Somnambulist Sis Ch. 01

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Somnambulist Sis

This story contains descriptions of close family members engaged in entirely inappropriate activities that some may find either disturbing or hot. If you find family members fantasizing about or taking liberties with each other or otherwise behaving in naughty ways, then you probably should stop reading right about… now.

All characters in this story are fictional and are eighteen years or older. Any resemblance to any real person, living, dead, or under the age of eighteen, is in your own dirty little mind. Sadly, most of the events portrayed in this story are not based on true events. I wish.

If you are still reading and are not offended by SILF or BILF and believe siblings behaving in very naughty ways is hot, I hope you enjoy this story.

I killed my mother.

That’s what my father tells me, although don’t remember any of it. Why should I? Mother died when I was a half-hour old.

My very first memory is when my father had remarried, and my mother was a Vietnamese woman. A pregnant Vietnamese woman, so there is about a 2 1/2 year gap between when I killed Mother and I remember the woman I considered my mother growing up.

I am not Vietnamese. Far from it. Born blonde with blue eyes, just like the Mother I killed. My sister, though, she was Vietnamese. Well, half-sister and half-Vietnamese, although she looked pure Asian. Particularly next to her fair-haired big brother. As a kid, things like that don’t bother you so much. So, my sister and mother did not look like me. Jenny Valentine, down the block, didn’t look at all like her sister or her father. In fact, she looked just like Mr. Bonner across the street–I wonder if Mr. Valentine ever picked up on that?

My sister’s name is Huong, which means pink rose, which we found funny growing up, because my skin was pink. Hers was gorgeous, an olive tan, which I tried to emulate by spending as much time in the sun as possible. Even with my best suntan, my skin barely reached the tone of the parts of hers which never saw sunlight. Siblings compare those things.

So, despite our apparent differences, Huong and I grew up as any normal brother and sister, and her mother was my mom. For a while, we had a normal life. Until the day Mama ran the stop sign while driving us to elementary school. The truck killed her. Riding in back, Huong and I were banged up, but basically okay. On the outside.

Inside, Mama’s death hurt us all. I suppose Father considered Huong and I both killed her, since she was driving us to school, but he never said it aloud. We knew what he was thinking. I hid the pain of killing a second mother behind shyness. Our father dealt with the death of his second wife out of a bottle.

Huong handled it more creatively.

Her sleepwalking began right after they released us from the hospital. A neighbor almost ran her over a couple of blocks from the house, walking in the street wearing her nightie at 3 in the morning.

Her creativity was far from finished–not by a long shot. She put all her effort into being the kind of daughter her mother would have been proud of, and what do you know? She possessed that alchemy that Amerasian kids have. By the time she graduated high school, she was a cheerleader in the cool crowd with a 4.0 GPA. And she could freaking sing. And, she was gorgeous.

No one believed that shy blond kid was her big brother.

We could not have looked any more different, but we were close. Close as any normal brother and sister.

Sis went off to college on a scholarship, while I slaved away at the local community college and worked two jobs to support it. Besides, someone had to stay with Pop to bail him out when he periodically ran into a ditch while driving home from a bar.

Somewhere along the way, she stopped sleepwalking. The doctors attributed it to the trauma of watching her mother die right in front of her. And kids grow out of it–like she did.

So, when the horn blaring in the street outside our house woke me up one summer night, when Huong was home for summer break after her sophomore year at the prestigious college she attended, I didn’t really suspect anything. But I looked out the window only to find my sis standing in the street barefoot, wearing nothing but a slightly large tee-shirt, and some jagoff with his bumper about 3 feet from her honking like he was trying to wake her up.

Turns out, the trauma of her breakup with her asshole boyfriend must have been enough to trigger her sleepwalking to return after 10 years.

“It was only a onetime thing–I’m sure of it.”

Huong spoke with her typical confidence. Whether to reassure us, as Father and I both suspected, or perhaps she knew. Somehow.

“Was this because of your breakup?”

“Who knows? Maybe.”

“What happened?” I was prying, and she warned me to back down with a flash of her dark eyes.

“What always happens. We broke up. End of story.”

“It must have been more traumatic than that if Anadolu Yakası Escort you are sleepwalking again because of it.”

