07-12-2023, 10:20 AM
Waking Diana
Monday
When I woke, I found a text message on my phone that read: Practice makes perfect. I kept that in mind as I left my room.
The first step outside of my room was the hardest step I had ever taken in life. Diana told me to enter her room at five-thirty in the morning, and I was standing outside of her doorway by five minutes till, looking to the left and right in case my mother or Abbey should appear in the hallway as they headed downstairs. My mom left to work at a quarter to six every morning, and the thumping of my heart intensified every time I looked down the hall toward my mother's room.
What if she decided to leave early for work today? What if she wasn't in her room but downstairs, making coffee, on her way back up for something she left behind? I looked over the railing and into the dark living room, straining my hearing, and I thought I heard sounds from the kitchen. What if... I didn't know what if, but what if?
My phone ticked to half-past five, and the world outside of my sister's room faded to a dull, soundless gray. I turned back to the door, grabbed the knob--fearing she had locked it--and turned it. She had not locked it. I pushed in and stepped inside. The soft glow of my sister's bedside lamp created a small haven of light that shined over the left edge of her bed where she slept. I closed the door, locked it, and walked to Diana's bed.
From memory, I knew that Diana usually slept in the middle of her bed. The lamplight was for me so that I could see her. I knew that as surely I knew that she wasn't asleep. All of the massage videos that I had watched from YouTube and porno sites flashed through my head like one of those one-second movies, as did the sleep assault videos, and the Japanese molester videos, and all kinds of perverted shit sexless people watch. And, I watched a handful of those incest scenes where the sister or mother remained silent while their brother or son openly caressed their bodies, yet they admitted to what was going on.
Slow, I told myself. Take it slow.
I told myself that, but I wanted to run to the bed and rip the blankets from my sister's body. I wanted to know if she was naked. I wanted to touch her and run my hands over her and rub her in the way she had rubbed me on Friday night. The way she had jerked me off and so much more. But Diana had said, "If I'm asleep, then find a way to wake me up that shows me how much you appreciate me. Understand?"
APPRECIATE ME.
Those words shined in my mind like a hot pink neon sign.
I walked to my sister's bed on quiet toes, moving to the edge where she lay. She lay on her stomach, her blonde head facing me and sunken into her white, satin-covered pillow with her arms underneath it. How'd she get such a nice bed set? That didn't matter. Her silk sheets--she doesn't use a comforter--lay across her bare shoulders; they were naked, and I could find no trace of a bra crossing over them.
"Diana," I whispered.
No answer.
Find a way....
I released a shaky breath. My heart raced against my chest, and it was only growing more frantic. Would this adrenaline rush that exploded through my body whenever I was near my older sister ever end? A part of me hoped it would, but most of me hoped it wouldn't. I loved--loved?--this uncontrollable, nearly overwhelming excitement that enveloped me every time my sister was going to let me do something forbidden to her.
I reached out with my right hand, forefinger extended, and touched my sister on the middle of her back, where her skin disappeared beneath the blanket.
I said her name.
She didn't answer.
She didn't move.
Her breathing didn't change--such control.
I could hear my breathing; could she hear it? Did I sound like a pervert on the verge of a heart attack? Did that turn her on? Why were all these questions coming to me?
My cock had grown by now, flooded with lust and raging hot energy and all the dirty thoughts that make a young man dream about his family members in all the wrong ways. Would those guys be wrong not to take the plunge into incest if their sisters offered them a taste of that delightful sin? That's what my sister was doing, wasn't it, offering me a taste? I'd be stupid not to take it. I really would.
"Diana," I said as I ran my finger along the blanket line. Her warm skin sent goosebumps through my arms, and in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, I saw the same little bumps sprout across her deeply tanned body. I thought a shiver ran through her and into me, which danced across my shoulders. I closed my eyes, absorbing the moment of unexpected titillation that reached down into my eager, cum-filled balls.
With my finger back on her spine, I hooked the tip beneath the blanket and pulled the covering down Diana's body. Slowly, I moved so fucking slowly, exposing her slender and small frame, her tight skin, flawless and smooth, with curving contours about its surface that outlined her taut muscles. What was it about young women that made them appear so small and light and flexible? Young women? I'm only eighteen--but it's true, younger women did look smaller.
Where the fuck were these thoughts coming from, and why was I thinking them?
The blanket had reached below the middle of my sister's back. I saw no clothing. I moved lower, to the curve of her spine, before the rise of her butt cheeks. I went lower, baring her slender hips down to the narrow crack of her ass and the upward ascension of her crescent cheeks. My sister said nothing. She didn't stir. I could see the swells of her big breasts pushing outward from her chest, where they mashed into her mattress.
My right forefinger remained on the base of my sister's spine, but I reached out with my left hand, finger extended, and lightly, with the weight of a feather, I touched the swell of her left breast and slid my finger across the perkiness of her round flesh.
Diana shivered. Her nostrils flared in recognition of what I had done. I watched her eyelids twitch as if she were fighting the urge to open them. My cock strained in my pants with that blatant fuzzy pleasure that demanded I wrap my fist around the head and squeeze.
