Camille was my sister, and she was well known as a "total knock out". At 18 years old, a high school senior, she had mile long legs that met with a perfect bubbled ass, a toned flat stomach with the slightest hint of abs, and surprising D cup natural breasts. She had toned arms, dainty hands and manicured fingers. Her posture was always on point, her chin held high above her slender neck. Her eyes were a dazzling light blue, and were incredibly expressive. Her long natural blood red hair appeared painted against her pale skin, with natural loose curls that splashed over her shoulders and often across her cheeks. She had a flawless smile with gorgeous white teeth, and she was often chuckling and smiling in a conversation. She was tall, at 5'10, but a slender 125 pounds.
It is obvious that I have observed how she looks. I can't help it. In our small town, and an even smaller high school, she was easily the hottest chick around. She was outgoing, drop dead gorgeous, and friends with everyone. As a matter of fact, I nick named her "Chameleon" instead of Camille, as she could go from clique to clique easily. She fit in with the nerds (she wore glasses and often was buried inside of a sci-fi novel) and maintained a 4.0 GPA. She had gauged ears, a lip piercing, and a fore-arm tattoo of a hibiscus plant that Dad bought her for her 16th birthday present in Nevada, and a knack for listening to death metal, so she was quite popular with the "rockers". She wasn't a big party animal, but she smoked weed fairly often, and the stoners always had nothing but respect to her. As if that wasn't enough, Camille was a cheerleader, gymnast, and softball shortstop. Lastly, she assisted with the school plays, and last year even had a speaking role in the spring performance of "West Side Story", guaranteeing that she fit in with the drama-geek crowd.
You would think that Camille would be shooting down guys left and right, but honestly, besides a few dates, she never really steadily saw anyone. I told her that it was because guys were intimidated by how attractive she was, and she laughed her unique chuckle, and flashed her smile. I could see how guys would be nervous to approach her. She put off an alpha-female vibe that was undeniable, the kind of woman who you just assumed had a massive-gorilla muscled boyfriend nearby ready to rip you apart if you even talk to her. Not that Camille intended to put out that "I'm better looking than you, and I know it" vibe, she actually stayed incredibly modest, (even when she was recognized nationally for a academic scholarship and the local paper ran a huge article on her). She told me recently that she feels empathy is a dying art form, and that if people put themselves in another's shoes, the world would look very differently. She admitted she never wanted to be seen as someone sitting in judgement of others, but that she would rather be known as a selfless person.
She was a genuine, down to earth, loving person. I admire her. I really do. I want to grow up and be like my little sister, if you could imagine that.
Oh, yeah, by the way. Camille and I have been fucking for a little over a week now. This was the story of how it started.
She stumbled in late last week, well past midnight. I could hear Mom and Dad from their bedroom down the hall, Dad's snoring rumbling gently through the hallway. I had just finished jerking off to a personal favorite porn star of mine, and the images of her tight body whimpering underneath a mountain of a man who was splashing his cum across her body still flashed in my mind. I was just opening my bedroom door to get something to drink downstairs when I heard the front door open, shuffling around, and the living room t.v. turn on. "Hmm, that's odd" I thought to myself. Camille was supposed to be in bed hours ago. Wasn't she at dinner with us? I couldn't remember.
I poked my head into the living room expected to give a sheepish "goodnight" to Camille before heading back to my slumber. When I looked around the corner, I saw something I did not expect to see. The dim flickering blue light from the t.v splashed gently across the living room, and illuminated Camille who was sprawled out across the couch. Her nude body was spread wide, and her hand was working furiously over her completely shaved pussy.
Holy. Fuck.
I stood in complete awe as my post-sexed brain tried to understand what I was observing. Camille was masturbating while watching the t.v (which I then realized was muted). She must be watching porn! My stomach completely flopped. In a split second, multiple thoughts seared through my mind: I should NOT be watching this. I should walk away immediately. I need to watch and see what she looks like as she is cumming. I need to forget I saw this. Her bra is black and lacy and she hasn't removed it. I should confront her and tell her to be more careful. I should peer closer through the dark and see what her slit looks like, and fully aroused. I need to make a noise so she knows I'm awake, or here.
Wait, what the fuck? Why the hell did those thoughts pop into my head?! I suddenly felt a hot blush of shame across my cheeks. I can be a sick fuck, I thought to myself. God, I need to pray tonight and beg forgiveness from whatever higher power there is. I'm not even religious, but I should ask for forgiveness, that seemed like the right thing to do. Right? Shit, now I'm distracting myself. How long have I been standing here? Fuck, has it been seconds, or minutes?
Camille shifted position on the couch, and was now slipping fingers deep inside of her pussy and cupping her breast through the bra. There was no denying it. This was the hottest thing I've ever seen. What the fuck do I do? I desperately wanted to see her finish. I knew if I did, she would catch me standing by and watching. I was stuck. It was a lose-lose.
