He loves his little sister

Dylan tossed and turned in his bed, trying to sleep, but not wanting to. All he could think about was Emily. Her perfect face, her long legs and adorable feet. The small glimpses he'd had, the imprints in her clothing suggest her breasts and pussy. God, her pussy. He tried to imagine if it was shaved, or hairy, or maybe neatly trimmed? He was sure it was perfect in any case, like the rest of her. How he longed to touch it, tease it, worship it, taste it.

He knew it wasn't appropriate, socially. But he had to have and luxuriate in every bit of her. She had told him so, that for as long as he could remember, he'd done her small favors for the opportunity to lick her feet or smell her asshole, and he believed it.

He was so devoted to his sister, so tormented by the knowledge of how wrong it was, and the whole sleepless night just made it worse than ever.