Stoli, Stockings, and Siblings

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“Just a few drops,” the packet said, but I had been best friends with Eric Hanson since first grade, and with high school graduation in a week and him going away for college in the fall, I only had so much time left to make him more than that. It’s an aphrodisiac, I thought, and a shitty aphrodisiac I bought online at that. Who ever heard of anyone OD’ing on an aphrodisiac? The stuff was probably so weak that I could empty the whole packet into the bottle of vodka and it would still be a waste of $49.95 plus tax and shipping.

So that’s exactly what I did; I emptied it all—about a sugar packet’s worth—into the bottle and watched the white powder sink and dissipate in the clear alcohol like melting snowflakes. I swirled the bottle around, replaced the cap, and set it back up in the alcohol cabinet.

I had planned everything to the last detail. My parents were away for a week on business; they would get back in town the night before my graduation, a week from tomorrow. My brother, Colin, would be coming home after exam week at college was done; I didn’t know exactly when his last exams were, but I figured he wouldn’t be back until Wednesday at the earliest. Not that I needed all that extra time; I was going to get Eric back here and fuck him tonight.

I was pretty sure Eric liked me, but we’d been friends so long he’d never gather the courage to ask me out, and I certainly couldn’t do it. But I saw the way he’d check out my legs when he thought I wasn’t looking; he frequently made reference to liking redheads—as if I wasn’t one—and as best friends we were comfortable enough to flirt with each other under the pretense that neither of us meant it. We were just going to grab dinner and see a movie, like any Friday night, but tonight he’d have to drive me because I told him my engine had died; I even put myself through the indignity of taking the school bus this morning to make the ruse consistent. Further, the movie we were planning to see was already sold out. He didn’t know that but I knew because my best friend, Cassie, worked at the theater and knew tonight was the night I was making my move. She kept me abreast of the ticket sales over the week and when the big new superhero movie pre-sold all its evening shows yesterday, I knew what movie to “suggest” Eric and I see. We would show up at the theater, “discover” the movie was sold out, and then I would tell him my parents were out of town and we should just head back to my place where we could watch a movie on Netflix and drink as well. I would let him choose the movie while I mixed us both a couple drinks heavy on the vodka and aphrodisiac, and with any luck the mystery powder would having him boning me like a wild animal on the couch before the movie’s second act.

With the vodka safely stored away I had an hour to get ready before Eric was picking me up. I went upstairs and changed out of my school clothes. Part of me said not to dress too fancy because this wasn’t supposed to look like anything beyond our usual hanging out, but the other part of me said fuck it, you always dress nice anyway, so you might as well go all out and plant the seed in his head. That part of me won, and I put on a small black dress that clung like a desperate mountain climber to every millimeter of my tiny frame. Then I pulled on a pair of new, translucent black nylon stockings, one at a time, each of them accentuating my long legs. I stood in front of the mirror; I was tiny, only 5’3″, with breasts that just narrowly escaped the A-range, and I was one of those girls who would always be accused of being anorexic even though I couldn’t help that I was just naturally slender. I actually wanted to be curvier, but try telling that to anyone and see how quickly they laugh in your face. I did have killer legs, though, and in these stockings with this dress I looked like a sports car. I went into the bathroom and put on my face.

An hour later and I was waiting for Eric. He lived pretty close by so he was usually a few minutes late. By the time he was ten minutes late I still wasn’t worried, per se, but I was getting nervous; not so much about him showing up, but about everything I had planned for the evening. This would be a moment of no return for us. I went to the liquor cabinet to get something to steel myself. The vodka was the first thing that screamed out, “Drink me!” but I knew I couldn’t tip my hand by touching that before he even arrived. I’m a fan of neither rum nor Coke but we had both of them and it was easy to mix one in a jiffy, slam it down, and see that Eric was now 15 minutes late.

“Where are you?” I texted him. I can’t help it, I’m one of those people who insist on using proper grammar and spelling even in text messages. Based on the average intelligence of the rest of my graduating class, this was probably one of the reasons I didn’t already have a boyfriend.

20 minutes late and he still hadn’t replied to my text. I was getting worried. I mixed and downed another Rum and Coke. 25 minutes. I hated actually talking to anyone on a phone, even my best friend, but I was getting illegal bahis worried. I dialed him up and listened to the ring tone.

