Chapter 3

Charlie was already out of the house by the time I woke up the next day, so I luckily didn’t have to see her and pretend nothing had changed in front of our parents. Instead, I spent the day playing video games, but really was just thinking about what had happened.

My sister had given me a handjob. And I fucking loved it. It was the most intense experience I’d ever, well, experienced.

I guess that’s why I had such strong feelings at the end, I thought to myself. Why do you always have to act like such a little kid. You’re 18 for Pete’s sake! If you lived in West Virginia, you’d probably be a grandfather by now!

I let out a sigh.

Just stop thinking so much and enjoy that the sexiest woman you’ve ever been around TOUCHED YOUR DICK AND MADE YOU CUM.

I admitted to myself that this was extremely sound advice. But ... I couldn’t let go of the feeling that that’s not all that had made it so exciting. As much as I relived Charlie’s hand furiously stroking me, it was the feeling of her arms around me, of her low, even voice against my ear, and the way her eyes lit up while she looked at me — those were the things my mind drifted back to when I wasn’t keeping it on track.

By the time she arrived home that evening from wherever she’d spent her day, I was determined to actually play it cool this time during puzzle time.

As I entered the living room, I took stock of Charlie’s outfit, as usual. She was wearing some kind of workout shorts with the tanktop and sports bra again. Maybe even the same ones. Hey if it ain’t broke, right?

I sipped from the token glass of water that I pretended had been the reason I was downstairs and sidled over to my sister. She was looking down at the puzzle, which she appeared to have made some progress on. The edge pieces were all in place, and the picture was starting to take shape. But Charlie was staring blankly at it, mindlessly turning a puzzle piece over and over between her fingers.

“How’s it going?” I asked.

She gave a grunt that was caveman for “meh” without turning to look at me.

I guess we aren’t going to make a big deal out of last night, then. That was fine by me — I was Cool Danny, after all. Nothing to make a big deal out of! I just sipped in silence and drank in my sister’s body.

Before I could lose myself in her lines and subtle curves too much, she spoke, softly, without turning to look at me.

“I keep wondering, how do they decide where to cut the puzzle apart?”

She let the question hang, as if I was supposed to give an answer. I gave only a shrug, unsure if she even saw it. She continued either way.

“Like, if you know what you’re looking for, can you look at something and know, like, just how it’s going to shatter? Where the fault lines are? How many pieces you’d need to put it back together? Is there some guy who works for the puzzle company and sits in a room all day deciding what each piece should be shaped like?”

“ ... Huh?”

She kept talking, looking at the top of the puzzle box now, tracing her finger along a plank on the bridge. I was listening still to whatever it was she was trying to say, but my gaze drifted lower, and lower, and lower. Her legs just seemed to go on forever — smooth and toned and just begging to be touched.

“Or, is there a pattern to it?” I heard her say, as I began fantasizing about granting her legs their wish, how her skin would feel on my fingers, on my cheek, on my lips. “Some formula so that anybody could do it?”

She turned to me now, but I was a beat too late, tardy in flicking my eyes up to hers to see that she had noticed where my attention was. Heat rushed into my cheeks, and her expression changed, the corners of her mouth tugging themselves into a faintly amused smile — something I was far more used to seeing from Charlie.

“You really do like my legs, huh,” she said, with a bemused tone to match. Makeup-less, her face looked tired, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, save for a few wild strands that refused to cooperate. Her eyes were alight with playfulness, though, and now seemed as warm and inviting as her legs.

I tried to shrug it off, to play it cool, just like I’d practiced in my head.

“Yeah,” I said, with a literal shrug. “You have nice legs, not gonna lie.”

Nailed it!

She gave a little snort and smiled wider, ruffling my hair, as if I’d said something adorable. I frowned.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” she said, dropping the puzzle piece to the table with the rest of the pile and brushing past me. She turned and looked at me, seeming to mull something over in her head. Then she motioned with her pointer finger, a gesture that could only mean “come with me.”

I almost dropped the glass. I gulped, and, stupidly, looked around, as if there were someone else she could be gesturing to.

Charlie winced, laughing softly.

“Yes, you, doofus. Sheesh. Can’t even let a girl be sexy and mysterious, can you.” She rolled her eyes but was smiling, and disappeared through the doorway and up the stairs.

I stood rooted to the spot.

Should I take the glass? What if I get thirsty? But what if I drink too much? OMG, what if I have to pee while we’re in the bathroom?? Can I just do it there? It is a bathroom, after all. But I don’t think I could pee in front of her—

I shook my head and snapped myself out of it, putting the glass down on the table with a little bit too much force as I worked up my nerve. I was not going to miss this opportunity.

I marched up the stairs, determined.

My smoking hot sister wanted me to think she was sexy and mysterious. And she is! What would be awaiting me in the bathroom? Would she be in her underwear? Would she be naked?? In the shower? Were we going to shower together??

I felt my cock twitch at the possibilities as I got to the top of the steps and turned to the bathroom, the light leaking out from the half-closed door — no, half-open door, I thought to myself with an optimistic grin.

I pushed it open and...

