The brother you wanted

(if you’re comfortable answering of course)

you get home and your little sisters asleep on the couch, she’d tried to stay awake for you but had dozed off watching cartoons. a blanket draped over her, but not covering the little wet patch on her pajama shorts. she’s whimpering in her sleep, and it sound a lot like your name, the whimpers get more desperate as she moans her big brothers name.

fuck, that’s all i got, but im gonna keep touching myself and pray you can add to this so i have something to cum to

Slipping a hand between her thighs, as I pull her head on to my lap, unzipping my pants and pulling my thick cock out. Letting my baby sister grind on it as she moans against her big brothers cock, getting it all wet for me to jerk off, timing the stroke of my hand with the thrust of your hips, encouraging you onward to cum for me, waiting for your cunt to soak my hand before I slide my cock in your mouth for you to suck and swallow.

Naming my fleshlight after my baby sister so I can moan your name as I jerk off into it. feeling what it would be like to cum deep inside your soaked cunt.

Telling my little sister that we can't fuck each other, that would be incest, that would be so wrong.

But we can sit on opposite ends of the bed and watch each other make ourselves cum.

Only a fucked up girl would ache to fill her cunt with her brother's cock. Would hump against it harder, her hips pumping so desperately.

How disgusting.

Just a filthy, perverted, fucked up child would do that, you know.

Pathetic, depraved, fallen angel of a whore, she would be.

Her big brother's favorite. My favorite.

Cum for me, little sis. Cum on your big brother's thick cock.

That's it.

i think about you grappling me off the couch and onto the living room floor, forcing me to prove i’m good for something other than wasting your time and getting on your nerves. i’d fight back, cus i never make anything easy for you, but you’re stronger than me, and bigger, and my knees would buckle as you pressed yourself against me, hands popping open my shorts.

so, uh, thank you big brother. i got off to the thought of you rutting against me on the living room floor as you call me mean names, saying that if it wasn’t for my pussy and my mouth, i wouldn’t be worth all the trouble i had caused.

Next time you're rubbing your cunt to the thought of me reminding you what makes you a useful little sister to me, you should think about me stopping, grabbing your face, and looking you in the eyes as I say, no, I'm sorry, that's wrong. You're not just your pussy and your mouth.

You're also your tits and your ass and this face to spit on.

but they’re easy.

and you know, sometimes, i want a little bit of a challenge, right? i want to play with my food, just a little.

so that’s why i chose you. a ‘smart’ one. but it’s all a matter of relativity, isn’t it? because it’s not intelligence that keeps you hyper aware and on your toes, is it? of course not.

it’s that sick mix of fear and self-preservation, isn’t it? the one that keeps you second-guessing what it would be like, just once, right? because you know, don’t you, angel? the only thing that separates you and them is your stubbornness, and you think it keeps you safe but it only makes you desperate, doesn’t it?

because you, my sweet, sweet girl, you’re my two steps forward and one step back, aren’t you? you’re my long game.

and you know what that means, don’t you? no? i thought you were the ‘smart’ one, little girl.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you ask, sitting in your armchair, taking a sip from your drink as you glare at me through the darkness of the living room.

“…I’m going out,” I respond, adjusting the hem of my short dress nervously.

“All by your lonesome?”

“No… I’ve got a date.”

“That so?” you chuff, setting your drink down with a soft clink. You lean forward, resting your arms on your knees, crowding my space even while sitting down. “And when were you going to tell me about this date of yours?”

and you know, the thought would count for a whole lot more if you knew who sent the gift basket sitting on your doorstep. instead, it’s a mystery. it’s pretty, a little pink gift basket with artfully arranged tufts of red and white tissue paper peeking out between the objects nestled inside.

your name is on the envelope, so you bring it inside, but off the top of your head you can’t really think of anyone who would send you this. your best friend has already called to wish you a happy valentine’s day, and you guys have an established routine. usually you give each other a few little gifts, a book or two, some regular grocery store packs of reese’s cups and hershey bars. nothing like this. nothing so quintessentially valentine’s day themed.

it could be from your mom, but even she usually sends a card, usually calls you to say hello, maybe you meet for lunch. but never has she sent you what looks to be a little valentine’s care package.

so when you open the envelope and pull out a valentine’s day card, one that is clearly intended for a romantic partner, one that might say something like “for my perfect wife” on the front, you know pretty quickly that this isn’t from someone you know. when you open the card, you almost laugh. scrawled there in unfamiliar handwriting is a little note. “don’t worry, sweetheart, you’re not my wife yet. soon, though, if everything goes according to plan. enjoy the chocolates, valentine.”

if it weren’t so frightening, it would be pretty funny that whoever this is has correctly assumed that your brain completely froze at “perfect wife” and barely absorbed anything else. but this person shouldn’t know your thought process. this person shouldn’t know where you live. this person shouldn’t know your name, shouldn’t know how much you like pink roses and white daisies, a fairly uncommon valentine’s arrangement, they shouldn’t know that your favorite candy arrangement is the all dark chocolate mix.

almost everything about this box of stuff is alarmingly personalized, with the exception of the jewelry box you haven’t opened yet, and the little stuffed lamb, all fluffy and soft and sweet. you don’t have anything against lambs, but they’re not really your favorite animal. but it has a little red heart printed on its chest, so you’re sure that it was just part of a valentine display at the store.

the jewelry box is the strangest gift so far. you don’t wear jewelry. you’ve never really worn jewelry, save for the occasional pair of earrings. but when you lift the lid, there’s a thin, delicate silver bracelet inside. it’s not particularly garish or fancy, no giant stones. but there is a flat silver section of the bracelet with “valentine” engraved into it, with small ruby hearts inlaid on either side. it’s adorable. and though jewelry has never been your style, the fact that it’s cute and not particularly flashy definitely makes it feel like something you would actually wear on occasion.

it only takes another moment or two of hesitation before you’re clasping it onto your wrist, telling yourself that you shouldn’t the entire time. it’s a gift from a stranger, a stranger who clearly knows you too well, a stranger that’s kinda-sorta claiming you as their wife. the logic doesn’t win though, not when the light catches on the bracelet and draws your attention to it, how nice it feels to have something delicate and pretty adorning your body.

maybe just for today. just for today you’ll let yourself be pampered like this. you’ve never received a gift like this before from anyone. so maybe, just for today, you’ll put your flowers in a vase. you’ll wear the bracelet. you’ll put the ridiculous stuffed lamb on your dresser where you’ll see it the moment you wake up and remember that someone sent you something sweet. you’ll eat a chocolate. you’ll eat a second chocolate. you’ll have a glass of wine, not part of the gift box, but you bought yourself a bottle and planned on drinking it alone after ordering dinner to be delivered to you.

you’ll eat another chocolate while you wait.

in the morning, you’ll wake up naked in your bed. the lamb’s eyes are glinting in the late morning light. when you manage to pull on some clothes and make it down to your kitchen, the dinner that you ordered will be packed neatly in your fridge, completely untouched. the wine has no more than one glass missing. not nearly enough to justify your early bedtime or your missing memory.

when you go to wash your face and try to clear your head, you realize there’s something else new and unfamiliar about you. two new rings on your left hand. one flat and sparkling, one with a small, glittering diamond surrounded by two more little ruby hearts. the rings match your bracelet.