I'm always thinking about her, and in a way that I shouldn't. I know that it's wrong, but I can't help myself. It's almost an obsession, something that is out of my control.
From top to bottom, I adore her. She's a small woman, but perfectly formed. Like a precious diamond. A jewel that I'd like to have all for myself.
When she was growing up there was no indication that she would become such a beauty. She was a scrawny child, the proverbial ugly duckling. I was eight years older than her, so with her being so young, I hardly noticed her. When I did, it was because she was being a nuisance. Then, when she suddenly transformed from a child to an adult, a miracle happened. She became a swan.
Now she's eighteen years old, and I don't just notice her, I think about her all the time.
She's Becky, my Sister, and I'm in love with her!
So why is she so special? Because to me, she's perfect. I used to prefer my women to be big-breasted, but she's changed that. Her small pear shaped mounds are a thing of beauty, and if I could, I'd stare at them all day. However, that would be silly. There is more of her to admire than just her little tits. Her waist is narrow, and I like that, but not as much as I like her peachy bottom. If that was to sit on your face then you'd be in heaven.
And it's not just her body that's special, her face might even be her best feature. She has large chocolate brown eyes that you can get lost in, and plump lips that were made for kissing. If that's not enough for you then you should see her dazzling smile, it will make your heart race, and blood flow into your cock.
So I find her attractive, but isn't that just lust rather than love? It would be, if that was all that I liked about her.
Her dainty feet make me smile, and her slender neck fascinates me. She has fifteen freckles on her face. I know that because I've counted them many times. They're imperfections, but to me, they just add to her beauty.
If all that isn't love, then I don't know what is!
-
It was Friday evening and I'd just got back from work. I was shocked when I saw her. Becky was going out, and I didn't like what she was wearing. It was too revealing. While she was out, men would be ogling her, or worse, coming onto her.
The top was tight on her and the skirt was too short. My Mother didn't seem concerned, but I was. She was asking for trouble. The top would get her noticed, and the skirt was an invitation for a hand to go between her legs, and if one did, then it wouldn't stop until it had got to her pussy. Yes, I also wanted to do that, but that was different, because I was in love with her.
She was about to leave the room, but then she suddenly turned towards me, and then, after standing with her hands on her hips, she said, "How do I look?"
Her big smile told me that she expected me to be complementary, and I would be, even though I wanted to tell her to change her clothes for something more modest. The truth would upset her, and that would break my heart.
"You look amazing."
That got me a hug. It was brief, lasting only a few seconds, but I'd felt her small tits squash against my chest. That, and her face being so close to mine, had excited me more than I thought was possible.
After eating, I went to my room. I tried to read, but I couldn't concentrate. All I could think about was Becky. She'd gone out with a group of women from work. I'd met some of them before, and they worried me. They weren't the delicate flower that she was, they were older, and more worldly-wise. They, in their pursuit of a good time, might lead her astray.
She got back at one o'clock in the morning, and I was downstairs waiting for her. I was angry with her for being so late, but also relieved that she was home safe.
"What time do you call this, and where have you been?"
When she laughed, almost uncontrollably, I knew that she was drunk. I shook my head. In the morning our parents should have a word with her.
"And you're drunk."
With some of the words slurred, she said, "It's Henry's fault, he kept buying me drinks, lots of them."
And I knew why he'd been doing that. As they say, candy is dandy but liquor is quicker.
This time, because she spoke slowly, the words came out OK, but it made her sound robotic. On another day that would have amused me, but what she was telling me now was no laughing matter.
"He was a naughty boy. He kissed me," and then, after quickly moving close to me, she added, "Like this."
Before I could stop her, her mouth was on mine. And the kiss was passionate. It had excited me, and it had also disgusted me because she was acting this way, in equal measures. Henry wasn't a boy, he was a man, so he would want more from her than just a simple kiss. I might regret asking, but I needed to know what he'd done to her.
With some trepidation, I said, "And what did he do next?"
She didn't say, instead, she showed me. Her right hand was now fondling her breast, and the other was between her legs. I wasn't just shocked, I was speechless.
"He wanted my panties off, but I said no. He didn't like that. When he called me a tease I told him to fuck off."
Then, after laughing, she loudly said, "He went back to his mates."
So he hadn't got far, just a brief feel. But he could have if he'd been more patient, or if he'd bought her more drinks.
