My Sister Caught Me Wearing Her Lingerie

Ever since I can remember, everything that belonged to the world of women attracted me in a way I couldn’t explain. It wasn’t just curiosity. It was the elegance of a gesture, the way fabric fell over skin, the sound of heels on tiled floors. And above all, the clothes: hers.

My sister is called Lorena and she’s five years older than me. We grew up alone with our mother in a village where nothing ever happened, one of those long streets that in summer smell of wet earth and bougainvillea. My father left when I could barely walk, and my mother broke her back at two jobs so we wouldn’t want for anything. That’s why, for years, the one who really raised me was Lorena.

We shared a room. Two beds separated by a nightstand, a window that looked out onto the courtyard, and a huge wardrobe that was all hers. We never lacked for conversation or for reasons to laugh late into the night. Having an older sister who looks after you and at the same time treats you like her best friend is something you don’t appreciate until years have gone by.

The problem began, if it was a problem at all, when she turned eighteen and started going out on Sunday afternoons with her friends.

I was too young to go, so I stayed home. It made me absurdly sad, one of those sorrows that can’t understand why the world keeps turning without taking it into account. But before she left there was a moment I looked forward to all week: watching her get ready.

I sat on her bed, legs crossed, and watched her the way someone watches a movie. The way she rejected three blouses before deciding on the fourth. The way she leaned toward the mirror to paint her eyes, lips parted and breathing held in. How she slipped on her shoes standing up, one hand on my shoulder so she wouldn’t lose her balance.

—How do I look? —she’d ask at the end, turning around.

—You look gorgeous —I’d answer, and I meant it.

She’d smile, kiss my cheek, and leave. And then the house would fall silent, just for me.

***

The first Sunday I opened her wardrobe, I wasn’t looking for anything. I just wanted to be close to her in some way, to smell her perfume on the hanging clothes. I ran my fingers over the hangers, over the silk of a dress, over the soft wool of a sweater. And then, in a drawer, I found a pair of black lace panties.

I don’t know how long I held them in my hands. I remember the texture, the lace pattern against the afternoon light, and a thought that crossed my mind with the force of lightning: I need to know what this feels like.

A shiver went through me from head to toe. I looked toward the door, even though I knew I was alone at home. I took off my clothes with clumsy hands and put them on.

It was a sensation I’ve never forgotten. The softness of the lace against skin that had never felt anything like it. My whole body bristled. I went up to the full-length mirror, the same one in front of which she got ready, and I started moving the way I’d seen her move: one hand on my hip, chin a little high, a slow turn on my heels.

I didn’t recognize myself, and for the first time in my life I liked what I saw.

***

From that Sunday on, every time Lorena left, I immersed myself in her wardrobe like in the sea. I tried everything: panties, bras stuffed with socks, skirts that were too big on me, dresses that pinched my shoulders, shoes in which I could barely take two steps without staggering.

I learned to comb my hair to one side, to study my reflection in profile, to walk slowly so the skirt would move. The months went by and my ritual became the most important part of my week. I looked forward to it with a mixture of excitement and shame that kept me from sleeping the night before.

I was careful. I put every garment back exactly where it belonged, folded things the same way, left the shoes with their toes turned inward like she did. I was convinced she’d never find out.

***

I remember that November afternoon with a clarity that almost hurts.

I was wearing a black bra-and-panty set, almost transparent, and a pair of stockings that held themselves up halfway up my thigh. I was in front of the mirror, tilting my hips, playing at being someone else, when I heard the key in the lock and the bedroom door flew open.

It was Lorena. She had come back to get the wallet she’d forgotten.

She froze in the doorway. So did I. Time stopped between us like a pane of glass about to shatter.

—What are you doing wearing my clothes? —she said, and her voice wasn’t angry, it was pure surprise.

I couldn’t manage a single word. I ran toward her, dropped to my knees, wrapped my arms around her legs and burst into tears. Fear, shame, months of secrecy, everything came pouring out through my eyes at once.

I expected a shout. I expected her to shove me away in disgust. Instead, I felt her hands close softly around my arms.

—Hey, hey, get up —she said quietly—. Don’t cry. Come on, sit here with me.

She led me to her bed. We sat on the edge and I hugged her again, hiding my face in her shoulder, still trembling.

—Easy —she murmured, stroking my hair—. Breathe. And now tell me. Why do you wear my clothes? Since when have you been doing it?

I swallowed. There was no point in lying, not in that state.

—Because I like it —I finally confessed, my voice breaking—. For months. Every time I see you getting ready I’m fascinated, and one day I tried on a pair of panties and I just couldn’t stop. I love how I feel when I wear your clothes. I like looking at myself in the mirror. I’m so sorry, Lorena, I really am. —I lifted my head, pleading—. Please, don’t tell Mom.

She looked at me for a long time. I searched her face for any sign of rejection and didn’t find one. There was only a calm tenderness there, as if she finally understood something she’d been sensing for a while.

—Listen to me carefully —she said—. Your secret is safe with me. From now on it’ll be our secret, yours and mine alone. And if you want to keep wearing my clothes, you can. With one condition.

—Anything —I answered at once.

