I am going to fuck him,
I thought, standing in the doorway of my big brother's dark bedroom. I watched him lie there, sleeping, basking in the cool, pale moonlight that spilled through the large square window above his queen-sized bed. I bit into my bottom lip. My tongue ached to explore every inch of his chocolate skin, taut over chiseled muscle. His years of football playing had blessed him with a magnificent body.
I watched his bare sculpted chest steadily rise and fall. His comforter only blanketed half of him, barely covering his naked midriff. He was in the buff, I realized. But that was the way he'd always slept at night, even when we were children. Still, it made me feel better knowing that he was already stripped. It would make "molesting" him much easier. I was nude myself, except for the dark cotton bathrobe that hung open over my slender, mahogany shoulders. Warm air pooled out of the vent above me, splashing softly against my skin, gently flapping my robe about me.
Thankfully Mom and Dad were all the way upstairs, fast asleep in their bed. And it had appeared that Dad had left the television on again, blaring, muting the sounds of me and Davon's future lovemaking. Hee, hee.
Without stalling any further, I strutted into Davon's bedroom like a supermodel, shrugging off my robe, although his slumbering eyes couldn't see me. His best friend, Zander, had told me once that I had a dangerous switch in my walk, and I had rewarded his compliment by letting him bury his face into my pussy. If Zander thought I was sexy, surely his best friend, my hot older brother, would think the same. Right?
I paused at the foot of his bed, and felt my mouth curve downward.
What if he doesn't?
I thought.
What if He refuses me?
The reality of the situation crashed heavily on my shoulders, and anxiety festered like a virus in the pit of my stomach. My brother was college bound, into his Junior year. He would want a mature college woman, not some little High School senior who was barely eighteen years old. Let alone his little sister.
No, I told myself. I see the way he looks at me sometimes.
The way he steals glimpses at my ass when I wear certain jeans, the way he licks his lips when he thinks I'm not paying attention. He wants me. I know it.
Confidence regained, I stepped closer, carefully climbing into the left side of his bed. I paused, seeing him stir in his sleep, moving again once he settled again. My manicured fingers peeled away his comforter, revealing his lengthsome cock sprawled limply over his right thigh. It lay dark against his skin, almost black, like a bar of dark chocolate.
I looked up at his gorgeous face—squared jaw, full, kissable lips, slightly angled eyes—and finally leaned into his middle, carefully taking his mushroom head into my hot, moist mouth. He stirred again, but I didn't bother stopping this time. There was no use in being cautious anymore. I took him deeper into my mouth, felt him harden, heard him moan, his engorged member throb against my tongue. Something shot through me. Pleasure . . . and a beautiful sense of nastiness. Davon's cock had been in my mouth. My brother's cock.
I moaned, head bobbing, my brother's fat black cock slipping back and forth past my glossed lips. I had read sex stories about women doing this to their lovers, the men not stirring out of their sleep until they climaxed. But this has been the total opposite. His eyes flickered open after just a few moments of my mouth slurping his big beautiful dick.
"What the . . . hell?" Davon said confusedly inbetween gasps. "Fuck . . ."
