*Hello, everyone. Here is day 3. You can find day 2 [here](https://old.reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/qvhz46/home_from_the_nightclub_day_2_mf_inc/)*
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Min-ho and Hyeon-jeong staggered into their house, laughing; home after another fruitless evening at another fruitless nightclub. Shoulder to shoulder-ish they stumbled up the stairs, poking at each others ribs or under the arms as they did, laughing at every tickle, each trying to delay the other in order to be the first one up.
“I…*me!*…*I* think I get to shower first!” Hyeon declared, lurching to the top half a step in front of Min. In challenge, Min started towards the bathroom but a flurry of rib-pokes drove him back, laughing.
“Fine!” he said, drunkenly. “*You* go ahead and get the bathroom all wet. *I’m* going to get something to eat.”
While she showered, he picked out his towel and pyjama pants, then went to the kitchen to eat some of the leftover *japchae* left in the fridge by their mother earlier that day before she and their father left for the week with to Incheon to visit their relatives.
He was just finishing the noodles when he heard the bathroom door open. He gathered up his towel and clothes, poked his sister in the ribs through her nightshirt as he passed her in the hallway, and showered. Laughed as he was ambushed with a finger in *his* ribs on the way out and retaliated with as good a tickle as he could give to someone running away. Laughing, she closed her door and turned off the light. Grinning, he did the same.
He was woken the next morning by a heavy, giggling weight on his stomach trying its best to tickle him awake. He flailed a bit in self-defense, but she had the advantage of position…at least at first. He was quick to defend himself with a tickle under her arms, but she squirmed away as best she could while still maintaining the advantage of height and first-tickles.
In the course of the ticklefight they didn’t notice that each time she slid down she was pushing the waistband of his pyjamas down, nor were either of them alert enough to notice his morning wood. She herself barely noticed her panties riding down as she slid back and forth on his stomach, and was far too busy defending her ribs against tickling to give it any thought. But they certainly noticed after a particularly enthusiastic under-arm tickle against *him* brought his knees up in self-defense and the tip of his penis past her panties, along and up and inside of *her*.
They froze. His first thought was *Oh, holy hell!* His first shock was where he was; his *second* shock was the realization that in order for him to even be *in* her as far as he was, she had to be at least *some*what wet. *What to do?* Carry on like nothing happened? Push her off? *Right, yes. Just push her off, and we can pretend like everything’s normal.* He snuck a quick look at her. The deer-in-the-headlights look on her face told him that she was as shocked at what had happened as he was.
Seconds were passing…he had to do *something*. *OK, pretend you notice nothing! Keep it normal!* He gave her a sideways half-smile, raised an eyebrow, and gave her another poke in the ribs.
With that poke, though, she jumped off him, stood beside his bed and began stammering apologies to him while turning to leave. He got up and took her hand before she could, though, and turned her towards him.
She looked down at the floor and said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen, it was an accident, I–” she babbled, then stopped as he took her other hand.
“Hey, it’s OK. I’m sorry, too.” He gave her a wry grin. “I shouldn’t have poked you that last time, maybe?”
“It’s just that…I mean…I didn’t…I don’t know how..,” she said, twisting her fingers in his. She looked down at the floor again. “I’m sorry.”
He let go of her hand and took her chin, raising her head up to look in her eyes. “Hey, *it’s OK*,” he told her. “Really.”
She looked back at the floor for a second, then back at him. “Really?”
In all the ways it could have gone, he wasn’t quite sure how he interpreted that *Really?* the way he did in that moment. On impulse, he let go of her hand to put his arms around her and place both of his on the small of her back. “Really,” he told her, and drew her in for a kiss.
It could have gone *so* wrong, he knew afterwards, and he was taking a terrible gamble in that moment. He half – more than half, really – expected her to pull back and ask just what the hell he was doing, but instead she met his lips with hers, and he held her in close in a long, warm kiss. After half a minute, they drew apart and they stood together, foreheads touching. “Really,” she said to him, softly, then placed her head on his shoulder. They stood like that for a long moment, then he kissed her again. Or she kissed him. Or they kissed each other, each believing they were the one doing the kissing. He slid his hands up her back, sliding her nightshirt up with them. She stopped him, drawing away. For another brief, panicked second he thought she felt he was crossing another line, but instead she pulled her nightshirt off herself and drew back close for another kiss, her breasts warm against his bare chest.
