﻿Loving Leah

by Pan



Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2021-10-02
Packaged: 2024-02-16 22:32:56
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,514
Publisher: mcstories.com
Story URL: https://mcstories.com/LovingLeah/index.html
Author URL: https://mcstories.com/Authors/Pan.html
Summary: Paddy himself growing increasingly sexually obsessed with his sister.
Erotica Tags: in, mc, mf





TABLE OF CONTENTS


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5



	Chapter 1

Paddy had been obsessed before.

He had never thought of them as obsessions though; to his mind, they were just ‘crushes’. He’d find, say, a porn star he liked. For the next few weeks (or maybe a month) he’d think about her every time he got off. He’d download all her videos, pics, follow her on Twitter…

But it wasn’t always celebrities. When he’d been a teenager, Paddy was convinced that the maid was teasing him. She always seemed to be bending over while he was in the room, and her coy smile…even now, years after his crush had passed, the thought of her brown eyes smiling up at him was enough to get him hard.

At least, it had been.

His latest obsession (a term he actually _preferred_ to ‘crush’ in this case) was his sister, Leah.

Leah was a redhead. Once upon a time, Paddy would have said his younger sister was cute.

Now, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. ‘Cute’ didn’t even begin to describe it. Every part of her body seemed to be specifically designed to turn him on—her soft-looking pink lips, her generous cleavage, her long, slender neck.

A year ago…hell, a _month_ ago, he would have teased her for her short legs. Now, he found himself uncontrollably staring at them, every chance he got. She had a penchant for wearing little shorts around the house; thin fabric that highlighted her incredible butt, while simultaneously reminding him that it was off-limits.

All of her was off-limits. She was his _sister_.

Paddy’s obsessions had been varied, ranging from older women to some of his sister’s friends. His taste in porn stars was eclectic—some of his favorites had boobs so small they were basically just nipples, while others could barely squeeze into a tank top without it threatening to burst.

But for all his diverse crushes over the years, they’d all been ‘safe’. Porn stars, the girl next door…the most ‘taboo’ his crushes had ever been in the past were imagining his history teacher flashing him during class.

Incest, even as a strange fetish, had never crossed his mind.

He’d been sitting in the den when he’d first noticed. His sister had been wearing a black top. Paddy didn’t know much about fashion, but it struck him as an odd design—it had full sleeves, but seemed to wrap across her torso to expose both her midriff and cleavage. From the back, it looked like a respectable top—from the front, it was impossible not to notice his sister’s taut stomach, her full breasts, her flawless neck.

Paddy had been dumbstruck, unable to look away. The seconds seemed to crawl past as, for the first time, he noticed that his sister had grown up. She was no longer the little girl he’d teased mercilessly as a kid.

Now, she was a woman.

His eyes devoured her body. His fingers trembled, longing to reach out and caress her neck, to grab her by the waist, to rip her top off. His imagination was running wild, picturing his sister’s neck under his lips, wondering what her face looked like when she came.

That was the thought that snapped him out of it. Picturing his own sister’s ‘O’ face; he knew that crossed a line.

These thoughts were unacceptable.

Fortunately, Leah hadn’t noticed his roaming eyes; she’d never looked up from the magazine she was reading. Paddy grunted a goodbye, and made his way to the bathroom for a cold shower.

It took fifteen minutes of the cold water cascading down his back before his erection softened, and he felt terrible about it for days.

Later that week, it struck again. Again, his sister had been dressed in black; a thin, spidery top that was only connected by a few straps, accompanied by black jeans and a thin cloth collar. She was on her way out to a club; Paddy had never been one to notice women’s makeup, but he couldn’t help but observe how huge her eyeliner made her eyes look.

_I wonder if that would streak if I came on her face?_ he wondered, and then immediately chastised himself. This was his little sister, not an object for his sexual desire. So what if she was dressed to show off her tits, making her butt look so inviting that he was barely able to resist reaching out and grabbing it.

“Bye!” he squawked, and this time Leah _did_ look at him strangely.

Again, Paddy headed to the shower to cool down.

It didn’t work.

Unlike last time, his erection refused to subside. He turned the hot water off completely and suffered the feeling of the bitingly cold on his bare skin for almost thirty minutes before giving up.

Every time he tried to will his boner away, his mind would return to one thought:

His sister’s body. Naked, gyrating beneath his.

Eventually, he gave in to the temptation. Wrapping one hand around his cock, it took only a few quick pumps before he was cumming, his seed hitting the tiled wall and washing down the drain.

As he came, he pictured his sister’s nipples in his mouth, her face as she moaned with pleasure. He imagined it was her hand getting him off, and her face he was shooting his cum onto.

Even after his orgasm, Paddy stayed in the shower for an additional ten minutes, trying to wash away the guilt.

* * *

After that, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. It was as if getting off to a mental image of his sister had locked in the obsession. Every time he saw her, he tried desperately to avoid staring, but he couldn’t. Even when she was dressed in the dumpiest clothing she owned, Paddy was turned on by the sight of her. He knew that underneath the baggy sweatpants, his sister had a pair of perfectly-formed legs. He knew that when she was wearing a sweater two sizes too large for her, she probably thought she was safe to go braless.

Just a thin strip of fabric was all that separated her naked body from the world. It was almost enough to make him cum just thinking about it.

When he did cum (and the constant exposure to Leah was forcing him to get off two, three, sometimes even four times a day) he almost scared himself with how vivid—and varied—his fantasies were. Paddy would picture his sister dominating him, or submitting to his own dominance. She’d be naked, or dressed as a nurse, or in her old school uniform. He’d fuck her in every hole, or share her with his friends, or just fantasize about going down on her, licking his sister out as she grabbed his hair and moaned his name.

He knew it would pass. His obsessions always did. All he needed to do was ride it out, and the easiest way to do that was just to give in, to allow himself to jerk off to images of his sister’s naked body, writhing in pleasure on his bed. Or her bed. Or their parent’s bed…

But Paddy failed to take into account the common factor for his other obsessions: exposure.

When he had a crush on a porn star, he could access any on-screen orgasm at any time. As a result, he’d pretty quickly burn out on them, and it wouldn’t be long before he moved onto his next fixation.

