My Sister Sofía and the Desire I Shouldn’t Have Felt

I went downstairs as always: barefoot, in a worn-out T-shirt, my body still heavy with sleep. Twenty-seven years living in that house, and routine had become part of my body, like a second skeleton. The smell of coffee guided me to the kitchen before my eyes had fully opened.

Sofía always had it ready before I came down. It was one of those little things we never commented on but that were there, like a silent agreement between siblings who had spent their whole lives sharing space.

I found her with her back to me, in front of the open fridge. And that was when something stopped.

It wasn’t her usual pajamas. She was wearing a black outfit I had never seen before: a tight-fabric strapless top that held itself up more by the shape of her body than by anything else, and a high-waisted skirt that followed the curve of her hips with a precision that made me blink twice. Sheer, thin stockings completed the look, revealing the pale skin of her legs through the fabric.

I stood there for a second in the doorway. Only the hum of the fridge and her calm breathing.

Sofía reached up to grab something from the top shelf. The skirt rose just a few centimeters, exposing a stretch of skin at the lower part of her back. It was a completely ordinary gesture. But my gaze stayed there longer than it should have.

—Good morning —I said at last, crossing the kitchen toward the coffee maker.

She turned with that familiar smile, affectionate and a little rebellious, the one she’d had since she was a kid. Twenty years old, very pretty, with those eyes that always looked like they were about to laugh at something.

—Good morning, little brother —she replied, coming over to give me her usual kiss on the cheek. But the hug lasted a little longer than usual. Her arms went around my neck, and for an instant I felt the heat of her body: the tight fabric brushing my chest, the sweet perfume she had been wearing since early morning. She pulled away with the same natural ease, took her juice, and sat on the counter.— Did you sleep well? I made your coffee strong, like always.

She crossed her legs slowly. The skirt lifted just a little, showing the top edge of the stockings and a strip of skin above them.

—I bought it yesterday —she said, swinging one bare foot—. I wanted something different for going out with the girls tonight. What do you think? Does it look weird or is it okay?

Her tone was exactly the same one she’d used since she was fifteen when she asked me for opinions on clothes. But her eyes had that usual spark, the one of someone testing something without being fully aware of it.

—It looks different —I replied, trying to keep my voice normal as I poured the coffee.

But my eyes no longer obeyed me. They stopped on the outline of the top over her figure, on the little silver pendant resting in the center of her cleavage and moving with every breath. On the stockings that cast that delicate shadow rising and disappearing under the skirt.

***

The rest of the morning went by as always. She went to her room to change, I ate breakfast and opened the computer. Everything looked normal. Except it wasn’t anymore.

In the afternoon, Sofía moved through the house with that natural grace she had always had, but I started noticing things that had previously gone unnoticed. When she bent down to pick up the remote from the floor, the line of her back sharpened in a way that made me look away. Later she stretched out on the sofa with her legs extended, the stockings shining under the afternoon light as she talked about her job, a friend she’d had a misunderstanding with, the plans for that night.

There was something different. Not in her. In me.

—Will you help me with the full look? —she asked suddenly, turning toward me.— I’m going upstairs to change and I’ll come down with the other outfit. I want you to be honest, like always. You’re the only one who tells me what you really think.

She stood up, and as she passed by me her hand brushed my shoulder, that same affectionate gesture as always. She went up the stairs with a light step, the skirt moving with every stair.

I stayed sitting there with my heart beating harder than usual.

***

She appeared at the top of the stairs and time stopped for a second.

A short black dress, with thin straps, and a satin sheen that caught the afternoon light. It fell to just above mid-thigh. The neckline dipped in a soft, deep shape, with that kind of balance that makes it impossible not to look. The same sheer stockings continued the dark line of her legs down to her bare feet. The silver pendant was in the same place as always, moving with every calm breath.

She came down the steps with one hand on the railing, as if she weren’t in any hurry. Each step made the dress cling and then loosen over her hips in a soft motion.

—How’s this? —she asked when she reached the bottom, stopping in front of me. She turned slowly, one full spin. The dress lifted just enough to show the back of her thighs covered by the stockings.— I bought it the same day as this morning’s outfit. It’s for tonight. Too short?

