Over the river and through the woods to grandmother's house we go.
Yeah, right. Grandmother's house was all the way across the country. And she wasn't even there. After Grandpa Chris died, Granny (our nickname for Grandmother Pike) took his insurance money and took off for a retirement community in sunny Florida. She left her remaining possessions to be divided between her two daughters, my mom Norah and her sister, Aunt Sarah, anyway they like.
Since our family already had a house, my aunt moved into their parents' place. She was coming off a nasty divorce. Her idiot husband, now ex-husband, had dragged her around to army bases all over the country and overseas for a dozen years. He tossed his marriage away along with his military career when he was caught eating out his commanding officer.
The only good thing Aunt Sarah brought from that union was my cousin, Whitney.
I hadn't seen them in about four years, not even for Grandpa's memorial service. Lieutenant Doofus wouldn't spring for a couple of airline tickets for them. Good riddance to him, I say.
Anyway, back then Whitney was a seven year old fireplug. I don't want to say she was ugly, but…well…she wasn't pretty either. Everywhere on her body she carried a bit more padding. Mom said it was just baby fat, but I wasn't so sure. That wasn't the worst part. For that family get together, she wore coke bottle glasses, two pink bows randomly placed on her auburn hair, and a neon green party dress. And she wondered why she got teased so much. I was even guilty myself.
Mentally, I compared her with my sister, Betsy. They were the same age, born only a few weeks apart. I figured two cousins should look somewhat similar. However, my sister was almost pencil thin. Her long blonde hair bounced around in a ubiquitous ponytail. With the exception of a rather plain brown sundress she wore that day, everything in her closet was either a tee shirt or jeans. The guys on my baseball team think she'd have a pretty face if it didn't have the inevitable dirt streak somewhere on it.
At least Whitney knew her father. My mom got pregnant in high school and then again a year after graduation. Both times she wouldn't identify the father. The first was some random boy at a beach party while the other was a blind date who disappeared, never to be seen again. That's why we're still known as the Pike family.
Mom thought it funny to name me and my sister for our grandparents, Christopher and Elizabeth. I think it helped to avoid reminding her of our respective fathers. Of course it made it confusing when we visited, but that was fewer times once we moved away. The last few years, we only saw them on holidays.
Mom went to school and became an accountant, fairly successful, with her own business. Being her own boss, she decided this year to take a vacation during the slow month of November. Because we could only get last minute tickets to fly on Monday before Thanksgiving, she pulled us out of school a few days early. I was glad, but Betsy pouted, having wanted to do something during the holiday week. I suspect she had a date with a boy. She is of the age where they swarm a pretty girl like flies.
On Monday morning, we jumped on the plane and headed to the old Pike Homestead as Mom called it. The flight itself was uneventful, landing right on time.
However, in the baggage claim area, we watched for our bags. Suitcases of all sizes and colors came out of the chute and onto the carousel. In a virtual feeding frenzy, passengers grabbed theirs and departed. A few minutes later both the planeload of people and incoming baggage disappeared until only three people, all surnamed Pike, stared at the empty carousel.
Yeah, our baggage never arrived.
Mom and Betsy went to the airline desk while I stared at the empty machine. "Where are your bags?" asked a voice from behind me.
I turned, ready to deliver a snide remark, when I saw the girl. She stood almost as tall as me, her round face framed by her short auburn hair and bangs. She wasn't too thin or too fat, making her look curvy. My first guess was she was about my age. In fact, she could almost pass for sixteen.
Was I ever wrong.
"Did they lose your bags, Cousin Chris?" she asked.
That's when I realized Whitney had grown up.
Aunt Sarah drove us from the airport, gabbing away with Mom. I got stuck sitting in the back with the preteen gossips. I didn't pay much attention to my cousin's growth spurt story or anything else for that matter. I spent the trip fretting because I packed my homework to do on the trip in the lost luggage. Yeah, I never gave a thought about not having a stitch of clean clothing to change into.
