4 comments/ 36166 views/ 13 favorites First Beer Rescue Ch. 01 By: Darkinside The sound of my cellphone woke me suddenly; disoriented I looked around the dark den, settling my surrounding and situation. The television flickered on mute, dancing irregular shadows around me in the changing lights. The phone called out again and I grabbed for it, looked at the face; no name, a number I didn't know, and 11:47. I thought of Andrea, felt a spur of panic, and answered. "Tony, it's Britt," came the voice, and my heart clenched in my throat. Adrenaline rushed through me and I stood, ready to run. "You better come and get her." There was noise in the background, and she was shouting as though I couldn't hear her. My brain roiled with all the bad things that could happen, and I reached for reassurance. "Is she okay?" I blurted. "Is she hurt? Did anyone..." I couldn't finish. "She's really drunk, Tony," came the too-loud nervous words. "Too drunk, I'm worried." "I'm on my way," I said, my jaw set in anger. "Ten minutes. Thanks, Britt," "Okay. Hurry, all right?" I made it there in seven, clutching the steering wheel, my heart hammering in my chest and cursing myself for allowing it, cursing her friends for putting her in danger. Our parents had allowed Andrea to stay home with me as her eighteenth birthday present, instead of forcing her to go upstate to see her cousins. They only allowed it since I would be home to watch out for her. I knew her friends would have a party for her, and I knew I couldn't stop her from going, so I gave her all the best drinking and party advice I could, to keep herself safe; no opened drinks, nothing that wasn't closed when she got it, alternate with water. She had turned eighteen, and she was going to drink, even though the age was twenty-one. But I knew that first time drinkers could make mistakes, and I was supposed to take care of her, she was my little sister, for chrissake. I pulled up to the house and stormed inside. Brittany was waiting for me at the door, a panicked expression of concern. They were close, those two; always had been, and I knew she looked out for Ange. She waved me inside. "This way," she urged, "I tried to stop her, to slow her down, I swear, Tony, I tried, but the girls..." she trailed off as she led me through the party, still in full swing, oblivious to my sister's plight, or not caring. I followed down the hall. The other girls. Her friends. That trash Alice was the ringleader; she was older, having been left back in sixth grade. She was trouble, and now Ange was suffering for it. Brittany led me into a bedroom in the back of the house where several laughing drunk girls were gathered around the bed. I pushed my way in, ignoring their drunken slurred objections, but they fell silent as the whispers spread of who I was. At twenty-five I was seven years her senior, and various construction jobs had helped me fill out my once-lanky frame. My six-three height towered over them as they fell silent and I came to the bed, and saw my sister. My head swam. She was almost completely out of it, and I felt rage and fear take hold of me. I turned to Brittany, who I knew I could trust. "Did anyone hurt her? Touch her?" "No, Tony, I don't think so. I think she had too much," she said worriedly. "Oh, stop, no one touched the little thing," I heard from the other side of the bed, and turned to face Alice, that skank ringleader. She smirked over her drink. "We just wanted her to have fun, is all, she slurred, looking to he cronies for support, "can't help it if she's a lightweight." Her followers giggled. "You stupid fat cow, Alice!" I barked, and the room fell silent. "She's not as old as you, and she weighs, what? A hundred pounds? If that!" I waved my hand dismissively in her direction. "She doesn't have your bulk. She can't handle what your fat ass can handle." Alice's eyes and mouth opened wide. "She could have alcohol poisoning, she could end up in the hospital!" I yelled, "they would call the police. And YOU gave her the drinks!" Alice blanched then, but she made her exit with a tooth suck and a sneer in my direction, and her little group went with her, leaving me alone with Britt and my passed out little sister. She was lying on her stomach, face down, and I rolled her over to check her breathing and she moaned. A wave of relief swept through me; she wasn't passed out, just really drunk. "Did she throw up?" I asked Britt. "No, not that I saw," she replied meekly. I think she was as scared as I was angry. "I'm gonna take her home. Do you need a ride?" "Huh? No, I drove, I wasn't drinking. I have my car here. Tony, I'm really sorry." "It's okay; you did the right thing, thank you. Is this her purse?" Britt nodded. "She have anything else here, a jacket?" She shook her head while Andrea moaned her delirium. "Listen, can you find me a plastic trash bag or something in case she gets sick on the way home?" She nodded and I added, "And see if you can find a couple of bottles of water, too. Bring them outside, out front." She nodded again, and scurried out of the room. Alone now, I scooped up the purse and laid it on Andrea's belly, and pulled her to the edge of the bed so I could get my arms under her. I squatted next to the bed and lifted her to my chest and stood. She was light, but dead weight. She told people she was five foot, but she was really only four-ten, and if she was a hundred pounds it would be soaking wet, so I lifted her easily. Her eyes opened as I held her up and adjusted her in my arms; they were glassy and unfocused, and her mouth hung open. Then her head dropped to my shoulder. "Oh, Tony, I'm sorry," she slurred softly. "It's okay, Ange," I lied, thinking of how bad it could have been, what our parents would say if they found out. "I'm taking you home." I started for the open door, and she started crying. I carried her down the hallway, the music suddenly too loud, the people, the kids, having too much fun. I scowled at anyone who dared look my way and they turned their heads. Most of them were probably under age for drinking, but it wasn't my