”Ooooh wait-wait-wait just a second!”
	His boot thudded upon the dirt path as he halted his momentum with a strenuous sigh. He listened to the six sharp revs as his sister wound the reel on her disposable camera. He didn't even regard her in the silence that followed, choosing to focus on keeping upright and taking a swig of water while he had a chance.
	The hike between the cabin and the site they were going to spend the night at was only about an hour; less than a mile, as-the-crow-flew. They had left just before eleven, and his wrist-watch already showed twelve-thirty.
	His patience was wearing thin. It had lasted this long only because he understood his sister's desire to take pictures; she was actually doing it for both of them.
	They had gone to this cabin three times in their single-digit years. It was a wonderful place that they both looked forward to visiting since their first trip, every summer. But, they couldn't always make it.
	Now teenagers, they had not been able to make it for the last four summers, and just barely this year. The trip was costly, and their father did not always get time off of work.
	So, the pictures were a just-in-case. Just in case it was even longer before they were able to come back again. Or, just in case this was the last trip they could manage.
	The soft click signified she had taken the picture. The flash blinked, but in the daylight it didn't matter. It was a fairly cheap camera, one of a dozen she had, and the flash wasn't suited for any pictures that would need it anyway.
	”Bist du bereit?” He asked, after she stared at the scenery she had snapped for another few seconds.
	”You're in a hurry,” she softly chided. “Something-something journey not destination, or other,” she told him.
	He glanced about and thumbed to the hiking pack he was wearing when he saw her glance in his direction. “I bet if you had this you'd be eager to get there,” he replied.
	She adjusted her own backpack, which was just the one she used for school. It matched her fur, mostly black with yellow zippers and seams. Her mom had sewn Sheela in yellow, cursive letters down the side, since otherwise it had a boyish look. “Then let's go,” she said, gesturing forward with her camera-holding hand.
	He billowed a breath as he prepared to move, something alike the bus they took to school before it chugged along after they boarded.
	It was warm. Against his back, and along the straps that tightly pressed to his chest and shoulders, he could feel his shirt damp from his own sweat. Had he known they were going to be walking still past noon, he would have worn a lighter shirt. He also wanted to take the legs of his zip-offs away to give his ankles a chance to breathe, but he was afraid if he bent over he wouldn't be able to straighten back up.
	His sister, while not at all dressed for a proper hike, was probably fairing much better in terms of comfort. She was wearing her favorite purple shirt, with a large pink paw-print that spanned nearly from neck-line to hem. Then, she had on short-shorts, with her belly-button on clear display between the garments.
	He could almost be angry at having to carry all the weight and drip with all the sweat, but in fact he was rather fond of it. It made him feel strong, and manly, since puberty had started giving him muscles and endurance.
	It had gifted his sister with curves and charm, both of which she took full advantage of. Even now, with her poor hiking attire. The shorts were settled low about her hips, showing off the strings of her underwear that rested higher on her waistline; the garment matched the color of the paw on her shirt.
	Speaking of, her shirt did little to conceal the fact she was not wearing her bra. Were the still-maturing swells of her bosom unobstructed in the tight, form-fitting fabric not proof enough, her shoulders were exposed to present no tell-tale straps.
	Not to mention that it was common for her to avoid wearing bras as much as she could. She hated them, voicing many a time how they felt constraining and uncomfortable.
	Her brother knew the obvious: she enjoyed the boys staring her down, eagerly waiting for a chance to see her nipples harden, and tease through her shirt at them.
	They recognized that the campsite was coming up; just a few minutes' walk up the shallow mountainside trail. The spot from where she had taken the picture was the last vantage through the trees, from which they could see the cabin they had left down below, nestled in a clearing.
	Waist-high wooden fence lines, in two- and four-meter lengths, braced against different dips and small hazards along the beaten trail, that guided them through the trees. On the side, a deer scampered away, faster than the camera could hope to snap a picture of it.
	The path faded away, for several minutes, where they were guided by several wooden archways set up almost like torii at a Japanese shrine. One was hard to spot because it was damaged, with only the right leg standing and the other pieces piled around it, anticipating repair.
	The trail picked back up again, and shortly after they arrived at camp. It was smaller than they remembered, but their memories were from when they were smaller. It was a modest clearing cut within the trees, the ground smoothed out, and the circumference made of several sized rocks assembled together.
	Half the site was clear, intended for tents. One quadrant of the other half had a rusty, iron fire-pit. The last quadrant had a small pavilion, with a concrete slab floor a half-meter thick, and brick corner pillars that held up a pyramid-shaped, tin roof. Within the pavilion, was a wooden picnic table that could comfortably seat both them, and their parents—if they had all gone.
	He huffed as he plodded over to the nearest corner of the pavilion. He unclasped the waist-strap, and then the chest-strap, of his hiking pack. He was pressed against the brick to keep it balanced, while he slipped free of its weight. It slumped to the ground, and he rested, leaning on it with his hands. He heard the wind of another picture.
	”We have arrived,” his sister announced.
	He looked back, and heard the click; she was looking at him—taking a picture of him. “Ach,” he muttered with disapproval. “Why're you taking a picture of me?”
	”Because, you're all cute, tuckered out like that,” she teased, her tail flicking happily as she walked to the pavilion, shucking off her own backpack to set on the concrete. “Plus, you were posed so well.”
	He straightened up. “I'm tearing that one up when they're developed.”
	”No you aren't,” she replied, sticking out her tongue as she plopped her rump down on the picnic bench. “Oooof, feels good to sit down after all that walking.”
	Her brother started to unbuckle and open up the pack.
	“Why not sit with me for a bit, take off your boots?” She offered, patting the rough wood that she almost feared might give her a splinter just by looking at it.
	”Nein,” he replied, reaching in and pulling out the tent-bag. “If I sit down now, I'll lose steam; I want to get the tent up, first.” He hefted the bag, and carried it over to the half of the site that was clear.
	She took a breath, and reluctantly stood, stretching broadly before walking over to him, while he kicked loose pebbles and sticks out of the way. She squatted down with him when he set the tent-bag down, and started undoing the ties. “That's packed pretty well, isn't it?” She asked rhetorically, with a grin and her tail flicking to and fro behind her.
	He looked at her with a straight face for a few seconds, before lifting his hand up to her head, and patting it. Without a word, he continued pulling the pieces out of the bag, undoing her packing-work.
	”Hmph,” she stood, her hands on her hips. “Even though you're being a meanie, would you like help setting it up?”
	”Nein,” he replied, “I'll get it up faster, alone,” he reasoned. “I've had plenty of practice,” he justified, for he and his father had gone on many a weekend camping trip since he had turned ten.
	”Well... What if I wanted to learn how to pitch a tent?—And before you say it, I mean a real one.” She presumptively admonished. “I already know how to pitch that kind of tent, dankeschön.”
	He sighed. “I wasn't going to say anything,” he retorted. “I'd like to get this done, so I can rest, too. I'll show you how to pitch a tent in the back yard, at home.” He unfurled the bundled tarp, tent body, and rainfly, exposing the aluminum poles wrapped in the center.
	”Hmm,” she thought, while he stuck one end of the pole into one end of the rainfly. “Aber, bruder,” she began in a fake confused and innocent tone, “you already showed me how to pitch your tent back there, didn't you?”
	”Ach!” The other end of the pole he tried to stick in the other end of the rainfly missed, and the whole thing popped out and dropped to the ground.
	She giggled. “You always had a little trouble getting into the hole,” she teased.
	”Would you go do something else?” He grumbled.
	”Like what?” She asked. “I'm not sure I could do much without you showing me,” she said, though clearly just to keep playing with him.
	”Could you handle pulling out the sleeping bags and stuff like that, and putting them on the table?”
	”Sheela,” she said, mocking an overly-guttural, deep, masculine voice, “while I do man's work can you do woman's work?”
	”Don't put words in my mouth!” He hissed, finally getting the rainfly squared away.
	”You're right,” she said, sounding genuine. But, it was dissolved when she added, “I can't fit any words, with all the dicks in there.”
	”You are such a pot!” He declared, amidst her giggling. “We both know you've had more dicks in your mouth.”
	She settled from her giggling, and sighed. “Right again, bruder,” she replied, turning about and waving at him to go and pull out their supplies like he suggested. Then, she quickly quipped, “I've had more pussy, too.”
	Furrowing his brow, he ignored her comment and continued pitching the tent, laying out the tarp.
	The sylvan symphony was in full score: dozens of birds near and far each tweeted their own song that melded into a semblance of chorus, with a few wood-peckers drumming away to mark a beat. Though thin-trunked, the trees were many and rubbed elbows in crowded copses, a susurrus of brushing leaves and dull tapping of branches.
	It had rained the night they had arrived. While the ground was only a little damp, the creatures of the moist mist were still scurrying about. Now and then the guttural croak of a toad, like a critic amidst the music, found its way through the trees.
	No doubt the amphibians were at the main attraction of the camp. They could both hear it, like a dull hum in the back of their ears; the bubbling and trickling called to them, and their hearts excited at it.
	Her whistling, and the tinging of his hammer against the metal stakes, were their own additions to the symphony. Although, to him, it sounded like a dissonant one. He never really liked whistling, and of course his sister had to do it all the time.
	”Uuuugh,” he groaned as he straightened up, his back stiff and his legs a bit wiggly. The hammer dropped upon the dirt with a soft thump, and his boots heavily stepped toward the pavilion.
	His sister had finished laying out their sleeping bags on the concrete, and had unpacked the camping stove. She found the trail mix, and was munching on it, holding a handful up to her muzzle and tossing her head back.
