Sibling Love Protection Club
CW/TW: Nsfw, grooming, incest, I need them fucked up in the cutest way possible
“Hey Mags.” I’m panting. I’m out of breath and my vision is hazy. It’s like all the stress in my body is becoming physical. And there she is, in all her perfect glory. If I could I’d worship the air around her. And I know she’d worship every single time I touch her body. It’s perfect, a perfect give and take.
“Azalea!” She stays seated on the love seat in her room. Mother loves her room. It’s girly, and cute and proof that she’ll grow up to be more feminine than I ever try to be. I love her room, because it looks like a doll house. Somewhere I can pick her up and take care of her and she can be closer to her big sister. It started as us cuddling up together while soft music played and I held her when my world was falling apart. It went on to include soft kisses, innocence between siblings to ensure the other they were needed and cared for. It was only ever about making sure she understood that she was perfect for me. That in these moments it was just us. Just for us. She was just for me.
I felt my heart racing. This wasn’t love, it was need, it was reassurance, it was calming in such an exciting way that I couldn’t find a way to catch my breath even as I sat down next to her. I’m close, too close. Sisters don’t sit that close together. But this isn’t love so it’s okay. No one will ever understand the things we do to take care of each other.
“Mags I could really use some sweet comfort from a sweet little thing like you.” I can see the look in her eyes. It started years ago, at this point I know what she’s doing. I love it. She becomes nothing but a doll. Poseable, malleable. It’s perfect. I can feel her heartbeat quicken as I sit her on my lap gently. A doll can’t be my sister, so none of this is wrong.
“It feels nice to sit in your big sister’s lap doesn’t it? But that’s not right… right now what am I? When we’re together what am I? I’m more than your big sis. Right?” Tell me I’m not your sister right now, tell me this is okay to do.
It’s sickeningly sweet to hear her soft voice. It’s borderline intoxicating. “You’re m-my Owner…” her breath hitches and I lose any control I thought I had before.
“Yes I am. And I adore and cherish every part of you. Such a sweet little thing. You see me like no one else does.” I’m dotting kisses along her shoulders. Thankful she was in her nightgown. She didn’t do anything today. Too tired and weak to do much more than eat lunch alone in her room. That’s right she also needs this. I’m careful not to leave any marks anywhere; in case it'll be seen later. Her skin is soft, it’s achingly soft. I never want anyone like that stupid fucking Cassius to ever know about skin this soft. But he doesn’t belong here. Not at this moment. Never in this room.
“I love you…” I jolt back to where I am. But it’s okay. Dolls love their owners. That’s normal. That’s what a doll should do. I pick her up and lay her gently, I’m so nervewrackingly gentle with her body. Warm flesh leaving my clammy palms. I lock the door. My strides walking over the words I want to say but never will. I can’t wait to go to our room today. I can’t risk anyone checking on her either. Even if I explained that right now we weren’t sisters. That we weren’t in love, that this was just an owner taking care of her doll. It would be bad. And I can’t lose Magnolia. I use her arm crutch to block the handle.
She doesn’t question it. She won’t, not anymore. She trusts me so much. No more ‘are you sure?’s no more ‘is this really okay?’. Nothing but the silent sounds of two people caring for each other. I crossed the room back to her. My pants lost in the void of needing to be close to her again. My top finds its way to the same void as I finally cradle her close to me again.
I’ve trained her skin to be sensitive to my touch. Every single graze makes her twitch softly. Every kiss makes her melt. I can feel her molding into something perfect for me. Something I’ve molded perfectly for me like nothing I’ve known before. My hands wander over supple soft skin, puberty stricken since she got older. I could personally tell you if she had gained weight, or changed cup size. Even if she grew taller I’d know. But I take such good care of her. No one will ever be able to make her body react the way I do.
There’s no music playing, but the sounds of her inconsistent breathing and soft moans are music enough for me. Playing with her body like this makes everything melt off of me. I’ve never called it sex, I've never called it love making. It’s just care. She only knows it as care. Even as her body matured and became more and more tantalizing, I’m not having sex with her.
My fingers graze over her clit. She’s so wet it’s almost like she was made for this. A sweet moan rises from her chest. I feel my stress wash away. I feel her quiver under my fingers as I play her like an instrument. She’s hooked on this. I’m hooked on it. A voice screams in the back of my head that this is wrong. I shut it down by reminding myself that this is a doll, a mere object to give my affection to. And that is not wrong. It’s punctuated by ever so roughly penetrating her. Just one finger. Just one to release all the pent up anger in my body out. I hear her moan get desperate for a moment. I stick a different finger in her mouth and pull slightly distorting any sounds coming out of her mouth. She’s so pretty. She sounds so pretty.
She cried the first time I did this. And I gently kissed each and every tear away. It’s never been enough to tear her hymen. She's a perfect little virgin, so this isn’t sex. So even as my finger is wrapped in flesh so warm and comforting I know this isn’t sex. Her moans are just her body turning all of my stress into pure beauty. I don’t know how she does it. I press my anger into her and she returns it like sweet nectar I drown on.
“Oh- ner” Soft words broken by moans and my finger she calls out to me. I feel so much better. No medication could ever come close to how this helps me. I make sure to keep it up. I make sure to push her over the edge. I can’t leave a single bit of the horribleness I released into her stay a moment more. I drag the rest of it out as her moans hit a fever pitch. Our hearts are beating fast together. She’s limp next to me as I gently kiss and lick up everything. The sweat starting to bead up on her chest, the mess I’ve made on my fingers. The drenched spot between her legs that I gently lick up. My tongue praising her for her hard work, for taking my anger and stress so well. She softly thanks me as well. Words no longer making sense, breathing is the only thing she can do.
“Let’s run you a bath. You did…such a wonderful job. I’m so proud to call you my little sister.” the deed is done. We can return to our lives in the real world. She’s my little sister and we just comforted each other like sisters should. And now I’m helping her into a bath. Just like a good big sister should. She’s too fragile to do it on her own right now. But she needs one.
No words come from her as she glows, a soft and satisfied smile on her face. That’s right, if this were wrong, if it were bad, why would she smile so so breathtakingly. It’s beautiful. I swallow the words I want to say as I unlock the door and remove the crutch. I don’t need marriage, I don’t want marriage. All I want is her and the words I can never say.