business. Andrea was my business, and I made for the door. Someone was decent enough to open it, and then we were outside. Britt was there, with a plastic trash bag and two bottles of water, and she put them in Andrea's lap. I thanked her again, told her to get home safe, and started down the driveway to the car. I had to put her down to open the car, and she groaned loudly as I sat her on the ground, he back against the car. After opening the door I crouched down next to her, calling her name to get her attention. "Ange. Andrea. Andrea." She just moaned and cried in response. I held her face in my hands, and pointed it at my own. "Andrea, are you gonna be sick? I need to know before I put you in the car." "I don't know," she managed. "Yes. No. Oh, Tony, I'm sorry," she cried. "Oh, my god, I'll never drink again, I swear it, I'm sorry." "You should throw up," I told her. I know, I've been there. "I don't want to be sick," she wailed, "I'm sorry." Tears streaked her cheeks. "Listen, andrea, I want you to make yourself throw up, so no more alcohol gets into your system, okay?" I searched her eyes for recognition, got none, and repeated myself. "You're going to feel like shit no matter what, but this might help you from feeling worse, trust me." I took her hand and held it to her face. "Just put your fingers down your throat, make yourself gag, and you'll puke." I bent her to the side, held her hair back. I manipulated her to her knees, and she groaned and cried. "Come on, do it," I urged, and at last she did, tentatively. She coughed once. Then tried again. "I can't, I can't do it, Tony, oh, shit, I'm so fucked up," she bawled. I got her to try again, only this time I grabbed her hand and held it, pushed it a little deeper than she was. She gagged and coughed, and I felt her drool running down her fingers onto my hand. Fuck, the things you do for family. She tried to pull her hand out, but I pushed them back into her mouth, and she began to vomit. And vomit she did. We were probably out there for ten more minutes while she heaved up her recent beers and everything she ate, and then bile, and spit and drool, while I held her hair and rubbed her back and tried to say soothing big-brother stuff and fighting my urge to join her. Seeing someone puke does that. Finally she stopped, and fell into my arms, exhausted. I struggled her back to sitting with her back against the car, and opened a water bottle. I rinsed my hand, then wiped her mouth, and I got her to wash her mouth out a little. She was thanking me and apologizing and crying the whole time. I let her sit a few moments, then piled her in the car, and gave her the plastic bag. "If you feel like you're gonna puke again, use the bag, okay?" She nodded. "Try not to close your eyes, it'll help. A little." And so we drove home. It took me a little longer because I wasn't trying to break the land speed record now, and I knew jostling her in the car would make it worse. So I took it slow, and by the time we pulled up on our block she was out. Sleeping, I guess. It's a tight neighrobhood and we don't have a driveway, and the parking spot I'd vacated was filled, so I cruised a little further until I found a parking space about a block away and parked, and checked her breathing before getting out. She seemed okay after her puke, but she'd be terrible in the morning. But she wasn't in any danger, I didn't think, so I got her out, and to her unsteady feet, and locked up the car. "Can you walk?" I asked. She was leaning against the car, and started to slide down, he legs buckling under her. "I guess not," I said as I caught her, and scooped her up into my arms again, one under her knees, the other under her back, and she draped her arms around my neck. I left the purse, shoving it under the seat, and locked the car up. "Thank you, Tony." Her voice was soft and slurred, she was half asleep already. "I'm your big brother." "Thanks for being my big brother," she mumbled, and went still. Despite my anger her words touched me, and I smiled to myself as I adjusted her weight and headed to our house. Like I said, she's tiny and weighs almost nothing, so the one block walk would be no problem. I held her closely and headed home. But halfway to my door I felt something change. Warmth, then coolness. Then wet. I stumbled a step, and looked down at her. A dark stain was spreading in her jeans, emanated from her crotch. Oh, shit, she was pissing herself in her drunk sleep, right in my arms! I froze, looking hurriedly around me for a place to put her down, but my mind went blank, I found nothing, couldn't think, and I felt her piss wetting the front of my pants. My little sister was peeing her pants in my arms, and pissing on me! I smelled it then, the unmistakable scent of urine, and it made my head swim. I heard droplets, like rain hitting the pavement beneath me as her bladder released itself of its burden, and I grimaced and began walking again, faster now. I was frantic, practically running with her as her piss splashed under my feet, thinking we'd be seen, or something, I don't know what. All the while feeling her piss run down my legs, soaking me and her both. She finished before I got to the door, I think, although I still heard and felt it dripping off me. With dismay I realized I hadn't held my keys out, and I slipped her from my arms, propping her against the door while I fumbled in my wet pocket for the key, hoping if there was a god in heaven that no one would see us, her piss soaking both of us, looking like we'd both pissed ourselves. I fumbled the key in and opened the door to the house, my other hand holding her up. I realized too late that it was firmly planted on her breast. I panicked again, Christ, she was soaked in piss and I looked like I was copping a feel from my little sister! I let us in, and she moaned as the door fell away from her; I barely kept her from falling backwards by grabbing her, I got a handful of shirt and bra, I think, and pulled her to me. I threw her arm over my head and I managed to get her inside the house and closed the door with my