0 comments/ 123532 views/ 2 favorites Unmanned By: Cal Y. Pygia My sister Diane had just turned nineteen the first time I saw her naked. She thought she was home alone, and she decided to take a dip in the family pool--without a swimsuit! My upstairs bedroom overlooks the backyard and, hence, the swimming pool. My light was off, but I had my window open, and, because of the night's full moon, there'd been enough illumination to see the magazine opened before me on my bed. As I perused its pages, I heard a splash. Unless someone had climbed the fence that surrounds the pool, it had to be Diane who'd made the splash, because Mom and Dad weren't home, and Bandit, our cat, hates the water. I put down my magazine, a really ancient Penthouse, and hastened to the window. Diane was climbing the aluminum ladder mounted to the side of the pool, the lights from the patio torches that flanked the walkway from the back of our house to the pool, the glow of the streetlamps, and the full moon's radiant splendor making the water sparkle on her beautifully tanned flesh. I watched her lift her knees; watched the muscles in her sleek, slender calves bunch and relax as she placed first one foot and then the other on successive rungs, pressing down upon the soles of her bare feet with the weight of her perfect body; watched her arms clutch the steps above her and pull her upward; watched her dimpled ass wriggle and sway. By the time she'd climbed the four steps of the ladder and was stepping onto the deck, water streaming from her back, thighs, buttocks, and calves, my cock was half erect. I gulped, not believing my luck. Then, a dismaying thought occurred to me that gave me pause. What if she were through with her swim and was going to come back into the house? The show would be over before it had begun! I needn't to have worried, though, because, rather than return to the house, she sauntered down the deck, water running down her back and thighs to drip upon the hot, dry deck, and ascended the diving board. As she turned toward me, I saw the side of her right breast, a perfect half moon, glistening with watery diamonds. She competed her turn, facing the diving board, and the half-moon breast became twins, her water-bedecked boobs high and full and round. My balls ached within their tightened, risen scrotum. She walked to the end of the plank, the flat timber bowing slightly beneath her weight, and approached the end of the board. She paused, tested her balance by flexing her knees and pushing her weight downward to flex the board. Satisfied, she shoved off, arcing through the night sky, and, hands stretched before her, palms together, she broke the surface of the water, causing another splash. Disappeared for a moment, a fleshly blur, she ascended a moment later, cupped hands stroking and feet kicking as she swam to the ladder at the side of the pool. Again, I was treated to the sight of her bare back, her naked bottom, and her shapely thighs and calves as she hoisted herself up the ladder and regained the deck. My cock was fully erect now. Part of me was dismayed, if not horrified; I reminded myself that Diane was my sister. I had no right to see her unclothed, and I certainly shouldn't be lusting after her. What the hell was the matter with me? What was I, some sort of pervert for whom the sight of my naked sister heated my blood and stirred my passions? No! I averred. Never! Diane was beautiful, no doubt about it. Hell, she was gorgeous! And I was an all-American, red-blooded young man. It couldn't hurt to look. Just because I took a peek or two didn't mean I had designs on my sister. It didn't mean I wanted to fuck her. Right? I'd gone to Chad Andrews' house shortly after Mom and Dad had left. They'd gone to Mom's sister's house; Aunt Jill was home from the hospital, having undergone heart surgery, and they wanted to provide moral support for her and to help Mom's brother, Uncle Roy, with the nursing duties. For the week that they planned to be gone, they'd left me under Diane's supervision, not that, in my opinion, I needed her supervision or anyone else's, especially since, at eighteen, I was, although still in high school, only a year younger than my sister, or that Diane, for that matter, intended to provide much direction or guidance, anyway. As had occurred on the few other times that our parents had left us on our own, we'd stay out of each other's way and do pretty much as we pleased. I'd told Diane that I was going to Chad's house. I hadn't asked her for her permission. Obviously, she wasn't even aware that I'd returned home; if she were, she sure as hell wouldn't have been skinny dipping in our backyard pool. At Chad's, my buddy and I had done what we normally did--bragged about our imaginary sexual exploits. To hear us talk, we'd both fucked the new girl at our school, Madison High. Her name was Patricia White, but she went by Patty. She was tall and slender with small boobs and blonde hair. She was