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ANDRIA swallow and come terms with (04 March 2007)

Andrea lay sprawled on the couch as though someone

had halfheartedly tossed her there. Auburn hair fell

in tangles that hid most of her face, though

what I could see was an expression thick and peaceful

with drunken sleep. I swayed a little, unsteady as I

gazed down at my big sister. The pearl buttons of her sweater

were halfway undone, allowing a peek at her smooth,

tan stomach. The skirt lay tossed loosely about her

lap. Her legs draped off the cushions, askew, and

lending further to the image of a rag doll thrown down

and abandonned.

It was a good thing mom and dad were out of town. I

smirked wryly at the irony of it all. What a good girl
Andrea was in their eyes. If they'd only been here

last night to see their prim eldest daughter and the

'teensy get-together' she'd been allowed to throw in

their absense. I'd barely recognized her, passing

drinks around, flirting wildly, draping herself in the

laps of male guests she barely knew.

I'd agreed not to tell on her so long as I could have

some friends over myself and my buds and I got our

share of the booze. Not a bad trade. But it was almost

two o'clock, and since it was just Thursday everybody

had school the next day and were long gone. I gently

took a seat on the couch beside her and took her

shoulder, shaking gently. I was thinking I'd help

her stumble back to her bedroom, but just a few more

attempts to wake her made me realize that she was out

cold and there was nothing I could do short of

carrying her upstairs myself.

She looked so peaceful and I was still buzzing hard

enough that I figured I might as well make an attempt.

I leaned over her and tried to gather her up into my

arms, but she was too heavy and I was too drunk. I got

her maybe an inch off the cushions before gravity

decided to work against me, and with a lurch fell sort

of half against her. I couldn't help stifled laugh.



She was comfortable and warm, so I stayed flopped on

her like that for a moment, and nuzzled my nose into

the soft angora of her sweater. The scent of her was

heady with liquor and spice, and struck me with a new

intoxication. I wasn't thinking at all, really. All I

knew was that something warm and softly feminine was

right beneath me, and filling my head with that scent.

With no conscious decision whatsoever, I slipped a

hand across the golden flash of stomach and slid it up

until I was cupping her breast.

I wonderingly kneaded the curve of round flesh beneath my big

sister's sweater, then slowly nudged the hem up

enough to close my mouth over one of her pink rosebud

nipples. I suckled lazily, blissfully, as a flush

crept out over my cheeks to drunkenly tingle and

linger. Beneath me Andrea sighed softly, but it didn't

register at all. My affections grew bolder. I pushed

the fabric up completely to bury my face in her chest,

licking and nipping at her tits with hungry abandon.

But as this went on I began to grow more and more

aware of the hot press of my crotch against her hips,

and it was this that finally startled me out of my

actions. I didn't quite jump off her, but froze in

place, my lips hovering close above her skin, which

was still glistening and wet thanks to the affection

I'd been lavishing on her fine set of tits. A shock

flash of clarity punched me in the gut, the numb

realization of, 'Holy shit Chris, get up. This is

Andrea!'

My heart pounded, but I was too sluggish to even

consider a nimble leap to my feet, let alone a hasty

retreat. And that goddamn scent of hers, it wrapped

itself around my brain and tugged it to a lurching

halt. I was painfully aware of my throbbing cock where

it pressed insistantly into my sister's hip. Digging

fists into the pillow cushions on which I had her

pinned, I tried to push myself up and off her. But my

clumsy attempt at escape only served to rub my groin

along her thigh, sending an electric shudder through

my legs. I drew a ragged breath, paused, and then

pushed myself up against her again. Another lurch

back, another fierce press, and soon I had a teetering

rhythm going as I hushedly panted and bucked against

her with all the gentle restraint I could muster.

Yet frustration was building, a dislike for the cloth

that seperated me from her smooth, glowing skin I'd

been enjoying earlier. Reaching down, I fumbled to get

my dick free of my jeans and pressed clumsily forward,

pushing my erection up into the soft enveloping skin

where her upper legs pressed together and kept her

closed to me. With a desperate grip on the couch and

my weight shifted to my arms, I kept a tenuous balance

above her. A soft moan escaped my lips as I pumped

myself against her, driving deeper into the velvety

tunnel of her thighs with each thrust, until I was

sure the head of my cock would soon meet the

resistance of her panties.

