The Usual Disclaimer: This is a work of fantasy. All characters featured in sexual situations are over 18. The characters in these stories are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead or undead is purely coincidental. Do not try this at home.

* * * * *

My older sister and I went to the same high school. She was a year ahead of me, and was a tough act to follow. However, I became pretty impressive in my own right. We just didn’t spend a lot of time hanging out because we didn’t really run in the same social circles. Stacy was brilliant, and she was active in several school clubs. Despite the intellectual nature of many of those clubs, she was never labeled as a “nerd” or “geek.” She was simply too attractive and too popular. Guys practically lined up to ask her out.

I was a five-sport athlete and was a starter for our school in every one of those sports. It consumed pretty much all of my time. It always pisses me off when some knucklehead dismissively refers to competitive athletes as “dumb jocks.” Usually they are lazy slobs who like to think of themselves as intellectuals. They have no idea how much hard work, dedication, and honest-to-goodness brain power it takes to compete and win, even at the high school level.

You have to be fast and strong, obviously, but you also have to know the playbook inside and out. Then you have to study your opponent. For football alone I spent over 200 hours studying game film, and that was just my junior year. Every day after school I was at practice for at least two hours. Then I had to make sure I had all my homework done for my classes. If my grades in any classes fell below a B, I would be ineligible for all of my sports.

I barely had time to date, and certainly could not afford to be in a serious relationship.

My sister had a much richer social life than I did, and she did not participate in any sports in high school. She was one of only two girls in the Chess Club, but she was easily the strongest player. Whenever we played chess against each other, it was always close. We simply didn’t have time for more than one game a month by the time she hit her junior year of high school. Chess Club was a fairly small part of her life even though she took it seriously.

The last two years my sister was in high school, I barely saw her in school and we really didn’t spend a lot of time talking at home either. In the spring of my senior year, my schedule lightened up and I saw my sister a lot more often at home. I had turned 18 the previous November, and she was almost 20. We both had our own cars, but it was a nice change from our frenetic pace the previous two years just to be able to relax and hang out at home.

That was when I heard her jokingly tell her boyfriend, “Aw, you look all worked up. Should I give you a mercy hand-job?”

From Christmas break through February, she dated three or four different guys, and she had them over to the house to visit. It was usually when we were watching a movie and my sister’s latest boyfriend would comment on something steamy on the screen that she would lean over and whisper in his ear, “Should I give you a mercy hand-job?” or “Do you need a mercy hand-job?”

I wasn’t supposed to hear it any of those times, and I suspect she did not know that I had heard her. Even though I knew she was joking, it seemed a little offensive to me at the time. I never thought a hand-job qualified as sex, honestly. The least you could do was offer a guy a “mercy blow-job.”

I digress, though.

My sister graduated at the top of her high school class. She gave a brilliant valedictory speech at graduation, and that wasn’t just my opinion. Stacy had scholarship offers pouring in from all over. It came as a real shock when she elected to stay in our hometown and go to our local university. Now, that may sound dismissive of our school, and that’s certainly not what I mean. Stacy had scholarship offers from Harvard and Stanford, MIT and Cal Tech. Every major university in every major conference had essentially offered her a free ride, and she had passed on all of them.

I never asked her about it, but I didn’t have to. She was asked often by lots of people and I heard her thoughtful response. “I know exactly what I want to do for a career, and our school has as prestigious a program as anyone. I get to stay here and enjoy my family, and I will graduate with my career right ahead of me. I’m not in a hurry to leave all the people I love. Most of the people who are in a hurry to leave home just don’t know what they are leaving behind. I do.”

* * *

Her words made me think long and hard about my own decision when I got to my last semester of high school. I knew that there was a significant difference, because I had a professional sports career ahead of me if I played my cards right. For that to happen, my choice of school was vital.

Then I shattered both my legs in a horrific weightlifting accident, and all that decision-making went out the amatör porno window along with any potential career as a professional athlete.