When he had a crush on someone from real life, he’d only see them a few times a week. He could use his imagination, but without new stimulus, it would soon run dry.

His sister was neither fully available to him, nor were their interactions scarce. He’d see her several times a day, and—as if she was doing it deliberately—there would alway be _some_ aspect of their interaction that would provide fuel for his lusting fire.

Maybe she’d walk past while on the phone to a girlfriend, and he’d learn some small tidbit about her sexual life. Maybe she’d be doing yoga in the living-room as he wandered in to watch some TV, showing off exactly how nubile she could be.

Sometimes, it would just be the clothes she was wearing. Paddy had experienced this before—during his crush on the pool’s lifeguard, he’d even started to find one-piece swimsuits _more_ attractive than bikinis.

Whatever it was she was wearing—a gingham dress, overalls, a cowboy hat, a pair of oversized earrings—it would immediately enter his mental spank bank, and he’d find himself looking up porn featuring young redheads wearing that same outfit.

Paddy had hoped that when she’d gone away for a weekend, the break would help him get over his sick obsession…but that was the same weekend he’d remembered he was friends with her on Facebook, and he’d spent the entire two days going through her photo albums, compiling a folder of the most revealing photos she’d ever posted.

After two months, it became clear to Paddy that this phase wasn’t going to pass. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d jerked off looking at—or even _thinking_ about—anyone else. His familial obsession was just as strong as it had been when he’d first seen her in that black top, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

He’d even tried sleeping with other girls. His family—the Grants—were reasonably well-off, and while he wasn’t as stunning as his sister, Paddy was a good-looking boy. His looks, his charm, and his BMW were enough to make it fairly easy for him to find someone to sleep with…but, to his utter dismay, the entire time he was pounding into the woman he’d picked up, he was mentally comparing her to Leah.

And, of course, she would come up short.

Over the next few weeks, Paddy seduced more than a dozen women, but no matter what he did, he could never cum without imagining that his sister was the one wrapped around his cock.

One time, he accidentally called Leah’s name out during sex. He considered himself lucky that the girl he was on top of at the time didn’t know it was his sister’s name; if she had, he suspected he would have received more than just a sharp slap.

Three and a half months after his obsession began, Paddy was scared. All day, all he could think about was Leah. Fucking her, worshipping her, using her as a cum-bucket. And when he wasn’t picturing his sister naked, he was feeling bad about his feelings. The guilt was starting to overwhelm him. He hoped that his sister wasn’t aware that he was objectifying her every moment they were in the same room; he tried to mask his lustful staring, but he was starting to get paranoid that she’d started to notice.

His porn was carefully sorted by resemblance to Leah. He’d started to carry condoms around the house, just in case she did anything particularly provocative, and he needed to duck into another room and have a quick mess-free masturbation.

But he hit a real low when he walked past the bathroom and noticed that the laundry hamper was open, and that a pair of Leah’s panties were sitting on top.

Paddy caught his breath. He stopped, right there in the hall. Leah was home, as were his parents. They could walk by at any second, and find him staring, mouth wide open, at a pair of thin black panties.

His sister’s panties.

Leah had worn those. She’d actually worn the strip of black fabric sitting in front of him.

As if he’d completely lost control of his body, he reached out and grabbed them, brought them to his face. He sniffed them.

Leah.

That was what Leah smelled like.

Taking a half-step forward, Paddy moved into the bathroom. Shutting the door, he didn’t even take the condom out of his pocket.

This deserved more. This was special.

Paddy took a deep breath, exhaling shudderingly. He pulled his cock out, and wrapped the black cloth around it.

It only took a few minutes before he was cumming, spraying all over the pair of black panties he’d found.

Leah’s panties.

In shock, he returned them to the top of the hamper, and quickly made his way back to his bedroom, where he jerked off twice more at the memory of what those perfect panties had smelled like.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 2

Paddy knew what he’d done was wrong.

He knew that he should be racked with guilt. He should be beating himself up, avoiding eye-contact with his sister, avoiding even being in the same _room_ as her.

But he didn’t care.

If anything, his taboo act spurred him on. If you’d asked him a month ago, he would have said that his obsession was at its peak; that it couldn’t grow any more.

He knew now how wildly optimistic that thought had been.

Paddy started fanatically documenting his sister’s moves. If anyone had found his notebook, they would have called for him to be locked up. It started with just a record of every time she left the house, but soon that wasn’t enough. Paddy found himself keeping notes on which room she spent the most time in, how often she moved between them, and why.

He wrote down what she ate, what she drank, when she changed, which days she wore which outfits—everything.

It had started simple. After cumming into her panties, he knew he wanted more. No, he _needed_ more.

And so he started tracking when she was out, just so that he could safely sneak into her room and take more.

Google was extremely helpful in teaching him how to clean a pair of panties. He’d steal a set from the bottom of her drawer, masturbate with them, wash and dry them thoroughly, and then return them before there was any risk of her discovering that they were missing.

He started scheduling his day around his panty theft. He could use a pair to jerk off twice before needing a fresh set, and so he was going through two fresh pairs of panties a day…and was too nervous to steal more than one pair at time.

Paddy had no idea how he’d explain himself if he got caught, and so he was diligent. He put more thought, preparation, and planning into his twice-daily panty raids than most people put into organizing their wedding.

With a few weeks, he was intimately familiar with every set of Leah’s panties. He knew what they felt like, what they tasted like. He tried not to pick favorites, but he couldn’t help himself—several pairs were just more of a turn-on than others, and he even considered holding onto his favorite set.

After all, everyone loses underpants. Would she even notice if one set went missing?

The risk of being caught was all that held him back.

After a month, however, it wasn’t enough. He never came without a set of his sister’s panties wrapped around his cock, but he wanted more. Everything she did was so deeply erotic. He would have paid a million dollars just to lick her clit for ten minutes.

And so he stopped stealing her clean panties…and started stealing them used.

The first time he brought a pair of her dirty panties to his mouth, he immediately shot his seed halfway across the room. Knowing that it was her juices—her _actual_ juices, for real—that was resting on his tongue…it was the most erotically-charged moment of his life.