It rang.

And rang.

And nothing was happening.

Finally I got his voicemail. I hated voicemail more than I hated just talking on phones, but I was getting worried now. I wasn’t just worried that he wasn’t coming, I was worried something had happened to him. It wasn’t like him to just bail without any excuse at all.

“Eric, it’s me, Allie,” I told the receiver. “Is everything all right? I’m still at home, waiting for you, and it’s been almost half an hour. Let me know you’re okay, okay? Bye.”

I hung up and sat down at the bar counter in the kitchen. I sat my phone down on the counter and stared at it for probably the next ten minutes. Where was he? Somewhere in this waiting period I made and downed a third Rum and Coke. By the time he was 45 minutes late and he still hadn’t called back I was telling myself I was just buzzed, but really I was drunk. In that fluctuating state, though, it seemed like a good idea to investigate for myself what was going on, so I slipped into my high heels and marched out, as straight as I could on three Rum and Cokes, to my car and backed out of the driveway. I pulled out onto the street a bit too fast, like a stunt driver, and sped out of the neighborhood, nearly swiping a black pickup pulling into the allotment.

The first stop sign I hit I knew I shouldn’t be driving in high heels and I pulled them off and threw them into the backseat. I shouldn’t have been driving at all, of course, but the heels I could control. The lightheaded feeling overtaking me told me I should just turn around, head home, and chalk this night up as a loss, but I still worried that something bad had actually happened to Eric and that he wasn’t just standing me up for no good reason.

I pulled into Eric’s allotment and down his street and I parked my car on the side of the road and killed the lights with horror at what I saw: Cassie’s car was in Eric’s driveway, and she was picking him up. She was dressed up, in a nice, slinky dress, just like me, and he was dressed up like he knew it was a date. I couldn’t help but let out a small scream in the cramped confines of my car, but I caught it quickly in my throat and held it back. The choked-back scream turned into tears that I couldn’t keep from escaping my eyes. My head fell forward and I had just enough presence of mind to avoid slamming my forehead right into the center of the steering wheel and honking the horn. I sobbed as I waited for my traitorous best friend’s headlights to drive past and well off into the night before I started my car again and headed home.

I pulled back into my driveway but I couldn’t pull all the way in because of the black pickup parked in the drive. Oh, God, I realized, my brother Colin was already home. I was still crying from the betrayal of my two best friends going out together, but now I was worried that my brother may have realized I was the one who nearly ran him off the road when I was leaving the allotment. I just wanted to grab a bottle of anything, crawl into bed, and never wake up.

I slunk back into the house in my stocking feet; I was drunk enough I hadn’t realized until I was halfway up the driveway I hadn’t put my shoes back on, and by then felt zero motivation to walk back and retrieve them. I closed the door behind me and stepped into the house.

“Colin?” I asked, tentatively.

“Yeah?” I heard him slur from somewhere within the kitchen or living room. I walked deeper into the house and found him lying on one of the couches in the living room with the flatscreen TV on. He had muted it but I quickly realized he was watching porn. God, I just wanted to get up to my room and disappear. I would slip into the kitchen, grab a bottle of anything, and head upstairs and drink until I passed out to forget this terrible night.

“Allie, is that you?” my brother slurred from the couch as I slipped back towards the kitchen.

“Yeah, Colin, it’s me,” I said as I made my way back to the alcohol cabinet.

“Where you been, baby sis?” God, he sounded so drunk. Colin was 22; if he had started college right after high school he’d be done by now, but he put it off for a few years, thinking he could go out to Hollywood and make it as a screenwriter. It didn’t pan out, and while he hadn’t given that dream up entirely, he realized he couldn’t wait tables forever and went back to school in the hopes he’d find something to fall back on.

He was a sophomore now and I still don’t think he’d declared a major yet.

“Out,” I responded. Maybe I’d tell him about my disastrous night in the afternoon when he was sober—we weren’t exactly close but he always managed to be there for me when I couldn’t talk to anyone else—but there was no way I was discussing it now, while the night was still too fresh and he was still too plastered.

“You came back in a hurry,” he said. “You sped out of here like a bat out of hell.” He started to pick himself up off the couch.