When I say “accident” I mean exactly that. It wasn’t my fault, and it wasn’t anyone doing anything to try to hurt me, or anything careless. I can still picture it clearly to this day, and wish that I couldn’t. It always happens in slow motion; Tommy turning and crying out a warning as the bar slips from his grasp and the weight comes crashing down onto my knees…

Tommy was in tears when he visited me in the hospital, and he wasn’t the only one. Two of our coaches blamed themselves that it had happened, but I assured all of them it was not their fault. I had plenty of time to think about it, and there was nothing they could have done. My parents were still furious, of course, but I calmed them down as soon as I was capable of doing so. Those coaches were excellent and I didn’t want either of them to be fired for something that was not their fault.

That took a while, actually. It took something like thirty or forty separate surgical procedures to piece the shattered bones of my legs back together. What was hardest for me was accepting the radically altered course my life would take. Eventually I would be able to walk normally and even jog, but I had realistically expected to be a professional athlete. Now that was simply gone.

I was in the hospital for weeks, and spent the last month of my senior year in a wheelchair. After loads of physical therapy, I managed to limp across the stage on crutches for my graduation. That earned me a standing ovation.

At that point, most of the schools which had offered me athletic scholarships stepped up and said they would honor their commitments. In the end, I decided to follow my older sister’s example and stayed in our hometown to attend our local university. I simply failed to disclose to anyone one little event that had happened between my eighteenth birthday and my horrific accident. It wasn’t like it was ever a factor in my decision-making process, but it was significant in other ways.

I had actually witnessed my sister giving a hand-job.

It did not make me want to have sex with my sister. Let me make that clear at the outset—it wasn’t like I saw her doing that and suddenly fell in love with my older sister or anything along those lines. It just made me think differently about hand-jobs. See, I had always thought that a hand-job was simply a different word for masturbation. I assumed that if a girl was offering to give me one, it would be like me jerking myself off.

When I saw my sister doing it…Wow, that was nothing like I had imagined. The guy was just someone my sister had hooked up with in college. He had a Nordic name, but I can’t remember now what it was. It wasn’t Thor, but it was something like that. That particular day I got home much earlier than normal, and our parents weren’t home yet. Stacy had left her bedroom door partially ajar, and I glanced in and then froze.

I couldn’t see the guy’s face. He was lying on Stacy’s bed, naked, and his dick was wet with oil or something similar. My sister was completely naked, straddling his thighs, and her hands made wet sounds as she slowly stroked his dick and talked to him in a low, sultry voice. I stood there and could not tear my eyes away.

Stacy was at a slight angle to me, looking at the guy’s face. I watched her right hand slowly stroking the middle of his shaft while her left hand made circles around the throbbing head of his dick. I couldn’t see her pussy from that angle, but from the way she was moving her hips it looked like she was rubbing it against the base of his shaft. Her movements were sinuous and deliberate, and I was rock-hard in seconds.

The sounds coming out of her bedroom were every bit as arousing as what I was watching. My sister’s sultry voice, coupled with the steady, wet stroking noises were incredible. The guy moaned and spoke occasionally. Then he groaned out a warning and my sister’s face lit up in a smile. Then she turned and her eyes widened in shock when she saw me.

Our eyes were still locked when the cock in her hands exploded and covered her in cum.

I shook my head softly and backed away out of sight. By the time the guy finished groaning through his orgasm, I was in my bedroom. A few minutes later I heard the shower start in the bathroom we shared. I was a little startled to hear the two of them talking as they shared a shower. That seemed to indicate a level of intimacy beyond what a “mercy hand-job” implied.

Stacy and I never talked about it, and in another week she was dating someone else. It was only a few weeks after that incident that my injury occurred. Then it wasn’t even on my mind anymore. I was a little more preoccupied with not losing my legs.

* * *

Stacy was a pre-med student. She had chosen our university because it has the absolute best program for her chosen specialization. I can’t say anal porno any more than that, because it would pretty much give away everything else. When the school year ended for me, I was grimly determined to use my summer to get back on my feet. I had physical therapy appointments three times a week, but I was pushing myself much harder than my physical therapist was.

Stacy gave me a ride to my appointments, and she and Summer (my PT) would talk while I performed the exercises. It was the first time I heard anyone say that I was pushing myself too hard.