foot. Once I had the door closed, with her hanging limply at my side, mumbling apologies again, half-awake, I didn't know what to do with her. I thought of putting her to bed in her piss-soaked clothes, but I couldn't, could I? As angry as I was, and thinking of me getting out of my wet clothes, I couldn't just let her lay in her bed soaked in piss. Could I? She deserved it, for this stunt. It would serve her right, for sure. But I couldn't. The thought of her waking up hung over was bad enough; hung over in wet clothes, sleeping in her own piss, that was too much. So what to do? I couldn't very well sit her on any of the furniture. In a flash of brilliance I dragged her to the bathroom and worked her into the tub. I put a rolled up towel under her head; at least she couldn't fall down in there. I ran to my room and peeled off my wet clothes and threw a pair of workout shorts on; I'd have to wash everything in the morning. I went back to the bathroom. She looked kind of peaceful there, curled up asleep in the tub. Her hair was a mess, and her mouth was a little open, the remnants of her makeup smeared and smudged, and I felt bad for her, how bad she would feel in the morning. Not just the hangover, which would be terrible, but the shame and embarrassment. Sure, she wasn't the first eighteen-year-old to mishandle their first time drinking, but she would still be mortified, especially having her brother come pull her out of the party. Oh, yeah, and pissing her pants. Well, the shame would do her some good, I thought. But for now I had to get her out of those wet clothes. I knelt next to the tub and paused, hesitant to undress her. She couldn't sleep in the tub. I knew it was the right thing to do, to be able to put her into a bed where she wouldn't wake up sore as well. I looked at her, so vulnerable, so innocent and foolish with her youth. Her breathing was deep and steady, her lips slightly parted, eyes closed with a tranquil peace. Poor kid. I was still a little angry at getting pissed on, but I felt it slipping from me. I reached for her waist and grabbed the bottom of her wet tee shirt and worked it up her, lifting her a little to free it from underneath her back. She was dead weight, and hard to maneuver in the tub, but like I said, not too heavy, and I managed to slip it up her back. I hesitated a little again as her tee bunched up over her little boobs. I rationalized, knowing she was wearing a bra, that it was like a bathing suit, and if it wasn't wet I could leave it on her. I arranged her arms in front of her and pulled it up to her neck. The motion drew her arms together in front of her, and I pulled the back over her head, feeling the damp cloth fighting me as slipped her head through, mussing her hair, and pulled her arms through and clear. I tossed the tee shirt aside as she mumbled and settled back down. And I saw. Okay, that bra was a little different from any bathing suit I had ever seen her wear. A half cup, and almost completely sheer, it cupped her little boobs in her small chest, her pale skin showing over the top of the cups, and her dark pink nipples clearly visible through the fabric. I averted my eyes. It's not right to look, I told myself. I rationalized it in my mind; I wasn't stripping her for sex, she was my little sister! Still, a little glance couldn't hurt. So I gazed at them in their innocent perfection, just for a minute, watching her chest rise and fall with her steady breath. I felt a little guilty looking at them, then shook my head to clear it and resumed my task. I looked at her jeans, fully soaked and tight to the skin. Tight jeans are hard to pull off, and wet ones harder, and I figured pulling them off someone who wasn't helping would be even harder. And there was the other thing, unspoken in the back of my mind until now. Her panties would have to come off, too. I'd see, there would be no avoiding it, and out of respect I pulled another towel from the rack, so I could cover her nakedness after removing her pissed pants. Bad enough I'd have to explain undressing her in the morning. I'd want to be able to defend my actions. Nerves steeled by rightousness, I reached for her waist. I got the snap undone and pulled the zipper down, the wet denim struggling against me. I rolled her hips to one side and worked the waist down as far as I could pull, then worked the other side, rolling her torso back and forth. She stirred a little with each movement, tiny grunts emerging from her mouth. Finally I was able to pull them past her butt, taking the soaked panties with the jeans; I didn't want to do this twice. I took a deep breath. Her open pants were bunched below her waist, her pale skin exposed below the waistline. Her tummy bulged a little over the wet denim, and she smelled of perfume and beer and piss. Nothing to do but get it over with. After pulling her sneakers off I pulled her knees up and reached for the side of her jeans, gripping the panties with them, and started working them up her raised thighs. I swear I tried to avert my eyes, but they turned of their own accord, and I inhaled sharply as the juncture of her legs was exposed. I turned away, struggling with the wet fabric as it bunched tightly on her thighs, fighting my efforts. I started exposing her legs one at a time, trying not to see what I had seen, trying not to look back and see it again. I was slowly defeating the wet denim. My eyes lost. My hands stopped their efforts as my head turned back. Her shaved pussy was there, nestled deeply between her raised thighs, almost hidden from my view. My little sister shaved? The revelation stunned me. No pubic hair visible in her tiny vee, the important private area thankfully hidden below, only the hint of puffy labia appearing between her joined thighs. I felt my breath shorten at the vision of her hidden skin exposed to my view. Chiding myself after getting a good look, I turned my head and returned to my task. With the wet fabric bunched almost at her knees it was harder than I had imagined. The dense fabric tightened around her legs, practically immovable. I