Jessie responds to your insults with...a strip show?!

So you can imagine my surprise when I found Jessica glaring at me. The fire was back in her eyes, but this time it wasn’t from anger. Somehow, I’d managed to tap into the same competitive drive that made her a champion swimmer. She wanted to win this little power struggle, to prove she could make me uncomfortable, and she wasn’t going to give in until I admitted defeat.

I couldn’t believe my eyes when her hands dropped to the bottom of her shirt and began playing with the hem, teasing me. The smooth caramel skin of her stomach came into view as she slowly lifted the white t-shirt. I knew what she was doing--she was calling my bluff just like I’d called hers. She was playing chicken with me, expecting me to tell her to stop, to keep her shirt on. After all, she had no reason to think I was attracted to her--I was her stepbrother, and in a whole year of living together I’d never made a real pass at her. At 18, she didn’t even understand that she was a wet dream to virtually any horny guy the world over, and she certainly didn’t understand that becoming friends with her over the last year had only made me want her that much more. There wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to tell her to keep her shirt on, but she was too young to have the self-confidence or self-awareness to realize that.

So her shirt kept rising, and I watched Jessie’s taut stomach muscles as she pulled it over her head and dropped it on the floor. She stood there in just tight blue jeans and a white bra, and the view did not disappoint. The bra was plain, but god I loved the way it cupped those gigantic tits, with plenty of cleavage left over for me to see. Her skin was flawless, and though she was no matchstick--thank god! Only Barbie could support tits like those on a body so thin--it was obvious to me that she kept herself in great shape. I felt a sharp pang of disappointment that I wasn’t going to be treated to more.

As that very thought was running through my head, Jessie slowly reached behind her to the bra clasp, still daring me with her eyes to give in, to admit defeat, to tell her to--

“STOP!”