Topless by the lake [Str8][mf][inc]

Early experiences — even if they’re locked securely in the past, replayed only in our memories and perhaps the occasional dream — play a powerful role in shaping our mature sexual selves. As an adult there’s no question in my mind that breasts are my most potent sexual trigger, but I can remember a time when I didn’t think about breasts that much, because they didn’t seem like such a big mystery, for reasons I’ll explain. My curiosity was focused almost entirely on the genitalia, because they were always hidden away. And yet I eventually discovered that breasts could be a source of great pleasure for both the one who had them and the one who got to look at and touch them.

Picture if you will a boy in a relatively relaxed family (not saying this was my family, not saying it wasn’t, the truth as always is somewhere in between). A boy who saw his younger sister topless from time to time. It wasn’t a big deal. Just as he did, his sister would wrap the towel only around her waist after a bath or shower. And why not? Her chest was not appreciably different than his. And swimming at the lake in the summer — she would wear only the bottom part of a bikini all day, and that seemed completely natural — the lake was secluded. But what was there to see? She was almost completely flat; even this year, when a slight change was visible — the slightest of swelling behind her nipple — he barely looked at it. He’d seen his mother topless, too, though not so consistently. She wore a two-piece suit at the lake, but she’d occasionally take the top off to sunbathe, lounging on her deck chair. She didn’t make a big deal about it and he would have been embarrassed to be caught looking, but he certainly knew what her breasts looked like: small, slightly saggy, the nipples surprisingly solid. He didn’t think, ever, about his mother’s body; his mind skittered away instinctively from even the thought. And perhaps just the fact that she wasn’t particularly uptight about baring her top had inhibited him, a little, from forming a sexual association with breasts. But he certainly thought about his sister sometimes. She was only a couple years younger than him, they had always been reasonably close, and she was pretty. He had his mind on sex all the time; it was inevitable that he’d think about his sister sometimes, too. It was just — just, her breasts didn’t even register in his consciousness, even though they were growing more prominent now, now, because he saw them so often, because he’d seen her bare chest all his life.

The big mystery, the thing he wondered about as he furtively looked at her in her bathing suit, was what was under her briefs, because even in a family that didn’t panic about a little exposed skin, he’d rarely seen more than a brief, accidental glimpse of her vulva, once or twice when the towel slipped while she was changing, perhaps. At night he masturbated, with the abandon of adolescence, all manner of images running through his mind. And yes, sometimes it was his little sister he imagined naked, though he would never have admitted that to anyone, but it wasn’t her chest; it was always that little, hidden triangle that flashed through his mind as he lay in the bed, panting, erection in hand.

But she — she would spend evenings looking at her tiny, nascent breasts in the mirror, wishing fervently for them to grow faster. She’d try to encourage them by rubbing them, squeezing them, tweaking the nipples. It gave her obscure, pleasurable feelings to do so. She looked at, touched, and thought about her breasts all the time; on the other hand, nothing particularly made her want to examine herself *down there* — that was associated in her mind with peeing, which was just a little gross. True, sometimes the pleasurable feelings seemed to coalesce to a locus between her legs, but she had never really figured out what to do about that. Of course she’d touched herself tentatively, but never for very long. It left a scent on her finger that she liked to sniff, but at the same time she had to force herself not to think about pee and the toilet, and her mind and fingers always came back to her underdeveloped chest afterwards.

She was intensely curious about her older brother, and the mystery of what was happening to him these days. Why he was so furtive sometimes, why he spent lots of time in his room. She’d read all the books that her friends giggled about, she understood that his… thing was getting hard a lot now; she could always tell when he was trying to hide it. It was hilarious, like when at the lake suddenly he’d have to go into the water even if he’d just come out. Or they’d be playing ball and suddenly he’d have some lame excuse to stop and sit down with the towel over his waist. He wasn’t fooling her. She’d noticed it making a little tent in his swimsuit a few times. She would look, trying not to be obvious about it, and wonder what it looked like. She could only think of the vague memories she had of seeing him when they had bathed together years and years ago. Surely it must be much bigger now; no way something that… *little* would make a noticeable bulge.

She had strange dreams sometimes, that summer. She dreamt of her big brother taking her into his arms and holding her. In her dreams her breasts and nipples were bigger and her brother couldn’t take his eyes off them. And he’d always be hard down there, although she didn’t really *see* that in the dreams. She just knew. The visual part she remembered was always her own breasts, magically grown prominent, and the effect they had on him. In reality, of course, no matter how much she ran around topless, he didn’t even seem to notice that she was starting, just starting, to develop. Their mom had noticed, though — in fact had gently suggested that she start wearing bikini tops at the beginning of the summer, but hadn’t pressed the matter when she protested, asked “but why?” She didn’t really want to lose the freedom she was accustomed to; she didn’t think it was a big deal. And in secret she was kind of proud of even the little development she’d had, and it excited her in an obscure way to imagine her brother seeing the change. Even if he hadn’t seemed even to notice, damn it!