After he started to take notes of what his sister ate, Paddy was equally horrified and fascinated to discover that it affected the flavor of her underthings.

He was _delighted_ when he worked out the taste changed on nights that she had a date. He knew she used condoms—he’d discovered her supply when snooping around her drawers—and so the difference in flavor and texture wasn’t a man’s cum, it was hers.

Paddy could taste his sister’s arousal.

He seriously considered following her on her dates, seeing what kind of man she liked, who got her particularly riled up. But her dates were the best time for him to steal her dirty panties, cum inside them, clean them, dry them, and then dirty them _just enough_ that they could safely be returned to the hamper without suspicion.

As much as he wanted to learn more about his sister’s type, his wet-panties masturbation was quickly becoming a _need_ ; he could no longer cum any other way.

Or so he thought.

As he grew increasingly familiar with his sister’s lingerie, her teasing didn’t let up for a moment.

Paddy knew, deep down, that she wasn’t _actually_ teasing him. Just as his history teacher hadn’t actually been flirting, just as the girl next door hadn’t been timing her sunbathing for when he was at home, just as his favorite POV porn-stars weren’t really looking at _him_ , his lust-addled brain was taking every move she made as sexual.

When Leah ate a banana, Paddy was unable to picture it as anything but a thick cock slowly sliding into her mouth. When she licked a strawberry, he couldn’t help but picture her soft tongue making its moves around the head of his cock, coaxing him into shooting off onto her face, into her mouth. When she stretched, crossing her arms above her head, he couldn’t help but see it as an invitation to tie her up and have his way with her defenseless, constrained body.

And when she innocently took her jacket off, he knew that the music was inside his own head, but he couldn’t see it as anything but a strip tease. The thin fabric revealing her shoulders, her arms…god, had he ever been turned on by arms before?

Just from watching his sister’s jacket sliding off, exposing her skin, he’d been so hard that he’d had to cum twice just to calm down.

Paddy knew his obsession was growing. He knew that he was losing control. But, as if under the spell of a siren’s song, he didn’t care. He _couldn’t_ care. His orgasms were the only refuge he got from the constant buzz of arousal Leah’s actions caused.

* * *

It was a Thursday morning. Leah had stayed home the previous night, and so Paddy hadn’t had a chance to jerk off since lunch-time the previous day.

It had been sixteen hours, but it felt like a lifetime.

He heard the sound of his sister walking down the hallway. Right on schedule. He jotted it down in the notebook he’d started carrying with him; he could have cross-checked it with the previous few weeks of entries, but he knew the times off by heart, as if they were burned into his brain.

On nights when Leah didn’t go out, she would get up for a morning shower between 8:03am and 8:17am. One day she’d gotten up at 8:34am, but that had been after three early mornings in a row, so he considered it an aberration not worthy of factoring in.

It was 8:06am. She’d take anywhere between twelve and twenty-one minutes to shower, and then turn the water off. Then she’d get dressed and return to her room about four or five minutes later.

He had sixteen to twenty-six minutes. Easily enough time to jerk off. Twice, if the shower was still running at 8:14am.

The only trouble was, he didn’t have a pair of dirty panties nearby.

For eight of his precious minutes, he tried to jerk off without them. He focused on the fact that Leah was just a few feet away, completely nude. He tried to picture her naked form, soaping up her body. Did she masturbate in the shower? It was a question he’d asked himself many, many times before, but he just didn’t know.

It didn’t work. His cock was throbbingly hard, his balls swollen with seed. He wanted nothing more than to earn himself just a few minutes of relief, but he couldn’t. Not without her panties. He needed them.

He was hooked.

At 8:14am, the shower was still running. Typically he would wait until lunchtime, when Leah left to pick up a bagel, but he felt like he was going to burst, like his heartbeat was swelling to fill his entire body.

In an uncharacteristically bold move, Paddy decided to risk it. Pressing his head against the bathroom door—softly, as so to not make a sound—he confirmed that his sister was still singing. Sometimes he’d sit in the hallway as she showered, just to listen to her nudity.

She never left the shower halfway through a song.

Inside his sister’s bedroom, he found her hamper. Sure enough, there were two sets of panties; he took the pair that were closest to the bottom, and least likely to be detected.

As he shoved them into his pocket, two things happened at once.

Firstly, he noticed what was laid out on his sister’s bed:

Her clothes for the day.

She hadn’t taken them into the bathroom with her, she’d left them in here. His four to five minute buffer was gone.

Secondly, he heard the sound of the shower turning off.

_Shit._

If he left now, he risked his sister catching him leaving her room. If he stayed, he risked being caught.

He had to…

The bathroom door opened, and Paddy realized he had no choice. He quickly ducked into his sister’s closet and closed the door. As long as she didn’t change her mind about what to wear that day, he’d be able to hide in here until she left.

However long that took.

To his delight, he discovered that he was the perfect height to see through the slats of his sister’s closet door.

She moved to the center of the room. For a moment she paused, and Paddy’s heart-rate shot through the roof. What if she opened the door, and found him standing there, looking sheepish? How would he explain what he was doing there?

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t be able to. He’d be revealed, for the obsessed pervert that he was.

Everyone would know that he was a masturbating deviant. He’d be exposed, exiled.

The thought horrified him, but his fear was nothing compared to the knowledge that if he was caught, he wouldn’t have access to his sister’s panties any more. He wouldn’t be able to see her every day.

He’d spend the rest of his life masturbating to the memory of her instead.

God, he couldn’t even imagine.

After a few seconds, however, her suspicious look faded, and she dropped her towel.

That’s when it happened.

His sister’s naked, dripping body came into view; the body he’d been dreaming of, fantasizing over for months. Her perfectly rounded tits, her pert ass, her smooth skin.

As soon as he saw it, his cock exploded. He managed to stifle the grunts and groans that threatened to uncontrollably spring from his body, but he couldn’t stop his dick from ejaculating into his boxers.

For the next thirty seconds, his body continued to spasm as rope after rope of hot cum shot into his pants. All the while, his eyes never left his sister’s perfect form, as he mentally tried to store as much of her body in his memory as he could. Her nipples were extremely light—‘ghost nipples’, blending in with her breasts. Her breasts were full, with only a small amount of sag.