	He held out his hand, and she gave him some, a raisin and some nuts dribbling down to the ground. He ate the handful with a tired thanks, and began undoing his boots.
	He didn't realize how tightly he had tied them. When the laces went slack and he pulled the tung up, his foot tingled with circulation. It felt so good that he wanted to relieve his other foot before he took the first boot off. He fumbled with the knot he had tied, but as he started to undo it, the lace wedged itself in, and tied an even tighter knot.
	She saw him struggling, watching as the fingers that had grown bigger fumbled about the laces like they were trying to pin down a buttered-up piglet. After letting him frustrate for a time, she finally got to her knees, batting his hands away.
	”I got it,” he muttered.
	”I'm getting tired of watching you,” she said, pulling out her hair-clip. “Here, let me show you how a woman handles it,” she teased, and started to wiggle the end of the clip against the middle of the knot. She pried it into the hole, pushing it through, forcing the knot to give away around the focus of its bind. When she had it just loose enough, she used her more petite fingers to coax the knot loose, letting his ankle free.
	He let out a sigh as his foot, which had begun to go numb with pins and needles, was flushed with fresh circulation. He looked down as he felt a tug at his heels, and saw his sister helping to pull his shoes free.
	”Bgh!” She tossed the boot aside, covering her muzzle with a hand. “Now I won't be able to eat cheese for a week,” she coughed, standing up and stepping away.
	”Halt's maul,” he growled. “If you carried that pack for over an hour, your feet would stink a little, too.”
	”They'd only stink a little,” she retorted. “Yours smell like tot.”
	He glanced to his right, and saw her backpack. He reached for it, but she snagged it away. “Not very nice,” he muttered.
	”It's my backpack,” she told him. “Keep your feet away from it,” she stuck out her tongue.
	”I guess I won't go wash then. I'll just set up our sleeping bags and roll around inside yours a little to get all the sweat off,” he told her, standing up.
	She huffed. “You could've just asked for what you wanted,” she admonished, unzipping her backpack. She had packed for them both a few changes of clothes, and towels. She pulled out a towel, a shirt, and a clean pair of briefs that she dangled and played keep-away with him for a moment before giving them up.
	He fished for his sandals in his pack, peeling off his socks and laying them on the concrete. “What are you going to do?” He questioned.
	She shrugged. “Guess I'll lay out the sleeping bags, wait 'till you're done.”
	His expression softened. “Figured you'd try to join,” he remarked.
	”Mmm,” she tilted her head, her bangs flopping toward the ground, showing off a bit of the yellow hair that was usually hidden by the black. “Tomorrow. For now, I'll let you have some peace and quiet.”
	He smiled, slinging his towel over his shoulder. “I'm just going to rinse off for a bit, so you won't have to wait too long,” he replied.
	”Take your time,” she told him, grabbing one of their sleeping bags. “After all, I didn't carry a heavy pack for over an hour,” she said with a smirk.
	Shaking his head, he slipped his sandals on and started heading on the path across from where they had arrived. His feet were still a little sensitive to walking, but he told them to bear just a little longer.
	Where he was headed was a five minutes' walk or so from the site. Not because it was far, but because it was high. The mountainside trail was steep for a bit, with a metal bracing fence to help keep an errant step from spelling certain doom—well, not really, but it wouldn't be a fun tumble down the forty-degree incline.
	As he walked back and forth across the switchbacks, his destination called to him, in the form of a soft bubbling and a gentle rush. The steep, meandering path shallowed out in a small plateau, with a half-dozen trees and a laid-rock path. Ahead of him, was the marvel of the mountain—one of them, at least.
	The hot-spring was like an overflowing chalice, with a bottom layer and a top. The top was a small pool from which the water bubbled forth, steaming and filling a bowl-shaped pocket of stone. The water then cascaded down in a petite waterfall that served as a curtain to a recessed pocket within the stone.
	Part of it was natural, but part of it was also carved to look attractive. He stood at the cusp of the plateau, thinking that one of them should bring the camera when the light hits the falls in the morning, before his feet begged for what they knew was to come.
	He slipped free of his sandals, and peeled off his shirt at the collar. It snagged and clung to his fur, with sweat and because of the sudden local humidity. His shoulders were caught between the ambient air, and the drafts of heat and steam that billowed from the falls even three meters away.
	His zip-offs, baggy and held up by a sewn-in buckle, dropped at his ankles as soon as he undid the buckle and fly. He peeled off his sweaty briefs, and finally felt relaxed and able to breathe as his crotch felt the gentle breeze stirred by the warmth and the drizzling falls.
	He laid his clothes upon the wooden fence-lines that also served as a sort of rack. With his tail flicking excitedly, he stepped up to the falls.
	Through the falls was a recess, which was actually a small entrance to a cavern. The entrance was grated over for safety, or at least as a warning. To the left, part of the wall had been chiseled away, and steps marked by long, thin logs guided the way to the top of the spring, to the part where one could submerge.
	As he approached the falls, watching the thin sheets rush down with steam, he felt the warmth brush over his face, chest, knees, and shins. When he was close enough to reach, he felt the spray of the water hitting the ground at his ankles, the droplets giving the tops of his feet and toes a taste of the permeating warmth the spring had to offer.
	He let the thinnest stream break on his palm, the water running down his arm before trickling off at the crook of his elbow. It was like the stream of his shower, just as warm as he liked it. It would serve as a way to acclimate himself to the heat, standing beneath the fringes of the spring's full potency.
	He stepped through a curtain of water. His fur stood on end at the dramatic change in temperature; more so from the drop in the parts that were hit by the warmth and left in the ambient air than from the heat itself.
	He closed his eyes, looking up, letting the stream splash upon the bridge of his nose and muzzle, finding its way down his cheeks, shoulders, and neck; some trickling all the way down to his groin, to trickle off of his testicles.
	He exhaled, his muscles just beginning to relax.
	Then, he felt a prick at his shoulder, which deepened into a sharp, familiar sting. His head snapped forward with a flurry of droplets flying from his scalp. He was braced across the chest. With his hands poised, just as he was about to try and break away from what he knew was his sister, he froze.
	His testicles were cupped in her palm.
	He gritted his teeth. The love-bite on his shoulder vibrated as she giggled into it, and hefted his balls, which had gone slack and distended from the warmth. His cheeks reddened as, with her cradling and fondling of his matured pouch, and the sting of the love-bite in his shoulder hitting an instinctive spot, his manhood began to happily emerge from its sheath, stretching out as if from slumber.
	He relaxed a little when her love-bite detached from his shoulder, letting out his tense breath. “What happened to 'peace and quiet?'” He questioned, eye wincing as she continued to fondle his sac.
	”I got a'scared,” she said, in a cutesy-whimpy tone. “I was all alone, so timid and frail without your big muscles around to help me feel safe and sound.”
	”Oh right,” he replied, not at all entertaining her play, “cuz when I'm scared my first thought is strip butt-naked, scurry through the woods to find you, pouncing you from behind, and fingering you.”
	She sucked in an excited gasp, holding him tightly. Then, reality struck. “Oh... Right. Sarcasm. Got it,” she rested her chin on his shoulder, pushing up on his testicles. “Ooo,” she cooed, “They're so much größer since I last saw them,“ she complimented.
	He adjusted his posture, to at least relax a bit. “It hasn't been that long since you last saw them, I bet,” he remarked. He winced with a reluctant throb as her tongue began licking up the nape of his neck.
	”Well, last time I held them I could fit them in my hand,” she said, and there was truth to her words. “Now, I have to push one up on the other to hold them.”
	”Vo-Vorsichtig!” He warned her, as she demonstrated her statement by pushing his right one up and enclosing them within her cupping hold.
	She shushed him. “I wouldn't hurt mein bruder,” she reassured.
	To his relief she let him free of her gentle hold, stepping in front of him.
	”Komm schon,” she beckoned, her feet splashing lightly upon the shallow pool that drained into the cavern beyond. “It's sorta chilly when you're darting through the trees, naked.” She glanced back, to see him watching her black rump, no doubt catching the bit of white fur that peeked out from between her thighs.
	He rolled his eyes. “You're gonna be miserable on the way back; you didn't bring your change of clothes?”
	”Nope,” she said, trotting up the packed-dirt steps, taking care not to get a splinter on the wooden logs. “I was so frightened I barely had the nerve to rip what I was wearing off.”
	The second level of the spring was much akin to a small jacuzzi. The stone pool that protruded from the side of the rock was roughly bowl-shaped, the spring bubbling up from just below the brim. Near the falls, the rock was uneven and naturally crenelated, which gave the curtains their varying widths.
	Being the more daring of the two, and having a few years of gymnastics still in her legs, she carefully walked around the edge of the bowl to the other side; the width of the edge was just enough for her to go foot-over-foot.
	The other side had enough surface for her to stand on, and she squatted down, dipping her fingers into the water. Her fur puffed from the warmth, and then she flicked her eyes to her brother; he was catching a glance at her mound, for her knees were spread wide.
	She slipped her feet in, sitting on the edge of the pool. The stone wasn't very comfortable to her rump, but she had to get used to the temperature and didn't want to stand.
	Her brother, on the other hand, was standing within the bowl, taking deep breaths as the water was up just past his knees. The bottom of the pool was surprisingly smooth, most likely polished by hands rather than nature.
	Her eyes went half-lidded as she watched him prepare to dip further in. His stiff manhood was still on display, and his balls dangled just below, idly patting against either thigh with his movements.