“I’ll kill him,” said the gallant father, his words thick with alcohol.

“Not if I get to him first.” Unlike him, mine was no idle threat. When her high school boyfriend dumped her, no one expected her introverted brother to do anything about it. Little did they know. Jimmy missed the Homecoming game and the rest of the football season with the injuries. The second-string QB had to fill in for the rest of the year, and Jimmy lost out on his big college scholarship.

To her friends, Huong said she hated me for it, but in private, she hugged me tight and thanked me. And we laughed about it for hours.

That night, she sat in her daddy’s lap and looked sweet as a little girl. “Relationships end. They aren’t Hallmark Movies with a happy ever after. Love is more Russian novel. It always ends in pain and sadness. Next time, it will be me leaving a broken heart.”

“How can we be sure?” Someone had to be the voice or reason–why not me?

“If it happens again, I will go see Dr. MacNamara and he can give me more of those pills I took last time. It worked.”

“If it happens again, we might be peeling you off the road.”

She made a bratty face at me, then turned back to our father. “Not with the two men in my life here to protect me. You’ll watch out for me, won’t you, Daddy?”

Years ago, she learned how to twist our father around her little finger. All she had to do was call him Daddy and give him that doe-eyed look and he caved. Every. Time.

“Don’t worry.” She gave him a big kiss on the cheek, which guaranteed his capitulation. On her way out of the room, she stopped and gave me a brief peck on the forehead. “I trust you, big brother!”

Nothing happened for days, so we figured she must have been right. A one-off and she was back to normal. Which, in her case, meant sheer perfection. No one mentioned it, as if to avoid jinxing her, the incident soon forgotten. Summer rolled on, the days growing longer and hotter, the nights quiet and uneventful.

It was the craziest dream. I was on the Titanic, and everyone lined up to get on the lifeboats. Anna Kendrick stood guard at the lifeboat wearing a sexy sailor outfit, asking everyone, “Tickets, please.” What ticket? I told her I didn’t have a ticket for the lifeboat. “That’s too bad,” she said. “Next!”

Then the doomed ship shook with some sort of explosion.

The shaking continued, enough to rouse me from my slumber, and I was moving around on my bed. It took a few seconds to gather my thoughts, but everything was shaking, although I was back in my own bed, right in my own room.

It felt like someone was climbing over my bed.

Someone was climbing over my bed. Crawling, actually, right up the middle from down at the foot.

“Huong, what are you doing?”

In the dark, all I could make out was her hair and an oversized white tee she wore for sleeping, and she was crawling on all fours. In that light, impossible to see her face to tell if she was sleepwalking again. But right away, I knew.

She didn’t say a word, and was right dead center of the bed, forcing me to scootch over to get out of her way.

“Huong, are you awake?”

Nothing. Up to the pillow by then, she lay down and rolled onto her side, back toward me. I had scooted so far over to give her room, my shoulder was hanging off the side of the bed.

Damn. I was literally about to slide off, and she scooted back a couple of inches, pressing against my side. Then she was asleep. Normal sleep. In my bed. Not a muscle moved, her breathing was shallow and regular and didn’t change for–I don’t know… half an hour? My phone was on the table on the far side of the bed, so I could only guess about the time.

To stay on the bed, I needed to move. First, I considered climbing over her to the other side of the mattress, but the more I thought about it, she really was offering herself to spoon with. And that was not the worst idea.

There isn’t much space to put a hand on a girl so tiny. Not with hands as huge as mine. On her arm was uncomfortable, on her thigh slightly better. Her stomach felt more natural, but fingertips bumped up against bottom-boob. That launched some stirring in my boxers, and if I tried to scoot my ass away any further, I’d slide off onto the floor.

She must still be deep asleep, I thought. Otherwise, she’d be ripping me for wedging my boner in her crack like a hot dog bun.

What the hell!

It was my bed, after all, and a man should be comfortable in his own bed. The most natural position didn’t crank my arm at such an awkward position.

My hand cupped her breast, which nestled inside it nicely. Why not? Probably the only chance I will get. And she was sound asleep and must have wanted me to cuddle with her. Right?

My boob-grab did not stir her from her slumber.