—That you don’t ruin anything. —And she smiled for the first time since she’d opened the door.

The relief was so overwhelming that a laugh escaped me through the tears.

—Thank you —I said, hugging her again—. You’re the best in the world. I love you.

—I love you too. —She paused, tilted her head, and added with a mischievous spark in her eyes—: Or should I start saying I love you, little sister?

She kissed my cheek, and this time the kiss lasted a second too long. When she pulled away, her eyes had changed. It was no longer the look of a sister who has just discovered a secret. It was something else. Something dark, something curious, something that made me squeeze my thighs beneath the lace.

***

—If you’re going to do it, we’re going to do it right —she said, flinging the wardrobe open with a new determination—. What you’re wearing is pretty, but it’s not for a Sunday afternoon. Stay there.

She rummaged through the hangers and pulled out a light blue dress, short, with a very full skirt. One I had looked at a thousand times without daring to touch.

—Arms up —she ordered.

Before putting it on me, though, she stopped. She looked me up and down, in panties, bra, and stockings, and bit her lower lip with a slowness I’d never seen from her.

—Look at you —she murmured, more to herself than to me—. Fuck, Carla. If anyone saw you they’d think you were a little slut all dressed up and ready to go.

The word hit me like a sweet lash. No one had ever spoken to me like that, least of all her. I felt my cock harden inside the lace panties, pushing against the fabric, making itself known at the seam. Lorena looked down. She noticed instantly.

—Oh, oh —she whispered, with half a smile—. Look what we have here.

—Lorena, I… —I began to stammer.

—Shh. —She put a finger on my lips—. Shh, Carla. It’s okay. Do you think I’m stupid? You’ve been sneaking into my wardrobe for months. I’ve noticed how my clothes smell when I come back. I’ve seen the panties folded wrong. And once I found one stained, little brother. Stained with your cum.

My soul dropped to the floor. She let out a soft laugh, taking my chin between two fingers.

—Don’t make that face. I’m not angry. I’m thinking something very different.

She came closer until her mouth was an inch from mine. She smelled of her perfume, mint gum, something that made me dizzy.

—Do you want to be my real little sister, Carla? Do you want me to teach you everything?

I nodded without a sound. I couldn’t speak. My cock was throbbing so hard it hurt.

Lorena pushed me with the tips of her fingers until I sat down on the edge of her bed. She knelt between my legs, very slowly, and moved my panties aside, pulling my cock out with two fingers the way someone takes a little bird out of a cage. It was so hard it embarrassed me to look at it, shining at the tip.

—Look how pretty you are —she whispered—. Dripping for me. For your sister.

And then she lowered her head. I closed my eyes and gripped the sheets with both fists when I felt her hot tongue lick me from base to tip, very slowly, tasting me. Then she opened her mouth and took me in all the way, without pause, to the back, until I felt her throat tightening around the glans. I almost came right there.

—Lorena, fuck, Lorena —I gasped, trembling.

She pulled me out with a wet pop and looked up from below, lips shining and eyes dark.

—Shh. You don’t call me Lorena here, Carla. Here you call me sister. So you know who’s sucking your cock.

—Yes… sister…

—Good girl.

She took me in again. This time she used her hand too, going up and down, squeezing the base while her tongue circled the tip. She sucked with a filthiness that didn’t match the sweet girl who tucked me in when I was little. She took me all the way out, spat on the glans, swallowed me again. The sound of her mouth filled the room, wet, dirty, impossible to forget.

—Sister, I’m going to cum —I warned her, grinding my teeth.

She yanked me out at once, pinching the base with two fingers.

—Not a fucking chance. Not yet. Good little sisters hold it in.

She stood up, pulled her sweater over her head, and let her jeans drop. Underneath she was wearing a white lace set, very similar to the one she’d dressed me in so many times without knowing it. She had small, firm tits, her nipples pressing through the fabric. She unclasped her bra and let it fall to the floor. Then she took off her panties, very slowly, sliding them down her legs, and threw them at my face.

—Smell them —she ordered—. Smell how wet you’ve made me, slut.

I pressed them to my nose. They were soaked, warm, they smelled like cunt, like her cunt. I moaned like a girl.

She climbed onto the bed, pushed me back onto the mattress and straddled my face. I saw her cunt open above me, pink, glossy, with a thread of slick hanging from it.

—Stick out your tongue. Come on, Carla. Eat your sister’s pussy. Like I know you’ve dreamed of a thousand times.

And then she lowered herself. She sat on my mouth without the slightest gentleness, crushing me. I started licking as best I could, clumsy, desperate, tasting a woman for the first time, and that woman was her. She tasted of salt, of something sweet underneath, of a musk that got into my head and never left. I ran my tongue over her lips, up to her clit, sucked the way I’d seen in some hidden video, and she started moving on top of me, grinding her cunt against my face.

—Ah, yes… like that, little sister, like that… look how well Carla does it… get it inside, put your tongue way inside…

I obeyed. I pushed my tongue as far as I could into her cunt and she let out a long moan that broke at the end into a muffled laugh. I grabbed her ass with both hands, squeezing, forcing myself deeper. Her thighs pressed against my ears. I couldn’t hear anything except her ragged breathing and the throb of my own cock against the air.

