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I woke early the next morning, and gathered all the wet clothes and towels and threw them in the washing machine. As I made coffee I mentally prepared my story, checking it for plausibility, hiding my shame from myself, making sure I sounded like the good guy, not the guy who pissed on my naked little sister in the tub. I told it to myself over and over, making sure to leave out the parts where I looked at her tits and pussy, making up details that never happened to cover what I had done. I’d have to tell her she’d pissed on me, had to be able to explain her waking up naked, the clothes in the washing machine. But she could never know I watched her piss squirting from her spread legs, watched her piss on herself, watched her stream hit her own face, her tits. And never, for chrissake, never know I had done it too.
And had liked it.
It was several hours before I heard her stumbling around upstairs, heard the bathroom door, heard the shower. I started breakfast, keeping it simple and dry, knowing her stomach would be tender from her night. Toast, jam, orange juice, a blueberry muffin. I busied myself as I listened for the sounds upstairs, rehashing my story. Another half hour of desperation before the deceit began. I heard her footsteps on the stairs and braced myself. I poured her a glass of water, and forced a smile to my face before turning to see her.
She was in a loose tee short and sweats, her hair still wet from the shower, her face pale and clean, free of makeup, and she looked vulnerable, weak and tiny in the doorway of the kitchen. I knew what she was feeling, of course, who hasn’t had a bad night drinking? It’s always a challenge not to ridicule someone who drinks themselves sick, but not on the first one. She needed care and tenderness, and my heart ached for what I had done.
“Looking pretty rough there, Ange,” I said to her, and her eyes rolled back in her head. “Have a seat.” She stumbled to the chair and I gave her the glass of water. “Drink,” I told her, “alcohol dehydrates you.” I was careful to keep judgment out of my voice; who was I to criticize after what I had done? I watched her sip the water, just a little, then a longer one, and then she put the glass down and crossed her arms on the table and rested her head on them.
“O-oh, Tony, I feel like complete dogshit,” I heard her tiny voice complain, and my heart went out to her. First beers, first sick, first hangover. “What the fuck did I do?” I went back to the counter and fetched her toast and jam and muffin, putting them on the table in front of her.
“You should eat something,” I told her. Her hair hung in lank wet strands off her head, but she smelled better. Better than last night. I kissed the top of her head and rubbed her shoulders.
“Oh, you warned me, Tony, m-mm, that’s nice.”
“Drink the water,” I advised, stepping away from her, and retrieving my coffee from the counter. “And eat. I know you don’t want to. Probably feel like you can’t,” I said, sitting across from her. “But you need to. You’ll feel better.
She lifted her head. “My mouth feels like,” she paused, her eyes blank and listless. I remembered how sweet she looked with them closed in the tub. Poor kid. My sympathy for her squeezed away my guilt, and I was glad I was able to be there for her when she needed me, and doubly glad our parents weren’t here to see this. “I don’t know. Like shit. All of me feels like shit, except my head. That feels worse.” She looked at me. “Did I puke?”
“Like a champ,” I grinned, remembering holding her hair for her, rubbing her back as she expelled the contents of her stomach. “Took a couple of tries, but you got it.” I sipped my coffee.
“You came and got me,” she said, looking for confirmation.
“Yeah, Britt called me, thank God. She’s a good friend.” I sipped. “Those other skanks…”
“They’re my friends, too, Tony.”
“Yeah, Andrea? They nearly put you in the emergency room last night,” I told her. “If Britt hadn’t called when she did we could be having this conversation it the hospital, with Mom and Dad, and the cops.” She knew it was true, too, and put her head back down. “Drink the water, trust me,” I told her. “Eat the food. Go back to bed, and be thankful Mom and Dad aren’t home.”
“You came for me,” she said from under her head. She lifted it and looked at me. “You took me home.” One corner of her mouth turned up wryly. “I remember…parts.” I looked back at her. “Thanks, Tony.” I smiled at her. “You’re my hero.”
Yeah, your hero pissed on you last night, my conscience told me. “That’s what big brothers are for, Ange.” I raised my coffee mug in mock salute. “Glad to help.”
“What happened?” she asked, and my heart caught in my throat. My prepared lie ran through my head. “I’m kind of fuzzy on the details. I didn’t … do anything stupid, did I?”
I told the story, adding how worried I was, concerned that guys might take advantage of her. Told her how good Britt was. She flushed with embarrassment at being carried out, and groaned when I told her about puking. Kartal Escort She winced and grimaced when I told her about pushing her fingers into her throat. She sipped the water and ate a slice of toast, and I could see her color start to return a little. She sat up in the chair, and I finished telling her about driving home, slowly.
