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How are you feeling?" she asks as she moves back over to the stove, tipping the pancake onto a plate and pouring more batter into the frying pan."Good, thanks, Mum. Just a little tired still," you mumble as you get up and walk over to the fridge grabbing a glass on the way. Pouring yourself some grape juice, you turn around as your sister, Laura comes into the kitchen wearing a long night shirt and boxers. You replace the juice in the fridge and return your seat at the table as Laura sniffs at the smell of the pancakes."Smells great, Mum. How much longer will they be?" she asks."Not long. Just have one more to cook," she replies.Satisfied, Laura comes over to the table and gives you a tight hug from behind, her breasts pressing into your back through the thin material of her nightshirt. You glance at her over your shoulder, her clear blue eyes returning your gaze from her beautiful face, with her high cheekbones, framed by long straight blonde hair, falling just below her. "Heat getting to you, Barry?" She was friendly,a concerned voice betraying a note of pity.I muttered the to affirmative. The windows were open now and every fanwas making its concerted effort, to move the staid air. I adjudicatedthe straps of my bra. It was a dainty little affair, this brassier: agentle cyan, with a delicate helping of lace enclosing each gap. Thecashier had asked what size his girlfriend was. Had she known? My pokerface was stretched to the limit. I fed in my PIN. The clothing had beenfurrowed into the depths of the bag. And it was mine.The heat was intense in the crowding office. Under my shirt, I felt myskin flush and swell. My deep breaths pushed against the wire frame ofthe cups.I needed water.Guzzling a fresh cup from the rapidly emptying water disposer, I subtlytouched my - I still shuddered at the anticipation - bra strap. I feltits contours sadly. Was this the epitome of my life? To creep around theoffice wearing... God knows what it meant. I held back a.
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