The Usual Disclaimer: This is a work of fantasy. All characters featured in sexual situations are over 18. The characters in these stories are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead or undead is purely coincidental. Do not try this at home.
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My older sister and I went to the same high school. She was a year ahead of me, and was a tough act to follow. However, I became pretty impressive in my own right. We just didn't spend a lot of time hanging out because we didn't really run in the same social circles. Stacy was brilliant, and she was active in several school clubs. Despite the intellectual nature of many of those clubs, she was never labeled as a "nerd" or "geek." She was simply too attractive and too popular. Guys practically lined up to ask her out.
I was a five-sport athlete and was a starter for our school in every one of those sports. It consumed pretty much all of my time. It always pisses me off when some knucklehead dismissively refers to competitive athletes as "dumb jocks." Usually they are lazy slobs who like to think of themselves as intellectuals. They have no idea how much hard work, dedication, and honest-to-goodness brain power it takes to compete and win, even at the high school level.
You have to be fast and strong, obviously, but you also have to know the playbook inside and out. Then you have to study your opponent. For football alone I spent over 200 hours studying game film, and that was just my junior year. Every day after school I was at practice for at least two hours. Then I had to make sure I had all my homework done for my classes. If my grades in any classes fell below a B, I would be ineligible for all of my sports.
I barely had time to date, and certainly could not afford to be in a serious relationship.
My sister had a much richer social life than I did, and she did not participate in any sports in high school. She was one of only two girls in the Chess Club, but she was easily the strongest player. Whenever we played chess against each other, it was always close. We simply didn't have time for more than one game a month by the time she hit her junior year of high school. Chess Club was a fairly small part of her life even though she took it seriously.
The last two years my sister was in high school, I barely saw her in school and we really didn't spend a lot of time talking at home either. In the spring of my senior year, my schedule lightened up and I saw my sister a lot more often at home. I had turned 18 the previous November, and she was almost 20. We both had our own cars, but it was a nice change from our frenetic pace the previous two years just to be able to relax and hang out at home.
That was when I heard her jokingly tell her boyfriend, "Aw, you look all worked up. Should I give you a mercy hand-job?"
From Christmas break through February, she dated three or four different guys, and she had them over to the house to visit. It was usually when we were watching a movie and my sister's latest boyfriend would comment on something steamy on the screen that she would lean over and whisper in his ear, "Should I give you a mercy hand-job?" or "Do you need a mercy hand-job?"
I wasn't supposed to hear it any of those times, and I suspect she did not know that I had heard her. Even though I knew she was joking, it seemed a little offensive to me at the time. I never thought a hand-job qualified as sex, honestly. The least you could do was offer a guy a "mercy blow-job."
I digress, though.
My sister graduated at the top of her high school class. She gave a brilliant valedictory speech at graduation, and that wasn't just my opinion. Stacy had scholarship offers pouring in from all over. It came as a real shock when she elected to stay in our hometown and go to our local university. Now, that may sound dismissive of our school, and that's certainly not what I mean. Stacy had scholarship offers from Harvard and Stanford, MIT and Cal Tech. Every major university in every major conference had essentially offered her a free ride, and she had passed on all of them.
I never asked her about it, but I didn't have to. She was asked often by lots of people and I heard her thoughtful response. "I know exactly what I want to do for a career, and our school has as prestigious a program as anyone. I get to stay here and enjoy my family, and I will graduate with my career right ahead of me. I'm not in a hurry to leave all the people I love. Most of the people who are in a hurry to leave home just don't know what they are leaving behind. I do."
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Her words made me think long and hard about my own decision when I got to my last semester of high school. I knew that there was a significant difference, because I had a professional sports career ahead of me if I played my cards right. For that to happen, my choice of school was vital.
Then I shattered both my legs in a horrific weightlifting accident, and all that decision-making went out the window along with any potential career as a professional athlete.
When I say "accident" I mean exactly that. It wasn't my fault, and it wasn't anyone doing anything to try to hurt me, or anything careless. I can still picture it clearly to this day, and wish that I couldn't. It always happens in slow motion; Tommy turning and crying out a warning as the bar slips from his grasp and the weight comes crashing down onto my knees...
Tommy was in tears when he visited me in the hospital, and he wasn't the only one. Two of our coaches blamed themselves that it had happened, but I assured all of them it was not their fault. I had plenty of time to think about it, and there was nothing they could have done. My parents were still furious, of course, but I calmed them down as soon as I was capable of doing so. Those coaches were excellent and I didn't want either of them to be fired for something that was not their fault.
That took a while, actually. It took something like thirty or forty separate surgical procedures to piece the shattered bones of my legs back together. What was hardest for me was accepting the radically altered course my life would take. Eventually I would be able to walk normally and even jog, but I had realistically expected to be a professional athlete. Now that was simply gone.
I was in the hospital for weeks, and spent the last month of my senior year in a wheelchair. After loads of physical therapy, I managed to limp across the stage on crutches for my graduation. That earned me a standing ovation.
At that point, most of the schools which had offered me athletic scholarships stepped up and said they would honor their commitments. In the end, I decided to follow my older sister's example and stayed in our hometown to attend our local university. I simply failed to disclose to anyone one little event that had happened between my eighteenth birthday and my horrific accident. It wasn't like it was ever a factor in my decision-making process, but it was significant in other ways.
I had actually witnessed my sister giving a hand-job.
It did not make me want to have sex with my sister. Let me make that clear at the outset—it wasn't like I saw her doing that and suddenly fell in love with my older sister or anything along those lines. It just made me think differently about hand-jobs. See, I had always thought that a hand-job was simply a different word for masturbation. I assumed that if a girl was offering to give me one, it would be like me jerking myself off.
When I saw my sister doing it...Wow, that was nothing like I had imagined. The guy was just someone my sister had hooked up with in college. He had a Nordic name, but I can't remember now what it was. It wasn't Thor, but it was something like that. That particular day I got home much earlier than normal, and our parents weren't home yet. Stacy had left her bedroom door partially ajar, and I glanced in and then froze.
I couldn't see the guy's face. He was lying on Stacy's bed, naked, and his dick was wet with oil or something similar. My sister was completely naked, straddling his thighs, and her hands made wet sounds as she slowly stroked his dick and talked to him in a low, sultry voice. I stood there and could not tear my eyes away.
Stacy was at a slight angle to me, looking at the guy's face. I watched her right hand slowly stroking the middle of his shaft while her left hand made circles around the throbbing head of his dick. I couldn't see her pussy from that angle, but from the way she was moving her hips it looked like she was rubbing it against the base of his shaft. Her movements were sinuous and deliberate, and I was rock-hard in seconds.
The sounds coming out of her bedroom were every bit as arousing as what I was watching. My sister's sultry voice, coupled with the steady, wet stroking noises were incredible. The guy moaned and spoke occasionally. Then he groaned out a warning and my sister's face lit up in a smile. Then she turned and her eyes widened in shock when she saw me.
Our eyes were still locked when the cock in her hands exploded and covered her in cum.