She chewed thoughtfully, and I went to the cabinet where the Advil was and got her a few, and some orange juice. Not too much. I set them down for her, and warned her not to take them until after she finished eating.
“I remember part of that, I think,” she said around a mouthful of toast, and started picking at the muffin. “It’s kinda hazy, you know.”
“I’ll bet,” I said, avoiding her eyes, knowing the question was coming.
“So, Britt didn’t come home with us?” she asked. Her drying hair hung over her face, obscuring her eyes.
“No, she stayed. I took you home.” I avoided her gaze, and stood to refill my coffee.
“Who undressed me?” I heard from behind my back, and my spine stiffened. I spilled a little coffee as I poured and cursed under my breath. “I was naked when I woke up,” she continued, and my hand shook as I poured milk in the coffee, remembering her little breasts, her shaved mound. Her spread legs. Her piss; mine. I steeled myself. “Did you undress me?”
“Yeah,” I said, setting my jaw and turning back to the table and sitting down, my practiced lie of omission ready on my lips. “You, uh, when I was carrying you from the car,” I said, pretending to be embarrassed for her, and disguising my own shame, “you, uh, peed your pants.” I watched as her mouth froze, mid-chew, a look of shock and horror on her face. I looked away. “Sorry, I couldn’t put you to bed that way, so I had to … I didn’t look,” I lied. “I mean, well, I saw, but not like, perverted,” I lied again.
Her mouth moved silently, and then she swallowed. “I pissed my pants?” she asked incredulously.
“Yeah,” I chuckled, pretending to laugh it off. “While I was carrying you. It got, uh, all over me, too.”
“Oh, my God, that’s so embarrassing,” she said, and hid her face I her hands.
“You were pretty drunk, Ange, passed out for the most parts.”
“I don’t remember,” she said. “Oh, Tony, I’m so sorry,” she said from behind her fingers. “Oh, fuck, could this be any worse?”
You have no idea how much worse, I thought. “It’s not your fault,” I assured her, covering my guilt. “You were, you know, out of it.”
“Oh, shit, I can’t remember shit,” she said, dropping her hands. She started to grin sheepishly. “What a loser I am. I piss on my big brother while he’s rescuing me.” I smiled at her and she smiled back. “Are you mad at me?”
At me, more likely, I thought. “Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal. But that’s why I had to undress you.” But you know what IS a big deal, I thought. Watching you piss yourself in the tub, and then pissing on your shaved pussy. I felt a stir in my pants at the memory. “I washed the clothes; I gotta put them in the dryer.”
“You wouldn’t let me sleep in my wet clothes? You’re sweet,” she said. Yeah, right. “And you put me to bed?” Her eyes turned to the half-finished food. “And made me breakfast?” She smiled, a look of genuine appreciation and love on her face. “You’re the best, Tony. Thanks. Thanks for taking care of me.” She raised her water glass. “Thanks for being my big brother.”
Well, thanks for letting me piss on you, I thought to myself, if only you knew what I really did, you might not love me so much. I tipped my glass to hers.
“No problem,” I lied. “I’m glad I could help.”
She took the Advil and drank half the juice, and picked up the muffin. “I’m going back to bed. Thanks again.” She came around the table and stood before me; as she approached my chair I saw her little braless breasts jiggling under her tee shirt, and remembered last night, my piss striking them. I pushed the memory aside. She kissed the top of my head and I hugged her, feeling the heat from her body, remembering her naked in my arms as I carried her to her bed. She stepped away and made for the door, but stopped before exiting.
“You saw me naked?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Not much,” I lied, remembering her spread shaved pussy looking up at me. “I covered you,” I lied. Yeah, with my piss! “A towel,” I added.
“Thanks, Tone,” she said, and left to return upstairs. I felt a huge breath leave me and guzzled the rest of my coffee, trying to steel my nerves, hoping I’d pulled it off.
I had plenty of time to punish myself for the next few hours. I started planning dinner, figuring she’d be ravenous by the time she woke again. All I could think of was what I’d done, my shame, my fear of discovery.
For the life of me I couldn’t get it out of my head.
Several hours later I heard her stirring upstairs. I was reading a book, and when I heard movement I got up and went to the kitchen to start dinner. I was interrupted when I heard her call me, so I stopped what I was doing and Tuzla Escort went to the stairs, calling up to see what she wanted.
“Could you get a flashlight?”