She would, though, have been horrified to know that the reason her mother had suggested wearing a top was that her *father* had noticed. He’d found it distracting; he kept finding his gaze involuntarily drawn to her; she reminded him more than a little of his wife when they’d first started dating. She’d been almost flat then too; her breasts didn’t even really grow appreciably until she got pregnant the first time. He would never have admitted that he’d had such thoughts, but he complained to his wife, after the first night at the lake, that their daughter was getting too old to go around topless. She poo-poohed the idea, and he dropped the subject, but — though he didn’t raise the matter again — she *did* suggest to the girl that she wear her top. Met with resistance, however, and not feeling too strongly about the subject herself, she let it lie, and so nothing changed.

One evening, their parents went out on a date night, leaving them alone at the lake house, with strict instructions to stay away from the lake itself. This hadn’t used to happen; at home they used to have a babysitter, and she guessed it was hard to get a babysitter at the lake house, so the family tended to do things together in the summer. But apparently her brother was now deemed old enough to be responsible for an evening. Even though they couldn’t go swimming (she didn’t mind, who wanted to swim after dusk when the mosquitoes were out), she thought they would have fun; she was imagining an evening of watching TV, eating snacks, and the like. She was disappointed when, shortly after their parents left, her brother went into his room to use his home computer. She didn’t even understand why he would have brought that thing to the lake house. It was boring, in her opinion. There were some fun games on it but he rarely let her play them; in fact he didn’t even play them himself. He had some modem thing that would connect to the phone, making annoying noises in the process, and then he’d be glued to the screen until their parents would yell at him to get off the phone. Probably he was taking advantage of their being absent to get a few hours uninterrupted.

She sulked for a while, watched a little TV, made a snack, then went into her room, stripped down to just her panties, and stood in front of the mirror checking to see if her breasts had grown any since last night. She imagined they had. Suddenly she had a defiant idea. She went to her brother’s room, knocked on the door. When he opened it, his face registered mild surprise. Sure, he’d seen her topless and in bikini briefs all day at the lake, but she never walked around in just panties inside. “It’s hot,” she said, lamely. He didn’t say anything, but let her into his room. There was long, inscrutable text on his computer screen. He didn’t go back to it, but sat on his bed. At least he was looking at her. “I’m bored,” she said. He didn’t reply. He was still looking at her – not her bare breasts, it seemed to her, but her underwear. She wished she could come up with some excuse to take her panties off. She sensed he’d be interested in seeing *that*, but it would be unthinkably weird to just pull them down, or even bring it up as a suggestion. “Aren’t you hot too?” she asked. “No,” he replied, quite sensibly – it wasn’t, in point of fact, that hot tonight. “Well, I’m surprised you can wear all that, and stay in this stuffy room too.” Her brother didn’t say anything. Despairing, apropos of nothing, she blurted out the words she instantly wished she could swallow back: “Do you think I’m cute?”

He didn’t say anything immediately. He had an incredibly odd expression on his face, as if he were considering the question for the first time, and was unsure of whether to be annoyed, burst out laughing, mock her, or reassure her. Finally he settled on taking the question seriously. “Sure, you’re really cute.” No taking the question back now, she thought. “Do you think Emily is cuter than me?” Emily was her best friend back at home, and had often come over. She had real bust development; she had to wear a bra already. “Nahhhh… you’re cuter than Emily,” he said, earnestly. She didn’t believe him, but it was nice to hear. “Emily has real boobs, though,” she protested. “Aww, you’ll get boobs too,” he replied. “You’re starting to grow them a little, I guess.” Hearing him acknowledge that gave her a little shiver of excitement, made her bolder. “Wanna feel them?” He paused for a second, uncertain, then said “Sure.” She stood in front of the bed, facing him, and when he didn’t make a move, jutted out her chest provocatively. Finally, tentatively, he reached out and touched her right nipple, briefly. She felt the lingering touch of his hand after he withdrew it. Her heart was thumping. “You can touch them more if you want.” He hesitated, then put one hand flat on each breast, massaging the slight swelling. Her chest felt hot under his touch; he could feel the nipples tickling his palms. “They feel nice!” She looked down at his hands; they were so big, and yet so gentle. She felt sure he could feel the crazy pounding of her heart. She didn’t want him to stop. It was so different from touching them herself in front of the mirror, hoping absurdly that it would help her bust grow. She wished she had more for him to touch. Would he prefer to be playing with Emily’s real boobs? Of course he would, she thought, but Emily was hundreds miles of away and probably would never consent to being examined by her brother anyway. She, on the other hand, was right here, ready and willing.

