Who would have considered – 2

This Story is part of Who'd Have Thought Series

“Who would have considered” Part-2 Continues….

Although we had over the past year or so grown distant, and with good reasons, it hadn’t always been like that between us. Even as kids, we hardly if ever fought. Always close, always sharing, and in time, always there for one another, sharing secrets…more importantly keeping them, building trust. When puberty hit, we even managed to work through all that together as well. Close enough to discuss things, talk about things that most of the time we only shared or discussed with our closest friends.

It had always been like that between us, right up until the time I had decided to get married, announced it. Only then had Stella seemingly pulled away, no longer sharing much if anything with me, her fears and concerns spoken of only once in a last ditch effort, and then after that…hardly a single word in concern or question. And certainly never again after that, anything about herself, or where she was in her life. That now…became private, secretive, unlike ever before.

I remembered her twenty-first birthday, almost as though it were yesterday. Just a few short months before Mike and I were married. Looking back on it now, I wondered even then if she wasn’t trying to warn me, somehow save me from myself in the only way that she felt she possibly could.

Now, finally at legal age to actually drink, she had made plans to “go out” and do so. Mom’s concern, worry…and insistence that she stay at home and do it there…especially for the first time, and especially as she knew Stella would no doubt go overboard, finally won out. Though not without my own help and cooperation.

She’d managed to convince me to stick around and more or less chaperone the small little party mom had agreed to let Stella have. But even then, with strict rules about anyone driving home who didn’t have a sober ride. Rooms made ready for those who couldn’t. Assurances from me that I wouldn’t let anyone go who’d been drinking, driving themselves. And then of course…looking after my sister without being too horribly obvious about it, even though she knew I’d be there, keeping an eye out for her. Only then had mom relented, making herself scarce, spending the evening out with one of her few and rare girlfriends.

Sure enough, as the night wore on, Stella got more and more tipsy, finally to the point where she couldn’t walk without help. She had finally stumbled into the coffee table, knocking it over, falling, though thankfully there was nothing on it she could break, and even more importantly she hadn’t broken anything on herself.

But the party was officially over after that. Those who could safely drive, did so…taking others, thankfully, and gratefully, leaving no one else behind to spend the night. Stella by now half collapsed on the couch, where I was tempted to simply cover her up, leaving her there. But then remembering one of my own similar experiences when I’d just turned twenty-one. I didn’t figure that mom would appreciate Stella puking all over her nice white couch,

or onto her expensive shag carpeting then as well. So I helped her up, half carrying, supporting, and led her upstairs to her own room, grabbing a bucket first, just in case she might need it later on.

Once inside her room, she staggered away from me, pushing off. I figured she would simply collapse there down into her bed. Only then would I cover her, tuck her in for the night, and place the large pale by her bedside on the floor where hopefully she’d discover it, should it be needed. I stood there waiting for her to fall over, but instead, she seemed to stagger, holding her own for a moment, and then surprised me, reaching up,

beginning to undo the buttons on the blouse she was wearing, oblivious perhaps to my presence, or not realizing I was watching her doing that.

It was like being a deer caught in the headlights. I didn’t know what to do for a moment, warn her…remind her, tell her I was still there, or wait…watch, allow myself this unfair moment, this perverted act of decadence, taking advantage of my sister’s inebriation.

It wasn’t like we hadn’t seen one another before either. Just like mom, we’d walk in on one another in the bathroom, or bedrooms, or inadvertently come home at strange times, catching each other running about in our underwear, or sometimes less. Neither Stella nor I had made a big deal out of any of that either, always laughing it off,

teasing one another about it afterwards perhaps. Or thoughtfully reminding ourselves of the far more intimate discussions we’d had when questions or curiosities arose, coming to one another first, even before going to mom should we want to ask or inquire about something, usually of a sexual nature.

But this…this was different. Somehow it was different, seeing Stella actually undressing herself, or at least trying to anyway, right there in front of me. She’d managed to undo her blouse, now standing there in her bra, even though it concealed her smaller breasts, just seeing my sister in her bra sent impure thoughts coursing through my head.

“Stella,” I said, trying to let her know I was there, that I could see at least this much. All she did was smile, holding out her arms towards me.

“Help me Thomas, help me…I’m drunk I think,” she said, mixing her words, and then laughing about it, realizing that she had. “An…an, well, I don’t want to sleep in my clothes. You’re my brother Thomas, it’s ok, you’ve seen me in my… in my birthday suit,” she said laughing again, for some reason finding that funny now. “Come on Thomas, help out a sister here, help me get into my jammies, ok?”

“Ok sis,” I laughed, seeing her helplessness, glad in a way she was aware of my presence and felt good enough, comfortable enough, to ask for my help. “Which ones do you want to wear?” I asked to reach her dresser drawer, pulling it out.

