-- Ray
I loosened my tie as I walked in through my front door, feeling momentarily like a cliche from a 1950's TV show. But being single, and with my parents spending the month in Bermuda, I had no family to hear me shout "Honey, I'm home!" if I was to complete the moment. Well, there was *one* family member: my step-sister Veronica was still staying with me in the house, after her neighbor had started a fire in his apartment and made the whole floor of her building uninhabitable for the last few days.
"Veronica?" I yelled.
"In the kitchen," she yelled back. I smelled frying food and heard a faint spattering of grease that I hoped wouldn't resolve into the braying of the smoke alarm. Veronica was a lot of things, but she was no cook.
I was 20, home from college for the summer and interning at a local law firm... a rather thankless position that demanded long hours in business-formal attire in exchange for zero pay and a fair amount of verbal abuse. Veronica was 22, but still referred to herself as my little sister, due to her bubbly personality that was interpreted by some as immaturity. She poked her head around the corner from the kitchen, grinned and wagged her dark eyebrows at me before quickly returning to the stove. She had long, wavy brown hair that was (as usual) pulled back into a ponytail. That's even how she wore her hair on the day we met.
Years after my mom left us, my dad had become involved with Carla, a woman at his office... his boss, as it turned out. When it came to the warning of "don't dip your pen in the company ink," I guess there was an exception when it came to the ink in the executive suite. I was nine years old when they married, bringing Carla into my family along with her daughter Veronica.
By her senior year, Veronica was a statuesque 5'11" at 18 and turning heads up and down our high school hallways. I only shared one class with her in high school, and in it she sat next to Tim, a boy that she knew liked her feet. Veronica's legs were crossed and she was dangling a sandal lazily from one toe as she slowly rotated her bare foot back and forth. I was a couple rows back, and watched the back of Tim's head as it moved, ever so slightly, twitching back and forth as he took quick glances at the show she was putting on. After a few minutes I guess she decided to intensify the effect, dropping the sandal and beginning to lightly graze her toes up and down the metal leg of the desk. I observed all this with amusement.
My own foot fetish didn't really develop for a few more years, but I at the time I could still easily imagine the torment her hapless neighbor was feeling, especially as I watched the back of Tim's neck turn pinker. Were those goosebumps? Poor guy. Then Veronica grasped the leg of the desk between her big toe and index toe and slowly slid them a few inches up and down the leg. I chuckled to myself and felt another pang of sympathy for the tortured boy beside her, when I suddenly wondered something.
I had always read a ton of sci-fi stories, full of starships and time travel and lots of robots. I imagined for a minute that metal leg of the desk was actually a robot's penis. What would that feel like to a robot, being stroked by Veronica's toes? I was instantly hard. At that age, this was a pretty common occurrence, and often happened absolutely randomly, but I became a little alarmed that this erection seemed to be of Veronica's doing.
My alarm quickly intensified as the teacher called my name, to get up and collect some test sheets to pass out to the rest of the class. Panicking, I stood up before I had a chance to adjust my crotch, and I approached the teacher's desk sporting quite a tent in my pants. Another girl in the glasses giggled and pointed, and most of the class turned to see. Everyone laughed, the teacher rolled her eyes at me, and I felt my face turn bright red.
Veronica was laughing as well, but I glared at her from the front of the class and I think she realized I blamed her for my predicament, and she quickly stopped laughing, her face changing to shock and then guilt. Due to full schedules of sports and other after-school activities, we didn't really have a chance to talk about the event for a couple days. By then it seemed a little pointless to bring it up, so we never mentioned it to each other.
I wondered if her antics might have even caused her current homelessness... maybe she had been seminude and frolicking in the hall as her neighbor watched her through a crack in his door, masturbating so furiously that he knocked over a candle or something and started the fire that forced her to have to live in the house with me this week.
I shook my head and grinned as I headed upstairs to get out of my work clothes and into something more casual -- and something that I wouldn't mind absorbing the smell of the fried whatever that Veronica was burning downstairs. As I changed into a t-shirt and shorts, I noticed my laptop askew from where it usually sat on my nightstand. My eyes narrowed suspiciously. I had not expressly forbid Veronica fromusing it, but since she had her own, I hadn't anticipated needing to. I sat down on the bed an opened it.
A web browser was open, but open to an empty page, with no recent history. Now, in my first week of my internship at the law firm, I helped research for a divorce case where the wife had caught the husband cheating. The husband had tried to be careful in deleting his incriminating online activity, but had failed to take into account his wife's computer science background. It turns out that she had installed a small piece of software that made the web browsers on their family computers only *pretend* to clear their histories. All online activity was meticulously tracked and simply saved in a different area under the browser's options menu.
The wife in the case was proud of the software she had written and installed, and offered it to anyone in the law firm who wanted to download it. Many of us took her up on her offer... just in case. I didn't even have a girlfriend at the time, so I had no reason to install it, but was suddenly glad I did. I clicked over to the options menu, poked around until I found the hidden history, and opened it.
At first I thought I was looking at some of my own porn browsing history that I had forgotten to fully delete... until I read more closely. There were a variety of links to pornographic stories and videos, with titles that shocked me. "BDSM bitches", "Tied up subs", "Orgasm denial", "Slave gags on cock", "Tickling torture"... all kinks and activities I'd certainly stumbled across before, but had never found particularly arousing myself. More importantly, nothing I had ever imagined my sister viewing, and certainly no masturbating to.
At that thought, I felt a twitch in my crotch. I'd never imagined my sister masturbating at all, but this discovery... and realizing that she'd likely touched herself while holding this very laptop... I twitched again. I closed the laptop and tried to collect my thoughts. Just then Veronica yelled for me to come down to dinner.
I entered the kitchen through a cloud of smoke, slowly dissipating as the stovetop fans pulled it away. Veronica exclaimed "Ta-daaaa!" and gestured dramatically at two plates piled with lumps of an unseen substance, covered in brown gravy. Pots and pans littered the stovetop, but the decreasingly smoky kitchen was otherwise relatively clean.