Another kiss, and another. Stepping back half a step, he took one breast in his hand, drawing his thumb against her nipple, leaning in for yet another kiss as he did so. She sighed almost too faintly to hear at the feel of his hand on her breast, the brush of his thumb. He moved his hands down, down to her panties, and began to draw them down. Once again that flash of panic as she stopped him.
“Wait. Wait,” she said to him, softly, pushing his hands away. “I shouldn’t do this.”
*Oh?*
“This isn’t fair to you, I shouldn’t be doing this. This isn’t what a sister should make her brother do, I’m sorry. It was just, you know…”
He took her hand again as she continued on. “Hey,” he told her. “It’s OK.”
“OK?”
He ran his hands up her back and with one stroked her hair. Looking her in the eye, he told her, “Yes. It’s OK.”
She stood there for a long second, then took him in her arms for a long kiss and a longer hug. Then she pulled away yet again, and stopped him yet again when he went for a second time to remove her panties. Instead, she removed them herself, pulling them off her feet and placing them and her nightshirt on his nightstand. He then pulled down his own pyjamas, and brought her in close for yet another embrace, the feel of her hair rough on his penis.
How long they stood there like that, neither of them cared. At last, though, they pulled apart, and sat on his bed together. She laughed as she flicked the head of his penis, calling “Good morning to the snail”. Then she lay down on his bed. Gently, so gently, he ran a finger up and down between her legs, feeling the softness there and letting the moisture wet his knuckle. Once, twice, he ran his fingers up inside of her, warm and wet, and she closed her eyes at his touch.
He circled a nipple with a wet finger, then bent down to lick the moisture from her breast. She sighed, and pulled his head close as he did. Giving her nipple one last lick, he moved down between her legs. He bent down close to her, close to the gate between her legs, but she stopped him yet again.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“What do you mean” he asked back, confused.
“Are..are you sure you want to do that?” she asked.
“Why not?”
“I didn’t think guys really did that,” she told him. “You know, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. In fact–” and here he bent further and began to lick between her legs, running his tongue along her slit, her clitoris, darting in and out every so often, tasting her *inside* as well as outside, running his tongue as deep within her as he could, reveling in the unique taste that was *her*, licking away the moisture as it beaded on the lips there and ran down her slit.
At first, nervous, she pushed at his head, but after a minute of feeling his tongue on and within her she instead pulled him closer, wrapping one leg around his back. She began to breathe heavy, and she took his hands from where they held her hips and pulled them tight in her own. She began to move her hips ever so slightly in time with his tongue, and her breath came in faster. Wetter and wetter she became, the sheet under her damp, damper, her breath coming in faster and faster, and when she pulled his hands up, he rose to his knees and began to move up between her legs, ready.
But she stopped him halfway. “No, not yet,” she told him, panting slightly. “Not now.”
“Why” he asked her.
“I’m not ready for that. Not that.”
“All right,” he told her, and began to slide back down between her legs to finish the job he had started, “I can still help you to finish.”
But to his surprise, she stopped him again. “No. Not like this.” She raised herself up on one elbow. “I don’t want to finish like that. Not now.” Surprised, he nodded, then sat up and back onto the edge of the bed.
“But I can do *this*,” she said, with a small half-smile, and wet her hand with the moisture between her legs. Wrapping that hand around his penis, she stroked him – awkwardly, but with spirit – until her hand went dry and it began to feel rough rather than smooth and he moved it away. Smiling, she got to her feet and kissed him again, tasting herself on his lips. Then, with a final flick of her tongue against his nose, she smiled at him, poked him in the ribs one last time, gathered up her nightshirt, and left for her room, leaving her panties on his nightstand.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/qwt6gn/home_from_the_nightclub_day_3_mf_inc