He couldn't believe his luck. Standing in the doorway, her body framed by the hallway light, was his sister. Standing at 5'6", with shoulder length raven black hair, wearing absolutely nothing, his sister wasn't exactly a bombshell, but she was absolutely more than conventionally attractive. Her thin lips were tugged up into a seductive smile, hands resting on the doorframe, leaning over ever so slightly. Just enough that he could see that her smaller breasts were still perky with youth. She was the sort that didn't wear bras unless absolutely necessary, much to the chagrin of their parents, and the benefit of those that saw her. And him, of course.
And of course, her hips and legs were just about perfect for him. He was always more of a legs and ass sort of guy, and he figured if she ever wore heels, she would be practically irresistible to him. Not that he was a foot guy, but more appreciative of the way heels just accentuated everything else on a woman. He gained his appreciation of thighs with the way his sister always used to wear the shortest of shorts around the house as he was growing up.
She didn't wait for him to say anything. She quietly stepped across the carpet toward his queen-sized bed, threw the covers off of her brother, and revealed his arousal to the cool night air. He slept stark naked, since most blankets and sheets were far too warm otherwise. Though perhaps some part of him had hoped deep down that it would work to his advantage in other ways, like in this moment, when she had one less obstacle to get through to get to what she wanted. Fingertips grazed the bulbous head of his cock, and then her hand slipped forward to take hold of it firmly, fingers wrapped around it.
His mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out. She clearly ignored that, her eyes turning toward his cock, slipping into bed now to join him more properly. A few slow, expert jerking motions, focused from base to tip, and his dick was soon crowned with pre, glistening in what little light was managing to slip around her from the hallway. He could see her gaze lock onto the crystalline treat, and before he could so much as moan, her lips had parted to take him into her mouth. For the first few seconds, as her head descended, no part of his cock touched her lips, resting only on her tongue. Then, she lightly clamped onto him, and he could feel her tongue drag up along the underside to his sensitive tip to lick the pre right off of him.
It made him shudder and his toes curled a little. His hands felt like they needed to grab onto her head, but he didn't want to take the risk of discouraging her, so he firmly gripped the sheets next to him instead. Most of the girls he'd slept with in the past had always gone at sucking his cock with gusto, an enthusiasm that was admirable, but not quite the pace he liked. His sister, however, seemed to be able to read his mind. She started out nice and slow, deliberate, loving, her tongue swirling around the head of his cock nice and slow before flicking the tip, and repeating. She did this, with varying degrees of success, all while bobbing her head slowly up and down. Her hand had long since slipped down to the base to grip him and keep him held steady.
He could feel a climax building rapidly, and try as he might, he just didn't have the ability to hold back long. This was too hot of a situation, and worse still, something he'd dreamed of almost constantly in the last few years. Still, this was a selfless act, and the least he could do was warn her about the impending climax. It would've been rude to just simply cum and see how she reacted to it, he reasoned.
"Em, I'm gonna cum.." He warned her, back arching lightly, cock twitching and throbbing in her mouth. She bobbed her head slowly up and down once, twice, three more times, almost as if she was trying to get him to absolutely lose his mind, and with a pop, she slipped her lips off of his cock, inch by agonizing (and pleasurable) inch. She looked slowly up to him with those beautiful green eyes, met his own blues, and opened her mouth to speak. Nothing came out except for circus music. There was a moment of confusion on his part, but then, he was jolted conscious, with only the silly cacophony of his morning phone alarm greeting him.
There he was, in bed, with the blanket over him, covered in sweat. He was practically panting, rock hard, and he worried that just brushing his cock any more against the soft fabric of his blanket would make him bust. There was a grumble of annoyance as he flung the blanket off of himself and just got to masturbating. It didn't take him long, as he just tried his damndest to continue in his mind's eye a dream that was rapidly deteriorating from his memory. Hot as it may have been, his brain chose to override his own desires and by the time he was finished, cleaned up, and clambered into the shower, he'd pretty much had forgotten most of the smaller details of it.
Emma had always been the girl of Michael's dreams, pretty much from the moment he'd hit puberty and realized that women were undoubtedly his thing. He'd had his fair share of women, especially as he came into his own during the later years of school, but none of them really stacked up when measured against his sister. She was the total package in high school, and remained so today: athletically gifted, socially embraced, and charismatic to boot. She was that girl who also seemed to know someone for just about every job. Car broke down? She knew a guy. Lightning fried your circuit breakers? Oh, she knew someone who owned an electrician company and could get them a discount.
Just about the only thing she couldn't seem to find success with was a man. Growing up, she had her pick of the litter, so to speak, and for anyone she dated, she was the perfect woman. She flowed easily into any role she needed to fill at any one time. She could be a girl boss, in full control of her destiny; one of the guys, able to watch the football game and chat with his friends; practically a wife, submissive and content to clean and cook. This was probably easier for her because their parents were much the same. Their mother was the co-founder of a tech startup that dealt with proprietary software, customized to fit the needs of the shippers of farm products and general agriculture. Their father was a chef for a rising celebrity, one that would often fly around the world at a moment's notice.
To say the least, while she was a daddy's girl growing up, a lot of their mother rubbed off on her as well, probably because their father was often absent. Still, their father taught her to cook, and their mother taught her to be independent. Her rebellious years made her become more of a tomboy, and it showed in her athleticism. Because she borrowed so heavily from both sides of their family, one would have expected her to not be particularly good at everything. After all, as the saying goes, 'Jack of all trades, master of none.' Emma, however, personified the rest of the quote that people tended to miss, or forget: 'but oftentimes better than a master of one.'
In comparison, Mike was considerably different. While he wasn't agile or athletic, he was strong, preferring to lift weights at the gym while staring at the cardio bunnies there. A bull to his sister's cheetah. He was also smart, more book smart than the street smart that his sister tended to be. Not that he lacked common sense or anything. His sister was an amazing multitasker, able to do multiple things at once without breaking a sweat, but she was sometimes slow at it. He was far more comfortable focusing completely on one task at a time and getting it done quickly with laser precision. She was oftentimes aloof and late, while he was considerate and punctual. So on and so forth, you get the idea.
Here now, at the age of 23, in his own empty apartment, Mike stared at the ceiling before he willed himself to get up. The five minutes he'd masturbated almost immediately upon waking up cut into his usually tight morning schedule. He slipped out of bed, hopped into the shower, got dressed and turned on the TV so it could drone in the background while he poured a breakfast of cold cereal. Bran flakes with fruit. Once he pulled his lunch from the fridge, already prepared a day prior, he grabbed his briefcase and left.
Mike was a structural engineer. Specifically, one that focused on the integrity of buildings, mostly dealing with final inspections of ones that had already been built. It wasn't the most luxurious job, but it paid well enough and was a consistent and secure way for him to make money. Today was an office day, much to his disappointment. He preferred to be out in the field, but there were still days when paperwork stacked up and he had to do something about it. Things wouldn't be read and signed all by their lonesome, after all.
"Good morning, Mr. Hall!" came the usual chipper voice of his secretary, Rachel. She was a woman who cared greatly for her comforts, to say the least, and so she was a bit larger than usual. It also didn't help that she was short, just barely scraping five feet with shoes on, so the weight stacked onto her in a somewhat less than flattering way. Even so, she made up for it with her charisma, and her cute face, framed by her back length brown hair, at least made her easy on the eyes.
Mike nodded to her. No doubt by this point, you've realized that Mike Hall was similar to Michael. To say the least, his parents had an interesting sense of humor.
