Lizzie's Sanctuary

How many different ways did I hear it growing up?

"Look after your little sister."

"Watch out for your little sister."

"Take care of your little sister."

The key phrase was 'little sister.' My older sister, Katherine, didn't need anybody looking after her or taking care of her. She set me straight on that pretty early on and would remind me whenever she felt the need. Elizabeth, on the other hand, our baby sister, was another story. Kath is almost three years older than me, and I'm two years older than Lizzie. It's funny; everybody in the family has called her Lizzie since she was a little girl, but she makes her husband call her 'Beth' or 'Elizabeth.'

Growing up, Kath and I were both charged with keeping Lizzie out of trouble. Kath was expected to show her the ropes, as big sisters are supposed to do, and when boys became an issue, I was the protective older brother responsible for protecting her from the testosterone crazed young men with only one thing on their mind.

Lizzie was my shadow throughout our growing up at home. She followed me everywhere. As can be expected within the confines of a close sibling relationship, it grated on my nerves, at times, like fingernails on a chalk board. When I started dating, Lizzie was a mixed bag; girls I went out with usually thought it was really sweet that I had such a good relationship with my little sister, but there would inevitably come a point where I was ready for Lizzie to be scarce, and she would still be right there with us, my own personal underage chaperone.

I went out with several girls during high school, but I only had one serious girlfriend; Sydney. At first, Lizzie was her normal, upbeat little sister self. But, then, one night, she saw me kiss Sydney, and it was like Lizzie declared war. From that point forward, she was rude and downright mean to Sydney at every turn, and I was torn between my loyalty to my sister and the budding relationship with my girlfriend. Amazingly enough, Sydney and I survived long enough to make the prom, but two weeks after graduation, we broke up. Lizzie did her best to appear disappointed for me, but I can still hear her words.

"She didn't love you like I do."

I remember looking over at Lizzie, her remark not really registering with me. The summer was long and lonely as I prepared to move away to go to college. With Kath involved in her pre-Med studies, it was just me and Lizzie at home.

Summer came to its inevitable end, and the time for me to move away to go to school arrived. Lizzie moped around the house the last couple of days as I packed, and on the day I left home, she refused to say goodbye, running to her room to sob instead.

Like any other college student, I was practically consumed by the depth of new experiences to be had, and yet, near the end of my first month away from home, as things finally settled down, I realized I was missing something. Like a lot of teenagers, I'd been anxious to get away from home, but I'd discovered, almost too late, that home held a marvelous attachment for me. Lizzie. I missed my little sister. The first weekend I went home, she was the first one out of the house to hug me. Despite living apart, we became closer than ever, and when I heard she was going out on her third, then fourth date with the same guy, I found myself feeling jealous.

In the middle of my sophomore year at college, her senior year in high school, the guy she'd been dating dumped her, less than two months before her prom. Only one other guy asked her to go to prom, and she told him no. After much persuading and against my better judgment, I took her to the prom. We had a good time, but it was six different kinds of awkward.

Five months later, Lizzie was my shadow again, virtually, when she followed me to college. Kath and I had gone different directions to college; she was attending med school and consumed with her studies. I was working on a degree in chemistry, angling for a pharmacology job. Lizzie set her sights on a path destined to see her succeed in marketing.

During her junior year at college, Lizzie met Warren. There was something about him I didn't like from the start. Most of his frat brothers didn't like him, either. Almost as soon as I saw him together with Lizzie, I could tell it was one of those things that, sooner or later, would not end well. Convincing her of that, though, was impossible, and two and half months after she graduated college, they got married. Just so we're clear, even though I couldn't stand the guy, once the die was cast and they were committed to one another, I was supportive of their relationship even though I knew he was wrong for her. He didn't love her like I did.

After I graduated college, I got a job working as a pharmaceutical salesman, and after a couple of years of working my butt off, I was finally able to drop some roots. I bought a fourth floor condo in the city, just off one of the main highways. After she and Warren got married, Lizzie settled into a small house on the other side of the city in the suburbs. We were close enough she and I could go to lunch once a week, allowing me to watch the cloth of their marriage slowly unravel almost as soon as they tied the knot.