Her pussy was clean-shaven.

As the sight of his sister’s glistening cunt came into view, Paddy almost creamed his pajama pants for a second time. The image was permanently burned into his brain, and it was obvious that she’d just shaved it then, during her shower.

He mentally committed the song she’d been singing to memory. Maybe that was her pussy-shaving music?

For the next few minutes, Paddy tried to control his ragged breathing as his sister slowly got dressed. Despite his disappointment at his sister’s perfect form disappearing, there was something deeply erotic about watching her put on clothes, like a reverse strip-tease.

Finally, when she was done, she left the bedroom.

Sitting in his sister’s closet, his cum slowly drying, Paddy reflected on what had just happened.

He’d seen his sister naked.

He’d finally seen his sister _naked_.

He’d seen her.

Naked.

He knew he could never go back.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 3

Paddy made three purchases the next day.

The first was a tiny safe. He’d already been terrified about the idea of someone finding his notebook; each page filled with his sister’s every move, meticulously recorded in his small, neat handwriting.

If anyone stumbled across it, they’d assume he was pervert.

He _was_ a pervert. He’d fully accepted that. He was an pervert, obsessively fixated on his sister. He knew it, and he didn’t care.

The safe would at least give him some small peace of mind. It would protect him from anyone finding out, and removing him from his sister.

That was all he cared about.

The second purchase was a new, larger notebook. In-between his record _seven_ masturbation sessions the previous day, Paddy had started to devise a plan. Knowing his sister’s movements around the house wasn’t enough—he needed to know them around her _room_.

He couldn’t hide in the closet again, that was too risky. But if he watched her like a hawk, if he memorized her every movement, maybe he could…he could…

Paddy refused to specify exactly what he could do, even to himself. It felt like it was going too far, even for him.

And so he tried very hard not to think about his third purchase: a small spy camera.

It wasn’t more than a few days before the new notebook was filled. He bought another, then another.

After a week of filling notebooks, he bought a larger safe.

Leah and Paddy’s bedrooms were on the second floor. They shared a wall—at night, when the house was deathly quiet, he’d sometimes hold a glass up to the wall, dreaming of hearing his sister’s muffled groans as she got herself off before bed.

On more than one occasion, he’d gotten off just imagining that he’d heard something. He never did, of course—either the wall was too thick, his sister was too quiet, or she simply wasn’t a late night masturbator.

So while their shared wall didn’t do him much good, while sitting in the kitchen (directly beneath his sister’s room) for hours, Paddy was able to track his sister’s movement around the room. The faintest creak of floorboards, the shifting of the house’s weight—before long, he could read the sounds almost well enough to record his sister’s every footstep.

All people follow patterns, and it wasn’t long before Paddy started to understand the flow of his sister’s movement around her room.

It was time to do it.

Occasionally, a glimmer of guilt would cross Paddy’s mind. His sister had a reasonable expectation of privacy, he knew that. It wasn’t even that she trusted him, that she trusted her family—it was that it would never even have _occurred_ to her that her own brother might do anything to betray her trust.

But his small glimmer of guilt would go up against the brief, full-frontal image that Paddy had in his mind. His sister’s naked, glistening body.

There was no contest.

Leah was out on a date when he did it. He didn’t even think about it. He’d _thought_ about it, for weeks, imagining exactly what he’d do and how he’d do it. When the moment came, his brain wasn’t the one leading the way.

Paddy had obsessively read the instruction manual for the spy camera more than twenty times. He’d checked to make sure it had the right kind of battery, the right connection to his laptop. He’d triple checked it twice a day and tested it in his own room in various lighting conditions.

If ever a spy camera was going to fail, it wasn’t going to be this one.

So when his sister left for a date, he grabbed the camera without even thinking. He made his way into Leah’s room, closed the door behind him, resisted the temptation to go through her laundry hamper or her clean underwear drawer.

As if on autopilot, he took off his shoes, climbed up on her desk, and installed the camera in the corner that he knew she spent the most time in. If she was in the corner, she was unlikely to be looking into it—she’d be in the frame a little less, but it also had the lowest risk of discovery, and that was what mattered.

After planting the camera, he returned her chair, put his shoes back on, and left her room in the exact state he’d entered it in.

Except for his new gadget, of course.

When Paddy got back to his own room, his heart was pounding. He’d done it.

He’d done it.

His laptop showed that the camera was working—the image quality wasn’t the best, but he’d had to make a choice between resolution and battery life. The model he’d chosen would transmit continuously for over a year, and came with a night vision mode and sound.

The memory of his sister’s naked body would be enough to supplement the image quality. He’d rather fill in the gaps mentally than risk going into his sister’s room to change batteries.

As he lay down on the bed, Paddy’s mind was racing. His questions would be answered. Finally, he’d know if his sister masturbated in her sleep. Finally, he’d know exactly how much time she spent naked when no one was home.

Her every waking moment was his to record.

The teenage boy couldn’t stop smiling the next day as his parents let in the electrician he’d called. As he checked all the power outlets, he didn’t notice the spy camera, though he did make a comment about Paddy’s two mismatched safes.

That evening, Paddy made sure to mention to his parents that he got a strange vibe from the tradesman. If Leah found the camera, he wanted a scapegoat.

* * *

For the next month, Paddy found it hard to tear his eyes away from his computer.

Even the tamest footage, shots where only Leah’s right foot was visible as she lay on her bed and went on her computer, or played on her phone. The fact that he was _watching her_ , seeing what she was doing in real-time…

Paddy found himself developing a foot fetish.

He’d never been a voyeur before, but there was something so hot about knowing that he could _see_ his sister, that he was spying on her, that she didn’t know he was watching. The twisted nature of it was enough to keep him rock-hard whenever he was watching the computer screen, and he often found himself idly playing with himself as Leah wandered around her room, cleaning up or just killing time.

Watching her meander aimlessly was enough to get him hard. Watching her _change_ was an entirely different matter.

He didn’t cum in his pants again, as he had from seeing her naked form in real life. Each time she dropped her towel and revealed her flawless tits, her ass, her smooth pussy, Paddy would lean in, stare at the pixels, remember what it had looked like…and cum. And cum, and cum, and cum.