The room was empty.

My face fell alongside the shrinking protrusion formerly known as my boner.

How could I be so stupid. Of course she was fucking with me. What kind of a sister would invite her horny, awkward little brother to the bathroom?

I covered my face in my hands, feeling like an idiot.

How fucking horny do you have to be to be standing in a bathroom after midnight because you thought your hot big sister wanted to ... what? Show off for you?

I turned, shaking my head at my idiotic naivete as I looked at my bare feet in shame, reaching for the light switch on the way out.

And nearly ran into my sister.

“Whoa,” Charlie said, putting a hand on my chest to stop us from colliding. “Where are you going?”

I looked up at her cocked head, a questioning smile on her face.

I beamed. I couldn’t help it.

She smiled back wider.

“I ... I don’t know,” I said, sounding never more delighted at not knowing something, and let her gently push me back into the bathroom.

As she closed the door behind us, I noticed she was holding a few dresses on hangers. I grinned even wider.

My sister did call me to the bathroom after midnight to show off for me! Of course she did!

She pointed to the toilet, and I took my seat on the lid, still grinning stupidly and sheepishly.

“Did you think I left?” She looked at me with a pitying smile while she hung the dresses up on a hook.

I blushed. “I mean...”

She took a couple steps toward me and ruffled my hair again. Like I was 10.

“Aww, poor Danny. I wouldn’t do that to you, kiddo.”

Maybe this isn’t going to be the sexy strip show I was hoping for...

Then she took off her ratty old tanktop, leaving just the sports bra on her torso. I marveled at the subtle definition of the muscles on her arms, at how her belly button looked so perfectly indented into her flat stomach. She seemed so nonchalant about it, practically humming tunelessly, no idea what a woman like her looked like to a guy like me.

Charlie took the first dress off the hanger, a midnight blue that was silky looking. She pulled it over her head and smoothed it out. It was a little longer than the green dress from the night before, but still didn’t reach her knees. It was stylish and classy, although I didn’t have any kind of fashion sense to back that up. She adjusted the straps over her shoulders, and did a slow twirl with her arms out in an exaggerated spin to show off the back side. It clung to her little butt in a way that I was jealous of.

When she completed her spin, she looked at me expectantly.

“Well? How’s it stack up to yesterday’s?”

I gave this some serious thought, which Charlie seemed to find amusing, although she didn’t say anything to interrupt me.

“I still prefer the green one, but this one is really gorgeous. Maybe something you’d wear to like, something classier than some nightclub,” I said, as if I frequented such places often.

Charlie snorted, which was not really something that women who wore those dresses probably did, I thought. “Look at you, fashion advisor to the stars!”

While she prepared another dress, I asked, tentatively, not wanting her to wake up from whatever spell had compelled her to put on this impromptu fashion show, “So ... Charlie ... not that I’m complaining but...”

She turned to me and lifted the dress over her head, exposing her stretched midriff before hanging it back on the hanger.

“Why am I putting on a late-night fashion show in the bathroom for my little brother?” she finished for me.

I nodded.

She stopped taking the dress down from the hook, and leaned her backside against the counter across from me. As she let out a long sigh, I surveyed her body closely, fascinated by how even run-of-the-mill, everyday things like sighing looked so different when done by a sexy woman in a tight sports bra and shorts.

Charlie paused for maybe 30 seconds, looking at something I couldn’t see, and I was worried I’d ruined what was shaping up to be the best night of my young life — which would’ve been quite the coup, given the night before.

“Do you remember when we were younger,” she began, slowly turning to me, “and Mom and Dad got us a goldfish?”

I nodded again, not sure what this had to do with my sister taking off her clothes in front of me. She continued.

“It was really exciting ... for like two weeks. And then you start to realize, ‘Hey, what the fuck did I get duped into here?’” she said, with more venom than I felt our dearly departed family goldfish deserved. “Sure, it was fun for a little bit, because, hey! We have a fish! Cool! Look at her swim around in her little bowl! And watch! When we feed her —” she mimed dropping little food pellets into an imaginary fish tank — “her little fish lips gulp it down!”

She acted out that part herself too, squeezing in her cheeks and puffing out her lips into an exaggerated, fishy-looking pout. I thought this was pretty funny, but she didn’t seem like she was making a joke at all. She just sighed again, looking back at that spot on the wall that held something far more fascinating for her than it did for me.

“But then, after that, it’s the same thing. A couple weeks later, you’re changing the water because if you don’t, the fish’ll die. And you’re feeding her because, if you don’t, the fish’ll die. And if you feed her too much?” she looked at me with a cynical exasperation, waving her arms. “Guess what? The fish’ll fucking die.”

All trace of the playfulness that had been on her face a few minutes ago was gone, replaced by the fatigue that had hung over her at the puzzle table earlier.

“And then you’re like, ‘wait, what the fuck am I getting out of this?’” she said, frustration palpable as she began to pace in front of me. “It’s not like Goldie does any tricks or anything. Does she even know her name is Goldie? No. Does she know who the fuck you are? No. Does she show you any gratitude? Any love? Anything? No, no and no.

