Homecoming

I wrote this by request. Enjoy my musings.

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Ever since I was a little girl, I have adored my older brother. I adore the smell of him, the olive complexion of his skin, the way his tight jeans delineate the muscles of his thighs. Unfortunately, this worship I have for him may be more of a curse than a blessing.

As a senior in high school, I should be dating. I should go to the prom or tongue that guy with the purple hair in my physics class. But every boy I meet withers into dust when compared to the god-like creature of my brother. They’re too skinny, or too slovenly, or just too pale. At night, when I lay in bed and fantasize about a lover, he’s the one who gives me a hesitant first kiss or slips a rough finger in my virgin pussy.

When Nate left for college a year ago, I felt the most smothering of depressions. Who would rub my back when it ached from spending hours bent over an easel, help me understand the strange complexities of math, defend me from the whip-like tongue of my father? This past year, I’ve done nothing but survive, a ship wrenched from its moorings during the hurricane of his leaving.

Now, as I sit in the utter tedium of seventh hour English, I can feel impatience crawling across my skin. Today, my brother, Nate, is coming home from college for Christmas break. The sound of Mrs. Brantley’s voice as she delves into the witch scene from Macbeth grates with mosquito sing annoyance. God, would she shut up? I can’t focus. My head hurts from excess adrenaline. My brother is coming home today.

I rush home after school, hoping to beat him to the house. As I attend a private school, I want to change from my juvenile plaid skirt and white dress shirt into something more sophisticated before he sees me. I definitely don’t want him to perceive me as a little girl. Will he notice the ripening of my breasts, how my hips have expanded in the last six months, the baby fat that has melted away from my cheeks? I don’t have any set plans to seduce Nate while he’s home, but, instinctually, I recognize the possibility exists.

I slip a tight cashmere sweater over my head and a short, wool skirt over my legs. In the mirror, I watch my face as I add eyeliner and lipstick to my face. It’s a pretty face, I think, sweet as a Gibson girl. Will he like what he sees, want to slip his big hands under the rough gray wool of my skirt, slide my pale pink panties down the curves of my legs? I shudder as I watch, through the medium of the mirror, my nipples harden under the confines of my sweater. Please, God, let him notice. Let him notice me.

Suddenly, the girl in the mirror startles. He’s home, and I can hear his footsteps as he walks up the stairs. He ducks his head into the bathroom and says, “Hey, kid, long time no see.”

Disappointment, sharp as a bee sting, stabs me. I watch my pink-glazed lips move in the mirror as I answer, “Nate, I’m not a kid. I’m eighteen years old.”

He pauses, looks with impossibly blue eyes at me from the top of my honey-brown hair to the bottom of my black platforms, and whispers, “No, Katie, I don’t suppose I should call you a kid anymore.” I smile with satisfaction.

As he walks down the hallway to his room, I casually follow him. He appears older, looks more trim, and wears a new scent. I decide I like his new smell as he deposits his bags on the bed he slept in as a child. Over his shoulder, he asks, “Hey, Katie, will you start a load of laundry for me? You wouldn’t believe how much I have.” Although I really don’t want to leave him, I nod yes and pick up his bag of dirty clothes.

In the basement laundry room, I begin to sort his clothes. His scent permeates his clothes: musky, male, and dark. I bury my face in his sweater and breathe him in. As I add a dark towel to the load, I pick up another scent. It smells a bit like plastic and, as I see the white streaks on his towel, I realize from where this particular scent comes. It’s my brother’s cum. As I breathe in the delicious scent of his ejaculation, a rush of liquid dampens my panties. I want to taste it. I touch my tongue to the streak of my brother’s cum and taste the essence of him for the very first time. I close my eyes as I suck the taste of him off the towel. God, how I love the taste of him. I want to feel a hot rush of his cum in my mouth so badly I ache from it.

Mortified, I hear Nate’s voice from behind. “Katie, what in the hell are you doing?”

Too embarrassed to turn around and answer, I stuff the towel in the washer and start the cycle. I know he has seen me sucking on his towel. How in the world would I explain this one? My hands grip the cool metal of the washer in agitation.

He steps so close to me, I can feel his breath on my throat as he reiterates, “Katie, were you sucking on my towel?”

Jesus, maybe this is the opening I need. Without turning around to face him, I answer truthfully, “Yes, Nate, I was sucking the cum off your towel.”

Unbelievably, he says, “Good,” and I feel his hand slide up my leg to the soaked crotch of my panties. “Katie,” as he slips a finger across the seam of my panties, “you’re so wet. Did sucking my cum make you this wet?”

I can do nothing but nod yes. I can’t believe it; my gorgeous brother is here, stroking my pussy. I want to faint at the pleasure. Would he do more than just touch?

Without turning me around, he slips my panties down my ankles and asks me to step out of them. I do and then feel him rub his jean-encased pelvis against my naked ass. Nate reaches around and kneads the mounds of my breasts through the tight sweater. I can feel the stiffness of his penis against my ass and wish more than anything he would unzip his jeans. As if he could read my mind, he stops rubbing my breasts and frees his raging hard-on from the confines of his jeans.

As he presses his cock against my ass, I can’t believe the size and strength of it. I feel a drop of pre-cum wet my ass. Would I able to take him in my virgin cunt? Suddenly, I tense with fear. He feels the sudden rigidity of my body and whispers, “Don’t you want me, sis? I want you so much I can barely stand it. Do you know how long I’ve wanted your body, little sis? How long I have masturbated to the image of my dick in your pussy, how many times I stole your panties from the laundry so I could smell the scent of your pussy?”

His words sends a spear of arousal through my body, and I relax as he positions my clit against the edge of the vibrating washing machine. As it hums against my clit, he enters me from behind and the pressure of him causes a pleasure/pain ache in my pelvis. He enters me slowly, and my body expands to accommodate his length. I can’t believe my brother is my first lover, the first to enter the swollen flesh of my vagina.

I stop thinking as pleasure floods through me. He’s completely in me and starts to move, bumping my clit against the washer with each thrust. In just a few strokes, I orgasm, my vaginal walls milking the hardness of his cock.

“Oh, sis, I can feel your pussy pulsing on my cock. Oh, honey, I want to come in you. Can I come in your little pussy?”

I breathe, “Yes, please come in me.” He groans and surges into my flesh a final time, filling my womb with a hot bath of his sperm. I orgasm a second time from the stimulus of the pulsing washer and his hot cum pooling in my belly. We stay connected for the longest time, breathing hard, until we hear the slamming of the front door. Our parents are home from work, and we scramble to get dressed before they discover us.

Licking my lips, I savor the scent of my brother on my body, pleasantly contemplating how delicious the remainder of Nate’s break would be.