Her voice had that familiar uncertainty when she asked for my opinion, as if what I thought really mattered to her.

—It looks very good on you —I said. And it was true. Too good.

She smiled, pleased, and sat on the arm of the sofa right beside me. Her legs crossed naturally. The dress rode up another couple of centimeters. From that distance I could see the texture of the stockings, the way they fit her thighs perfectly, the neckline moving slightly with each calm breath.

—Thanks —she said softly, leaning a little toward me to adjust one of the straps that had slipped from her shoulder. The movement brought her cleavage closer to my face for a second, and I could smell the soft warmth of her skin mixed with that sweet perfume.— You always tell me the truth. With everyone else I have to guess what they’re thinking, but not with you.

She laughed quietly and tossed her hair to one side. A loose strand brushed my arm. She stayed seated there, gently swinging one foot, as if she weren’t in any hurry to get up.

—Hey… can you help me with something? —she asked, wearing that sisterly expression she used when asking for favors.— The zipper in the back isn’t quite right. Can you pull it up a little?

She stood up and turned halfway around. She gathered her hair with one hand and held it up over her head, exposing the nape of her neck and the whole line of her back. The invisible zipper ran from the neck down to the waist, slightly open.

I stood up. My hands weren’t trembling, but they were inside.

I touched the fabric first, then the little zipper tab. My fingers brushed the skin of her back as I pulled it up, centimeter by centimeter. I felt her temperature, a little warmer than mine, and the way her breathing stayed steady and even. When my knuckles reached the nape of her neck, she let out a soft, nearly inaudible sigh.

—Thanks —she murmured, still turned away.— You’re the best brother in the world.

She turned around. Now we were very close. Her eyes looked at me with that blend of affection and something I couldn’t quite name. The dress fit perfectly now. Her perfume reached me more intensely at that distance.

—Sometimes I feel like I’m growing up too fast —she said quietly, biting her lower lip for a second, that nervous gesture she’d always had.— But with you I can still be myself. Without pretending anything.

She gave me a quick but warm hug, her arms around my neck, her body pressed against mine for a few seconds longer than usual. I felt the soft pressure of her breasts against my chest, the heat through the dress’s thin fabric, the way her hips settled for a moment against mine before pulling away. When she stepped back, her cheeks were faintly flushed.

—I’m going to touch up my makeup and I’ll be back in five minutes with the heels —she said with a smile.— Don’t move. I want your final opinion before I go.

She went upstairs. I stayed standing in the living room with my hands still remembering the skin of her back and my pulse pounding hard in my temples.

***

The sound of heels on the stairs was different. Firmer. More present. Every step was like an echo landing straight in my chest.

She appeared in the doorway and paused for a moment, letting me see the full outfit. Black stiletto heels with a delicate strap crossing the ankle. The satin dress clinging to her figure. The sheer stockings creating that dark continuity from her thighs down to her feet. She walked toward me with that subtle sway heels gave her hips and stopped in front of the sofa.

She turned slowly, once. The dress lifted just enough to show the edge of the stockings and a glimpse of pale skin above.

—Approved? —she asked with a small smile, running her hands down her sides to smooth the fabric.

—Much better —I replied, and my voice came out lower than I intended.

She let out a soft little laugh and sank onto the sofa beside me, not pressed against me but close enough that her thigh brushed mine for a second. She crossed her legs, the dress riding up a little more, and sighed with relief.

—These heels are killing me —she said, flexing one foot and then the other.— I’ve only worn them for ten minutes. Do you mind if I take them off for a bit? Just to rest before I go.

—No, of course —I answered, trying to sound casual.

She leaned forward and removed one shoe and then the other with slow, precise movements. She let them fall to the floor with a soft sound. Her feet were left covered only by the sheer black stockings: small, well-shaped, with that elegant arch the thin fabric made easy to guess in detail.

Without asking, she stretched her legs and placed both feet on my lap.

It wasn’t a provocative gesture. It was exactly the same gesture she had always made when she flopped onto the sofa tired and trusted that I would never complain.

—Just for a little while —she murmured, leaning back against the cushion and closing her eyes.— I promise I won’t take long.