It was small things at first, but over time, it became more and more evident that Warren just wasn't all that committed to their relationship or Lizzie's happiness.

And then the day came. It took longer than I'd have thought, but a little more than four years after they tied the knot, my little sister's personal Camelot collapsed like a house of cards in a strong wind.

Veronica, he called her Ronnie, leaned back against his desk. The two of them had been working together on a project for more than seven months, spending more and more time together, and their mutual attraction had reached its apparently inevitable flash point. Her skirt was bunched up around her thighs, while her panties lay on the floor, the fabric a pile of scant cloth surrounding her left foot. His fingers danced up under her skirt, caressing the warm, inviting flesh of her pussy. Her right foot was raised off of the floor, spreading her legs and offering him better access to her. As his fingers fondled her, her toes toyed with his hard cock, jutting through the opening of his slacks as he sat back in his office chair.

That was the scene Lizzie described to me as she called me on her cell phone in tears. She met me at my condo late in the afternoon, still sobbing. I wasn't shocked to find their marriage on the rocks; with him I'd known it was inevitable.

Lizzie ignored my plea to get out of her house; I knew she'd stay upset as long as she was under the same roof as he was. Two days later, she broke again. She called me at lunch in tears. After I got off work, I picked her up and took her to dinner.

While we were eating, Lizzie broke down again and said there was no way she could stay in their house. We dropped by her house on the way home, packed some of her things and she came to stay with me.

I quickly realized I hadn't thought through the idea of her moving in, though. I had a two bedroom condo, and the second bedroom was set up as an office. Because I only had the one bed, and neither of us was willing to put the other to the couch, the sleeping arrangements were an immediate issue.

It was weird that first night in my condo, Lizzie crawling into bed beside me. We hadn't slept together in the same bed since we were little kids. I have a king-size bed, so there was plenty of space; but it was the principle of the thing. We fell asleep, both of us on respective sides of the bed, with a narrow strip of open space between us.

I woke up at two in the morning and realized I'd only thought things were awkward earlier. Lizzie had moved closer and her arm draped over me. I may have moved closer to her, too; at this point, I'm not sure. The really awkward thing was my usual middle of the night erection. My cock was rock hard. What made it a problem was the fact that I wanted to roll over, and my little sister was spooning me.

I slowly lifted her arm from across my torso. Lizzie stirred and rolled away from me. I breathed a sigh of relief as I rolled over and went back to sleep. I woke up a couple of hours later and I was the one doing the spooning. I had my arm around my sister, her hand holding mine. Thankfully, my cock wasn't hard this time. I rolled over and fought my way back to a fitful sleep.

Early the next morning, I got up, threw on some clothes and made breakfast. I was working on my second cup of coffee and flipping through the sports page when Lizzie walked into the kitchen.

"Good morning," she said, leaning down and kissing me on the cheek.

I glanced over at her just in time to look straight down the neckline of her nightgown and see her tits hanging free. Lizzie stood up and walked past me toward the coffee. I watched her every movement, stunned.

"What?" she asked, looking up. She smiled softly as she saw me looking at her.

"Is that what you wore to sleep in last night?" I asked.

"Yeah," she replied. "I normally sleep naked. I thought that might be a little awkward. This is okay, isn't it? I slept really good last night."

Her night gown stopped just above the knee. That wasn't the problem. It was white and thin enough that the sunlight behind her silhouetted her body perfectly. I could see everything, including her nipples as the cloth rested upon them. I hadn't spent much time around Lizzie in a relaxed, intimate home type of environment in years, and it had been quite a while since I'd seen her in a swimsuit. Even then, focusing on the fact that she and Kath were my sisters was enough for me to dismiss any thoughts about their physical attractiveness. Now, though, it was undeniable. Little sister or not, Lizzie had a sultry side that I was seeing for the first time.

"It's a little thin, dontcha think, Sis?" I asked.

Lizzie looked down and then back up at me, smiling.