	Resting a hand on the edge, he started to lower. His pouch touched the water, and he jerked back up a bit with a breath. He lowered again, only to recede once more when his sensitive skin felt the heat.
	”Hh! Hh!” He heard his sister, mimicking his sounds.
	Giving her a glower, he braced himself, and squatted, his testicles fully dipping in, along with the first inch of his stiffness, before he sucked in a breath and lifted back up.
	She giggled. “Can't take the heat?” She asked, watching as water trickled off his scrotum, and steam rose from his pink spire for just a few seconds.
	”Yours is all tucked away,” he remarked. “Plus... they're more sensitive than before,” he added, a bit reluctantly. His sister wouldn't do anything to harm him, but she was keen on working with that kind of information sometimes.
	”Mine's more sensitive, too,” she retorted. “My clit's the most sensitive part and it's pretty much on the outside, I'm just...” She took in a breath, steeling herself. “I'm just not as big of a buh-hay-bee as...” she gritted her teeth, having slipped into the water up to just below her chest. “As you,” she finished with a sharp exhale. The water was so hot, it stung a little.
	Closing his eyes, her brother held his breath, and dipped in at an even speed, holding back a whine as his genitals once again submerged into the heat. Once he got to his chest-level, he let out his breath, panting.
	They both adjusted to the heat, breathing in the steam and feeling their heartbeats in their temples. After a few minutes, they started to fully sit down within the bowl, finding something of a comfortable spot.
	As the water crossed her chest, she held a low moan in her throat. The warmth was so relaxing, and made her petite swells feel as light as when she was completely flat.
	They watched each other for a while, their faces wiggling and rippling from the waves of heat that rose up from the water, along with the steam. They breathed it in, feeling like they were getting deeper, fuller breaths.
	The sinuses in his face began to tickle and expand. Tears welled up and trickled down his cheeks, and his nose ran with very thin snot. The spot just behind his forehead began to tingle, making him wince and feel a bit woozy. His whole body was relaxing, letting go.
	She blinked, becoming more alert when her brother leaned back against the edge, his arms outstretched along the curve of the brim, and lifted his nose. His lips fell open, his eyes closed, and he let out a satisfied, relieving sigh.
	”Did... did you just pee?”
	His eyes snapped open. “Uh...” He looked at his sister, alarmed. He was given a squinted look of disbelief in return.
	”You just... peed... didn't you?” She asked. rhetorically.
	”I... Y-Yeah,” he admitted. “Why?”
	”Eww! I can't believe you! That's so... gross!” She said with utter astonishment.
	”B-But... Wait a minute,” he gathered his wits. “I've peed straight on you before!” He replied. “More than once, even.”
	”Sure, and then I went to the shower to wash it off of me; and that doesn't mean I want to stew in it!” She covered her muzzle like there was an offensive odor in the air. “I can feel it all over me, now.”
	”No you can't,” he said with a dismissive eye-roll. “Sheesh.”
	Her hands splashed the water a little. “You need to learn how to act around a lady, mein kleiner bruder.”
	He folded his arms. “Good thing you're not a lady,” he said with a smirk.
	”Am to.”
	”Are not.”
	”Am to, and I'll prove it,” she said, wading over to his side. “I have to pee, too, but I'm going to do it outside of the water. Move it,” she pushed him aside, as she stood up.
	He watched as she left the pool, shaking off the water that dripped from her fur.
	She took a few steps away, and squatted down, her rump facing him.
	He could just barely see her white mound protruding down from between her thighs, where her hand was spreading her folds. A small stream of water burst from the area he was looking, splattering onto the ground and darkening the stone where it landed.
	”You're not supposed to watch a lady while she pees,” she admonished, without even looking back at him.
	”I've seen you pee before,” he muttered. “Also more than once.”
	She sighed, and stood up, walking back over to the spring.
	”Don't ladies wipe when they're done?” He questioned, as she slipped back into the pool, next to him.
	”Don't need to, when I pee like that,” she replied. “Besides, my pee is cleaner than your pee, anyway, so if I had peed in the water it probably would have made it more pure.”
	He slipped into the bubbling steam, submerging his muzzle in agitation.
	”So, you cumming with cream, yet?” She asked, laying a hand on his groin.
	A croak of bubbles burst up from his mouth, and he sat upright, coughing and sputtering warm water from his nose. “Was hast du gesagt!?” He asked, rhetorically.
	She took in a big breath: “I said!” She shouted. “Are! You! Cum-ming! With! Crea—mhmmhm!?”
	”Bist du verrückt!?” He hissed, clamping his hands over her mouth.
	She rolled her eyes, and mumbled something against his palms. When he released her muzzle, she repeated: “What, you afraid dad'll hear or something?” She teased. “No one's out here.”
	”No one, except the axe-murderer I promised could have you after midnight,” he retorted.
	”Ooooo,” she said with intrigue, and flexed her palm to release her claws. “I can't wait. I'll flay 'im like Krüger!”
	His ears flattened, and he let out a sigh. “I just wanted to relax,” he said aloud.
	”I'll be happy to help with that,” she offered, cupping his balls once again, easily lifting them up within the water.
	His knees twitched beneath. “Not what I meant,” he replied.
	”You sure?” She asked, rubbing her cheek against his. “I don't see how you can relax with this thing. It's so big, and heavy, and warm, and thick, and stiff, and swollen, and throbbing, an—”
	”Okay! Then hilfe!” He caved, lifting himself up to sit on the edge with his knees slightly apart. His cheeks burned, and his heart pounded; each word coiling a twinge of frustration in his loins.
	She chuckled, resting her cheek against his thigh, brushing the other with her fingertips. “You didn't answer meine frage: are you cumming with cream, yet?” Her fingers tip-toed up his thigh, index lightly touching upon his right testicle.
	”Why don't—“  He pressed his knuckles into the stone, to distract his body from letting his penis twitch, “—you find out for yourself?” Against his thigh, the vibrations of her purr was her response.
	She smiled coyly, and coaxed his knees a little wider, so that his thighs did not touch anywhere near the sides of his balls. Lost from their swaddled spot, they drooped and settled upon the stone for a few seconds, before drawing back in.
	She settled her chin upon the rock, watching as his sac cuddled up with itself, the little nuts inside trying to keep warm against their master. The fuzzy fur about them puffed out a little, making them look like tiny peaches clinging to their tree-branch.
	She let out a cooing mew. “They're all huddled up,” she commented, her voice honeyed with adoration.
	”It's k-kinda chilly out of the water,” remarked her brother with a slight drop of annoyance in his tone. “I thought you were going to help?”
	”I will,” she huffed. “I just...” Her blushing muzzle lifted, and drew nearer to his loins; “want to appreciate how much you've grown.”
	He couldn't stop his penis from throbbing at her words. The compliment, if even just her goading him, was what his mind and body wanted to hear at a level deeper than his discomfort could get. He couldn't even break his gaze as he watched his sister's lips seek out his fragile package, to lay upon them a tender kiss. His breath hitched, and his legs tingled pleasantly.
	He shivered when she blew a warm, gentle breath over them, his knees pointing inward as he fought against the urge to close them and bat her away. A warmth crept up his chest when she giggled.
	”They're even cuter all tucked in now than they were before, with how big they are.” She told him. “And I'm glad they're still so soft and fuzzy,” she mumbled, brushing her nose and lips to them.
	His thighs twitched and he squirmed as her muzzle tickled his pouch, and her whiskers tickled the cruxes of his legs. Then he sucked a breath, his eyes flying open and his pupils shrinking to slits.
	She met his startled gaze with a smile, and hummed a giggle. She had taken his fragile package into her muzzle, her teeth carefully resting on the skin of where they were snugly attached to the base of his sheath.
	A tear trickled out of the corner of his eye from the vibrations of her hum. Then, the soft vibrations of her purring further sent tickles of pleasure, ones that he had never really felt before. Even for his sister, this was new ground she was breaking.
	The pressure on his knuckles against the stone and grit was getting painful, so his fingers extended out. He started to lean back, for comfort, staring down at his sister's eyes astride his pink spire.
	Then, he felt a gentle tug at his sac. It was experimental at first, but then there came more deliberate ones; small suckles that coaxed his taught pouch to relax within her warm muzzle.
	She watched with heart-pounding delight as his manhood twitched, and his hips subtly rose up to give her easier vantage. Between suckles of his fuzzy nuts, her rough tongue explored their contour. The tip found spots where the loose skin would wrinkle and fold over itself, and when her tongue was bored from the lack of space she let it settle in the seam between them, the tip tickling just behind them and above us perineum.
	Finally, just as she finished, she got something that made her fur puff out with excitement: a reluctant, bashful mew of pleasure snuck out of her brother's throat. She made a bit of a show of opening her muzzle and relinquishing his pouch, gasping for breath as if she could hardly handle him. When she rose up a bit to look him over, he was red as a beet, and his penis was larger and stiffer than she had ever seen it before.
	”Heilige Scheiße!”
	”Mmh,” she moaned as he whined the expletive, her lips slipping over his tip and sliding down to kiss his sheath in one fell swoop. Her rough tongue ran against the bristles, silkily down the dorsal side of his length, while his soft, budding barbs tickled her palate.
	He stared at her through half-lidded, squinting eyes, knees pulled up from how swiftly she gulped him in. It wasn't the first time she had taken him to the roots; not by any stretch of the imagination. But, this was the first time since puberty had given him length and girth. Before, he only went in about to her soft palate, but now his tip was nudging her uvula aside.
