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Whenever one of your friend asks how it feels to be blessed with the most perfect younger sibling one could dream of, you always deflect. "He's my little curse." you joke. But it's no joke. A big sister is not supposed to lust that hard after her sweet little brother's ass.
And he is perfect, by any objective metric. Sunny, adorable, never annoying, clever, empathetic, friendly to all, cuddly, imaginative, with an impish smile and a sexy boyish bouncy ass that would look perfect impaled upon your cock... Fuck! Stop! Dangerous thought territory!
The two of you have always been close. The best of buds. Partners in crime. Closest of friends. And you still are, it's just that... Mentally he's still very much the same sweet innocent kid he's alway been. Physically... he's grown in all the right ways to make you go insane.
It's not your fault that you've always been attracted to markers of sexy innocence, of softness, of coy submission, of bratty playfulness... And it's not his fault, that just by virtue of being his adorable self, everything he does feels like a shotgun blast to your weak points.
At least three times a week, he'll drop by your room on the way from the shower, hair still moist, wrapped in a loose towel, and casually start half hour long conversations about whatever is new in his life, foraging head first through your book piles for something new to read.
Never is your willpower tested so hard that those moments of him wiggling his hips, absorbed by his search amongst your collection of vintage paperbacks, hard to track art-books, old rpg supplements.. chittering like usual, completely unaware of his towel parting open...
You can't help but stare entranced by the bubbliness of his cheeks, perfect spanking targets, that inviting puffiness of his asshole begging to be fucked, that silky softness of his still moist slit, his candy like tiny cock that would roll so well under your tongue and teeth.
Of course you always do the right thing. "Go put on some pants, you nudist goblin!" You growl throwing a slipper. Just a normal sister instilling some propriety into her wild and mannerless little sibling. "Yes big sis!" he bounces out giggling holding the loot to his chest.
It takes you at least three wanks in a row, before you feel normal enough to even look at him in the eyes for the rest of the day. (Looking at smut depicting impish innocent subs railed into submission by superior cock, taught their place at the feet of their betters...)
He can never know. You'd ruin him. You'd ruin yourself. You'd ruin his memory of the perfect big sister who's always been there for him. You'd ruin any possibility for him of a normal love life. You'd lose him forever. You'd be a monster. He'd never look at you the same way.
So you decree some ground rules, under the guise of the two of you not being kids anymore, pretending to be annoyed his most charming habits. You can't refuse hugs. It's the only way the brat knows how to say hello, thank you, bye, sorry, or 'you seen my glasses big sis?'.
But you're very particular in always angling your hips away from his. (Can't let him feel that raging hard-on) To keep your hands way above the hips. And to annoyedly swat his own away whenever he wraps his arms anywhere near your boobs. No more sleeping in the same bed!
That one is just obvious. Come on, the two of you don't even fit comfortably anymore! You can still watch funny phone videos while sharing a duvet, read in bed using each others as a backrest, tell scary stories hiding under the covers, or generally horizontally hang around...
But whenever ANYONE's eyes start to get heavy. Hop, hop, fun time is over. Back to your respective rooms. Good night little bro, no you can't stay, I wanna sleep without your elbows in my chest or your stinky feet in my frigging face. (those sexy feet you'd love to...
... nibble on, massage, bite, tease, and torture until your little bro begged for mercy, mercy that would obviously never ever be granted... shit! bad thoughts! bad thoughts! Cold shower time.) Granted, you're not the greatest at following this particular rule.
The kid's just too innocent, too sweet. He'll fall asleep at the most random times, lulled by your warmth, by the familiar tone of your voice or by the comforting pressure of your hand on his head. Once he's out, you never have the heart to kick him out of bed.
Come on, look at that trusting face, that silly way he scrunches his eyes while dreaming, that almost desperate way he clings to your thigh he's using as a pillow... So you're regularly forced to endure hours of a rock hard cock, and repress an assault of endless horny fantasies
His lips so soft, his ass so close, his holes so fuckable, his bratty mouth so in need of a good attitude adjustment. Whenever he deigns to wake up you don't have to pretend to be grumpy at him. "Sleep in your own bed you blanket hogging toad! You're not ten anymore."
"But my room is soooooo far big sisssss" he always tries to find an excuse to hang around longer, but you're not fallling for his wiles twice in a row. Those rules aren't much, but they help with the guilt of your intrusive thoughts. You're doing your part to protect him.
But he's certainly not making it easy for you. Your little bro's always been an adventurer. It wasn't unusual for him to leave at sunrise on summer days, spend the whole day running around the forest and come back after nightfall in torn clothes, covered in mud and sticks.