“Yeah, illegal bahis siteleri I know. I was heading out to OHMYGOD!” I screamed and spun around and covered my mouth as I saw my brother walking up the couple steps to the kitchen. He only wore a pair of boxer briefs, and he might as well have not been wearing those because he had a massive hard-on jutting out the front of his underwear. I tried to catch my breath.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. I could hear him shuffling up behind me in the kitchen.

“N-nothing,” I stammered, and as I felt him coming up behind me I darted around the kitchen table and back towards the living room with all the couches and chairs and the coffee table. I turned around to find he was right up behind me and I shrieked a bit.

“Where are you going, li’l sis?” he spat out with great effort as he approached me. Without looking where I was going I backed up against the arm of one of the couches and fell over onto it on my back. Colin continued towards me with a singular purpose.

“Colin, what’s wrong?” I asked. His behavior was scaring me; this was not your typical “getting drunk.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said as he stumbled forward. “I just never noticed how beautiful you were, is all.” I was terrified; what was my brother doing? He advanced on my like the killer in a slasher movie, inexorably and utterly confident that I would be a successful conquest. He grabbed my ankles and lifted my legs apart as he pressed forward towards me.

“STOP!” I screamed. It was bloodcurdling enough that, whatever force had possessed my brother like this, he recognized he’d crossed a line and stopped in his tracks. I scampered off the couch and fell back against the coffee table, which is when I saw the culprit: the vodka bottle. The vodka bottle I’d spiked with my Internet aphrodisiac for Eric sat on top of the glass coffee table, half-empty. Whatever drove Colin to come home early from school drove him to polish off half a bottle of vodka in the span of maybe 20 minutes, if I was being generous.

I looked up at Colin, who stood perfectly still, staring down at me, his cock hovering over me like a harbinger of doom. He was still hungry for me, but he had enough presence of mind that he wasn’t going to take me against my wishes. Or rather, it was clear that in his mind he didn’t want to do that; his body was arguing otherwise, and he rocked back and forth in place like a coiled snake waiting to strike. I picked myself up and crawled around the coffee table to the opposite couch where I sat down.

“Colin,” I began, and immediately he stepped towards me like a predator. I kicked my right foot up and planted it square against his bulging prick to stop his approach. “No! Sit down!”

Colin did as I instructed and lowered himself down onto the edge of the coffee table. I kept my foot pressed against him to make sure he wouldn’t try anything; the distance between the couch and the coffee table was short enough that I could still bend my knee partially as I pressed my sole into his curved cock to hold him at bay. He was enormous! Even with my heel at his base his cockhead still extended past the tips of my toes. He pressed himself forward against my foot as if it were literally the only barrier between him and raping me. I pressed my foot back harder in response, and this back and forth continued until he was effectively masturbating himself, slowly, with the sole of my foot. Even though my brother was, objectively, very fit and good looking, I had never thought of him sexually before, but I couldn’t deny that what was happening had an erotic charge to it.

Still, I couldn’t do anything with my brother, I thought. That would be incest! But looking at the animal hunger in my brother’s eyes and the way he mindlessly humped his girth against my foot made it clear he wasn’t thinking about this as incest; for him it was sex, pure and simple, and the bottle was to blame for that.

“Colin,” I said, calmly and deliberately. “Without moving from where you’re sitting, pass me the bottle of vodka.” Without taking his eyes off me, he reached backwards and grabbed the bottle. He started to lift himself up off the table and I pressed my foot harder into his thick meat; my big and index toes wrapped around the base of his cockhead through my stockings.

“No!” I commanded sternly. “Sit down. If you get up without my permission this ends now and I call Mom and Dad, do you understand?”

“Mm-hmm,” he grunted, still preoccupied primarily with my foot rubbing against his straining prick.

“Now,” I said, “pass me the bottle without moving from that spot.” He grabbed my foot with his free hand and pressed me tighter into his throbbing rod, as if to emphasize that I was keeping him in place. He leaned forward, slowly, and held the bottle out to me, and I leaned forward, slowly, meeting him halfway and taking the bottle out of his hand. I sank back into the couch with the bottle in hand but he stayed in his new position, staring at me intently with insatiable hunger. He was actively canlı bahis siteleri stroking himself with my foot now; I felt a drop of precum seep through the thin material of my stocking and travel down between my toes.

