
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2205930.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Original_Work
  Relationship:
      Original_Female_Character/Original_Male_Character
  Character:
      Original_Female_Character(s), Original_Male_Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Lolicon, Lolita, Spit_Kink, Foot_Fetish, Foot_Jobs, Anal_Sex, Anal, anal
      prolapse, Prolapse, Incest, Sibling_Incest, Large_Cock, Temptation,
      Underage_Sex, Twitter, Tsunderes, Sexual_Content, Penis_Size, Size_Kink,
      Inflation, Stomach_Bulging, Loss_of_Virginity, Virginity, Firsts,
      Extremely_Underage, Erotica
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-08-26 Words: 9377
****** #YesAllSisters ******
by theway
Summary
     A little sister is tired of being subjected to the male gaze and the
     objectifying forces of the heteropatriarchy. So she does what every
     horribly-adjusted person would do: mindbreak her brother with her
     youthful “charms”. A smutfic dedicated to Twitter.
Notes
     This work is an oneshot, so it won't receive updates. To receive
     notifications about new works and chapters, you can subscribe to this
     RSS_feed or my_profile.
Another day, another premature awakening to the sounds of crashing, falling,
and high-pitched voices. A most sophisticated lullaby now available at the low,
low price of having a family, plus tax. Call 1-800-PURGATORY in the next five
minutes for a 50% discount on the obstetrician!
Days like these, Peter hated his sister the most. No misunderstandings should
be had: she was a royal pain in the arse every other day, too. But on a
Saturday morning, after a long week of academic torture, headaches, and even
more premature awakenings, her contributions were as unwelcome as lemon drops
in an open wound.
Mind still spinning from the confusion of a fading dream, he made his way to
the door and down the hallway. He walked absently, yawning and rubbing his
eyes, barely even seeing what lay before him, towards the summoning grounds of
wakefulness, the bathroom. Coy glee poked its head out to the prospect of cold
water and a surge of adrenaline. He knew he wanted it. He knew he needed it.
His body ached for the stimulation, lest lethargy curse him with the mark of
the undead.
He reached his hand forward just in time not to crash on the door, and fumbled
about for the handle. Finding the hard shaft of his desires, he opened the door
with all the energy of a quadriplegic, eyelids letting in just enough sunlight
to locate the sink.
“What the hell are you doing?!” screamed a wrathful deity, her high-pitched
anger penetrating his body, shaking his bones, shattering his ears. As good a
surprise as any, his heart burst into activity, and he goggled at whatever it
was he did that warranted such spite.
It took him a couple of seconds to realise what had happened, what with the
combination of sleepiness and surprise disorienting him, not that promptness
would have spared him much anguish. He had walked in on his little brat of a
sister using the toilet, her pyjama shorts down to her ankles, her lowef half
fully exposed for the morning breeze to fondle.
“Get the fuck out!” she commanded, uncertain the first scream had got through.
Fearing for his life, Peter closed the door with the loudest thud. Behind it,
the complaining lived on. “You fucking pervert! Oh my God! The weed is messing
with your brain, fucking pig! I can't believe it!”
Of course, there was no weed, and there had never been any weed, but perhaps
drugs were a more palatable alternative to her other standard explanation,
incest. He sighed, the stress achieving what cold water would have, and turned
around, heading downstairs. His sister's—Susan's—muffled yelling could be heard
all the way down, though indecipherable in content. The enmity behind it was
communicated perfectly nonetheless.
He was going to have fun, fun, fun explaining that to his parents. Though in
retrospect, he probably didn't have to. It wasn't his fault that she'd
forgotten to lock the door. Really, she'd been asking for it. If nothing else,
this would become a good life lesson for her; lock the doors when you're
hollowing your bladder. Or intestines. Or whatever it was she was hollowing
when he walked in on her.
Regardless, with increased metabolic activity finally achieved, it was time to
grab breakfast. He entered the kitchen, finding it as empty as the rest of the
rooms, which had begun seeming suspicious. His misadventures upstairs ought to
have alerted someone, and yet no one had showed up. A mystery for the ages.
His approach to the fridge wrapped the mystery up with haste. On the white
appliance, there was a piece of paper, stuck in place with a small magnet, its
pull outdoing gravity in macroscopic evidence for the asymmetry of the
fundamental forces of the universe. The note, unlike his inner narrative,
didn't comment on theoretical physics, but:
“Dad and I will be away for most of the day. Try not to starve to death! —Love,
Mom.”
A mixed blessing, really. No one would be there to mediate the future outbursts
of Susan, which were sure to come, but on the other hand, he could get away
with slacking the whole day, criticism-free. At last, things had taken a turn
for the better.
Makeshift breakfast consumed, Peter decided to return upstairs, clean himself,
and then perhaps take care of some “business” with some privacy. And after
finishing all of the above, he could hopefully resume cuddling with Morpheus,
without any implied homoeroticism.
Susan passed him by on his way there, sending him a look that could kill the
blind with its venom. He turned to see her enter her room, closing her door
loudly as a reminder she was still homicidal, and a few more clicks locking it,
just to be safe. Unphased by the passive-aggressiveness, he went on with his
plan.
His face and teeth clean, the next part of his ingenious scheme involved
fapping one out, a very welcome stress reliever to undo his peculiar alarm
clock. His laptop booted up with unquestioning loyalty to what surely must be a
tedious task: decoding kinky pictures in quick succession ad nauseam until the
user either gave in or gave up, depending on his ejaculation disorder.
Perhaps it was karma biting back like an exasperated altar boy, or maybe
someone had slipped drugs in his breakfast, but Peter was suffering from an
ironic difficulty getting off. Stress strongly affects performance, after all,
and his morning had been nothing if not chaotic. Intrusive thoughts of what
little hips and legs he could remember from his walk-in with incestuous
sanitation earlier feasted on his sanity like a politician on selfless lobbyist
donations.