struggled, unable to budge it, then pulling the waist down past her knees, turning the pants inside out over themselves. I was really tugging, and astounded that she wasn't waking up, and I momentarily panicked when she made a noise as I struggled with one leg. Frustrated with the lack of progress, I considered another tactic. I sat back on my feet and looked at her, trying to avid seeing her dark nipples and the shaved crotch and failing. Hell, I thought, she'll never know, and I stole a good long look, wondering to myself if she shaved for comfort, for style, or for show. Damn, I thought, that was just wrong. She's your sister, I scolded, you shouldn't be looking, and you sure shouldn't be thinking of her like that! So why was I? And worse, why was my dick getting hard? Frightened by my reaction, I rejoined my efforts, determined to get this done and over with. I straightened her legs in the tub, extending and raising them, and trying to remove one leg at a time, pulling on the bottom cuff and trying to slide the wet fabric off her leg. They moved a little and I was encouraged, but my angle was bad. Getting to my feet I crouched over her and grabbed the bottom edge of one jeans leg and stood, pulling her leg straight up and tugging the soaked fabric. I felt it loosen and begin to move until the bunched fabric tightened at her knees, then switch to the other leg, easing the tension. The waist of her jeans slid past her knees, and I knew I was almost home. I switched back to the first leg, and pulled more, slowly, not jerking the fabric, trying not to wake her, panic stirring every time she grunted or moaned, imagining her eyes opening and seeing me pulling her pants off. First Beer Rescue Ch. 01 I tugged, and the pants moved up her leg; the one I was working on pointing straight up in the air, the other dangling loosly next to it, trapped by the waist that held her legs together. The smell of her urine was strong, gathered as it was in her denims, and now closer to me. I finally got most of a leg off one, the waistband at her ankle, and worked the other. Her legs made the work harder, holding them up like that. I noticed goose bumps on her raised thighs, the wet flesh exposed and cooling in the air. The loose wet denim hung over her feet, her legs still held together, raised in the air. Despite my fitness my arms were getting tired. As I worked the waist of her piss-soaked jeans off one ankle and past her foot I sighed with relief. Almost done. I released the one bare leg, setting it down, still holding the far one up in the air to extract it from the wet fabric. Her released leg settled down, curling into itself on an angle, and I froze. Released from the fabric binding them together, her thighs parted, and I was staring at her completely exposed pussy, the hairless lips looking for all the world like a ripe fleshy peach. Wrong, wrong, wrong, I heard the voice in my head, but I stared, so help me, I stared at the sight of her beautiful exposed pussy, her full outer lips neatly hiding everything, the slit between them delicate and beautiful. I knew I would never forget it, and felt a wave of shamed delight. I stood there, one of her legs still in the air, gazing in wonder. I took a deep breath and resumed pulling, but had lost my focus, and the fabric caught on her heel. I tugged and wrestled with it, lifting her leg with the fabric, pulling her hips up in the air as I struggled, but my eyes were between her legs, damn them. I pulled unthinking, her hips lifting higher, her foot jammed worse in the wet fabric as her other leg fell away, opening her wider. I saw her pussy lips begin to open, exposing the pink slit between her labia. I held her bare leg to my chest, felt the cooling dampness against my skin, and used my other hand to slowly work the fabric over her foot, my hands moving without looking, my eyes between her legs. It was the chill maybe, or she'd had more than I thought. But I saw it, my eyes glued to the pink flesh pointing straight up at me, open and exposed, elevated by my efforts. A golden trickle emerged from between her pink lips, spilling down her stomach and pooling in her navel before running down her sides and between her little breasts. I froze, and stared in wonder. The tickle grew, lifting from her body as a small fountain, then increased to a stream, lifting from her to rise in the air and splash down on her body, the direction altered by her raised and angled hips. She was pissing on herself, and I was entranced; so help me I couldn't turn away. I held her leg to my chest and watched her golden flow shoot from between her labia, arc through the air and splash noisily on her stomach and breasts, turning the thin fabric translucent as she soaked herself in her own piss. I heard the sounds of her urine as it struck her, saw the golden rivulets running down her sides, saw her naked flesh coated and bathed in her piss. I pulled on her leg and the angle deepened, the arc moving up and for a second splashing across her face, wetting her hair and cheek as she slept peacefully, blissfully covering herself in her own piss. Maybe it was the sound, the splashing, the nearness, I didn't know, but my body took over and I suddenly felt my bladder respond, felt the pressure in me, urgent to let go. The sensation stirred me, and I removed the rest of the pants leg from over her foot, and lowered her leg as her stream dwindled back to a trickle. Her hips dropped back into the tub, and the remaining dribbles of her urine spilled down; I watched it drop between her lips to her ass as I lowered her legs, one still angled sideways, her pussy still spread and visible. I don't know why I did it, maybe the residual anger at her pissing on me, maybe the heat of the moment; more likely a sudden loss of reason and perspective. But I dropped the wet jeans at the side of the tub and pulled down the front of my gym shorts. I was breathing heavily, standing next to the tub, seeing her piss covering her, and I let it go. And oh, did it feel good; not just the release of my bladder, but the thrill