Chapter 2 – The Return of the Princess

I have a few recurring nightmares. In one of them, my sister comes back, but it’s like we’ve never met before. Suddenly, we are like any other pair of siblings and don’t have much of a reason to keep in touch after we’ve moved out. I will have vivid memories of all the things we used to do, but I will be perfectly aware that I have been hallucinating, daydreaming too hard, and none of it actually happened. I will try to touch her, but she slaps my hand away and gives me a perplexed stare, all as if this alternate version of me she’s seeing, a parallel dimension Charlie that loved the deepest parts of her, one that defiled her body, is one that she hates.
Most of the time, I am struck by profound dismay when I wake up on a workday and realize how many hours there are left before my time is my own.
But with this dream, escaping to drone work isn’t all too bad.

“Okay, so if you want to make a purchase I need you to go to lushfur-dot-com.”
I lean back in my seat and close my eyes. This is my last call of the day, and my brain is pudding. I don’t hear the customer, my words are pure muscle memory. “So, you wanted the Shine-of-my-Life line, right? The ad should be right on the front page.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You don’t see it? Tell me what you see.” I nod along and cross my arms. “I think your problem is that you’re still on Google and didn’t actually enter the address properly. You need to click the link at the top. No, Google is a search engine, you are not actually on our site. Click the link. Okay, do you see the ad? No? What do you see? Still no ad? Are you on your phone, a tablet, or on the computer? Computer? Disappeared? I don’t know what you hit, but it sounds like you’re back on your desktop. You need to reopen your browser. Yes, if Google is your homepage, that’s the same as opening your browser…”
She yappers something shrill that I’m sure the entire room can hear.
“Mam, I apologize, I don’t think I’m qualified to teach you the difference between a search engine and a browser. Is anyone else home that can help you with this? Your grandson is coming this evening? Might it be easier if you had him help you with this? There is no risk in waiting, there is plenty in stock. Alright? If there are still issues, you’re more than welcome to call us again tomorrow. That should be in order. Thank you kindly. Good day to you too.”
I sit breathing for a while, and as I can hear her fumbling with the buttons on her phone, I end the call manually and start shutting down the computer.
Max, the support worker seated beside me, snickers. Being a donkey, any sound that comes from him seems snide. “Old lady got you fired up?” he asks. “You should have just hung up halfway through. It was almost like you asked for it.”
“Shut up, ass,” I say, as I get up. “You don’t just hang up on people.”
“Suit yourself, pussycat.”
I grumble to myself as I pack my things and turn to leave. I’d ask my boss if I could be seated somewhere else, away from Max, if I didn’t know it would make me come off as uncooperative.
As I walk past May’s office, I briefly glance in, meeting her eyes. She’s in a phone call, but swiftly mutes it. “Charlie. Can I see you for a second?”
I stop in my track, standing for a moment, before walking inside, closing the door behind me.
“Yes,” she says, resuming her phone call. “Yes. I wholeheartedly agree. It’s fine, do as you see best, I trust your judgment. Can I call you back? I have a schedule. Yes. Good luck.”
She nods at me as she hangs up, and I sit down.
I’m almost dizzy, blinded by the sharp light from the window. “We can’t keep meeting like this, mam.” I say and fold my hands, smiling.
“How many times do I have to tell you, Mr. King,” she says, looking at me over her square glasses, and I’m reminded how much I appreciate my name. “Just call me May. I don’t run a military regime here.”
She’s a horse with fur sleek as an eel, sharp, almost as if you could cut yourself, caressing her the wrong way. But as with all her brethren, she has cheeks that I can’t help but want to pat. Her clothes are tight fitting. Her pencil skirt reminds me of my grade school teacher, Beth. One who I also had a fair amount of masturbation sessions thinking about.
“I can’t say I would mind having you be my squad leader,” I say, shrugging. “Mrs. Moxie.”
She frowns, crosses her arms, then sends me a crooked smile. “Are you flirting with me, young man?”
I freeze up, realizing too late that it would have sounded exactly like that. “No… No, of course not.” I need to remind myself not to leave my mouth on autopilot.
“As you might recall, I’m long married.” 
“Sorry.” I shake my head, holding my hands up defensively. “What… What was this about?”
“Ah… You’re adorable when you’re flustered.” She reclaims her professional, sturdy frown. “I was looking to get an update on your thoughts regarding your work situation. Last time you mentioned being afraid that you might have to get some sort of help. How are you feeling?”
“I apologize, if my performance has been subpar, mam… May.”
“Let’s get one thing out of the way; your performance is fine. Your customers are fine. No stress. But when you say you aren’t fine, I have to take it seriously.”
I sigh. “I’m just tired. I don’t know that there’s much I can do about it.”
“You’re not just tired. Just tired isn’t said as if you were about to attend a funeral. Have you talked to a doctor? I know there is medicine that has helped a lot of people in your position.”
