Dirty Little Sister

It was the dark of night.  Not utterly dark though, because as my unfocused vision resolved an image I could make out the distinct shadow of the old, Victorian window frames on the curtains.  The house was aged and always made night sounds.  It was probably little more than that which awoke me.  I willed myself to sink again into the velvet oblivion of sleep.

Then came the sound again.  This time as I heard it I knew I recognized it, and yet didn't.  It had been the reason I had awoken, but it was not actually familiar to me.  It sounded like someone rattling the back door, or at least moving it slightly.  Yes, there it was again, the loose-fitting bolt moving in the frame. 

A burglar?  I started breathing heavily.  I was not a coward by any means, but this night our parents were out and it was only me and Charlotte left in the house alone.  My sister was three years younger than me and I was only sixteen.  Our parents felt us sufficiently responsible to be left alone, especially when they had a wine-tasting (a.k.a. wine-guzzling) party to attend.  Granted, it wasn't a common occurrence and it was the summer holidays – it wasn't like we had to do anything responsible like go to school the next day.  Still, when reality comes-a-knocking fear grips you.

So, in a split-second I had jumped, nay – catapulted myself to the conclusion that someone was trying to break into the stout back door of our suburban English home.  Not an unheard-of situation, I'll grant, but nevertheless an unlikely one.  It took me about thirty seconds to confirm my suspicion.  By closing my eyes and concentrating I heard, and almost felt, the movement of the door below me – my room being located above the kitchen and my headboard touching the same wall in which the door was found.

A weapon was needed.  This was England, so we didn't have guns available.  The best I could lay my hand on was a replica bowie knife with a stout handguard.  It had to be about fifteen inches overall.  A real killer!  Not that I was up to using it for the purpose, but I was damned if I was going to let a burglar into the house without a fight.

I exited my room and crept soundlessly down the hall.  I crossed to the top of the stairs, glancing over to my sister's room and wondering if I should shut her door.  She had a bolt on it, but I didn't want to stir up more noise so I kept on toward the stairs. 

My heart was thudding in my chest so loud that I was sure it was audible to whatever intruder was seeking access to our home.  I stopped several times to hyperventilate and drop my heart-rate.  As I approached the kitchen, my hands were trembling and my body shivering in fear and anticipation.  The sound of the door never ceased as I crossed the long room, avoiding all the squeaky parts of the floor.  I arrived at the door, grasped the handle and turned it, yanking the door open!

It opened freely – not locked.  The fact didn't register immediately, but the horrified and startled beagle in front of me did.  The poor little creature veritably flew backward to land several feet away, a quivering heap of dog totally astonished at my sudden, malevolent appearance in the doorway.  The bone it had been gnawing on - suddenly forgotten – dropped to the floor of the utility room.

I gasped oxygen for several dozen heartbeats.  Shelly, the beagle in question, regained her composure quicker than I.  She went for the bone again and this time grasped it and slunk off to her basket.  We had two dogs, both beagles – Kip was the other.  They were outside-dogs, mostly.  They had a nice cozy bed in the utility room and a little doggy-flap for an exit.  They were rarely active at night, though, and it was currently about two in the morning.  I was still not convinced that everything was on the level. 

I avoided switching on the light and relied on the available moonlight to lead me.  The outside door was unlocked, but still closed.  Odd!  I hadn't left it that way.  Now, I was concerned (which was still better than terrified), but I withdrew as quietly as I could back into the house.  I went, instead, to the sitting room, where there was a good French window to view the garden through.  My Dad's Zeiss binoculars were there, too – he was an amateur ornithologist.  They were excellent instruments.  I surveyed the back garden, laying my wicked blade down on the floor.

What I saw made me gasp in disbelief.  There was, in the middle of the small back yard, a pale female figure lying naked in the moonlight.  Her back was arched up, and her shoulders were back – her hands grasping herself in the region of her pre-pubescent nipples.  Her chin was high and I could see her dark hair spread out on the grass around her.  She was writhing and bucking her hips, legs wide, as a small hound repeatedly licked her crotch and nuzzled her bald pussy.

My sister was getting her cunt eaten out by the fucking dog!

I started hyperventilating again.  My hand immediately shot to my cock – I was not one to let a free show go ignored.  The little slut was writhing naked on the grass while her favorite dog slurped the fuck-juice out of her vagina.  I watched, entranced.  Her hand slid down and started fondling her clit, little though I knew at the time what such a thing was.  I saw her frigging herself wildly, her pelvis thrusting her cunt into the dog's mouth as it plunged its nearly-prehensile tongue into her to retrieve whatever delicious balm she had tempted it with in the first place. 

