Smoke
Your best friend and her boyfriend are coming over with some weed and beer while your mom is out of town. You don't want to make a fool of yourself, so you ask your shut-in pothead older sister for help.
You step into your sister's room. The stench is… caustic. Well, not caustic - Gale is your sister after all, it's rude to think of her that way. Just less… hygienic. Yeah, that's it.
You tap on her shoulder. She jerks around to look at you. "What the fuck?" She leans on the last word, like she always does when she's surprised. She yanks oversized red headphones down off her head to sit around the back of her neck, and you can hear the high pitched noise of anime girls cooing at each other from the speakers. Lights flash on the computer monitor past her head, and for a moment you're distracted by the unreal red-to-purple irises of the young character on the screen while she pouts with an exaggerated expression. "What? You're interrupting me." Gale moves her head to the side to block your line of sight to the screen, indignation and expectation on her face.
Your eyes refocus on your big sister, and after your eyes linger for a weirdly long time on her open lips, they lift back up and you say "Lace and her boyfriend are bringing over some beers and weed tomorrow when mom's gone, and… I don't want to look like a dumbass." Gale stares at you, waiting for you to continue. "About… the weed." You gesture vaguely toward the ashtray on her desk, still smoldering with the ember of a recently discarded roach. Without a word Gale smacks the space bar on her keyboard to pause whatever she was watching, then turns to you in full. She looks at you with a wry smile, dripping with an air of superiority. "Oh, you've got a crush on Lace, don't you! You little slut, trying to get with a taken girl."
"No! Fuck off!" You cry, smacking her shoulder with earnest indignation. She laughs at the blow, unmoved by the force, and then she deliberately kicks to spin all the way around in her swivel chair. "So little baby Crissy wants to take her first hit with her big sister so she doesn't blow it with her first highschool crush, even though that crush has a boyfriend?" The mockery in her tone and face are sizzling acid on your ego, but as much as you try to put together a vicious retort, your tongue is held by a lingering sensation that she might be right.
No way. Gale's a NEET-ass bitch. She doesn't know you, all she knows is Counter-Strike and anime and pot.
Gale reaches up with the back of her hand and gently pushes on your cheek to turn your head toward the couch on the wall opposite her setup, and though you're incensed at the rude method of direction, you sit down on the middle of the three squishy and scuffed cushions. Gale takes about a minute and a half to bend over her desk, then she pushes away from it on her wheeled chair to careen toward you on the couch, a grin spreading her lips inches below the unkempt bangs draped over her eyes. She flops off the chair onto the cushion next to you and kicks the chair back across the room, where it smacks on her desk with a bang.
You flinch at the sound, but she doesn't notice. She's too busy fishing a lighter out of her pocket, cycling through three different candidates before she finds one with enough remaining fluid to actually produce a light. Eventually a spark kicks on a flame of butane, and she brings it to the joint to suck in a deep breath, the cherry lighting up in earnest from the passage of oxygen through the paper.
After a long exhale, Gale takes the joint in two fingers and twists her hand around to offer you the base of it, which you take with the tips of your index and thumb, still nervous at actually receiving and fulfilling the premise of your request. You lift it close to your mouth, but hesitation holds the paper a half inch from your face, and you exhale a large breath in preparation.
Before you can actually manage to marshal your nerves, Gale reaches forward and pushes the base of the joint between your lips, and then she laughs as your surprise causes your lungs to jerk in a breath without proper preparation. The smoke invades your lungs, feeling more like hot sand than regular air, and you hack and cough with a vicious pain in your chest. Gale smoothly snatches the joint from your hand in the extent of one of your tortured movements, then brings it back to her own lips to take a calm, unflinching hit. She holds it in her mouth for what must have been nearly a full minute, until you stop coughing and she blows it out right in your face as you heave in a fresh breath.
The tinges of secondhand smoke poison that fresh breath, and it sends you into another half dozen coughs. As your lungs calm, you can feel your eyes and face and chest seared by fire that fundamentally surpasses anything you've ever gotten from the stray smoke of a family campfire in the woods. Gale takes another three hits while you come back to your senses, a mocking smile on her lips as she stares at your tortured gasps. Once you can breathe again she passes you the remaining half of the joint, and you take it between your fingers, though the lingering scalding of your lungs prevents you from taking another hit immediately.