"Maybe," she said, setting her coffee cup down on the table. "Am I embarrassing you?"

She asked this question as she lifted the hem of her night gown to the top of her hips. With a nearly fluid motion, she straddled me, pushing the cloth down in between her legs to maintain a minimum of modesty.

"Because I have a hard time imagining my big brother being Mr. Modesty," she said. "Especially since you slept in your boxers."

I took a deep breath as I leaned back in my chair. I wasn't about to tell her that I normally slept naked, too. Lizzie reached down and grabbed my hands, placing them on her hips and holding them there.

"I wouldn't necessarily say you're embarrassing me," I said. Suddenly uncomfortable was a much better description.

"Good," she said. She left my hands on her hips and leaned forward, hugging me tightly and then kissing me again on the cheek. "Because almost everything I have to sleep in is on the thin side, and I'd hate to think I was embarrassing my older brother."

She hugged me again, sort of melting into me. I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight. As I held her close, I stroked her hair. She responded by kissing me softly on the neck.

"I love you," she said. "You being here for me means more than you can ever imagine."

"I love you, too, Sis," I said.

More than anything, right now, she needed to be comforted. I ignored the low, dull throb in my groin as my cock thickened and resisted the urge to let my hands move away from her back as I held her. This big brother thing was taking some unexpected turns.

Lizzie made a couple of phone calls while she ate breakfast and cleared her schedule for the next couple of days. I managed to push most of my appointments back into the afternoon, and we discussed her options for the short term. An hour into our conversation, we both realized Warren had hobbled her financially; she had almost no credit in her own name to speak of. This would prove to be a problem, at least for the time being, as far as renting her own place was concerned. The only places I knew of that would have vacancies were places I wouldn't live; no way was I going to let my little sister live there by herself. We decided to hold with the status quo while we did some more research. The one thing we both agreed on, however, was that we would both need our own space.

Lizzie and I looked at my office and she talked me into letting her do some rearranging, all in the name of making herself a place she could call home. When I returned from my afternoon appointments, my desk and bookshelves were no longer in the spare bedroom. It was pretty well empty except for her things.

She'd done a good job of moving things around, and though there was nothing new to be seen, I could see her influence at work. I figured she was out looking for furniture and would be running late.

I ate alone, resisting the temptation to call and check on her. After nine p.m., I finally heard her walk in.

"I didn't really cook much for dinner," I said. "There's stuff in the fridge if you're hungry."

Lizzie kicked her shoes off as she tossed her bag onto the couch.

"Sorry I'm so late," she said. "I ate dinner with one of my girlfriends. When did you start cooking?"

"My sophomore year of college, thank you very much," I replied as I threw a pillow at her. "If you're nice, I'll cook dinner for you tomorrow night."

She gave me a thumbs up as she threw the pillow back at me. Her hands disappeared into her shoulder bag.

"Look at the bedroom sets on the pages I marked," she said. "I'll be back in a minute."

I watched her pickup her shoes and walk out of the living room. I picked up the first catalog and started thumbing through to the pages she'd marked. Lizzie has a really good eye, and I could tell from looking at her choices that she was looking ahead to furnishing her own place.

I glanced up as she walked past me to the kitchen. She had pulled her pantyhose off, and I watched as she pulled her blouse free from her skirt. She and Kath are kind of girly-girl like that. They wear pants when they need to, but both of them prefer skirts or dresses.

I flipped the page and looked at another one of the sets Lizzie had her eye on as she walked over to the couch. She sat her drink down as she planted a knee next to me and crawled onto the sofa. Her blouse was now completely out of her skirt, and as she leaned closer to me, my attention was drawn to her fingers playing with the buttons holding her blouse closed. Slowly, one and then two buttons came undone as her fingers began a lazy descent.

"What do you think about this one?" she asked.

I looked down to where her finger was pointing at another setting she had marked for consideration. The bed stood out from the other pieces with what appeared to be a sturdy hardwood headboard and matching footboard.

"Will all of that fit in that room?" I asked. I didn't think so.