	The deep, husky breaths that tickled over the short, downy pubic fur just above his sheath didn't help at all to keep him showing his enjoyment. Subtle muscles twitched and fluttered excitedly, and kept him from being able to brace for the action that he knew was to come.
	He closed his eyes, letting out an unbidden mew of delight as she applied a gentle suction and swallowed. Feeling the tug and the tightness about his girth was unbearably pleasant; something he abashedly craved to feel ever since noticing his new size.
	Just when he thought it couldn't get better—and worse—she pulled back, applying consistent suction all the way until her lips just brushed over his nubby barbs. Then, she “chomped” him back in, with small swallows and suckles that gained her only a few centimeters at a time.
	She delighted in every mew he let go of, knowing full well he was both delighted and miserable. Delighted that he was being worked exactly how he loved, for she was the one that taught him all his sweet and squirmy spots; but miserable in his reluctance to accept performing these acts with her despite how wonderful it felt in the end.
	With her muzzle practiced on bigger, firmer partners, she quickly made him tender and warm. She adored his whining mews, and bucking hips as he tried to stay within her throat. She let a hand slip beneath and cradle his balls, swaddling them within her palm and giving them gentle, encouraging squeezes.
	His pitch whined higher, and a special ratcheting cadence was added. One that signaled the approaching crest of his pleasure. He leaned back, his hands clutching the back of his sister's head, pushing her down.
	She let out puff of air through her nose as her throat was filled with his throbbing manhood. But, this wasn't how she wanted him, and she grabbed his wrists with one hand. In his weakened, pleasured state, she managed to overpower him and pull his hands off. With the hand that swaddled his pouch, she used a finger to rub his perineum, and pulled back just enough so that his tip settled on her tongue.
	Then, she sucked as furtively as she did to her mother's breast.
	His climactic mews were music to her ears; the beat of her heart like a drum to match their pace. Then, her eyes went wide and pupils slitted with excitement, as, amidst his dramatic swells along her tongue, something came out.
	It tasted bitter, and salty, but only just so, for it was thin and watery like diluted gelatin. With each throb, and her sucking to match it, a bit more dribbled onto her tongue, mixing with her saliva and slipping off down the side.
	His throes lasted for only a moment or two, before his rump settled back down onto the cold stone, and he panted with exhaustion.
	She whined as he finished, suckling a few more times as she felt his manhood begin to shrink and recede. She tried desperately to keep it in her muzzle, while still not allowing any of his meager seed to spill out. But, she had to let him go, lest she lose it all.
	She slipped back into the water, her fur standing on-end with the sudden change in temperature along her back. She let the dilute semen slide over her tongue, savoring the first taste of her brother.
	She was both proud, and... a little disappointed. She was hoping for more, and for a thicker consistency—she had gotten so used to her father that this was almost making her queasy with how barely it resembled a thick, musky load.
	Still, she accepted it all the same, preciously swallowing it. When she finished licking her muzzle, she crawled back out of the water enough to touch her lips to his pouch, and give his hard-worked balls an appreciative kiss. Then, seeing as he was still recovering, she hopped out of the water.
	”Brr, it's really cold up here,” she remarked. “Why didn't you tell me?” She said coyly to her drowsing brother, slipping her fingertips under his broadening shoulders to help him sit up. She coaxed him forward, sliding beside him, and managed to get him to slide back into the warm water.
	He let out a pleasant sigh.
	She did likewise, sinking back into the pool and licking her palate. She saw his eyes lidding, his whiskers drooping, and his ears hanging forward. ”Here,” she cooed, taking him by the chin and guiding his cheek to rest against her developing bosom. “Now, you can relax.”
	A splash of water hit his face, and he gasped with a start. His eyes flung open, only to shut quickly when the water threatened to drip onto them. He rubbed the dripping water away and flicked open an eye to see his sister yawning. “What happened to me being able to relax?” He growled.
	She finished her yawn in an expression of agitation. “You were sleeping, for quite a while,” she said, her voice equally annoyed. “I wanted to relax, too, but I had to keep your head above the water, so I just dozed off-and-on.”
	When she stood up, his eyes were directly level with her mound, the excess water dripping and trickling down her thighs for a second. Blushing, he looked up.
	”If we stay in any longer, we'll grow gills,” she added, stepping out and shaking off a bit, spraying her brother with droplets of water in passive disdain.
	He blocked the droplets with his arm, and looked up at the sky. It was still blue, but the area around them was dark as if in dusk. It was an illusory effect of being on the eastern side of the mountain.
	He moved; or, he tried to anyway. His leg had fallen asleep, and he whined as pins and needles pricked up and down.
	”It's not that cold,” she said, a little impatiently. She was usually grumpy when she was sleepy, but couldn't get to sleep for one reason or another.
	”My leg hurts,” he said through a hiss, just managing to turn about. “It fell asleep, bad.”
	She closed her eyes, feeling a little guilty at her terseness, and squatted down, extending a helping hand. She was still warm enough to where wisps of heated air drifted from her yellow fingertips.
	He crawled out onto the stone, and huffed when she sat upon his stomach. He let out groans of discomfort when he felt her hands on his leg, but they soon turned to mumbles of relief as she massaged the prickling blood in his veins away.
	While she had him pinned she couldn't help a few quick rolls of his hefty balls in her palm.
	His recently-massaged leg bucked, and he rolled to get her off.
	She made to stand up, but hovered her rump over his head as he started to sit up. He nose collided with her loins, and he let out a mutter of displeasure. Giggling, she fully stood, and made her way down the steps.
	When he arrived back at the base level, getting a last blast of warm air as he passed the falls, he saw his sister standing with his towel wrapped about her.
	”Thanks for letting me use your towel,” she said, with an innocent grin. “I forgot to bring mine.” When she saw him hold himself and shiver, her grin and whiskers drooped. “Sorry,” she said, walking over and unwrapping the towel. She flicked it a few times, and draped it over him.
	”Won't do much,” he said, his voice shaking, playing up the cold act as much as he could.
	”Doesn't need to,” she replied, and pinched her nose. “You stink'g ah' guil'd'ripping.”
	His nose wrinkled, and he dropped the shivery act. “Fine, I guess it helps a little,” he admitted. “I'll start the fire when we get back, and we can dry off that way.”
	”Oh yeah, I'm starving,” she said, grabbing his clothes and starting to walk. “I like it out here,” she began, as they made their way back to camp, “but I wish there was a schnitzelhaus nearby, or something. Can't stand the camping food.”
	They got back to the site in about half the time, eager to warm up and eat. Though it was summer, the higher elevation made it a little cooler, especially at this time.
	”I'll pack your stinky clothes,” she offered, heading toward the tent.
	”Danke,” he replied, and went toward the logs that were a few feet from the brim of the site. The holder was maintained by the owners of the land, just like everything else. They put fine logs and pieces of tinder for campers to use, and took away any old or maggot-ridden ones.
	He selected them two at a time, for they were small and light enough for him to carry in just his hands. It also added to his sense of manhood, that he had hands big enough to heft them and muscles strong enough to carry them.
	His sister had spent some time within the tent while he carried a first set over, and then emerged. She silently took on the task of cleaning off and carrying over a couple of the small wooden stools within the pavilion. She didn't much like having to deal with the cobwebs, but there weren't many.
	He began setting the logs within the metal firepit. This was his first time setting it up without his father around. He had done so several times, so he had some confidence. But, the little boy within him was still nervous and intimidated. He whispered dreadful imagines of causing a wildfire or accidentally catching his sister ablaze.
	He looked to her while arranging the logs.
	She sat on her stool. Damp, and still in the buff, she had her arms folded and waited impatiently for her brother to provide the heat. If this were a stove or oven, it would be her domain, but as it was she was barely familiar with the grill, so this was completely alien to her. Though she knew the arrangement had a purpose, she hoped he'd just get on with it...
	”Matches?” He asked.
	”You have them,” she said, glancing toward the pack.
	With a stiff grunt, he stood, and stepped over to his pack. He plucked out the matches, which were in the top compartment. Then, he rummaged in the main body for their dinner, as well as the skewers. Retrieving these, he went back to the firepit, and handed the skewers to his sister. The package of their dinner was set on his stool.
	Dropping to one knee, he nervously pushed the matchbox up to retrieve the match. He didn't like matches, for they were very close to his fingers. He preferred the long-necked lighters, but his dad insisted he learn to use matches.
	He held the match carefully, and swiped it against the phosphorous strip. But, nothing happened, for it was a hesitant and weak swipe. Taking a breath, he struck again more firmly. It did light this time, but it also slipped out of his hand, falling into the bed of the log-cabin fire he had made, where it promptly snuffed.
	He opened the matchbox again, not wanting to look at the expression on his sister's face. Plucking out another match, he quickly struck it, and watched as it lit with a flaring hiss.
	He smelled the burning for half a second, before holding the match to the kindling in the middle of the logs. For a few tense seconds, nothing happened. Then, when he heard a single crackle, and saw the thinnest line of smoke, he flinched and his hand snapped back to his chest, letting the match lie where it dropped.
	Still avoiding catching his sister, even in his periphery, he leaned over the pit with his hands cupping around his muzzle. He blew gently, and to his relief he heard more crackling and snapping. The smoke then billowed up from the kindling, with a few tongues of flame licking about in search of more timber.
	They found it a moment later, and the bottom of the cabin began to light.
	He stayed by the fire a moment, using a small wooden stick to jostle the embers and encourage them to wake up more. Soon, the fire was healthy, standing up and dancing about.
