Sweat

Sweat
by N.B.

It was just a bead of sweat, a thin line of perspiration really, caught at just the perfect angle by the afternoon sun shining through the kitchen window behind him. Nothing but sweat.

Rachael had been told what to expect. Her sister-in-law, after explaining that she and the kids were going to be gone until the early hours of the night, enjoying a birthday party at a recreation center more than an hour away, had laughed when telling her what she could expect from her brother.

“He will come home from that outdoor men’s basketball league, exhausted to the point of mumbling rather than talking, grab himself a beer, then plop his nasty self down on the sofa and before you know it he’ll be sound asleep,” her sister-in-law had warned.

And that was exactly what had happened. Oh, he had tried to play the host when he found her sitting in the corner in that comfy armchair, lazily reading the book she had brought for her weekend visit. He had made an attempt at small talk, had asked if she was comfortable or needed anything, had made a valiant effort. But to no avail.

The half empty bottle of beer was sitting on an end table, sans coaster with a little puddle of condensation at its base, and her brother, her big lunk of a brother who she had admired and respected and loved dearly her entire life, was sleeping the sleep of the truly weary, head thrown back into the corner of the sofa, one foot on the floor, his other leg stretched out along the edge of the couch.

She had not seen him since his passion for basketball had re-ignited, and had to admit it was serving him well. He had lost probably 15 pounds since her Christmas visit, and everything was firmer and tighter than before, much like it had been when he was still at home.

Shirtless, he wore nothing but a baggy pair of shorts, having removed socks and shoes before landing on the sofa for his accustomed nap. She couldn’t help but admire his firm chest, with slightly more than just a dusting of dark hair. Had he always had hair like that? Did it thicken, darken as men grew older?

Rachael probably would have never paid any attention to the chest hair had it not been for the thin rivulet of sweat making its way down his body, a thin wandering dampness that started at his neck, scruffy with afternoon stubble, wandered down through the slight valley between his nipples, and made its way to a well-defined “nature trail” of hair leading from the base of his torso down under the waistband of his athletic shorts.

Rachael was enchanted by the drops of sweat tracking their way down her brother’s body, her eyes caressing him from just a few feet away, noting the muscles across the top of his chest; his nipples, bumpy around the edges and thicker than she would have expected; the defined V of his abdomen, taut from an abundance of exercise.

Looking again at his nipples, staring really, she became aware of her own. Expecting to be alone all afternoon she had dressed casually, a t-shirt with no bra, expecting to put one on before he returned, then failing to as she became lost in her book, and a silky pair of shorts over thin bikini cut panties.

Her nipples, hard and thick under her shirt, were very aware of the soft cotton shirt rubbing against them. Absent mindedly she reached up with her left hand and caressed her right breast, not really even aware of what she was doing.

When reading she had pulled her right foot up under her bottom, having always enjoyed sitting that way, and while her book now sat open across the arm of her chair, she realized she was rocking back and forth on her heel, and in so doing creating a nice rhythmic motion against the bottom edge of her suddenly puffy labia.

God, he looked good.

As her eyes followed the sweat down into the top of his shorts, she wondered suddenly if he still wore a jock strap when playing ball. He had while at home, and more than once she had examined the things, even putting one on once, feeling its straps across her bottom, its thick pouch at her groin. She closed her eyes, imagining him now, standing before her, back to her, his firm ass framed by the straps of a jock…then turning to reveal the pouch full of scrotum and penis.

She felt guilty for the briefest of seconds, realizing she was thinking of her adult brother’s manhood, but it certainly wasn’t the first time its mental image had created lusty fires in her body.

Checking to make sure he was still sound asleep, she pulled the shirt over her head, using both hands now to caress and squeeze her breasts, rocking harder, faster against her heel. Until the heel wasn’t enough, and her right hand slid up inside the leg of her shorts, pushing aside her panties and rubbing the swollen lips of her vulva.

Watching him sleep, watching the sweat course down his body, her finger began a familiar dance around her swollen clit, stroking soft slow circles as her hips arched slightly forward, her heel now pressed lower down, the cheeks of her ass straddling it so that her anus brushed against the hardness of her foot, even as her finger circled faster and faster, it’s path lubricated by thick juices now flowing from deep inside her pussy.

