Shelly's Secret Chapter 4 by doll1

(Incest, Voyeur)

By Greg

“This is the final chapter in the Shelly’s Secret series. All individuals were over 18 when this occurred.”

Readers of my story always seem interested in the first time I got to do my sister. In some ways, it is easy to write about because the memory is so vividly etched in my mind. It is also difficult because of the personal nature of it. I had never planned on sharing this, but due to the constant requests, here it is.

It had been almost a year since I started spying on Shelly. My own sex life was centered vicariously on enjoying her sex life. As I mentioned before, I had tried to have a go at her almost right off. I’m not sure I knew all of her reasons for not letting me do her, but I respected her decision and never pestered her about it. I felt darn lucky just to be a spectator to her wild antics.

This all happened during the following summer. My grandmother was still around then. She still lived on the farm where our mom had grown up. It was about thirty miles away. There was some problem with her drinking water well having gone bad. Even though I had a great-uncle who still ran livestock on the property, Mom felt we should all go up there for a few days.

Grandma’s farm was a split section of a larger farm that had been subdivided among family members. Grandpa had about 60 or so acres of it. The remainder was divided among two other brothers. One shared the property line and still farmed and ran cattle on Grandma’s portion. This worked well for all because he also maintained the barn, mowed the grass as needed, and checked in on Grandma.

We all went up for the weekend and were to stay a few days into the week. I had been helping my dad all weekend, doing odd jobs. On Monday, Mom and Dad were going to take Grandma into town. They had to arrange for some repairs to the water system. Shelly and I chose to stay at the farm. The small town had nothing of interest for youngsters anyway.

It was late June, and days were already hot by the afternoon. Shelly and I had planned to go fishing down at a small pond out past the barn. The pond was actually a dammed-up creek where cattle were watered during the driest times of the year. It was a picturesque setting. Tall marsh grasses surrounded the water’s edge. Mature birch trees lined the original creek bed. There always seemed to be a breeze there. White pieces of bark often fell onto the surface of the pond and sailed like little boats until they ended up stuck on the banks. There was a narrow path beginning just past the barn. I guess the cattle had worn this route. We had to pass through a small field and a couple gates to reach the pond.

Shelly and I had gotten a late start. It was probably past ten o’clock. We stopped at the barn along the way. I needed to find a shovel to dig for worms. It was a maze of rooms on the ground floor, but Grandpa’s tool room was just inside the door. The barn was still used as a shelter for the cattle my great uncle kept, and it bore the intense smell of manure and the musky odor of stored bedding and feed kept up in the lofts.

I located a suitable shovel and found a promising dig site back outside. Shelly was still nosing around in the barn and must have been checking out the youngest calves. I finished my dig and had a reasonable supply of thick worms. As I headed back in to return the shovel, I caught sight of Shelly over near the stalls. Several cows were nursing their young. I asked if she was still interested in fishing or not. She immediately jumped down off the gates and headed over towards me.

Near the door, we passed a large, striped animal blanket. It was hung over a stall rail. Shelly grabbed it. Just outside the door, she snapped it, shaking off the dust, then folded it a couple times and tucked it under her arm. I carried the poles, bait, and a metal bucket, and we headed off.

Shelly led the way to the pond. She was barefoot, which was her usual. She had on a red and white plaid sleeveless shirt and was wearing her favorite jean cut-offs. Mom would scowl each time Shelly tried to wear them. They were an old pair of faded-out jeans that Shelly had cut off herself. Of course, they were very short, and after repeated washings, the loose fringe at the bottom began creeping up to where the bottom of Shelly’s butt was just about visible. Mom had been threatening to throw them out for some time. She didn’t deem them proper for a young girl.

Maybe being out here where no one would see her Mom had relented, or maybe Shelly had changed into them after Mom and Dad had left for town.

During the past year, Shelly had matured. Her hips now had some curve to them, and she had filled out more on top. I was maybe ten feet back and was amused at her carefree gait. Maybe it’s just me, but some girls just seem to develop a swing to their hips as they move. That was Shelly.

