Blindfolded Brother

I could barely type thinking about it, my fingers tingling with the memory of what we had done, what we were still doing. I could begin with how I could not fucking believe it was actually happening. How it did not feel real and, to be honest, awkward as hell at first. How else to describe the rush? Guilty, ashamed, silly, shy, and definitely, deeply excited. Like I wanted to scream I cannot fucking believe this is real. Or nervous, because our parents were still somewhere in the house and dinner would be soon if we were not careful.

My mind raced like a little animal in heat, kneeling on the soft carpet of my brother’s bedroom floor in front of him. Ethan sat on the edge of his bed in nothing but an unbuttoned white shirt that hung open, his thick cock standing straight up between his spread thighs, shiny with the edible lotion I had dribbled over it moments earlier. The blindfold covered his eyes completely, the dark cloth tied tight behind his head for that stupid school project of his. Sensory deprivation, he had called it. A week of being blindfolded as much as possible so he could write about heightened senses for his psych class. I had volunteered to be his helper for the weekend. Helper. What a fucking joke that turned out to be.

“I’m right here,” I whispered, my voice already husky. His face turned toward the sound of me, unseeing. “What are you doing, Sophie?”

“Just kneeling in front of you.” I watched his hand wrap around the base of his cock, watched the thick shaft rise even harder under his grip. The mushroom head was flushed deep red, a shiny bead of pre-cum already forming at the slit. I had chosen the Kama Sutra flavored lotion on purpose, strawberry and something darker, something that made me think of tasting him. He paused for a second and I encouraged him, leaning closer so my warm breath washed over the head of his cock. “Go ahead. I want you to. Stroke it for me. Let me watch.”

I wanted him to see me so badly it hurt. I had already pulled my red tank top all the way down, untied the little straps and let the soft fabric bunch around my waist. My pale tits stood out with the faint tan lines from my bikini, nipples tight and pink and aching. He did not know any of that. He did not even know I was wearing his favorite color. Red. Always red for Ethan.

I had slipped into his room while he was still in the shower, sat on the edge of his bed waiting, heart hammering. When he came out still blindfolded, fumbling for a shirt, I let him know I was there. God I was already so fucking horny. We had been circling this for days, trading little confessions about fantasies while he could not see my face. Take turns, we had said. Just talk. Just explore. Nothing has to happen.

His chest heaved as his fist moved up and down the glistening length of his cock. The wet sound of lotion and skin filled the quiet room. I tipped my head up like I was balancing something delicate on my chin, eyes wide, staring. “It’s beautiful,” I said, because I am a romantic even when I am being a filthy little slut for my own brother. I arched my back, offering my bare tits even though he could not see them. “Just spray it straight out when you cum. Point it at me. Yeah. Just like that.”

I began to lick my lips slowly. Fuck. This was incredible. I felt like the dirtiest girl alive. His hand moved faster, that deep panting groan starting in his throat. I could see the pre-cum stretching in a thin shiny string from the tip of his cock to his thumb. I held my mouth open, tongue resting on my lower lip, imagining the thick head pushing past my lips, stretching my jaw, flooding my tongue with salt.

But I wanted it on my skin first. The only thing better would have been if he were straddling my naked body on the bed while I lay there waiting for him to use me. My pussy was already melting, the soft lips swelling and opening, the ache deep inside making me squeeze my thighs together. Wetness soaked through the thin cotton of my panties and I pressed the curve of my cunt down against the carpet, grinding a little.

I laid my hand on his bare thigh and scraped my nails lightly across the warm skin. That was when it happened. The catch of his breath, the sudden jerk of his hips, and the first thick jet of white cum shot out so fast I almost missed it. It caught me across the cheek, hot and sticky. Another pulse, and another, thick ropes of my brother’s cum painting lines across my tits, along my chin, down the soft plane of my stomach. Some of it landed on the waistband of my jeans. So much cum. He could not keep quiet, those jerky little grunts spilling out of him while he stroked and milked every last drop onto his little sister’s body.

God it made me wetter. I almost came just from the sound and the feel of his seed cooling on my skin. I wanted him to see me. I wanted him to eat me. I wanted to feel that thick cock inside me, stretching my tight little cunt open. I curled my fingers through the soft dark curls above my pussy and squeezed, feeling how slick and swollen I already was. I was his little cat in heat and I did not care anymore.

“Ooooh,” I breathed, running both hands over my body, smearing his cum into my skin like lotion. I brought a fingerful to my lips and sucked it clean, tasting the thick saltiness of him. When he was spent I watched him relax, breath slowing, still blind and beautiful. My little puppy.