And you probably want me to tell Pendik Escort you about her titties, don’t you? Well, I will not disappoint you. Firm as a ripe peach yet, at the same time, soft, supple and warm. It filled my grasp more than expected, more than they looked on her diminutive frame. It felt like touching fire, although it caused no burn. Call me biased because she’s my sister, but it was a perfect breast.

For the longest time, I did nothing more than cup it. Waking my sister by squeezing her boob would have repercussions. Holding it gave plausible deniability. My cock screamed for more, but it was in a happy place, so I did my best to ignore it.

There was no fucking way I was getting back to sleep–not with my sister’s boob in my hand!

How is it possible for the most pleasant position I had ever been in to be so damn frustrating at the same time? It took a while for the fear to give way to the fullest enjoyment of my predicament. My brain was alive with wonderful, naughty thoughts.

And those thoughts finally offered up an excellent idea. While squeezing might wake her, playing with nipple probably would not.

Easy enough to find, even though it was soft and the tip small. One fingertip circled it, teased it to and fro, felt it stiffen to my touch. My cock responded by growing even harder; if it could speak, it would have been screaming!

Huong moaned a little and shifted her weight to lean against me. My hand trembled, her hair was in my mouth, her essence strong in my nostrils, both from her shampoo and her natural scent, which I knew but had never consciously noticed.

“How did I get here?”

Soft morning light filled the room. Somehow, I had drifted off. Huong lifted her head, pulling some of her long, silky hairs from my mouth. Her soft flesh still cupped in my hand. “You were sleepwalking again.”

“Thank god I came in here! Imagine if I’d gone into Daddy’s room. Or a neighbor’s house.”

“Or the interstate.”

She rolled onto her back. “Don’t tell anyone about this.”

“Of course,” I answered as she got up and slipped out the door. “You really need to see a doctor before something happens.”

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

Not a word about waking up with her boob in my grubby paw or making a bun for my hot dog.

Fifteen minutes later, after my heart rate slowed and my cock started behaving in a civilized fashion, I got up to start the day.

Doctors apparently consider broken bones and heart attacks more important than somnambulism. The first available appointment was on Wednesday of the next week.

Something had to be done. We could not lock her in until then–not that locked doors would work, because she unlocked and unchained the front door that night she went wandering into the street.

“Someone has to stay awake to make sure she does not wander back into the street or fall down the stairs or something.”

Our father nodded in agreement. “Why don’t we split up the watch? I’ll stay up until, say, 3:00, then you can take it from there.” Made sense. He could nurse his beers until then. Much better than trying to wake him from drunken coma at 3.

“Hopefully, that was the end of it, and in a few days we’ll be back to normal,” Huong said. Before going upstairs for bed, she bent down to kiss Papa on the forehead. “Thank you for looking out for me.”

Then she winked at me before going upstairs.

Late nights are no big deal for me, but getting up early is. I set the alarm for 2:30, just in case. When it went off, I dragged my ass downstairs, where father was sitting in his chair in front of the TV, remote in one hand, beer can in the other. After putting a pot of coffee on, I decided a bath might help wake me up. Normally, I shower, but in the middle of the night, a warm bath just sounded good.

I had only been soaking for a minute when the door opened and Huong strolled right in.

“Hey, get out! Jeez!”

It only took a second to realize she was not awake. Unseeing eyes stared straight ahead and her normally quick, graceful movements were gone. Too slow, and she moved in a herky-jerky way.

When we were kids and this happened, the doctors warned us not to wake her while she is sleepwalking, which I remembered well. I covered my crotch with one hand because, you know–I’m an adult and don’t do bubble baths.

Huong had been sleeping in some flimsy nightgown. It wasn’t too sexy, but it wasn’t very modest, either. Down to about mid-thigh, plunging low in front. It had virtually no back. Ignoring me, she turned to the mirror and began brushing her long, flowing hair, which covered much of her exposed back.

Goddamnit! Why do cocks have a mind of their own? A stiffy was stirring, and I had nowhere to hide it. Frozen to avoid splashing around to rouse her from her sleep, there was nothing to do but watch.

Vanity lights, reflected from the mirror where she stood, created a lithe shadow through translucent fabric, outlining Kurtköy Escort the contours of her body.

Water in the bath sat at periscope depth, and soon my purple helmet stuck an inch or so out, presumably to get the same view my eyes had. She had never glanced in this direction, but she could not keep brushing her hair all night.