The loose tails of her shirt covered her butt, but the slightest breeze managed to give a guy a short glimpse of a very fine ass working against the stretched denim fabric of her shorts. She was carrying her flip-flops with one finger over her shoulder. It was unlikely she’d ever put them on, though. She spent most of the day barefoot, even around the barnyard area. Looking down, I noticed she had already darkened the bottoms of both feet.

The pond was maybe a hundred or so feet across at its widest point. Grandpa had built a small table and bench near one bank. The grass was kept mowed back by my great uncle, and a worn path usually ringed the edge of the entire pond. We dropped our stuff off on the table and set about rigging our poles. We kind of split up and started sizing up the likely spots.

The farm was an ideal place to be as kids. Being so far out, no other people were around to bother us. There was a warm summer breeze blowing across the fields. The pond itself was kind of in a little dip, almost easy to miss unless you knew it was there. We were set and began our individual efforts to land the day’s catch. I was maybe fifteen to twenty feet from Shelly. The only sound other than the wind was that of the crickets and grasshoppers as they sang from the surrounding weeds.

As I made my way along the banks, I’d jump each time I flushed a bullfrog from the shallows. They would croak loudly and make a dash for the safety of deeper water. I could hear Shelly snickering at this. She had chosen to stay put. There was not much shade on the side where we were standing, so I continued working along the bank.

I had gotten maybe thirty to forty feet from Shelly. When I looked back at her, I couldn’t help but notice she had unbuttoned her shirt. It was opened all the way down in the front. The flaps of her shirt caught in the breeze and exposed her front right down to her belly button. She was standing in a sunny spot, and she must have thought this would help her stay cool. I hadn’t noticed until just then that she had not been wearing a bra.

I’m not sure how many times I snagged my bait or failed to notice it being stolen. I was trying not to be too obvious as I continued to steal as many glances at her as possible. When Shelly reared back to cast, I could swear one breast became completely visible.

I continued working along the bank, thinking maybe I could get directly across from her. Hopefully, my stares would not seem so obvious then. After replacing my bait for the umpteenth time, I stood up and cast out near some cattails by the dam. Of course, I overshot and had to fight to free my hook. Finally loose, I turned to look back to where Shelly had been standing. She was gone. I scanned the bank and saw no trace of her. The table on which we had laid our stuff was almost directly across from me. I could see her pole standing next to the bucket, and the blanket was gone.

I didn’t think she had just headed back without telling me. Besides, I noticed her flip-flops still sitting on the table. I continued searching the far bank for a sign of where she had gone. Just then, a movement in some tall grass near a stand of birch trees caught my eye.

I reeled in my line and continued around the shorter route back. As I neared the spot, I caught sight of her. She had spread out the blanket in the deep grass and was lying on her back. As I came up on her, I was sort of taken aback because she had taken off her shirt completely. She had it scrunched up under her head as a pillow. Her one hand covered her eyes from the direct rays of the sun. She heard my approach and momentarily flipped her hand up. Sure that it was me, she covered her eyes again. After a bit, she finally spoke up.

“No luck either?” she asked.

“Naw, I think we shoulda been out here sooner,” I said.

Shelly continued to lie there, making no effort to cover up or anything. It was only after I could pull my eyes from her breasts that I noticed she had undone the top snap on her cutoffs too.

With the waistband loosened and the zipper pulled down a little, the white hem of her panties was clearly visible. She had even pushed them low on her hips. There wasn’t probably an inch wide strip of material at her hips. I guess this was her way of getting an “all-over” tan.

I sat down next to her. Finally, prying my eyes from her boobs again, I began watching her belly button as it rose with each breath. The faintest trail of peach fuzz drew my gaze right down to the top edge of her panties. I swear I could just make out the shadow of her pubic patch just below.

Shelly was like some golden goddess from ancient times. Her youthful figure splayed out in the warm sun. Her hair had lightened earlier in the summer. Her total disregard for any shame was a further turn-on. Her breasts rolled atop her gently rising chest. The sun had warmed her skin. She was the epitome of youthfulness and sex. I’m not sure what part of her I was still staring at when she suddenly spoke.