	She coughed a bit, fanning her face as the smoke drifted straight toward her. She picked up her stool, moving four hours around the pit before settling. A moment later, the smoke started to meander in her direction again.
	”Smoke follows beauty,” her brother remarked, as she once again picked up and moved away from it.
	”It's your fire,” she replied. “You trained it to do this.”
	He chuckled, walking to his stool. “You can't train fire, schwester.” As he said this, he opened the zip-seal on their dinner. Even from where she sat, he could hear her stomach grumble. “Sure you want camping food?” He muttered, teasingly.
	”Ja,” she responded. “I love wieners; they're not really camping food.”
	He plucked a couple out of the pack. They had thawed, and were rather floppy and wiggly. He stuck them on the tines of the skewers, and walked one to his sister.
	They scooted closer to the fire, holding their wieners over the flames. The warmth wasn't quite as pleasant as the permeating heat of the hot springs, and left their backs yearning for a turn, but it did do well to start drying their fur.
	She giggled, pushing hers closer to his. “Mein wiener ist größer ais deins,” she teased. The comment earned her an unamused glance.
	”I figured I'd be nice, since you were hungry,” he replied.
	She smiled at him, knowing he caught her crude joke, and flipped hers over.
	The fire swayed with the gentle gusts of the wind, crackling happily as it tasted the wieners and left behind black tinges in its many tongues' wakes. The birds began to flutter and chatter about, coming home from a day of foraging.
	”Ah!” She squealed, when she heard a buzz, hopping up and dashing away.
	He lazily glanced up. “What?” He asked, and then heard it, too. “It's just a bee,” he chuckled.
	She let out an agitated mew. “You can't have the wiener,” she growled at the floating bug. “Das est meins!”
	”He's not after your wiener,” her brother told her. “Probably after the flowery shampoo you use in your fur. Come back to the fire, he won't bother you if you're close to the heat and smoke.”
	She cautiously made her way back to the fire, and scooted her stool closer. Despite getting more of the smoke, she tolerated it if it meant the pest would go away. “Stupid bee. I'm not a flower.”
	”Far from it,” he commented.
	She let out a scoff, and used the tines of her skewer that poked through her wiener to stab at his.
	”Hey, stop poking my wiener,” he grumbled.
	”You be careful, or I might just be practicing,” she said, ominously.
	When their first wieners were cooked to their liking, his getting a little more black for he liked the charred taste, they began to eat them plain, having not brought bread or condiments.
	He ate his from the skewer, beginning on one end until he made it down to the middle, then starting on the other, and finally biting the stabbed piece off.
	She had pulled hers from the tines, holding it in her fingers. She wrapped her lips about it, and sucked on it a little. She pushed it further and further in, sucking on it more and more, opening her lips to lick around it. She pulled it out from her lips, and began licking over one end, and tilted her head to lick down the side.
	As she tilted her head, she caught her brother's gaze. She also caught what was happening in his lap. She smirked behind the meat, but then changed it to a look of disgust when she lowered it a bit.
	”Pervert,” she admonished.
	He hid his blush with a growl of agitation. “Thought mom and dad taught you not to play with your food,” he muttered.
	”I'm not,” she insisted. “This is how mom and dad taught me eat wieners.”
	”You're super weird,” he stated, pulling another from the pack and stabbing it onto his skewer.
	”And you're still a pervert,” she replied, opening her lips to suck the wiener back into her muzzle, letting out a satisfied hum of delight that was very loosely disguised as a comment on how good the taste was.
	When she pulled back, only the little bit that she held in her hand was still there, the rest having been taken by her teeth. Her brother shifted uncomfortably, and she smirked as she tried to chew the rest of the meat, but she had a little bit of trouble.
	He shook his head as she patted her chest, trying to swallow it down, hoping he wouldn't have to perform the Heimlich Maneuver.
	They chowed through the whole pack of wieners, since it was all they had and since they weren't keen on leaving it out much longer in the ambient temperature. By the time they were done, the sky was tinged with peach and they were all but in shadow.
	He went back to his pack, to put away the matches, and the packaging for their food to throw away later.
	A dull but clear flicker of light caught her eye as her brother padded back over to his stool. It took only a second for her to recognize what it was, as he brought his hands to his muzzle. As if to affirm her thoughts, the melodic hum spilled out from between the tiny vents.
	He had picked up the harmonica last summer. He often played it before he went to sleep, or when he wanted to put off homework, practicing for an hour or two a day, more or less.
	She couldn't stand it at first. But, that was because he wasn't really doing anything with it but making dissonant notes as he experimented and learned the finger positions. By Christmas, he had gotten used to it enough to play a few carols; mostly Jingle Bells.
	She closed her eyes as his low, slow notes played a bluesy cadence. It fit the atmosphere well enough, and almost convinced her she was in a western-style movie.
	He paused when he heard his sister yawning.
	”Bored?” He asked.
	She shook her head. “Just a little sleepy.” She held onto the edge of the seat behind her, and spread her knees to position her feet in a way that supported the particular stretch she needed after sitting hunched on the stool. She spied a peek between her brother's legs, but he must not have noticed her alluring posture, for in the dim light she saw he was still sheathed. “I think I'm gonna go get ready for bed, maybe even lie down. You gonna stay out longer?”
	He shrugged. “Guess so,” he answered. “Let the fire die down a bit, then smother it.”
	”Okay.” She stood, stretching again. “Have fun.” She bid, and sauntered to the tent. After unzipping it, crawling inside, and zipping it back up, she held her breath in a pause. When the harmonica started again, she reached for her backpack, unzipped it, and pulled out a small plastic bag.
	His slow, lazy, and somber notes began to quell the fire. The orange tongues poked up less, and the embers that once fluttered freely were finding it hard to escape.
	The sky had turned pinkish-orange since they had eaten, and now it quickly faded, just like the flames, to a smoky-blue. The crickets began their reedy chatter, mixing with the harmonica like they were having a conversation amongst background-music.
	The harmonica dropped from his lips, and he took in an even breath. His lungs were tingly, which was often felt after around a half-hour of playing, having to control and focus on the speed, depth, and pattern with which he breathed in, to hit the right tones on his instrument.
	He stood, his back popping a few times. Stretching, much like his sister had, he walked back to the pack and put away his instrument.
	There were a few small, rusted paint-cans near the logs. They were filled with dirt, gathered from parts of the trail or wherever it was most convenient. Two were picked up.
	The coals and ashes sizzled grumpily as they were smothered by the dirt. The stick was used longways to tamp it down some, mixing the dirt in and cutting off most of the oxygen, enough to make it quickly suffocate within an hour or so.
	His back was still just a little damp, but otherwise he was dry. He still would not put anything on, though. He didn't care for clothes, especially on a night like this. They were only for when they were needed. Part of it was laziness, and another part of it was that they would likely be taken off of him sometime during the day, anyway.
	He should have better expected what would happen to him once he unzipped the door and crawled just into the tent. It wasn't that he didn't expect anything at all—his sister was rather predictable.
	It was not the destination that caught him off-guard, but rather the journey.
	The strong smell caught his nose right away, and then her hand covered his muzzle. He sniffed in out of reflex, and it went right up his nose, forming a cloud within his brain.
	His arms wobbled for a moment, and then the ground pitched beneath him. He winced, his forehead feeling tickly and tingly. His body went warm, and little sparkles of colors danced in his eyes. His heart hastened, and he felt warm and sensitive in his loins.
	He had only fits of awareness. He was rolling around, nuzzling the sleeping bag, purring and mewing. His arms were above his head, which was swimming and sloshing dizzily. There was a weight on his stomach, and he sighed peacefully.
	She grinned mischievously, as he came down from the effects of the catnip. It was starting to make her feel giddy again, too. But, she had used it while her brother played his music, and in the half-hour of immunity, he had entered—she had timed it all perfectly.
	The hard part was not giving away that she had dosed herself. It was almost unbearable to hold back the urges to smother herself in the minced leaves, and croon and purr loud enough for him to hear.
	She licked his face, stirring him from his intoxication. Then, a few gentle slaps snapped him out of his reverie.
	He tried to twist about, and get his bearings, but his flexibility was limited. He saw at the apex of the tent, she had hung the lantern-light. It dangled down, emitting a soft, blue-white glow; enough to see by, but shadows were vague, and somewhat distressing.
	His wrists were cuffed. He felt them with his fingers. Fuzzy, soft, and probably colored with pink, purple, and white strands of fabric. His sister's favorite pair.
	He sighed around the gag that pushed down his muzzle, his tongue able to feel the shape of the dildo she had slipped down his throat. Thankfully she had attached a modest one, just to quiet him up.
	”Comfy?” She asked, smiling at him. She was leisurely leaning back, her vulva and modest chest presented to him, rump resting on his navel. The light sluiced within her left eye, catching it and making it glow with a particular, almost sinister, gleam. It dimmed as she shifted, sitting upright more. “Erregt?” She encircled him in her fingers, and gave him a soft squeeze.
	He winced, but his throb betrayed him. The catnip betrayed him. Her question was rhetorical, but she liked it when his body went against his reservations.
	He wasn't given more than a moment before she managed to twist about on him, so that she faced his feet. Her tail flicked at his face, keeping him pestered and distracted.
	She leaned to the left, and picked something up.
	There was a snap, and then he felt a slipperiness on his girth when her palm and fingers slid down it in a snug hold. The light, wet crackles of the lube as she rubbed it over him were but whispers of her impending act.
	In just a few moments, she had him well-oiled. At the springs, it had been his turn. She was playful and coy. But now, it was her turn, and she was getting down to business.