Monday
When I woke, I found a text message on my phone that read: Practice makes perfect. I kept that in mind as I left my room.
The first step outside of my room was the hardest step I had ever taken in life. Diana told me to enter her room at five-thirty in the morning, and I was standing outside of her doorway by five minutes till, looking to the left and right in case my mother or Abbey should appear in the hallway as they headed downstairs. My mom left to work at a quarter to six every morning, and the thumping of my heart intensified every time I looked down the hall toward my mother's room.
What if she decided to leave early for work today? What if she wasn't in her room but downstairs, making coffee, on her way back up for something she left behind? I looked over the railing and into the dark living room, straining my hearing, and I thought I heard sounds from the kitchen. What if... I didn't know what if, but what if?
My phone ticked to half-past five, and the world outside of my sister's room faded to a dull, soundless gray. I turned back to the door, grabbed the knob--fearing she had locked it--and turned it. She had not locked it. I pushed in and stepped inside. The soft glow of my sister's bedside lamp created a small haven of light that shined over the left edge of her bed where she slept. I closed the door, locked it, and walked to Diana's bed.
From memory, I knew that Diana usually slept in the middle of her bed. The lamplight was for me so that I could see her. I knew that as surely I knew that she wasn't asleep. All of the massage videos that I had watched from YouTube and porno sites flashed through my head like one of those one-second movies, as did the sleep assault videos, and the Japanese molester videos, and all kinds of perverted shit sexless people watch. And, I watched a handful of those incest scenes where the sister or mother remained silent while their brother or son openly caressed their bodies, yet they admitted to what was going on.
Slow, I told myself. Take it slow.
I told myself that, but I wanted to run to the bed and rip the blankets from my sister's body. I wanted to know if she was naked. I wanted to touch her and run my hands over her and rub her in the way she had rubbed me on Friday night. The way she had jerked me off and so much more. But Diana had said, "If I'm asleep, then find a way to wake me up that shows me how much you appreciate me. Understand?"
APPRECIATE ME.
Those words shined in my mind like a hot pink neon sign.
I walked to my sister's bed on quiet toes, moving to the edge where she lay. She lay on her stomach, her blonde head facing me and sunken into her white, satin-covered pillow with her arms underneath it. How'd she get such a nice bed set? That didn't matter. Her silk sheets--she doesn't use a comforter--lay across her bare shoulders; they were naked, and I could find no trace of a bra crossing over them.
"Diana," I whispered.
No answer.
Find a way....
I released a shaky breath. My heart raced against my chest, and it was only growing more frantic. Would this adrenaline rush that exploded through my body whenever I was near my older sister ever end? A part of me hoped it would, but most of me hoped it wouldn't. I loved--loved?--this uncontrollable, nearly overwhelming excitement that enveloped me every time my sister was going to let me do something forbidden to her.
I reached out with my right hand, forefinger extended, and touched my sister on the middle of her back, where her skin disappeared beneath the blanket.
I said her name.
She didn't answer.
She didn't move.
Her breathing didn't change--such control.
I could hear my breathing; could she hear it? Did I sound like a pervert on the verge of a heart attack? Did that turn her on? Why were all these questions coming to me?
My cock had grown by now, flooded with lust and raging hot energy and all the dirty thoughts that make a young man dream about his family members in all the wrong ways. Would those guys be wrong not to take the plunge into incest if their sisters offered them a taste of that delightful sin? That's what my sister was doing, wasn't it, offering me a taste? I'd be stupid not to take it. I really would.
"Diana," I said as I ran my finger along the blanket line. Her warm skin sent goosebumps through my arms, and in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, I saw the same little bumps sprout across her deeply tanned body. I thought a shiver ran through her and into me, which danced across my shoulders. I closed my eyes, absorbing the moment of unexpected titillation that reached down into my eager, cum-filled balls.
With my finger back on her spine, I hooked the tip beneath the blanket and pulled the covering down Diana's body. Slowly, I moved so fucking slowly, exposing her slender and small frame, her tight skin, flawless and smooth, with curving contours about its surface that outlined her taut muscles. What was it about young women that made them appear so small and light and flexible? Young women? I'm only eighteen--but it's true, younger women did look smaller.
Where the fuck were these thoughts coming from, and why was I thinking them?
The blanket had reached below the middle of my sister's back. I saw no clothing. I moved lower, to the curve of her spine, before the rise of her butt cheeks. I went lower, baring her slender hips down to the narrow crack of her ass and the upward ascension of her crescent cheeks. My sister said nothing. She didn't stir. I could see the swells of her big breasts pushing outward from her chest, where they mashed into her mattress.
My right forefinger remained on the base of my sister's spine, but I reached out with my left hand, finger extended, and lightly, with the weight of a feather, I touched the swell of her left breast and slid my finger across the perkiness of her round flesh.
Diana shivered. Her nostrils flared in recognition of what I had done. I watched her eyelids twitch as if she were fighting the urge to open them. My cock strained in my pants with that blatant fuzzy pleasure that demanded I wrap my fist around the head and squeeze.
जिंदगी की राहों में रंजो गम के मेले हैं.
भीड़ है क़यामत की फिर भी हम अकेले हैं.
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