“What’s the matter?” I asked, a little annoyed.
“I lost an earring,” she called down. “Could you help me look?” Rolling my eyes I said I’d be up in second and went to fetch the flashlight. So armed, I headed up the stairs, the fraudulent hero to the rescue. I found her in the bathroom, at the side of the tub.
“I looked in my room,” she said. “Maybe it fell down the drain. Could you see if you can see it?” She had that little girl desperation in her voice. Big brother to the rescue, I thought, but if it’s in the drain, it’s gone.
“They’re my favorite, please Tony,” she said, pleading, and I dropped to my knees next to the tub. She stood to make room, still in her sweats and tee shirt. “Oh, thanks, Tony, you’re the best.” I looked sardonically over my shoulder at her. “Really, you are; please, see if you can find it?”
I bent over the tub, my body half in and half out, aware of her standing expectantly behind me. I trained the light down into the drain and peered down in to the murky blackness. I knew immediately that if it was there I wasn’t going to see anything, but I stayed with it, making a show of peering down the drain. If I quit too soon she’d just beg me to try again. I wouldn’t be able to stop until she was satisfied I had tried hard enough. So I hunched over, looking at nothing, and felt her move behind me, hanging over my shoulder. I wondered how long I would need to keep this charade up. She moved away; I heard her moving behind me, then she was back, her hands on my shoulders, her head near mine. I felt her legs on either side of me, and I had a sudden thought. I turned my head to the right to see her face next to mine.
“Why would you think your earring was in the tub drain?” I asked densely.
“I thought it might have fallen off while you undressed me.” She said quietly. Her face was right next to mine; she was still looking down into the drain, but I saw her glance my way.
“But,” I stammered, “I never told you I undressed you in the tub.”
“I know,” she said, then turned her head to look directly into my eyes. “But I wasn’t completely out.” My chest tightened as if I was being crushed. “I remember some parts.”
Well, I just about freaked in my sudden panic, and I scrambled my torso out of the tub; in my haste I lost my footing on the bath rug, and slipped as I turned, ending sitting on the floor with my back against the tub. My sudden motion pushed her back a step. I saw her sweat pants in a pool on the floor near my feet, and looked at her. She stepped forward, her legs straddling me.
“Oh, Tony,” she said, and my eyes followed her legs up to the juncture below her tee shirt, where her hand was at her pussy, her shaved pussy, the memory of it sharp and fresh, and now, here, again. I heard my breath catch, heard her inhale deeply. “Tony, please,” she whispered, and my body froze as she stepped closer to me, her legs on either side, spread wide. I looked at her face, her eyes reflecting the pleading tone of her voice. “Please,” she repeated, and I looked between her legs at her hand.
Her fingers pulled her labia wide, exposing herself to me, the inside of her pussy, pink and ripe. “Ange, what…” I mumbled, but lost the words in her beautiful pussy.
“Please, Tony,” she said again, but my eyes stayed glued between her legs, her fingers holding the smooth lips apart, now her other hand joined the first, spreading herself wider, more open, completely exposed. I saw the hood of her clit, the pink skin of her slit, and beneath, the hinted dark opening of her vagina, my little sister’s vagina.
“Please, let me,” I heard, and then my whole world focused on her pee hole, inches from my face. I saw her pussy twitch and her hips angle forward as time slowed almost to a standstill. Like those animal films on NatGeo, in super slo-mo, I saw her pee hole pulse, and dilate, and open.
I held my breath.
“Watch me, Tony,” she said softly, but her words punched my head in the silence. And then her golden stream emerged, in realistic 3D, heading straight for my face.
It hit me with a force I didn’t expect, and I flinched as she splashed her golden piss onto my nose. The flinch made my head pull back and my mouth, hanging open, filled quickly. I tasted her piss and gagged, coughed it out, and she pushed closer, the full stream in my face, up my nose, in my hair, soaking my shirt. And last night came rushing back to me, the illicit thrill, the forbidden sights and sounds and smells, and oh, heaven help me, I opened my mouth.
I felt the stream hit my tongue, full and strong and a chill ran through me. I heard the sound of her hot stream as it splashed inside my mouth, filling me, the sound changing as my mouth filled with her piss. I heard her chanting my name, loving and warm and admiring.
