Hot Summer Job/Continue her autopsy
It's more than a little weird to have your half-naked sister voluntarily "pass out" and let you poke and prod at her body. Not that you're complaining. You were pretty sure she would totally snap out of it when you grabbed her privates, and while she was real close, she never actually stopped you. That's not an open invitation for more, but it's probably as much as you're going to get without breaking the mood and risking rejection. And the longer you stare down at Bree's vulnerable form and visible flesh the more that you want to push some boundaries.
You lift Bree's ankle then let it drop with a thud.
"Wow, she really is dead! Well Johnson, since we're at the morgue now I guess we can go ahead with that autopsy after all."
You pause, trying to think of how to further 'fake' an autopsy. You've barely ever seen any of those crime shows, only catching parts when your parents watch them. Not that it matters. You really just need a passable excuse to poke at your sister some more.
"We should... embalm the body!"
Kneeling next to your sis you lay your hands on her. Starting with her chest you rub, knead, and grope your little sister's body with a light teasing touch. Up her neck, down her sides, along her limbs; every inch of her prone form is open to you, her arms still stretched above her head. Short visible shivers fire through different parts of her body, your protracted petting inducing everything from unintentional tickles to pleasurable exhalations. The longer you explore her body, the stronger her nearly faded blush returns to her cheeks.
After a full minute of this, you notice Bree's hands have clenched into fists, her arms shifting slightly. You're not sure if that's good or bad, but it wouldn't hurt to switch things up either.
"Hmm. Probably need to drain her blood too."
Lifting your sister by her ankles, you suspend her upside-down in front of you then swing from side to side. You get her just high enough to keep her hands from dragging across the carpet. You swear you hear a soft giggle below you as your sister swings, but Bree doesn't give the slightest jerk or twitch.
"Should we bring her to an examination table, Johnson?"
"Absolutely! There's an open one on the second floor."
You lift Bree higher then quickly drop one arm and wrap it around her waist, pulling her higher still. Her body centered with yours, her skyward pointed legs naturally fall on either side of your head. That pulls her crotch up to chest height. As you move toward the stairs you bounce her a little higher, the tops of her thighs falling to rest on your shoulders and her lycra-framed pussy climbing to just under your chin. Her scent hits you rather suddenly, a rich but delicate musk that takes over your senses. In a flash you realize you've caught this strangely alluring scent from her many times before, most often when she's wrapped up in your arms. Pulling your head back so you can focus on the pristine mound inches from your face, bright strips of pink glisten with wetness between her barely split vulva, her outer lips rosy and perhaps even puffier than they were ten minutes ago.
Your little sister's aroused cunny within licking distance pushes this from "a little weird" to "a little crazy". But what's crazier is how much you want to lick her. Your own sister.
In scaling the staircase, your knees repeatedly collide with Bree's limp arms. She does not do a thing to make this clumsy task any easier for you. More accurately, she's literally doing nothing; she's an utter rag doll.
You mull it over briefly, but of the bedrooms available, your parent's is by far the best choice. Biggest bed, cleanest, and the most taboo by far, as if this wasn't already insane enough. You turn into it and promptly toss your sister on top of the covers. She bounces onto her side, limbs strewn haphazardly. You make a bit of a fuss of repositioning Bree onto her back. You really liked seeing her arms above her head before, the way it stretched out her body and pushed out her chest, but you tuck her arms in at her sides in an attempt to keep this autopsy more official.
You pull back for a moment, a bit nervous about where you're taking this.
"So, uh, Johnson... what's next?"