Truth or Dare

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. No connection to actual persons or events is intended or implied. All characters are 18 years of age or older. Do not fold, spindle, or mutilate. Always wear your seatbelt. Actual mileage my vary.

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"So, whatcha doin', big brother?" Becky asked as she barged uninvited into the room.

Fortunately, John was ready for just such an emergency. He pulled a nearby pillow onto his lap, covering his exposed penis. "Don't you know how to knock?" he growled. "And will you please stop calling me that?" The "big brother" title was sort of a joke in the family. Becky and John were twins, and John was indeed the older of the pair - by a whole nine minutes. Around the age of five, Becky had started calling her marginally older sibling "big brother". She still did it on occasion, like now, though now it was just because she knew how much he hated it.

"Sure I know how to knock," she laughed. "But I only knock on closed doors. Yours was open."

"It was closed. Just not all the way," he protested.

"Semantics. Latched, or it doesn't count. Anyway, whatcha doin'?"

"Playing a computer game," he said, though just now he was staring at the computer desktop. When he pulled the pillow onto his lap with one hand, he immediately minimized the window with the other. "Don't you have anything else to do on a Saturday afternoon?"

She pursed her lips. "Not really, no. Nothing on TV, don't feel like going out, so I thought I'd see what you were up to." There was the tiniest amount of hurt in her voice on being rejected. John ignored it. "I guess I could go to my room, take off all my clothes, and shove a cucumber up my pussy and maybe a banana up my ass," she said, just to see what sort of reaction she would get.

He literally did a double take, looking at her smirking at him. "Fine, whatever," he said, giving her a dismissive wave.

She persisted. She always had responded poorly to subtlety. It wasn't that she couldn't pick up on it; it was that she was persistent about getting her way, and short of a giant, flashing neon sign with "NO" in twenty-foot letters, she refused to take the hint, so to speak. "So what sort of computer game do you play with your pants off and your hand wrapped around your dick?" she grinned.

"I wasn't playing with my dick!" he shouted in stunned outrage. He didn't bother denying that his pants were off. That was a little hard to hide.

"Oh, come off it. It's me, your little baby sister. You think I don't know you beat off in bed? I got news for you, buster: if you want to hide something like that, you'd better do your own laundry. Fine, newsflash for you: I do it, too. Almost every fucking day. I don't beat off, but you know what I mean. Remember when we moved into this apartment, a year and a half ago, not long after we turned eighteen, and there was that plain old showerhead in the bathroom? I insisted we swap it out for a handheld massaging one. Well, I'll give you a hint: it wasn't for sore muscles, I'll tell you that right now.

"I'm not going to tell anyone. Even if I did, what are they going to do, print it in tomorrow's newspaper? 'Twenty year-old horny young man masturbates'. Talk about a slow news day, huh?" She paused and dialed her dander back a degree or two.

She gave him a chance to respond, but he said nothing. "Fine," she grumbled after a moment and moved toward the door like she was leaving. John let his guard down the slightest bit, apparently not noticing that she was still in arm's reach. Quick as a flash, her hand shot out and snatched the pillow away.

"Mmm, very nice," she purred, her eyes locked onto his crotch. His cock was a good eight inches long or more and about three-quarters hard. Semi-hard as it was, it was bigger than what she had seen in the bathroom that night.

"OUT!" he bellowed, snatching the pillow back. He covered himself and moved toward her, determined to evict her from his room by force, if necessary. Wanting to avoid a confrontation and maybe one or both of them doing something they'd later regret, she quickly backpedaled into the hallway, an instant before the door was slammed loudly in her face.

Oh, was she angry! It wasn't that he yelled at her or that he threw her out that made her mad. It was the slamming of the door. He slammed it in her face as hard as he could, missing the tip of her nose by inches. As it was, the wave of air pressure from the closing door hit her squarely in the face.

She paced back and forth like a tiger in a cage for a good five minutes, her feet threatening to wear through the cheap carpet with her heavy, angry steps. At the end of the five minutes her rage had begun to abate, though only slightly, and she decided to take a bath. That always relaxed her. Since she was so often determined to get her way in a world that frankly didn't give a rat's ass what Becky Jones liked or didn't like, she had taken a lot of baths during her lifetime.

