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Note: The characters in this story are over 18 years of age.

I couldn't stop thinking about her. What a compact body she had. Just a few inches north of five feet, Sasha had curves I had never known existed, from the roundness of her bottom and how it met her tiny waist, to her perky breasts, who always seemed as happy as she was. Her pretty face always had a quick smile, and God, I loved the way she'd cock her head to one side when she giggled. Sasha had me so turned on I could hardly walk straight. Thank God for strategically placed notebooks or TV remotes or anything I could use to navigate through the house while keeping my hard-on concealed. Ever since I got back into town, Sasha was most of what I thought about.

Sasha was also my sister.

I'm such a fucking perv. I can't believe this. Not only can I not stop fantasizing about my sister, I'm following her around like a little puppy dog. *quot;Can I get you something to drink, Sasha? You need a blanket, Sasha? Your boyfriends are being nice to you, Sasha?*quot; Sasha, Sasha, Sasha, I thought, in true Jan Brady-esque fashion. We're only a couple years apart in age and as you might expect, we fought all the time as kids. But those curves either showed up in the three years I'd been away, or had somehow been lost on me before.

I knocked on her bedroom door to see what she was up to when I heard *quot;Doncha*quot; from the Pussycat Dolls coming from the other side. Weird that someone as cool as my sister would have such a dorky ringtone, especially since I'd given her a bunch of downloads on her eighteenth birthday. It seemed Sasha wasn't in there 'cuz the phone kept ringing.

*quot;...don't you wish your girlfriend was a freak like me, doncha...*quot;

Shit, now I'll have that fuckin' song going through my head the rest of the day. I opened the door to answer her phone, why I don't know, it's not like it was the house phone or anything and I'd need to take a message, but by the time I'd got to it, it had stopped ringing anyway.

I heard the hard drive whirring on my sister's computer. What a doofus, she never remembered to switch it off. I hit a key to stop the *quot;not quite age appropriate anymore*quot; Hello Kitty screensaver?not exactly the choice of most other college freshmen--so I could shut Windows down, but stopped dead in my tracks when I saw what popped up on the screen.

It looked like a thread on some porn site. *quot;I'm Flashing Today*quot;. Hmmmm, interesting, I thought. Looked like some cute chick posting some sexy pictures of herself. Wonder why my sister was checking out some other...oh shit. I know that bedspread. I'm fucking sitting on it. The outfits. That damn zeytinburnu escort Hello Kitty propped up on the comforter. I can't believe Sasha's posting pictures of herself on the 'Net. I had a random thought of how sexy they were but it quickly passed. What was she...

*quot;Steve? What are you doing in my room? And why are you looking at my compu--STEVE!!! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT??*quot;

*quot;Why don't you tell me?*quot;

*quot;It's none of your business, get OUTTA HERE!*quot; Her voice was shrill and in an instant her face was beet red.

*quot;Calm down, Sash', I just want to...*quot;

*quot;You're not gonna tell Mom and Dad. Swear to me you won't. I'll beat you if you...*quot;

*quot;I'm not telling anybody. I just want to understand.*quot;

*quot;I don't know really.*quot; She started looking a little sad. She'd wrapped us all around her little finger many times with that little pout. *quot;I just felt like it.*quot;

*quot;You don't need some dork you don't know to tell you how sexy you are. Here, look at this post...from n-i-n-e-f-e-2-d-g...whatthefuck is that anyway? Why would you give a shit what he thinks?*quot;

*quot;I don't. I don't know, I just felt like doing it and that's it. I did it for myself. I wasn't planning on doing it again. And you better not tell Mom and Dad.*quot;

*quot;I said I wouldn't, so just relax, 'k?*quot;

Sasha got a little gleam in her eye. *quot;Besides*quot;, she said, *quot;Someone else left their computer on the other day.*quot;

*quot;What are you talking about?*quot;

*quot;What's with you and erotica stories?*quot;


Shit. The other day I did leave my computer on.

*quot;Are you writing sexy short stories?*quot; She started to laugh. *quot;Or at least trying to?*quot;

*quot;Whaddya mean trying to? What did you read? You don't think they're hot?*quot;

*quot;Not really. Don't get me wrong. They're pretty good. Kinda romantic. But they didn't turn me on at all.*quot;

I was disappointed, but suppose it was probably good I didn't turn my own sister on. *quot;Well, it's been a little lonely. I guess I do them for MY-self.*quot;

That gleam returned to her eye. *quot;You wanna see something?*quot;, she asked. I wasn't sure. I think I did and I think I didn't. She sauntered towards me slowly, reaching over my shoulder to flip off the light switch. Her hair brushed across my face and still had that fresh Herbal Essence smell from her morning shower. Though the room was dark, I could still see her, the outline of her form. I had flurries in my stomach and somehow managed to suppress a growl, thinking seriously about placing my hand on her verboten ass, but instead, decided to take my cues from her.