After half an hour of effort, he had to admit defeat. Or if not defeat, at
least a temporary retreat. He needed to take his mind off things with some
brain-numbing bullshit. Lacking alcohol, he needed television in his life. He
cleaned his hands and returned downstairs once more, indecisive about the floor
he wanted to reside in as a teenage girl about her dress of choice for prom
night.
Speaking of the opposite sex, his sister had exited her room sometime during
his unsuccessful self-help session, and was lying down on the sofa, talking on
the phone to one of her friends, or boyfriend, or something. Whatever it was
11-year-olds do that constant giggling is a symptom of. Besides weed. Probably.
She turned to see him enter, frowned, and then turned her focus to her call,
which he was sure she found more interesting than anything short of a heart
attack. So much for television, he figured; he had trouble being in the same
supercluster as her, and didn't feel like trying being in the same room. He'd
have to find something brain-numbing to do on the internet. Maybe pussy videos;
the furry, purring kind. Some juice would help.
Up until now, Peter had maintained a successful façade with his inner critics,
his recent life experiences amounting to a series of unfortunate but normal
events. He'd put great effort in maintaining it, in polishing it, in the well-
engineered loopholes and rationalisations he'd raised to excuse himself. But
add some sexual frustration to the mix of normal frustration and teenage
hormones, and you have a whole different kind of demolition expert. His façade
acquired irreparable cracks.
The intrusive thoughts had been nothing new. In actuality, they'd become more
frequent and more intense with time. He liked handwaving them with the same
excuses every time: ask anyone, and they wouldn't deny that his sister, that
Susan looked good. Family, friends, eunuchs, asexual landmasskin, whatever. Not
even he could deny it.
She'd grown up to be a little temptress. And while, yes, she was the equivalent
of a surfing board in mammarian terms, there was more to looking good than
upper torso fat tissue. Her face, for example. She'd combined the charm of
large, expressive eyes with the loss of baby fat, all the more highlighted by
her long black hair. She exercised a lot, perhaps more than she should; she
enjoyed dominating in sports, making a fool of her classmates, especially the
boys and their superficial masculinity.
She was slim, and tall. Her slender figure was the stuff of super models, but
combined with her cute face, she was irresistible. Both to the occasional
curious stranger—sometimes including cat-calling strangers—but more importantly
to him.
Her behaviour catalysed the situation, and he didn't mean the diva complex. He
didn't know if she'd entered puberty yet or if the legendary pattern-matching
skills of youth were at work here or what. She seemed aware of the effect she
had on people, through her body language, or her fashion sense. Like the way
she moved her hips, or, more specifically, the way she'd been lying down on the
couch now.
She'd worn a short white one-piece dress, almost at the same tone as her skin.
It looked innocent on a hasty glance—perhaps intentionally so—but a most
lasting examination revealed clever advertisements of the young girl's assets.
Though it covered up most of her back, the fabric was soft and thin enough to
be translucent, so onlookers could make out some of the colour and texture of
her skin when the fabric lay directly against it, as it was now.
She wasn't wearing a bra, not that it would have anything to support even if
she wore one, but the sight of uninterrupted flesh behind her hair and dress
was still fascinating. Slowly making his way to the fridge, and trying not to
crash on anything while he was checking her out, he had a better view of her
behind. His view was partially obscured by her raised legs, resting on her
knees, and absently waving left and right as she was talking. Even her bare
feet had their allure; long, smooth limbs leading up to curved soles and cute
toes.
Susan tried changing her position to avoid numbness, lowering her legs and
raising her pelvis for a few seconds. This gave Peter a view on far more than
what he'd bargained for; her skirt falling to her lower back unveiled her black
underwear, exposing more of her buttocks than they covered. He could even make
out the couple of dimples on her back a bit. Clearly, he wasn't the only one
taking advantage of his parents' absence. If they were around, they'd lambaste
her for her attire. Unfortunately—fortunately?—she had no criticism to fear.
Figuring his lingering stares ought to attract suspicion eventually, Peter
hurried up pouring a glass of juice and gulped it down in one go. His plan had
backfired horribly. Not only did he fail to calm down, he was feeling more
excited than ever. He had to finish as soon as possible, before this went out
of hand. He left the room without saying a word.
Unbeknown to him, he hadn't been the only one looking. Sleep found him
mysteriously fast as soon as he sat on his chair.
===============================================================================
…Only to wake up with a headache some indeterminable time later. He tried
opening one eye, the light burning his senses. He really did have an
insufferable headache, and he felt sore to boot. He probably fell asleep on the
chair. That should teach him to only go for beds if he wanted to avoid muscle
pain. He really needed a bath now, of the warm variety. The hot water would
ease his suffering. He'd just quickly hop over—
But he couldn't. Something was stopping him. He tried again, but he was unable
to move his arms. It soon dawned on him that he was tied on to something—he was
tied to his chair. He didn't know what was going on.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
The fear quickly sparking Peter into activity, he opened his eyes to see Susan
sitting on his bed three feet or so before him. He looked around frantically,
confirming that they were, indeed, in his room, and then at his own shackles,
some sort of cloth depriving him of movement.
“The ads were right, after all. You really can knock out a horse with these.
Nothing beats some sedatives to go with your refreshments, really,” she said,
giggling mischievously. She was hugging her knees on his bed, and his chair had
been positioned away from his desk to face her. He wasn't the smartest person
on Earth, but he could put two and two together.
“You did this? What the hell are you doing?!”
“Oh, you know. Retribution…” She let her voice trail, breaking eye contact as
she twirled her hair.
“What are you talking about?” he yelled. Then he remembered there was no one
around to hear him. Even if he screamed at the top of his lungs, his chances of
being heard weren't looking good. So he looked for alternative ways to get out
of this mess. He recalled this morning. “Look, I'm sorry I walked in on you,
okay? I didn't mean to! I was disoriented from waking up and—”
“Sorry?” Susan seemed offended by the word. She stopped hugging her knees, and
let her legs down to touch the floor. “What exactly are you sorry about?”