I think for a long moment, focusing too much on how long I can think before the silence becomes awkward. “I should see a doctor,” I say. Whether that’ll be a white lie, I will decide at a later time. “Just for good measure. It can’t hurt.”
She nods, as if proud. “Good. Please do. Let me know when, and let me know how it goes.”
I take a moment before nodding back. I guess I’ll be doing that, then.
“And,” she says. “When you are working… I want you to tell me at any point during the day, if you think things are getting… out of hand. And we will find solutions as needed.” She winks at me. “Savvy?”
I laugh gently, loosening up. “Thank you, I will keep that in mind.” I lean forward. “In a way, I’m actually happy today. And it might just be a temporary thing, my mood. My sister is coming back today. We’re having dinner at my mother’s.”
“Ah, she has been gone for a year, was it?”
“A year and a month, actually.”
“Well, in that case, I certainly won’t keep you longer. Get out of here.”
Suddenly giddy, I get up and give her a final nod. “Certainly,” I say, turning towards the door. “Good day, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Take care, Charlie.”
The way she says my name sarcastically lathered in honey, sticks with me, and I’m certain it’ll help my way to an orgasm sometime this week. I open the door, turn the corner, and I’m on my way.

I stumble with the code the first time around, and the panel warns me that I only have two tries left. I get it right the second time and take long steps down the hall.
As per usual, I find my mother working the pots and pans in the kitchen. Bryce sits at the table, reading the paper. I heard he took time off from work specifically for the occasion. But I don’t see Dalia around.
Bryce places a finger on the paper, looks up, and grins. “The prodigious son returns,” he says and nods reverently before looking back down to read. He always says that, and it got old immediately.
My mother gives me a brief hug. “Good to see you.”
“Hellos all round,” I say, panting. Smelling my own breath, I realize that she will smell the smoke on me. She will comment. “So. Where is she?”
“She’s in the garden,” mother says. “If you’re going down there, pick some chives for the food.”
I look out through the glass walls, and I see her, far down. The garden is deep and ends in a stream, separating it from another property. She is gently rocking on the hanging bench, beneath the wide beech tree, looking over the water.
“What do you mean ‘if’?” I laugh, pulling the glass door open.
It’s a long way down, and I’ve had dreams like this. Where the grass seems to wind about my ankles, slowing me down. Where my goal seems farther away by each step.
But suddenly I’m ten paces behind her, and she must be lost in thought, as she doesn’t seem to have heard me. I’m glad she hasn’t shaken the habit of doing her hair in twin tails.
“Mercedes Dalia King,” I call as if to a long sought rival and fold my arms behind my back.
The fur on her tail bristles and her ears reach for the sky, turning before she does.
“Oh,” she says, hearing the challenge in my words. “Oh! Full-naming me, are we?” She hops down and walks around the bench dramatically slow. “Charlie. Dalton. King.” She punctuates the words with her steps and stops a few meters off. “The infamous. The lawless. Ye dare show yer face on this sorry end o’ the county.” She spits to the side and crosses her arms. She is wearing a hoodie and a plaid skirt. Not the most intimidating look, but her eyes have me locked in place.
I show teeth, better armed than ever. “Ah heard ye’d be hanging around here, ya mangy runt. Many years ah waited.” I set my feet apart, as if ready to pounce, and poise my palm over an imaginary revolver holster. “The righteous doe. The piss-holy justiciar. Ya killed mah brother.”
She mimics my pose. “Ah did what ah oughta. And it’d be a shame to say ye don’t deserve the same treatment thrice over.”
I growl. “Ye can take that smirk with ya to hell. Draw! If ya dare.”
I limber up my fingers. I can hear the siren. Oo ee oo ee oo. Wah wah wah. I can see the tumbleweed. The dusty town is silent. The women are closing the blinds and the men are cleaning their guns, should the sheriff fall.
I draw.
But the lean athlete I’m facing has her revolver aimed at my heart, as easy as a hawk bats its wings, and I hardly hear the boom as she pulls the trigger. I put a palm to my chest, a rose of blood spreading through my fingers.
And then I’m back in green gardens, a crooked smile aimed at her, hers aimed at me. She is holding two fingers pointed at me, her head askew in a haughty expression. She tosses her tails in the faint wind before we both relax our bodies.
She runs at me and tosses herself into my embrace. My arms sink into her hoodie and I’m forced to turn and spin with her vanishing weight.
“Good to see you,” I say, as she lands, still in my hands.
“Back at you,” she says. She runs a hand through my hair. “You’ve let your hair grow out.”
“You knew that,” I say. I feel just how much I have missed her fingers. “You’ve seen the pictures.”
“Yes, but it’s different…” she says. “You’re different.”
I certainly hope not. I have tried hard not to change. She… I had hoped to look at her and think that nothing had changed at all. But she has changed. Her breasts have grown some. Her eyes that I used to see a profound innocence in, are now… wiser. More cunning. And I have never felt more afraid that I couldn’t get a hold of her.