“My…my Care Bears,” she said, giggling. I shook my head. She really was drunk. Stella hadn’t had that set of pajamas for years now. Maybe she was remembering back to earlier days, I was still chuckling when I turned around to face her, ready to ask her again, or suggest something. She’d managed to take her blouse the rest of the way off, along with her bra. She now stood there, topless…her pert young breasts sticking out at me.

I think I froze in place for a moment, looking at her, seeing her smiling at me, one hand on her hip as though trying to strike a seductive pose, failing miserably as she nearly toppled over, losing her balance. She composed herself regaining her balance, although barely, wavering, almost toppling again, still trying to look sexy. “So…big brotha…you like whatcha see?” She slurring her words, trying to look sexy, looking ridiculous instead, though she made me laugh, made me smile in the process.

“Oh, are YOU so going to hate yourself in the morning!” I told her, walking over now, totally giving up on trying to find her some pajamas to sleep in. If nothing else, I’d at least push her down into bed before she fell down, and then just yank her jeans off. She’d have to be content with sleeping in a pair of panties, and no bra, though she might indeed be grateful for that later in the event she eventually threw up.

That was the idea anyway as I reached her. Instead, she basically threw her arms out, wrapping herself around my neck, pulling me close towards her. The feel of her breasts unexpectedly mashing against my chest, her liquor tasting mouth suddenly coming down on mine, her lips searching, hungry, as she tried kissing me.

“Stella!” I said pulling away, forcing her away as I did with my hands, which then succeeded in doing what I thought she’d do, as she toppled over, onto the bed. She was laughing however, making it a game…reaching out towards me, one hand doing a “come here” finger invitation, the other now cupping her breast, doing an invitation to that.

“Come on Thomas, come here. Come take your sister’s birthday cherry Thomas. Wouldn’t you like that? Wouldn’t you like to stick your horny, hard cock inside your own sister’s pussy? Take my cherry Daddy? Please Thomas please? Come fuck me for my birthday? Give me the only birthday present I really want from you?”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, even though I knew she was really drunk, and probably wouldn’t remember a word of this in the morning. At least I hoped she wouldn’t, and I already knew I was going to pretend she hadn’t said what I’d just heard her say.

And I also knew, I wasn’t about to help her take her jeans off either. Bad enough I was looking at her tits as she offered them to me.

Only now she had reached down to unbutton them herself, hunching her ass up, lifting, trying to work them down her legs, removing her panties in the process as she did that, taking them along with. Now she was basically totally and completely naked, both panties and jeans bunched up somewhere below her knees where she’d given up. I sighed, frustrated, not being able to just leave her laying like that,

especially now, especially if she tried to get up later and try and make it into the bathroom like that. She was apt to break her neck. I had no choice, once again walking over, grabbing her cuffs, pulling her pants the rest of the way, off, likewise bringing her underwear with them when I did.

“Hmmm,” she moaned pleasurably, her hands now coming down between her legs as she began stroking herself, trying to finger-fuck herself as I folded, or rather tried to fold her jeans tossing them over the back of a nearby chair. Once again, for the briefest of moments, not so much tempted, but the perv in me coming out for a moment, taking in the sight of my sister’s pussy. The memory of it even now, still lingering. The contrast is oddly enough. Mom shaved, my sister natural, though neatly trimmed perhaps. Though at least she wasn’t sporting or prone to having one of those landing strips.

I left her moaning in her bed with her hands between her legs. Not that I didn’t trust her…I didn’t trust myself.

Sure enough, the next day, she was hung over…getting up once to do god knows what, and then heading back to bed again, not waking up until around dinner time, though even then not eating. Neither mom nor I said a word to her about the night before, and Stella of course didn’t mention it either, drinking about a gallon of orange juice before heading back up to bed again.

The next day however, she did so to speak to me.

“Were you in my room the other night? Or…was I just dreaming something?” She asked cautiously. “How did I get into bed anyway?”

She wouldn’t have believed me if I told her I hadn’t helped her up the stairs to her room, after all, that was what I was there for. “I helped you,” I said simply…letting her put what pieces she could put together for herself, without any help from me.

“So…part of it was real then.”

“I guess…depends on which part,” I offered.

“How about the part where I woke up naked. Was that with your help?”

I wasn’t going to lie to her, after all…what was the point. “Well…sort of with your help, yes, but…I promise I didn’t look too long!” I said trying to make a joke out of it, which was something that mom would have done.

That actually didn’t seem to bother her much, at least not in a bad way, even smiling a little, though sort of sickly so as she did, reminding me of the failed pose trying to look sexy.

“But…nothing else right?”

I looked at her like I didn’t have a clue as to what she was talking about. “Nope, just patted you on the hinny, and sent you to bed,” I said in response to that. “You were out like a light a second later.”

She seemed relieved upon hearing that, and nothing was ever said about it again. Though it was the last time either one of us really spoke about much of anything after that. A few months later, I was making the worst mistake of my entire life.

Who would have considered – 2 will continue on the next page

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