He knew this was a trick question. Every instinct he had told him not to keep
the conversation going, that he was going to hate how it ended up. He didn't
heed the warnings. “I told you, I'm sorry I walked in on—”
“Hah! A tiny detail compared to the rest of your sins,” she blurted out.
She knew.
“How many times?” she asked.
“How…many times…?”
“You can spend all day repeating my questions, or you can grow a spine. You
know your deeds. How many times have you laid your lecherous eyes on me?”
He gulped hard. His heart was beating like a jackhammer. He'd never felt so
anxious his entire life. He felt like his life was about to end.
Susan stood up, walked a couple of steps, and looked down on him. Her normally
cute face was wrinkled with fury. He could see the homicide brewing from behind
the wall of her skull; it was that obvious. She put her right hand on his
shoulder, then leaned down on his face.
“I should do you in real good,” she whispered, her words as ominous as the
necromantic chant to channel Charon himself. “My only fear is that mom and dad
won't be too understanding if I go all out.”
She stood up straight and looked at something behind him. “But, I suppose there
are permanent things besides death that I could work with.” She walked to his
desk. He couldn't turn all the way back to see what she was trying to do.
“Yes,” she announced, epiphany dawning on her. When she returned, she had
scissors in hand.
“Oh, no, no, no, no, no…,” he said, shaking his head sideways in disgust.
“Oh, yes. Oh, yes, indeed.” This time, she knelt, looking straight at his
groin. She put a finger on her lower lip. “I wonder how I should go about this.
Thrust, or…?” She looked back at him, his facial expression painted with dread.
“No, Susan, stop! What are you doing?!”
She put her hands on his hips, grabbing his trousers, and then pulling them
down to his feet, which were also tied to the chair. His boxers couldn't resist
the friction and went down as well. He was fully bared in front of his 11-year-
old sister. His 11-year-old homicidal sister.
“Please, I'm begging you. Please stop! I promise I won't do it again! I'm sorry
for looking at you that way! I know I'm horrible!” He was tearing up under the
stress and the desperate emotional appeal.
“Good try, but I think actions speak louder than words, Peter.” She knelt so
that her head was at the same level as his hips, and looked at his genitals
wide-eyed, excitement in her demeanour. She opened the scissors. She was
looking forward to disfiguring him! She was insane! “And no voice carries on
further than the high pitch of a castrato.”
“Oh my God. Please stop.” He was in tears now, his voice cracking up, noise
distorted by his own gasps for air. She grinned widely as the blades of the
scissors touched his penis, her eyes darting back and forth between his member
and his tormented face.
“Any last words to little Peter? Perhaps one last fap?” She pursed her lips,
puffing her cheeks. She closed down the scissors a bit, blades pressing against
his skin tighter, but not enough to draw blood. “Though, really, I wouldn't
suggest forcing more blood down there. I hear you can bleed to death if it gets
chopped off while erect.” The blades clutched down on his dick harder.
He couldn't look any more. He closed his eyes and yelled his last plea.
“Christ's sake, Susan! I'll do anything you want! Just, please, stop! I'll do
anything.”
“Anything, eh?” For a moment, the torture paused. Ephemeral hope returned to
the desperate Peter.
“Y-yes.” He sniffed, his nose feeling stuffy from all the emotional turmoil.
“Anything you ask. I won't tell anyone. Just, please, please stop.”
They exchanged prolonged stares, as if trying to detect some mutual bluff or
hidden message. “How far would you go to show your love for your dear, innocent
sister?” She touched her chest, as if it wasn't obvious enough she was talking
about herself already. “How much would you do to take responsibility for
stampeding on her childish heart?”
“Anything you ask. I swear. I'd do anything.”
She looked at him some more. Slowly, the grip of the scissors around his dick
eased up, and eventually she put it down. Relief stroke him with permanence
this time, and with the ensuing relaxation he found out his legs felt kind of
chilly, bared to the room's air. She looked at the floor, and then back at him.
She leaned forward, still in a kneeling position, not breaking eye contact, her
big brown eyes going through layers of flesh and looking at his unadulterated
essence. Then she moved her head down, towards…
“What are you doing?” he asked, this time more confusion in his voice than
fear. He genuinely was confused, too: the way she was moving, the way she moved
towards his crotch was as if she was trying to touch it, somehow.
She looked down at his organ. “So small, wrinkly, and defenceless,” she said,
her voice soft, like she was contemplating something. “How could you ever feel
attached to something so ugly?”
He gulped, wondering whether she'd restart her sadistic spree, except this time
with teeth instead of scissors. For what it was worth, he preferred the clean
metallic blades when it came to getting gored up. Instead of carnage, however,
he felt her breath against his skin, hot and tingly.
Her dress was subject to the omnipresent gravity. As she was more or less
horizontal now, the front part was hanging loose an inch under her chest. He
could see her bare skin. Her nipples were no longer the mosquito bites of a
toddler, but had acquired some surface area, albeit still definitely
underdeveloped. They were the cutest soft pink, though. She was almost as flat
as the day she was born. Her mounds had barely enough volume to signify she
hadn't had her glands and fat surgically removed, but otherwise her development
in that department was null. She looked enticing, her flat chest begging to be
touched, its smoothness enjoyed, like fields of fresh snow, the skin just a
shade darker from her white dress.
“You like your little sister, don't you, Peter?” she asked. He bolted her eyes
to her, only now figuring out how horribly what he just did could be
interpreted. He wasn't sure how to feel about her impish smirk; whether
monsters lay behind it or succubi. He could smell her shampoo: cherries and
something weird—mint, perhaps? She placed her hand on her chest, blocking his
view. “You know, normal people would shy away from me. If not for familial
reasons, then for developmental ones.”
