[33M] Her young sister's [25F] yoga pants

“Her Sister”

I’d just finished a long, sweaty run, still wearing my tight athletic shorts and a clingy Dri-fit shirt. My skin was hot, my breath shallow, my pulse still drumming from exertion.

I stepped into the apartment, and there she was.

Her sister.

She’d just finished getting ready for her yoga class. Dressed in a sleek, skin-tight pair of high-end yoga tights and a snug sports bra that hugged her every curve. She was younger, leaner, tighter than her sister , every inch of her body toned and irresistible. Every time I saw her dressed like that, I found it impossible not to stare.

And she noticed.

Her eyes locked onto mine with a spark of mischief as she casually adjusted the waistband of her leggings, lowering it just enough to sit beneath the sharp angles of her hip bones.

“Like it low like this?” she asked, playful, knowing exactly what she was doing.

I nodded, probably too eagerly.

“I like how it shows off my flat stomach,” she said, smoothing her hand across it. “And this pair… fits me just right. Don’t you think?”

I smiled. “It fits you like it was painted on.”

She leaned in just a little and whispered, “I always wear them without panties. That’s how they look best on me. Hope that’s not too much information.” She grinned as she tugged the waistband down another notch.

“I’m just a little worried,” she added, voice lower now, more intimate. “I think I didn’t shave enough… my bikini line’s kind of high.”

She looked down toward her crotch, and I followed her gaze. There were no stray hairs, just the faintest shadow of stubble, barely visible, but there. “I don’t see anything,” I lied. My mouth was dry.

“Check for me while I bend backward?” she offered, and without waiting, she arched her back and dropped into a bridge, hands on the floor behind her.

My eyes locked on her pelvis. The stretch of the fabric, the rise of her hips, it made everything more visible. The tight yoga pants clung to her skin like a second layer, and now, from this angle, I could clearly see what she meant. The faint line of trimmed hair teased above the waistband, perfectly framed, tempting.

“See anything?” she asked upside down.

“A little,” I confessed. “But honestly? I love it. Don’t shave.”

She grinned, flipped upright, and murmured, “Does my sister know how much you like me like this?”

“She has no idea,” I said, stepping closer.

“Want to pull it down just a little more?” she offered, eyes daring me.

I reached for the waistband, slowly, carefully easing it down, just a few more centimeters. My fingers trembled as they hovered close to her mound, careful not to touch her, yet.

And there it was. A perfect, wild strip of dark hair, guarding what lay beneath. Her slit was hidden, but I could see the outline. Feel the heat radiating off her. My cock stiffened beneath my shorts.

“Beautiful,” I said, my voice low. “Absolutely perfect.”

“You think I do it myself?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Wouldn’t mind helping,” I said, half joking.

She turned around, lifting her ass toward me. “You have no idea how firm my butt is,” she said. “Go ahead. Touch it. It doesn’t bite.”

I placed my palms on her cheeks, firm, tight, powerful beneath the silky fabric. I squeezed, groaned. “You are solid.”

“Been training,” she said, winking over her shoulder.

Then she looked down at herself. “I’m not sure about this bra, though,” she mused. “Think it’s too see-through?”

Only when she mentioned it did I notice the small, hard nipples pushing through the thin, sweat-dampened lycra. Pink. Erect. Tempting.

“I wouldn’t have noticed,” I said. “But now I can’t stop looking.”

“They don’t just look firm,” she said, reaching for my hand. “They feel it too.” And she placed it directly on her breast.

It was warm, round, solid in my hand. I felt her nipple stiffen further, pressing into my palm like it was hungry for more. I brushed my fingers across it subtly, hoping she wouldn’t notice—she did. But instead of stopping me, she guided my other hand to her opposite breast.

Both tits now filled my hands. My cock throbbed hard inside my running shorts, a dark wet patch already forming at the tip. Lately, these shorts had been soaked more with precum than sweat.

She glanced down, and then smiled.

“I see you’re firm too,” she said.

Without warning, she lowered my waistband just enough to reveal the top of my cock, stiff, flushed, glistening. Precum already slicking the head.

“Neat guy,” she teased. “Already leaking?”

She didn’t wait. She reached out, dragged her finger through the slippery drops, then smeared them across her breast, gliding them over her nipple.

“Looks like I missed my class,” she said. “Guess I’ll train here. Let’s do some crunches. You on top.”

She laid down, legs spread just a bit, the strip of pubic hair clearly visible, the outline of her mound begging to be touched. I lowered myself into a push-up position above her.

With every rise of her hips, her pert nipples brushed my chest. The thin fabric between us was soaked with sweat, teasing more than it hid. Her body was the most erotic resistance training I’d ever known.

Then she flipped us. Her on top now, her breasts inches from my face as I did crunches. Each rise brought my lips just beneath her nipples, the lycra practically transparent now from sweat. I groaned with every repetition, my cock swelling harder, pushing out past my waistband, exposed.

She noticed. She didn’t stop.

Then, intentional or not, her bush brushed against my glans. My cock twitched. More precum leaked.

She didn’t say a word.

Then she lay flat beneath me again. “Let’s try the other way,” she said. And now she was above me, facing away—reverse. Her face hovered just above my cock, her ass just above my mouth. We moved together, each crunch and press brushing us closer and closer to full contact.

Her breath on my shaft. My tongue inches from her wet warmth. It was excruciating.

And then, contact.

My lips met the trimmed strip. Her scent, her taste, electric on my tongue.

Her lips, her tongue, found the head of my cock. She licked the bead of arousal pooling there.

“You’re distracted,” she teased, crawling forward until we were face to face again. Then her hand wrapped around my cock—firm, practiced, relentless.

I couldn’t hold back.

My cock pulsed violently in her grip, and before I could say a word, the climax tore through me. I exploded in her hand, on her belly, the thick, white spurts covering her sweaty skin and the waistband of her lowered leggings. My hips bucked helplessly as she rubbed her mound against me, her curls slick now with my release.

Finally, spent, I lay beneath her, still twitching.

She stood slowly, cum glistening on her toned stomach, between her breasts, the strip of pubic hair glossy with it.

I stood too, cock still half-hard, shining.

“That was fun,” she said, brushing a drop from her belly. “We should train together more often.”

She smiled, a wicked, hungry thing.