About me, the author: My name is Lucy, I’m a 23-year-old graduate student, and this is my first story on this site. It is purely a work of fiction, and I encourage readers to tell me what you think about this story.
“Are you awake,” I whispered.
She didn’t respond. She lay motionless beneath the covers. She lay on her side facing me, and she cuddled a pillow. I could tell, though, by the street light outside that her eyes were closed.
I slid my fingers under my panties and guided them through my pubic hair. Cautiously, I inserted two fingers inside of my pussy. The flesh was warm and moist around them. I wiggled them around slowly, fearing that I’d wake my sleeping sister if I moved too quickly. I closed my eyes and imagined the boy that sat next to be in math class: his cute face, perfect hair, and appealing figure. I envisioned him naked jerking his erect dick.
Slowly, imitating a cock, I slid my fingers back and forth. My mind, however, lost focus. My thoughts bounced between that cute boy and my sister who lay beside me. Curiously, I wondered if she could hear me, if she could feel my moving, or what she would think if she knew what I was secretly doing under the blanket. A tiny part of my mind wanted me to fondle myself so loudly that I would wake her, so that she would see how lonely I was. Still, though, I was afraid to be noisy.
My mind shifted back to the boy; I pictured his cumming onto his stomach. I imagined what he might to with his jizz once he finished, and whether or not he thought of me while he played with himself. Still, though, I was distracted. An image of my sister invaded my thoughts. I pictured her masturbating on the toilet seat in the bathroom.
As I brought myself closer to orgasm, I discarded the boy and imagined my naked sister, and I became less concerned about how much racket I was making: I could hear my fingers squishing in my lubricated pussy, and I could hear my loud breathing, and I could feel the bed and blanket rocking as I was no longer keeping my legs still. Yet, I was confident that my sister was still sleeping.
I came, and my contracting pussy sucked on my fingers as I orgasmed. I covered my mouth with my other hand lest I make any unintentional noises. My legs tightly closed, and my head jerked forward. The orgasm struck every fiber in my body.
I brought my fingers to my nose and sniffed them. I wrinkled my face at the odor; I wiped the gunk on my pajamas and turned onto my side. My sister had not moved. I pondered how horrible of a person I was for touching myself, and how worse I was for thinking of my sister while I was doing it. As my breathing returned to normal, I pulled up my panties and fell asleep.
We lived in a small, one-story, two-bedroom house. My parents, of course, slept in the master bedroom while Grace and I shared a room. Even our room was small; we shared a queen-size bed, and on either side of the bed there wasn’t much room to walk around.
Grace was only ten months older than me. We were raised to be Catholic, and my parents followed a strict, literal understanding of the teachings of the church. Therefore, my family never discussed sexuality, and Grace and I were not permitted to go to friends’ houses unless we could prove that our friends were equally as pious as my parents. My parents didn’t believe that my sister and I needed privacy either. Our room had a door that did not lock. I didn’t particularly care for my parents’ constricting and inhibitive beliefs, and I sometimes wished that their views were more relaxed.
Despite my parents beating the immorality and wrongfulness of sexuality into my mind, I couldn’t help having lustful thoughts. Naturally, I was attracted to guys, but recently, I had been having erotic thoughts about girls, especially my sister. I hated that I was experiencing those thoughts, but I could not control them. My parents’ beliefs made me fear disclosure of such sexual ideas, and I never dared to tell anyone.
Grace tempted others with her beauty. She never purposefully flaunted her body, but she was one of those girls who was sexy no matter what she wore. Her frame was perfect, and her medium-size breasts filled her clothes nicely. Her height was average, five feet and six inches. She was athletic: she ran track for school and played softball in her spare time. Being sisters, I looked similar to her in figure and stance, but we varied greatly, and our faces were composed differently.
The next morning, I woke up before Grace. The sun lit the room, and the air was silent aside from the morning birds singing. Grace lay on her back; the blankets covered everything below her belly button. Her nipples stood erect, poking through the silk fabric of her thin nightgown. Her brown hair, confused and tangled by her sleep, wrapped from the back of her head onto her neck and upper chest. Her arms lay stationary beside her. Her breasts rose as her lungs filled with air. Then her chest collapsed as she exhaled. Devilishly, I carefully tugged the blanket to her knees. Her nightgown, like a dress or skirt, had an opening at the bottom, and she had tossed during the night so much that the gown was bunched up around her waist. As normal, she wore no underwear. Her hairy pussy was exposed to the room, and her legs were spread. I had seen her pussy before, but I was still fascinated. I moved closer to examine it. Her slit was pink where the lips met. I wanted so badly to touch it, but I didn’t dare.