The innuendo was not lost on him. She put her hand down, grazing his thigh ever
so slightly, and then began drawing 8-shapes with her index finger. It was
ridiculous; even her finger felt soft.
“S-Susan?”
She tilted her head down, facing her groin. She opened her tiny mouth, and out
of it came a bashful tongue. Only now did Peter notice that blood had been
rushing down on his genitals, his penis no longer all that flaccid. Her tongue
barely protruding out of her lips, she knelt down further, closer to him.
She never touched it. She stopped just an inch above it, her tongue still out
in the air, her breath at its most noticeable on his flesh. She was watching it
pulse and gradually grow in size. Spit started flowing out of her mouth and
down her tongue, which she used to guide it on his shaft with remarkable
precision. The fluid felt warm on his cock, still retaining all the temperature
of her mouth.
He found twisted delight in the sight of his little sister's drool on his dick.
A strand was connecting the tip of her tongue with the head of his penis, their
only point of contact. Her saliva quickly dropped down to room temperature, but
more of it was on the way, soaking his entire shaft and balls. He couldn't take
his eyes off it. He fervently watched as his little sister, an 11-year-old
little tart, whom he had had almost no physical contact with over the past
couple of years, was bathing his cock in her internal fluids. The thought was
addictive. The excitement, the anticipation blurring ethical protests.
As he got more and more erect, she moved her head up, avoiding contact. Her
eyes widened to match her surprise, the insignificant little worm growing up to
a considerable size. Having never seen her brother erect—in fact, having never
seen her brother naked since her years as a toddler—she was taken aback by the
difference adolescence and good genes could make.
She let out a naughty giggle, her view focused on her brother's sizeable
appendage. “What a pervert. Getting hard over your baby sister spitting on
you.”
He looked away, ashamed of himself. He got caught up in the heat of the moment,
and forgot who he was messing around with. She was his own sister, for God's
sake. And if that didn't count for anything, she was 11. She had hardly entered
puberty. She hadn't even begun menstruating as far as he knew. And yet he was
doing things to her. Thinking about maybe doing more.
“We should stop,” he suggested, suddenly apprehensive of the setup. “Brothers
and sisters shouldn't do that kind of stuff.”
Susan titled her head. She placed both of her palms on his thighs and used them
as leverage to get on the same height as him. “Aww, finally feeling
embarrassed? Second-guessing yourself?”
He couldn't face her or reply directly. He just nodded.
“I bet you won't be able to live with yourself now, hm? With assets such as
yours, you could have any girl. People flooding you just to get a hand or a
cavity around your sausage. Look.”
He looked at her, and saw her using her arm, elbow down, to measure his penis
size. Granted, she was still small, and yet the sight was scary: it was almost
as long, and almost as thick. Although Peter wasn't sure whether it was fear he
was feeling or eagerness.
“I bet you've got a solid ten inches of meat down there, champ.”
“This is dangerous,” he said. And he wasn't being patronising or trying to
escape. It was true. If anyone found them like this, they were going to have a
hard time explaining themselves. Even if they weren't found, if they kept this
up, and things kept progressing, he could injure her.
Susan sat fully upright. She grabbed the edges of her dress astride her legs.
“Tell me, how would you describe your first time to the prison therapist?” She
lifted her dress up slowly, swaying her hips sensually as she did. “About how
the first thing your dick felt that wasn't your palm was splitting your baby
sister in half?” Her dress was up to her waist now, exposing her black panties
to him, a kinkier replay of earlier that day. She lifted her left leg, and
teasingly rubbed it on his right one. “Would you be red with anger, or
arousal?”
She let go of her dress, and dropped down to the bed, a soft thud meeting her
young body. She raised her left leg, hugging the knee. It was so long, compared
to her torso, the skin smooth and hairless. Its slender shape intoned with
muscle and bone structures, her thighs as thin as his arms. Her toes moved
playfully, nails undyed. “I know what you're looking at, sicko.”
She extended her leg, her foot easily reaching him, touching his shirt. “How
typical of you to desire an underage girl's foot instead of her other parts.”
She moved her foot up, her sole on his chest. Outstretched like that, her
subtle curves were all the more touted, from her thighs to her calves, a
perfect limb bridging his body with hers. “I guess this is the sort of
treatment perverts like you deserve. I'm happy you exhibit some self-awareness,
at least”
She reached up to his neck. He shivered when she touched his skin. He wished
his arms were untied, so he could reach out and grab it, caress it, explore her
skin. She kept moving, her toe poking his cheek. “Do you want it?” she asked.
He nodded, his eyes focused on the limb touching his face. She moved it a bit
to the right, and on his mouth. “Give me a kiss.”
He opened his mouth, swallowing all five toes of her little foot. It felt salty
and bitter—a taste closer to conditioner and sweat rather than the floor. Had
she bathed in preparation of this?
Susan jerked slightly, and let out a laugh. “It tickles,” she explained. He
inserted his tongue between her toes, wrapping it around each one, playing
around with them. The small appendages moved awkwardly in his mouth, Susan
unsure how to feel about what was being done to her. When he was done
lubricating her toes, her removed them from his mouth, and directed his
attention to the ball of her foot. His sister jerked again to the unusual
stimulation, but that didn't stop him. He made sure to cover the entire area
with both long, slow strokes, and smaller, snappier ones.
He moved down her sole towards her heel, as she pressed her foot against his
face, his own saliva tricking down his nose and cheeks from it. When he was
almost done with it, he noticed her right foot was almost touching his face.
Changing focus, he assaulted her other leg's ankle. Susan had stopped jerking
and giggling, and was now breathing faster. She was enjoying his work. He could
make out the metatarsal bones on the top of her foot through her skin, and a
few veins adding a blue hue to her beautiful whiteness here and there. When
he'd finished enjoying it, she lowered both of her legs, laying them between
his thighs.
