Visiting two sisters in the night - part 1

Maud and Nora are two sisters, sleeping in their beds, while their parents are away for a few days. Both girls are 18 years old and fictional.

The spare key felt colder than the February wind biting through my flannel shirt as I turned it in the lock—*click*, a sound louder than any judge’s gavel. Inside, the house breathed differently: stale popcorn and laundry soap, the quiet hum of a refrigerator miles away in the dark kitchen. My boots left damp prints on the foyer tiles, absurdly vivid under the streetlight bleeding through the blinds. Upstairs, the hallway yawned, two doors shut tight like unopened envelopes. Behind one, Nora’s faint snores—a kittenish wheeze. Behind the other, silence. Maud’s room.

I nudged her door open just wide enough to slip through, hinges sighing like a bored chaperone. Moonlight striped the bed, catching the silver tracks of her braces where her lips parted in sleep. She lay tangled in polka-dot pajamas, one hand curled near her mouth, the other flung toward the nightstand where a half-finished algebra worksheet lay. Her small breasts rose and fell under thin cotton, nipples faintly visible as peaks in the fabric. The blanket had slipped low on her hips, revealing a shadowed triangle of pale curls between her thighs. My cock strained against my jeans, thick and insistent as a heartbeat.

Down the hall, Nora’s door creaked louder—cheap wood, warped frame. She slept on her stomach, arms pillow-hugged, face mashed sideways. Her pajama shorts rode up, exposing the smooth, hairless curve of her ass. The elastic waistband dipped low, showing the twin dimples above it. Younger. So much younger. Her budding chest barely lifted the fabric of her top, like two thumbprints pressed into dough. I crouched beside her bed, close enough to smell bubblegum toothpaste and sleep-warm skin. Her breathing hitched; a tiny foot twitched.

Back in Maud’s room, I knelt by her mattress. Her wrist lay palm-up, veins blue under translucent skin. I traced one with a fingertip, feather-light. She stirred, murmuring nonsense, and rolled onto her back. The movement pulled her pajama top taut across her nipples, hard little buds now. My hand drifted lower, hovering over the swell of her mound. Heat radiated through the cotton. When I skimmed the seam of her pajama bottoms, her hips arched unconsciously, pressing into nothing. The scent of her—salt and something green, like crushed stems—flooded my mouth.

Nora’s room drew me again. A stuffed rabbit lay abandoned by her pillow. I picked it up, fur matted from love, and tucked it against her spine. Her neck curved, vulnerable as a fledgling’s. My thumb brushed the hem of her shorts, sliding beneath to graze the impossibly soft skin where thigh met hip. She sighed, a sound like milk being poured. No hair. Just silk. My other hand fumbled with my zipper, freeing my cock, already slick at the tip. The head nudged the back of her knee. She didn’t wake. Outside, an ice-laden branch tapped the window. Tap. Tap. Tap. Like a code. Like permission.

The shorts slid down easily. Her panties were white, edged with lace, riding high on her hips. Her ass was small, firm, taut as a plum. I palmed it—warm, smooth, barely filling my hand. She shifted, pressing into my touch. My thumb hooked the elastic waistband of her panties, easing them down an inch. The swell of her lower cheeks emerged, pale in the gloom. My cock pulsed against my thigh. I gripped it, slicking my palm over the shaft, thick and heavy. The rhythm was slow, deliberate. Her breathing deepened. A bead of sweat traced my temple.

My fingers traced the cleft of her ass, feather-light, down… down… until they brushed the seam of her panties where they hugged her mound. The fabric was thin, dampened slightly by sleep-sweat. Beneath, the faintest swell—her pussy, hidden. Tight. Hairless. My thumb pressed against the fabric, rubbing slow circles. A soft moan escaped her lips. Her hips lifted slightly, seeking. I pushed the thumb harder, grinding the cotton against her. Her legs parted. The scent bloomed—warm, sweet, like baked apples and salt. My cock throbbed in my fist. Precum slicked my fingers.

Her panties slid lower still. The curve of her lower buttocks was fully exposed now, the dimples above stark shadows. My hand cupped her, kneading gently. Flesh yielded like fresh dough. My other hand worked my cock faster, the wet slap of skin echoing faintly. Her breathing hitched again—a tiny gasp. I leaned closer, my lips hovering near the small of her back. My thumb slid beneath the panties’ edge, finding damp heat. Her skin was feverish. She arched, pressing her ass firmly against my palm. A tremor ran through her. Outside, the tapping branch fell silent. The wind held its breath.

My thumb traced lower, parting the cleft. The fabric resisted slightly, clinging to moist skin. I tugged firmly. The panties slid past the swell of her cheeks, bunching at her thighs. Her pussy emerged—a tight, hairless slit nestled between slender thighs. Pink folds glistened faintly in the dim light, impossibly small, smooth as a seashell’s interior. Like a delicate coin slot. My thumb brushed the outer lips, feather-light. They felt impossibly soft, yielding. A bead of moisture slicked my fingertip. Her scent intensified—ripe peaches and salt. My cock jerked in my fist, thick veins pulsing against my palm. Precum dripped onto the sheets.

The rhythm intensified. My thumb circled her opening, pressing gently against the tight bud. She whimpered softly, hips shifting. Her legs fell open wider. A tremor ran through her thighs. My thumb pressed harder, rubbing slow circles against her tiny entrance. Her body tensed, then relaxed. A tiny sigh escaped her lips. Her pussy felt impossibly hot beneath my touch. My cock throbbed urgently. The base tightened. Heat coiled low in my belly. My breath came in ragged gasps. The air thickened. My thumb slipped lower, tracing the smooth skin beneath her slit. Her entire body seemed to hum.

My balls drew up tight. The pressure built—a hot, urgent surge. I bent sharply, leaning over her sleeping form. My cock pulsed violently in my fist. Thick ropes of cum erupted onto her lower back and buttocks. White streaks splashed across pale skin, pooling in the cleft of her ass. Semen dripped slowly down the curve of her cheeks. A bead traced the cleft, sliding toward her exposed pussy lips. My thumb instinctively swept it away, smearing warm wetness across her skin. She sighed deeply, shifting slightly. Her body remained slack, utterly still. The scent of sex hung thick in the air—musky, sharp, undeniable. Silence pressed in. Only the frantic thud of my own heart echoed in the stillness.