My second sister is Krista. How to describe her? Twenty and a personality that comes across like a star thistle. She could find the negative in winning the lotto. She could be critical of Jesus Christ himself if he were to suddenly appear among us ("what's with the long hair?") But what she lacks in personality, she makes up for in appearance. She is strikingly beautiful in every way -- large, prominent breasts that seem to defy gravity, legs that look like they were sculpted by Michelangelo, an ass that would stop the Indy 500 if she were to hang it over the racetrack. Movie star gorgeous. Even the small things, like the way her neck slopes down to her shoulder blades, how her tummy tucks into her crotch, the flare of her waist, are exquisite. Her carriage, gracefulness and bearing would befit a queen. She has hair the color of pure gold.
The problem is that she knows all this. Add an IQ in the mid triple digits and you get Krista.
She ignored me, as much as was possible for a guy who lived in the attic above her bedroom. I was an annoyance to be somehow tolerated, but then, that described how she felt about the rest of the planet.
It was a hot summer day when she and I were thrown together by circumstances beyond our control. We'd been swimming at the river and were walking up the long path through the woods back home. She, of course, did not acknowledge my presence, nor my existence really, as she made her way up that well worn track.
But there was no way I could ignore her. She was wearing her yellow bikini. Against the perfect amber tones of her velvet smooth skin, the yellow material, what little there was of it, almost hurt my eyes to look at. And that ass, that world class derriere, those two amazingly round, melon ripe, mounds of stunning, late teenage, well toned female muscle flesh, was not ten feet in front of me, wiggling and swaying and...I was perpetually horny anyway, so I was hard.
Her breasts seemed to thrust out against the tin material of her bikini top as an act of defiance. No material could contain the magnificence of those two, fine, upstanding ladies. The rounded undersides of her tits peeked out the bottom hem of her skimpy top to hint at the strength and fullness therein, while her nips, almost visible at the edge of the yellow, protruded proud and prominent, two suckably large nubbins of hard breast flesh that never seemed to go soft.
I won't get into describing her legs, but the thought of what lay at the v of their conjunction, barely covered by a skinny little strip of yellow cloth, so close I could almost smell it, turned me into one large tumescent adolescent.
Not that I could ever do a thing about it. I don't doubt for a minute that she knew exactly what a magnificent view of her feminine charms she was giving me. It was part of her power. Using her looks to intimidate men, even her eighteen year old brother, was her modus operandi.
Circumstances, though, intruded rudely on our weird little sibling dynamic at that point.
The alarms went off. My Dad, as mentioned previously, made a fortune growing weed back in the day, and was as paranoid as a president because of it. His fear of raids meant we'd been trained since childhood to find the nearest safe room when the alarms blared. For Krista and I that hot summer day, the nearest was on the ground floor, a place built in the little room beneath the massive deck. It was a small space, actually a closet originally, that backed up to the slope of the hill the house was built on.
Krista sighed, irritated, but dutifully made her way to the safe room, which was hidden behind a door that doubled as a shelf. I was right behind her. With the shelf/door closed, we found ourselves in a closet lit only by a dim, and dimming, LED light. We couldn't really sit in that tight space; there was nothing to sit on anyway. We were a couple feet away from each other, a proximity Krista was clearly annoyed about, and a closeness that set off a reaction in me that recently had become pretty much automatic -- a large, raging, pulsing erection that demanded attention. So large the head was sticking out the waistband of my swimming trunks.
"You're disgusting," Krista whispered, staring at the door.
We were listening closely for any sort of clue as to why the alarm went off. She was looking at her cell.
"I can't help it," I replied.
"Can't you, like, make it go down or something?"
"No."
"You are such a pervert," she scoffed. "I'm your sister, Steven, for god's sake."
"No, you're not," I stated, "and that's the problem."
"What? What the hell are you prattling on about?"
I explained to her how I'd recently learned the circumstances under which I'd ended up an adopted member of the family. She was surprised, but then found something to criticize about it.