	She raised up on him, and reached down to hold his pecker steady. She had already prepared its destination, while the 'nip was working its way through his system. She glanced back, and gave him a wink, before slowly sliding down on him.
	His knees pressed together, and his stomach tensed. He tried not to make a noise, but once the barbs of his shaft were pushed through the snaring ring of her rectum, he let out a whine that hinted at its pleasantness.
	She matched him with a soft moan. He was nowhere near as big as daddy, and just like to her throat the barbs were more tickly than satisfying, but this was far from the first time she had made her brother's tool work for her.
	Soon enough, her star nestled against his sheath. She did a small wriggle-shimmy, clenching and relaxing several times. She giggled as he let slip squeaky grunts and reluctant hums.
	She readied her posture, and rose up. The lubricant squished as it smoothed the activity, until her tight muscle was just behind his head, his barbs pushed against their grain by the firm ring. She gave a few squeezes, feeling her brother tense and squirm between her straddling legs, before sinking back down.
	If his barbs had been like her father's, she probably would have been able to clench from head to sheath as she did for him. But her brother's little, rubbery ticklers kept that from happening. She had to fight off the urge to giggle in both directions, as she began to ride him properly.
	The lubrication added soft, wet thumps with every seat she took upon her brother's manhood. Her rectum fluttered when she changed direction while he was deep inside, where the tickling passed a sensitive spot twice over.
	His legs shifted with each descent into her rump, thighs bracing for the gentle impact and constricting clench. He turned his head, unable to keep from letting out the muffled hums of pleasure as his manhood throbbed to resist her tightening hold.
	After several minutes of riding, she settled on him.
	He panted, warm and bubbling with pleasure. He groaned with impatience, and she squeezed him again.
	”Just... Just a min,” she sighed, tired from both the activity, as well as the pleasure that built up in her. Daddy would have had her squirting by now, with the back wall of her rump stinging and raw. She wasn't intending to finish this way, anyway; that her brother lasted long enough, and that his tool did not scratch her that well, was actually a nice thing for her intentions.
	He watched as she reached to where the lube had been, and grabbed something else. It clattered a little against itself, not loudly but enough that he could tell it was another toy. It was confirmed when she tested it, turning it on. The vibrating buzz was clear in the open air.
	It silenced, and then she set it down.
	His breathing began to steady, until her hand cupped his balls. As she held his soft, fragile sac, he held his breath. Her fingers slipped behind them, and she adjusted her sitting posture. He felt dampness against the top side of his left nut, as she gently pressed it against her.
	There was a soft rustle of flesh, and he let out a surprised squeak.
	”Shh,” she shushed, and took the other nut in her fingers. Spreading her folds, she used feeling more than sight to guide his other ball to her vulva, and slowly push him between her lips. “There...” She patted her mound, with his testicles secure within her vestibule. “Cozy?”
	”Mm-m-m...” He let out a nervous hum.
	”Relax,” she cooed, retrieving the bullet-vibrator. “I'm not gonna hurt them. I just want to mark them.”
	He flinched when the vibrations turned on again, tension winding as she did things he couldn't see. He felt the subtle vibrations, but just barely.
	”Oooooh,” she moaned, touching the buzzing bullet to her maturing clitoris. It was even more sensitive than ever before, since her chest had gotten soft and plush. She couldn't keep the vibrator against it for more than a few seconds at a time, before she had to back off.
	He curled his toes each time she let out a similar moan, once every moment. Her vestibule quivered around his sac, as if trying to roll them like Baoding balls—but, thankfully, not succeeding in twisting them.
	Could that even happen!?
	”Mmmmm-Buh-ru-der, Ich komme!”
	His eyes snapped shut at her announcement, and even as she let him know he could feel the tugs in his scrotum. Her petals fluttered around him, pulling at his pouch just enough for him to feel the twinge in his perineum.
	It felt good. Despite them being one atop the other, despite his downy fur and skin dampening with her climactic nectar, and despite his whole body clenching to avoid it; his manhood throbbed, eager to once again perform its new talent.
	She calmed, panting. The vibrator was still buzzing, clasped against her navel. She turned it off, and for a few moments she rested. But she could feel, tucked within her rump, her brother's need.
	”First, it was my mouth,” she said, leaning over and retrieving the lube once again. “Now, mein arsch.”
	He heard the snap again, and his eyes flicked open. He almost forgot where he was. But, he was quickly reminded by a squeeze of her muscles as she adjusted her seating a little. His breath hitched when he felt something press against his inner-thigh, and the snap of the lid. There was a soft fump as the small bottle was dropped onto her sleeping bag.
	The feeling against his inner-thigh crept up, toward his groin. He bit down on the dildo in his muzzle, and winced when he felt the idle bead settle against his own pucker.
	”You need to relax, bruder,” she insisted, using a finger to rub his perineum. Though she heard him let out reluctant grunts, when she pressed the bullet against his sphincter again, it yielded.
	She had caught him with a few boys. She knew that this was well within his limits. Any protest or signs of discomfort were a rouse—or, if not, it didn't matter. He would need to get used to it sooner or later.
	The small buzzer popped in with a soft squish, and her brother's hips bucked. She let out a happy squeak as his penis pushed up into her rear a little more, the barbs tickling again. She shimmied on him. “Stay still, I need a second,” she told him.
	He huffed, but complied. He could feel his heartbeat in his loins, his blood trying to get into his penis, having trouble passing through her tight ring. Some of the lube was now dripping into his sheath. In the light, he could just make out the puffy, whitish-pink skin that peeked out around his girth.
	Then, in the lull of his gazing and waiting, he suddenly went numb from his navel down. It lasted for just a second, before a throb of pleasure shot through his penis and down his tail. A moan escaped him, unbidden; restrained only by the gag.
	”Found it!” She announced with a giggle. Then, she counted far too fast for him to use to prepare: “drei-zwei-eins—”
	His hips bucked up, and his head turned to the side. He fought the handcuffs, and he whined and moaned. His eyes saw sparks, and his brain felt like water was being drizzled right over it.
	She grinned excitedly as the vibrator massaged her brother's prostrate, and did her best to not only keep steady on his bucking, but to also fight him and keep him pinned down.
	The ride was intense, but quick. He didn't last long at all. In less than ten seconds, the fur over her spine stood on-end as his muffled caterwaul hit her ears, and his manhood throbbed in her rectum.
	His warm semen spurted forth, tickling and dribbling up deeper into her rump. Right away it started to trickle down, still rather thin and watery. Too quickly, it mixed with the lubrication, until she could only trust the distinct feeling against the crown of his head to be what his spunk felt like.
	She cut the vibrator, and his hips dropped, his penis slipping out of her.
	She clenched her pucker as tightly as she could, and settled down next to him, lying on her stomach. She met his huffs of exhaustion with contented purrs, subtly moving muscles every now and again that let her feel the stickiness inside her.
	When his breaths softened, she lifted up on her arms, and used a hand to pull his chin over. She licked over his muzzle and cheeks, beginning to groom her brother.
	At first he flinched and weakly tried to dissuade her, but she either didn't notice or didn't care. Acquiescing, he rested his head back, and she moved down to groom his neck and chest.
	His purring soon matched hers.
	She licked over his broadening pecks, catching his stubby, boring boy-nipples every now and again. They budded up, in that little way that they could; nothing like hers, though, which could pronounce themselves for proper suckling.
	She groomed him for quite some time, slowly moving down to his navel. It was a relaxing and intimate activity, different but similar to the one they had finished a while ago.
	Her tongue had lots of endurance. Boys often joked that she must eat pussy all day to have a tongue like that. While they weren't necessarily wrong on the eating, it was actually the very activity she was doing now that built up her lingual stamina.
	She neared his groin and, as she half-expected, he started to become agitated. Smirking, she continued on, but he said something against the dildo that gagged him. Thinking it was just him asking her not to, she continued, sliding down a little so that his stiffening shaft rested against her neck, and her tongue started to tug at his sheath.
	Then, he turned his hips away, and murmured again.
	”Hm?” She asked, paying closer attention. “What's wrong?” Her ear twitched while she listened to his murmur, which sounded less like general grunts and more like muffled words. “Say again?” She requested.
	He exhaled through his nose, and then repeated, unable to do much more than change his tone to match the general sound and intonation of what he wanted to say.
	”You hafta pee?” She asked.
	He nodded.
	”Oh, right,” she straightened up on her knees. “Mh, forgot about that part. Really ruins the moment...” She crawled over to her side of the tent, and the sound of a soft punch could be heard as she snatched up a package. “Okay, sit up, let's go.”
	He turned on his side, showing her the cuffs, and rattling them.
	”Sorry bruder,” she told him, “not yet.” She hefted the packet of sanitary wipes in her hand. “Lass uns gehen,” she beckoned.
	Rolling back, with a growl, he sat up, and stood. Because the tent was not very tall, he hunched over. He was guided by her hand on his arm out through the opening of the tent, into the fresh air.
	It was now fully dark, and the sounds of crickets chanting replaced the chorus of bird calls, save for the occasional hoot of an owl.
	In quiet, they walked several steps away from the tent, where they could still see but were on the edge of the campsite. She let the packet of wipes drop, and stood behind her brother. She raised on her tip-toes, for he was slightly taller than her now that he was a man—she missed having been the taller one when she hit first—and rested her chin on his shoulder.
	”Gotta keep it pointed down-range,” she giggled, her hands pointing his stiffy forward. When it was like this, she noticed, it liked to point upward, and even now it was sort of resisting her. She tried to point it further down, afraid that some might still dribble on them toward the end, and he started to hunch over a little.