Her feet rested on my thighs. I could feel every detail: the silky softness of the stockings, the warmth radiating from her skin, the light but constant weight. One of her heels came to rest just a few centimeters from my groin. The other shifted slightly when she searched for a more comfortable position, brushing the inside of my thigh.

I opened my mouth. The words didn’t come out.

She opened her eyes for a second and looked at me sideways, with that familiar affectionate expression.

—You’re the only one who lets me do these things without complaining —she said softly.— Thanks for being so patient with me, always.

She moved her toes just a little, an innocent stretch that tightened the stockings and deepened the contact. I felt the heat concentrate exactly where her heel brushed me. My breathing grew heavier. I tried to stay calm, but it was impossible to ignore how close she was: her legs over me, the dress lifted just enough to show the meeting of the stockings with the skin of her thighs, the perfume coming with each tiny movement.

—Ow… they really hurt —she said in that whiny voice she used when she wanted to be pampered.— Can you give me a quick foot massage? Just one minute, I swear. You used to do it all the time when my feet hurt after dancing. Remember? It relaxes me so much.

She asked it with complete naturalness, as if she were asking me to pass the water glass. Her eyes looked at me with that absolute trust she’d had since we were kids.

—Sure —I replied, and my voice came out hoarse.

I took her right foot in both hands. It was small, delicate, perfect. The sole had that elegant arch the thin fabric showed in every detail. I started with the sole, pressing with my thumbs in slow, firm circles. The stocking slid under my fingers like hot, elastic silk. I could feel every little muscle relaxing under my touch.

Sofía let out a soft moan, almost a sigh of relief, and sank her head back against the sofa.

—That feels so good —she whispered, closing her eyes.— A little higher… at the base of the toes, please.

My thumbs moved slowly to that spot. I cupped her foot, pressed carefully, felt the stocking tighten and then give way beneath my fingers. Blood pounded in my temples. There was something about that contact, the temperature of her skin through the fabric, the way she relaxed completely trusting me, that was becoming harder and harder to ignore.

She moved her foot just a little, an innocent adjustment that made her heel press a little deeper against my groin, right where I could no longer hide what I was feeling. The brush was innocent. The effect wasn’t.

—It feels so good when you touch me like that —she said softly, almost drowsy.— Could you… I don’t know… kiss my feet? Like when we were kids and you said kisses healed everything. I know it’s silly, but it relaxes me so much…

She said it with a quiet laugh, half-embarrassed by her own idea, but without moving her foot. Her eyes stayed closed, trusting me completely.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I looked at her foot in my hands, the thin stocking, the pale, smooth skin visible through it. She waited with total confidence, without imagining what was going through my head.

I leaned in slowly. I kissed the arch of her foot, barely brushing the warm stocking. She let out a deeper sigh. I continued to the sole, one soft kiss after another, feeling the heat of her skin through the silk. The scent rising from her feet was part of that sweet perfume of hers that had already begun to unnerve me.

And then I didn’t stop.

Because something between us had changed that morning in the kitchen, even if neither of us said it out loud. Something that didn’t have the right name, that had no right to exist, but that was there with the same certainty as the weight of her feet on my lap and the heat of her skin beneath my lips.

Sofía didn’t pull her foot away.

She only whispered my name, softly, with a question and an answer at the same time.

—Keep going —she said after that, without opening her eyes.— Go up.

She didn’t need to say it twice. I let go of her foot carefully, set it on the sofa, and slid to the floor between her knees. She parted her legs just a little, a small but decisive gesture that opened a space between her thighs and said everything. The satin dress had ridden up to mid-thigh. I lifted the fabric with one hand, very slowly, waiting for her to stop me. She didn’t. On the contrary: she lifted her hips slightly off the sofa so the skirt could rise more.

She wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

Only the top edge of the stockings tight against mid-thigh, and then pale, bare skin, down to that clean, shaved pussy, with the lips already shining with dampness. The smell hit me at once, warm and sweet, intimate, very different from the perfume I’d been noticing all afternoon. This was another level.

—I forgot to put on my underwear —she murmured with a faintly guilty smile.— Seriously.

I didn’t answer. I kissed the inside of her thigh, right where the stocking ended. The skin there was even softer, even hotter. I moved upward, one kiss after another, very slowly, feeling her breath catch with every centimeter I advanced.

