There was a silence. Was Nathan looking for an excuse to remain cuddled on the couch? Or was he just trying to torment me even more? I did my best to pretend to not be phased, but my cock wasn’t helping my case. I was erect, and all I could do was hope that he didn’t notice. I continued to control my breathing. I tried to focus on the new movie that was on the screen, but I was constantly aware of Nathan’s warm, soft bum, which was pressed against my crotch.
“Can you pass me that water?” I asked, pointing to the glass of water on the table.
She reached and passed me the glass. I took a long sip and then I reached out and placed the glass on the edge of the table. Before I could pull my arm back into safety, she grabbed it and pulled it over her body, pressing it against her exposed abdomen. She held it tightly. “Let go,” I said.
“Not until you admit you like it,” she said.
“I don’t.”
“Then you aren’t getting it back.” I could hear her grin, even though I couldn’t see it. So I just surrendered my arm and pretended not to care that it was wrapped around her petite, warm body. I switched my attention back to the television. And I didn’t move for the next hour and a half. Then the movie ended, the credits rolled, and the Netflix menu was back on the screen. The house was suddenly dark and quiet. I couldn’t tell if Nathan was asleep or not, but I was too afraid to move regardless. Were we really going to sleep on the couch together? What if my sister did come home early? What if she found us on that couch together? How could I explain the situation to her? Would she think we were gay and messing around?
My heart was pounding. I was still erect. I’d been erect for nearly two whole hours—throbbing mercilessly. Surely Nathan had noticed—right? Finally, Nathan moved. She started to grind her bum back against my lap, cradling my erect bulge between her bum cheeks. Her skirt was riding up higher and higher, until her bare bum was pressed against my lap. She was still holding my arm. But now she was pulling it up to her chest from her abdomen. She pressed my hand against one of the cups of her bralette. She pressed down hard.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice cracking slightly.
“I’m so drunk,” she said.
“That doesn’t make it okay,” I said.
“Who cares?” she said. And then she reached back and her fingers began to tinker with my belt buckle. My body tensed up. I even had a hard time pulling air into my lungs. I went to bite down on my tongue again, but my tongue was too sore now from hours of being bitten. She managed to get my belt undone. Now she was trying to unzip my fly.
“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” I said. But I wasn’t doing much to stop her. I just kept hoping that she was right: that she was super drunk and that she wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning. Though I didn’t feel nearly drunk enough that I would forget any of it. So why wasn’t I stopping her?
She got my fly down and then he fingers reached into my pants. She fished around until her fingers were around my bare cock, and then she started to stroke it. “Are you gay?” I asked nervously.
She giggled. “How can I be gay?”
“You’re touching my cock.”
“I’m a woman. That’s what women do.”
Now my heart was racing exceptionally fast. She really did look like a woman—and she smelled and felt like a woman too. I ran my fingers down her leg, which was smooth and soft. And then I ran my fingers up her side, which felt the same.
She fished my cock out from my jeans and then she tugged down her panties. Then her fingers wrapped around my cock again, and she continued to stroke. I was worried that I was actually going to go through with it. There was nothing stopping me. My anxiety was trying its best, but the thought of getting off inside of that soft, warm butt was too enticing. “You’re so big,” she said.
“Thanks,” I said, my voice cracking again. She could probably feel my heart pounding against her back. It was a miracle that I wasn’t throwing up on her. I’m not sure how I managed to hold myself together.
She released my cock from her grip, but only for a couple of seconds—just long enough to spit into the palm of her hand so she could reach around again to lubricate my shaft. “Are you a virgin?” she asked.
“No,” I lied.
“Well I am,” she said. “So don’t go too hard. And not too deep.” She pressed my tip against her rubbery hole. She wiggled her bum, getting herself lined up in the perfect position. And then she let go and she grabbed a pillow with both hands, as if to brace herself. She’d left me to do the hardest part: the penetration.
