Hi there! I'm a sucker for crusty punky butch big sisters. Big stompy boots and baggy pants and unwashed hoodies and constant loud music & weed stink coming from their bedroom. If that inspires you at all I would love to read your musings on a dynamic with a sister like that. I love how you write. Cheers!
Your sister is the opposite of you in every way. You are petite, femme, you've always gotten good grades, you're a model of what being a good girl looks like. Your older sister however, entertains none of that. For as long as you can remember, while you've worn dresses and gone shopping seasonally to update your wardrobe, your sister has worn the same stuff for 10 years unless it doesn't fit her anymore or actively falls apart. She wears baggie hoodies, heavy combat boots, industrial piercings, spiked bracelets and bullet belts, jeans that specifically were given to a tiger to distress before buying them, and her hair is kept so short that in public people keep calling her "sir".
Not that you mind. You still love your sister after all. She's your sister. However she wants to present herself is ultimately her issue, but you do wish she would sometimes change it up. At least change up the music, you think bitterly to yourself one night when studying for a test taking place tomorrow. You've been hearing hard thumping rock and guitars wailing for as long as you've been studying and the noise is starting to really throw off your concentration.
With a small huff, you get up, go into the hall, and knock on the next door. There's no answer. You pound on the door next. Still no answer. Growing more frustrated, you wait until the current song ends and during the one second there's silence you hit the door with everything you've got — which isn't much but enough to alert her. The next song starts, and as she opens the door, an annoyed scowl on her face at having been interrupted from whatever she was doing, you're hit with a wall of sound and a wall of stench. If you thought the music was loud before...! And the smell... when's the last time she cleaned her room or did any laundry? When did she last shower? Why doesn't she at least open her window when she smokes weed?
Shaking your head to clear your thoughts you manage to get out "Can you turn down the music?" Which of course she doesn't hear. She leans forward, cupping a hand to her ear as though you're so small and quiet that you need a megaphone. You shout as loud as you can "TURN THE MUSIC DOWN, I'M TRYING TO STUDY!"
She rolls her eyes, goes back inside her room, and aggressively turns the sound UP. Coming back to the doorway, she has a shit-eating grin on her face. "BETTER?!" she says. By now the pulse in your temple is quickening due in part both to the tempo of the music and your growing impatience. You slip past her and go straight for the source of the music, turning it OFF instead. "There. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to study." You say before turning around to see your big sister's large frame blocking your exit, standing right in front of you with a dark look on her face, her sleep-deprived baggy eyes looking outright scary when combined with her glare.
"Did you just fucking touch my speaker." It wasn't a question. More a confirmation that you in fact did do that. "Someone's gotten a little too high and mighty. You need to be reminded of your place." You squirm past her and head for the door only to see it's closed, not that you'd have made it anyway. She already has you by the wrist and throws you with ease onto her bed. The smell is strongest here, so much so you become dizzy off of it in seconds.
Your big sis immediately is on you, hands on either side of your head, her knee slipped right in between your legs and pressed against your tight cunt. You try to wriggle away from her, but even if she were deathly ill you'd never be able to outfight her. You were too much a good girl to learn how to do anything but flail and whimper and scream to be let go. Too bad the music is already back on and the remote flung across the room so you can't turn it off again. Now no one can hear you scream.
"Please... not now, can't it wait til after I—" but she wraps a hand around your tiny throat and squeezes as she rams her knee against your slit. You hate how wet you get when she chokes you. It makes you feel so dirty to be turned on by that, by your own sister even! You're supposed to be a good girl! You tell yourself, every time this happens. But every time it ends the same. You cum all over her knee, strangled moans coming out of that good girl mouth of yours.
"Big sis, please..." you gasp breath ragged post-orgasm. But right now you're not her equal. You're barely even human. Right now, as she tightens the clasps and secures the fasteners of her strap, you are just as much a toy as the massive thing on her hips is.
She flips you onto your stomach, facedown and nose pressed right against her musky clothes. The smell is intoxicating... even with your distaste for weed, her scent is still addicting, permeating your nostrils and filling your brain with lust. You can smell the sweat that pooled onto these clothes as she touched herself while wearing them. It's enough for someone as straightlaced as you to effectively get your own kind of high off of, relaxing your body enough to lay there, ass up and pliant. Your big sis pushes your dress up, and rips the panties off your hips, before prodding against your hole with her strap. Without waiting, she pushes the whole thing in, forcing a muffled yelp out of your mouth.
Your big sis seizes you by the hips, fucking into you with no regard for you, shoving that massive dick into you again and again. You hate how much you love this. You're supposed to be the good girl! You hate how good this feels. You love that you hate how much you love this. You're about to raise your head to get a breath, only to feel one of her hands push your head further against the pile of clothes on the bed, all but suffocating you. Then, she pulls your long, beautifully maintained hair, letting you get that breath, on her terms. She ruts into you again and again, pounding into your plush ass so roughly she leaves bruises where your hips connect. Your brain is unable to form any coherent sentences, overwhelmed by all the sensations assaulting you. Eventually, it gives up and your eyes glaze over. You don't know how long she has her way with you, and after long enough, you don't care. Riding her strap, being carried in her arms and pushed up and down it, pushed against the wall and railed, bent over the desk, pushed against the window, tits against the glass, she fucks you every way from Sunday and more until she finally cums one time too many and tires out.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she lights up a joint, pointing at the strap soaked in your juices. "Clean it." She says, and you get on your knees and start using your mouth, your tongue, dutifully cleaning up after yourself. The smell of freshly smoked weed fills the room. Your big sis idly pets your head. "Good girl."