After gathering a towel and a couple washcloths, she drew a bath as hot as she could stand it, undressing and using the toilet as the tub filled. When she got into it, she had to ease herself in, realizing she had made it too hot. It was a problem easy enough to correct by simply adding cold water, but she was in no mood to admit she had made a mistake, not even a small one. It took a few minutes as her lower legs and feet protested they were being parboiled, but eventually she got settled in.

She ran her hands over her wet skin, from her ankles up over her calves and thighs and finally her pussy, checking for stubble. No, she decided, she was still smooth from her shower that morning. She moistened a washcloth, then lay back with it over her eyes.

After fifteen minutes or so, the now-warm water had relaxed her and cooled her temper somewhat. By twenty minutes, she was feeling sorry for herself. She hadn't meant any harm; she was just playing. What she said originally was entirely true: she just wanted to see what her brother was doing on a dull Saturday afternoon. Maybe they could go get something to eat, or watch a movie, or just go for a walk. Anything, just to have something to do. It wasn't really that she didn't want to go out; she just didn't want to go out alone. As fraternal twins, Becky and John didn't look any more alike than any other brother and sister. From a distance, one might think he was her boyfriend instead of her brother. That way she wouldn't look like the lonesome, broken-hearted girl that she was.

This was a bad weekend, dammit. If things had gone as planned, right now she would be relaxing in a hot tub on the porch of a log cabin a couple hours away, with her boyfriend, Will. Ex-boyfriend, she corrected herself. Either that or having her brains fucked out on a giant king-size bed in the same cabin. That's where she'd be if not for the trip home from college he made two weekends ago. He claimed his parents missed him and so he drove home to spend the weekend with them.

Oh, he had gone home, all right. Only it wasn't to see Mom and Dad. It was to spend the weekend balls deep in his floozy of a girlfriend from high school, she later learned! And what a way to learn about it: when he got back, he called her. She went over to his place simply because she missed him and wanted to help him unpack. Imagine her surprise when, while helping to sort his dirty clothes, she came upon a black, lace thong that reeked of dried cum and pussy juice mingled together. "So, is this your Mom's, or did you start wearing women's lingerie?" she asked sarcastically.

The one thing to his credit was that he didn't offer up some lame ass excuse. He confessed, "throwing himself on the mercy of the court", as he put it. Damn pre-law major... Only this court - the First Circuit Court of Deep Shit, the Honorable Becky Jones, presiding - was pissed and had no mercy to offer. She didn't hit him, yell at him, or swear at him, though she felt like doing all three, and all at the same time. Instead she had simply told him an angry goodbye, turned, and walked out of his life forever.

Unfortunately, her decision was not without consequences. She had purposely selected this particular weekend for their trip: her menstrual cycle was as regular as clockwork, and she knew this weekend was the horniest she would be for the entire twenty-eight days. That was the problem. She had gotten herself off that morning with the showerhead, as she often did, then later diddled off to a second orgasm in her bed, and yet she was still horny. When she went into her brother's room, her motives were every bit as innocent as she claimed they were. It just so happened that as she came in, she caught a glimpse of his hand slowly sliding up and down his shaft. Her pussy, already unhappy about missing out on the fuckings it had been expecting and looking forward to, reacted to that. It was "a biological reaction to stimuli," as her Biology 101 professor would no doubt call it. Unhappily, the dick in question just happened to belong to her brother.

He was right, she knew: she had just barged in, unannounced. That was a flaw of hers; it always had been. If she saw something she shouldn't, well, that served her right. It wasn't John's fault she caught him doing something in the privacy of his room. Okay, maybe he should have made sure his door was completely closed, but it was nearly shut. That should have been enough of a sign to say, "Go away" or at least, "Knock before entering". And she especially shouldn't have pressed him on it as hard as she did.

The water was getting cold and her fingers and toes were beginning to wrinkle, so she tripped the drain with her foot and got out. She looked around for her towel, discovering it wasn't on the hook she had hung it on. She quickly found it, and got a huge surprise.