When my tongue touched her pussy for the first time, she let out a long moan, tight in her throat, and her fingers tangled in my hair.

—Oh, God… little brother…

I licked her slowly, from bottom to top, tasting everything. She was soaked. Her lips opened on their own every time my tongue passed between them. I circled her clit with the tip, slow and steady, and she shuddered all over. I did it again. Faster. She started moving her hips against my mouth, searching for more pressure, more tongue, more of everything.

—Suck it —she whispered, her voice broken.— Suck it like that, God, don’t stop…

I closed my lips over her clit and sucked gently. She arched her back against the sofa. Her thighs clamped around my face for a moment, then opened wider still. I slid two fingers into her cunt while I kept sucking her. She was so wet they went in all the way without resistance. I curved them upward, searching for that inner spot, and found the rough texture swelling beneath my fingertips.

She writhed.

—There, there, don’t stop —she panted, pressing my head against her pussy with both hands.— I’m going to come, little brother, I’m going to come…

I sped up. I fucked her cunt with my fingers while my tongue worked her clit nonstop. I heard the wet slapping, felt her legs start to tremble. She gave a muffled cry, biting her lip so the whole street wouldn’t wake up, and her cunt clenched hard around my fingers, once, again, and again. A small spurt of hot wetness splashed my chin and jaw.

I kept licking her softly while it passed, sucking the last pulse out of her, until she pushed my forehead away with her hand, too sensitive.

—Wait, wait —she said, laughing with a wrecked voice.— Come here. Up. Now.

I climbed onto the sofa. She grabbed the back of my neck and kissed me on the mouth for the first time in my life, with tongue, without any shame, tasting herself on my lips. A long, hungry kiss, nothing like siblings.

Her hands were already pulling down my pajama pants. When my cock sprang free, hard like I hadn’t remembered it being in years, she let out a low moan against my mouth.

—Fuck —she murmured, looking at it.— No wonder you’d been like that all afternoon.

She wrapped her hand around my cock. She started stroking it slowly, up and down, feeling the weight, the shape. With her thumb she collected the drop of precum already beading at the tip and brought it to her mouth without taking her eyes off me.

—Sofía…

—Shhh. Let me.

She slid to the floor, to the same place I’d been a minute before. She knelt between my legs with the dress still on, wrinkled over her hips, her nipples standing hard against the satin fabric. She took my cock in both hands and looked at it as if calculating something.

Then she opened her mouth and took it all in with one push.

A long gasp escaped me. She sucked me from top to bottom with hunger, with noise, with her hand keeping pace with what her mouth couldn’t reach, never taking her eyes off me from below. Her hair fell to both sides. The silver pendant swung over her cleavage with each movement of her head. A trail of saliva began to slip down her chin.

—Just like that, little sister, just like that —I panted, and watching her react to those words was worse: she closed her eyes, moaned with my cock in her mouth, and sped up.

She sucked my cock with her mouth wide open, leaving nothing out. She pulled back for a second to lick me from base to tip with a flat tongue, spit on it, and take me in again, never stopping staring at me.

—All morning —she whispered against my cock— I saw you looking at me. In the kitchen. On the sofa. When I put my feet on you. I knew exactly what I was doing.

She took me back into her mouth. Now all the way to the throat. She coughed once, wiped the slobber with the back of her hand, and kept going, without stopping. I felt the tip hit the back of her throat and had to grip the sofa with my fingers to keep from coming right there.

—Stop —I told her, tugging gently at her hair.— Stop or I’m going to come in your mouth.

She pulled my cock out of her mouth with a wet pop. She smiled at me, her tits rising and falling inside the satin dress.

—Fuck me —she said, no embellishment.— Here. Now.

She stood up, pulled her dress to her waist, and sat down astride my lap. The black stockings were still intact, tight around her thighs. The heels lay tossed on the floor. The silver pendant danced between the two of us.

I guided my cock with my hand and she lowered herself slowly. I felt her open around me, centimeter by centimeter, tight, soaked, burning. When she finished lowering herself and her ass settled against my thighs, we both let out the same long gasp.

—God… —she murmured against my ear.— You’re inside me.

