholeheartedly to this long-overdue touch of a woman's hand on my privates, albeit through the thick cotton of boy's underwear. Beth's fingers seemed to know exactly how to grasp me and impart a healthy handshake.

It was everything I'd imagined it might be, those few moments, and it filled my body with delight even as my rational mind revolted and caused me to jump back away from her in automatic dismay.

"Oh," Beth laughed quietly. There was a world of carnal knowledge in that one syllable. And then, again: "Oh."

"You're drunk," I observed defensively, somewhat horrified at what she'd just done. "We should get you to bed." I tried to sound authoritative, and punctuated my remarks by reaching out to hold her shoulders firmly. She giggled.

"Not going to bed now," she announced, shaking free of me. "Too dirty. Gotta shower." With that Beth struggled to rise from the toilet and work the flush handle at the same time, a challenge to anyone this inebriated. She stumbled sideways toward the tub. I rushed again to keep my sister from falling over, just managing to get my arms around her as she began to slip. I'm certain that if not for me she'd have cracked her head open on the porcelain.

As it was, because of Beth's forward momentum all I could do was brace her weight and let her slide gently into the tub. She nearly took me in with her.

Laughing drunk, my older sister worked herself into a sitting position at the foot of the tub. Her legs splayed open, her panties riding down to her thighs, her skirt up above her waist, her blouse askew. "Water," she ordered, waving at the showerhead, jiggling with mirth.

I couldn't take my eyes off her. Her breasts joggled about in her blouse, all soft and bouncy except for the tight stiff nipples. I could see the faint tan lines of her swimsuit at her waist, and down below that was the vee of her pubic hair. Nestled within that fleece was the most wondrous thing in the world, to me.

I was torn by how wrong and how right it was to be looking at a girl like this, considering her condition and the fact that she was of my blood. It was the same way I felt about maybe putting the water on, as she was demanding: half of me wanted to hose her down and bring her to sobriety, the other half was urging me to take my time and gather as much data as possible – it wasn't as though I'd have this moment again.

She looked dopily up at me with half-lidded eyes, her appearance nonetheless extremely sensual, and then her gaze roved back to my briefs again. She smiled knowingly and started to peel her blouse off. Since she was so plastered it was an ungraceful chore.

"Yeah, that's right," I heard myself encouraging. "You don't want to get your blouse all wet." At first I thought I'd said that to myself, in my head, but then a surge of pure adrenaline rushed through me as I realized I'd said it out loud! Amazingly, my sister didn't find my comment the least bit peculiar; her graceless unbuttoning and swishing about to get her top off continued on through to completion. She even handed me the blouse!

I stood there gaping at her luscious tits, all round and soft and naked and bobbing around on her chest. They were even better than I'd imagined, with pinkish-brown tips and slightly darker circles around them, and big. They sagged sexily, if you know what I mean. It hit me that my own sister could've been in Playboy in a heartbeat. I didn't even mind the tan lines.

I tossed the blouse aside and heard myself say to her, "Your skirt and panties look awful uncomfortable like that. Why don't you take them off?" My heart thumped in my chest. One part of my brain screamed at me to shut up before Beth sobered up enough to realize what she was doing. But that wasn't the part that was causing my dick to throb and complain with an ache, due to being so confined in my briefs.

"Water," she pouted again, but damned if she didn't do as I suggested and worm those clothes off. Again, there was nothing graceful about it: while the skirt seemed to be an easy removal, her panties got all rolled into a line that she could barely manage to force down her useless legs. She worked and worked at it until they were down around only one ankle.

Beth's drunken gaze settled once again on my bulging crotch and I held my breath. Would she come to enough to see how wrong this moment was? And what could I do if she did? Was my relationship with my older sister changed forever?

I studied her pretty face, saw her long hair all hanging down almost to her heavenly breasts, admired the light rise of her stomach and the womanly spread of her hips, the slackly-open vee of her fleecy sex, and then her nicely-formed legs. It dawned on me that it wasn't as though Beth, my sister, was really there in the tub; her mind was on vacation. Instead, in her place there was this wonderfully naked and morally compromised version of Beth, one who was just like someone hypnotized.

"You're bad," she said again as she tried to focus on the outline of my swollen penis against the cotton.

I couldn't help it, I really couldn't stop it: I stepped forward towards her, my breath held tightly in my throat, and pulled down my underwear in front of my sister.

The sheer audacity of what I was doing had my whole body tingling. The enormous relief of being freed from the confines of my shorts set every nerve ending on my erection into ecstasy. I swear it was all I could do to keep standing up straight – I felt like I would actually swoon.

My cock looked huge and as red as a cooked lobster shell, my balls up tight against my body like they were trying to crawl inside. It was the most ecstatic moment of my young life, and at the same time the scariest.

Beth seemed as calm as could be, in contrast to myself. Sprawled there, sort-of sitting and sort-of lying back against the wall at the foot of the tub, my sister eyed my equipment bobbing before her as though such sights were far from unusual. With no comment at all she woozily reached over and gave me an expert stroking, the palm of her hand forming a funnel while her thumb and forefinger wrapped around me just right. In seconds she had the rhythm down cold and was jerking me off in such a way that I felt my sap beginning to rise almost immediately.

The feeling was incredible, and so were the sights before my eyes. My sister's deliciously naked body with those jiggling breasts and lazed-open legs, her slack but pretty face a foot or so away from my swollen dick, and most of all the unbelievable sight of my raging cock sliding in and out of her warm hand. Everything swam together before my eyes and I got that swooning feeling again, but this time all the tingling was between my legs.

I came like a man not in control of his senses, ropes of cum shooting out of the head of my cock before I could even feel the pleasure of it. It splattered over her chest and belly and some on her chin, one stream going right past Beth and hitting the tub wall. Then all the extreme pleasure rushed up at me, all of it at once, causing me to grab hold of the shower rod for support. Beth's active hand and wrist were all smeared with my jism but still she pulled and stroked at my stiff prick to milk out the last few spurts. I was taking in huge lungfuls of air as my knees weakened and started to shake.

My sister's naked body was streaked with my sperm, but she didn't seem to care a whit, not even about the pool of it that lay in her hand as she idly thumbed my glans and urged out the last bits from my piss slit. I gasped with my final spasms of pleasure as I looked at her nude body and studied that drop of semen hanging down from her chin.