Gale stands up from the couch, then crosses the room to crack open a window and switch on the fan sitting next to it to ventilate the room. Maybe it's just the way the smoke has burnt its way into the very veins of your eyes, but you can't imagine that the pitiful little fan is going to manage to disperse the acrid smell of burning paper and grass.
Gale sits back down next to you and hums. After a few seconds you realize that the sound was ostensibly directed at you, and your gaze manages to focus on her. She reaches out to try to pluck the joint from your fingers, but before she can reach it you snatch it out of the way and take another hit.
This one isn't quite as vicious. Still not pleasant, but at least not as much of a catastrophe as the first one. Gale gives a little snicker at your ostentatiousness, then reaches behind her to grab at a green gatorade bottle on the little table beside the couch. She tosses it into your lap, then snakes a sneaky hand out to yank the joint out of your hand while you're distracted from the impact. Though you're still incensed by her domineering attitude, you can't help but be thankful for the electrolyte-infused respite offered by the cloying taste of synthetic-green, and you drain the remainder of the half-empty bottle in hefty gulps.
When you drop the bottle from your lips to land empty beside you, breath fervent with the need for air after all the liquid, you see Gale lift the joint to her lips and suck deeply, burning off the last quarter in one herculean breath. Seeming almost as a way to flex on you, she holds it in her lungs as she lifts easily off the couch and sits back on her desk chair, then spins around to snuff out the base of the joint on her overstuffed ashtray. Her head tilts vaguely toward the open window to blow out the obscene amount of smoke held in her lungs, then she turns back toward her computer to fiddle around with the keyboard. Dimly you recognize some kind of music starting to play from the tinny freestanding speakers next to her monitor, but it's hard to piece together exactly what genre it is, let alone the specific song.
You cast your eyes around for some other kind of drink with no success, and then your eyes return to your big sister, craned over some kind of dish and metal contraption. She performs some kind of alchemy with her fingers, then spins around and stands up to rejoin you on the couch. Before she sits down she bats at the drained bic lighters scattered around her seat, knocking them onto the floor among discarded items of clothing, then she grabs the one with the tepid degree of fuel that had allowed her to light the previous joint. She sparks up with the timid flame and takes a moderate hit before giving the tiniest of coughs of her own.
You percolate in the… pop? Hyperpop? music playing from across the room for what feels like an eternity until the noise fades into a transition between the tracks. Your eyes drift back to the joint in Gale's hand and ask "What's up with that?" Your eyes focus on the flame at its tip and you point at it, only to find that your hand didn't quite aim all that closely to its intended direction.
Gale takes another hit, then speaks with a husky voice as she breathes out the smoke. "Oh, this? I just added some hash to it. Mixed some keef in there too, for fun. I gave you a baby joint, so I'm only rolling about as hard as a pool ball in a triangle right now." The pool reference goes over your fuzzy head, but you're incensed by the idea that she pulled her punches when rolling the joint that she shared with you. You marshal all of your composure to demand "… Give me a hit of it."
Gale laughs at you, and a little light twinkles in her eyes in reflection from her computer screen as she grins at you. "If you say so, little siiiiss." She tucks the base of the joint in between two of her fingers and cups it to your mouth, where you take a draw. Within half a breath it kicks you viciously in the throat, but as you start to convulse Gale presses her fingers closer to grab your mouth and keep the base of the joint in between your lips. Your cough blows ash off the tip of the rolled paper and the ember flares, but as your lungs suck in a desperate breath to fill in the empty air, a righteous lungful of smoke pours through your mouth and burns every inch of your throat and lungs all over again, this time finding a scalding detour right through your sinuses.
Through the pain lancing and burning through you, you can hear a cackle of laughter from Gale. It takes you nearly two minutes curled against the arm of the couch to recover, and when your faculties find their way back to you down an infinite maze of smoldering fuzz, drawn back to the present by a soothing sensation on your scalp, you can see Gale taking draw after draw of the remaining half of the intense joint. Her fingers are running through your hair, half soothing you while she smiles smugly down at you from her seat, now scooched toward you halfway onto the cushion you're uncoiling in. When it's clear that you've painfully recovered from your excruciating coughing fit, she stands up and crouches down in front of you, then tucks the remaining section of the joint between your fingers and pats your cheek. "I'll be right back, baby sis." She gives a wicked little wink with the last two words, and then before your dull mind can really recognize it, she's gone from the room. A dazed thought tries to ruminate in your mind, that maybe you should take another hit, since she gave you the joint, but before you can manage to get your thoughts together enough to do it, she's back and taking the roach from you, a trail of ash having fallen onto your exposed thigh below where it previously lay lazily in your fingers. She exchanges the grass with a glass of water, which you demand respite from, gulp after gulp, and once it's drained you look down at the evacuated form with lament at its vacuousness.
