Sally Surprise

As a teenager growing up with two younger brothers I sometimes had to suffer the brats trying to catch a look at me in the buff. They did this on various occasions while my body was going through the inevitable changes that puberty brings. One of their favourite dodges was to barge into my room on some ridiculous pretence when they knew I would be dressing and sneak a look at me. It was irritating and in the end just became predictable and tiresome, but nevertheless continued into my later teens.

One day my younger brother James had hid under my bed waiting for me to undress. I guess he knew that being Friday evening I would be going out with friends. He also knew my routine meant taking a shower beforehand. I somehow sensed he was in the room and the most likely place being under the bed. But instead of giving him a thick ear and kicking him out like I should have done, I decided it might be a good idea to teach him a long overdue lesson.

I was by then 19 my bother was 18 and aware I had a pretty good figure and felt confident because of it. I stood in front of the full-length mirror, knowing this would give him a better look at my credentials. I slowly unbuttoned my blouse letting it drop to the floor and my bra followed shortly after.

I tried to imagine what he must be thinking and wondered if he would find me sexually attractive. In a strange way I found it exciting, which surprised me. It was like doing a striptease and not having to feel guilty about it because my brother shouldn't have been in my bedroom in the first place, and I wasn't supposed to know he was there anyway.

It's funny, the thrill one can get from exhibiting oneself when freed of the associated guilt. It made me feel deliciously wicked and, best of all, gave me a distinct feeling of 'power'.

I still had on a short black skirt with bikini style white panties. The more I thought about my brother watching me, the more I was getting turned on. I undid my skirt and let it slip to the floor before bending over to pick it up and tossing it into the linen basket. This was just a ruse for me to give him a flash of my scantily clad bottom.

I paused at this point, wondering if it was a bit soon to take off my panties and let him get a peek at my pussy. The hesitation was short lived. I shimmied them down over my knees and let them fall to the floor as sexily as I could, before hooking my foot into them and nonchalantly flicking them towards the underside of the bed in an attempt to 'up-the-ante'. Quite artistic, too, I thought. But they went a little further than expected, landing almost underneath.

Now, should I walk over to pick them up, hence 'accidentally' discovering my brother - or should I leave them and let him believe he'd got away with spying on me? And what would I say if I 'discovered' him anyway? The best option was just walk out and take my shower as normal. After all, I'd already had the pleasure of teasing him, and rather enjoying it in the process. So, off to the bathroom I jolly well trotted.

Whilst in the shower I couldn't stop thinking about my naughty brother and imagining what it would be like to have him feel me up. He was certainly a maturing lad, despite the childish pranks. And, I had to admit, he wasn't bad looking either.

The dark side of my thoughts got the better of me and charged my body with sexual tension. I needed some relief.

I removed the shower head from its bracket and directed the jets of water at my pussy. I adjusted myself and then concentrated on my clitoris. The sensation was amazing and I came in no time at all. This was okay as an aperitif, but I was thinking there were better things to come.

My shower that evening must have taken a good ten minutes longer than usual. My thoughts were intoxicating and I once again felt the lust in my body surface. This time I was careful not to let it overflow. I wanted to be primed with just the right level of excitement when I returned to my room.

My dastardly plan was blown right out of the water when I went back to my bedroom with a towel wrapped around me. I had hoped my brother would still be under the bed, but when his sheepish face passed me by on the landing I was forced to think again. Oh bum! The strange thing was, when I got back to my room my discarded panties were nowhere to be found. I could only assume my brother had taken them as some kind of 'trophy', or perhaps an opportunity to savour a young lady's natural 'allure' in private.

Never did I imagine I'd have to wait a whole decade to find out the answer to that one.

My brother James married at the tender age of 19. We all said it wouldn't last, especially as there were doubts about his wife who was well-known as a 'gadabout'. I guess she saw my brother as a good 'catch', being well educated and in a pretty good job. Well, he was now 26 and they were still together -- just. But now the seven-year-itch was really beginning to irritate.