“Slow down, Keith,” Summer said in a calm, firm voice. “You have to let your body recover longer between sets, and between exercises. Remember, this is more about healing than it is about building muscle or strength.”

She turned to my sister then, and said, “Honestly, I can hardly believe it. With most of my patients, my job is to encourage them to work harder. With your brother, it’s the opposite. It’s like he only has one speed—way too fast. I’m afraid he’s going to re-injure himself the way he’s forcing this.”

I forced myself to slow down and finished the set of leg presses I was doing. Then I took several slow, deep breaths and looked over at them. They both nodded in approval. Less than fifteen minutes later, I was once again being told to slow down.

After that, it was my sister who constantly reminded me to take it slow when we were home. I know she meant well, but it was a frustrating process and I let it get to me. After three days of listening to her tell me to slow down, I finally snapped.

“It’s easy for you to say,” I retorted angrily. “At least you can fucking walk! I can barely go to the bathroom without help, for Christ’s sakes!”

I saw anger flash in her eyes, but she didn’t rise to the bait. Instead she walked over and dragged me insistently out of the torture device I had been battling for the last half hour. “That’s enough for today,” she said firmly.

I wanted to fight with her, but I already felt regret for having yelled at her. With Stacy’s help I got situated on the couch and tried to focus on breathing steadily. It took a while for me to even notice how my legs were splayed out in front of me, and how obvious it made the rampant erection tenting out the front of my shorts. I really only noticed because Stacy was looking at it.

She licked her lips and looked at me a little uncomfortably. “Is that, uh, something you need to take care of?” she asked carefully.

I looked down and saw it then, and chuckled softly. “Damn,” I murmured. I looked back up at her face and she couldn’t hide her grin. I thought I would make a joke, but… “Aren’t you even going to offer me a mercy hand-job?” I quipped.

Her eyes went wide and she shook her head. After I watched her swallow heavily, she said softly, “Keith, that wasn’t what you saw that day.”

I felt heat rising to my face. “Oh! That wasn’t what I was talking about! Jeez, I was just trying to make a joke. After all the times the last couple months I’ve heard you say that…”

“When you heard me say what?” she asked, cocking her head.

“You know, when you offered your boyfriend a mercy hand-job. I always assumed you were kidding when you said it.”

“Oh!” she replied. “Which boyfriend was that? I never knew you heard me say that.”

“Pick one,” I said dryly. “I know you didn’t mean for me to hear it, but I swear I heard you say that at least a dozen times.”

Stacy blushed then, and it didn’t get better when she glanced down at my crotch again. “Um, well, I’m your sister,” she stuttered. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to do that for you.”

My eyes widened at that. Was she saying she had really given those guys hand-jobs? Even if it wasn’t like the one I saw… I shook my head. “Of course not,” I croaked out, and then I cleared my throat. “It would be really, really wrong for you to do that with me.”

“Yes,” she murmured, once again licking her lips and staring at my throbbing boner. “So wrong.”

After a moment she shook her head. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Should I give you some privacy so you can take care of that?”

“Right here in the living room?” I snorted. “I don’t think so. I should take a shower and then lie down in my bed.” My eyes flicked up and met hers, and I grinned. “Maybe then…”

We both chuckled. Then she asked, “Well, do you need my help with any of that?”

“If you can bring me my crutches, I think I can handle the rest,” I replied. She blanched and I quickly added, “I mean the showering and getting myself to bed part. This,” I indicated my dick with a wave of my right hand, “is as much a side effect of the meds as it is the fact I haven’t been laid since my accident.”

“Oh,” she said softly. Then she turned and walked over to get my crutches and brought them to me.

I struggled to my feet and dragged myself into the bathroom. We had put a plastic lawn chair into the shower so I could do it myself and ana breakers porno be spared the added indignity of having someone else wash my body. Stacy still had to be in the bathroom with me just in case, but she wasn’t staring at me when I took my shower. That day, though, I did catch her staring at my hard dick after I was done washing myself. Once again our eyes met, but we didn’t talk about it.

I wrapped the towel around my waist after I had dried off and used the crutches to head back to my bedroom. I know Stacy got another eyeful as I lay back in my bed.