I wanted to know more about this Henry, ideally, his address, so that I could go there and punch him on the nose for trying it on with her. But all she wanted to do was to giggle, so I stopped quizzing her.
After helping her to her room, I went to mine.
In the morning she was the last one up. When she joined us in the kitchen we were already having breakfast. I didn't need to ask her how she was feeling, because it was written on her face. She looked dreadful.
She got sympathy from our parents but I wanted to shout at her. She was a young woman, getting so drunk had made her vulnerable. She was lucky, it could have been a lot worse than Henry just briefly rubbing her pussy through her panties.
In the afternoon she perked up. She was almost back to being her cheerful self, so when she came to my bedroom to ask me something, I thought she'd be able to take some criticism from me.
But I was wrong!
"Why did you say that? Just because I was drunk, and he kissed me, it doesn't mean I'm a slut."
I hadn't said that, but I might have implied it. I should have chosen my words more carefully. I needed to apologize, and to do it quickly. However, before I could, she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
I gave her a few minutes, hoping that she'd calm down, and then I went to her room. The door was closed, but I could hear her sobbing. I'd made a complete mess of it. The last thing that I'd wanted to do was to upset her. The easy thing to do was to walk away, and I did consider doing that, but that was cowardly. I should speak to her and try and make it better.
I knocked on the door. She must have heard me but she didn't say anything. I did it again, but this time harder. That got a response from her.
"Come in."
I did. She looked more angry than upset.
"If you've come to call me a whore, then say it and go."
That was harsh, and it made me wince.
"Sorry, sometimes I can be such an idiot."
"Only sometimes?"
"OK, most of the time."
That got a smile from her. Not her most radiant one, but it was better than nothing.
"I do care for you."
It was really more than that, a lot more. I loved her, and not just in the way that a sibling should. And I wanted to tell her that, to shout it out so that the whole world could hear it. But I could never do that, it had to remain my secret.
"It would break my heart if anything happened to you."
This time it was her best smile. And to show me that I was forgiven, she got up from the bed so that she could hug me. It was a tight embrace, and I was enjoying having her tits squashed against my chest. I wanted it to go on forever, but after only a few seconds she ended it. Both of us then sat down next to each other on the edge of the bed.
"Henry was just a bit of fun."
From what she'd told me last night, it had been more than that.
"But he nearly had his fingers inside your pussy."
As soon as I'd said it, I regretted it.
"Sorry, you're my Sister, I shouldn't have said that."
Surprisingly, it hadn't upset her, it had amused her.
"I am your Sister, but saying pussy isn't going to freak me out. I've heard worse. Kate always calls it a..."
I cut her off, but only just in time, with, "That's enough."
I'd met her friend. Looking at her you'd think that butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, but she could curse and swear with the best of them.
"And he didn't finger me, he was just rubbing my clit through my panties. If he hadn't been so pushy I would have let him make me come."
That was more than I wanted to hear, and she must have seen that from my face, because she giggled.
When I got back to my room I was still trying to come to terms with what she'd said. We'd had lots of conversations before, but nothing of that nature. It had been brief, but very revealing. And it made me realize something that I already knew, but something that I'd pushed to the back of my mind because I was unwilling to believe it. Becky might be my Sister, but she was like other women, she had needs. Eventually, and perhaps even soon, a man would get more than just fingering her. She would invite him to her bed, and then she would willingly open her legs for him. That lucky man would then get to fuck her sweet pussy.
Thinking about that was torture. I desperately wanted to be that man, but I could never be him because she was my Sister. All I could ever do was what I was doing now. I was furiously stroking my cock as I imagined that I was fucking her.
When I spurted onto my hand it was pleasure and disappointment combined. It was a nice climax, but I knew that coming inside her would have been a lot better.
On Friday she was going out again, but this time just with Kate, who was one of her best friends.
"Do you approve?"
She'd come to my room so that I could see what she was wearing. She was an adult, so she didn't need to, but I was pleased that she had. It told me that she valued my opinion. And this time I could be truthful.
"Yes I do. You look amazing. A lot better than last time."
I was pleased that she'd taken my advice about wearing clothes that were more modest. She was a desirable woman, so men would still be attracted to her, but hopefully, because her clothes were more refined, they wouldn't act like Henry had done.
This time she was home at eleven thirty, and thankfully she wasn't drunk. She wasn't even tipsy.
"You didn't need to wait up for me."