An hour or so later, we arrived at our destination. It was an old two-story house in an even older part of town. It only had two bedrooms because my grandfather remodeled it after his girls flew the coop. Downstairs featured a sitting room, a library filled with books, a fairly modern kitchen, and a huge dining room. A staircase led upstairs to the second floor. Up there the master bedroom created from the girls' old bedrooms occupied the west half. Whitney's bedroom took up the back corner with the so-called television room in front of it. It also contained the only bathroom which opened to both bedrooms, but not to the hall. Somewhere was an attic which we were told not to avoid without an adult.
Mom joined Aunt Sarah in the master bedroom. Of course, Betsy was bunking with Whitney. That left a recliner in the television room. I figured I could do without a bed since it was only for a week. I could give up anything for that long.
After the long trip, we were hungry. Aunt Sarah called out for some pizzas. When they arrived, we dove right in.
"All I have to drink is lemonade," my aunt said. "We have two pitchers in the fridge all the time. The house rule is 'If you drain it, you refill it.' Do you understand?"
We all nodded.
After dinner, while the others started to settle in, I checked out my room. Surrounding me, ten tall bookshelves held numerous VCR tapes and DVDs. I thought Grandpa Chris might have a mature movie or two. No such luck. The shelves contained mostly tv shows from over 20 years ago.
Disappointed and exhausted, I stripped out of my clothes down to my boxers and crawled under the covers. Tomorrow would be another day.
Tuesday morning started where the previous night ended. I was still in boxers, the same boxers I might have to wear all week. I pulled on my rather ripe shirt and pants, the same ones I traveled in.
Sneaking into Whitney's room to get to the bathroom, I found my sister still sleeping while my cousin had gone to school. When I exited the bathroom, I went through the master. Mom was dressing, having a day filled with appointments to attend to. Aunt Sarah had departed even earlier for work.
Mom suggested I make breakfast for Betsy. If we thought about it, my sister and I should look around for flashlights and extra batteries. The adults wanted to tackle the attic this week.
Once I heard Mom leave, I returned to the kitchen. In the food pantry, I found more expired food than new stuff. The same went for the refrigerator. Finally, I found some cereal and milk along with lemonade for our breakfast feast.
Soon after, Betsy popped down dressed in her same shirt and jeans. At home she never wore anything twice, sometimes changing a couple times a day. The lost baggage had to be killing her.
After eating, we began the Great Flashlight Expedition. With no luck in the obvious places in the kitchen, we split up. I took the upstairs while Betsy had the rest of downstairs.
I liked my choice. In my limited experience as a babysitter, I knew the master bedroom held many secrets. So it was no surprise to find a shoebox in my aunt's nightstand drawer.
I pulled the box out and opened it. Jackpot. No, not flashlights, but several extra batteries. They apparently were meant for the objects in the box.
As I emptied the contents onto the bed, Betsy joined me. "I found nada. How about you?"
"I'm not sure." I picked up the first object, a metal cylinder about six inches long. One end tapered to a rounded point while the other end had a notched wheel. Curiosity took over as I turned the wheel. I almost dropped the object when it began humming.
"Oh, that must be a massager," said Betsy. "My friend Chelsea's mom uses it on her tired muscles."
After turning that one off, I picked up the next, an ivory-colored plastic one with bumps along the shaft. The end wasn't so much pointed but blunted with a mushroom on the end. Carefully, I turned that one on.
This one not only vibrated louder than the first, but the top third swiveled like a rolling wrist. "Strange."
Turning that one off and placing it down gently, I examined the third. Neon purple. Flattened out, not round like a true cylinder. It had two pointy ends, one on the top where you expected it and another growing out of the middle.
I toggled that switch and all hell broke loose. It screeched like a cat in heat while the top end swung around, gyrating wildly. That couldn't be for tired muscles.
Just then the phone rang, and this time I dropped that purple contraption. I could hear my heart beating like we had been caught. Then I remembered a phone can't see.
My sister giggled like a brat she is. "You thought Mom caught you. Ha. Ha."
I put those three electronic devices back in the box before pulling out the last unusual item. I examined it from all angles and even sniffed it. Even so, I couldn't figure out how to use six plastic balls connected by a string. My sister hunched her shoulders to indicate she had no idea either.