I wrap my arms around her and pull her in close. She yelps faintly as I squeeze her. I put my nose in her ear. I smell her hair. I run my nose up her cheek. My lips near hers…
And she puts two palms in my chest, pushing, creating a decisive distance between us.
“Um, what?” she asks, with a perplexed frown. “…The fuck are you doing?”
“I…” I say, and my words fall out my brain faster than I can blink. “I was…”
“You were about to kiss me.” The disbelief in her voice is palpable. “Your sister. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
My diaphragm folds onto itself, and I feel as if about to collapse. I imagine that I am schizophrenic, and that I’ve simply repressed it. That I’ve never even seen my mother or sister naked. My father just died of cancer. My sister being overseas was my brain’s metaphor for me being locked up in an asylum.
After an endless moment, her frown loosens up, and she jabs at my chest. “Ha! I’m just messing with you.” She nods over my shoulder. “Seriously though, Bryce is watching. Smooching your sister would be pretty fucking dumb.”
I look back, and sure enough, Bryce is standing behind the glass doors, sipping at a cup of coffee. A guard dog, on watch. “I…” I stutter, rapidly collecting myself as I look at her again. “You fucking asshole.” I grin at her self-satisfied smirk.
“I know, I know,” she says. “Your revenge will be slow and painful. Let’s go inside.”
“Just a second,” I say, looking for the chives. I find them growing in pots a ways off. I go and twist off a handful, before joining Dalia on her way back.
“Miguel should be joining us for dinner,” she says. “I thought I should mention.”
Her matter-of-fact tone has me thinking it’s something she is nervous about. “And Miguel would be… your boyfriend?” I have had some time to get used to the thought. But I hadn’t expected that I would be meeting him so soon.
There’s a moment of awkward silence.
“Yes.”
“Ah… I see.”
“You’re hesitating,” she says. “I recall you specifically asking me to do your friends in high school. I was thinking you wouldn’t mind...”
I shrug. “But even so… You didn’t tell me until last week.”
She takes a swift breath. “In my defense, I needed to be sure there was something to tell. It’s not… serious yet. But he wanted to come to dinner, and…” She puts her hands in her sides. “You know what, I don’t have to defend myself here. I wanted him to come to dinner.”
I put an arm around her, pull her in, and shake my head dismissively. “No, I’m sorry. Of course you don’t have to defend yourself. I’m just… I haven’t been feeling well. A part of me was hoping that we could… spend some time together. Without another boy complicating things.”
 We stop before the glass doors, where Bryce is luckily now engaged in conversation with our mother. Dalia pulls out of my grip and faces me sternly. “You love complicating things,” she says. “In fact, I’ve noticed you getting bored first thing, if you can’t chop something up and put it back together.”
So Miguel is for my entertainment? She’s right, in a way. I’ve long reached the conclusion that my feeling better should involve just learning to be bored.
She drags in air through her teeth and closes her eyes defeated. “Hear me Charlie…” She lowers her voice. “There’s just something about a long, hard horse cock, rearranging your insides… That I need. I promise you that I’ll service your perverted God damn passions, but I can’t be babysitting you.”
Service me, like a charity case? I suppose that’s the lot of people without horse cocks? I straighten my back, prepared to argue like a scholar, if the situation should call for it. “Dalia. I asked for no such thing. I already feel bad about feeling bad, and your pity is the last thing I want. Please excuse me if I need to get used to the thought of… Miguel. After knowing that he could have been screwing you for something like a year, while I’ve had to make do with your old panties and my imagination.”
She slouches down, and I can tell she immediately regrets several life choices. “I’m… I’m sorry. I overreacted. I guess I was prepared for you getting possessive. Like he does. There are few things I like less. And he can be such an ignorant jock. But God, does he make up for it…”
I have to laugh. Of course, I understand her. I had a few weeks a while back where horse cock made up nine tenths of my search history. “So he’s a horse? An attractive one, I take it?”
“Oh definitely. You wouldn’t kick him out of bed. He’s the fastest on the track team.”
“But possessive? How bad is it?”
“Comical at times. Especially considering… that his last relationship with Miss Prom Queen, the doe Patricia. Ended because she uh… caught him dicking me at a party after a… sort of play we did. I’ll… yeah… you’ll probably be seeing the pictures during dinner.”
“Of him dicking you?” I decide I wouldn’t mind seeing that, but that can’t be right.
“No! No. The pictures of the show we put on, leading up to it. It was quite the spectacle.”
“I-...”
I’m interrupted by our mother peeking through the glass doors. “Are you kids going to stand out here chatting all night? I need the chives. And Dalia, I think... Miguel is at the door for you.” She swiftly retracts, clearly not wanting a part in any conflict Dalia might have sparked.