“That should be enough to help me along,” she said. Her face was blushed, and
her eyes glistened. Her breathing was audible. She pressed her left foot
forward, laying the sole against his penis. The masculine rod was larger than
the underage girl's part. “You truly are something. I bet you'd outdo everyone
in the family, and you haven't even finished growing yet.”
She spread her big toe and her long toe apart, and fit his head between them.
She took hold of his foreskin, and moved her foot up, the sole rubbing on his
shaft as her toes tried to stimulate his tip. The saliva he'd left on her foot
mixed with what she'd left on his penis, reducing annoying friction. When she
was at the top, she moved down, exposing his glans, and kept going, until her
toes touched his testicles. His dick pulsed with want, his pelvis jerking
involuntarily, trying to summon more of his sister's touch. His eyes were glued
on the connection of these two unlikely parts, his mouth open, trying to keep
himself oxygenated.
She repeated the motion, grabbing hold of his foreskin, and using it to get him
off, employing similar mechanics to masturbation. She picked up the rhythm, as
she got the hang of the necessary motions, using her body parts to pleasure her
big brother's pole. Her sole felt so soft against his shaft. He couldn't count
the moral boundaries letting his sister perform such perverse acts on him
broke. He wanted more.
“How do you like your little sister's footjob, Peter? Your filthy dick doesn't
deserve the touch of anything else, even your own touch. You deserve to be
stepped on forever. Is it everything you dreamt of?”
“Yes.”
Once again, she pulled down, exposing his glans. A droplet of precum made its
appearance out of his urethra. She raised her right foot, touching it with her
big toe, and spread the liquid around. “How debauched. To think that such an
upstanding student and loved son is getting excited by a little girl's foot!”
She rubbed her sole on his glans, then moved it sideways, giving direct
friction to the sensitive part. She felt so soft. It was like being wrapped up
in velvet. There was no matching the feeling, the knowledge that he was
defiling some purity, rubbing his meat on his baby sister's illegal feet as no
one had before.
“Your feet feel amazing. It's the best thing I've ever felt.”
Susan grinned, pleased that Peter had begun giving in and was being honest
about his affections. An idea crossed her young mind. “When a dog learns a new
thing, it's customary to reward it.” She raised her feet from his dick, then
placed them on either side of it. “You'll be getting the rarest of treats.
Enjoy an 11-year-old's foot-pussy.”
She stimulated him as she did before with her toes, except using her entire
soles on either side of his rod. Her toes were touching his glans, teasing it.
She squeezed tight, feeling the blood rushing to his organ. She raised her
feet, moving some of the skin along with them, and then lowered them back down,
until her heels were touching his testicles. She repeated the motion a few
times, taking in every contour of his organ, his pulsing veins, the texture of
his skin, and the size discrepancy between her parts and his.
Her motions became rougher, faster. Her grip tightened. Her silky feet were
pressing down hard on his dick, surrounding it with her beautiful skin and the
squishy tissue underneath. More precum was oozing out of his peehole. “Are you
gonna come? Hm? Are you gonna let it all out over your little sister's feet? Is
that how you're gonna waste your lineage?”
Her movement kept getting faster. She was actively trying to make him come.
Some part of him, deep down, felt bad about it. He knew this wasn't the way
normal people should have sex. He knew how immoral it was doing it with his
underage sister, even. Those thoughts were buried so deep they didn't matter
now. He wanted to spray his semen on her feet, her legs. Her own mouth was
open, breathing loudly with effort. She wanted him to defile her, he thought. A
little girl's feet, on his dick. He couldn't resist the urge any more. He was
coming.
“Hold it right there, stallion!” she yelled, instantly stopping her
stimulation, and kicking his balls to make sure he wouldn't continue.
“Ow! Ow ow ow!” A couple of drops of semen trailed down his shaft, but his
orgasm had been rudely interrupted. “What…?”
“Don't misunderstand. I'd love to use your jizz as skin conditioner, to improve
my charms. However…” Her hands reached up to her hips, moving under her dress.
She fell back, resting on the bed, and raised her pelvis. Her hands moved back
down her legs, taking a black garment with them; she was removing her panties.
She dropped it to the ground, her legs closed, barring all view.
“You're liking this, aren't you? You could maybe excuse what's happened so far
with being a filthy foot fetishist, but wanting some underage pussy is just too
hard to swallow.”
He didn't want to see. He didn't want to hear. Though it sounded hypocritical,
she was right. Genital nudity crossed some sort of psychological barrier for
him. Unfortunately, getting blue-balled had left his dick aching with desire, a
burning compulsion to get release. With both hands tied behind his back, he
wouldn't be practising loving oneself for a while.
She raised her legs to the bed, and spread them apart, her knees like two
towers guarding her. “Look at it.” He obeyed. The smooth skin of her thighs,
her belly, and her butt lead to a tiny pink slit. Her clitoral hood was barely
visible. She had almost no labia minora to speak of, her pussy barely inflamed.
A tiny hole could be made out, hidden behind her labia. He wondered if even a
finger could fit in it.
“This is your little sister's pussy, Peter.” She put a finger right above her
slit, guiding his eyes. “So small and hairless…” She used her finger to trail
circles on her labia, inviting him. “No one's ever touched it. You may have
raped me with your eyes, and deflowered my feet, but I'm still a little virgin
down here. Smooth as a baby.”
Juices were building up in her pussy. She lowered her finger on her slit,
completely covering it. “See how small I am? It's almost as if nothing's there.
And yet…” She inserted the tip of her finger inside her. She closed her eyes
for a second, letting out a cute, seductive sigh. “So tight and unripe. My
young little pussy is right in front of you, and you can't stop staring. You
want to stick it inside, don't you?”
And probably hurt her? “No,” he said, his defiance resurrecting briefly.