I returned the covers over her body and started to get dressed.
I considered myself a frequent masturbator, an action never discussed in our home. Frequently, I did it in bed while my sister slept beside me. Occasionally, however, I couldn’t wait until night. Many times I found myself in the shower holding the nozzle in my crotch. But since our family shared one bathroom, I didn’t have a satisfactory amount of time. Sometimes, I even pleasured myself in the school bathroom or another public bathroom. Rarely, I fingered myself in the desk chair while watching porn. Since the four people in my family shared a computer, and since this computer was in the middle of the living room, indulging in pornography was an uncommon occurrence. Privacy was not something I enjoyed regularly.
I adored pleasuring myself, but because of my parents’ teachings, I injured myself with thoughts of my dishonesty, dirtiness, and immorality. My mind was torn, and I was unsure of what to think. One day, however, a chain of events was set into motion that changed my life and my way of thinking forever.
The next morning, Grace’s alarm clock woke up both of us. It was a Saturday, and she had softball practice in an hour. I, however, had nowhere to go. Grace climbed out of bed and took off her nightgown so that she was bare naked. We had no problems changing in front of each other, but I didn’t want her to know that I was gawking. I watched her change but still pretended to be asleep; I partially cracked my eyes so that they appeared closed.
Her breasts were beautiful and bouncy, and when she bent over to pick up something from the floor, they pointed downward. Her ass was perfectly rounded, and her stomach was smooth and flat. Her shaven legs were shiny, and her virgin pussy enticed my eyes more than anything else. She applied lotion to her flawless skin. She slid into her panties, then her sports bra, then her t-shirt, then her shorts. She tied her hair into a ponytail and exited the room.
The thoughts of excitement returned to my mind. Again, I hated myself for lusting after my sister, but I couldn’t help it, and I could feel my pussy getting wet. I reasoned that the only way to get the thoughts to go away was to masturbate. Under the blanket, I slid my panties down and removed my left leg so that they only wrapped around my right ankle. I took two fingers and rubbed the wetness around my pussy. I teased my pussy for a few moments; I waited to make sure that Grace wasn’t coming back into the room before I began properly fingering myself. After five minutes, I pushed two fingers inside of myself and began to imitate a cock.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, and since I was alone in the room, I was careless with the volume of my excitement. Eventually, the squishing noises began as my fingers slid in and out. I took my other hand and crept it under my shirt; I tickled my hard nipples and cupped my squishy breasts in my hand.
This time, I pictured my sister in the bathtub holding her pussy under the water faucet. As I brought myself closer to orgasm, I sped the motion of my hand, and I imagined Grace getting closer to cumming too.
Eventually, my hand was moving so fast that the blanket started to feel troublesome. Since Grace had left, and since my parents were always asleep this early on a Saturday, I tossed the blanket aside. As I approached orgasm, I covered my mouth, but just as a wave of pleasure nearly attacked my body, I heard the door fly open. I quickly opened my eyes and looked up. Grace stood in the doorway staring at me, unable to take her eyes off of me. I was so deeply in shock that it took me five seconds to cover myself up.
“I forgot my water bottle,” she said walking toward the desk. When she spoke her voice nervously cracked.
She grabbed the bottle and quietly left the room. I was angry with myself for not being careful.
“Maybe she didn’t see it,” I reasoned with myself. But, who wouldn’t know? She saw me with my panties around my ankle, breathing heavily and acting weird. Of course, she knew exactly what I was doing. She probably even heard the sounds of my lady fapping in the hallway. Her seeing me destroyed all of the excitement in my body, and I was unable to finish myself off. I dressed myself and went downstairs to watch TV.
For the remained of that day Grace and I said nothing. Even at the dinner table, we refused to make small talk about anything. The thing that bothered me the most wasn’t that she walked in on me; I was mostly troubled by not knowing how Grace felt about masturbation and sexuality. I didn’t know what to say to her, and I presumed that she didn’t know what to say to me.
Likewise, the next day, Sunday, Grace said nothing to me, and I said nothing to her. Every time we made eye contact we were reminded of the incident and quickly turned away from each other.
It wasn’t until Sunday night that we redressed the situation. We went to bed without speaking about the incident. After having lain for five or ten minutes in the dark, Grace spoke up in a fragile voice. “I wasn’t grossed out or anything.”