Gale lifts the glass out of your hand. She takes a half hearted hit from the bare remains of the weed before deciding to call it off, and she drops the still smoldering remains of the spliff into the empty glass. She reaches back over and brushes loose ash off your leg onto the couch, then leaves her hand there on your freshly cleared skin. She lets out the dregs of smoke from her lungs, then she takes a deep breath and relaxes it out with a pleased moan, clearly well satiated by the more enthusiastic joint that she rolled ostensibly for herself. "Do you feel safe around him?"
…What? What is she…. Who? Who is 'he'?
After approximately one thousand years, you remember why you actually came into Gale's room in the first place. It takes another second (or maybe a dozen) to grope around the velour walls of your brain for the honest answer, but you come away with "Yes. He's… … …fine."
Gale clearly picks up on something in your tone other than the landslide of intoxication making a soup of your brain. "But, you don't want to be alone with just the two of them." Her thumb starts to rub lightly back and forth over your leg, and a response lurches out of your mouth with more impetus than you'd have thought possible. "No!… I mean, yes? It's not cause of like… a… safety… thing, it just… feels weird."
"Mmm… third wheel-y?" Gale asks.
A picture of a trike forms in the center of your perception. One wheel in front, two in back. A metal bar bridging the gap between the latter two, but the lone wheel in front, loose with its own rotation and not behest to the cohesion of the back. "Yeah, I uh…. I guess, I think?"
Gale leans closer to you, her half-zipped hoodie providing a loose view of one of her breasts, half obscured by an old bra, the string torqued and thin from more than a week (or two?) of use without washing. Her hand drifts from your thigh closest to her to the other, and the hair on your skin bristles with the touch as it slides up toward the hem of your shorts.
Your attention is yanked away from the touch and your locked stare at Gale's chest when she asks "Would it make you feel better if I was there with you?" Her voice has dropped to a smoky drawl, and you look up to find that her face is so close to yours, almost so complete in your view that you can't make out much of the dim, monitor-lit room behind her. Maybe it's just the weed, but it seems like you can feel the warmth of her skin on your face, and her eyes are drilling into yours with a weird, piercing intensity that both makes you want to shrink inside of yourself, and also weirdly makes your mouth water and your lips feel antsy, somehow.
After some… distracting squeezes, the hand on your thigh lifts away, and the replacement of cold fan-circulated air feels like an invasion on your skin in absence of the warmth of her touch. A distant part of your brain goes to complain about the change, but before you can manage even a single phoneme of verbalization, that same hand is cupping your jaw, thumb tracing along your bottom lip. At the touch your lips pucker and your eyelids drift nearly closed, a peculiar thirst separate from cottonmouth imbuing your tongue with a need that you can't quite put your finger on, but there's a tiny little place in the back of your dim, hazy mind that thinks that your sister's finger could find and do something about that ambiguous need, somehow.
Your eyes flicker open and close as you try to regain focus through the swirling mess of your mind and you can dimly feel the heat of your older sister's breath on your lips and the smell of burnt paper dances in your nostrils, but then your eyelids collapse together and lock closed behind a veil of soft and pressing darkness. A spectral… disappointment(?) spins around the back of your mind for three dancing steps as you hear the smallest of mirthful cackles and get a breath of (relatively) fresh fan-cooled air. Your limbs relay the sensation of being guided backwards and down with the clarity of an ancient telegram, and an ancient smell of long-smoked joint paper mixed with a more recent body musk wafts out from the scratchy cotton lining of the couch to greet you. Your mind grasps around for what's going on, only for ambrosia to be poured into your ear with the words "Good girl, Crissy… You've been so good, smoking for your big sister. Now just, go to sleep, now. We'll um… see how you feel in the morning." Something about the inflection on that last word seems… strange, but as blackness slowly drifts down over the dim light of the room and you start to feel the vague electricity of fingers dancing under the seams of your clothes, your concern becomes one with the void.