Sasha gently placed her hand in aksaray escort mine. I closed my eyes and waited, waited for her, to squeeze it tightly, to invite me to touch her, to hold her, to kiss her. *quot;Over here*quot;. Sasha stood me up and walked me over to the window. Standing up is OK. I'll start anywhere. She opened the blinds and peered through. *quot;Right on time, come over here and get a load of this.*quot;

I managed to exhale, mostly relieved, when I realized why we were by the window. I leaned down and, cheek-to-cheek with my sister, had my own look through the glass.

There she was, for the world to see. Mrs. Song, our piano teacher and next-door neighbor growing up. She was from Thailand and was very pretty. I would have to remind myself to stop staring at her round face with the high cheekbones that would always distract me from my lessons. She always smelled like peppermints--Tic Tac addiction--I always liked the sucking sounds she made as she popped one after another into her mouth. I'd never seen her buck naked, though.

Until now.

She was doing some kind of strange impressionistic/Tai Chi/African Anteater type dance that I supposed was intended to be erotic. I couldn't quite grasp the sudden arm thrusts, though I did get why she'd paw herself from head to toe. She must have known anyone could have seen her doing it if they had so much as glanced through her window.

I wondered if she was playing the Pussycat Dolls in the background. Or maybe one of those fucking Czerny exercises she made us play for hours on end.

*quot;She's been doing this every night at the same time for the last two weeks*quot;, Sasha said. *quot;I make sure to be home just so I can watch.*quot;

*quot;Well, thanks for sharing.*quot; Mrs. Song had put on a few pounds over the years but she was quite the tasty sight to behold. Especially now that I'd seen this new side of her.

*quot;So what do you want to do, Steve? Is she turning you on?*quot;

*quot;Well, yeah, it is pretty sexy.*quot;

*quot;Well, whip it out then and take care of business.*quot;

*quot;I'm not doing THAT in front of you!*quot;

*quot;Why not? I've heard you a hundred times through these thin walls. Thinking about our piano teacher no doubt.*quot;

She had me there. Mrs. Song had always sat alone atop my MILF list. *quot;You won't look? If you do, I'll tell Mom and Dad about...*quot;

*quot;No you won't, 'cuz you know I'll kick your ass.*quot;

*quot;Whatever.*quot; I unzipped my fly and pulled my dick out. It wasn't completely hard at first, but it didn't take long for it to be fully erect. As I'd done hundreds of times before, I caressed my cock lightly in the palm of my hand, ataköy escort feeling the blue veins begin to bulge and the shaft stiffen. The head of my cock was a little larger and shinier than usual, eager to show itself off in front of a new set of eyes. I stroked my penis expertly, varying the rhythm and the speed to Mrs. Song's quirky movements. It was impossible to anticipate each move, so I settled back to my own familiar strokepace, finding the dance as hilarious as it was a total turn-on.

All of a sudden I heard some heavy breathing and moaning behind me. *quot;What are you doing, Sash'?*quot;

*quot;What...do you think...I'm doing...?*quot; I heard a tiny squeal of delight.

The butterflies returned. *quot;Are you getting turned on by my cock?*quot; I asked. Probably a little too seductively. OK, make that way too seductively.

*quot;Ewwww, gross! Shut up about your dick. You're my brother! I'm trying to watch Mrs. Song like you. Be quiet so you don't spoil the mood.*quot;

There we sat, me in front of Sasha, both of us jerking off to the woman who taught each of us the Pathetique Sonata and rapped our knuckles when we screwed up the fingering on our scales. After a while we each forgot the other was there.

As Mrs. Song bent over at what would be the end of her little number. I imagined thrusting my cock deep inside her ample ass over and over. It no doubt would have put a damper on her dance-ending bow, however. I imagined how tight she'd feel, grabbing the shaft of my cock and screaming for more. As I imagined caressing her breasts, fingering her nipples until they twisted hard to my touch, I felt my cock bulge past the point of no return. With one last stroke, ropes of semen spurted upwards, dotting my shirt and my left cheek.

I stuck my tongue out to enjoy the salty taste of my own cum when I heard deeper and more frequent moans coming from behind me. I didn't turn, instead watching who she was watching, wanting whom she was wanting. Her breathing and moaning made me stir despite just having spent myself, and I was almost jettisoned from my seat as Sasha's foot dug into my back. I turned in time to see my sister's jeans open and pussy gawking out at me, glistening from her touch. *quot;Thanks for the kidney punch*quot;, I joked.

That got a pillow to the face. *quot;Don't even look at me, you PREE-vert!*quot; Sasha barely got the words out, still shuddering from her orgasm. *quot;And no Steve, I like guys*quot;, Sasha said. *quot;But there's just something about that dance*quot;.

*quot;I know what you mean*quot;, I said, unceremoniously wiping off my hands on my shorts. *quot;I bet she's got the whole neighborhood whacking off.*quot; Damn. Mrs. Song. Whoda thunk it? And whoda thought my sister got off on her, too.

*quot;Maybe even Mom and Dad*quot;, Sasha giggled.

*quot;Maybe so.*quot;

We never did that again. At least not together. And we didn't ever talk about it, either. But anytime somebody sat down to our piano, Sasha and I could barely contain our smiles.