“What?” I murmured.
“About yesterday morning,” she continued. “I wasn’t grossed out by what you were doing.”
“Oh,” I replied. Immediately, I became anxious, and my heart began beating fast.
She added, “I just didn’t know what to say to you. You seemed humiliated.”
“Yeah,” I said softly.
She was silent for another minute. She lay on her back with her arms behind her head as if she were gazing at the stars and deeply thinking. Again, she broke the silence with a shaky voice. “I do it too.” She paused again, then said, “sometimes.”
“Oh,” I said again. I was unsure of how to respond. Evidently, Grace wasn’t any braver than me. Her shaky voice and her pausing between words and sentences made it obvious that she was nervous.
Finally, I gathered the courage to ask, “where?”
There was another pause. “In the bathroom,” she responded. She stopped again, then said, “but I have to rush.” Once more, she hesitated, then added, “sometimes I do it…I do it at school.”
I turned to my side and faced her. She turned her head toward me, still on her back. “I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t grossed out,” she asserted.
“Okay,” I mumbled.
My heart beat faster. “I think we should be more open with each other,” she requested.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she replied.
She rolled onto her side and faced me. She whispered, “who do you think about when you touch yourself?”
“Nobody,” I timidly replied, but she caught me in the obvious lie.
“Come on,” she whispered, “who?”
I answered, “some boys at school.” Grace smiled.
She pried deeper into my mind: “have you ever thought of any girls?” she asked.
“Maybe,” I replied.
“Who,” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I lied.
“You’re such a bad liar,” she accused of me while giggling and slapping my shoulder.
I grinned. Gradually, we were becoming more comfortable with the conversation. Also, I noticed the familiar tingling feeling returning to my pussy.
Next, Grace graduated the conversation from small talk into a serious matter; she whispered, “I’ll let you touch mine if you let me touch yours.” I didn’t respond immediately, and before I could say ‘yes,’ Grace said, “or maybe not if that’s not what you want to do.” I could hear the uneasiness in her voice. But, I scooted close to her. I looked her in the eyes and nodded.
She sat up, moved toward me, and threw the covers down so that only my feet were covered. “Take off your panties,” she commanded. I slid them down to my ankles and threw them to the side of the bed. Grace turned on her nightstand lamp, then clumsily placed her hand on my pussy. It was obvious that she had never done this before. Her palm rested on my pubes, and two of her fingers touched my pussy’s lips. Her fingers were cold, and she didn’t move them. She looked at me to verify that I had not changed my mind. I lifted my eyebrows as if to silently say, “carry on.”
Then she slowly moved her fingers in a circular motion around my pussy, spreading its natural lubrication around. Already, my heart was thumping so hard that I could hardly hear myself think. Grace changed positions; while I still lay on my back, she crawled between my legs and sat on her butt. She fiddled her fingers in and around my pussy. She was involved in her own world of exploration, closely examining my pussy. Her face showed curiosity, and it looked as if she was looking for something. She even smelled her wet finger, and her nose furrowed at the sour smell.
Still looking at my pussy, she asked, “do you want me to…” She didn’t finish the question, but I answered, “yes.” Now, Grace and I avoided eye contact and didn’t say anything. The experience was too awkward and unusual for us to communicate.
She inserted her middle and ring fingers into my pussy, sending a torrent of pleasure throughout my body. She withdrew her fingers, then plunged them in again. She repeated this motion over and over, and every time, the friction between her fingers and my pussy gunk made a sopping noise.
Grace was uncoordinated. She was much more clumsy that the actors in pornographic films, and less elegant than lesbians portrayed in literature. Grace was nothing more than an innocent girl having her first sexual experience with another person. She stopped her fingering every once in a while to change positions or rearrange her hand. She hovered awkwardly over me, not knowing what to do with her other hand, and not knowing that kissing me would have infinitely heightened the entire sexual experience.
Despite her being unskilled, the extraordinary feeling in my pussy grew. The pleasure, which began as a tingling feeling, was now like a lake, and the dam was about to burst. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. My hips started to move without my control. I hung my mouth open and breathed heavily.