The remaining contents were tubes and bottles along with an innocuous tin box about two inches square. Under everything else, I saw several jewel cases. The disks inside were labeled cryptically like 'BD-14'.
I turned to my sister and said, "Why don't you see if the caller left a message on the answering machine?"
"Okey dokey," she said before skipping out of the room.
Now that I was alone, I picked up the tin box. On the top in large white letters was the phrase 'Doctor Mac's Red Hot Lover pills'. Below that in smaller red letters was 'Female Aphrodisiacs'. Intrigued, I turned the box over where I found another label. It read "Doctor Mac's Red Hot Lover pills excites the libido of the consumer, stimulates ovulation, and enhances effects of arousal. Caution: Guarantees to improve the quality of your sex life. Warning: Subjects become open to suggestion, allowing for more adventurous encounters."
I wasn't sure what the label meant or if it was real. But I gave the tin a sniff and found it smelled of cinnamon. I figured that was worth something.
Before I could test the contents, I heard a crash from downstairs. Pocketing the box, I raced to the kitchen to find my little sister sitting on the floor, drenched.
"Fuck," she shouted. I'd never heard her swear before.
"Are you all right?" I asked trying to stop from laughing.
"I guess," she snorted. "I'm just mad."
"What happened?"
"I got the lemonade pitcher out of the fridge to pour us a couple of drinks. It was filled to the brim and pretty heavy. I stepped on something and turned my ankle. Down I went with the lemonade landing all over me. Yuck."
"Here," I said extending my hand and helping her up. "Nothing hurt?"
"I'll live. I've taken worse spills playing ball. It's just…" She gestured at her front.
The lemonade landed from her chest to her thighs. Her shirt stuck to her body, making her nipples poke out. The little pyramids pointed up about an inch more than normal.
"Here. Try one of these." I reached into my pocket and pulled out the tin.
"What is it?" she asked, popping the pill into her mouth without waiting for the answer.
"Aunt Sarah's secret candy."
"Oh it's cinnamonny. So hot." Her eyes closed and her face brightened. "Wow, they're great. Can I have another one?"
"We need to ration them. We don't want Aunt Sarah to know we took them, right?"
She nodded, standing there dripping, but almost in ecstasy.
"You should get out of your clothes. They'll get real sticky if we don't get the lemonade out of it. We'll toss them in the wash, and you'll have them back in a couple hours."
"Get out of my clothes," Betsy said in a strange monotone. She started to pull the shirt over her head, turning away from me as it rose. Then she unbuttoned her jeans, and let them fall. Bending over to pick them up, she pointed her pink panty-covered ass right at me. She didn't have a lot of curves yet, but looked very enticing.
Straightening up, she turned to face me. With one arm covering her chest, she handed me the sopping garments. "Here you go, Chris. Now, where's that washer?" Her voice sounded more normal.
I felt dumbfounded. My sister who I though very straight-laced stood before almost naked. A mere suggestion had removed her inhibition. I couldn't grasp the implication, not yet.
Betsy had posed a great question. We looked high and low, but saw no washing machine or even a place to put one. She gave up protecting her chest after a few minutes. I tried not to stare. At least not yet.
While upstairs, I decided to rinse the shirt and jeans in the bathroom sink. That made them even more waterlogged. But at least they should be less sticky. I put them over the tub to dry.
I glanced at her remaining piece of clothing. Her wet panties clung to her mons, prominently displaying her slit. "Want me to rinse them too?"
"No. They're drying. I'll be all right."
I turned to leave the bathroom when she cleared her throat. "If I have to walk around like this, Chris, so do you. Deal?"
I thought for a second. "Deal." I dropped my pants and peeled off my reeking shirt. I almost felt relieved we hadn't rinsed her panties. "Happy now?"
She smiled. "Yes. So let's do some more snooping."
I was happy too. Now I could look at my sexy little sister without feeling guilty.
While walking around in our underwear, Betsy and I began the Great Flashlight Expedition again. We put the shoebox back in its original condition. Well, almost. I had stored the tin box in my pants pocket, while my sister absconded with a tube labeled 'Strawberry Nipple Gloss'. We hoped Aunt Sarah didn't notice until we were flying back home.