“Well,” I say, going back inside. “Go get him.”

Sitting at the table, all five of us, I take back any ill thought I might have had of Dalia for getting herself a boyfriend. I like to think of myself as straight with a periodical fascination for submission. I know that’s a stretch. At best, I’m bisexual.
Looking at Miguel, sitting next to him, I outright feel like a girl. I feel like a dominating role isn’t really my business. I’ve heard people have crushed on me for my coat and my full tail. Because I’m pretty and charming. But sometimes falling in love means knowing someone can toss you onto a table and own you. And if someone were to harm you, he could do the same to them, no sweat.
Miguel isn’t chunky like a bodybuilder, but lean and agile, looking like he runs cross-country in his sleep. He carries his body with perfect balance, probably a symptom of a confidence nursed by never having to try to be liked. He’s probably younger than me, but there is no way he looks like it. 
“I eat five eggs every morning,” he says. “But I don’t salt the water. The salt makes you sweat more. Couldn’t do that to girls like little Mercy here. That’s also why I shower in ice cold water. No less than fifteen minutes at a time.”
I know for a fact that Dalia doesn’t like getting called by her first name Mercedes, let alone Mercy. She also doesn’t mind the smell of sweat. And who salts the water when boiling eggs? Still, she smiles and nods.
I see what she means. She probably has to shut her brain off half the time with him, just blinking, for fear of saying something that would sink the toy boat sailing around inside his head. Brrrrrrrr.
But damn it, if he looks half as good naked, he could be a nazi, a serial-killer, and an anti-vaxxer, and it wouldn’t much matter for that fickle sensation of feeling small next to him.
“So,” Bryce says, mouth full of food. “How did you two meet?” A question letting on that he has been paying no attention, whatsoever. They are in the same athletics program. 
“You won’t believe it,” Miguel says.
“I…” Dalia cuts in. “I should tell the story.”
“Sure,” Miguel says, noticeably disappointed. “Go ahead.”
“Okay, so…” she says. “It was like an annual send-off thing. We have a party, with some silly traditions. There’s a competition. Usually the cats are acrobats, horses runners, wolves sprinters, so forth, but we have everyone try their hand at everything. And the best one among the girls and the boys have to… ‘marry each other’. There’s this whole theatrical seance, where the two of us had to down a bottle of tequila, then act out a scene of Shakespeare. The three musicians we had on board managed to piece together some stupid lyrics in like half an hour to the tune of ‘Achy Breaky Heart’. It’s… hardly appropriate for the dinner table.”
I have to keep myself from erupting in laughter. It doesn’t take much of an imagination to hear the lyrics: Don’t break her ass. Her pretty little ass. It just can’t fit a fucking horse.
“Anyway, the girls dressed me up in the ugliest pink princess dress. The boys dressed him up as Tarzan. Then we got sent down the aisle. It’s meant to be humiliating, but you know… It’s all in good fun. Afterwards, the party lasted all night… I guess he took the chance to... ask me out.”
Miguel shrugs. “If that’s the way you want to put it.”
I can connect the rest of the dots myself. The two of them went on and “consumated” the marriage, taking the joke a bit too far, to Patricia’s dismay.
After hesitating, Dalia leans over and shows her phone to our mother and Bryce. She goes through the pictures. 
“Ah, I suppose,” Bryce says, not exactly thrilled with the imagery. “That’s romantic. In a way.”
I lean over, to get a glimpse. Dalia in a dress that barely fits her and a paper crown, lifted up by the savage Tarzan, and I am not the least bit disappointed by Miguel without a shirt. One hell of a gamble to trust that he wouldn’t get an erection.
The jealousy is rummaging in my stomach. I’m thinking of every party where Dalia has gotten piss-drunk, probably sucking dicks left and right, where I’ve been sitting, trying to no-hit The Nameless King in Dark Souls III. And it gets me hard. And I’m ashamed, because glancing at Miguel’s chest as he easily breathes, I wouldn’t mind sucking dick with her. I’m a poor little boy, too timid, and I need a horse to teach me how to party.
“Sounds like… one hell of a party,” I manage to say. 
“You betya,” Miguel says and pats me solidly on the back. I almost choke on the potato I’m eating.
As I cough, mother shoots me a snide smile. She takes the phone out of Dalia’s hand and starts swiping. “You really won the contest? I’m so proud of you!”
“Yeah, I probably wouldn’t have if Jane and Jessie, the cheetahs, hadn’t come down with… colds. I also think someone must have bribed the referee in the soccer match. I was clearly offside on the winning goal.”
Miguel bellows a laugh. “He was counting Nicole’s wide ass.” Dalia tosses herself back in her chair, laughing with him.
I’d probably be laughing too, if I knew what “offside” meant.
Bryce seems to scowl at them at the word “ass”.
Oh please. You paid for a bleached asshole and balloon tiddies, you wet fart.