He was surprised by how often his sister changed. Even when she’d picked out an outfit for the day, she’d often try on two or three others to compare. He realized just how lucky he’d been that she _hadn’t_ opened the closet while he was in there. After every shower, she seemed to try on three or four different outfits.

Every other part of Paddy’s life had fallen by the wayside; if he was at home, he was either staring at his laptop, watching his sister, or stealing/cumming in/cleaning/returning her dirty panties.

It wasn’t long before his entire life revolved around his sister’s schedule. Paddy stopped needing to refer to the notebooks—within a few weeks, he’d memorized every minute of his sister’s schedule. To be safe, he burned the notebooks, and started using both safes to store video footage. The hard drives he used weren’t particularly large, but he made sure to keep a _lot_ of back-ups. He didn’t know what he’d do if his footage got corrupted.

To Paddy’s dismay, his sister didn’t seem to masturbate in her room. Even with night vision and sound, he could detect no trace of self-pleasure. He figured that must have been why her showers ran so long. He briefly considered setting up a camera in the shower, but the entire family shared the one bathroom, and the risk of detection was just too high.

Leah occasionally spent time in her room talking on the phone to various girlfriends (Paddy had long ago memorized all of her friend’s details, just in case it came in handy) but for the majority of her time alone, just used her laptop. If Paddy had been more tech-savvy, he would have tried to work out some way to hack it, or to surveil exactly what she did on it…but his skill-level was too low, and the risks were too high. If he got caught…

It didn’t bear thinking about.

Paddy wanted more—god did he want more—but he knew that there was no chance of anything further happening. He couldn’t risk hiding in his sister’s room again (especially now that he knew how often she used her closet) and it wasn’t as though he could make a move on Leah. Anything that risked being taken away from her, the perfect sexual goddess in the room next door…nothing could possibly be worth the risk.

No, he figured this was it—his days spent watching her, using her panties to jerk off, remembering the one time he got to see her naked form.

Until the accident.

One night, Leah came home after a night of drinking (her friend Jillian was dating a college guy, who was happy to provide them with all the alcohol they wanted) and fell straight into bed.

Paddy liked watching his sister sleep. There was something soothing about it. He often wished that he could drift off while watching it, but once he was done watching his sister, had to back up the day’s footage, uninstall the spy-camera software, wipe his hard-drive, and lock everything—including his laptop—into the safes before he could go to sleep.

He stored half the hard-drives in one safe, half in the other.

Just in case.

As he was watching the footage, he heard a loud _THUMP_ , followed by a shattering sound. It took him a few seconds to realize what had happened—the mirror on his sister’s dresser had accidentally fallen over and shattered. What’s more, he hadn’t had his laptop’s headphones in—the sound he’d heard had been through the wall.

But his sister continued sleeping.

Paddy was briefly torn, but soon realized—he had a perfect excuse. There was no way this could rumble him. He _had_ heard the sound through the wall; it would be perfectly legitimate for him to go in and see if she was okay.

After backing up the footage, uninstalling the spy-camera software, wiping his hard-drive, and locking everything in the safes, Paddy made his way to his sister’s room.

“Hello?” he called through the door, but there was no response. He knocked a few times, before gently pushing the door open.

Sure enough, the mirror was wrecked. There was glass all over one end of Leah’s bedroom floor. None of it had made it to the bed, so she’d be safe to get up and stumbled into the bathroom, but Paddy figured his sister would want to know what had happened.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Calling his sister’s name, Paddy crept along the floor until he was standing directly beside her bed.

Leah was silently sleeping. Her mouth was wide open, but no snores were coming out.

_She’s perfect,_ Paddy told himself, before reaching out and touching her sleeping shoulder.

God. When was the last time he’d touched her? Even through the thin top she’d gone out in, he could feel how soft her skin was.

Paddy was rock-hard.

He repeated her name, then repeated it louder. There was no response. He gently shook her shoulder, then shook it harder.

Nothing.

No matter how hard he jostled her, no matter how loudly Paddy said his sister’s name, she wasn’t waking up.

She wasn’t waking up.

Paddy’s eyes widened, and a smile slowly crept across his face as he realized.

It seemed there was still further to go.

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 4

Paddy’s brain was screaming at him—run! Run! _Run!_

Intellectually, he knew that he should run back to his bedroom and do some research. A _lot_ of research. That was the safest route—learning _everything he could_ about deep sleep, about sleeping while drunk, about the half-life of alcohol in the system…

He could wait. He’d waited this long, after all. Everything he’d done had been so careful, so deliberate. And the one time he’d acted recklessly, it had almost ruined everything—if she’d gone into her closet, she would have found him. His naked sister would have confronted him, would have guessed that he was a pervert.

It could have all been over.

_Although…_

It was impossible to forget; after taking that first risk, he HADN’T been caught. In fact, it had led to one of the greatest moments of his life—he’d seen his sister naked.

It was an image that had never left his memory; that _would_ never leave his memory.

He’d seen Leah naked, and the memory of that glorious moment had been in his head literally every time he’d jerked off since.

Being reckless had yielded great rewards.

But this was different. He knew this was different. His sister was asleep, and while the sound of her mirror smashing hadn’t woken her, the sound of her brother calling her name, even him trying to shake her awake…

She could wake up at any moment, and then he’d be fucked. He couldn’t see how he could talk his way out of being caught molesting his sleeping sister.

But if she didn’t wake up…

Paddy closed his eyes and counted to ten. At ten, he assured himself, he would return to his room. He’d spend weeks researching sleep patterns, the effect of alcohol on sleep. He’d read testimonies of people molested in their sleep, of people who did the molesting. The thought sickened him, but it was impossible to deny—he was going, if the research allowed him to risk it, to _become_ one of those people.

He had to.

But when he reached ten, Paddy didn’t return to his room. Instead, he moved his hand to his sister’s neck.

He’d had girlfriends before. One of them had been extremely turned on by the idea of being ‘marked’, despite (or perhaps because) her conservative father losing his shit if he ever saw anything that could even be _mistaken_ for a hickey.