"You mean I've been living with somebody else's child all this time?"
"Yep."
"Well, wait," she added, "You said that that's the problem. What did you mean by that?"
"Krista, I don't know if anybody has ever told you this but you are stunningly, magnificently, jaw dropping and dangerously fucking gorgeous."
"Yes." She said this in such a way that I couldn't be sure if she thought what I said was glaringly obvious or that, sure, she heard that all the time.
"Well," I whispered, "since I'm not your brother you can't blame a normal guy like me for having a natural reaction to what might be the sexiest body on the planet."
She turned and looked at me, and it was as if she was looking at me for the first time. Her eyes moved from my shock of black hair, my thin beard, over my broad shoulders, down my muscular, hairy chest, passed my ripped abs and finally settling on the eight inches of hard flesh trying to rip itself out of my shorts.
It was the first time I'd ever really seen her speechless. It was so amazing to have her so stunned by this news, and by my very presence, that I pulled my cock out and let it spring free.
"Steven," she barely breathed, "I'm sorry you aren't...my real brother anymore."
My recent sexual experiences with Culia, my youngest sister, had emboldened me in the ways of seduction, taught me how a woman might be approached.
"I'm not sorry, Krista," I said, and I brushed back a stray strand of golden hair that had dropped into her face. But what really turned me on were the beads of sweat forming on her brow. I whispered, "I wouldn't be able to do this."
And, in that moment of exquisite tension, me with my cock standing straight out like a battering ram and her wearing the skimpiest amount of clothing a woman can wear and still claim decency, I leaned down and brushed her lips with mine.
She didn't react. She just sort of froze up, which for Krista is a major reaction. She always had something to say.
So I did it again, kissed her a little harder this time. And she reacted. She actually made a slight noise in her throat, which I took to be a groan of acceptance and urgency. This was verified when her fingers kind of danced over my erection. When we separated, she sort of gasped.
"Oh my god," she breathed, "Steven, what are you doing? You can't...we..."
We looked at each other and I swear we would have crashed together in a wrestling match of lust on the spot except right then the all clear signal rang.
Krista was out that door like a bull at a rodeo. Up the stairs and into her room, never stopping to find out what the alarm had been about.
It was nothing. A neighbor called about black suv's on the road and that was enough for my father to trip the alarm. Remotely, from a neighbor's ranch, using his phone. Whatever.
I went up to my room and was lying on my bed stroking my cock to keep my balls from turning blue when I heard it. A couple of short little cries of pleasure. Coming from the room directly below mine. Krista's. She was masturbating. Well, that sent rockets of cum flying out of my dick, picturing that perfect specimen of the female form with her long, shapely legs wide open, stroking her clit to orgasm.
The rest of the week was sort of torture for me. Culia was gone, visiting relatives. I got to go river rafting with some friends on Wednesday, but the rest of the week was boring, trapped on the ranch one hot day after another. Worse, every time I saw Krista I became instantly hard. I whacked off a lot. I think she did too.
I got the text on Friday, around lunchtime, my parents having driven into town for the weekly grocery shopping. "Meet me at the rock house at 1:30." The rock house is a safe house my father built up the hill which is hidden behind a big boulder. It's dug into the side of the hill, so it's small, but well stocked; it has a pantry and bathroom and kitchen, all tiny. Nobody goes there much, especially on hot days like it was that day, because it doesn't have much air flow. Culia was still gone and sister one would never, never go to the rock house unless she was forced to. So, it was private up there.
When I arrived the front door was wide open, and it was sort of cool inside, being an underground room. The place was mostly dark, lit only by the open door. I could see Krista sitting on a couch in the front room. She had a couple of ice teas set on the table.
"Hi." She handed me a drink.
"Hi." Man, it tasted good. Krista looked like she tasted good too, she had on shorts and button up shirt, but the yellow bikini showed beneath.