My brother, his wife (my sister-in-law), my boyfriend and I had been out together on more than a few occasions, the local cinema, for a drink and the odd meal. But I always felt a little uncomfortable in her company. Her playful, suggestive comments to my partner were irritating at best, and bordering on the damned outright flirtatious at worst. And it annoyed me like mad when, rather than ignoring it, he played up to it. She didn't need any encouragement.

When it was suggested one day that we all went on a week's holiday together to celebrate my 28th birthday I was not keen to say the least. In fact, I reckoned it might well turn out to be a total disaster. But then I thought, 'oh what the hell, I could do with a break' and allowed myself to be talked into it.

The holiday was booked several months in advance, as the weeks passed leading up to it my relationship with my boyfriend deteriorated rapidly. I suppose we were just getting on each other's nerves. In fact, we were probably bored to tears with each other. It happens.

I had been with him two years, the longest I'd ever been committed to anyone. By the time the holiday arrived we were on the verge of splitting up, but for the sake of appearances we decided to go ahead with it. The holiday would 'make-or-break' us for sure. The apartments we were staying in had enough bedrooms for us all to sleep separately should things become intolerable - heaven forbid. The problem was me, if I was honest. I just didn't love George anymore. Plain and simple.

Things deteriorated quite rapidly between us and we in fact did end up in separate rooms. But with just two days of the holiday left, and being the exact day of my birthday, I decided to bury the hatchet (temporarily at least) and make the most of our remaining time. If I could be seen to be enjoying myself at least I might save the holiday from being the disaster I had feared in the first place.

We had all arranged to go out to a restaurant for the evening, with George and myself agreeing to put a brave face on it. However I had noticed that over the past few days he and my sister-in-law had been constantly whispering to each other, in a sneaky kind of way. They swam together and sun-bathed by the pool together. An outsider would have assumed it was they who were a couple, not us, all gooey with love for one another.

That evening James's wife complained of not feeling well and wanted to go back to the apartment early. George made some excuse too about having had an awfully 'tiring' day and decided to wimp off with her. So there we were, my brother and I, left alone together at the table like a couple of spare parts at a wedding. When I was sure they were out of earshot I asked James straight out why he put up with his wife's behaviour? I was past caring if this offended him. I know it wasn't his fault but she had offended me often enough in the past. He'd had quite a bit to drink and just shrugged his shoulders, saying:

"I don't know. Daft, I suppose. I love her. I try my best to please her, but it never seems to be enough."

I could see he was hurt. At least I knew him. I knew him better than that insensitive bitch of a wife of his could ever know him. I could see the deep sadness and regret in his eyes. I reached across the table and put my hand on his to comfort him. He took another swig of the table wine, but I guess by this time it was doing more harm than good. When I asked him if he wanted to talk about it, I was completely taken by surprise by his outpouring. I'd expected him to tell me about his relationship with her. Instead, he had a different story to tell...

He began to recall the event that had happened ten years earlier. How he remembered hiding under my bed, watching me while I undressed and becoming sexually aroused, and the way the pair of panties had landed inches from his face. He admitted that the image he had of me that day had never left him and that he recalled it constantly. He'd even fantasized about us, creating scenarios in his mind that provided the missing pieces to an unfinished story.

Yes, he said, he had been guilty of panty theft. He had taken them back to his bedroom and had used them in the way I'd suspected, intoxicating himself with feminine aroma and allowing himself to become aroused.

Rather than feeling shocked and disgusted at his revelation, I felt a profound tenderness towards him. I respected his candidness, even after all these years of not owning up to it. I wanted him to feel it was okay for what he'd done. It was only a silly schoolboy prank anyhow. How could I hold that against him?

I took his hand, lifted it to my mouth and kissed it. A teardrop glittered down his cheek and I felt a lump come to my throat. I knew then, that what he was talking about was an unrequited love.

"Come on, drink up, bruv!" I said. "Let's go back to the apartments. We'll give them two something to really think about. This time you're going to do a whole lot more than sniff my knickers, you lovely naughty boy!"