Luna woke to the sound of her sister masturbating, again. She laid there in the dark, still as stone on the bottom bunk, even as the bed rattled, not daring to make a sound that would alert Stella to her lucidity. It was her little secret—that she actually enjoyed these moments; pockets of time in the dead of night, piquing her ears for Stella’s gasps, the way her breath hitched and strained and soared. Quieter: the sound of skin on wet skin, muffled under blankets and pillows and the single plush bear on her bed, which she kept hidden out of embarrassment. But Luna knew.
Luna knew a lot that Stella probably didn’t want her knowing. She knew that when her older sister pleasured herself, she did it to the thought of Luna. (More than once she had heard her breathe, “oh, Lu...” barely audible. It always sent an earthquake through her stomach.) She knew that Stella thought about her plenty of other times, too. She knew the look that meant her sister was fantasizing: her dark brown eyes would fog up with clouds of concentration, steam rolling in from her brain stem and out of her pupils, cheeks flushed with crimson desire. She knew that her sis sneaked pictures of her, knew that when she held her phone up to block her face, it was because she saw something she wanted to capture. Luna would pose for her, subtly—accentuate this hip or that leg or stick out her budding chest—and her big sister ate it up.
She often wondered what would happen if she got up, out of the bottom bunk, climbed the ladder, and confronted Stella. Would she shrink with shame? Would her whole face turn that beautiful shade of scarlet? Would she pull her hand away from herself, or would she keep going with even more intensity? Would they kiss? Luna hoped for the latter. She considered joining her sister in touching herself, but thought better of it; she didn’t want to rattle the bed even more. So she resigned to just lying there, listening, dreaming about drool-saturated kisses and gentle touches and whispered confessions.
-
The first time it happened (or at least the first time Luna was awake to hear it), she was eight years old, and her sister thirteen. Stella had let out a particularly passionate noise that stirred Luna, before realizing her mistake and pausing for a moment.
“Luna?” she had hissed. “Are you awake?”
“Yes,” Luna whispered back.
“Go back to sleep.”
“Are you okay? You sounded hurt, or-”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Stella reassured her. “Just go back to sleep.”
“Okay...” she said, and pretended to fall back into slumber, slowing her breath to a smooth wave.
When Stella resumed her task, she did so quieter and with finer control of her breathing. Even with the added precision, though, she would still slip up—a contented sigh here, a flurry of sudden movement there—and Luna was far too fascinated to let sleep take her.
For the next few months, it didn’t happen again. But one night (a sweltering August evening, not long after school had started for the year), Luna felt the telltale shifting of her bunk; heard her sister’s mouth work itself to death trying to keep shut. She could smell the mix of sweat and saliva, pulled through the ceiling fan and thickening up the bedroom air. Stella was practically writhing up there. The shockwaves pulsated through the bed frame, into Luna’s mattress and surrounded her spine. She stared at the bunk above her, watched as splinters shook like blades of grass.
When Stella finished, she was panting—taking in huge desperate gulps of the atmosphere—but Luna stayed silent. She held her breath for as long as she could manage. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she inhaled slowly and silently through her nose. The air was syrup, and it stuck in her nostrils with an addictive sweetness.
-
After that, it was a regular routine. Twice a month, Stella would touch herself while Luna listened intently. She learned all of her older sister’s little tics—how she would draw a single, sharp breath in at the start; the rhythmic waves of her squirming as she approached climax; her squeaks and whimpers that she thought were inaudible; the animalistic gasps once it was all over.
For five years it went on like this, changing only slightly. The first time Luna heard big sis utter her name, she was ten. The first time she thought about kissing Stella was one month later. The first time she considered touching herself along with her was a year and a half after that.
She actually tried it once. (And only once: she had inched her hand under the waistbands of her sleep shorts and panties, awkwardly placed her middle finger on the head of her penis, and gingerly stroked. It felt incredible—she gasped with pleasure, swallowing up as much air as she could fit in her undersized lungs, felt her legs twitch and her toes stiffen and her nipples buzz—but before she could hone her technique, Stella had abruptly stopped. Luna realized a half-second too late. She clumsily yanked her hand from her crotch, snapping the elastic back to her hips. Stella never went back to finish that night, and was much quieter from then on.)
-
These scenes swam through Luna’s mind as Stella continued. She was louder this time than she had been in a long while. Getting careless, maybe. Luna’s chest ached with longing. Her fingers were drawn to it—before she realized what she was doing, her left nipple was between her thumb and index. For a millisecond it sent a ripple through her every nerve, but it faded quickly. So, in a desperate bid for more sensation, she grabbed her still-growing tit with her entire palm and squeezed. Another wave crested and splashed down her body. Her back arched involuntarily.
She continued to grope herself. She found inch after inch of skin that yearned for contact and pinched it; grabbed it in her fists and savored the tsunami of sensation that resulted. She barely grazed her upper thigh and made an involuntary squeak—but it was thankfully lost amongst the noise that Stella was making.
Luna’s older sister was really squirming now. The bunk shook with hurricane winds. Luna glanced at the bedroom door—surely their parents could hear this, right?—but was drawn back to the twitching mattress above her. She watched as eagerly as ever; felt herself up, eyes closed, mouth slightly open; took in each and every sound that floated down to her and allowed herself to make a few of her own.
Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. Luna slid her shorts and panties down her legs, exposing herself to the sea of plush animals lining her wall. She took one last peek at the door, then placed her left palm over her mouth and her right on her crotch. She began with a sudden gasp into her hand—just like her big sis. Rather than stroking with her finger, this time she practically humped her own fist. Her hips bucked. She found the rhythm of her sister’s waves and matched it precisely. She knew it instinctively by now. Stella grew ever so slightly louder. Luna followed her like only a little sister can. The two girls harmonized in pleasure; moans crashed into one another, rollicking with the same intensity as the beds.
Luna had never felt anything like this before. Each moment stretched into an endless horizon. Every thought was eroded by the ceaseless tide of sensation, replaced only with a longing—a need, really—for her own hands to instead be Stella’s. She craved to be fawned over. Wanted her sister to lay her fingers in every curve and crook of her body. Yearned to hear that shuddering whisper of “oh, Lu...” spoken directly in her ear.
She kicked her legs in a cheap imitation of the breast stroke. Her breathing quickened and shallowed. She thrust her hips into her waiting hand with a complete lack of precision. Drool seeped from the corners of her mouth—still loosely covered by her palm—dampening her fingers and making dark spots on the pillow. She paused for a moment, taking her hand off her lips, and looked at her fingers. They glistened like popsicles, illuminated by the sliver of moonlight that sliced through the room and landed on her bed.
Luna went back to work, swapping hands so that her saliva-soaked fingers now gripped her cock. She found Stella’s rhythm again. It was faster now. The room spun. She glued her eyes shut. The world continued swimming around her—she was seasick. She bobbed above the bed, twisting and spasming with desire.
“Please,” Luna whispered, “please, sis...please touch me.” It was a request she’d posed perhaps hundreds of times in her head, but this was the first time she’d vocalized it. Even now, she assumed it went unheard underneath the din of squeaking and rattling around her. But she was wrong.
-
Stella’s breath stuck in her throat like honey. She swallowed hard and tried to ignore what she had just heard. She didn’t stop fingering herself; maybe, she thought, she could cum out the intrusive thoughts if she just kept going. She tried to be quieter. She was very bad at it.
How long has she wanted to say that?
Stella remembered the only other time Luna had joined her. When she had stopped. She hadn’t been able to look her little sis in the eyes for weeks afterwards. When she finally did, she pretended not to notice the way Luna looked at her. The admiration she had seen, admiration that went beyond simply looking up to her big sister. But when she touched herself again, two days later, it was those eyes—that expression that she imagined.
Stella remembered the first time Luna had woken up. Their brief conversation. She recalled the tone of her sister’s voice—her worry, her trepidation when Stella had told her to go back to sleep. Did she pretend to fall back asleep? She had somehow never considered this. Her stomach churned with guilt. Did I make her like this?
Stella remembered all the times in between, all the noises she had heard below her and had brushed aside in her mind. She remembered the excuses she had made to herself. Felt the droplets of doubt that now seemed like a downpour.
She still didn’t stop. She pushed her fingers in deeper. She listened closely for her sister’s breathing—it was ragged now—and floated in the space it filled. The seconds slowed to a drip-feed. Stella moaned. Luna replied in kind. Stella’s legs stiffened; her knees locked and her toes flexed and spread. She slipped a third finger inside of herself.
“Goddd...Luna...” she said as quietly as she could muster.
“P-please,” Luna’s response was nearly silent. “Stel...I’m- I need-”
Stella whimpered. It was too much. She wanted to stop. Her fingers moved on their own accord. Her free hand latched onto the mattress in a vice grip. Her hips spasmed. She wanted to stop. Luna’s breathing got heavier still. Her breaths weighed down on Stella’s chest, as if they were her own. As if Luna was stealing the air directly from her lungs. She wanted to stop. She couldn’t. It was too much; too late. There was no ignoring it. No going back. Luna would never look at her the same. I could live with that.
The instant she accepted it, the dam broke. Pleasure pulsated through her bones. She shivered. Opened her mouth wide and reclaimed the stolen air. She didn’t recognize the noise that escaped her lips.
-
Luna heard her sister’s orgasm and shook involuntarily. Her vision blurred. There was a puddle forming on her pillow now. She turned her head and buried herself in it. She wished it was Stella’s drool. It smelled close enough. She was determined now. She rode the tide of stimulation as it crested—it knocked the wind out of her. She inhaled the maple-sweet scent of sweat and spit and cum. Took in as much of it as she could. She matched her big sis’s uneven breaths, inhaling when Stella exhaled and squeaking out high-pitched sighs.
She felt pressure building up behind her eyes. It flooded her head. It seeped down her chest, pooled her feet, and swept up her thighs and into her cock. It kept building and building until finally—finally!—her hips twitched one last time and collapsed back down onto the bed. Her cum dripped limply onto the sheets. Her hand was soaked in it. Her face warmed with a sudden shame; she grabbed the nearest stuffed animal and hid her contorting expression in it.
-
The two sisters never acknowledged that night. They sheepishly averted their gazes from each other and were eerily silent at meals for the next several days. The only sign that either of them remembered it was about a month later, when Luna caught Stella staring at her chest again. There was no phone picture this time, and Stella quickly pretended to be very interested in the floor.
Neither of them stopped masturbating. It was rarer, and they never did it together again. But sporadically, one of the sisters would touch herself, and the other always listened. Luna, because she was still so infatuated with her older sister. Stella, though, listened because she couldn’t help herself. She was stuck with a morbid curiosity for what she had done to her kid sister.
Of course, she still loved Luna. Still longed to hold her tighter than a sister probably should. Still dreamt of the possibility for more between them. But dreams were all they could be.