“You all right?” he finally asked, voice rough.

“Yeah. I got to go. I was supposed to tell you dinner would be soon.” I giggled, feeling the cool trails of cum tickling down between my tits. “You got me good. I’m a mess.”

His deep voice was almost proud. “I did it.”

I was so happy I could have cried. It was exactly the fantasy I had touched myself to for years. To be used. To be covered in his cum. I brought my fingers back up his thighs, touching bare skin, then pressed both hands over his crotch. I felt the wiry hair, the soft weight of his balls, the thick softening shaft of his cock against his abdomen. So delicious to watch the surprise on his face even behind the blindfold, the way his head dropped forward as he moaned at my touch. I wrapped my fingers around him and stroked lightly, feeling him twitch and start to harden again almost immediately. His hands found my bare tits, squeezing, pinching the nipples, molesting me while he was still blind. He slid down off the bed onto his knees in front of me and we were suddenly face to face, both of us on the floor.

I said again, “I got to go,” but I did not move. It all felt too right, too surreal, like a dream I was finally allowed to live inside.

“So beautiful,” I purred, still playing with his cock, feeling it thicken in my fist. I let go and laid my hand against his cheek. Leaning in, I touched his lips with my fingers first, then guided my own mouth to his. We kissed for the first time. His beautiful full lips opened under mine and I turned into him, letting him slip his tongue against mine while our bodies crushed together. My cum-soaked tits stuck to the front of his open shirt. Once that line was crossed I knew we could never stop. The ache inside me was sharp as a razor.

Mmmmmm.

But I should start at the beginning.

I had idolized my older brother for as long as I could remember. I denied it for years, could not even name the feeling properly. Attraction. Pure, dirty, constant attraction. The shape of his eyes, the curve of his mouth when he smiled, the clean male smell of his skin after a shower. The way he looked in a pair of jeans that hung low on his hips. I chalked it up to little-sister hero worship and told myself I was just a romantic. I gave him Valentines when we were kids. I held his hand longer than necessary. I left little notes. I missed him whenever he left the room.

Years and years of it. I felt it before I had words for it.

And something else lived underneath.

It started in nighttime dreams, mostly of us wrestling. Him pinning my wrists above my head, not letting go, bending my arms back until I had no choice but to lie down while he followed me with his weight. The heavy press of his body on top of mine. I still remember the heat of those dreams. Other dreams came later: his hands running along my back and the backs of my thighs while I looked over my shoulder and met his eyes. Me lying on the couch or the floor or outside in the sun, wearing only panties or nothing at all. Dreams of him watching me dress, watching me bathe, watching me walk around the house naked. Always those eyes on me.

I would wake up with my cheeks burning and turn the dreams over in my mind until they became waking fantasies I controlled. I would lie on my bed with my legs spread wide, stroking soft circles up my inner thighs, tickling a line across my lower belly, squeezing my own small tits while I whispered imaginary commands in his voice. “Turn over, Sophie. Bend over for me.” And I would obey the invisible voice, sliding two fingers deep into my wet cunt and picturing it was him. Feeling him move inside me, faster, harder. I would climax twice and still lie there panting and hungry, imagining him standing beside the bed stroking his cock while he watched me. Imagining the thick ropes of his cum painting my skin. Imagining him pushing inside me and filling me until it leaked out around his shaft.

So bad. So fucking naughty. I came thinking about nothing else for years. Over and over. And I could visualize him in my room in the dark, or under my bed, or behind me, or above me, using me however he wanted.

Then he left for community college and took a dorm across town. He still came home for dinner a few nights a week and stayed most weekends so Mom could do his laundry, but it felt like he was gone. The absence made the longing worse. We drifted. The easy closeness we used to have thinned out. I missed him so much it hurt.

Whatever it was between us started gathering real momentum the weekend he came home for the sensory project. He was nineteen. I had just turned eighteen two months earlier. Legal. Adult. Still his little sister.

The flirting had already been climbing. I would get ready when I knew he was coming home, choosing clothes that showed a little more skin, flipping my dark hair back from my eyes when I walked past him, playing with the ends of it while I talked. Normal sister stuff, I told myself. Except the way my pussy got wet when he looked at me too long was not normal.

That Friday afternoon he came home already wearing the blindfold and dark glasses over it, a little self-conscious laugh in his voice when he explained the project. Mom and Dad thought it was funny and harmless. They left us alone more than usual that weekend. Perfect.

