Chapter 2: Seperate Paths

To avoid confusion, this chapter begins from Niamh's perspective. Any paragraphs separated by a line represents a shift in perspective from one sibling to another.

I slept fitfully, waking up every half hour or so to make sure that I would be out of my brother's bed and make sure that he wouldn't be embarrassed by the mess he had made of his pyjamas, the back of my nightshirt, and my panties. I lost count of the times I'd snapped out of my slumber, but by the time the bedroom was illuminated by the slate-grey light of dawn, my brother was again spooning against me. My nightshirt had ridden up, and his cock, having made a break for freedom, protruded from the fly of his flannelette trousers. It had snaked between my legs, held between my silky thighs. For a brief, insane moment I was tempted to slide my thighs against each other, bringing my brother to another orgasm. Eventually, my better judgement won out, and I managed to wriggle out of his grasp without awakening him.

I retreated to my room, stripped out of my soiled nightwear, and examined the damage my brother had done. His load was impressive; my nightshirt was heavily caked. I sniffed at the stains, but having dried there was little to scent. Disappointed, I dropped my clothes on my bed, assessing my body in the full-length mirror my brother had given me as a house-warming gift. I cupped my breasts, bringing my nipples to full hardness with practiced ease. I lay back on the bed behind me, spreading my legs. I propped my head up with a pillow, peering at my lips as they became engorged with blood, slick with juices.

I imagined what would happen if Dylan opened the door, seeing his sister spread-eagled and toying with herself. An impossible dream, given that I'd locked the door securely and checked it before giving in to my desires. In my mind's eye, he threw himself across the room, overcome with his lust for my forbidden flesh. He knelt, as if to worship me, his goddess. As I pictured him going down on me the way my girlfriends had described their lovers pleasuring them, I slid my fingers into my heated, quivering sex. I was still so worked up after last night that climaxing was a simple task, easily achieved. Gasping, I half-sat, staring at myself in the mirror. My ample breasts heaved, pale and creamy where they were hidden beneath even my most risque bathing suits. Likewise, the skin around my feminine treasure was a shade or three lighter than the surrounding skin; I ran my fingers through the scratchy patch of pubic hair I'd allowed to grow of late, too pre-occupied with moving out of home into my new flat to attend to its grooming. I briefly contemplated the possibility of employing the buzzing, metallic wand I'd bought as my own house-warming gift to myself, looking forward to the privacy my own room would give me.

A glance at the clock revealed it was almost half-past six; Dylan would be up and getting ready for his job as a lab assistant within a half-hour, and I still had to do away with the evidence. Making a mental note to use the wand after he left- I had the day off- I grabbed a razor and shaving cream from my bedside drawer. Half an hour would be long enough for me to shave, whilst I allowed the water to soak into the clothes my brother had soiled; I could work out most of the remainder of the mess with a bit of soap before bundling the whole affair into a towel and hiding it in our first load of washing.

I awoke to the sound of rushing water behind my head; Niamh was evidently up and about. Pushing the bedclothes aside, I discovered that my cock had escaped its confines, and was coated in a trace amount of flaking, dried fluid. Alarmed, I checked for evidence of nocturnal emissions, fearing that Niamh had been the unwitting observer of something I definitely wanted to keep as private as possible. Thankfully, the bed betrayed none of the hallmarks of my nocturnal emissions. I stretched out, staring at my alarm clock and waiting for it to go off. All too soon, seven o'clock rolled off and its insistent beep had to be silenced. As if by marvellous coincidence, my sister twisted the taps closed, saving me the trouble of banging on the door to hurry her up.

I waited outside the bathroom, my arms crossed over my chest, one leg making a figure four with the wall. Niamh came out the door with a massive bundle of towels. Her eyes widened in fright, and she dropped the bundle, spilling wet clothes onto the tiled hallway floor. Alarmed, I stood on tiptoe-toe and peered over her shoulder, checking for leaks. Niamh stood, the clothes under control; unfortunately, the stress she'd placed on the towel wrapped around her mid-section was too much for the simple tuck she used to hold it in place, and it fell away from her, unwinding around her body. Blushing, my sister juggled the clothes, attempting to control her errant covering; I reached in, intending to take hold of her wet clothes so she could attend to her modesty.

Seeing my brother there like that frightened the crap out of me. His pose seemed to be all masculine aggression, his strong arms crossed over the tank top he wore to bed. I tried to come up with some excuse, fearing an outburst of anger, when my slick nightshirt began to stray from my grip. Trying to cover my shock and come up with a story about not realising he had come all over me, honest, I allowed the bundle to fall from my grasp, buying time while I racked my stuttering brain for excuses. Instead of confronting me, though, Dylan stood silent, his gaze fixed behind me. As I straightened, I felt the towel slipping away from my bust. In an instant, I decided to go on the offensive, allowing it to come entirely loose, figuring that if nothing else the sight of his sister's naked, still-damp form would stun his gentlemanly mind into stasis.

The fact that in an hour, after he left, that I would be able to imagine a rather different ending to the scenario with the aid of my battery-powered friend was merely a handy fringe benefit.

Contorting my spine, I placed additional pressure on the towel, causing it to fall away completely. At that instant, Dylan leaned in, getting a front-row seat for my dark-tipped breasts, his gaze drawn by the clothes I allowed to tumble to the floor again to the juncture of my legs, freshly-shaving for his viewing pleasure. Having enjoyed the sight of what I, influenced by the inestimable Ali G, referred to as my 'shaven haven, ' my brother's eyes snapped shut. He was desperately trying to protect his beloved little sister's modesty. I grinned at the effect I'd had on him, securely wrapping the towel around me and gathering my sodden clothes up, this time wrapping my panties inside the nightshirt and slinging it over one shoulder. I grabbed one of Dylan's shoulders, drawing my shell-shocked brother up to full height, and told him that it was safe to look. He opened his eyes reluctantly, attempting an awkward apology. As if he were the one responsible for my lewd display. Chuckling inwardly, I waved off his concern as being of no moment, asking him why he looked so worried.