Though, like most college students, she and John were constantly broke, their parents had given them a sumptuous gift to take to college, "as a reminder of home": it was a set of very expensive but ultra-luxurious bath towels, along with an electric warming rack. There was nothing in the world like wrapping one's self in one of those towels, especially after it had spent a few minutes becoming toasty warm on the rack. Just now, her towel was on that rack, warming nicely. The only explanation for it being there was that John must have slipped in while she was in the bath with the curtain pulled, and put it there. She didn't realize she had fallen asleep in the tub, but she must have, and it was during that time he had done it. As she wrapped herself in the thick, warm terrycloth, she felt about two inches tall for giving him hell earlier.

She dried her body, hanging the towel back on the rack to dry, then stood staring at her nude reflection in the bathroom mirror. Damn. The towel had been a small gesture, perhaps, but it was still one of the most thoughtful, kindest things any man had ever done for her in her entire twenty years of life.

Will had given her a selection of scented body lotions for Christmas the year before, and they were lined up neatly on a nearby shelf. She selected the pink one - "Sweet Pea". John had, naturally enough, expressed his opinion of the half dozen lotions, and she knew that "Sweet Pea" was far and away his favorite. She used a generous portion on her entire body, from head to toe. Then she pulled on her bathrobe, tying it loosely around her. Just as she was getting ready to walk out of the bathroom, she had an idea. She retrieved the bottle of lotion she had just used and dropped it into the oversized pocket of her robe.

John's door was closed - and, she noted, latched this time. She stood in front of it for almost a full minute, trying to work up her courage. Like most teens and young adults, it wasn't easy for her to admit she had made a mistake and to say she was sorry. That it was her brother she had to apologize to made it twice as hard. She wasn't at all sure what she was going to do or say. She just knew she had to apologize and she hoped the words would come. She took a deep breath and tapped lightly on the door.

There was a rustle on the other side of the door and what sounded like sheets and blankets being quickly rearranged. After a few seconds, she heard John say, "Come in."

She found him in bed, on his back, with the covers pulled up to his armpits. His naked shoulders suggested that the rest of him was bare as well. The fact that he had one leg bent under the sheets, making a large tent with his knee, suggested he was concealing something else as well. Whatever the game was he had been playing, it clearly had an effect on him, she thought. As she approached the bed, he cast his eyes downward, unable to make eye contact.

"Hey, Sis," he said in a sheepish tone. "I'm sorry for slamming the door on you a little while ago. I put the towel on the rack for you as sort of a peace offering. I hope you don't mind that I came in while you were taking a bath. I knocked and called your name a couple times before I cracked the door. I could tell from your breathing that you were asleep, so I just moved the towel and left."

She shook her head as she sat, half-on and half-off the bed. She knew that as loosely as her robe was tied, it was entirely possible - even likely - that he could see at least part of her left breast, but she didn't mind.

"No," she said softly. "You don't have anything to be sorry for. I came in here to apologize for acting like a jerk earlier. I shouldn't have barged in here, and I definitely shouldn't have given you the hard time that I did. Anything I happened to accidentally see I should have just let it go, not keep drilling at you the way I did. I'm sorry. Okay, maybe you could have handled it a little different, but you were right in kicking me out.

"I also wanted to thank you for the towel. It was a very beautiful gesture, and I appreciated it a lot. Thank you. You were right, I was wrong, and yet you made the first move in putting things right. You're definitely the bigger person." Then she grinned and added, "Big brother." This time, since it was meant as a compliment, he accepted the title with a smile.

Neither of them said anything for a long time, simply looked at each other. "Can I ask you a question?" she asked. "Before you answer, know this: any answer you give is okay, yes or no. I promise I won't be offended either way, and I won't hold it against you. You don't even have to answer at all if you don't feel like it. Okay?"

"Okay."

"When I was in the tub and you came in to put the towel on the rack for me, did you peek behind the curtain at me?"

"No," he answered at once, shaking his head.

"Not even a little peek?"

"Uh uh," he said, shaking his head again. "I'm not going to say I wasn't tempted to look. I mean, you may be my sister, but you're still hot as hell. You're a beautiful woman and you have a great body, but I wasn't going to take advantage of you being asleep by looking. All I did was go in, call your name a couple times, and when I didn't get a response I simply hung up the towel, turned on the rack, and walked out."