For the rest of the morning, we rechecked the house for flashlights. I let Betsy lead, not minding one bit to follow that pair of pink panties wherever she wanted to go.
We stopped for lunch, consuming the remaining leftover pizza with freshly-made lemonade. My sister insisted I pour the latter. After cleaning up, we terminated the search. If a flashlight existed in that house, it must be next to the invisible washer.
During her snooping, Betsy had found a cache of photo albums in the library. We hadn't seen many pictures of our family. So we retired to that room, shutting the door behind us.
We viewed the first album or two while seated next to each other on a couch. Betsy held the book on her lap, flipping pages for us. The position allowed me a great view of her bare chest, more specifically her puffy little nipples that barely rose from it. I resisted touching them. She was my sister, after all. Even so, it took all my strength. She was safe, for now.
Instead, I worked up the nerve to put my arm around her shoulder. Her skin was warmer than I expected, especially since she had been topless for so long.
When she returned with the third album, I said, "You will sit on my lap while viewing the pictures."
"Sit on your lap," she said, using the monotone again. She took her place with her back pressed into my chest. Her body was hot, not only in looks, but in temperature. Even running around almost naked, she felt feverish. It must have been the pill.
To view this album, I had to crane my face over her right shoulder. With my mouth that close to her ear, she had to hear my ragged breath. I was getting hot without any medicinal help.
In a whisper, I said, "You will allow me to touch you wherever I can, and you will enjoy it."
"Allow you to touch me anywhere."
My hands sought out her tiny preteen tits. They were merely puffy nipples, light pink in color, yet they responded to the lightest touch. More importantly, she allowed me to do it without a word of protest. I started to believe in the suggestibility warning on the tin box label.
Betsy flipped each page slowly, her free hand then repositioning mine and directing its groping. Her ass shifted around, grinding into my lap.
I whispered in her ear again. "You will close the album. Then you will turn to face me.
"Turn to face you." Betsy returned the album to the shelf. When she came back, my sister straddled my legs, her arms circled my neck, and her face positioned nose to nose with mine. That put her nipples pointed into my chest.
I put my hands on her waist. "You will now learn how to kiss."
"Learn to kiss."
I figured she had never done that before, at least not romantically. Within the past year I had tried with a couple of my classmates. My technique had been crude at first, but was improving.
Our osculation session lasted for several minutes. We barely came up for air. If anyone says that kissing your sister isn't worth it, ignore them. They didn't know Betsy.
We concentrated on each other so much that we never heard the library door open. "Oh, there you are," said Cousin Whitney. She crossed the room and flopped down on the black leather chair. After a quick glance, she shielded her eyes from us naked kids, but said nothing.
Betsy climbed off my lap and took her place next to me. We sat silently for a few minutes waiting for Whitney to say something. She just sat there, her eyes glued to the floor, folding and unfolding the hem of her woolen plaid skirt.
Finally, I broke the ice. "Whitney, is something wrong?"
"It's just … I had a horrible day. I got a B on my history test. And got assigned a report to do over the holiday. Then there's Gina who I thought was my friend. She made fun of my size. I can't help being the tallest girl in the class. That growth spurt made me clumsy, you know. And then … " She lowered her hand and looked directly at us. "I'm sorry I disturbed you two."
I leaned over to my sister. "Get the tin box in my pants pocket up in the bedroom."
"Get the tin box," she said as she scurried from the room.
Turning to my cousin, I said, "Whitney, your friend probably didn't mean it."
"Gina did. She called me a cow."
I chuckled which didn't get the response I hoped for. "Your friend is just jealous. I bet she's built like Betsy."
"Yeah. Normal size for being eleven."
"Come here, girl." Whitney slithered out of the chair and took Betsy's place on the couch. I took her hands in mine, rubbing them a little. We sat like that until my sister popped back in.
"Bring it here," I said to my sister.
"What is it?" asked Whitney.
"A pill," I answered. "A magic pill. The kind that makes you forget about your troubles and realize how lucky you are."
"Is it safe?"