“Oh, yes, you do,” she insisted. She stood up, then sat on his lap, her legs
open, looking down on him. “You're just offended I kicked you a bit. But you
weren't very talkative when I was stepping on you and squeezing your loser
spunk out.”
She looked down on his groin. “You're still erect. Your mouth protests, but
dicks don't lie.”
“Just because I'm hard doesn't mean—”
“Look.” With one hand, she grabbed the hem of her dress. She lifted the white
fabric up, so that her flat stomach and upper abdomen were visible. She moved
forward a bit, and with her other hand, she lined up his dick against her
belly. “If only your character was as big as your penis. Look how far you go.”
He trailed the length of his dick with his eyes, from the base to the tip.
Reaching up from between her thighs, past her pelvis and on her abdomen. “Damn,
you're reaching past my navel. How lewd.” He could feel her belly moving with
her breaths. He could feel her soft skin against his. The air smelled of
arousal and sweat. “Do you think you can fit inside me? You're as thick as my
wrist, and I had trouble sticking a finger in.”
She rocked her hips, rubbing herself on his organ. “What do you think would
happen if you lost it and stuck it all in? Would you crush my womb? My ovaries?
Do you think I'd ever tighten back up?” She let go of her dress, and leaned
forward. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him. Their faces were so
close, their noses were almost touching. He could feel her breath and her
warmth against his face.
She lifted herself and put her weight on his abdomen. Near the base of his
penis, he could feel something soft, warm, and slightly moist. Her pussy. She
moved up, grinding herself on the humongous stick. “Or do you think you'd shred
me? Bleeding out from my cunny, new holes tearing up my uterus? The big
brother, finally giving his irritable little slut of a sister the beating she
deserves. Can you imagine the headlines?”
She ground her pussy on his dick, spreading her arousal on the shaft. Her soft,
small lips stroked his base, lubricating it anew with incestuous fluids. The
anticipation was making him shake. There was no grin on her face, only the same
craving that must have filled him. She hugged him tighter, her flat chest
pressing against his. She moved her hands up to his head, playing with his
hair.
As she was rubbing herself, she whispered to his right ear. “Tell me, which
part of this do you like best? The incest, or the child abuse?” She bit his
earlobe, her grinding going frantic, stimulating her as well as him.
“Neither. Please stop.”
“Ah, so you're more of a gore person,” she continued. “You want to maim me.
Crush me. Shred my insides up. Is the corpse of your little sister exciting for
you?”
“No!”
Her grinding had got him near the edge again. He was going to come just from
her twat rubbing on him.
“It's okay.” Susan stood up. She towered over him, stepping forward. She lifted
her hem up, revealing her slit, now pink with arousal. She knelt, wrapped a
hand around his knob, barely getting a full grip. Precum was flowing out of his
hole. She lined herself up, her lips touching his glans.
“It looks like your manhood is ready to puke some half-children out.” She
rubbed her slit on his cockhead, tempting him like never before. “Oh!” she
exclaimed. “You're pushing up! I guess your hips don't lie either.” She
giggled.
“No, wait. I'm…” He wasn't able to articulate a proper sentence, his mind
filled with other kinds of thoughts. His sister's tiny pussy was literally on
his cock. “If I stick it in you…”
She let her dress fall, and touched his cheek with her now free hand, then
placed a soft slap. “Let's see how far it can go.” She repositioned her hips,
optimising the angle for the penetration. “Here we go.”
Her mouth spread wide open, soft gasps coming out. He felt we was pressing on
something wet, soft, and tight. What with the dress being in the way, he
couldn't make out much. She didn't seem to be making much progress. She put
down more of her weight, grasping his penis tightly, lining it up with her
hole. He could see her chest moving, her small nipples now inflamed, and erect,
two small lumps on the fabric.
Something gave way. He felt something very warm and very wet with his head.
Susan was grunting, clearly in pain, but didn't stop. She kept pressing down,
her legs now shaking with the effort. She was making progress. The watery
warmth grasped more of his member, first swallowing his head, and then working
on the shaft. A good three inches must have been inside. The grip was so tight,
like it would chop his dick off. He could not only feel his own pulse—his blood
pressure off the charts—but her own, from inside her.
“If I get pregnant, daddy will kill you,” she said, evil grin replacing her
wince.
“Susan! Pull out!”
“Why? We still have sooo much to fit inside me. Look on the bright side: you
could try making me infertile before squirting.” She kept lowering herself on
him, the thought of such a big organ fitting inside of her seeming impossible,
and yet it was happening. “Yes!” she yelled, pleasured by achievement. Her
walls were contracting and expanding, kissing his cock, synchronised with her
heartbeat. He must have been halfway inside of her now.
“I… I'm gonna come!” he shouted. He had already been far too aroused, even
before the penetration. He couldn't hold back any more. He was gonna burst. She
was too tight, too warm. “I'm coming! Oh my God! Ahh!”
Biology overcoming all resistances with a spasm, he let it go. Semen flowed up
his tube and out his peehole with unprecedented force. He kept going far longer
than he'd been used to, squirting more than a dozen times inside of her,
filling her up with an extraordinary amount of semen. He'd found release, but
he'd hated it.
“I… I…” The realisation of what he'd done was sinking in, and it broke his
sanity. He was a dead man.
More giggling from Susan. Was she finding this funny? “Silly virgin boy. Calm
down. Look at this.” She spread her legs wider, lifted her dress, and showed
him her pussy. He wasn't inside of her. His dick was buried between her arse
cheeks, semen flowing down from it. “See? I can't get pregnant from here,
unless you make a hole in my fascia. But I don't want to be giving you any
ideas.”
Peter rolled his head back. His heart was beating so hard, it felt like it was
gonna break his ribs and fly out of his chest. Susan lowered her face near his,
as if she was going to comfort him. Of course, comfort wasn't in her
vocabulary.