His head was spinning. This was completely unexpected. It was true that his little sister didn’t have much to speak of in the way of breasts, but still, here he was, touching naked breasts for the first time ever, and even if it was just her, it felt nice. She didn’t seem to mind that he was still touching, rubbing, squeezing. In fact she seemed to be enjoying it; her eyes were half closed and she had an almost blissful look on her face. He had no idea why she had decided suddenly, this night, to approach him like this, but it certainly beat the stupid chatrooms on his computer, which were all full of gross perverts who pretended to be girls to get him and other boys talking, but were almost certainly grown men. He suddenly wondered if she would take off her underwear and let him get a good look down there. Maybe even, holy shit, *touch* her? He was afraid to ask, though. Hell, he never would have thought to ask to touch her breasts either. She had basically barged into his room and asked him to do that! But she was, after all, standing there wearing only skimpy panties. It wouldn’t be a big deal to suggest she take those off, too, would it? His heart was pounding. He couldn’t do it, it just seemed too outrageous a request.

She was feeling that familiar tingly feeling down there, kind of like she had a cold and had to sneeze, except not in her nose, if that made any sense. It was more insistent than it had been in the past. She felt like she had to do something, but she didn’t know what. Maybe she just had to pee. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she announced. Her brother looked surprised, jerked his hands away from her chest. She hadn’t meant to startle him, to spoil the moment. There was an awkward pause, then she walked slowly out to the corridor. She sort of hoped he’d follow her. To do what? Watch her pee? She didn’t know. She turned into the bathroom, hesitated, then left the door half open. Her brother hadn’t left his room. Whatever. She pulled down her underwear, sat on the toilet, spread her legs a little, and after a short time the stream came. It didn’t relieve the congested, frustrated, tingly feeling down there. She looked down. Her nipples were still hard. She thought about her brother touching them. She wanted him to do it more. She wanted him to hold her, like in the dreams she sometimes had. She… she wasn’t sure what she wanted. She thought of how he’d been, quite obviously. looking at her panties when she’d first gone into his room. He probably wanted to see what was underneath, and the thought of it made her even more excited and frustrated, but she just wasn’t bold enough to shed her panties and go back buck naked. He’d laugh at her, or react in shock, surely. She touched herself experimentally. Her fingers came away thick with that peculiar, arousing scent. She pulled up her panties, flushed the toilet, and — neglecting to wash her hands as she knew she should — went back to her brother’s room.

He was still sitting on the bed, looking a little dazed. At least he didn’t look annoyed that she was back. She had an idea. “Can I play a game on your computer?” He looked surprised. “Oh, pleeeeeze,” she pled, exaggerating for humorous effect. Playing games was a rare privilege; he rarely let her even touch his computer. There was only one chair at the desk. “I’ll sit on your lap, so you can show me how to play.” That was the trick she was aiming at. She didn’t really care about the game, at least not now; she wanted an excuse for him to hold her. Silently, he got up from the bed, sat down at the computer, quit the program he had been using and started an easy game that she’d played a few times before. She edged her way in. He apparently wanted her to sit on the edge of the chair rather than literally in his lap; his legs were spread wide apart to give her room. Instead, she perched on his knee, her legs dangling down on each side. He held her waist to steady her. She didn’t really need him to show her how to play the game he’d started; she picked up the joystick and pushed the button to start the first level. She was better at video games than he was, better reaction time, even though she rarely played. He wasn’t really interested in games as far as she could tell.

As she played, she was acutely conscious of his big, gentle hands on her bare waist, right above her panties. His fingers rested on her belly. She kind of fantasized that he’d just pull her panties down right then and there, but of course he didn’t. Instead, after a minute or so, almost as if he were pretending to be doing it unconsciously, both hands migrated back up to her breasts and started to play with them again. She uttered a quiet, satisfied sound and leaned forward into his grasp. As he fondled her, she slowly rocked back and forth on his knee.

