Let’s be honest: you’ve been thinking about it since I hit puberty. A hot body, incredibly perky tits, and that face? Yeah, you have. Don’t lie-you would watch me splashing around in the pool with my friends, then go up to your room and jack it looking at that photo of us at the beach. You remember, the one where you can kind of see my nipples through my top? Or maybe it’s just a shadow, but… it’s a hot fucking shadow.
One time? In the basement? I saw you. I saw you look both ways, then bend your horny teenage head down to the laundry basket and take a few hesitant sniffs of the air above my panties. They smell just like me, after all, but stronger-with that mix of perfume and conditioner and whatever else I’m doing that you just can’t find in another girl. Not that you’re looking. You’re not sick, it’s just kind of hot. I mean they’re tiny, pink, lacey, silky lingerie, worn by one of your school’s hottest female students.
It’s normal to get an erection at the breakfast table. I’m wearing one of your shirts. And boxers. And NOTHING ELSE. I mean for fuck’s sake, you’ve seen dad checking out my ass before. You think. Maybe. I mean you saw him look down when I was bending over. And that’s what you do, so… right? Guys look at me. Your friends get quiet and stare at me when I come in your room and get the keys to the BMW off your desk. And when I give you the finger? You think your best friend Jake actually moans a little. They exchange glances when I leave, staring at my butt in those shorts-you know the ones-when I go.
Everyone gets it. They pity you. The poor guy with the super-hot sister all his horny friends want to bang. All the teachers want to bang. All the-I mean you get it. It’s just sad. And the worst part is, you’re actually really good looking. I mean, we’re related after all. You’re the dorky, dipshit, muscular, awkward, stupider male version of me, right? And you’ve got all that sexual frustration you have to deal with. Sports you suck at. Classes you can’t totally follow. And sometimes I throw my jacket on the couch next to you and that fucking smell… you pop a boner you could go ice fishing with and there you are, watching the Family Feud next to dad, holding a pillow over your iron-hard erect prick, just praying for an excuse to run upstairs and jack it. Maybe you’ll steal my coat this time. Just ONCE wouldn’t be that bad. I mean girls smell like girls, right? God, if only you could find a girl like me.
That night, after time number 4 with my jacket-hey, you’re a growing boy. You’ve got needs. You blunder out into the hallway to piss all over the seat and the bathroom, because you don’t like to touch your dick to aim when you’re pissing so it goes fucking everywhere which even the fucking puppy doesn’t do by the way, and you clomp past my bedroom and hear what very much sounds like a stifled moan. This has happened before. It’s always just me laughing or talking to one of my friends on my stupid phone that I never put down, or trying to impress my approximately ten zillion snapchat freaks or my gross legion of Instagram followers who love when I dress up as one of the girls from Overwatch like stupid horny animals with credit cards who can totally use the code PAYMEPLEASE at checkout for 15% off and that’s why you don’t have to borrow the BMW anymore which is total bullshit but anyway it’s never anything FUN, it’s always normal, but your dick doesn’t know that and suddenly you’re as hard as railroad spike and pretty much the same size. Your balls drop like lead weights. You freeze. Your chest is fucking on fire.
It’s so stupid. Every time you’re disappointed.
You put your ear up to the door. Listen.
What was that!? Could it really be? You finally, finally, FINALLY caught me masturbating-which I totally lie and say I never do like every girl, but which I 100% definitely do, you just haven’t figured out when-and I’m a loud girl, too. How did I hide it from you? Maybe I really am telling the truth and I don’t do it. Much. When you’re home. Maybe I wait until you leave in Dad’s stupid work-smelling car and then you shove one of those big cucumbers I drink instead of eating on Wednesdays into my no doubt tiny yet slutty yet baby pink yet stupid yet fucking beautiful goddess pussy slit, like the bitch that I am, and cum screaming on your sheets so all you can smell is me when you’re trying to sleep.
God, it sounds so good. Your dick is HARD. I mean… you’re pretty proud of it right now. You’re “big” anyway. I mean you think you are. You’re bigger than porn and porn is the biggest, right? But right now you’re fucking A BRICK down there. Your dick could punch a hole through Captain America’s shield right now. God, you’re a fucking dork. No wonder the best you’ve ever gotten is a blow job from Sarah and that only happened because we were friend breaking up and she wanted to piss me off. Of course really it’s because you’ve got your stupid teenager head rammed so far up my ass that you can’t see that girls want you to ask them out, but whatever that’s your life, not mine. I’m going to be a fucking billionaire like Beyonce once I figure out how to stop my voice from doing that thing it does when I sing really high.
Your dick drips on the carpet. In front of my door. Because you’re a fucking gross asshole.
And then, your life pretty much ends. In half a second, you want to die, think you are dying, and then realize it doesn’t matter if you die, because you are now pretty much dead. The worst possible thing happens. Can you guess?
I open the door.
I’m dressed in sneak-out clothes, in what you privately think of as my “Hottie Pokemon Trainer” outfit, complete with hat and bandanna and those shorts of mine, and you immediately see three things that are very, very important.
The first is that your hard, thick, dripping prick-seriously, someone should take a picture, it’s gotta be one of the hardest dicks in the world the head is purple right now-is pointed right at my face and I’m looking down at it with a look of amazed, horrified, disgusted astonishment. Also I’m wearing too much lip gloss, which drives you fucking INSANE but which you can’t tell me because how weird would that be? Seriously “Hey sis, wear less lip gloss you’d be hotter.” Dude. Gross.
Anyway, the second thing is that I’m actually looking at it, like not just “ew gross” like you expect me to do any minute now and shielding my eyes from your turgid sloppy precumming always hard dick. But actually like “oh wow, this is a sizeable male organ I had no idea they could get this hard or be this attractive” kind of shocked-but-kind-of-aroused look that you’ve always, like always envisioned I would have if I caught you showering by accident or someone pantsed you in front of me at the pool (why the fuck doesn’t anyone pants you at the pool are they fucking afraid of your dick? What!? You’ve done everything you could possibly do short of ripping your own trunks off to get it to flop out in front of me but NO ONE WILL HELP YOU WITHOUT BEING TOLD WHICH OF COURSE YOU WILL NEVER DO BECAUSE THAT ISN’T WHAT YOU REALLY WANT OBVIOUSLY, IT’S JUST A JOKE HAHA, YOU’RE 5×5 NORMAL OF COURSE).
And the third is that unbeknownst to you-is unbeknownst a word? Looks like it is-unbeknownst to you, and therefore likely to dad, and therefore it’s a secret, I have a small but obviously real tattoo of a star on my right breast. Which you can see because I’m wearing a top so low I’m actually less dressed than if I were just topless, basically, dad would shit, unless like you his dick would just puke up a little more excited clear “sis piss” all over MY FUCKING LEGS
At which point I fall over backwards, horrified actual, and now my legs are spread in those shorts and I’m looking up at you with that mixture of fear and surprise that you like, and you’re naked and your dick is a baseball bat of purple-headed sexual frustration, and
YOU CAN HEAR DAD COMING UP THE STAIRS
— Your move, hotshot. What do you do?
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Her Tongue 