“She just fucking swims around in her own filth until you clean it up again, because that’s just how your fucking relationship works.”

She had an edge to her voice now that made me uncomfortable, her arms crossed, leaning back against the counter again on the opposite side of where she’d started, staring off at a different spot on the wall.

It was silent for a few moments as she stewed, and I studied her face. She was simmering, her eyes burning so hot they looked like they would water from condensation any second.

I cleared my throat.

“Umm, it was actually ‘Sonja,’” I said, quietly. But I couldn’t let it pass.

She looked at me sharply, and with such a start that it seemed like she’d forgotten I was there in the bathroom with her at all.

“Our goldfish’s name,” I repeated, trying to lighten things up. “Her name was Sonja, not Goldie.”

Charlie looked at me blankly, then I saw her eyes soften, her brow unfurrowed, and a smile crept across her face. She stepped toward me and ruffled my hair again, then kissed the top of my head.

She knelt and held my face in her hands, which felt bigger than they looked as she clutched my cheeks, and the glowing green of her eyes burrowed into mine, inches away.

“You’re right little brother,” she said — quieter, more in control than she had been.

She moved toward the shower and turned on the water, speaking again, wistfully this time.

“So, after having a goldfish, you’re eventually like, ‘you know what I want? A puppy,’” she said, turning back toward me as the steady shhhhhhhh of the shower started. She flicked a wet hand in my direction, scattering a few droplets of water on me to make me flinch, which she found appropriately amusing.

As she kept talking, she took off her shorts, revealing a set of comfortable black panties underneath. I couldn’t help but sit up a little straighter. Is she going to take everything off? Does she want me to keep watching?

“A puppy, you can train to do things. Not like a goldfish,” she said, stepping out of her shorts and tossing them to the side. “And he’s happy to see you! So even though he relies on you completely, you still get something out of it, ya know?”

My sister stood in front of me in her black sports bra and black panties, her tanned skin making the black pop even more and vice versa. I could feel the little guy between my legs starting to react. I looked down, trying not to let it grow more by staring too overtly at Charlie’s body.

But she crouched down in front of me, face to face again, and put her hand under my chin to force eye contact.

“Hey, you can look,” she said gently. “Remember?”

I struggled to meet her gaze, but she was giving me that inviting smile again, and I slowly nodded and did as I was told. She locked eyes with me, wearing an approving look — I think — then seemed to catch herself before standing back up. Her smile shifted slightly, a little more lopsided, more like the mischievous sister I was used to seeing.

She stood and she very slowly spun in a circle, watching me to make sure I kept my eyes locked on her as instructed. Keeping my eyes on her was the easy part. Keeping my boner under control ... that was a little more difficult.

“A puppy,” she continued as she turned, “well, a puppy is delighted when you feed him, delighted when you tell him what to do, where to go, where not to go — he’s just delighted that you’re giving him any kind of attention at all.

“He lives for it.”

She began reaching behind her back and undoing her bra, and I leaned forward in anticipation as she moved her hands to catch the cups.

“Oh sure, he’ll put his tail between his legs when you get angry with him, but he’s just a few head pats and a thrown ball away from wagging away again” — she acted this out with her own tail, bending over and shaking her tight little butt in my face almost absent-mindedly while her bra dropped to the floor — “completely oblivious to anything about you — whether you’re having a good day or bad, whether you’re hot or ugly, whether you’re an asshole or a saint.

“As long as he gets a little something from you, the center of his universe, the dumb little bastard is having the time of his goddamn fucking life — and has you to thank.”

She turned back to me now, her breasts in full view. They were as perfect as I’d imagined, round little globes that hung tightly to her chest with small, darker nipples that stirred an urge in me. They poked out easily from her trim chest without so much as a tan line on them, not drooping even a little. I was sure I was salivating, but didn’t care.

Charlie didn’t seem to care either, although her look was far away, not the typical amusement I’d expected. It took her a moment to even look like she noticed me, then the cockeyed smile flashed back to her face and she noticed my hungry gaping.

“Your first boobs?”

I blushed. “Yeah.”

“Well, I’ll have to tell Francine Carmichael she’s gotta quit being such a prude!”

“Hardy har har.”

She stuck her tongue out, amused with herself.

“Okay, come here,” she said, pointing to a spot in front of her. “Kneel.”

I cocked my eyebrow. Was this some kind of power thing? A ... BMDS thing or whatever? I wasn’t really into that kind of stuff. At least, I didn’t think so. But I got up, my nervousness showing, and did as I was told, kneeling on the carpet in the cramped bathroom right in front of my sister.

She looked down at me from her slight frame, but appeared a foot taller from where I was kneeling, gazing up her sinewy thighs at her stunning body, lit brightly in the light. Flecks of water from the shower next to us sprayed on me and dotted the side of her smooth skin.

“Good boy,” she said, spreading her fingers through the mop of hair on my head, a combination of ruffling and petting.

Why does it make my cock jump when she says that?

Tucked under her right breast, I noticed a little dark mole, a feature that only those — like me — who’ve seen her topless would ever know was there.