of standing there, pissing on my drunk little sister, coating her the way she had coated herself, aiming my stream at her little pink nipples, seeing the droplets slash onto her face, moving my stream to the side of her face, soaking her hair, careful not to get it in her mouth or nose so as not to wake her, sputtering as I pissed on her. I trailed the stream down her body then, and finished my release on her exposed pussy, pissing on the part of her that had pissed on me. My eyes fluttered and I took a shuddering breath, a wave of relief coursing through me, a completeness I had never before experienced. Full circle. Pissing where her piss flowed. And then I finished. And I panicked, my elation and relief vanished like the dark when a light turns on. Oh, holy shit, I pissed on my little sister! And worse, I enjoyed it! My brain went into overdrive, evil thoughts scurrying for the dark recesses and my active brain searched for cover stories and explanations in case she woke. I pulled my shorts up and went to the sink, wetting a towel in warm water, and returned to the tub. I wiped her clean, getting all the urine off her that I could reach without disturbing her. I removed her bra; it was soaked now, and I wiped her tender little boobs clean, feeling them move under my hand, grateful for the cloth between our flesh. I wiped her legs, her stomach, then rinsed and rewet the towel in warm water, and set to cleaning between her legs, apologizing to her in my head as I wiped my piss and hers from her vagina. I was a terrible person, I knew, and a worse brother. I was supposed to protect her, I had rescued her from the party. And then I watched her piss herself. And then, to my shame and thrill, had pissed on my drunk little sister. Her protector, pissing on her. And my dick was full and hard as steel, and my shame increased exponentially. When she was clean I went to her bedroom and turned down the covers, then returned. I took the big fluffy towel I had set aside and dried her as I sat her up in the tub, then hooked my arms under her and lifted her out, her head lolling onto my shoulder. I carried her to her bedroom and lay her down there, wiping a few last wet places with the towel before covering her naked body. I kissed her forehead and looked at her, listened to her steady breath, seeing her hair still wet, and smelling the piss in it, hers and my own. I felt shame and revulsion and my cock, hard as steel. I stood and hung my head and turned off the light as I exited. END OF PART ONE First Beer Rescue Ch. 02 I woke early the next morning, and gathered all the wet clothes and towels and threw them in the washing machine. As I made coffee I mentally prepared my story, checking it for plausibility, hiding my shame from myself, making sure I sounded like the good guy, not the guy who pissed on my naked little sister in the tub. I told it to myself over and over, making sure to leave out the parts where I looked at her tits and pussy, making up details that never happened to cover what I had done. I'd have to tell her she'd pissed on me, had to be able to explain her waking up naked, the clothes in the washing machine. But she could never know I watched her piss squirting from her spread legs, watched her piss on herself, watched her stream hit her own face, her tits. And never, for chrissake, never know I had done it too. And had liked it. It was several hours before I heard her stumbling around upstairs, heard the bathroom door, heard the shower. I started breakfast, keeping it simple and dry, knowing her stomach would be tender from her night. Toast, jam, orange juice, a blueberry muffin. I busied myself as I listened for the sounds upstairs, rehashing my story. Another half hour of desperation before the deceit began. I heard her footsteps on the stairs and braced myself. I poured her a glass of water, and forced a smile to my face before turning to see her. She was in a loose tee short and sweats, her hair still wet from the shower, her face pale and clean, free of makeup, and she looked vulnerable, weak and tiny in the doorway of the kitchen. I knew what she was feeling, of course, who hasn't had a bad night drinking? It's always a challenge not to ridicule someone who drinks themselves sick, but not on the first one. She needed care and tenderness, and my heart ached for what I had done. "Looking pretty rough there, Ange," I said to her, and her eyes rolled back in her head. "Have a seat." She stumbled to the chair and I gave her the glass of water. "Drink," I told her, "alcohol dehydrates you." I was careful to keep judgment out of my voice; who was I to criticize after what I had done? I watched her sip the water, just a little, then a longer one, and then she put the glass down and crossed her arms on the table and rested her head on them. "O-oh, Tony, I feel like complete dogshit," I heard her tiny voice complain, and my heart went out to her. First beers, first sick, first hangover. "What the fuck did I do?" I went back to the counter and fetched her toast and jam and muffin, putting them on the table in front of her. "You should eat something," I told her. Her hair hung in lank wet strands off her head, but she smelled better. Better than last night. I kissed the top of her head and rubbed her shoulders. "Oh, you warned me, Tony, m-mm, that's nice." "Drink the water," I advised, stepping away from her, and retrieving my coffee from the counter. "And eat. I know you don't want to. Probably feel like you can't," I said, sitting across from her. "But you need to. You'll feel better. She lifted her head. "My mouth feels like," she paused, her eyes blank and listless. I remembered how sweet she looked with them closed in the tub. Poor kid. My sympathy for her squeezed away my guilt, and I was glad I was able to be there for her when she needed me, and doubly glad our parents weren't here to see this. "I don't know. Like shit. All of me feels like shit, except my head. That feels worse." She looked at me. "Did I puke?" "Like a champ," I grinned, remembering holding her hair for her, rubbing her back