You wake to find yourself alone in your big sister's room, sunlight streaming in through a crack in the blackout curtains to dimly illuminate the space with a vague yellow-orange glow in the absence of lighting from the computer monitor, which has gone to sleep in its own prolonged inattention. It feels like you've been asleep for approximately one or two thousand years, and when you slowly lift yourself up off the couch, you can feel an unwelcome crick in your neck. You grasp around for your phone to check the time, and after scrambling several of your sister's dirty tanktops and a skull beanie, you come to the conclusion that you must have left it in your room before you came here last night.
Worry laces the edge of your heart and you stand up quickly, wanting to be sure that you're dressed and that your room is clean before Lace and her boyfriend show up later. Your foot finds itself on top of a pair of lighters skewed on the floor, and when you look down to kick them away you find that your clothes are quite rumpled. The button on your shorts is open and they're pulled down a half inch past the waistband of your panties, further down your right side than your left. You adjust them to sit properly, surprised at how much you must have moved around in your sleep for them to have gotten so skewed, and then you find that the clasp of your small bra appears to be unlatched under your shirt behind your back as well. That would take more effort to rectify, so you figure that you'll just take it off when you take a shower and wash the smell of weed and your sister's room off you.
"Hey girl, I'm like, sorry, like I don't mean to bail but Reyn got an invite to a party and he like totally wants me there too? It's the guy he got the beer from so it's not like he can really say no. I'll see you at school, right??"
It's not a big deal. She just got an invite to a party. She got dragged along to another party. She'd have totally skipped the invite to a party if Reynauld weren't involved. For sure. For real.
She's your friend, and he's just some fucking boy. Coming in between you and-
Ugh.
Being a boy. Like they all are. Always in the way.
8 p.m. rolls around, and you barge into Gale's room with no warning, slapping the door closed behind you and flopping over the armrest of the couch to stare at the ceiling. It takes a few seconds before your big sister recognizes the interruption and the time, and lights flash around on her screen before some kind of video plays and she spins around to look at you. "Lace?"
You exhale pointedly, your chest incapable of expelling the sheer breadth of the cannonball of disappointment in your chest. Gale laughs at you, and as you twist your head to stare at her, a curious gleam sparkles in her eyes before she turns back to her desk. Her hands dip into a drawer on the desk and fiddle around for a while, then she turns back to you with two thin cans in her hands and a lit joint in her mouth. She clumsily calls out "Then it looks like it's just the two of us!"
High-pitched anime voice-overs coo through the air from speakers aside your sister's monitor as Gale stands and kicks her chair out of the visual angle to her desk, then she bonks your calf with one of the cans to indicate that you should move your legs to allow her to sit down. You retract both, poising both calves halfway over the middle cushion to give her space to sit down on the furthest space. She deftly cracks the seal on one of the cans with one hand, then braces it against the couch to open the tab fully. The can is passed to you, and you take a few moments to peruse its face. "White claw…"
Without comment, Gale takes a swig her own carbonated beverage, and passes it to the hand closest to you before tucking her elbow around your upraised knees and guiding your right leg to rest across her lap. The skin on skin contact below her loose short-shorts is warm and comfortable, and though your other leg is still vaguely uncomfortable in its upraised position pressed against her shoulder, you're more engaged with the drink in your hand as you lift your head to take a sip.
It tastes like… nothing, but in the punchiest way you've ever felt from a drink. Like if static were a liquid, and it had an argument to pick with you. You blanche, to which Gale winks and clicks her tongue. "You'll be drinking these by the twelve-pack within years, kid." She takes an oversized gulp from the can, then drops her hand to rest the lukewarm can against your thigh. Not wanting to be outstripped, you marshal yourself and take a big sip from the can and force it down without engaging the faculties of your tongue, then point your finger at the joint in your big sister's mouth. She acknowledges the gesture with a grin, holding the paper between her teeth, and you're forced to grasp in the air and call out "Gimme."
Gale throws her head back and laughs, but then she plucks the joint from between her teeth and passes it to you, butt first. It might have been an accident, but it almost seems like she flicked her finger against the tip to knock ash onto your chest before she retracted her hand. This joint proves to be more palatable than the one that knocked you all the way onto your ass last night, and you manage the first hit without making a fool of yourself. The second, however, sucks roughly along fault lines in your throat, and it gives you a righteous kick. At least you have a drink in your hand this time.