“Thanks, Stacy,” I muttered. She nodded and headed for the door. “Oh, Stacy?”

“Yes?”

“I’m really sorry I snapped at you earlier. You didn’t deserve that. It’s just been so frustrating, but you sure as hell didn’t do anything to deserve me yelling at you. I love you, you know. I’m lucky to have you here to look out for me like you do.”

She smiled at me—a beautiful sunbeam-entering-the-room gorgeous smile. “I know,” she said softly. “It’s been hard for me, too. I really wish there was something more I could do for you.” Her breath caught, and her eyes widened just a fraction.

I refrained from saying anything stupid and just gave her another sincere smile.

* * *

The next morning, I cut my workout short. I felt intense pain lancing through my knees, and that was a bad sign.

“Stacy!” I yelped. “Help! Please!”

She came rushing over with a terrified look on her face.

“My knees,” I gasped. “I just got this shooting pain in both of them. Did I tear something?”

“Hold still,” she replied. She carefully examined both of my legs, probing with her fingers to make sure there was no structural damage. “I think it’s just fatigue in your tendons,” she finally said. “It’s probably smart that you stopped when you did. Don’t try to move; let me get the wheelchair.”

I nodded and stayed still. When she got back I kept all my weight off my legs as she helped me into the chair. I was glum as she wheeled me over to my bedroom.

“Do your knees still hurt?” she asked.

“A little, but it’s just the normal after-workout level of burn now.” I looked up at her face and shook my head. “This really sucks. I felt like if I just worked out harder, this would go faster.”

She looked miserable as she shook her head. “I’m sorry it doesn’t work that way,” she said softly. “If it did, you would be completely healed already.”

We got to my bed then, and she stood beside me and scooped up my legs to take their weight and help me into my bed. It was always a struggle to get from the chair to my bed, and I lay there breathing heavily afterward. Stacy was also breathing heavily, and I shuddered. Her hot breath was going right onto my throbbing, super-sensitive dick. I glanced down and saw she was looking at my face.

“Uh, Stacy? You’re breathing right onto my, um…”

She gave me a confused look and then her eyes widened when she looked at my big, throbbing dick right in front of her mouth. “Oh! Sorry, Keith, I didn’t realize…” she spluttered, pulling her face back from my crotch. Then she muttered, “Jesus, is that really all you?”

Before she thought about it, and before I could do anything to stop her, she reached forward and filled her hand with my completely rigid shaft. She gave it a soft squeeze and then her eyes widened in shock. She looked up at my face as she yanked her hand away. “Oh, shit! I’m sorry—”

“It’s okay,” I replied, trying to calm her down. “It was an accident. I understand.” I waited a moment for her to relax and nod. I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “Stacy, thank you for being here for me today. If you hadn’t…” I shook my head slowly. “I’m not sure what I would have done.”

Stacy moved the chair out of the way and smiled down at me, resting her hand on my shoulder. Then she leaned down impulsively and kissed me softly on the lips. “I’m glad I was here for you,” she said quietly. When she stood upright, her eyes were drawn back to my angrily pulsing boner. “When is the last time you took care of that, anyway?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I replied, thinking about it. “It’s been a few days, at least. Let’s see…it was Friday—no, sorry—it was Thursday night.”

“Keith,” she muttered, shaking her head. “It’s Thursday now. Are you seriously telling me you have been hard all week and haven’t taken care of it once? No wonder it’s so huge!” She bit her lip when she realized what she had said.

I shook my head and murmured, “It’s alright.”

It was just to stop her from saying anything else and making it more uncomfortable than the moment already was. But she looked at my crotch again and then a little angrily back at my face.

“No, it’s not alright, Keith,” she said firmly. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

When she returned she had a white or clear pump bottle in her hand. From the pump-dispenser top, it resembled a large bottle of hand soap, or perhaps a smaller bottle of shampoo. Before I could get a good look at it, though, Stacy shoved it behind her back. Her face was a little red when I looked up at her.

“Look, this would be a lot easier for me if you aren’t watching me do it,” she said. “Would you please put your pillow over your face?”