as she expelled the contents of her stomach. "Took a couple of tries, but you got it." I sipped my coffee. "You came and got me," she said, looking for confirmation. "Yeah, Britt called me, thank God. She's a good friend." I sipped. "Those other skanks..." "They're my friends, too, Tony." "Yeah, Andrea? They nearly put you in the emergency room last night," I told her. "If Britt hadn't called when she did we could be having this conversation it the hospital, with Mom and Dad, and the cops." She knew it was true, too, and put her head back down. "Drink the water, trust me," I told her. "Eat the food. Go back to bed, and be thankful Mom and Dad aren't home." "You came for me," she said from under her head. She lifted it and looked at me. "You took me home." One corner of her mouth turned up wryly. "I remember...parts." I looked back at her. "Thanks, Tony." I smiled at her. "You're my hero." Yeah, your hero pissed on you last night, my conscience told me. "That's what big brothers are for, Ange." I raised my coffee mug in mock salute. "Glad to help." "What happened?" she asked, and my heart caught in my throat. My prepared lie ran through my head. "I'm kind of fuzzy on the details. I didn't ... do anything stupid, did I?" I told the story, adding how worried I was, concerned that guys might take advantage of her. Told her how good Britt was. She flushed with embarrassment at being carried out, and groaned when I told her about puking. She winced and grimaced when I told her about pushing her fingers into her throat. She sipped the water and ate a slice of toast, and I could see her color start to return a little. She sat up in the chair, and I finished telling her about driving home, slowly. She chewed thoughtfully, and I went to the cabinet where the Advil was and got her a few, and some orange juice. Not too much. I set them down for her, and warned her not to take them until after she finished eating. "I remember part of that, I think," she said around a mouthful of toast, and started picking at the muffin. "It's kinda hazy, you know." "I'll bet," I said, avoiding her eyes, knowing the question was coming. "So, Britt didn't come home with us?" she asked. Her drying hair hung over her face, obscuring her eyes. "No, she stayed. I took you home." I avoided her gaze, and stood to refill my coffee. "Who undressed me?" I heard from behind my back, and my spine stiffened. I spilled a little coffee as I poured and cursed under my breath. "I was naked when I woke up," she continued, and my hand shook as I poured milk in the coffee, remembering her little breasts, her shaved mound. Her spread legs. Her piss; mine. I steeled myself. "Did you undress me?" "Yeah," I said, setting my jaw and turning back to the table and sitting down, my practiced lie of omission ready on my lips. "You, uh, when I was carrying you from the car," I said, pretending to be embarrassed for her, and disguising my own shame, "you, uh, peed your pants." I watched as her mouth froze, mid-chew, a look of shock and horror on her face. I looked away. "Sorry, I couldn't put you to bed that way, so I had to ... I didn't look," I lied. "I mean, well, I saw, but not like, perverted," I lied again. Her mouth moved silently, and then she swallowed. "I pissed my pants?" she asked incredulously. "Yeah," I chuckled, pretending to laugh it off. "While I was carrying you. It got, uh, all over me, too." "Oh, my God, that's so embarrassing," she said, and hid her face I her hands. "You were pretty drunk, Ange, passed out for the most parts." "I don't remember," she said. "Oh, Tony, I'm so sorry," she said from behind her fingers. "Oh, fuck, could this be any worse?" You have no idea how much worse, I thought. "It's not your fault," I assured her, covering my guilt. "You were, you know, out of it." "Oh, shit, I can't remember shit," she said, dropping her hands. She started to grin sheepishly. "What a loser I am. I piss on my big brother while he's rescuing me." I smiled at her and she smiled back. "Are you mad at me?" At me, more likely, I thought. "Don't worry about it. It's no big deal. But that's why I had to undress you." But you know what IS a big deal, I thought. Watching you piss yourself in the tub, and then pissing on your shaved pussy. I felt a stir in my pants at the memory. "I washed the clothes; I gotta put them in the dryer." "You wouldn't let me sleep in my wet clothes? You're sweet," she said. Yeah, right. "And you put me to bed?" Her eyes turned to the half-finished food. "And made me breakfast?" She smiled, a look of genuine appreciation and love on her face. "You're the best, Tony. Thanks. Thanks for taking care of me." She raised her water glass. "Thanks for being my big brother." Well, thanks for letting me piss on you, I thought to myself, if only you knew what I really did, you might not love me so much. I tipped my glass to hers. "No problem," I lied. "I'm glad I could help." She took the Advil and drank half the juice, and picked up the muffin. "I'm going back to bed. Thanks again." She came around the table and stood before me; as she approached my chair I saw her little braless breasts jiggling under her tee shirt, and remembered last night, my piss striking them. I pushed the memory aside. She kissed the top of my head and I hugged her, feeling the heat from her body, remembering her naked in my arms as I carried her to her bed. She stepped away and made for the door, but stopped before exiting. "You saw me naked?" she asked over her shoulder. "Not much," I lied, remembering her spread shaved pussy looking up at me. "I covered you," I lied. Yeah, with my piss! "A towel," I added. "Thanks, Tone," she said, and left to return upstairs. I felt a huge breath leave me and guzzled the rest of my coffee, trying to steel my nerves, hoping I'd pulled it off. I had plenty of time to punish myself for the next few hours. I started planning dinner, figuring she'd be ravenous by the time she woke again. All I could think of was what I'd done, my shame, my fear of discovery. For the life of me I couldn't get it out of my head. Several