Buuuut, the vodka seltzer in your hand helps less than you expected, and Gale grabs the hand with the joint to keep it from digging the cherry into her shoddy furniture as you give rough, sporadic coughs. The joint is deftly navigated from between your fingers, and the weed brightens the shadows around your sister's face when she takes a backhanded hit. Her eyes angle toward you as she breathes out and speaks "You're such a big baby, you know." You'd have punched her shoulder if you could reach, but you're too far reclined to reach with your arm. Instead you jab her the toes of your upraised foot into the exposed skin below her ragged crop top, and she gives a small cackle. She wraps her elbow around that foot to pin it to herself and stop your reprisal, then offers you the joint again.
You take another hit, more intentional now that you know how much you can manage. Another sip of the white claw. Gale's eyes pull away from the anime on her computer monitor and she reaches for the joint, but you yank it away and take a second hit before returning it. You gesture at Gale with the can in your hand. "You like, like these?" The loud chaff taste barely manages to find some kind of… black cherry? flavor before dissolving into the unrequited wash of carbonation, and you're baffled that anyone would enjoy a drink like this.
Gale is caught in the middle of a sip and coughs, slapping a forearm to her lips to avoid spitting. "God, no, they're terrible! But they're what hoes drink, and I'm guilty as charged!" She laughs, and flicks the ash off the end of the joint onto the floor in front of the couch. She reaches over and tilts her own drink toward you, where the blue light of the monitor barely illuminates the word 'Mango'. Making assumptions about the nature of her gesture, you grab the can and swap it out for your own, then lift up off the couch to position yourself in parallel to your upright sister. This can doesn't taste much better than the last one, but it's… not quite as loud. I guess.
The fan is already on in the room, and after a minute of sipping and swapping the weed back and forth, you find yourself lifting one leg onto the couch and tucking against your big sister's arm for warmth. Another big gulp to finish your drink, then you reach out for another hit of the joint. The hit is actually straight up easy this time, and a cathartic part of your chest yearns for the vicious cut of the laced joint that Gale rolled last night. You consider asking her to roll another of the spicy spliffs, but your attention is instead lazily drawn to the subtitles of the video playing on the screen. You're able to discern some vagueries about its slice-of-life content before Gale lifts her arm to wrap around you and asks "You're jealous of Lace's boyfriend, aren't you?" Her inflection is fairly flat as she speaks, but the way she drops her tone gives an air of honeyed insinuation.
Her grasp is soothing, and though the weed is a vague but satisfying buzz in the back of your head, it's the bubbly burn in your empty stomach from the alcohol that makes the real answer slide out of your lips. "… Yeah." You pause for a long minute, but from the way your head shifts around Gale can tell that you're going to continue. "He's not… good enough for her." Your big sister idly lifts her hand to draw her fingertips lightly across your shoulder and up your neck as she asks "I thought you said he was good?"
Your mind skips a gear as you try to figure out how to explain while dopamine trails along your skin from the touch. "Yeah, he's just not..." You pause, at a loss for the word, but Gale jumps in with the right phrasing. "He's not you." Your face turns to stare up at your sister's, surprised that she understands. Your lips part with the beginning of words in disagreement (or affirmation, you don't know which), but nothing comes out of your throat. Gale mistakes your parted lips for thirst (or doesn't) and tinks her can against your empty, then switches out the empty can in your hand with your original drink and tosses the spare aluminum vaguely toward a side table past you, where it bounces off the fake wood and onto the ground. The blood in your cheeks burns a degree hotter in delayed response at her assertion, and you're taken aback at the fact that she figured that out sooner than you. "What? I… how?"