I grabbed a pillow and shoved the corner into my mouth to muffle my heavy breathing and any potential, unintentional moans. Suddenly, I felt like I had to pee. I almost asked Grace to stop, but the pleasure was so grand that I wanted it to never end. The wall of pleasure in my pussy now escaped into the rest of my body. My stomach started to tingle, then my legs, arms, and torso. Finally, I started to orgasm: my hips sank into the bed and my chest rose into the air. The pleasure shot down my spine and resounded into every limb of my body. My toes curled, and my fingernails dug into the fabric of the bed. I moaned through the pillow in my mouth. I lost control of my body; my legs trembled, and I nearly squashed Grace’s hand when I clapped them together. I felt like I was peeing; I felt liquid shoot from my pussy, and I heard its distinct sound. Grace pulled her hand away from my pussy, but my body continued to shake.
When my quivering stopped, I covered my face with my hands in exhaustion. I could hardly breathe. The air in the room felt cool on my skin, damp with sweat, and my pussy, soaked with cum. I looked down at Grace. I saw my breasts moving up and down quickly because I was breathing heavily. Grace’s arm was covered with my squirt. Not knowing what to do with the ejaculation, she wiped it off with the blanket. The bed sheets below me were also stained. Now, Grace sat in astonishment staring at me.
Grace, still speechless, crawled beside me and lay on her back. She stared at the ceiling. I presumed she was trying to make sense of the situation we had gotten ourselves into. Slowly, I crawled toward Grace’s feet. I pulled her legs apart and scooted between them. Her pussy was already wet and starting to drip downward. I leaned forward and touched it with one finger. Her body jerked. Perhaps my touch was cold, or perhaps she was so excited that her pussy’s sensitivity was outrageous. I glanced at her face, but she still looked at the ceiling.
I inserted the same finger inside of her pussy. It was wet, warm, and tight. Her heart was beating so hard I could feel the walls of her pussy shaking. I pulled my finger out and some of her lubrication came with it. Just like Grace did to me, I pushed two of my fingers inside of her. Her pussy was so narrow that I doubt three fingers would have fit her comfortably. I wiggled them around, trying to feel what it was like, and I heard her gasp. I pulled the fingers out, then pushed them in again. Again, over and over, I thrust myself into her then pulled away. My fingers slid with ease because of her pussy’s lubrication.
It didn’t take long for Grace to begin enjoying the pleasure. She closed her eyes and buried her face in a pillow. After a few moments, my hand was tired and began to cramp. I switch positions; I crawled beside her and lay on my side, this time using my other hand. I continued to slide my fingers in and out of her pussy. With every stroke, she shimmered, and with every passing moment, her breathing accelerated.
I heard a noise in the hallway and immediately retracted my finger. Grace sat up and turned off the light. We quickly threw the covers over ourselves and pretended to sleep in case one of our parents entered the room. Keeping still and silent was complicated. I could hear Grace’s heart beating in her breaths. We heard footsteps in the hallways that slowly walked toward our room. They stopped for a moment, then proceeded down the hallway.
We had waited for several moments before we decided it was safe to resume, but we kept the light off and stayed under the covers. I lay beside Grace and pulled the covers over our heads. Now, my head was right next to hers, and she faced me. Every time she breathed, I could feel the warm air crawl over my damp skin.
I slipped my fingers back into her dripping pussy and continued my fingering. The pleasure rapidly returned to her. She let go soft, breathless moans into my ear. Her elbows jabbed into the mattress, and her head collapsed and leaned on my shoulder. I could feel her pulse through her head. Her pussy got wetter and wetter, and I could tell that she was about to explode.
Finally, she took one last breath before she orgasmed. Her pussy contracted, and it ejaculated onto my fingers. The orgasm halted her breathing; she sounded like she was unable to gasp. Then she exhaled loudly and followed it with deep, rapid breathing. Her arms flailed about the bed as if they were unsure where to stay. Her legs shook like an earthquake, and her head jerked up and down.
I pulled my hand away and allowed the orgasm to vibrate throughout her body without interruption. She twitched and gasped and moaned. Momentarily, I worried that our parents might have heard her.
I turned the light back on. Her skin was covered with Goosebumps and sweat. Her pussy was doused; her soft pubes were wet and gooey, and random drops of cum were spattered on her thighs. Some of her cum spilled onto the bedsheets. Some of her cum stayed on my fingers. For a moment, I played with it, examining its consistency and texture. Then I wiped the goo on the bedsheets.
The room smelled dirty, and the evidence of sex was smeared into the sheets. I grabbed my towel, which hung from the wall. I wiped my pussy, then handed it to Grace; she cleaned herself. Still, without saying a word, and without getting back into our clothes, we pulled the blanket over ourselves and fell asleep.