She looked like she was having so much fun!  I came.  My cock spurted spunk all over two or three panes of finely-beveled cut glass of the French window.  I gasped and gulped.  My knees felt weak.  I had just wanked off to the sight of my little whore sister getting eaten out by a dog!  I tugged off my tee-shirt and cleaned off the glass before hastily returning upstairs.

I had to pee, following my violent ejaculation, but I stoically restrained myself.  Instead of belting back to bed, I paused outside my sister's room.  A wild thought gripped me, and I fantasized for just a moment, before deciding that I knew what I wanted to do. 

I ran quietly and quickly back downstairs, hopefully before my little sister could make it back in the house.  I underestimated her, apparently.  As I slunk into the sitting room she tiptoed back upstairs.  I shifted position to see her gorgeous ass creep upstairs.  She had no breasts to speak of, nor any pussy hair – she was a late bloomer apparently (even years later she never really changed from being girlish – I think she was fifteen before she got titties).  I always found her hot, like I'm sure every brother who looks upon a scantily-clad sister does, regardless of whether he admits it.  In fact, the only female I never ever thought was sexy was my mom!  On the rare occasions I did see her naked, I could never get over the immense bush of pubic hair that sprawled distastefully across her groin.  Needless to say – I always preferred seeing Charlotte to Mom.

I had reached my objective though – the liquor cabinet.  It was usually filled with vile things, but I also knew there was some sweet sherry in there that Charlotte and I had both liked last New Year's Eve – we'd got a glass or two each then.  At least that was as much as our parents knew.  We'd sipped some since, but that was mostly for Monday evenings when Dad played Badminton and Mom took a class on learning how to quilt… better, or at all – I didn't know which.  We'd get tipsy and watch Star Trek.  We'd giggle a lot at the crappy show and usually end up daring each other to remove items of clothing.  It was a hobby, what can I say?

Surreptitiously, I purloined the bottle of sherry and crept upstairs.  Halfway up, I ceased creeping and just walked nonchalantly.  I walked casually into my sister's room and knelt down beside her bed.

I heard her stir.  "Char?  You awake?"  I asked in a hushed tone.  She made no reply.

"Wake up," I hissed.

"What?"  She said halfheartedly, feigning sleepiness and rolling over toward me.

I took a deep breath.  "So," I began, not really certain where I was going with this.  My mouth continued where my brain left off.  "You like having your cunt eaten by dogs?"

She fell still.  I could sense the tension. 

"I asked…" I said a little more firmly.

"Yes, queer!  I do.  What's it to you?  Wish you were a dog?"  She spat back suddenly awake and full of indignant vitriol.

I looked at her pale, round face, wondering what it would be like to stick my knife into her throat – the knife that I had left downstairs, that is!  Sometimes I hated the little bitch.

I ignored her taunt.  "Sit up," I whispered, slipping my hand under her covers and sliding it over her naked body.

She complied, shivering.  Her voice cracked as she asked, "You won't tell Mom and Dad, will you?"

"Depends."  I replied cruelly.  I uncorked the bottle of Bristol Cream Sherry.  It opened with a pop.  I heard Charlotte moan as she looked at me, cow-eyed.  I forced the mouth of the bottle between her lips.  She pretended to resist.  I slid it in and out in an obscene imitation of fellatio, slopping alcohol into her mouth as I did so.  She swallowed hard, sucking down the fortified wine.  I thought I caught a glimpse of a smile on her face. 

I knew that a good drunk took time, so I pulled out the bottle and kissed her instead.  She gasped and returned the embrace wholeheartedly.  I felt her tongue slip between my teeth and I reciprocated.  I grasped her pseudo-tits with my hands and squeezed her nipples.  She barely groaned.

I broke free.  "You already had dogsex tonight, whore!"

She moaned and lay back.  "Why don't you fuck me, then?  That'll make up for it, right?"  She fell backward onto her bed, legs apart, in a drunken parody of allure.  I slid the mouth of the bottle up to her pussy and then, upon a whim, lowered it about an inch and targeted it to her asshole.  Her ass was soft and open, as I slid the bottle into her, dumping more of the alcohol into her rectum.

She moaned, deeply. 