They probably would have by that point, if she'd been

wearing any. Instead, as I slowly nudged her legs

apart with my hips, I met only warmth. Still a

barrier, but with the teasing promise to give with

just a little more persistance, just a couple more

steady thrusts...

I wasn't thinking. Thought was just no longer an

option, nor was rationality, regret, retreat...

Especially not retreat. Because I was there, on the

brink of toppling into a pleasure I'd only imagined,

only mimicked until now, as though the grip and

release of my palm could compare to this: my body

pinning hers, my cock probing insistantly against her

clit each time I drove my hips forward.

It was all one big headrush, potent and consuming. I

wasn't consciously aware, so I can't describe the

precise moment I forced my way past the lingering,

resisting grip her thighs and cunt tried to maintain

even as she slept. All I know is that in those next

few blurred, elated moments I'd managed to drive

myself up into her and slowly begin to fuck her.

Reality and awareness escaped me and when it finally

started to return, only came in brief, reeling flashes

of dizzy confusion that couldn't penetrate the snarling

call of instinct that kept me clinging to her needily,

my breath lost to gasps and whimpers as I pumped my cock

into her with a growing urgency.

I can't believe I didn't wake her. Maybe she'd had so

much to drink that her coma-like state was actually pretty

serious, or dangerous even, but that was so far from my

thoughts. God, I was such a dumbfuck, I didn't even

pull out. It was another one of those blurry, beyond-my-control

moments. The rush of it raced through my legs and exploded

into my brain. Cock buried to the hilt, I cried out, wild

and sharp at first as though in pain, but slowly warming and

stretching as the sound was drawn out though the slow moments.

And then my outburst had softened to a rumbling, pleasured

moan as I pumped the last of my cum into her then slumped

against her with a sigh. All the muscles I hadn't realized

I'd been clenching went slack and my head buzzed happily.

Draped atop of her, lightheaded and thick with glowing content,

I'd drifted asleep even before my dick had gone fully soft

within her.

I didn't wake up again until hours later, as the sun was

starting to rise. Dragging myself off her, I managed a wobbly

upright and stood over her, groggy and blinking away sleep. But

as I stood rubbing my eyes, dusting away the remaining cobwebs

of sleep, the experience finally registered as far too intense

for a dream. At first it was entirely numb, the recollection, as

I stared blankly at the sight of her rumpled skirt pushed up and

exposing her. Her legs were spread obscenely. I almost wish the

numbness could have lasted. Instead a thread of panic and sickness

started to wrap itself around my stomach, twisting and knotting

with guilt, confusion, and the terrible weight of realization.

Andrea. My sister. I raped my sister. It's a hard

realization to swallow and come to terms with. To be honest, I

never did.

Because I remember.

I remember how I'd carefully patted her skirt back down,

so gently arranged her in a more innocent position: her cheek

nestled against the armrest, arms dangling limp, pearl buttons

all fastened. She looked angelic. I forced my gaze away and

stumbled back to my room blindly.

I remember how cheerful she was that next evening. How

she'd asked me several times what was wrong. How she'd flung her

arms around me and squeezed gratefully at my somber offer to help

her clean up before mom and dad saw the mess of the party.

"You're the best," she'd sighed, before dancing off to find the

vacuum cleaner.

I remember how her scent always made my head reel

thereafter, and how even now I'll see her once in awhile, all

grown up and married, a mother of two. And I remember. That same

lingering, heady musk rolls off her approach and caresses my

bruised psyche, and it sends me right back to that night on the

couch as I gasped and shuddered against her.

I remember how I grew up too, how I stumbled into manhood,

going through girlfriends and professors and promotions, distraction

after distraction after distraction... Nothing lasting. And even

today every wet dream and lonely night finds its way back into the

velvet tunnel of her thighs.

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