pretty in a wholesome, if willowy, girl-next-door kind of way. "You didn't fuck her," I'd challenged Chad after he'd made the claim of having done the same thing about which I had just boasted as we lay across the width of his bed, on our backs, knees bent over one edge of the mattress and shoulders, necks, and heads hanging over the other side, a Penthouse magazine--the same one I'd been reading at home when I'd heard the splash Diane had made in diving into the pool--between us. We'd been perusing the periodical, and the bevy of naked beauties within its glossy, full-color pages had inspired my lie, which, in turn, had inspired Chad's prevarication. We both knew that we were lying, but, now that we'd made the claims, we had to keep up the pretenses. "I did," Chad insisted. "When?" I demanded. "Last Thursday." "Where?" "In the pine grove on the other side of Palmer's field." "Right," I said, skepticism all but dripping from my one-word response. "A pinecone was under her ass," Chad asserted. "It left an imprint in her left cheek." I supposed he thought that such an odd detail lent verisimilitude to his outrageous story. "Sure it did," I replied, snorting with derision. "It must have been uncomfortable for her," Chad added, "but I didn't feel anything. Just pussy." "You didn't feel anything," I replied, "because you didn't fuck her." "What about you?" Chad countered. "When did you supposedly fuck her?" "Wednesday," I answered, choosing a day earlier than Chad had chosen so I could claim that I'd fucked her first. I could see by Chad's narrowed eyes that he not only disbelieved me but that he was also pissed that I'd claimed to have fucked Patty before he'd done so. "Where?" he demanded. I thought for a moment. The pine forest that Chad had claimed as the point of his rendezvous was pretty damned idyllic. Not many places would top it. "My swimming pool," I said, smiling. A pool was probably as romantic as a grove of pine trees--maybe more so. Chad considered my words. "She's a nice piece of ass," he finally said, offering a truce. "She sure is," I agreed. Our talk had turned to other topics. "It must be nice to have your parents out of town for a week," Chad suggested. "Yeah," I assented. "It's pretty cool." "Especially with a sister like Diane around." I raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?" "Dude, your sister is cheesecake. She could be one of the women in this magazine." He slapped the Penthouse lying between us. "Right." "She could, man. I'm telling you, she's cheesecake with fucking whipped cream and a cherry on top." My first impulse was to slug Chad for making fun of my sister, but, as I considered his words, I decided he wasn't making fun of Diane. My sister, considered objectively, really is a gorgeous girl. Tall, with dark, wavy tresses; wide brown eyes with thick, long lashes; a button nose; full, sensuous lips; high, round breasts; a concave belly; firm thighs and shapely calves; and an ass so firm and sleek that it hurt to look upon its splendid beauty though the tight-as-paint jeans or shorts she usually wore, Diane truly was, as Chad had reminded me, drop-dead gorgeous. She was Penthouse material, to be sure. "She's all right," I admitted. "All right?" Chad echoed, astonished. "Man, she's angel food cake!" Then he said something else, something that had made me think about my sister in a whole different light. "If Diane were my sister, I'd check her out every chance I got. I'd find a way to see her naked. I'd fuck her if I got half a chance." "Hey!" This time I did slug Chad. Not too hard, but hard enough to let him know I didn't appreciate him talking about Diane that way. "That's my sister you're talking about." "She sure as hell ain't no Patricia White," Chad replied. A moment passed. Chad rubbed his arm where I'd slugged him. "Would you?" I asked him. "Would I what?" Chad asked. "Fuck Diane. If she were your sister, I mean." "You going to slug me again?" "No." "Yeah, then. I'd fuck her, all right." I thought about my sister's petal-soft lips. I thought about her round boobs, her long legs, and her tight ass. I thought about the cleft of her pussy, which I'd glimpsed at the crotch of her too-tight bikini bottom. I'd fuck her, too, if I could, I thought. Despite the flush of guilt and shame I felt, my cock stirred, and I felt an ache deep within my balls. I delayed a few minutes before making an excuse to leave. As I'd reached Chad's door, he'd called out to me. Turning, I'd caught the Penthouse he'd flipped toward me. "Take this home with you, if you want." I shrugged, thinking I might as well. After all, I sure wouldn't be seeing Diane in the state of undress that the magazine's "Pets" were in. "Thanks." "Just don't come on the pages," Chad admonished me. Diane wasn't home when I'd returned--or, at least, I hadn't thought she was home. I'd gone up to my room, opened the window, lay down in bed, and, by the light of the full moon, perused the photographs of the