My mind whirled with ideas, each one more depraved than the last.  I was in lust, but also very envious.  The little slut – three years my junior – was already getting more and dirtier sex than I'd ever had.  I wanted some!  I was going to take it.

"You like that?  You like that in your ass?"  I slid the neck of the bottle out and it exited her tight ring with a plop. 

"It's cold!"  She whispered.

"I bet Kip's tongue was warm, right?"  She nodded as she lay there squirming, her hands straying to apex of her pussy.  "Well, if you think I'm going to stick my cock in there after your dog's slobbered all over it…"

"Dog saliva's cleaner than human saliva," she pointed out – she was into dogs, you see.  In more ways than one, it now appeared. 

"Yeah, and piss is aseptic!"  I climbed onto the bed, putting down the bottle.  I straddled her chest and pulled my dick and balls out of my briefs.  "Open up.  I've got more for you to drink."

She was starting to feel the buzz of the alcohol, I could tell.  She'd had a pretty hefty swig of it and she was only a slip-of-a-girl.  She was working her pussy good as I slipped my cock into her mouth.  The burning pain in my bladder was hard to overcome, as was the urge not to piss, but I focused myself and overcame both releasing the flow of warm urine into her mouth.  She drank it down without even a gag.  I pinched it off when it looked like she had a gob-full.  I watched her cheeks puff out as she closed her mouth and swallowed my piss.  She was grinding her hips as she frigged her little clit.  I reached back and slipped a fingertip into her tiny pussy.

She moaned like a porn star as I penetrated her.  It was no use, I couldn't piss any more – my cock was getting too hard.  Besides, there was no sense in letting her have all the fun.  I climbed off her.

Charlotte opened her eyes as I moved, looking suddenly alarmed.  She finished off her mouthful.  "What's wrong?"  She asked sheepishly. 

"Nothing.  You like your drink?  How was it?"  I asked.

She nodded vigorously.  "Slightly salty, and warm - like bathwater."

I eased her ass over to the edge of the bed and lay down on the floor beneath it.  Reaching up, I eased her anus down onto my mouth and started licking her ring.  I slipped my tongue into her and felt some of the tangy, hot alcohol flow out into my mouth.  Char groaned.

"Motherfucker, that's good!  Keep doing it."  Damn, she swore like a trucker.  Made me even hornier – although it's hard not to be horny with a hairless little twat and asshole perched on your face.  I could feel her rubbing herself.  Her fingertips were brushing my chin as I sucked and tongued the booze out of her juicy, tight ass.  Suddenly, I felt her hand grasp my cock and start pumping away at it.  Her weight shifted and she leaned fully forward to engulf my throbbing head with her warm, soft lips.  Her long hair brushed across my stomach and legs.  The combination of sensations was fucking heavenly.

She was gasping and groaning as I worked her asshole and she plied her talent on her pussy.  Her blowjob left a little to be desired – my ex-girlfriend was better, but she had dumped me at a New Year's party and screwed some guy who was a neighbor of the party's host.  So, after three months of no cock-to-mouth contact, even Char's amateurish gnawing felt good.  It didn't matter – I could feel her cumming – her ring pulsated and tightened around my tongue and she bucked in time with it.  I let go the orgasm I'd been restraining and shot a big load of hot spunk right into her mouth.  She loved it!  I could feel her sucking away at it just as hard as she had at my piss.  I gave her at least half a dozen good squirts.  She moaned and tongued my tip, slipping her lips further down my steel-hard prick and stroking my tightened ball-sack so lightly with her little fingers. 

I slipped my tongue out of her ass.  She gave a little gasp as I popped it out.  She slid her mouth off my cock.  "That was so fucking amazing!  You lick way better than Kip."  She whispered and kissed the head of my dick.

After a moment of basking in afterglow, she crawled back into her bed.  "Coming with?"  She asked, evidently inviting me to sleep the night with her.  What the fuck, I thought – why the hell not?  She was perverted, cute, and available.  Why not just make this a regular thing?  I got up, my cock dangling flaccid, but still long.

"Yeah, that'd be cool.  I just got to pee first…" but before I had barely finished my statement, she had gently taken me by the cock and slipped it in her mouth with an angelic smile and a lick of her lips.

As I released the rest of my hot stream into her mouth she swallowed hard, chugging down everything I could give her.  I closed my eyes and let my head sway back, luxuriating in the sensation and imagining all the fun we'd have together.