And so, Paddy had learned exactly how far he could go without the risk of leaving permanent marks.

On his ex-girlfriend, anyway. Again, he told himself that he was being an idiot, that he should research it _properly_ , not take such stupid risks.

But still he didn’t leave.

Leaning forward, Paddy’s nose moved to his sister’s collar-bone. She smelled like alcohol, like sweat.

He’d never smelled anything so magnificent in his life.

He tentatively reached out his tongue, and—for the first time since his obsession had begun—Paddy tasted his sister.

As soon as his tongue touched his sister’s exposed neck, Paddy pulled back. It was happening again.

He’d jerked off four times that day—twice after his sister’s shower in the morning, once when she was getting changed to go out with Jillian, and once imagining her being ploughed by Jillian’s college-aged date.

His obsession with his sister was all-encompassing. He imagined himself fucking her, of course, but just the _idea_ of anyone—man, woman, animal—fucking his sister was enough to get him off within moments.

Despite cumming four times in a single day, the taste of his sister’s skin—her actual, real life skin—was enough to cause Paddy to once more fill his pants with rope after rope of his stringy seed. He tried to keep his eyes on his sister’s sleeping form, but they uncontrollably rolled back as he stood there shaking in orgasm, doing everything he could to keep his orgasm silent.

_That’s something I’ll have to practice,_ he told himself once he’d come down from his orgasm. If he was going to be cumming uncontrollably around his sister, he _had_ to make sure it was silent.

Because he suspected it wouldn’t be the last time.

Paddy stood silently in his sister’s room for almost five minutes, making sure that his silent orgasm hadn’t awoken her, that the smell of semen that was now faintly detectable hadn’t penetrated her sleep enough to rouse her from her deep, alcohol-induced slumber.

When he was convinced that it hadn’t, he tried shaking her awake once more, and was relieved and delighted to find that she was still out cold.

His rational side had given up. Yes, it made more sense to leave and come back later.

No, he wasn’t going to do that.

Instead, his mouth returned to his sister’s neck. For the next several minutes, he lightly bit and suckled—never close enough to leave a mark (he hoped), but enough to make him feel as though he was marking her, as though his sister was his.

No matter what he did, she never woke up…and he decided to push things a little further.

Placing two hands on his sister’s stomach—his cock throbbed, hard and slimy in his cum-soaked underwear—he slowly slid them up her body.

She wasn’t sleeping in a bra, of course, and Paddy almost passed out when he found his hands on his sister’s tits.

He’d seen them once in person, and countless times digitally. Each and every time he’d locked his eyes on Leah’s pixelated tits, he’d had the same urgent question— _what do they feel like_.

Back when he’d been fruitlessly trying to wipe away his incestuous obsession with other girls, he’d held so many tits, mentally comparing them to his little sister’s, convinced each and every time that they were coming up short.

He’d been right.

The feeling of Leah’s tits was…god, it was _heavenly_. It was as though they’d grown specifically to fit into his hands, or as though his hands had grown specifically to hold his sister’s tits. He didn’t want to risk playing with her nipples—he couldn’t, even in his daring, euphoric state—but the feeling of her tits was everything he’d imagined and more.

Paddy sat there for almost twenty minutes, just holding his sister’s tits, matching his breathing to hers. He knew he could have done more, but he didn’t want to risk it—he didn’t _need_ to risk it.

For now, holding his sister’s perfect tits was further than he’d ever dreamed he’d go, and it filled him with a joy he’d never thought possible.

* * *

The next morning, Paddy made sure to beat his sister to the kitchen in the morning. He was reading the back of a cereal when she entered, a deliberately dispassionate look on his face.

She didn’t say anything, and neither did he.

When she finished her coffee (Paddy knew exactly the effect that cup of coffee would have on her vaginal discharge), she nodded at him and left the room.

Paddy counted to eighty-three (exactly the length of time he knew it took for Leah to travel from the kitchen to her bedroom on the second floor) and when—right on schedule—he heard the sound of her floorboard creak, let out a huge sigh of relief.

She didn’t suspect a thing.

He’d gone back to his room the previous night and jerked off twice more, just remembering the feeling of his sister’s perfect tits in his hand, the taste of her skin, the sound of her breathing. He knew it had been reckless, an unnecessary risk…but he also knew that he’d never forget the sensations as long as he lived.

And, if he did his research right, he’d be able to do it again. And again, and again, and again.

For the next several weeks, Paddy became an expert in slumber. He devoured every scientific paper on the subject, watched every documentary, even bought a burner phone and used it to call several leading experts.

He learned about REM cycles, circadian rhythms, the effects of alcohol on sleep, and—most importantly—how to wake someone up.

Or, more specifically, how to _avoid_ waking someone up.

The next time Leah went out with Jillian and her friend, Paddy was ready. From the moment she got home, he was on his computer, unblinkingly watching her get ready for bed. He had the audio from her bedroom turned up so loudly, a sudden noise (like the mirror falling over again) would probably have deafened him.

After she went to sleep, he used the graphs he’d made over the past month to pinpoint the exact moment she drifted into REM sleep.

Ten minutes later, he’d wiped his computer, carefully stashed everything in the safes, and was standing over his sister’s bed, watching her sleep.

Paddy had long since bought his own supply of his sister’s various colognes—they lived on the top shelf of his smaller safe, and he often smelled them while masturbating. Tonight, he’d used them to mask his scent—last time, he knew he’d gotten lucky; even the smallest olfactory change (such as someone unexpectedly cumming in their pants) could be enough to wake someone from a deep sleep.

He’d jerked off once every hour since waking up that morning, confident that would be enough to stop him from spontaneously ejaculating once more.

Before doing anything, he rested his hands under his sister’s blanket for close to twenty minutes; he didn’t want a sudden change in temperature to alert her body to his presence.

Finally, after making sure to avoid the dumb mistakes of his last visit, he was ready.

Paddy started the same way he had last time—he licked and sucked at his sister’s neck until he felt he was going to burst. When he couldn’t take it any longer, it was time for the main event.

He’d seen his sister put on the tanktop she apparently preferred wearing when sleeping off a big night out, and so he knew she wasn’t wearing a bra.