naked women between the magazine's slick covers, comparing them to my sister. Chad was right, I had to admit, if only to myself; Diane was every bit as gorgeous as any of the Penthouse models. I shouldn't have thought about Diane, though. My cock stiffened, and I felt an almost uncontrollable urge to masturbate. Instead, I decided to take a nap--if I could. I was about to set the magazine aside when I'd heard the splash from the swimming pool, rose from my bed, and looked out the window to discover that my sister was home, after all--and naked! At first, I thought I was dreaming, because seeing Diane without any clothes on was a dream come true. I'd wanted to see my sister naked for years, not just since Chad had reminded me of how beautiful she is. Finally, my hopes had been fulfilled! After she'd dove into the pool the second time, I feared that Diane would return to the house and don her clothes, but, instead, she lay down, upon her back, in one of the poolside chaise lounge chairs. In the light of the full moon, the glow of the towering streetlamps, and the flickering torchlight along the sidewalk between the rear of the house and the pool, I could see her lovely face; the golden globes of her firm, round breasts; the concave hollow of her stomach; the wisps of raven tresses adorning the cleft of her otherwise clean-shaven cunt; and her long, shapely legs. In or out of the water, my sister was breathtakingly beautiful. My rigid, throbbing cock and my balls, high in their tightened scrotum, agreed. Why had she opted to lie naked on the lounge chair rather than to return to her bedroom? I wondered--but not for long; I had an answer to my question within moments, as Diane parted her silk-smooth thighs, cupped her right palm over the mound of her sex, and inserted her forefinger into her pussy, stroking her clitoris. As she masturbated, she cupped her right breast in her left hand. She squeezed the lovely mound, her fingers flexing. Her mouth opened, and, I imagined, she moaned softly as the tensions of the day faded before the mounting excitement that began to build inside her moistening cunt. Unable to repress my sexual urges any longer, and not wanting to do so, I grabbed my stiff-standing cock, pumping the flesh up and down upon the straining shaft with almost frantic desperation. I didn't merely want to come; I had to come. Otherwise, I'd explode with the swell of volcanic lust mushrooming inside my loins. I studied my sister's beautiful face and body as I pumped my fist up and down relentlessly, almost viciously, upon my erect, pulsating penis. I imagined myself with her, straddling the lounge and bending forward to insert my cock between her smooth, soft lips and fuck her in her pink, wet mouth. This image gave way to another that rose of its own accord within my fevered imagination: now, she knelt atop the lounge chair and I entered her from behind, doggy style, penetrating her soft cunt to the very hilt of my straining, lurching prick and fucking her deep and hard, the way a man would fuck a whore for whom he had neither respect nor love. I felt ashamed at the disregard I felt, at this moment, for my sister, but I couldn't help myself, overcome with pure animal lust as I was. Within minutes, I came, orgasm seizing me. Pleasure flooded my entire being, body and soul, and semen launched from my convulsing cock as if it were lava from a volcano erupting its pent-up pressure in fountain after fountain of molten rain. Although the spurting semen splattered against my own chest and stomach, in my mind's-eye, the thick streamers of my warm, white seed spilled over Diane's pubes, belly, and breasts, and my sister lay covered in my sperm. Panting and gasping, I reeled, exhausted and dizzy, and my hand swung out from my body as, instinctively, I sought to regain my balance. My fingertips brushed upward, past something--a wall-mounted light switch--and the overhead light came on, dazzling bright. Hastily, I stepped back from my window, hoping she hadn't seen me naked, ogling her. In the process, I overturned a lamp, and it crashed to the floor, breaking, and, in the silence of my room, seemed to make a horrendous noise. I don't know whether Diane heard the crash, but I caught a glimpse of her, and her eyes were wide, her mouth agape. Was she merely surprised that I was home or did she suspect that I'd been watching her in secret? Had she seen me masturbating? What should I do? I wondered. Turn out the light? Leave it on? Pretend to have gotten out of bed to use the bathroom and now to have returned to bed? That seemed a reasonable ruse. I switched out the light, hobbled across the room to my dresser, and, clutching a handful of facial tissues, wiped the semen from my chest and belly, tossing the messy wad into the trash can beside my desk, climbed into bed, beneath my blankets, still naked--there was no time to don my customary pajamas--and pretended to be fast asleep. If Diane came upstairs to investigate