I just remained still, staring down at her soft, petite body. She looked so fragile yet somehow so fertile. I carefully caressed her soft skin and then I found myself holding her butt cheeks, spreading them wide so I could see her puckering hole. I could also see a bit of her ball sack peering between her thighs, reminding me that she wasn’t a woman at all—just my drunk step-brother who was trying to prove some stupid point that he would probably regret in the morning.
I started to thrust my hips forward. The tip of my cock mushed against her tight hole. It didn’t penetrate at first, which surprised me. In every porn I’d ever seen, the cock slides right in without any resistance. But her hole was tight and she was clenched hard. I could hear her trying to control her breathing. “Just relax,” I said. And then I felt her butthole relax against my tip. I pushed in. I had to push hard for a few seconds before I finally slid inside of her. She instantly tightened around my cock, but I was in! I only had half an inch at most inside of her, but I was still inside of her. I’d successfully penetrated my sissified stepbrother.
So I waited for her to relax again and then I sunk in deeper. “Not too deep,” she said with clenched teeth. So I only stuck half of my cock inside of her. Then I began to pull out so I could come down again. She was holding that pillow firmly, her nails digging into the fabric.
I reached a hand around and cupped that empty bralette cup. I squeezed hard, squeezing nothing but the skin of her flat chest. I kept pulling out and pushing in, and she kept groaning and squeezing that pillow. “You’re so tight,” I groaned.
“It hurts,” she said.
“I’m not that deep.”
“I know. It’s okay. Keep going.”
So I kept going, thrusting slowly, feeling out the inside of her body. She continued to pucker—clenching one moment and relaxing the next. I could feel her tight hole stretching out. It hadn’t even been a minute and I was already trying to hold back my orgasm.
She let a soft whimper slip. At first I thought it was a pained whimper, and then she let another one slip and I realized she was moaning in a state of euphoria. She liked the way my cock felt sliding around inside of her tight body. She was enjoying the anal massage I was giving her with my cock.
I held her body firmly with both hands and I started to penetrate her harder. “Not too deep,” she reminded me. So I continued only giving her half of my cock. She ended up reaching around and using her hand as a brace between us, ensuring I wouldn’t go too much deeper. She curled her fingers around the exposed length of my cock and gently pumped, as if to compensate for what I couldn’t get inside of her.
It felt good—too good. I tensed up and groaned and I tried to hold back my orgasm, but it just felt too amazing. I pressed my face into her shoulder and I let out a long, elated sigh. “Fuck. I think I’m going to come,” I said.
“I want you to come in my mouth. Should I get on my knees now?”
My head was spinning too fast to realize fully what was happening. “Yeah. I can’t hold it much longer.”
She hopped forward, making my cock slip out of her butt and slap against my abdomen. She quickly dropped to her knees and grabbed my cock, pulling it towards her lips. She started beating it frantically with her mouth open and her tongue out. I looked into her eyes and she looked into mine. And I stared into those eyes while I came. It wasn’t until I was finished coming that I looked down to see what kind of mess I made.
Most of my load ended up in her mouth, but some of it ended up on her nose, on her cheek, and on her lips. She licked what she could up, and then she wiped the rest towards her mouth. She swallowed everything with a smile on her face.
Then she stood up and staggered slightly, still drunk and probably not terribly confident in those clunky high heels. That’s when I noticed her erection bulging out against her skirt—and the wet spot where the tip of her cock was. It was a small wet spot, with a whitish tinge to it: it was cum. Apparently she hadn’t just been squeezing that pillow while I’d been fucking her from behind. She’d also been rubbing herself off. It was a harrowing reminder that I’d just fucked a man and not a woman—my own stepbrother, who was dressing in my own sister’s clothes and makeup.
CHAPTER IV
When I woke up the next morning, we were still on that couch. My arm was over her body and she was snuggled back comfortably against me, her bum in my lap. It took a moment before I remembered everything from the previous night. As soon as I remembered what we’d done, I removed that arm from her body and my heart clenched in my chest.
