Chapter 4

She felt the wetness between her thighs Oh my god, I think I have just cum, on the bus! Then the possible implications hit her and the blood drained from her face and the warm post-orgasm glow receded faster than the food on a fat boy's plate. What if there is a wet patch on the seat of my trousers. Lea looked around, but no one seemed to be paying her any attention, Thomas had slumped down in his seat, seeming to have lost all interest in her. Lea wanted to cry.

As she left the bus, she slung her school bag over her shoulder so that it pressed against the back of her trousers, hopefully hiding any potential stain. She so desperately wanted to check, but knew that the action would draw attention to her, and girls had a sixth sense for spotting the misfortune of other girls. Deliberately she walked just behind Thomas, just in case, be he was wrapped up in his own world.

The front door of their house approached like an island to a lifeboat full of shipwrecked sailors. Thomas fished in his pockets and pulled out his house key, threw his bag towards the stairs and headed towards the living room. With a sigh of relief Lea stepped over his bag and hurried to her room, almost crying with happiness as her bedroom door shut behind her. She placed her bag next to the end of her bed and closed her curtains before quickly undoing her trouser button. She was scared to look at first, but she forced her head down. Nothing. No stain. No suspicious mark. It was if the world was lifted from her shoulders.

Downstairs, the familiar theme tune of 'The Simpsons' could be heard emanating from the living room TV. Lea's nerves were shot, she needed to relax and unwind. She opened the drawer on her dresser and pulled out a clean pair of pants and left her room for the toilet He likes your legs...

Lea paused hallway between her bedroom and the toilet?

Deal. Now put a skirt on. The voice inside positively gloated.

Lea was angry, she didn't like being second guessed, she turned and headed back to her room to get a skirt.

Locking the door behind her, Lea turned on the hot tap in sink, kicked off her shoes, wriggled out of her trousers and removed her still damp pants. She put them in the laundry basket and after soaking a flannel, gave herself a quick wash between her thighs. A quick rub with a towel, she stepped into the fresh pants, slipped on her skirt and after a quick check that everything was okay, she headed back downstairs, breathing deeply to try and calm the light-headedness she still felt.

The hem of the skirt teased her smooth legs as she descended, and she thought about what she had just done. The knowledge that she had deliberately changed for her brother sent her pulse rocketing.

He won't notice, he's not interested in me.

And what if he does, and what if he is?

She paused on the last step. Now that was a dilemma. She forced her breathing into some semblance of normality and entered the living room. As soon as she saw Thomas, her resolve dissolved and she found herself wanting to either run away in tears or to launch herself onto him and kiss those lips.

Oh God, those lips...

She headed for a chair, quickly, as her limbs seemed about ready to stop working and the floor beckoned.

She watched him out the corner of her eye as she tried to make out that her attention was on the antics of Bart and his pals. His gaze kept moving between the TV and her, and it wasn't particularly subtle.

He's noticed...

Shhh!!!!

He has, he's looking at your legs ... told you so...

Lea now had second thoughts about how great an idea it was to change into a skirt. Her legs looked horrible, pasty white and about as toned as a jellyfish.

Not good

She didn't want him looking at her legs after all.

Whose stupid idea was this?

She pulled her legs up onto the chair, self-consciously pulling her hem down to try and cover as much of her legs as possible. He was staring and not being particularly subtle about it. She wanted to return his stare, force him to avert his gaze, but she couldn't, she watched the screen, regretting ever changing to a skirt and coming down stairs.

On the screen, one of Barts friends was trying to look up Lisa's skirt.

Boys are such pigs.

Thomas suddenly spoke. "You're wearing a skirt?"

"You prefer?" Lea was horrified. Who gave you permission to speak on my behalf? Part of her gloated, part of her was embarrassed. She had no choice to look at him, see something in his eyes, something that she had never seen before, something ... predatory. Her body responded to his gaze, offering itself up to his gaze, to him.

"Still think it should be shorter..." Thomas replied.

Lea briefly remembered the previous conversation, how it affected her, how she wanted to ... please him. She was flustered, she needed out before she said or did something she might not regret.

"Blokes, it's all you think of!" Yet even as the words left her lips, she was taking a mental pair of scissors to all her skirts, wondering what length he wanted, modelling them for him, his hands near her hips showing where he wanted the hem to be, his hands so warm, so close to her...

Stop it! Stop right there, no more.

"Uh-huh. Go on then, stand up and show me your legs." It was almost a command. A command she almost obeyed. He smiled at her and she felt herself dissolving into that smile. She was so aroused, her legs were like rubber. Her need, the strength of her need, scared her, scared her as to what she might do. She felt the onset of panic, of indecision, of her free will escaping her, stolen by her body and the hormones racing inside.

"NO!" Was also she could muster to say, she had intended to say more, to deny, but the words vanished into ether before they reached her mouth.

His brows arched inquisitively and she imagined running her fingertips across the light hairs above those piercing predatory eyes, as his hands in turn, ran across...

"You're the one that changed into a skirt. What was the point if you won't stand and show me your legs?"

Hah! He has a point, wriggle out of that one.

It was you who told me to put on a skirt!

You could have ignored me...

"I..." Words failed her; it was getting harder to breathe, harder to concentrate, harder to impose her will.

"Stand, or I shall come over there and tickle you until you beg for mercy!" His eyes told her he meant it.

She remembered when they were younger; he always used to tickle her, his strength easily overpowering hers, his hands going where they wanted, touching where they wanted. If she struggled he would hold both her slim wrists in one of his hands, above her head, trapping her powerless. They were good times, enjoyable times.

If he did it now, she wouldn't be able to stop him, wouldn't want him to stop. Touching her. Everywhere and anywhere.

Let him, let him touch you, caress you, slide his hands up your legs, between your legs, his breath on your neck, lips on your throat...

"NO!" Too late she realised she had said it aloud, to the wrong person...

Thomas smiled, thinking her refusal had been directed at him, he tensed, getting ready to stand. "Well in that case, you leave me no choice..."

A strangled cry escaped from her lips as a bolt of pleasure speared through her loins. She knew that should he touch her, she would orgasm right in front of him. It humiliated her and aroused her even more at the same time. She had to get away, she leaped from the seat, but the simple movement of her muscles triggered another mini orgasm and she had no choice but to pause and let it subside. She clasped her hands, desperate to push them between her legs, to relieve the building pressure. It was such a struggle just to hold them in front.

"Turn around." His voice, so commanding.

The pleasure was making it so hard to think straight. "WHAT!" He wanted her to turn round? Why? Her inner voice turned seductive, teasing, promising...

Then why don't you ask 'Why?' Hmmm? Ask what you can do for him, do to please him...

"Why?" She couldn't help it.

"Errr, like, because I asked you to, duh! Spin around." He raised his right hand and circled his extended forefinger for emphasis.

Her body of its own volition obeyed. She couldn't help that either.

No!!! I won't be a puppet! This body is mine!

She struggled to command her body, but only succeeded in making herself wobble, almost falling over.

Nice, very classy...

Help me!

No, I want to see where this goes.

There was no evil cackling laughter, but Lea added some in her mind anyway.

Lea struggled for control of her emotions, as she stopped turning to face her brother. She felt drunk, though having never been drunk, she didn't know what that felt like.