hours later I heard her stirring upstairs. I was reading a book, and when I heard movement I got up and went to the kitchen to start dinner. I was interrupted when I heard her call me, so I stopped what I was doing and went to the stairs, calling up to see what she wanted. "Could you get a flashlight?" "What's the matter?" I asked, a little annoyed. "I lost an earring," she called down. "Could you help me look?" Rolling my eyes I said I'd be up in second and went to fetch the flashlight. So armed, I headed up the stairs, the fraudulent hero to the rescue. I found her in the bathroom, at the side of the tub. "I looked in my room," she said. "Maybe it fell down the drain. Could you see if you can see it?" She had that little girl desperation in her voice. Big brother to the rescue, I thought, but if it's in the drain, it's gone. "They're my favorite, please Tony," she said, pleading, and I dropped to my knees next to the tub. She stood to make room, still in her sweats and tee shirt. "Oh, thanks, Tony, you're the best." I looked sardonically over my shoulder at her. "Really, you are; please, see if you can find it?" I bent over the tub, my body half in and half out, aware of her standing expectantly behind me. I trained the light down into the drain and peered down in to the murky blackness. I knew immediately that if it was there I wasn't going to see anything, but I stayed with it, making a show of peering down the drain. If I quit too soon she'd just beg me to try again. I wouldn't be able to stop until she was satisfied I had tried hard enough. So I hunched over, looking at nothing, and felt her move behind me, hanging over my shoulder. I wondered how long I would need to keep this charade up. She moved away; I heard her moving behind me, then she was back, her hands on my shoulders, her head near mine. I felt her legs on either side of me, and I had a sudden thought. I turned my head to the right to see her face next to mine. "Why would you think your earring was in the tub drain?" I asked densely. "I thought it might have fallen off while you undressed me." She said quietly. Her face was right next to mine; she was still looking down into the drain, but I saw her glance my way. "But," I stammered, "I never told you I undressed you in the tub." "I know," she said, then turned her head to look directly into my eyes. "But I wasn't completely out." My chest tightened as if I was being crushed. "I remember some parts." Well, I just about freaked in my sudden panic, and I scrambled my torso out of the tub; in my haste I lost my footing on the bath rug, and slipped as I turned, ending sitting on the floor with my back against the tub. My sudden motion pushed her back a step. I saw her sweat pants in a pool on the floor near my feet, and looked at her. She stepped forward, her legs straddling me. "Oh, Tony," she said, and my eyes followed her legs up to the juncture below her tee shirt, where her hand was at her pussy, her shaved pussy, the memory of it sharp and fresh, and now, here, again. I heard my breath catch, heard her inhale deeply. "Tony, please," she whispered, and my body froze as she stepped closer to me, her legs on either side, spread wide. I looked at her face, her eyes reflecting the pleading tone of her voice. "Please," she repeated, and I looked between her legs at her hand. Her fingers pulled her labia wide, exposing herself to me, the inside of her pussy, pink and ripe. "Ange, what..." I mumbled, but lost the words in her beautiful pussy. "Please, Tony," she said again, but my eyes stayed glued between her legs, her fingers holding the smooth lips apart, now her other hand joined the first, spreading herself wider, more open, completely exposed. I saw the hood of her clit, the pink skin of her slit, and beneath, the hinted dark opening of her vagina, my little sister's vagina. "Please, let me," I heard, and then my whole world focused on her pee hole, inches from my face. I saw her pussy twitch and her hips angle forward as time slowed almost to a standstill. Like those animal films on NatGeo, in super slo-mo, I saw her pee hole pulse, and dilate, and open. I held my breath. "Watch me, Tony," she said softly, but her words punched my head in the silence. And then her golden stream emerged, in realistic 3D, heading straight for my face. It hit me with a force I didn't expect, and I flinched as she splashed her golden piss onto my nose. The flinch made my head pull back and my mouth, hanging open, filled quickly. I tasted her piss and gagged, coughed it out, and she pushed closer, the full stream in my face, up my nose, in my hair, soaking my shirt. And last night came rushing back to me, the illicit thrill, the forbidden sights and sounds and smells, and oh, heaven help me, I opened my mouth. I felt the stream hit my tongue, full and strong and a chill ran through me. I heard the sound of her hot stream as it splashed inside my mouth, filling me, the sound changing as my mouth filled with her piss. I heard her chanting my name, loving and warm and admiring. And I closed my mouth and swallowed. I drank my little sister's piss. And it was wonderful. Bitter, salty and hot, but sweet because it was hers, wonderful because she wanted me to do it. Loved me doing it. And I loved her for allowing it. Uninterrupted, her stream splashed my face, getting into my eyes, my nose, running into my ears, fuck, how could someone so little have such great bladder capacity? But I reopened my mouth and drank from her fountain, her beautiful sexy piss fountain, feeling it settle warmly in my stomach, her gift to me, her pungent warm anointing fluid. She scuttled closer as her stream dwindled, still murmuring my name, the sound of her voice a soothing song. She pushed closer as the stream lost its power, lost its arc, and became a dribble, glowing drips of liquid gold dribbling from her bounty. I angled my head to receive the last falling drops, my tongue extended, and I saw the last drop, poised but stationery, a golden yellow bulb trying to escape her urethra. I moved my head, and licked it off her, smelling