She was snoring gently, unstirred by my sudden movement. I carefully peeled my body up. I had to climb over the back of the couch. She gently rolled over onto her back, but kept sleeping. That cum stain was still prominent on her skirt, between her legs. There was even some dried cum on her cheek, and a bit in her blonde hair.
I thought about waking her up and telling her to get changed before anyone came home. But I was terrified that she would see my face and remember what I’d done to her: plugged her asshole with my cock and then came on her pretty face. So I crept away and went to get myself tidied up—so at least my sister wouldn’t come home and see us in the same state.
I made a point of being very loud. I put on some music while I was in the shower, and I decided to vacuum the upstairs once I was all cleaned up. I had a splitting headache and a swirling nausea in my gut. I wasn’t sure which was from the hangover and which was from the terrible regret I couldn’t seem to shake.
I was in my room ruffling up the sheets of my bed when I heard those clunky footsteps coming up from the basement. Nathan was awake and probably confused as hell. I stayed in my bedroom, making it look like I’d been there all night. Nathan didn’t stop by on his way to his room. He was silent for twenty minutes before I heard him migrate to the bathroom. He took a shower and then he spent the rest of the day nursing his hangover in his room—or maybe he was just hiding from the shame of what we’d done.
I had no idea if he remembered fucking or sleeping together—or even if he remembered getting dolled up. Maybe he just remembered the first hour of Tootsie and then the rest of the night was a blur. Maybe he didn’t even remember that much. Or maybe he remembered everything.
It wasn’t until late when I finally saw him. Our parents came home from their church trip and they brought dinner with them. They called us all down. He shuffled into the kitchen, in his pyjamas, looking pale and weak. “What’s wrong with you?” Nathan’s dad asked him.
“I woke up with the flu,” he said. His dad bought the lie, and so did everyone else except for me. I tried not to look at him during dinner, worried I would look into his eyes and see more than I wanted to know. I didn’t even look at him when I asked him to pass me the salt. Though I did catch a few glimpses when he was looking the other way. He really did look hungover, which was perfect. Because if he was badly hungover, then maybe there was a good chance that he didn’t remember anything.
I saw him the next morning and he was back to his usual self: full of energy, with a big smile on his face. He spent most of the day out in the yard, hanging out by the pool, warming himself in the hot early autumn sun. I still tried to keep my distance, still worried that interacting with him would make him remember that night. But he came up to my room around noon. “Want to go to the mall with me and grab some lunch?”
“Sure,” I said. I looked into his eyes for a couple of seconds—long enough to see that he truly was acting normal, as if he really didn’t remember anything. I felt incredibly relieved as we walked over to the mall and he chatted away like his usual self. He didn’t bring up that night, but he did talk quite a bit about his hangover.
After lunch, we went to the bookstore across from the video game store. He went down the magazine isle and I watched as he looked through the different sexy magazines: pictures of naked girls, poorly censored by the plastic wrap the magazines were contained in. He didn’t buy any of the magazines—he never did. But it was nice to see that he was back to his usual self.
We played a new Star Wars game in the video game store for about thirty minutes. The game wasn’t great, but it was nice to pick up some free gaming time, seeing as we only got an hour at home. Then we wandered around the mall for a bit. I caught Nathan staring at the billboards outside of the sexy lingerie store. Again, it was a welcomed sight, until I considered the possibility that he wasn’t admiring the girls. Maybe he was admiring their outfits. Maybe he was admiring their makeup. There were a few sexy magazines laying around Kathy’s bedroom, which claimed that she used for makeup and wardrobe inspiration. What if Nathan was doing the same thing? What if he was imagining himself wearing that lingerie?
I tried to reject the idea. It seemed too absurd. Nathan was a cool, normal guy. He wasn’t a cross-dressing sissy who liked fucking guys. He was just drunk and fooling around—we both were. And I knew that I wasn’t gay—I was just drunk.
I was looking around a store for a new shirt when Nathan said, “I’m going to go see if I can’t find a new pair of flip flops. I’ll meet you back here in like ten minutes?”