“You're in my rectum, Peter. You've bottomed out. Any further, and it's all
guts. Do you fancy that? Do you wanna see how far inside my large intestine you
can impale me? If we keep going, you're going to rearrange me, push my shit
back. My tween arsehole is going to prolapse and never be the same. You hear
me? Your little sister is going to wear a diaper, because her anus won't be
able to close. I'm always going to be gaping for you.”
Peter didn't seem to understand much of what she was saying, not that she
minded it. She petted his neck, and slowly regained enough composure and
willingness to pull off the plan she'd just described. With more squeaking and
wincing, she kept on pressing down on him, no longer needing a hand to guide
the insertion. Though he'd just come, Peter was hard as stone. He was doing his
best to pretend he didn't like it, but he loved her arsehole.
“You're stretching me so much,” she said. He could feel pressing down on some
sort of turn or curve inside of her. He really was at the end of her rectum.
“If holes in my intestines excite you, this would be a good time to push hard.
I'm sure the blood would be a passable lubricant.”
In actuality, all the semen he'd squirted out in her shit pipe was doing the
job. As she put more weight down and her intestine reshaped itself to
accommodate the intruder, his own gametes eased the way for the continuation of
the sodomy.
The roadblock didn't last all that long. As she'd described, the penetration
was rearranging her. “Oh my God…,” she blurted out, more inches entering her
slowly, agonisingly, stretching her further than any turd she'd had. She was
getting the sensation of having to use the toilet, hurting in the same way as
bad constipation, but feeling excited at the same time. She had her brother's
colossus in her butt.
She wasn't going to stop. She wanted to fit the whole thing inside as soon as
possible, to be filled up to the brim. Her stretched anus was eating up meat
hungrily, swallowing hard inch after hard inch, intestinal fluids and semen
flowing down the shaft every so often. Finally, her thighs touched his, having
engulfed his dick in its entirety.
She was breathing heavily. “Finally, we are one.” She collapsed on his chest,
realising her own tiredness after her achievement. Her intestines were
screaming, bruised by being stretched to their limits. “I love you, Peter. No
man could touch me so deeply.” She caressed his face, the back of his neck and
ears. “It's like you're fucking my soul. I now know no one will match the love
you have for your sister.”
His dick was lodged so far inside her. She was incredibly hot and wet. Her
intestines were spasming involuntarily, touching and letting go of his shaft,
leaving their sticky fluids on it, as if his junk was a big piece of shit that
needed to get out. Her villi were brushing him, trying to do something,
anything to the intruder. Her body wanted him out, but she wanted him in. He
wanted to fuck her so badly, to knock her lights out, but she wasn't moving.
She reached down for his hands, and pulled on the knot keeping him in place.
Soon his ties loosened up, then fell to the ground. His feet felt easier to
move too. His arms were free, and with a little effort, so were his legs. Susan
looked up to him, her eyes teary with the emotional strain the penetration had
put on her, looking so cute and innocent, in contrast with her debased arse.
“Do… what you want… to me,” she said between deep breaths, fatigue catching up
with her. He looked into her eyes, maybe searching for enlightenment or advice.
He found nothing. Suggestions of decency crossed his mind, the option of
stopping this madness at least at this late stage, collect what little was left
of his honour. On the other hand, this pooper wasn't going to fuck itself.
The decision was fast and easy. He reached for her hem, and pulled the dress
off of her, finally getting her fully naked. He did the same to his shirt,
tossing the clothes behind him with force. He took off his trousers too, his
legs free at last. He wrapped his arms around her, grabbing her arse, and
squeezing her cheeks tight, spreading them apart. Fat and trained muscle mixed,
a feeling both soft and firm, buttocks small to match her age.
He lifted her up and dropped her on the bed, his dick still inside her. Laying
on top of her, he assaulted her mouth, kissing her, penetrating her with his
tongue. It wasn't a soft or loving kiss. It was a sloppy one, filled with lust,
drool trailing down her cheeks and chin, the same mouth that was spitting on
him before. Her tiny preteen tongue sat awkwardly as he forced himself in her.
He ended the kiss, breathing in and heading downward. Her flat chest was
heaving, moving visibly to keep up with her breath, her heart. Her ribs were
poking out of her skinny body, lines hugging her breasts. He leaned down to
kiss her nipples, taking the little things in his mouth, licking them. With his
hands, he rubbed her chest, so soft, so uniform, barely any fat on her childish
body.
He went on to kiss her entire chest, not just her nipples, enjoying how flat
and tiny she looked. He worshipped his little sister's chest. His hands moved
to touch the ridges her ribs impressed on her thorax and abdomen. God, she was
so skinny. He couldn't believe something so little could be stuffed with so
much of himself. He could feel her lungs expanding, her heart beating as fast
as his. She was letting out soft sounds with every lick on her chest.
He straightened up. His hands moved down, trailing her belly, her navel,
touching her hips. She opened her legs, granting him a better view of her
pussy. The little slit was still as tiny and innocent as ever, even as she was
wetting herself, her vaginal fluids dripping down to her tortured arse. A great
contrast between the child and the slut that made her who she was.
He pulled out. Every sensation of the original penetration, all the contact
with her guts, the texture of her walls, the warmth, the moisture, was
amplified. He watched as his monster cock was shat out of the little girl's
butt. Ten inches of meat hidden inside of her. There was more material in it
than a baby, probably. Her anus stuck on it, being pulled out slightly along
with him, denying him exit.
Susan was yelping, hanging on tight on the sheets, feeling her guts being
pulled inside out. She felt like she was taking the biggest dump of her life,
like she was defecating a fetus, giving birth to her brother's rod. He finally
pulled all of himself out, save for the tip of his penis. Her anus gradually
returned to its normal position, making dripping, squishy sounds along the way.