“So,” Bryce says. “Charlie. How is work?”
“Uh.” I’m caught off guard. “Work is…”
Mother cuts in. “Why don’t you explain what it is you do?” She nods towards Miguel.
“Um, yes,” I say. “So you know the webshop Lush Fur?”
“Of course, man,” he says. He tosses his curly bangs. “No better way to keep your hair healthy.”
I wince as I feel my head at odds with my dick. “Well, when you don’t receive your order in time, I’m the one you call and complain to. Then I send an angry email to the shipping department.”
“Ha!” Miguel says. “So you get like company discounts right? So when you want to get the ladies, you can promise them Bottled Honeydew by the box, yes?”
“I mean…” I shrug. “I certainly could do that. I don’t know that just a box of furcare products will do the trick, though.”
He leans in and puts an arm around my back with an unexpectedly familiar shake. “Oh, I imagine with a little practice, that sweet voice of yours will have them falling at your feet. You and I can hit the bars one of these days.”
I shiver. If you want me to score, why don’t you just pull me into the bathroom, and be done with it? 
“Not exactly appropriate,” Bryce says gruffly at Miguel. “To speak so frivolously of lady killing, with your girlfriend at the table, is it?.”
Miguel narrows his eyes, and Dalia speaks up before he has a chance to. “Oh, he’s just kidding. Aren’t you?”
“Sure,” Miguel says. “I’m kidding.”
“I’m…” I say and get up from the table, a bit too suddenly. “I gotta go to the bathroom.”
I realize I might come off as rude, or that they might worry needlessly, but I have an erection that I need to take care of.

Around the time most of the house is looking to turn in, I’m standing on the porch. I watch the sun setting over the hedges. I light a cigarette and place my bodyweight against the wall. I marvel at how I can see faint stars in the creeping darkness. The night sky seems to help me think clearly at times. Things don’t seem so bad. It’s so quiet.
“What’s up, cowboy?”
I jerk and choke on the smoke in my lungs. I stand coughing for embarrassingly long, as Dalia positions herself before me. I regain my posture.
She crosses her arms and shoots me a sly smile. “You know smoking is bad for you, right?”
I blow smoke at her face, making her wince. “You know sex makes babies, right?”
“Ah,” she says and snaps her fingers. “Finally. I was wondering about that. Guess I better stay a virgin. I hate babies.”
I roll my eyes. “Aren’t we something like ten years late for that?”
“Probably,” she says in a monotone. “I couldn’t say. I was too busy having sex to pay attention in math class.” She reaches out and grabs the cigarette out of my hand. She tentatively takes a drag before handing it back to me. She only coughs faintly as she blows the smoke onto my nose.
“She-devil,” I say, unfazed.
“So,” she says. “How’d you like dinner?”
I snort. “You mean how do I like Miguel?”
“Yeah, that too. Was that an erection I could smell across the table?”
I waver my head, letting on that I can’t deny her words. “He’s cute, I suppose. A little… air-headed, if you will.”
She makes a light-hearted sigh. “You get used to it.”
I groan faintly. She’s probably right where she wants to be. But what are brothers for, if not sage guidance? “I’m not sure I like how you turn into an idiot around him. You’re all ‘Sure, the key to big muscles is exactly seven and a half hours of sleep at night’.”
She nods slowly. She moves in and brushes her fingers against my shoulder. “Would you prefer it… if you were the one who pulled the carpet from beneath me? Made me a bumbling moron?”
“I’m not sure,” I laugh. “I like to think I bring out the best parts of you. Your wit. Your kindness…”
“But what if I don’t like my best parts.” She leans forward, and I know she’s going for enticing. “What if I like being baaaad.”
“I think you’re confusing bad with terrible.” She’s terribly good at toying with my feelings.
“What if I’m terrible? Would that ruin your night?”
What if? It certainly would be arousing. I could tell her that much. “Then I suppose… That horse cock would be the most terrible way of being terrible. Can’t help you there.” Can’t get around that one. No amount of acting or sleight of hand would have me measure up to that.
She pushes against me, and suddenly her hand is against my crotch. She narrows her eyes. “Are you… jealous…?”
My breath is caught in my throat. “Yes.”
“Does jealousy still… excite you?” 
“Uh…” I think she can feel my excitement well enough.
She frowns. “God, you’re pathetic.”
“I’m... what?” I have no idea whether she is serious. I feel pathetic, for feeling jealous. My little sister shouldn’t have this power over me. But power… it makes her beautiful, and it makes my legs weak. At her fingers gripping at my shoulder, I’m pushed down the wall, to my knees.
She puts her fingers in my bangs and pushes my head back.
She lifts up her skirt, and the sight gets me giddy. It’s a new pair of panties that I haven’t had my fingers on yet. “Have you missed this pussy? Do you dream of it at night? How long has it been since you shot your petty little load in there?”
I don’t need to think. “One year and thirty-two days.”