	Then, she waited.
	And waited.
	And waited.
	And waited.
	And waited...
	”Thought you said you had to go?” She asked.
	He mumbled his response, nodding his head.
	”So... why no go?” She wondered.
	He let out an agitated sigh that had a slight rumble to it.
	”Hmm...” She reached down with her other hand, and cupped his balls. “Guess you're too stiff. Gotta help you relax.” Her hand closed down around his sac, squeezing more firmly than she had up until now.
	He winced, hunching over more.
	She shushed, moving her other hand to point him downward from up above, the heel of her palm resting on his tummy, just above his sheath. “Just distracting,” she reassured, squeezing just a little more firmly. She complemented her squeezing by pushing the heel of her palm against him, starting up high and rubbing down toward his sheath, somewhat over his bladder.
	He let out a few whines, but then she heard the soft sound of urine dampening the ground. She could also feel it rushing out against her palm, as she rested it on his shaft to keep him in check.
	After a moment, the soft trickling turned to a whisper, and the tense feeling along his shaft relaxed. The squeezing about his balls released, and he throbbed, returning to full rigidity.
	”Feel better?” She asked, rhetorically, leaning over to pick up the wipes. She tugged one out, and laid it over her palm. Stepping up to her brother, facing him, she wrapped her hand around his girth. “See? I'm not a mean sister,” she remarked. “I make sure you're clean.”
	He let out a chuff from his nostrils.
	Ignoring the nonverbal comment, she finished rubbing the wipe over his girth, and even gently pulled him further out of his sheath to get her finger deeper in and clean the lube that had found its way down there.
	Fully cleaned, except for purposefully omitting his testicles, she dropped that wipe on the ground and reached for another one. Her brother mumbled something. “Hm?” She asked. She followed his gaze at the wipe that she had discarded on the ground, showing up rather well against the bleakness, despite the dim lighting.
	”They degrade,” she pouted, using the other wipe to clean her rump of the lube and bits of her brother's seed that had made her fur a bit stiff and clumpy. “If they're still here tomorrow I'll clean them up, I promise,” she said, making an x over her heart as she dropped her wipe along with the other. “Okay, now it's spooky; back to the tent,” she ushered, turning him about.
	His legs were still a bit shaky and he a bit tired from his climax. While his full bladder was relieved, his arms were still uncomfortable. The short time outside of the tent was nice, giving him some circulation.
	He was, for better or worse, accustomed to laying on his arms for periods of time. While he would rather she not tie him up, when she inevitably did he preferred being on one of their beds and tied to each post over anything else. That was most comfortable.
	She helped him back into the tent from behind, easing him down to his knees.
	He shuffled along, almost pitifully, until he was inside enough to roll over and lie on his side. A few seconds later, she was snuggling up with him, tummy-to-tummy. Against her, he could feel his manhood, hard and eager. It was always betraying him to his sister, and now that he was becoming a young man it was all the more apparent. It throbbed and twitched between them, enjoying the brush of the downy fur around her mound.
	She indulged his flesh's desires, resting her hands upon his rump and pressing them together. She let out a soft hum, and he a restrained, but pleasured, sigh. “Pressure feels nice, for boys,” she remarked, slipping a hand between them. She parted just enough to be able to push his pink spire straight toward her, and lifted her thigh. She placed him in the crook of her other thigh, the top of his shaft resting along her slit, and settled her raised thigh back down.
	”Tight spaces that squeeze all around,” she clenched her thighs, and felt him tense. “Daddy says he feels most like a man when he's squirting into mommy's womb, with her clamping all around him,” she said, hugging him and kissing his shoulder.
	She let the silence, or rather the sound of crickets, settle over them for a few moments.
	”What about you?” She asked in a whisper. “Have you even gotten to feel that, yet?” A nervous mew was her response. She knew that since he had been squirting, he'd jerked it quite a lot. A few boys spent the night, and she had heard particular sounds coming from his bedroom.
	But, no girls; not since. Unless he was doing it secretly, but she knew what the whimper meant. While his body was a man's, her brother was still a boy in heart. She understood, for she felt it, too. Behind her swelling chest, she felt tugs of sadness that she would leave her small stature behind.
	It already felt different with daddy: not as snug, and easier for him to thrust, even without lube. While she could delightedly accommodate more length, she traded away the feeling of girth stretching her taught at the edges.
	This was being taken from her by her own body. Had she known how much she would miss these feelings, she would have done more to make the most of it. Already many of the feelings were memories that she clung to as strongly as she could.
	But, there were new feelings that came with them. Trade-offs, just like trading girlish tightness for womanly depth. One of them, for which she couldn't quite figure out the thing she had lost for it, was the constant desire to know what it was like to have semen sloshing within her womb.
	”Mommy says it feels warm, and kinda soothing,” she continued, heart pounding. She snuggled closer to him, clamping down as tightly as she could with her thighs. “I was thinking... Since we both shared our first times together... Maybe we could share that first feeling together, too?”
	He throbbed. Several times. Each one stronger and held for longer than the one before. He was starting to get dizzy, his heart pounding; had he not been restrained, his response would have been to pin her and answer her with his seed right away.
	He huffed with distress as she parted form him, his chest and loins suddenly very cold. He watched as she rolled away, grabbing at something else she had on her side of the tent. Rolling back, the little baggy was held in front of his nose.
	”But, why not have a bit of fun, first?” She taunted, shaking the small bag of catnip. “This bag is all mine, for good grades and doing my chores on time,” she said, proudly. “But I'm happy to share...”
	She snapped it open, and the aroma drifted into the air just a few seconds later. She held the bag up against his nose, and she giggled as he closed his eyes and squirmed in reaction. She held it to her nose, taking in a big whiff, and let out a seductive moan.
	Her fingers dipped in, and she sprinkled some of it on his face, and began licking and nibbling him.
	He sniffed and chuffed, trying to catch as much of the scent as he could. When some of it got on her face, he tried vainly to get it on his nose, or maybe even underneath his lip.
	The next thing he knew, everything was dark, and he could distinctly hear his own breathing. As his wits came about, he realized that a sleeping mask and earplugs were added.
	Fear started to bubble in him. She had never deprived him of hearing before, let alone while depriving him of almost everything else. He could only feel, and smell.
	What he smelled was some drifts of catnip. It did not send his sinuses tickling, so he must not have been like this for very long, despite it feeling like hours had passed. That kind of thing was exactly what she was going for, most likely.
	Then, another scent caught his attention: one that did affect him. It was musky, and felt warm, in a way. He knew it right away, the smell of his sister's sex. Since he was able to focus on it so well, he realized that it was distinctly different than from how he had known it to be. It was stronger, and he picked it up more acutely.
	Despite the scent, he didn't sense her anywhere. She wasn't beside him or on top of him. Had... had he already done it? Had he filled her womb with his semen, and was she now happily snoozing on the other side of the tent?
	As the minutes crawled on, he started to get more and more worried. Had she gone? Gotten spooked by something and ran off into the woods? Or maybe this was one of her twisted games, and she had left him in the tent to fend for himself.
	No, that wasn't like her. She could be intense, but she wasn't cruel. Besides, she would have to face her parents if she went too far with her antics—which had happened exactly once before.
	His worry began to creep over him. Maybe it was less about her teasing and more about an accident. Just as he was about to decide to try and break the cuffs, despite how much it would hurt, he felt something drop on his cheek. Even while he was still startled by it, a sudden spray of liquid followed.
	Then, his face was smothered. The warm, damp flesh that touched his muzzle smelled strongly of her. He felt something vibrating beside him, and the pieces started to come together.
	He breathed fully, taking in as much of her afterglow perfume as he could. While he did so, her hand wrapped about his shaft, and her lips pressed against his crown.
	His legs twitched at the tender kisses. It wasn't like her to be this way. Not that he was complaining, he was actually enjoying it. Maybe it was all the pheromones and teasing, but if this was how his sister was going to act, then he might actually want to sleep with her. At least, every once in a blue moon.
	He started to make sense of what was going on. She must have been hovering right above him, doing the splits or in a squat, with the bullet against her clit. She was definitely excited, with how much she squirted on his cheek. She was likely priming herself, getting herself nice and wet so she could stand a chance at handling his size.
	He throbbed against her kisses, which soon turned to licks. Her bristles went against his barbs, and pleasure snapped along his loins like firecrackers.
	She continued to brush over his crown and barbs, making him huff and shiver with anticipation. He nuzzled her mound, gathering more of her blossoming dew upon his cheekfur, as if intent on making it a permanent scent.
	Her licks went on for several minutes, and, while they were pleasant enough, he desired the next sensation. He throbbed and pushed with his hips, trying to convey those desires to his sister.
	She paused, and for a second his heart pounded with excitement. But, then, all that excitement slowly dissipated into disappointment, when she continued to merely lick.
	He tried once again, to hint to her to do something else. Take him into her muzzle. Suckle him. Rub her sex against his. Straddle him, mount him, and take him as she claimed she wanted to.
	He imagined the feeling, that he was so reluctant to experience. It was dissonant to his mind; how he so much wanted to relieve his masculinity into a girl—any girl he knew, really—there was an odd and creeping dread that came with it. Dread that she wouldn't like it, that she would call it gross and never want to talk to him again.
	Though he knew his sister wouldn't do this, he was always reluctant toward her because of her antics; pleasure always came with a price.
	Now, as his mind cleared from his arousal and from acclimating to the scent of her womanhood, he came to realize what the price for this was.