Feeling her like this from behind, he had the sense that her breasts, immature as they were, were already a little more developed than he had realized. He’d been so used to seeing her swimming topless, had grown so blasé about it, that he’d barely noticed that this summer was different. They were small, sure, barely noticeable if you looked straight at them, but there was definitely more than just a flat chest to play with. He couldn’t really believe what was happening now; just went along with it. He was glad at least that she wasn’t actually sitting on his lap. He had a terrible erection. This way, with her butt perched on his leg, she could sit securely, move around comfortably, and he could touch her breasts, but he didn’t have to worry about her noticing the hard bulge in his jeans. He could see just the hint of her butt crack above her panties. He wished he dared to let his hands roam around more; but he didn’t want to press his luck. And besides, it really was an incredible feeling to fondle her breasts. It was kind of crazy that he’d never thought much about them before, given that he saw them every day. He wasn’t sure where this was going but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to look at his little sister the same way any more. At the same time, he felt at the moment terribly close to her, terribly moved by her willingness to bare herself to him, to be touched by him. He certainly wasn’t going to push her to do anything she didn’t want to do. Playing with her breasts was her idea, she’d *asked* him to, so he’d just keep doing that as long as she wanted him to.

She was getting, literally, hot and wet and tingly. Her skin felt like it was lightly burning and she was sweating. She felt almost unbearably full in her crotch. His hands, tirelessly massaging her chest, were certainly contributing to her arousal, but the feelings were all coalescing *down there* in a way that they’d never fully managed to before. She was, almost without noticing it, rubbing herself against his knee in rhythm, and it was bringing her forward towards… something… in a way that touching herself had never succeeded in doing before. She began to neglect the game, finally lost her last life and put down the joystick. Her brother didn’t say anything, kept fondling her. There was no pretext now; the only game was for him to touch her while she rocked back and forth on his knee. Something was happening; the tingling was getting stronger and more focused. She was definitely progressing towards something wonderful and completely new. All the same, when she finally arrived, it was very sudden and unexpected. She yelped, shuddered, and squeezed her brother’s leg between her thighs as the waves of intense pleasure radiated from her most sensitive spot and spread rapidly through her whole body. She had had her first orgasm.

He had understood what was happening. His little sister was masturbating, just as he did every day, just not with her hand but by rubbing herself against his leg. It was incredible, inconceivable really, but then again it wasn’t really that implausible. Girls could do that too, the only amazing thing was that it was actually happening, she was here, doing it with him. He just let her do it her way, trying not to interfere, still touching her breasts because she seemed to like it. She was getting hot and sweaty; her neck and shoulders were going red and the ends of her hair hung damply around them. There was a faint, intimate odor; he recognized it; it was different from, but also similar to the odor that would be on his own hands after he masturbated. When she finally reached her climax, it was all over very quickly. She groaned and shook, went rigid in his grasp, her legs pressing together around his. Then, after a while, she leaned back against his chest. He looked down at her. Her chest was red, her breasts seemed to be swollen, there was a prominent wet spot on the her panties and, he noticed without any real surprise, a corresponding spot on his jeans right above his knee. He was of course familiar with the mess that he made when he had an orgasm. He was fairly unclear on how it all worked with girls, but it seemed reasonable that she might have made a little mess too.

They sat that way for a while, motionless. He wasn’t sure what to say or do. After a while, he realized to his shock that she had apparently fallen asleep. It wasn’t even that late; bedtime, perhaps, but their parents wouldn’t be back for a few more hours. Finally, he got up, simply cradling her against him. He was strong; it wasn’t hard to carry her into her bedroom. She woke up on the way, murmured his name. He put her down on her bed, found her pajamas under her pillow. He wasn’t sure if she usually wore underwear under her pajamas — he didn’t — but after all her panties were wet, dirty, so… He decided this was an opportunity if there ever was one, and began to pull them off. Her eyes were closed, but she was awake; she lifted her hips to help him.

And just like that, she was completely naked, and he was looking straight at the great mystery he’d been wondering about forever, her vulva, still glistening a little. He was conflicted; he wanted to look and look, commit it to memory; but after what had just happened, it all seemed a little superfluous, certainly less titillating by comparison. His eyes kept returning to her chest, still a little flushed after their encounter. The beautiful little breasts that he now knew so well by touch. He felt incredibly moved. It wasn’t even just sexual; he loved his sister, he was aware he had helped her feel good just by fondling her breasts. To him, they now represented the intimate secret they shared, and he would never look at her chest the same way again.

He felt he had a responsibility now to put his little sister to bed, as absurd as that seemed. He started to put on her pajama bottoms; it turned into a giggling struggle as she playfully resisted. Finally, he got both her bottom and top on. Feeling silly, he kissed the top of her head and made to leave. “Stay,” she said, plaintively. “Come on, I can’t stay, what if they found us?” She looked defiant. “That was fun,” she said, and giggled. “Yep,” he replied, and smiled reassuringly. It *had* been fun. He had to go to his room and think about it. “Sweet dreams,” he said to her, and walked out, gently closing the door behind him.

They were.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/st3j5a/topless_by_the_lake_str8mfinc