From: bobandcarole@aol.com   
      
   Story: Bathnight with Kate  260kb (Mg, incest, cons)   
    >   
    > by bobandcarole   
    >   
    >   
    > "You'll stay in and look after your sister and that's an end to it," My   
    > father said in a voice which promised trouble if I argued any more.  I   
    > backed off.   
    > "Isn't fair," I grumbled.   
    > "Life isn't fair," Dad told me sharply.  "You'd better get used to it."   
    > A sudden change of plans was taking my parents out for the evening and I   
    > had been lumbered with baby-sitting my little sister.  It was in part my   
    > own fault.  When I had arrived home from school they had asked me   
    > innocently what plans I had for the evening and I admitted to nothing   
   more   
    > than intending to wander round to a friend's house for no particular   
    > reason.  In fact I'd had a date with a girl I'd screwed for the first   
   time   
    > four days ago, my first ever screw, and had been hoping for a second but   
    > at fourteen going on fifteen I'd learned to be wary telling my   
   parents if   
    > girls were part of my plans, as they didn't altogether approve - at   
   least   
    > of girls they'd never met.   
    > "In that case you can baby-sit your sister," they triumphantly   
   trumped me.   
    > "We've got to go out."   
    > I'd grumbled and griped for an hour until savaged by my father and then   
    > stayed sullenly silent in front of the TV, ignoring my eleven-year-old   
    > sister Kate while my parents left the house and for half an hour after.   
    > By then it was too late to telephone my girl Janet and I was savage with   
    > the knowledge that she wouldn't take kindly to being stood up, and might   
    > very well find someone else to do what I had been hoping to do to her. I   
    > curtly sent Kate off to bed at eight-o'clock, her usual time, and sat   
    > tormenting myself with thoughts of what I would have been doing had I   
   not   
    > had a wretched little sister.  At memories of the newly-discovered   
   joys of   
    > soft, round breasts and that wondrous forested landscape of hot, wet,   
    > girl-cleft and inviting hole with my prick sliding in and out of it I   
   was   
    > only partly aware that I had released my stiff prick from my jeans   
   and was   
    > gently masturbating when I heard a scrabble at the door and it swung   
    > slowly open.  I hastily jammed my prick back in my trousers and   
   turned to   
    > see my little sister peering around it like one of those damn plastic   
    > fairies peeping from behind concrete toadstools the   
    > aesthetically-challenged enjoy littering their gardens with.   
    > "What're doing?" Kate enquired, tipping her head to one side like a   
    > puzzled puppy.   
    > "Got'ta itch.  Just scratchin'," I told her curtly.  "What'd'ya want?"   
    > "Oh."  She nodded as though all was explained.  "There's a spider in the   
    > bath," she announced, lazily swinging her body around the door a little   
    > further into the room.   
    > She was wearing just her knickers, little-girl's cotton things that   
   hugged   
    > her hips and hinted at a little pouting mound between her legs. "Girl,"   
    > howled the animal part of me, stirred into a frenzy by my fevered   
    > imaginings of moments before.  "Don't be stupid," my reasoning mind   
    > replied.  "She's eleven-years-old, and your sister."   
    > Kate had a bath every night mainly to wash and dry her hair before   
   giving   
    > it a hundred strokes with a brush.  This was necessary because her hair   
    > was her glory.  It fell in waves of thick golden ringlets as far as the   
    > small of her back, and her ambition was to be able one day to sit on it.   
    > To me it was a vanity like a peacock's tail, about as practical as a   
   lump   
    > of concrete around the stupid bird's neck, but Kate was passionate about   
    > it and our parents proudly indulged her.  For her to miss her nightly   
    > bath, and thus her toilette, would be a catastrophe of the first   
   magnitude   
    > I would never hear the end of.   
    > "O.K.  I'll come and get rid of it," I said in a hard-done-by tone and   
    > still trying to hide my hard-on.   
    > "Thank you,' she said politely, dropped from the door-handle and turned   
    > away in a cascade of golden tresses like theatre curtains swishing   
   closed   
    > across the front of the stage.  I arranged my still achingly stiff prick   
    > as best I could in my jeans (I dress to the right, when I can!), did up   
    > the fly and wearily followed my sister upstairs to the bathroom.   
    > It wasn't a particularly big spider in the bath, which was fortunate   
   as I'm   
    > not very fond of them myself, and as Kate screeched and shuddered I   
   herded   
    > it into my hand and crossed to the window with it.  My sister might have   
    > hated them but she'd never have forgiven me had I just squashed it or   
    > flushed it down the plug-hole.  While I was trying to open the window it   
    > escaped from my hand on to the sill and it took me another half a minute   
    > to round it up again and successfully evict it into the night.  I closed   
    > the window, turned and froze.   
    > My little sister, now innocently naked, was reaching across the bath to   
    > turn on the taps.   
    > She was five feet tall, five stone nothing and elfin.  Her hair lay   
   across   
    > her back like a short golden cloak, erotically revealing her nudity.   
     Her   
    > arms were long and elegant. Her legs were longer and startlingly   
   shapely.   
    > Tiny mounds no bigger than peas underlay her nipples like seeds of the   
    > breasts waiting to grow there and her pose, stretched over the tub with   
    > one leg stretched balletically behind her for balance, revealed the   
   smooth   
    > curve of her body between her thighs, deeply incised by the slit that   
   had   
    > condemned her at birth to be forever a girl.   
    > I felt like I had been hit by a truck.   
    > I was still new to girls.  I'd known for some time that they didn't grow   
    > proper breasts until they were twelve or thirteen and that instead of   
    > pricks they had holes into which the prick went to make babies.  Only in   
    > the last few weeks had I discovered that those breasts were the eighth   
    > wonder of the world, wonderfully soft and incredibly exciting.  I'd   
    > discovered, too, that girls grew hair between their legs like boys   
   did and   
    > that the slit which began in it contained a surprising maze of folds and   
    > wrinkles which, if you put your finger on the right wrinkle, made a girl   
    > moan and wriggle and squeeze your hand between her thighs.  Here,   
   too, was   
    > that passage into her body, the vagina in polite books and cunt in   
    > whispered conversations between school-boys into which, if you were   
   lucky,   
    > the girl would eventually let you put your prick for the most exciting,   
    > the most wonderful, the most incredible, five minutes imaginable.   
    > And the truck that had hit me was the realisation that my sister was a   
    > girl.   
    > Not that she had breasts yet, nor hair between her legs.  I wasn't even   
    > sure if she had a cunt - a vagina - as I half-assumed they grew in girls   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)