	He whined and mewed against the dildo in his aching jaw. He wanted so desperately for release—it didn't matter that it wasn't in her womb! He only wanted release, and she wasn't doing enough. He wished his hands were free, so he could tend to himself, but as it was he was reliant on her, for she had deprived him of relying on even his other senses for aide.
	He begged with his body. Shaking and trembling, whimpering and moaning. Surely she could hear, and see, and feel, and smell, and taste his desire—his need. He was so close, she could merely wrap her lips about his head and he would be happy enough to coat her tongue and gums again.
	But no, she did the worst thing he could imagine.
	She stopped entirely.
	His body was like a bottle of soda. He was all shaken up, bloated and tense with pleasure sealed tightly within him. If only the cap were twisted just a little, it could be released and he could be at ease.
	But it didn't happen.
	The seal remained, and the bottle was placed at the back of the fridge, behind a week's-worth of leftovers.
	He was rolled to his side. The vibrating next to him stopped. The cuffs about his wrists were undone, but his arms were too numb and weak to do anything, now.
	He remained docile as she made sure his arms had circulation. Intense, but not cruel. When they had ample time to regain their feeling, she bound him again, and pressed against him, making him the little spoon.
	He tried to ignore her. Tried to not think about how his hands were forced to press against her mound, and how her hands cupped him. He wanted a pillow, for he felt exhausted. She rubbed his belly, and he felt her throat vibrate as she said something, but her words fell on plugged ears.
	He was sleepy. So wracked with pleasure and excitement, it all converted into sand within his muscles. Her gentle strokes were soothing, despite those same hands mercilessly taunting him so, and he found the darkness over his eyes easy to succumb to.
	After a while, she slipped away, and he was left cold once again. He shivered, missing her presence. Her hand touched his shoulder, and she roughly turned him onto his back. He grunted against the dildo.
	He had little time to come to terms with lying on his back once again before her mound was smothering his nose. He could feel the petals on either side, dew dribbling down the bridge of his snout. He could only breathe from within her petals, taking the full brunt of her perfume.
	His manhood, which had gone soft, was roused and engorged once again. The stiffening came with a bit of discomfort; a pang of uneasy tenderness, that was not pain but akin to feeling sore.
	He was then able to get a breath of fresh air as she lifted, moving to lie upon him once again. Despite being unable to see, he stared down at her, imagining it all. Her heels up by his ears, her tail lazily twitching beside her leg. Her rump covered in black fur, with tears of yellow here and there. Not least of all, below the tight little star in which he had relieved his semen—how long ago he could not imagine—was her womanhood.
	Pink and fair, it was puffy and pouted from her own arousal. She had squirted on him, so no doubt she had peaked twice at least, and he knew what that looked like from experience. Though, it was based off of her younger, more petite, lips.
	He knew her from vulva to cervix. He had seen that part of her several times; once, of his own gross fascination while she slept. The first time, as she had referred to earlier.
	One of the only times he was genuinely eager to mate with her.
	He was torn from his reverie when he felt a familiar tap at his sphincter. He was hit with déjà vu, which only further disoriented him.
	Was this even the day that they had gone to the springs? It felt like both hours, and minutes, ago.
	The vibrator excited him, though. Whether it was a dream or not, what he remembered of it was bliss. Direct and unrelenting stimulus to his prostate. He would erupt in seconds, if it even took that long. He was so ready, the mere feeling of that little bullet passing through his pucker would likely set forth the dominoes.
	But, to his utter distress, it receded. Then, it came back. He felt relief and excitement again, like it was an artifact that caste a spell upon him. So fickle were his feelings, that it could leave and return several times over and he would welcome it back without hesitation, forgetting the anxiety it had left him with time and time again.
	His pucker clenched and relaxed in anticipation, as if priming itself to allow passage at any moment. The bead would press against him, just enough to make him feel as though it might finally accept his invitation; only to then reconsider.
	He went limp with exhaustion again.
	His mind was reeling. His heart had dropped to between his thighs, ready to burst, and terrified to at the same time. His throat was dry, having been panting for so long. The mask was warm and damp from the tears that had been trickling from his eyes.
	Intense... but... not... cruel...
	His arms ached, now. They kept trying to go back into the position behind his back, where they had gotten used to being. She had to force them to move, to shake and keep what little blood was not in his girth flowing.
	He was rolled onto his back once again. He dreaded it. He knew what was to come—only pleasure, without release. She kissed again, and the vibrator returned, taunting his pucker.
	When he got used to this, the vibrator moved to his testicles. It laid upon one, buzzing and massaging it pleasantly—or it would have been pleasant under other circumstances. Now, it as nearly torture. He could practically feel the sperm within stirring; restless, and madly desperate to get out and violate the first thing that looked vaguely like an ovum.
	The bullet settled atop his balls and the base of his shaft. Like everything else, it was just enough to be immensely pleasant and enticing, but just shy of what he needed to make him feel content to let his privates at-ease.
	The vibrations ceased, and he did not even go limp. He was beyond exhaustion, his body now tense and straining. His heart fumbled a beat when he felt her thighs straddle his waist.
	He turned his head, and his scalp tingled from the movement. Amidst the swimming dizziness, he felt the warmth of her womanhood. Her hand pressed his shaft against her, rubbing his head back and forth across her petals and clitoris.
	It was so close. It was his chance.
	He bucked, but her weight receded with the actions, as did her treasure and his goal. When he settled back down, she did likewise, continuing as before. Her nectar began to drench him, marking him as hers just as she had done with his balls.
	It took him several minutes to recover from his outburst, the burning desire for relief motivating him to make a second attempt despite his body's reluctance to move.
	He tried again, more aggressively.
	She coyly rose with him, keeping his masculinity away from her feminine hold.
	He started to settle back down, knowing she would do the same, and thought he might trick her by rising up abruptly once again—but she was able to see through his attempt, and continued to taunt his efforts.
	Once more. He would try one more time. Just once more, and if he did not get what he desired, then he would give up. His sister had gone too far; she had crossed the line into cruelty. He would let his father know, and she would be punished.
	He reached out with his hands, bracing himself, ready to buck as fast and as hard as—
	He froze. His fingers curled, grabbing at the sleeping bag underneath him. He lifted his left hand at the wrist, and his right felt no tug.
	He fought his excited breathing.
	She had forgotten to cuff him back up!
	His heart skipped beats, and his blood tingled as adrenaline struck through his body. He was almost delirious with excitement. This was his chance. She had messed up, and now she was going to pay!
	He burst into action, sitting upright and using his hands to grab her thighs. Her squeal of shock came through his earplugs, as he lifted her up enough to make his ditch-attempt at her.
	So focused on its target, as if having eyes of its own, his manhood hit its mark.
	He twisted, toppling her over and pinning her down with strength anew. He tore away the sleeping mask, and slipped it over her eyes. He pulled out the earplugs, and pushed them into her ears. With only a bit of trouble, he released the dildo gagging his muzzle, and reached down to pull her jaw open and returned it to its owner.
	He growled ferociously over her, and began humping with abandon. His adrenaline and excitement had dulled his pleasure, and he actively tried to suppress it as he pounded his sister, in an attempt to savor this moment of revenge.
	His balls patted against her speared petals. She huffed on the dildo that blocked her throat. Lances of pleasure struck down her body like lightning bolts as her brother took her more roughly than he ever had in the past.
	All that was missing was the gratifying sting of his scraping barbs. Oh, if only he had developed sooner, or a little bit faster, or if they had taken their vacation toward the end of the break.
	He let loose a hiss as his desperation became too much. She had told him he would feel most like a man this way—but right now, he just wanted to feel pleasure.
	She let out a muffled caterwaul when his teeth sank into her neck. The pain went down her spine, and at that same moment his tip popped through her cervix.
	Her womb began to tingle, and she contracted while he throbbed.
	When the first burst of warmth acquainted her with the feeling of her own womb, she went limp as another wave of pleasure spilled down her tummy, to her nipples and chin. She had barely any time to cherish that first introduction, when quickly more and more filled her quivering chamber.
	He struggled to keep focused, to revel in the feel of his semen passing through his urethra. The first time it happened, his body felt so accomplished. He knew, now, that such an achievement was a frivolous one.
	It lacked the complementing constrictions of a woman demanding all of his offering into her sanctum.
	It lacked the gentle seal of her inner hold, that trapped his crown so that it spilled directly into her cup.
	It lacked the exhilarating struggle to keep her pinned down while he claimed her fresh and untouched innocence—or what was left of it, anyway—for his very own.
	This moment lasted far longer than any had before it. Their loins' efforts seemed to never end; even after he had run dry, they continued to desperately convulse against one another.
	At last, he went limp once again. This time, not of distress and exhaustion, but of contented relief.
	She huffed, rolling him off of her. His shrunken manhood slipped out of her, and she quivered at the way it grazed her tender, sensitive skin. She breathed slowly and heavily, light-headed and weary.
	She rummaged around, searching. Looking up, she grabbed at the light dangling above, and hit it to startle it back to brightness. The beam quivered as she struggled to hold it steady, finally spying what she was looking for.
	Snagging it, she scooted to lean against one side of the tent, setting the beam down to point at her. She placed her heels out, spreading her legs. She reached down, tentatively touching her folds. She tapped them a few times, until she could bear to touch them. She spread them as wide as she could.
	The reel was wound, and she placed the camera upon the ground, facing her. Giggling, she depressed the button, and a bright flash captured her very first creampie, courtesy of her willing and enthusiastic bruder.