Slowly, his hands crept up her body once more, until he was cupping her breasts, a huge smile on his face.

This, he knew, was what heaven must feel like.

But after a few minutes of happily holding his sister’s tits, Paddy went further. Unlike last time, he slowly, gently stroked her nipples with his thumbs, watching her carefully.

As he expected, they quickly hardened under his manipulation. Her face didn’t change at all; she continued breathing softly, in and out, his contact with her nipples causing no detectable reaction.

That was all he did that night—hold her breasts and stroke her nipples as she slept, a huge smile on his face.

It was less than two weeks before she next went out and got drunk—that night, he spent more than an hour slowly, carefully lifting her shirt, stopping until he was convinced she had re-entered REM sleep, and then silently cumming in his pants as he suckled on her left nipple.

A month later, he first tasted her right nipple, filling his pants with ropes of cum as he did.

And ten days after that, he struck gold—she came home so drunk, she _only_ wore a tank top to bed.

Shortly after tasting his sister’s nipples, Paddy had gone on a single date with a girl of roughly his sister’s build; he’d convinced her not to move as he removed her panties. After seeing how clumsy and sleep-disruptive the pantie removal process would have to be, he’d immediately left the date, too disappointed to even attempt intercourse with his sister’s lookalike.

And so when the camera showed him that Leah was sleeping in the next room competely sans underwear, Paddy was more excited than he’d ever been in his life.

He didn’t even bother with her neck or tits that night; after shaking her by the shoulder and confirming that she was asleep, Paddy slowly, carefully spread his sister’s legs.

There it was.

He’d seen it once before, but not this close. He’d smelled its offerings many times, but always dry—never straight from the source.

Paddy’s eyes rolled back in his head as he took a deep whiff, and—for the fifth time in the last few months—filled his pants with cum while in his sister’s room. He’d stopped seeing it as embarrassing or even unpleasant; now, it felt more like a physical representation of the obsession that had taken over his entire life.

After his orgasm, he looked up to check his sister’s face. She was still soundly sleeping, innocently unaware of what her perverted brother was about to do to her slumbering form.

Good.

He leaned forward, his tongue less than an inch from his sister’s freshly-shaved peach (he could practically taste it on the air) when he heard it.

A knock at the door.

“Leah? Leah, honey, are you awake? I’m coming in.”

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


	Chapter 5

Paddy had never believed in destiny.

He’d always seen the universe as a system of unthinking laws, with no rhyme or underlying purpose. And he knew that not everything happened for a reason. That had always been his firm stance.

Until that day.

If Paddy’s sister hadn’t entered her room early all those months ago, he would never have seen her naked. In and of itself, that would have been a tragedy…

But as his father opened the door, Paddy realized that almost being caught by his sister had served a second purpose.

It had given him the route to his sister’s closet, demonstrated to him exactly how fast he could hide himself away there when necessary.

Like if his father suddenly entered the room as he was standing above his bottomless sister.

Diving through the darkness, Paddy barely managed to close the closet without his father noticing. The slight sway to his Dad’s step told the young man that he was somewhere between tipsy and drunk.

“There you are,” he rumbled, casting his gaze on his sleeping daughter. “There’s Daddy’s little angel…”

Paddy watched through the slats of his sister’s closet as the older man approached the bed. His heart almost skipped a beat as he realized that he hadn’t had a chance to cover Leah up again.

Her naked pussy was exposed. Even in the darkness, Paddy knew that his father would be able to see it from where he stood.

After all, Paddy had seen it just moments ago.

The young man knew exactly what would happen next. His father would realize that something was amiss, and search the room to see who was responsible. He’d find his son cowering in the corner, and everything would be ruined.

Their family. Paddy’s life. He’d probably go to jail.

All for a single, small glimpse at his sister’s shaved kitty.

Was it worth it?

_Yes,_ Paddy nodded. He knew he’d do a lifetime in hard prison just for another glimpse, no hesitation.

Looking at his sister’s perfect body was more than a passion. More than an obsession. It was…his calling.

His purpose.

It was what Paddy lived for.

With a sigh, he prepared to be discovered by his father. Would his old man beat him? Probably. Paddy knew he deserved that and worse. Much worse. Over the course of just a few short months, he’d transformed from a normal, loving brother…to the most perverted of perverts.

He deserved everything he got.

And it had all have been worth it.

To the self-professed pervert’s surprise, his father didn’t react to the sight of the young woman’s shaven cunt with surprise.

Instead, it looked like he was…

Staring.

Paddy’s father was muttering something, and he leaned forward in the closet to try to hear it.

“…can’t stop thinking about you. Have to…want to…shouldn’t…must…”

There was a silence, then Paddy heard the sound of something hitting the floor. It took him a moment to realize what was happening.

Paddy’s father had just unbuckled his belt. He’d lowered his pants, and was now standing, half-naked, in front of his equally-bottomless sleeping daughter.

The young man’s eyes widened.

What the fuck was happening?

“Good girl…” he said, his breathing labored, his voice louder than it had been since he’d entered the room and scared Paddy off. “Leah, baby…you’re Daddy’s good girl.”

Again, it was only after several seconds of squinting that Paddy realized what he was seeing.

It was hard to believe.

His father was masturbating. He was standing over his daughter, staring at her bare pussy, and jerking his cock. The same cock that Leah—many years ago—had left as a sperm.

Leah’s father was getting off at the sight of his daughter’s near-nakedness.

“Oh, god…” he groaned. “Why can’t I…why do I…”

His voice trailed into drunken mutterings once more, and it was all Paddy could do not to fall back in shock.

For all these months, he’d thought he was going crazy. He’d thought he was alone in his sudden incestuous fixation on his sister.

Paddy had thought he was just a sick pervert.

But now, his father’s actions, his words…they’d showed him he wasn’t wrong.

His own obsession suddenly made sense. He hadn’t just suddenly, randomly become obsessed with Leah. His devotion to her actions, to stalking her, to tracking her every motion. The feeling he’d gotten at the sight of her naked, the way he couldn’t stop himself from ejaculating at the sight of her.

The way her body had burned itself into his mind. Even now, in the dark room, Paddy could have sketched exactly where she was laying, exactly what her pussy looked like.