I glanced at my sister "Yes, of course," said Betsy. "I took one and felt better soon afterwards. In fact, could I have another one?"
I handed one to her. My sister popped it into her mouth and closed it to savor the flavor. Then her eyelids closed, her body shook, and a smile crossed her face.
I shifted my attention to Whitney. "Would you like a pill?"
My cousin nodded hesitantly. I took that for a yes. Taking a pill from the tin box, I placed it on her tongue. She closed her mouth, then her eyes, before saying, "That's so hot. I can feel it all through my body, from my nose to my toes. Now, I'm all tingly."
I watched as the feelings moved around her body. When it diminished, I drew closer to her. "You will listen to my suggestions and obey them accordingly."
"I will listen and obey," she replied, adopting a monotone like Betsy.
"Listen and obey," said Betsy a few seconds later.
I smiled, thinking I could control both of them. "Because my sister cannot wear her lemonade-drenched clothes, you must also remove those articles. That way she won't be embarrassed."
"I will remove clothes," said Whitney. Her hands moved to her tie and loosened it. Starting at the top, she unbuttoned her dress shirt. With the last shirt button, she unzipped the woolen skirt, letting it fall to the floor. She paused for a moment, letting her shirttails hide her panties. Then she pulled it open, exposing the lacy white undergarment. She rolled down her white knee length socks. Those weren't little girl legs that were still in need of stretching and filling out.
"This too?" she asked, touching her white bra. I nodded. Reaching behind her back, Whitney expertly unhooked the fastener. She allowed it to slide down her arms, falling to join the rest of her uniform.
I stared at her preteen chest. Her tits weren't like Betsy's pink puffy ones. No, these more mature nipples sat on small rounded mounds about the size of an apple half, surrounded by a light brown aureola area.
She raised an arm to cover them, but I shook my head. "But they're so …" she protested.
"Beautiful," I said, correcting any negative description she was about to give. "Remember your tits are beautiful. Anyone who makes fun or tells you differently is a liar."
"My tits are beautiful."
"Just like the rest of you, Whitney. In fact, you will believe my view is the view everyone has of you."
"I will believe your view," she said, a big smile breaking out.
Turning to Betsy, I detected a face full of envy on her. "Oh, I wish mine looked that good."
"And I wish mine were still like yours," said my cousin.
We stood there for a solid minute admiring each other. Betsy finally spoke. "May I touch them?" Her cousin nodded yes.
My sister not only touched them, but rolled Whitney's nipples between her fingers. The other girl drew a deep breath, leaning over to kiss Betsy on the forehead. My sister retaliated by kissing her cousin, this time on the lips. Whitney reached for Betsy's chest, returning the mini massage. The pair continued that way for a few minutes.
I stayed back, not wanting to spoil the moment. I tried to suppress my obvious excitement by sitting down on the couch.
Betsy came up for air first. "Just a second," she said breathlessly before racing from the room.
Whitney collapsed next to me. "You're a good kisser," I said stating the obvious.
"I had a little practice. My best friend, Rebecca, and I had a couple of sleepovers last year before she moved away. It was just cuddling, but … I miss her so."
Betsy burst back into the library holding a tube. Without asking, she painted a red liquid on Whitney's nipples. "Oh that tingles," my cousin said.
My sister lowered her head and took the now glossy left nipple into her mouth. That sent Whitney into a moaning fit.
"May I join you?" I asked. Without waiting, I attached to the right tit.
For several minutes we licked and sucked the moaning girl. When we heard a car drive by, we all jumped. "Mom!" cried Whitney. "She can't find us this way."
Betsy was a little calmer. "My mom called to say she and Aunt Sarah would be late tonight. I guess they're meeting old friends. We're supposed to call for delivery for dinner. And she said not to wait up for them."
"When was that?" I asked.
"Back when I dumped the lemonade on myself." My sister turned toward Whitney. "Where the hell is your washing machine?"
My cousin hung her head. "Granny broke the old one several months ago. We've been going to the laundromat across town ever since."
"Oh," replied Betsy and me in unison.
"Then let's work up an appetite," said Whitney. And so we did.