She started moving. Slowly at first. Up and down on her legs, holding onto my shoulders. I looked at her: her tits still inside the dress, the nipples standing rock-hard through the satin. I pulled the straps down and the neckline gave way. Her breasts fell free, small, round, with pink, erect nipples pointing at me. I went down on them while she kept riding me.

—Suck my tits —she moaned.— Hard. Bite them.

I bit her nipples. She let out a low cry, sped up, and started fucking me harder, the sofa creaking under our rhythm. Her hips rose and fell with force, my cock going in and out of her dripping cunt, a wet sound filling the whole room.

I grabbed her ass with both hands. Firm, hot, round. I spread her cheeks, squeezed them, helped her move against me faster, harder.

—Like that, little brother —she whispered against my mouth, and the words cut through me from top to bottom.— Fuck me like that. I’ve been waiting for this all fucking morning.

I lifted her without leaving her, turned her, bent her over the arm of the sofa. She braced herself face-down, her ass in the air, the dress wrinkled over her waist, the stockings tight around her thighs. I spread her legs with my knee and drove into her again, in one thrust, all the way to the hilt.

She screamed into the cushion.

—Yes, fuck, like that, give it to me, give it to me!

I started fucking her hard. No care. She pushed her ass back every time I entered, meeting me halfway. I grabbed her waist with both hands and used her like a lever to drive deep into her over and over. The sound of my hips slamming against her ass echoed through the room.

I ran one hand along her back and grabbed her hair. I wound it around my fist and tugged gently. She arched her neck and moaned louder.

—More —she panted, her voice broken.— Harder. Treat me like I’m not your sister.

I spanked her. My palm burned afterward. A pink mark showed on her pale skin, and she let out a moan I had never heard in my life.

—Another —she asked without turning around.

I gave her another. And another. She was asking for it with her ass up and her voice destroyed. I fucked her harder, holding her by the waist with one hand and by the hair with the other. She slipped one hand under her body and started rubbing her clit while I kept pounding into her nonstop.

—I’m going to come again —she panted.— God, little brother, I’m going to come again, don’t stop…

—Come —I told her in her ear, leaning over her back.— Come on my cock.

Her cunt clamped down around me all at once, squeezing so hard I could barely keep moving. She let out a long, strangled moan into the cushion, and I felt the contractions roll through her entire body as she came for the second time, soaking my thighs and the sofa.

I held on as long as I could. I kept thrusting through the last spasms. When she collapsed against the arm of the sofa, drained, she reached one hand back and found my thigh.

—Come here, come in my mouth —she said, voice ruined.— I want to see you. I want to taste you.

I pulled out of her. I was so close it hurt. She slid to the floor again, knelt, and settled in front of me with her tits out, the dress wrinkled at the waist, the stockings run, her makeup smudged, her hair a mess. I had never seen her so beautiful.

She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue.

I grabbed myself and pumped over her, fast, my hand slick with her wetness and her saliva. It took three or four strokes. I let out a rough moan and the cum came in bursts, long and hot, over her tongue, her lips, her chin, her exposed breasts, and the silver pendant, which got completely stained. She closed her eyes, pushed her tongue out even farther, and caught every drop she could.

When I finished, she wiped her chin with one finger, brought it to her mouth, and sucked it slowly, looking up at me from below.

I slumped back against the sofa. She climbed onto me again, curled against my chest, still in the wrinkled dress and stockings, the semen still drying across her neckline.

We stayed like that for a while, without speaking. Our breathing slowly returning.

—I still have to go out with the girls —she murmured at last, her voice calm and rough against my neck.— In an hour.

—Yeah.

She lifted her head. She looked at me with that familiar affectionate smile, the twenty-year-old one, the one from twenty-seven years of shared life, the same one I’d seen that morning in the kitchen. And something more behind it.

—When I get back, you’ll be awake —she said. It wasn’t a question.

She kissed me again, slowly, unhurried, still with both our tastes in her mouth. Then she stood up, smoothed her dress down with both hands as if nothing had happened, bent to pick up her heels, and went upstairs barefoot, with her stockings run and a bright stain still drying on her collarbone.

I stayed on the sofa, watching her disappear onto the landing, my pulse hammering in my temples for the second time that day.