the sudden illumination of my bedroom light and its equally abrupt extinguishment, I wanted to appear to be slumbering away. No doubt, she'd assume what I wanted her to assume--that I'd gone to the bathroom to pee and had returned to bed and resumed sleeping. I forced myself to breathe slowly, deeply, and willed my pounding heart to slow its frenzied beating. I composed my facial features in mock repose. I debated briefly whether I should snore, but I decided that snoring might be too much of an affectation, ruining the whole illusion. Besides, if I snored, I might not hear Diane open the back door. Thankfully, none of the family had yet oiled its squeaky hinges. The stairs creaked, too, as I was reminded upon hearing the familiar groan of one of the risers. Diane was coming upstairs, I thought. Somehow, she'd entered the house without my having heard her. Could it be that I'd been so lost in my own thoughts and so worried about whether I'd hear the hinges squeak if I pretended to snore that I hadn't heard the hinges when she had entered or had Dad, Mom, or Diane lubricated the hinges without my knowledge? I decided that it didn't matter. What was important is that I had heard the creaking step, which sound served as an early warning device, so to speak, as much as the squeaking hinges would have done. I wouldn't be surprised to have my sister appear in my bedroom doorway or, for that matter, to step inside my bedroom. As it was, I was ready for her. All I had to do was to pretend to be asleep. Then, she'd suppose that I had simply awakened, gone to the bathroom, and returned to bed. She'd never need to know that I'd spied upon her as she'd skinny dipped and masturbated beside the swimming pool or that, watching her, I had also masturbated, ejaculating my seed onto my own chest and belly while imagining that it had been her breasts and stomach and groin onto which I'd spurted my warm, white seed. The creaking step was the fifth from the bottom of the stairs leading from the downstairs hallway to the upstairs corridor. Fifteen stairs led up to a landing off of which an equal number of steps, at right angles, led to the second floor. After the initial creak, I heard nothing else, but, having climbed the same stairs numerous times, I had a good idea as to how long it would take Diane to make the ascent. With bated breath, I waited, counting the seconds. Having watched my sister dive, swim, and masturbate in the nude, her perfect breasts, cute cunt, lovely legs, and round ass on display, had given me such an erection that, even after I'd shot my load, I'd have likely maintained its rigid, swollen length for some time if, having lost my balance and begun to fall, I hadn't reached out to steady myself and, in the process, flipped the light switch on, giving away my presence. Having lit up my bedroom, I'd so scared myself with the prospect of Diane's having observed me naked at my window, observing her, that my cock dwindled more quickly than it had swelled and my balls dropped inside their loosened scrotum as if they were stones rather than testicles. I'd wiped my semen from me and hopped, naked, into bed, hoping that my intended ruse would work and that Diane, should she come upstairs, would think that I was asleep again, after having visited the bathroom to answer nature's call. I'm not sure what, if anything, I expected. Perhaps I thought that Diane would whisper my name, as people sometimes do when they want to see whether a person is asleep but, if he is, they don't want to awaken him. Maybe I thought she'd turn on my light and study my face to see whether she thought I was truly asleep or just pretending to be. What I didn't expect is what happened next. My bedroom light flashed on. A couple of footsteps pounded my floor. Rough hands seized the blanket covering me, yanking it back and exposing my nakedness. A deep, husky voice cried, "Who the hell are you, and what the fuck are you doing in Diane's house--naked?" My eyes snapped open, my heart racing. I tried to sit up, but the huge, muscular man standing by the side of my bed pinned me to the mattress with the weight of his upper body and his beefy arms. "Ow!" I yelled. "Get the hell off me!" "Who are you?" he repeated. "Why are you in Diane's house? Why are you naked?" "I'm Martin, her brother!" I replied. "This is my house, too. I'm naked because sometimes I sleep in the nude"--if it's any of your damned business, I wanted to add. Instead, I asked, "Who are you? What are you doing here?" "I'm John, Diane's boyfriend." Boyfriend? I thought Diane was between boyfriends. Hadn't she just broken up with--what was his name?--Darryl? "Do you mind getting the hell off me?" "Diane?" John voiced my sister's name. She must have come into the room while her lummox of a boyfriend was busy grinding my face into my pillow and my crotch into the mattress, because, in answer to John's calling of her name, she said, "It's Marty, all right. Let him up, Johnny."