"Oh," she said simply, blushing slightly from the compliment. "Well, thank you for the towel and thank you for respecting my privacy. Especially after some of the things I said." She leaned forward and kissed him firmly on the cheek. As she did, she made sure he got a good whiff of her lotion, lingering long enough to let him really soak in the scent.

"Mmm, you smell nice," he smiled. "Sweet pea?"

"Uh huh," she nodded. "There's one more thing: I wanted to do a little more than simply say I'm sorry." She pulled the bottle of lotion from her pocket and showed it to him. "That warm towel was exactly what I needed when I got out of the water. I didn't realize how much I needed it, but you did, apparently. Since you did that for me, will you let me do something for you? Will you let me give you a massage?"

"Uhh, I don't know, Sis. I'm, well, I'm naked under this sheet, so, um..."

"How about just your back, then?" she persisted. "Turn over on your stomach, and I'll pull the sheet down just to your lower back. I'll massage just from there up. If you want me to keep going, I will, but if you don't feel comfortable with it, then I won't. It's just a back and shoulder massage."

That sounded okay, even welcome, to him, so he readily agreed. He rolled over, and she drew the sheet down to the top of his butt crack. Then she climbed onto the bed and straddled his lower back, careful to keep all her weight on her knees. She kept her robe on, but untied it. She had no intention of keeping it on for long. Just long enough for him to get comfortable.

She rubbed the lotion generously on her hands to warm it, then started in on his neck, working the tension from his muscles, before moving down to his shoulders. John wasn't a big man, just "lean and wiry", and she had almost forgotten what good shape he was in until she started manipulating his muscles.

"Ungh, that feels good, Sis," he groaned. "You're a magician with your hands."

"Thank you," she smiled. She had a lot of experience: during the year or so she and Will were together, she had given him a massage him a couple times a week. "Have you ever had a massage before?"

"Uh uh," he said. "First time."

"Then how do you know I'm good at this?" she giggled. "You don't have anything to compare this to!"

"True, I suppose," he allowed. "But I know what feels good, and this feels incredible."

She kneaded his deceptively powerful shoulders, working out the kinks, before working her way down his back, massaging the strong muscles on either side of his spine. She took her time, spending a full twenty minutes on his shoulders and back alone.

"There you go," she said in a quiet, singsong voice. "How do you feel?"

"Like you could pour me in a glass and soak the rest of me up with a sponge," he said dreamily.

"Good," she giggled. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. Now the only question is, how about the rest of you? Your butt and legs, I mean?"

"Um, I'm not sure," he said. "A part of me wants to let you." Then he laughed. "A part of me wants to let you do my back and then turn over and do my front, too!"

"I don't mind," she cooed. "So, what's stopping you?"

"The fact that you're my sister," he said honestly. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I wish you weren't my sister. Wait, that came out wrong. I'm sorry; I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

"I understand," she assured him softly. "So, what if I wasn't your sister? I don't have to be, at least for a while."

"What do you mean?"

"Give me a name. Make up a name for me, and that's who I'll be. Any name you want. Make it something sexy."

"Okay, how about 'Blaze'?"

"'Blaze'?" she laughed. "Where'd that name come from?"

"Remember a month or so ago, when I went with a couple of guys to that strip club to celebrate our friend's graduation? One of the dancers used the stage name 'Blaze'. She couldn't have been more than early-twenties, tops. It wouldn't surprise me if she's in college here, just like the rest of us. Real pretty redhead. She gave me a lap dance. Forget it. I'm sorry. I'll pick something else, or you can pick a name."

"No no," she said quickly. "I like it. 'Blaze' it is, then." She climbed off the bed and stood beside it.

"Now, Mr. Jones, I only do backs and shoulders," she said formally. "We have a girl who does the rest of the body for you. Her name's Blaze. I have to go, but I'll send her right in. Just make yourself comfortable."

Her intention originally was to walk out of the room, wait a minute or two, and come straight back in, but using her new name. But as she walked out the door, she thought of something: did she still have that costume from Halloween last year? She rushed to her room, mentally crossing her fingers.