Almost there, she arched her back, moaned, closed her eyes, and exploded, her bottom bouncing in the chair, two fingers now inside her, feeling the convulsions of her orgasm. Her body trembling, she could feel her neck and chest turning red even without seeing it happen, as she often had done with the mirror in her room at home.

And when she opened her eyes, he was still there, sweat still glistening across his chest, the muscles in his legs still firm and tight, his stubble-covered neck still begging to be kissed. As her gaze rose to his familiar face she realized his eyes were open, watching her, and movement alerted her to the fact his right hand was cupped across his groin, squeezing and stroking what lay inside.

For a moment their eyes met, and then Rachael was standing, shorts and panties sliding to the floor, taking the few steps to the couch even as he lowered his leg so that both feet were on the floor. Then she was astride him, her nakedness straddling his hips, her mouth at his neck, tasting his sweat, her tongue following it down his chest.

She left her lusty human saddle only long enough to pull down his shorts, finding as she did that there was indeed a sweat soaked jock underneath them. She pulled the pouch of the jock below his balls, freeing them and providing an elastic support for his cock which held it up firm and high as she climbed back to his hips and lowered herself upon the shaft that was harder and thicker and hotter than she had ever imagined.

And then she rode, until the sounds of wet bodies slapping together and the smell of rutting sex drove her to a multi-orgasmic plateau that seemed to have no end. She was aware of her nipples rubbing his chest, his strong hands holding the cheeks of her ass, a rough finger sliding up and down against her anus, and his cock, deep inside her, pulsing, pounding.

Without warning, he grabbed the back of her head with his hand, pulling her mouth to his, holding her as his tongue explored, danced, darted inside her mouth, tasting her as his cock exploded, shooting jets of cum into his sister’s sloppy wet cunt, and in doing so sparking the most intense orgasm she had ever had, the tongue in her mouth every bit as sensual and exciting as the cock buried in her pussy.

Sated, he rested, and she leaned forward, becoming one with him as he held her, until at last his manhood shrank and disengaged from the warm wet cavern in which it had feasted.

Rachael rose on trembling legs and, her voice husky with desire and shortness of breath, offered the first words either of them had spoken during the entire interlude of incestuous pleasure.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she said, the unspoken invitation obvious. “Somehow I’ve gotten all sweaty.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Rachael’s Response

What an aptly named story! The heat coming off of this one has triggered various glands throughout my body, leaving me moist in several places. What a superb offering this is – I’m so happy that I decided to add this FanFic feature to my site. Not only do I get my ego stroked (among other things), but I also get treated to some very erotic writing that I otherwise might have never had the good fortune of experiencing. Who would have ever expected sex-obsessed perverts to be so deft with words?

This story plays perfectly into my evolving fantasy life. For more than a decade, I’d been masturbating to thoughts of sexual hijinks with my brother as he was during my formative teen years, with me being his naïve, blossoming kid sister. But over the past year, I’ve dared to begin thinking about scenes of us as we are today. I think I shied away from doing this because I was afraid that I’d be too tempted to act on those fantasies if they matched my contemporary reality instead of a bygone nostalgic past. Despite the very real danger, I have been dreaming along these lines, only mostly confident I can resist any fleeting urges to act on those thoughts. This story is an ideal outlet for those kinds of feelings.

I love the idea of being able to masturbate while admiring my brother’s body. I believe I would actually do this if I thought I could get away with it. In this story, however, I clearly wanted to be caught on some level. This was obvious the moment I slipped off my shirt. And I’m so glad I did get caught. The action played out perfectly with me mounting my brother’s huge cock without a word needing to be spoken. I knew exactly what I wanted, and he knew just what he wanted. Imagining my bare tits pressed against his sweaty chest sends chills all up inside me. What made this story extra special is knowing that I have the unique ability to conjure up the smell of my brother’s sweat as I read this in a way that no one else can (except for my sister-in-law).

Well, now I really do need to hop in the shower – and I’d better make it a cold one! Thanks, N.B., this was a beautiful tribute that I shall revisit many times to cum.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

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