"No," she replied. Three buttons. The center fabric of her bra was clearly visible as her blouse began to pull open. "I figure for now, I could make do with the bed and this piece here. And I was hoping if I asked really nice, that you'd let me set this chest here just outside the bedroom in the hallway. You know, around the corner where it couldn't be seen?"

Four buttons. The only one left was at the bottom of her blouse, and she unfastened it as she put an arm around my neck and slid next to me. The cloth of her blouse fell open, and her breasts hung there suspended inside the thin cloth cups of her bra. Like her blouse, the bra was white, and I could clearly see her nipples flat beneath the fabric.

I swallowed hard and looked back at the catalog as I realized I'd been staring at her breasts. It wasn't something I was supposed to notice, but my little sister had really nice tits, and as much as I was telling myself not to think such things, the thought of her naked, my lips sucking on her swollen, erect nipples flashed through my mind.

"I think we can probably make that work," I said.

"Great," Lizzie said, kissing me on the cheek. "The biggest problem is they'll have to order it in and they told me it would probably take a couple of weeks to deliver."

Her other hand ran down the edge of her open blouse, pulling it away from her body and flashing her bra-clad breasts at me. She pushed her hands up through her hair, baring her belly.

I swear she knew what she was doing. It's like I was the moth and she was the flame, and she knew it. Her arms were still raised overhead, fingers buried in her hair, belly bared and breasts thrust forward. She held that position as though waiting to catch me looking at her; hoping she'd catch me looking at her?

"What's wrong?" she asked. She lowered her arms and put a hand on the back of my neck, her fingers moving up to massage me.

"Nothing," I said. Not entirely the truth, and yet, not really a lie, either. I refocused on the furniture pictured. Think about something other than the great tits that were a mere thin layer of cloth from being revealed to me.

Lizzie's fingers dug into me as she held on to my shoulder and leaned away from me, picking up her glass. I suddenly had a vision of her bending over the footboard of the bed she was thinking about getting, thrusting her ass back at me. I blinked hard to shake the vision from my mind. What was wrong with me? I should not be thinking about my little sister like that.

"You're just making it a little hard to concentrate," I said.

Lizzie took a drink from her glass and sat it back down.

"Really?" she asked. "How so?

I looked at her, my eyes traveling up her body, then locking with hers. Her expression told me I was caught; she knew I was checking her out. She settled back, leaning against the sofa back.

"The way you're dressed," I said.

"The way I'm dressed?" she asked, cutting me off. "Hold that thought."

Lizzie slid off the couch and walked out of the living room. I followed her stride as she disappeared from sight, admitting to myself that her hips had an attractive sway to them with her steps, too. As she disappeared through the doorway of her newly appropriated bedroom, Lizzie reached behind her and unzipped her skirt.

I looked back at the catalog, looking at the other pages Lizzie had marked. She had her eye on pieces that weren't merely sensible, they were stylish, too. Out of all the items she'd been drawn to, there was only one set that I could honestly say I didn't care for.

I turned around when I heard the sound of her bare feet on the floor. My eyes widened in surprise.

"I know what you're thinking," she said, "and this is not my underwear, it's a swimsuit."

She only thought she knew what I was thinking. My mind was less focused on whether or not what she was wearing was appropriate than it was on the observation that she looked fantastic wearing it. And sexy. Smokin' hot sexy. The swimsuit was white, a pattern of off-shade horizontal stripes about a quarter of an inch alternating in the fabric. The most noticeable feature, for me anyway, was the fact that it was practically see-through. If I thought I could see her breasts clearly through her bra, I'd been mistaken, and the bottom of her swimsuit was no different. I now knew my little sister shaved, having a preference for a landing strip of pubic hair, which was barely covered at all. Her next comment revealed she did know some of what I was thinking.

"You should see it when it gets wet," she said. "It hides absolutely nothing."

"You actually wear that swimming?" I asked.

"No," she said, sliding back onto the couch. "I wear this when I lay out. If I wear anything when I lay out."

She pulled one of the cups away from her breast, exposing everything but the nipple. I could see only the faintest of tan lines. Her nipples were hardening, straining against the fabric.