We went for ice cream Saturday afternoon because he said he wanted to practice navigating with a helper. I held his hand the whole way. It felt intimate in a way that made my stomach flutter. At the shop I ordered for both of us and guided the cone to his mouth. At one point I was holding it for him and sort of feeding him while he turned his face toward me, unseeing and trusting. So close. So fucking intimate.

“I like taking care of you,” I said.

“I could get used to this.”

“Any time. I’m yours for the whole weekend.” I meant every bit of the innuendo. Then I touched the tip of his nose with the ice cream on purpose and leaned in to lick it off before he could protest. The frozen moment between us stretched. I could feel the warmth of his cheek. I licked the corner of his mouth next, slow and deliberate, and pulled back just enough to whisper, “You had a little there too.”

Silence. The closeness wrapped around us like a second skin. He finally turned away and asked if we were done. We walked home holding hands the entire way. People stared at the blindfolded guy and the girl guiding him. I whispered every time someone looked too long. It felt like we were a couple. It felt dangerous and perfect.

Back at the house only Mom was home. Dad was out running errands. We settled on the screened porch with the cats and a bottle of white wine I had snuck from the kitchen. Plastic cups so he would not break anything. I poured us both generous glasses. The afternoon was warm and humid and perfect. I sat across from him in a loose skirt and a thin green t-shirt that showed the outline of my bra. He could not see any of it, which somehow made everything hotter.

I asked what it was like.

“I feel invisible,” he said. “Apart from everything. But your hand… walking with you… it all felt different. I notice your smell. Right now. Your hair. Your skin.”

My eyes were glued to him. Something he did not know. Mom left for the store a few minutes later and the house was suddenly empty except for us. The seed of an idea bloomed hard and fast. He cannot see me. All these years of leaving doors ajar, of changing when he might walk past, of stretching so my shirt rode up. Now the whole house was ours.

I leaned back in the lounge chair, spread my legs, and lifted my skirt just enough to show him the pale pink panties covering my pussy. Exposing myself to his unseeing eyes. So bad. My heart pounded. It felt so wrong and so right. I laid my hand over my cunt and gave it a slow squeeze while he kept talking about birds and heightened senses like nothing was happening. I pet myself openly, staring at him, feeling deliciously decadent. If he only knew.

At one point he asked if I was holding a cat too. I said yes while my fingers cupped my own dripping pussy. Then I told him one of my fantasies, voice shaking a little. Being blindfolded. Being watched while I was naked. Being someone’s pet who would do anything. Watching a boy stroke his cock while he looked at me. Letting him put it in my mouth or move my body however he wanted. I accidentally moaned while I said it. He went still.

“You’re aroused, aren’t you?” he asked quietly. “I can smell it. God, Sophie. I can smell your arousal.”

I almost came right there. He could not see me but he could smell how wet I was for him. Like an animal. I had never been so turned on in my life. I made him tell me one of his fantasies in return. Red. Someone in red lingerie. Red lipstick. Red panties. Red sheets. His voice trembled when he said it. My legs were wide open and my panties were soaked through. I was rubbing my clit in slow circles right in front of him while we traded secrets that were not really secrets at all.

We kept drinking. The wine made everything softer and braver. Eventually I admitted the rest of it. That the boy in my fantasy was him. That I had been touching myself thinking about my brother for years. That I wanted him to cum on me. That I wanted him inside me. He did not run. He did not laugh. His cock was hard in his shorts, a thick obvious line I could not stop staring at. He told me he had thought about me too. About the way I smelled. About the sounds I made when I thought no one could hear me through the wall. About how badly he wanted to see me naked just once.

By the time Mom came home we were both flushed and quiet. Dinner was tense in the best way. I sat next to him and “helped” more than I needed to, our hands brushing under the table, his fingers finding my thigh and squeezing. Afterward, while Dad watched the news and Mom cleaned the kitchen, I stood in front of Ethan in the living room and let him slide his hands under my skirt. He traced light fingertips up and down my bare thighs, higher and higher, until he was brushing the damp crotch of my panties. I stood there like a good girl, watching the kitchen doorway, biting my lip while my brother felt how wet I was for him.

“You feel so good,” he whispered.

“Nicky… Ethan… you have to stop.” But I opened my legs wider and rocked against his hand. His fingers slipped under the edge of my panties and found my slick folds, parting them, rubbing slow circles over my swollen clit. One long finger pushed inside me and I almost collapsed. He fingered me right there in the living room with our parents twenty feet away, my juices coating his hand, my hips rolling shamelessly. When Mom’s shadow moved under the kitchen door he pulled away and I stood there trembling, empty, aching.