Gale gives a cute laugh, just slightly more emphatic than a giggle, accompanied by a smug smirk. "I kinda always had the idea that you were gay, cuz, the way you looked at your little middle school friends during those slutty little sleepovers." The idea washes over your mind as you rehydrate your dry throat with another sip of alcohol, and the way the fuzzy drink sizzles entices you to swallow and then immediately throw back the rest of the drink to confuse the dawning truth of her claim. Gale takes a drag off the joint, passes it to the arm wrapped around you, then raises her hand to offer you a drag of your own from between her fingers. You move your head forward and tentatively suck in a breath, expecting another cruel trick like last night, but she gently cups your chin with her palm and waits for you to take a full hit. You open your mouth to breathe out and she angles her index and middle away from your mouth, and you start to turn to shift Gale's face out of your peripheral vision back into the center of your focus, but she tenses her grip again and angles the joint back to touch your lips. The salty sweat smell on her fingers and the charred paper mix in your nostrils, and while that same apprehension at a potential trick dances across the back of your mind again, the dual substance buzzes and her gentleness a moment ago have softened your mind. You open your lips and draw the last of the joint's smoke into your lips, and through your intoxicated daze you manage to grasp back to your sister's last comment. A protest dully falls out of your mouth into your sister's hand. "I'm not…"
Gale cuts you off with an amused hum, dripping in an air of superiority. "Thought maybe bi with how you looked at me before I transitioned, but I was sure about the gay once I caught you checking out my tits."
New heat leaps onto your cheeks from behind your ears like the devil on an unsuspecting soul, burning you with a hot uncertainty. Gale moves her free hand to place her ring finger to your chin, walks her middle finger onto your lower lip, and index up to your top lip, punctuating each movement with a word: "You. Little. Perv." At the end, she flicks her index up to flick the bottom of your nose.
Your first instinct is to argue, but as you realize the image of her in her bikini at the family trip to the beach last month is etched into your mind like a tattoo, you hesitate again with your lips parted, empty of protesting words. She notices, again, like she's apparently been noticing all this time. You look at her, at some level aware that you're not hiding your emotions well, but unable to change your facial expression. How dare you figure out me before me. Indignation narrows your eyes and flares your nostrils when you see Gale lick her lips and dip her head an inch closer.
You're not stupid. Between the siscon anime dimly lighting the room and the skimpy clothing barely obscuring Gale's chest and ass, you can tell that she's going to jump you. And the way she's acting, she's expecting you to just lie back and take it.
Fuck you. Your mind wades through the heavy drapery of knowledge that she shouldn't be doing what she's about to do to you, being your older sister, and your knowledge that you shouldn't let her either, but you can't let her just win and be all smug right in your face like always. You shut your eyes and push forward to take the initiative of the first (wait, first??) incestuous kiss from her, lips landing forceful and unrepentant, dry from hanging open for nearly a minute in your half daze. But then the rest of your senses kick in, and you realize that Gale's arm is still hooked around the back of your neck and your head is rested back against it in exactly the same position it was a moment ago. Your eyes snap open and surprise registers on your face, and a full second later you ask "What?"
Delight and pleasure at your surprise color Gale's face with a dark light as she pulls her face away and moves the weed roach to her left hand to drop it into the empty can you still idly clutch. "Yeah, I could see that you were asking for it, the way you've been staring at my lips, you little freak." The can is discarded as flippantly as the last, and your big sister digs her lips into yours again, clutching the back of your head to keep you exactly where she wants you. Her kisses are dry from cottonmouth, but they're hot, and she's very talented with her lips. At first you find yourself paralyzed by her pressure, but within moments she's coaxed you into a dazed reciprocation, only interrupted by sparse thoughts being served as tennis balls across a net of consciousness in your mind while the growing sexual pressure of Gale's hungry lips restrains you too effectively for you to catch any of them with your racket.
Was I really staring at her lips-that seems weird, why would I do that, does anyone actually do that…
Your sister's tongue darts into your mouth with clear intent to investigate its new surroundings, and the thermostat of your skin drifts up another few notches. You're starting to really sweat in earnest.
Oh god-what if she thinks I'm gross, all sweaty
Gale pulls back for a moment and adjusts to sit directly toward you on the couch, legs tucked under her parallel thighs. In your kiss-and-alcohol-and-weed drunk fugue all you do to cooperate with her movement is to rebalance yourself upright, still angled awkwardly over one crooked leg toward your big sister. The odor of the room hits you again, and your previous thought dissolves in the reminder that any body musk you might be creating is by no means out of place in your surroundings. When your sister is in her desired position, she turns and pulls your face greedily toward her. The motion pulls you forward over her thighs, and your hands clumsily land on her legs to keep from collapsing forward onto her. Gale's flesh is hot under your palms, and the way her thighs squish under your fingertips feels good, really good, like the weed has extended an erogenous zone to your previously idle hands and turned a valve to let the sensation of Gale's body course through the channels of your mind and leave you thirsty for more.