her, tasting her slit. She answered with a moan and pressed herself to my mouth while I swallowed the last of her piss, her pussy rubbing across my lips. Oh, fuck, my face is in my sister's cunt, I thought, and almost laughed at my shock. I drank her piss! Is licking her pussy so wrong? I grabbed her ass as she said my name, pushing her cunt into my mouth, and I tongued her slit, pushing into her pussy, pressing my piss-coated face into her, the scent of her excitement bubbling from under her urine scent. This couldn't get any more wrong, I thought, what am I doing? But I kept doing it, feeling her hands at the back of my head, pressing herself into my face, not saying my name anymore, just grunts and sighs and moans in her young girl voice. She was delicious, all of her, so sweet, to tender, so hot, and then, suddenly, gone. She pulled away, and before I knew it she was in the tub, on her back, her tee shirt stripped off. She hung one leg over the side, pulled the other up to her chest, hiding one of her tiny breasts, the other exposed for my clouded vision. My brain was in overdrive, confusion held at bay by overwhelming desire and the knowledge that this was so wrong. "Piss on me, Tony," she hissed, "piss on me. Do it. Do it like last night, please, I want you to." She looked up at me, eyes pleading, hungry and eager and wide open. I looked between her legs, her position so like last night, only now she had her fingers buried on her cunt, fucking herself. "Please, Tony," she begged. "Please piss on me." Let's face it, there are not a lot of times in your life that you will hear the words 'please piss on me'. Most people, I guess, might never. But I heard them. And nothing, not fire or famine, could stop me from granting her wish. My dick wasn't hard, thank you; the shock and suddenness of the event had been too much, but I knew that if I watched her finger herself I'd get stiff pretty quick, and pissing would be impossible. In the back of my mind I imagined her sucking me, but put that thought aside, eager to relive my awful and wonderful act of the previous night, only this time, with Andrea awake, and wanting it, begging for it. I pulled my pants off, and stepped into the tub between her spread legs. "Oh, Tony, yes," she said, eyes hot and glazed, mirroring what I felt. I felt my bladder relax and aimed my dick at her face. "You want this?" I asked, her words like coal in my fire. "You want my piss?" "Oh, fuck yeah, piss on your sister, Tony. Please!" I felt the pressure ease, and move, and then plunge through my shaft. It splashed out without preamble, no working up to a full stream, and my grown man's stream caught her full in the face. She spluttered, and her fingers dug inside her, and she opened her mouth, letting it fill as I had, I held the stream steady, seeing her open mouth fill with my piss, seeing it spill over the sides in waves of pungent gold. When she closed her mouth to swallow I covered her face. Damn if she never even closed her eyes! I moved to her titties (I said they were kind of small) and pissed on her nipples as she swallowed her mouthful, and moved down to her stomach. She gasped as she finished her mouthful, and she lifted her hips up to me. "My cunt!" she gasped. "Piss on my cunt, Tony!" Now I had never dreamed of hearing my little sister use the c-word, but I was in no position to argue. I aimed my stream, figuring to piss on her clit, but she shocked me when her fingers, both hands, drove inside her opening and pulled it wide open "Fill my cunt with piss, Tony!" she barked. I lowered my aim and heard the hollow sound of urine splashing into her gaping hole. For all she held it open it was tiny, and it filled quickly, the overflow running down to her elevated ass crack. My stream, exhausted, began to dwindle, and I pulsed the last few squirts out up her torso, sprinkling her piss soaked flesh. And then she rubbed her clit furiously, and I watched as she masturbated herself to an orgasm, soaked in piss, screaming her climax in the small bathroom, naked and twitching like she was having a seizure. Her back arched and she wailed and her cunt clenched and disgorged its bounty of piss straight up into the air, spraying in every direction, coating my legs and hers. First Beer Rescue Ch. 02 And now my dick was getting hard. And before we showered off I let her suck my cock, and she devoured it, working it like a master craftsman, making up for her lack of experience with an enthusiasm I had never witnessed in any girl before. I felt my climax rush up at me, like a shark coming up from the deep on an unassuming swimmer, and it took me just as violently, making me scream as I filled her mouth with cum. She hummed in delight as blast after blast erupted from me, and when I looked down she was smiling up at me, the head of my cock still in her mouth, wearing a cum goatee. She pulled off and licked her lips. "Oh, Tony, that was so good!" I leaned over and kissed her, not a brother kiss, either; a full mouth, tongue swirling lovers kiss, sharing my load with her, smelling our urine on each other, my brain light and wandering, her hand still on my cock. "I'd do anything for you, Ange," I said, and I meant it. "I know, big brother," she replied looking into my eyes. "You take good care of me." She knelt there, stroking my cock as I twisted to turn on the shower, and we washed each other in silence. She dried me first, and when I was drying her, I wrapped my arms under her knees and around her back and lifted her playfully in my arms. She squealed in delight and surprise, and I smiled down at her as she wrapped her arms around my neck. "Is this how you carried me to my room last night?" "Kind of," I told her, nuzzling her nose with mine and pressing my forehead to hers. "I lied about the towel." She giggled, and I started for the door, carrying her like last night, unburdened now by my guilty and shameful misgivings. I plopped her on the bed and watched her tits bounce. "So,' she asked, spreading herself on the bed, "how many more days to we have until Mom and Dad come home?" END