“Sure,” I said.
I didn’t think much of it—not even when he came back and said, “They didn’t have the ones I liked.” But I could see that there was something bulging in his single shopping bag, which had previously just been holding a pair of shorts he’d bought earlier—now that was something in there that wasn’t there before. I didn’t ask what it was—I was too afraid to ask what it was, even though I was fairly certain it wasn’t anything to be concerned about. Maybe he’d just gone and picked up a prescription he was embarrassed about.
Though when I took a closer look, I recognized the makeup store logo through his shopping bag. Whatever he’d bought, he’d bought at the mall’s makeup store. But maybe it was just some concealer to hide some acne or something like that. Maybe he used a moisturizer and he was too embarrassed to admit it. There were things for men in those makeup stores too, right?
CHAPTER V
I managed to convince myself that everything was normal—that Nathan didn’t remember anything and that he was just a normal guy into normal guy things. I managed to convince myself that my anxieties were mostly paranoid delusions and I had nothing to worry about.
And then, that night, Nathan proved me wrong.
I was in my room, just falling asleep, when I heard my bedroom door creaking. I’d gone to bed late as I’d been up studying for an upcoming test. I sat up quickly and saw the dark figure slipping into my room. The intruder was doing his or her best to remain quiet. The hallway was dark and the rest of the house was sleeping. “What are you doing?” I asked, remaining in place. I couldn’t tell who was coming into my room. I still wasn’t sure that it wasn’t some serial killer.
“Shh,” the figure said, raising a silhouetted finger to its silhouetted lips.
As the figure moved through the room, I saw the lacy frills and tight straps of a lingerie one-piece. I could hear the gentle tapping of heeled feet moving carefully through the room. But I knew I wasn’t looking at my sister—just someone dressed in her clothes.
She clicked on my bedroom lamp, revealing herself to be Nathan, dressed again in women’s clothing and makeup. But this time she wasn’t staggering and her pupils weren’t dilated with liquor. She was sober, confirming both of my worst nightmares: she didn’t just get dressed up because she was drunk, and she remembered our night togeth
er.
“What are you doing? You’re going to wake the whole house up,” I said.
“We’ll be quiet,” she said, stepping towards me. She had that cute grin on her face. I hated that grin more than anything. I hated how her lips thinned out as they curved into that malicious smile. I hated how attractive that grin was, even though I knew it was the very same grin she made when she was her regular male self.
“Nathan, seriously,” I said, my heat racing. I nearly became sick at the thought of someone coming into the bedroom to check on the noise.
“Shh,” she said again. She lifted up one of her heeled feet and placed it on the mattress, exposing her barely covered crotch, which she had shaved smooth. Her cock was tucked carefully and her bulge was almost invisible, looking more like a camel toe than anything. I had the sudden urge to reach out and feel the skin on her legs, but I resisted and then some. “Don’t you want to play?”
“I’ve got a test tomorrow and—and I’m not gay,” I said as quietly as I could. I wasn’t even sure if she’d heard me.
She looked at me strangely, her head tilted to one side, still with that grin on her dolled up face. “Why would it be gay? Do I look like a man?”
I sighed. “You know what I mean,” I said.
She hopped up onto the bed and laid her body down in front of me. She stared into my eyes with a big smile. “Don’t you think I’m pretty? Didn’t we have fun the other night?”
“We were drunk. We made a mistake. Now get out of here before your dad finds us,” I said. I was more worried about my sister finding us, but I figured he would be more concerned about his what his father thought.
She rolled over one hundred and eighty degrees, pushing her back and her soft bum against my body. “Just pretend like I’m a real girl. I can be your dirty little secret. I promise I won’t tell anyone.” She snuggled her bum back into my crotch. The smell of that familiar perfume brought back the memory of my cock sliding into her tight butthole. And I wondered: what was one more time? I did it once—would it really be so bad to do it again?
GIRLIFIED: 15 BOOKS MEGA BUNDLE Page 7