“What, you kept count? Loser.” She snorts. “You want to get back in there?”
“Yes, please.”
“Well, you can’t. I have a boyfriend now.”
I close my eyes and cock my head. “But I wannaaaa.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Her palm strikes my cheek, and I lose focus. “You’re like a little girl. I don’t want a girl to fuck me.” I pout and she grins. “Oh, I can make you do anything, can’t I?” As I nod, she reaches back and undoes one pigtail, then the other. “Do you know how they castrate livestock?”
I frown, dumbfounded. “No?”
“They slip a tight rubber band around their balls. Then they suffocate and fall off on their own.“ She sighs happily. “Now. Repeat after me… ‘If you don’t have a horsecock, you’re no better than I girl’.”
I hesitate a moment. “If you... don’t have a horsecock, you’re no better than a girl.”
She stretches out one of the hair bands between her fingers and shoots her hip to the side. “ ‘And girls don’t get to keep their balls‘.”
“And girls… don’t get to keep their balls.” I’m starting to shiver within my clothes.
She kneels down in front of me, and our eyes are level. “ ‘I want to be a pretty little girl, so I can be of use to Princess Dalia.” She undoes my pants and pulls them down, baring my persistent erection.
When she puts it like that… “I want to be a pretty little girl, so I can be of use to Princess Dalia.”
“Good girl,” she says. Suddenly her fingers grip my balls and I hiss. She slips the hair band around them, pulls it out and twists it around a second time. 
My breath is caught in my throat as I suddenly feel my pulse beat fiercely through my scrotum. “Do-... don’t…” She can’t do that. 
“What’s that? Are you saying I can’t do whatever the fuck I want?”
“N-… no!”
She pulls at the hair band, making me choke where I sit. She struggles, but manages to twist it a third time.
I sink down, panting. My body is suddenly searing, every part of me is alert.
She gets up and crosses her arms. “Now I’m going to go get dicked by my fat horse cock. You’re probably jealous of me too.” She smiles. “If you behave, I’ll let you... taste him.”
I nod. I know what she’s talking about. She knows.  
“Go sit in the bathroom next to our room. Play with my dirty underwear. Keep your phone close by. If that band is off when I see you again. Or if your dick has gone limp, from you cumming or being depressed or whatever... I’ll chop off your balls. You got it?”
I keep nodding as she leaves me against the wall.
In spite of the pain. And perhaps because of the suddenness of it all. I don’t think she needs to fear a lack of erection any time soon.

It didn’t take me long to accept my predicament. I sense a vague concern for the safety of my balls, but there is no pain any more, and the strain of my skin seems to keep me on the edge; attentive and burning.  
I’m arms deep in Dalia and Miguel’s laundry, as I lean against the wall, listening to my sister’s advances on her stallion.
“Can you film it tonight?” she asks.
“Damn, you’re frisky. What’s gotten into you?”
“Being home just feels great. And I want to see myself… full of you.”
I realize that it’ll be a crass performance, but at this point she could squeal like a pig and it’d still register as sexual. I’d actually prefer it if something tempered my aggressive erection.
“I can do some videos, sure,” Miguel says.
“Fantaaastic.” She’s wearing her telltale slur; her reason is about to go south. “Here, use my phone. You’ll have something to send to your friends.”
I pull at my balls, wondering how much I dare touch myself.
He snickers. “See, that’s why I like you. You tell the best jokes.”
“Yes.” She reins herself. “Jokes.”
I pull up my phone and set it aside, wondering how she’s going to pull off letting me in on it. I look over the selection of underwear.
“So, where’d your pigtails go?” Miguel asks.
“I’ll redo them. Part of the whole cheerleader thing, yes?”
“Attagirl.”
I hear her changing. A rustle that’s got to mean pompoms. My breath staggers, as I juggle two pairs of panties, one pink with dots, another yellow with bows. I would have kicked her for not sending pictures, if she’s doing cheerleader.
“Have you been smoking?”
“No, that’d be my brother.”
“Gross.”
“I know, right?”
Yeah, talk shit about me, why don’t you? A gross little girl. I finally decide on the yellow pair, and roll against the wall, pulling them on. I feel the fabric against me, tight and frail. I feel female, as I’m supposed to.
“Are you ready?” Dalia asks on an upbeat key.
“You’ve prepared a sequence?”
“You betcha. I’ve been watching those sluts closely. Video it, will you?” She takes in an audible breath.
“One, two, three, four, fuck me silly on the floor!
“Five, six, seven, eight, cum inside, don’t hesitate!”
I hear her stepping over the floor, tossing her arms, lifting her legs.
“One, two, three, four, come and fill your little whore!
“Five, six, seven, eight, make her pregnant, I can’t wait!”
He laughs thunderously. The way his voice resonates in my abdomen, has me gripping at my crotch. “Nice,” he says. I can almost see his grin. “I can’t get you pregnant, though, can I? We’re different species.”