He could have programmed a simulation of her perfect bouncing breasts.

And what his father was doing had suddenly made his unexpected passion crystal clear.

He wasn’t crazy. His desires hadn’t just randomly come from nowhere.

Leah truly was _that perfect_.

There was an old film that Paddy had seen, probably far younger than he should have: There’s Something About Mary. Everyone who met the titular character fell insanely in love with her.

No, more than love.

Obsession.

Everyone who met Mary became obsessed with her.

Paddy’s sister was a real-life Mary. He’d never made the connection before, but everything the men did in that film to pursue her…he would do.

Already, he’d done so much more.

And if his own feelings weren’t enough, his father’s actions were all the evidence he needed.

With no idea he was being watched from the closet, Paddy’s father let out a long moan. The shuddering of his bare ass, combined with the smell that suddenly filled Paddy’s nostrils was more than enough to tell him what had just happened.

Their father had cum.

Leah’s father had cum onto her bare pussy.

And, Paddy realized, his eyes opening wide…

She hadn’t woke up.

He hadn’t even considered the prospect of cumming onto Leah. It was too much of a risk. If she woke up to find her brother standing above her, he could probably cover that up. He could hide his penis away quickly, explain that she’d been moaning in her sleep.

It wouldn’t be ideal, but he was sure he could get out of it.

But spilling his seed onto his sister’s skin?

It was hot as hell, but far too risky for him to have ever been a serious option.

Now that he’d seen his father do it…and Leah continue slumbering…

The young man remained in the closet as his father quickly cleaned up his semen, before covering his daughter up with a blanket and stumbling out of the room.

Paddy stayed hidden for several more minutes, until he was certain that he was alone. Before he left the room, he stood for a moment, watching his sister’s breathing.

The exact same rhythm as ever.

Yup. If she wasn’t asleep, she was doing a damn good job of pretending to be.

The sister-obsessed young man barely slept a wink that night. His father’s obsession, his sister’s lack of reaction…his mind overflowed with the realization of what it meant.

Firstly, that he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t a freak. Though he knew he could never discuss it with him (for obvious reasons), his father was going through the exact same struggle as he was.

And based on how much he’d apparently had to drink, dealing with it _much_ worse than Paddy.

But secondly…

Leah had barely stirred as their father had stumbled into her room, jerked off onto her bare pussy, clumsily attempted to mop it all off her, and then kissed her on the forehead before leaving.

Far more important than Leah’s attractive qualities being evident to others was Paddy’s realization…he could go further than he’d been going.

He could go much, much further.

He’d still have to be careful, of course. If Leah woke up, the excuse of “you didn’t do this when it was Dad!” wasn’t exactly going to get him out of trouble.

But if there was one thing he’d mastered since his obsession had blossomed, it was carefulness.

To Paddy’s surprise he didn’t have to wait long until Leah’s next night out with friends. Just six days later, she returned home intoxicated. As soon as his cameras revealed that she was down, Paddy packed them up and carefully made his way to his sister’s room.

To prepare against another sudden entrance from his father, he locked the door behind him. It seemed fairly low-risk: if his father returned and woke Leah up with the sound of his pounding on the door, Paddy was sure that she would never question why her door was locked.

If she was drunk enough to sleep through her own father ejaculating on her, Paddy doubted she’d be cogent enough to remember her exact actions before stripping down and crashing.

Just as he had on his previous visit, Paddy spread his sister’s legs.

There it was. Her bare peach. Leah’s naked pussy.

His sister’s cunt.

He groaned quietly as he leaned forward, taking in a deep breath. God, the smell. If he were to drown in the smell of his sister’s perfect scent, he would die a happy man.

He’d jerked off again and again before entering his sister’s bedroom, and he knew that if he hadn’t spent the day ejaculating what felt like half his body-weight in semen, he would’ve filled his pants with his ropey cum.

But he’d wanted to treasure this. He’d wanted to enjoy getting off above his sister for as long as his father had.

Or longer, if possible.

Paddy swallowed nervously, lowering his pants and bringing his cock out. If his sister had woken up at that moment, she would’ve seen it. She would have seen her brother’s cock in her bedroom, fully-erect because of her. Because of her body.

Because she wasn’t wearing panties.

This was the thought that consumed Paddy as he began to stroke himself above his sister’s prone body.

Leah wasn’t wearing panties.

She’d come home and stripped off, almost as though she wanted it. Like she wanted to tease Paddy, or their father.

Like she knew how obsessed they were with her cunt.

He was doing it. He was really doing it. He was touching himself above his half-naked sister. If he wanted to, he could reach out and grab her tit. He could touch her…touch her…—

Paddy remained completely silent as his hips bucked, and his cock began spraying his seed all over Leah’s body. He’d gotten so used to masturbating silently; his father had groaned loudly the previous week, and Leah hadn’t so much as stirred, but Paddy didn’t want to risk it.

He couldn’t risk anything that stopped him from doing this again.

Two small jets of watery cum shot from his dick, landing on his sister’s thigh, her shaved pussy, her pubis. Some of it even splashed onto her tank-top, but Paddy wasn’t worried.

He’d come prepared.

After allowing himself a short, sweet moment to savor what he’d just done, the young man got to work, pulling out a small kit of odorless cleaning products. Almost ten minutes passed as Paddy carefully, meticulously cleaned his sister’s body.

Since the last time he’d visited, Paddy’s newfound research skills had been pointed firmly at a new topic: forensic cleaning. His father had been sloppy—if Leah had woken up and discovered any cum drying on her skin, her clothing, her sheets…

It could have ruined everything.

Paddy wasn’t going to take that risk.

By the time he was done, it was impossible for anyone short of an actual crime lab to tell he’d been there at all. He’d spent more time cleaning up than jerking off onto his sister’s body, and after one last bittersweet glance at his sister’s sleeping form, Paddy returned to his own room.

He knew that what he’d just done would be filling his mind for a long time to come.

And Paddy was confident enough in his cleaning that he knew he’d be comfortable returning to do it again and again and again…

* * *

To support my writing and access my work months before it goes online anywhere else, check out [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites)!


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