He looked down on her. His organ almost outside, the little girl squirming at
his whims. He was coated in his own spunk, her fluids, and probably whatever
remnants of faecal matter she hadn't managed to clean. He couldn't believe how
much she had managed to stuff herself with. He was so big, and she was so
small. His dick was almost half the size of her body. It excited him. He wanted
to fuck her deeper, so deep that there was nothing pure and virginal left in
her, to take revenge for all her teasing and bitchiness.
“Do me,” she said. No, she begged. “Fuck me senseless. Show me your love.”
Who was he to deny her? He pressed forward. With much less resistance than
before, but some resistance still, he drove his baby-maker in her. Her large
intestine spread itself apart, complaining but not preventing his penetration,
flesh grazing him from all sides. Susan was yelling the whole way. He dove back
in completely, all ten inches hidden in her underdeveloped orifice.
He hadn't noticed before, but there was a small bump on her belly, up and right
of her navel. He pulled a couple of inches out, and then back in
experimentally. “Ah!” Susan said. It was his cockhead. He could make out how
thoroughly he was deflowering her from the bulge in her stomach. He'd never
seen anything like it in his life. It was the most beautiful sight imaginable.
It excited it him so much, arousing his darkest, most evil fantasies.
“More…,” she said. He pulled out of her, faster now, then forced himself back
in, caring little for pace or comfort. “I… Peter…” He began pumping, pulling
out as much as he could then burying himself inside. Her guts were opening and
closing so rapidly, they'd lost much of their resistance. She was becoming a
cocksleeve for his pleasure.
Her stomach was inflating and deflating constantly, mirroring his moves. It was
so depraved, the zenith of their heinous act. She put her hands on her stomach,
feeling the shape of the bulge, the shape of his dick inside her. “More!” she
insisted.
Peter grabbed both her legs, and raised her feet to his face. Putting them
together, he licked both her soles at once. The balls of her feet, the heels,
and the arch in between. Her tiny toes, which curled and spread every time he
pulled and shoved himself in her.
His pumping became faster, her poop chute having lost all resistance and now
gaping permanently. He licked her toes, as his hands traced her legs. Her well-
shaped calves. Her knees. Her thighs. He grabbed her butt as she rested her
legs on his shoulders. Susan was looking at him with only ecstasy in her large
eyes.
“Fuck me! Fuck me until you're dried of all fluids and my guts are bleeding!”
He squeezed her arse cheeks and pressed forward hard, moving her as well as his
hips. He drove into her as fast and as violently as he could. He could smell
his sweat, her sweat, his arousal, and her rectal stench mixing into a sweet
aphrodisiac.
The lubrication was wearing off. He didn't care. Her shit pipe was rubbing on
his dick more, irritating his skin. He could hear the sounds of fluids slapping
together. His pelvis hitting hard against her soft bum. Occasionally, the air
that left the lock between her anus and his penis. He saw her stomach bulging,
her back arched, every rib showing, expanding, her breathing erratic and wild.
“I… I can't…” Her grip was growing weaker. He stopped his pumping for a second,
lowered her legs, placed his hands around her rather than on her arse. He
hugged her tight, and she closed her legs behind him, locking him into
position. He could feel her nipples on his chest, and make out her spine, feel
the bones on her back. Her hair was tickling his arms.
“I love you,” she said between pants. He started pumping again, his strokes
shorter, but faster, pulling only halfway out of her, though still a
significant amount. “I love you,” she repeated. She couldn't even make much
noise any more. She just held onto him for dear life.
He kissed her neck. Her cheek. He kissed her mouth, tongue invading her again,
but this time she was kissing him back. His mind went blank. He thought of
nothing but the sensations on his penis. Then even those disappeared. Thoughts
flooded his brain, vile thoughts.
He was fucking Susan's arsehole. His sister's arsehole. A little girl's
arsehole. She was trying to moan as almost a foot of dick was stuck inside of
her, but wasn't able to. An 11-year-old was having her shit pushed in. A little
sister, sodomised by her own brother. He should have shown some maturity,
refused to partake in this, but she felt so good. Her forbidden arsehole was so
tasty. He wanted to fuck her until they were connected forever, a twisted pair
of Siamese twins.
He came, this time with more ferocity than before. He didn't stop pumping as he
was coming, he just kept going forever. Even after he was done. A second orgasm
hit him mere minutes after the first. He filled her up with so much jizz, it
was leaking out, her guts unable to take both his dick and his ejaculation.
He stopped. His lust had been sated at last. He fell on top of her, feeling her
chest's movements on his. Feeling her blood flowing in her. Hearing her gasp.
Tasting the saltiness of her sweat. He used the last of his remaining strength
to stand up and remove his softening penis from her anal cave.
Her anus was gaping. It closed, then opened back up, like it was breathing. Her
intestinal walls could be made out. They contracted, trying to close the gap,
and then they caved in. They moved to the outside of her arse. Her arsehole
flowered like a rose, a red mess of wrinkles showing up, his white material
still flowing out from a small hole.
He put his hands under her and lifted her butt. He lowered his head and kissed
her prolapsing anus. It tasted bitter and salty. It tasted of iron. He licked
the wrinkled, red-hot flesh, so much warmer than her outside. He drank all the
fluids flowing out of her. Susan was gasping the whole time. He had no idea how
many orgasms she'd had during her anal violation.
He kept licking her arsehole for half an hour, until her prolapse had subsided,
her intestines getting closer to their original positions. He was still hard
from the activity. He turned her around, placing her on her hands and knees.
She let her head fall down on the bed, then used her fingers to spread her
arsehole wide.
“Here, brother,” she said, wiggling her butt, inviting him to fuck the red,
gaping hole again. “Skewer me. Do it harder.” He aimed for her arse, and
penetrated her with one long motion. Susan gasped. He pumped.
They kept fucking until they passed out from exhaustion, late at night. Their
parents sent them a text message notifying them they wouldn't arrive until
tomorrow. No one cared.
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