“Uh…” She stops, almost dumbfounded. “I mean, I’m on the pill, but… Whatever.”
I figured she wasn’t going to give the bonehead biology lessons then and there. Just fucking fuck already. I’m suffocating. She’s intentionally dragging out the time. And I’m sitting here, all forgotten.
“I’m so glad I’m dating a real man.” She says. “Some girls go their whole lives without a cock like this.” I know she is licking her lips. The saliva is dripping, and she is about to swallow him up. 
“And some horses never find a tiny kitten that can take a pounding,” he says. “Smile for the camera.”
She makes a kissing sound before moaning against him. Among the laundry, I suddenly notice something. His underwear. 
“Say… stuff,” she says.
“Say what?”
“You’re the jock, and you’re about to send a video to the nerd who’s in love with me.” 
And I’d be the nerd. I lift the underwear to my nose.
“Unf, God,” Miguel grunts. He probably doesn’t need long to consider. He probably bullied an army of nerds in his heyday. “Look at her pretty lips. Did your pussy ass want to kiss them? She’ll never get the taste of horse off them.” I take a deep breath with his underwear against me. And I taste the horse. My nerve endings ignite at the heavy feel, drilling into my nostril. The old and unwashed. His cum.
She gasps. “Oh God, yeah would you fucking look at that. You need to be this tall to ride. I’ll be gargling on his spunk all night. Your pretty princess is a horse fucktoy.” I can’t keep my hands off myself. I use my fingertips, gently brushing myself to the sound of her voice. “Ahhnnn. Deal with it.”
He hesitates. “Easy there…”
“Oh, you love it.”
He groans, and I suppose he does, because the next moment I’m sure he throws her on the bed. 
“Awwww, fuck-uh.“ And that’d be him entering her. My precious Dalia. No one moans like her. She sings, like a dove. ”That’s the spot. Nice and deep.” My hand dives beneath the panties I’m wearing. And I’m careful. I have to be good.
He pants and I imagine the weight he has to move, the distance he needs to push to go hilt deep. “You’re loud tonight. Can’t say I dislike it.” He chuckles to himself. “Give another message to the nerd, will you?” Kudos to him for playing along.
She breathes rapidly. “He’s going to put his baby in me. Maybe if you’re a good faggot girl, I’ll let you be our nanny and raise it for us. And you can clean up my man’s asshole, while he tears me open, giving me more of them. You can sniff his cum out my pussy, while he rams your ass, it’s the only taste you’ll ever get of me.”
“Okay, this is getting weird, I’m turning off the phone.”
No!
“Nooo!” she calls. ”At least let me look at it.” There’s a sound of shuffling about. “Give me the phone. It’s mine.”
“Fine.” After a moment, he continues to slap against her. “You’re not actually sending that to anyone are you?”
“Of course not.”
“Ding!” The sound bounces off the ceramic walls. I almost break my teeth against each other as I realize I forgot to mute my phone.  
“What...?” Miguel says. 
I hold my breath until Dalia cuts in. “Do me on the windowsill next!”
“Uh… Do you on… The neighbors...?”
“What will they do, call the cops?”
Nice diversion.
As they move around the room, surely exercising her flexibility and his muscle, I give the videos she sent me time to download. 
First, her in her red cheerleader getup. I feel a sting that it’s the first time I see it. Either it’s new. Or she’s been holding out on me. Thick as thieves with her man. She touches her stretched leg to her nose, baring her underwear. She jumps, tossing the pompoms.
With the echoes of her moaning and his groaning behind my back, with the blood struggling through my crotch, I smile. The second video has his cock full front and center. A warm, coffee color, it seems to throw a shadow over the poor cheerleader whispering obscenities at it. It weighs on the bangs of her hair, she twirls a pigtail and brushes it against him. She licks it, bottom to tip, and I’m no longer jealous of him; I’m jealous of her. I want it between my fingers. To feel if it’s malleable, giving to my touch. I want to taste just how long it’s been since he showered. How the sweat collects against the veins, running through the creases.
“Anal?” I hear Miguel ask her.
“Help yourself, big boy.”
I touch myself. Careful, oh so careful.
The third video has his hand gripping at her cheek, as he works his cock against the lining of her stomach. She shivers, sucking his thumb. With lidded eyes, it looks like the size of him is making it hard for her to leverage air. He pulls her top over her breasts, and he pinches them with angry hands. As she archs her eyebrows, it looks as if she might tell him to stop. But she reconsiders, because nothing could slow down the freight train. 
“Aren’t you... done soon?” she asks him.
“I’m done when I’m done.”
I flip back and forth between the videos, trying to decide on a favorite moment. When she is in a perfect split, opening the skirt? When I can actually see the weight of his cock on her cheek?