When she came, she came all over my mouth. I felt her cunt tremble, her ass clench under my fingers, a warm stream run down my chin. She stayed like that for a moment, still, panting, with her hands braced on the headboard.

Then she got down, still trembling, and lay back beside me. She looked at me with a lazy smile, running a finger over her lip.

—Come here, Carla. Fuck me like the little slut you are.

I knelt between her legs. I was still wearing the black bra and stockings, the panties pushed aside. She put a hand to her nipples and started pinching them while she watched me. With the other she guided me, grabbing my cock, placing it at her entrance.

—Slowly the first time —she whispered—. I want you to remember for the rest of your life who you lost it with.

I pushed. Her cunt opened around me, hot, tight, soaked, and my whole cock disappeared inside her in a slow, firm pull. I went still, mouth open, unable to believe what I was feeling. She looped her legs around my waist and crossed her ankles over my lower back.

—Move, Carla. Fuck me. Fuck me like Mom’s never coming back.

I started thrusting. Awkward at first, then finding a rhythm. The mattress creaked, the headboard banged against the wall, her tits moved with every push. She looked me in the eyes the whole time, not once looking away, and that look was the most obscene thing of all. The look of my sister fixed on me as I buried myself in her to the hilt.

—That’s it, little sister, that’s it… harder… break my cunt, Carla, break it…

I grabbed her hips and started fucking her for real, with the desperation of months of mirror, stolen lace, silent jerking off with my teeth in the pillow. I bit one nipple, licked her neck, breathed in her ear. She scratched my back beneath the bra I was still wearing.

—I’m going to cum, sister, I’m going to cum —I gasped.

—Not inside —she hissed—. Not inside, sweetheart. Pull it out and cum on me. I want to see you. I want to see my Carla covering me in cum.

I pulled out just in time. I gripped myself with my hand and it only took two strokes before I exploded. I came over her stomach, over her tits, in a long, thick stream that reached her neck. She was laughing, spreading the semen with her fingers, smearing it over her skin as if it were cream.

—Look how full you left your sister —she whispered, licking one finger clean—. Good girl. Very good girl.

I collapsed on top of her. We stayed like that for a while, sticky, breathing in short bursts, my stockings wrinkled and her hair a mess on the pillow. She caressed the back of my neck, very slowly.

When we finally sat up, she wiped me clean with her panties and tossed them into the laundry basket with a conspiratorial smile. She pulled the blue dress back over my head with the same care as before, fitting it over my shoulders, smoothing the fabric over my hips. Then she took me by the shoulders and positioned me in front of the mirror, her behind me, her chin resting almost on my shoulder.

—Look at yourself —she whispered—. Do you like it?

I looked at myself. The blue suited me. The skirt floated with the slightest movement. And above my reflection was her face, smiling, proud, with her neck still shining from my cum half dried on her skin.

—Yes —I said, and my voice barely came out—. I love it.

—Good, good —she laughed, hugging me back—. We still have a lot to do. You need makeup, shoes that aren’t three sizes too big, to learn how to do your hair properly. And we’ll figure out the breast thing as we go, with padding for now. But all of that little by little. No rush. Now that I know what you like, you’re going to learn everything. In the wardrobe and in bed.

I nodded, dizzy with happiness and exhaustion. For the first time I didn’t feel like a dirty secret that had to be hidden. I felt accompanied. I felt like hers.

—One more thing —Lorena said, sitting on the bed and patting the spot beside her for me to sit down—. If you’re going to be a girl when we’re alone, you need a name. Your real name doesn’t fit that dress. Or the mouth you just had between my legs.

I sat beside her, still in blue, playing with the hem of the skirt between my fingers.

—I hadn’t thought about it —I admitted.

She studied me for a moment, narrowing her eyes like someone searching for the exact word.

—Carla —she said at last—. Carla suits you. Do you like it?

I repeated it softly, testing it on my tongue the same way I’d tested the lace months earlier. Carla. It fit. It was as if it had always been there, waiting for someone to say it out loud.

—I love it —I answered, and I jumped up to spin around the room, letting the skirt fly around me.

Lorena was laughing, sitting on the bed, watching me turn.

—You’re beautiful, Carla. Truly. —Then she glanced at the bedside clock and changed tone—. But now go and change, come on. Mom’ll be here any minute and I don’t want to explain why her son is wearing my best dress or why the whole room smells like sex.

I changed quickly, folded the dress with an almost reverent care, and put it back on its hanger. When we went down to the kitchen, my mother still hadn’t arrived. Lorena ruffled my hair as she passed, as always, but before that she leaned in and whispered in my ear:

—Next Sunday there’s class, little sister. And this time I’m going to fuck you.

My knees nearly gave out against the counter.

That night, lying in my bed with her breathing slowly in hers, I couldn’t stop smiling in the dark. For months I had kept my secret like a shame. And in a single afternoon, my sister had turned it into something ours, into an open door to the person I had always wanted to be.

I fell asleep thinking about the blue of that dress, the feel of the lace, the taste of her cunt in my mouth, and the new name that was finally mine.