And I closed my mouth and swallowed. I drank my little sister’s Anadolu Yakası Escort piss. And it was wonderful. Bitter, salty and hot, but sweet because it was hers, wonderful because she wanted me to do it. Loved me doing it. And I loved her for allowing it. Uninterrupted, her stream splashed my face, getting into my eyes, my nose, running into my ears, fuck, how could someone so little have such great bladder capacity? But I reopened my mouth and drank from her fountain, her beautiful sexy piss fountain, feeling it settle warmly in my stomach, her gift to me, her pungent warm anointing fluid.
She scuttled closer as her stream dwindled, still murmuring my name, the sound of her voice a soothing song. She pushed closer as the stream lost its power, lost its arc, and became a dribble, glowing drips of liquid gold dribbling from her bounty. I angled my head to receive the last falling drops, my tongue extended, and I saw the last drop, poised but stationery, a golden yellow bulb trying to escape her urethra. I moved my head, and licked it off her, smelling her, tasting her slit.
She answered with a moan and pressed herself to my mouth while I swallowed the last of her piss, her pussy rubbing across my lips. Oh, fuck, my face is in my sister’s cunt, I thought, and almost laughed at my shock. I drank her piss! Is licking her pussy so wrong?
I grabbed her ass as she said my name, pushing her cunt into my mouth, and I tongued her slit, pushing into her pussy, pressing my piss-coated face into her, the scent of her excitement bubbling from under her urine scent. This couldn’t get any more wrong, I thought, what am I doing? But I kept doing it, feeling her hands at the back of my head, pressing herself into my face, not saying my name anymore, just grunts and sighs and moans in her young girl voice. She was delicious, all of her, so sweet, to tender, so hot, and then, suddenly, gone.
She pulled away, and before I knew it she was in the tub, on her back, her tee shirt stripped off. She hung one leg over the side, pulled the other up to her chest, hiding one of her tiny breasts, the other exposed for my clouded vision. My brain was in overdrive, confusion held at bay by overwhelming desire and the knowledge that this was so wrong.
“Piss on me, Tony,” she hissed, “piss on me. Do it. Do it like last night, please, I want you to.” She looked up at me, eyes pleading, hungry and eager and wide open. I looked between her legs, her position so like last night, only now she had her fingers buried on her cunt, fucking herself. “Please, Tony,” she begged. “Please piss on me.”
Let’s face it, there are not a lot of times in your life that you will hear the words ‘please piss on me’. Most people, I guess, might never. But I heard them. And nothing, not fire or famine, could stop me from granting her wish. My dick wasn’t hard, thank you; the shock and suddenness of the event had been too much, but I knew that if I watched her finger herself I’d get stiff pretty quick, and pissing would be impossible. In the back of my mind I imagined her sucking me, but put that thought aside, eager to relive my awful and wonderful act of the previous night, only this time, with Andrea awake, and wanting it, begging for it. I pulled my pants off, and stepped into the tub between her spread legs.
“Oh, Tony, yes,” she said, eyes hot and glazed, mirroring what I felt. I felt my bladder relax and aimed my dick at her face.
“You want this?” I asked, her words like coal in my fire. “You want my piss?”
“Oh, fuck yeah, piss on your sister, Tony. Please!” I felt the pressure ease, and move, and then plunge through my shaft. It splashed out without preamble, no working up to a full stream, and my grown man’s stream caught her full in the face. She spluttered, and her fingers dug inside her, and she opened her mouth, letting it fill as I had, I held the stream steady, seeing her open mouth fill with my piss, seeing it spill over the sides in waves of pungent gold. When she closed her mouth to swallow I covered her face. Damn if she never even closed her eyes!
I moved to her titties (I said they were kind of small) and pissed on her nipples as she swallowed her mouthful, and moved down to her stomach. She gasped as she finished her mouthful, and she lifted her hips up to me.
“My cunt!” she gasped. “Piss on my cunt, Tony!” Now I had never dreamed of hearing my little sister use the c-word, but I was in no position to argue. I aimed my stream, figuring to piss on her clit, but she shocked me when her fingers, both hands, drove inside her opening and pulled it wide open “Fill my cunt with piss, Tony!” she barked. I lowered my aim and heard the hollow sound of urine splashing into her gaping hole. For all she held it open it was tiny, and it filled quickly, the overflow running down to her elevated ass crack. My stream, exhausted, began to dwindle, and I pulsed the last few squirts out up her torso, sprinkling her piss soaked flesh.
And then she rubbed her clit furiously, and I watched as she masturbated herself to an orgasm, soaked in piss, screaming her climax in the small bathroom, naked and twitching like she was having a seizure. Her back arched and she wailed and her cunt clenched and disgorged its bounty of piss straight up into the air, spraying in every direction, coating my legs and hers.
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