And she didn’t.

Huong put the brush back and turned toward the door. I started to stand, eyeing the towel on the rack, when she turned toward me, so I slid back into the water, only head and shoulders, knees and the head of my erect penis sticking out. In that same sleepwalking motion, she came to the tub and reached down. My heart was pounding.

She reached past my head, to the bottles holding shampoo, body wash and other stuff of hers, where she grabbed a bottle of some pretty smelling girly stuff. Her boobs dangled about a foot from my face, and I had a missile topped with a thermonuclear device aimed at them. I wanted to cover my rod, but figured it would look like I was playing with myself, so I didn’t move a muscle.

Her eyes never went to me.

Satisfied with the bottle, she bent over, leaning back across me to place it on the ledge near my feet. My heat-seeking missile tracked her. This new place must have satisfied, for she turned back to the door. I scrambled for the towel to make sure she did not fall down the staircase.

That is exactly where she was heading.

I caught up to her at the top of the flight and turned her shoulders with as light a touch as possible. The towel fell to the floor the instant I let it go. Not that it mattered much, because the towel had been sticking straight out like an outtake from an American Pie film. And I walked her, buck naked, back to her room, to her bed, turned her to sit on the edge, to lie down, and I tucked her in. The whole time praying she would not awaken to see my massive woody pointing at her.

It worked! She lay down, shut her eyes, and never let on about my excited dick.

Downstairs, our father was asleep in the chair, a beer still balanced on the arm in one hand. I had boxers on by then, so I turned the tube off and went to bed, watching her door down the hall while I jerked off. To stay awake, of course.

A couple of times.

For the first week on her new medicine, Huong slept like a babe through the nights. It was over after 3 incidents, we figured. We were wrong about a lot of things.

I woke up for the late guard shift. Father and I were still taking turns, even with it looking like she put it behind her. Everything was quiet, but her bedroom door was open. I checked inside, and although her bed looked slept-in, she was nowhere to be seen. A quick peek in the bathroom indicated no late-night hair-brushing was going on.

Papa was snoozing in his chair while Who’s The Boss played.

“Papa, wake up! Huong is gone.”


“Get up! She’s sleepwalking and she’s not upstairs.” As I said it, I noticed the front door, wide open. “Jesus, Papa–she had to walk right past you!”

He stumbled after me as I ran out the door. “Go left–I’ll search this way,” and headed toward the right.

At night, our neighborhood is quiet as a graveyard. Not a soul in sight, houses dark. Luckily, no cars. I whisper-yelled her name as I walked down the street, peering between houses, behind bushes. She could be anywhere. If she wandered out an hour ago, she could be downtown by now.

A couple of blocks from home, I heard a splash. It came from behind the Petersons’ house. We knew it well–when we were kids, the Peterson kids invited us over to pool parties all the time.

Not a light was on in the Peterson home.

I sprinted around back fast as my legs could carry me.

Ripples still swept across the surface of the water. Below the diving board lay a shadowy figure, motionless except for a drifting mass of long, black hair.

My sister’s hair.

I hadn’t stopped to put on anything other than flip-flops, which I kicked off and dove in wearing the tee-shirt and boxers I had been sleeping in. Huong lay face-down on the bottom. Wasting no time, I reached around under her arms and kicked off the bottom. When we broke the surface, I wiped hair off her face even though it was clear she was not breathing, then dog-paddled to the side, keeping her head up. After shoving her up the side and rolling her away from the edge, I climbed up and knelt over her lifeless body.

Wet, her nightgown turned transparent as soaked tissue paper. I instinctively ran through a checklist of her condition.

Not breathing–check.

No heartbeat–check.

Nipples visible through clothing.

Damn it! Only a truly sick fuck looks at the body of his dead sister and thinks about nipples!

I rolled her onto one side and pounded her back. Water drained out. Alarming in its volume. Not a lifeguard, and with no first aid training, I was just winging it, but I had seen enough to know how to give CPR. Heck, I once watched a YouTube video demonstrating how it is done, and tried to remember. With both hands, I pumped the center of her chest 5 times. 5 seemed the right number.

My fingers were near her nipples.

Goddamn it! What the fuck is wrong with me?

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