As the boy without his girl sits, cowering, daydreaming, the two lovers near their peak. Miguel seems to start roaring against her neck and she is losing control of her dignified squeals. 
“In the ass.” She’s out of breath. “Please.”
“Say you’re mine.”
“I’m… yours…”
As I know that he’s flooding her, I have to sit back and think of nothing. For a moment, I fear that sitting back paralyzed, hands against the wall, isn’t enough to save me from orgasm.
But I persevere, and silence settles over the house. When my heart’s pounding retreats from my ears, I hear the two of them breathing against each other.
But Dalia gets up.
“What,” Miguel yawns. “No cuddling?”
“I need a shower, please.”
“You’re acting weird. Whatever.”
She exits the room, and seconds later she opens the door to the bathroom, reining anger. Her legs are angled sharply, stout and persistent, her crumbled skirt the only sign of stolen pride, though I can see the aftershocks of an orgasm ripple through her fur. Her tail slashes and there is lightning in her eyes.
And there I sit like a rat, wearing her used underwear. Balls blue in more ways than one. She can’t think much of me.
She steps up and pulls me up by the ear. She hisses through her teeth. “You didn’t mute your fucking phone?”
“S-...”
I don’t get to answer before I’m dragged into the hall. Insistent yet silent. My mind is perfectly numb as the colors of Bryce’s house move passed me. Some nerve on her. What if we were found out? How would she explain me wearing her underwear, throbbing balls, dragged along with a fiery erection. The only conclusion to anyone would be that I’m a dirty fucking pervert.
But then what does the cheerleader getup say about her?
She throws me into the big bathroom. The one with a comfortable wide carpet in the center.
I crawl back onto it, as she steps in, hands in her sides.
She snorts. “A boy tied up like that might last something like thirty minutes. An hour. Without permanent damage.” She nods towards the hairband. “How long has it been?”
“Twenty… twenty-five?”
She kneels in front of me, leans in, and grips at my balls with her nails. I hiss by reflex, but I’m numb, and far too aroused to mind pain. “Do you want it off? Do you want to stay a boy?”
“Yes… Yes please.” I should think it’s time. I know it won’t come cheap. But I want to leap for her; service her.
“But do you deserve it?”
“No,” I say, spreading my legs for her, to be as vulnerable as possible.
“Good,” she says. “You know your place. But you’re my favorite toy. You can impress me.” She gets up and turns around. She lifts her tail and her skirt, then spreads her cheeks.
My jaw drops in awe. Her asshole is panting, pink, weathered. I see the contractions coincide with her breaths. Curtains of cum web her depths and I smell him from where I sit. He has made her filthy. And what are servants for?
“If you clean me. Down to the last drop. I will let you keep your balls.”
I place my hands on her thighs and pull her back. A bit too eagerly, and she lands on my nose, letting all the tastes on without warning. She sits down comfortably and puts in her weight, depriving me air.
As my tongue delves in, I marvel at the space he’s made. I taste him and while there is bitterness, horse cum seems to have a sweetness to it. God, how deep he must have been. When she tightens up, she barely meets around my tongue. I get dizzy, only barely getting to the air I’m snapping for.
She sways, whipping her tail at my face. I lap it up. And I swallow. The vortex in my stomach begs for release.
She lets out a silky, sweet sigh as she tucks on the hairband. “Pathetic.” She slaps at my dick and that’s my limit. I’ve been better than anyone could have hoped.
I cum and I cum, slow, drawn out, heaving spurts. She gasps, affronted, as I can only imagine she has to veer back for the hosing I’m giving her outfit. “FFfffff…” my cry trails into pure primal gurgling and I lay, arching my back, curling my toes. My tail is twisting around my leg, and my fur is on end, a cartoonish static fuzz. I guess the nerd got to have his way with the cheerleader after all.
I blink and gather myself. A velvet sheen is washing through me. Dalia is standing over me, looking down, arms crossed. “What a fucking cuck. Have some god damn self-respect.”
“Oh shush,” I say, heaving for air. ”You love it.”
She smiles. “Seriously though,” she says. “We’re getting that band off.” She frowns, before stepping over to search a drawer.
As my passions settle, the pain in my scrotum steadily gets less and less comfortable.
The next moment, she has a nail clipper dangerously close to my dick. I hold my breath, imagining it’ll be like a bandaid coming off. A sound snap fills the air, and it burns.
I sense that if the endorphins hadn’t been numbing my body, I would have curled up in pain. I feel the blood rush through my searing skin. My muscles contract a last time, and I shoot cum up my stomach. I close my eyes. “That was probably the best orgasm of my life.”
She pokes my nose. “The best orgasm yet. I’ve only just come back, you know.” She crawls up against me and brushes her nose against mine. “And now… We share.”
As our mouths open against each other, I regret I didn’t save what I swallowed for her. But then again, she gets it on the daily; unfair. And I’m sure she isn’t empty at that. 
God, I missed her.