Chapter 6: A Bird in the Hand

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

My grand plan to work out my frustrations had run into a slight snag; on my way home, a tire had blown out. Although I managed to guide the unresponsive vehicle to a safe stop, the damage done by contact with the black top had warped the metal rims terribly, making the task of swapping it out for a spare an hours-long job. I'd always thought the expense of auto club membership an unnecessary financial burden, but the experience forced me to reconsider that stance. After I finally managed to get the accursed thing off the car I swore to get in contact with the state's club as soon as they opened for business the next day. I paused for a brief break, catching my breath and mopping away my sweat before I got the spare in place and fastened it securely, dragging the useless, deformed rim to the boot and closing it with a string of blistering profanity.

Getting back into the car, I glanced at the clock; it was nearly midnight, having taken me the best part of two hours to get my car back into a roadworthy state. I knew Niamh would be back from her mysterious job by now, leaving me unable to take advantage of her absence for the furious jerk-off session I had originally planned. When I did get home, I found her pacing in the kitchen, cordless phone in hand. With a cry of relief, she grabbed me in an unexpected hug, explaining that she'd begun to worry when I wasn't home, and was on the verge of calling my mobile to check in on me.

I fobbed her off, telling her that I'd gone out for the evening with some friends before running into a slight hitch getting home. She made a sympathetic face as I detailed my tribulations with the damaged wheel. "Still," she said "all's well that ends well. And I dunno about you, but I had a big night. I'm exhausted."

Ah, shit. Now she'll want to share my bed again. I desperately racked my brain for a suitable excuse, but I couldn't come up with anything that would do the trick. And the truth- sorry, sis, I was at a strip club and there was this crazy hot dancer and now I'm all worked up- hardly seemed a viable alternative. In fact, I realised slowly, Morrigan was wearing the same perfume as Niamh. The scent caused me to respond physically, desperate for release. Clearing my throat loudly, I made me excuses and fled before I developed a full-blown hard-on over my surely innocent sister.

After changing into my pyjamas, I opened the door, signalling the all-clear for Niamh to join me. As we got cosy, my mind wandered back in time, replaying that incredible private dance and the way she had allowed me to touch her most private places. Niamh's scent and that arousing memory had a predictable effect, causing me to bar up.

Feeling an unusual pressure against my buttocks, I allowed myself a triumphant grin. Clearly, the dance I'd given my brother, and the way I'd allowed him to fondle me, had the desired effect. Sighing sleepily, I ground backwards, bringing my brother's rapidly-hardening penis into firmer contact with the same flesh that had left him in that state. Listening intently, I could hear him wheezing. In the darkness, I grinned. Victory would soon be mine.

As Niamh moved in her sleep, unintentionally sending a thrill of pleasure down my shaft, I finally lost my battle with my libido. Surrendering to the moment, I moved to meet her, pulling her tight and allowing my groin to press against her, my penis resting in the hollow between her buttocks. Overwhelmed by my arousal, caught up in that erotic instant, I did something I had never done before, something forbidden by good taste and filial relations, sliding my hand from Niamh's shoulder to her breast, feeling my sister up as she step.

Unrestrained by a brassiere- for comfort as she slept, I reasoned- her warm, fleshy breast moved easily under my hand, her nipple hardening in a simple physical response to the stimulus. She made little mewling sounds in her sleep, rubbing back against me.

Shit. In my overly worked-up state, the simple physical contact, coupled with the lewdness of fondling my sister, the motion was enough to send me over the edge, spasming violently despite my best efforts to remain stationary. Trying to overcome my revulsion at orgasming against my sleeping sister's slumbering form, I focused on the perfume she shared with the divine Morrigan, imagining I was buried inside the open, needy channel I had been lucky enough to explore earlier that night. The thought worked me up even more, driving me to a thunderous climax.