I unscrewed the cap on the bottle and looked at it. This was the moment of truth; if this stuff did to me what it did to Colin, later I’d be able to rationalize whatever happened tonight as something neither of us had any control over, but right now I was still completely sober. I had to make the conscious choice: was I going to have sex with my brother? I thought about Eric’s betrayal of me, about the sex I wouldn’t be having with him, and I took a huge swig from the bottle.

Ugghh! It burned on its way down and I coughed and shook my head. I sank deeper into the couch, which had the effect of pressing my leg forward, my foot working itself harder against my brother’s thick meat tube. I took another hard swig from the bottle and gasped as it went down, burning through me just as hard as the first. I glanced up at my brother’s chiseled figure; I’d never noticed before just how fit he was. I began stroking his shaft faster with the sole of my foot. It was like an experiment: I wanted to see what would happen. I bit my lip and sank into the cushions to watch.

His moaning increased in urgency as I molded the contours of the sole of my foot to his curved cock. I stroked him harder and faster. I was in charge of the rhythm now, not him; his holding onto my foot was merely ceremonial now.

“Allie,” he moaned. “I’m getting close.”

“Hold it,” I said dispassionately. I took another hard swig from the bottle and choked it down. I looked down the length of my outstretched, stocking-clad leg and had an idea. I replaced the cap on the vodka bottle and set it down on the couch beside me. I leaned forward and slowly, sensuously, rolled the stocking down the length of my leg to my ankle and finally slipped it down past the heel of my foot. The rest was up to Colin.

“Make a mess,” I told him as I sank back into the couch. He slipped the stocking off my foot and slipped his massive cock up inside it. With the stocking bunched up around his throbbing member he placed my foot back against him and I began jerking him off furiously with it. His moans grew louder and he leaned his head back and his cock exploded hot cum into my stocking. I stroked him harder and faster as burst after burst erupted into the stocking and seeped out through the thin mesh, running down my foot. Even with the stocking there to supposedly contain the mess, my foot glistened with pearly white cream. It felt warm as it trickled down my skin. Colin breathed heavily as he came down from his orgasm.

I took another long swig from the bottle; it didn’t burn as much going down anymore. If anything, I felt like I couldn’t get enough of it; I sucked at the mouth of the bottle, trying to down its contents like I were giving it a blowjob and didn’t want to miss a drop of its precious fluid. I only stopped when I got horribly lightheaded and had to set the bottle back down. I coughed hard as I finally felt the burn of the alcohol; I was definitely drunk now, but that wasn’t all I was feeling. There was a definite wetness and anticipation growing between my legs.

I squeezed my brother’s cock with my toes, his cum squishing between them. He was still hard. Was that aphrodisiac a performance enhancer as well? It had to be, because there was no way he should still be hard after how much cum he ejaculated from his system. He was holding himself up by his arms braced against the surface of the coffee table; his head leaned back as he tried to regain his strength. With him in this docile state I leaned forward and pulled my stocking up off of his still-massive prick, careful not to spill any of his seed. I carefully pulled the stocking back over my bare, cum-soaked foot, savoring every sensation as I rolled the stocking slowly back up my leg and painted my flesh with my brother’s warm, tingling spunk. I pulled it up as tight as it could go, my stocking clinging damp and sticky to my skin. I wanted to absorb his semen into my skin like a sponge and savored the sloppy, shivering feel of it coating the length of my leg.

I took another hard swig of the amatory liquor and savored it as it cut a burning swath through my insides. I looked at the bottle and saw that there was only a quarter left; I was definitely drunk now and unbearably horny. I looked at the impossibly hard cock, still glinting in the light from his cum, sticking up through the hole in my brother’s boxer briefs.

“Brother,” I cooed suggestively, eyeing his unnecessary underwear, “those have to be getting uncomfortable. Why don’t you take them off?” He started to stand up and I quickly wrapped both my feet around his aching rod to sit him back down. “Slowly,” I commanded, purring. He obeyed and lowered himself back down, hovering just high enough over the edge of the coffee table to slip his unwanted garments down under his ass and to his legs. He sat back down and I removed my feet just long enough for him to work his massive pole free from the confines of the boxer briefs, then he pulled them down around his ankles and kicked them away. I replaced my feet around his eager prick and began working him up a second time.

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