Within moments of her insistent reclamation of your face, she's sucking on your tongue while you start to make little desperate noises without conscious intention. Gale's overwhelming pressure does not seem to actually require you to be all that active in reciprocation, and your awareness drifts around your body to your uncomfortable back, canted forward at an angle it's unaccustomed to, and you adjust your center of gravity further onto your hands, which you find to be very comfortable in contrast. One of them seems to having thoughts of inquisition, and it starts pushing forward toward your sister's hip. Her skin is smooth, and some of the burning wood in your mind shifts to expose a thought to fresh air; you're actually very surprised at the evidence that Gale shaves her legs at all, and something about that manages to clumsily magnetize to a vestige of critical thought fighting to reach the surface. It bobs up and down under the waves as your fingers reach the hem of your sister's loose shorts and slide in, while a velour haze drops down over the inside of your eyes, and parts of your brain you've never felt before drawl with wordless need for more.
A dark chuckle slithers from between Gale's lips and into yours, and she splays her hips wide to allow further ingress to your fingers. The insidious sound from her throat starts to flick on lights in the dim closet of a wariness that jumps into sharp relief when your fingertips reach the smooth skin of your big sister's crotch.
She, she shaved- everything- recently. Last night? She..-she planned this.
Your fingers retract while you process that information. Though the room is in the same state, Gale does smell fresher tonight than you're used to.
She planned to get me high. To get me drunk. So she could fuck me. She showered and shaved. Weird as hell that she'd shave for something so profane as fucking her little sister.
There's hands tucked under the edges of your shirt, and the fabric is being slid slowly up across your ribs. A shiver of anticipation twitches into a motion of fear as you realize just how high and pliant you are, and how the brand-new sensation of drunkenness is making the colors and feelings shift around in your head. Gale makes an uncertain "Mmm" sound at your reaction, halfway to a discontent growl as your back straightens and the previously unexamined desire to make out with your big sister and touch her body cascades out of the back of your mind in big sheets of hot ice.
Your eyes open to find Gale staring at you with a hard look in her eyes, and before you can say a word she pushes forward to press you back and down onto the couch, unremorseful as your head bumps roughly against the armrest. A spark of fear lights in your chest as she leans over you, but without touching you further she leans past and grabs at the table beside the scratchy furniture, knocking something paper-y off the surface as she gropes around. She pulls back to brace on knees and one hand over you, rotating a shiny cylindrical device in her hand. It looks to be a vape of some kind, but the colors of the jamaican flag insinuate that it's some kind of weed rather than nicotine. She find the button that she was looking for and draws a big hit into her lungs, then drops the device onto your shoulder as she darts down and pulls your jaw down to open your mouth. Your fear and uncertainty at her motion makes you gasp, and she takes the opportunity to press her mouth against yours again to blow the smoke into your lungs. The acrid taste of highly potent smoke burns your lungs in a vicious offensive, and you almost immediately cough it all back out into Gale's face. She pulls back and wipes your spit off her face before collecting her hash pen again and taking an earnest hit of it to keep for herself. The colors on her computer monitor turn the smoke blue as she exhales, and looks down at you to survey her handiwork.
Your whole body is wracked by vicious coughs and wheezing breaths in a desperate and slow attempt to recover, and after what feels like hours of your chest thrashing around, you calm to find that the burn in your lungs has grown magmatic, slow and heavy. Awareness spreads back out from your core to find the top of your spine curled at an odd angle to allow the back of your head to rest clumsily against the armrest, your thin long sleeved shirt having slid up above your stomach to be restrained by the bottom of your bra. Your legs are canted awkwardly off the front of the couch, and Gale is standing on her knees in the crook between them and the back of the furniture. Though the weed was only inside you for a moment, it has certainly done its work, and your eyes slide up from Gale's thighs toward her face, stopping to linger on her chest like they apparently always do. It takes a righteous push from your mind to uncouple your stare from the nearly exposed breasts and reach your big sister's face. You blink at her blithely while she stares down at you. You go to say something (though you don't actually know what), but your evasive thought is sidelined by a much more pressing need.
Liquid.
You reach up to grasp at Gale's hip, and at some level you can subconsciously feel how the touch feels right again, like it did before the adrenaline of realization temporarily pushed your head above the water of intoxication. More important than that though, is your request, dimly recollecting the respite you were provided after the first hits last night. "Gatorade."
"Mmm" Gale does not immediately move, instead choosing to dance her fingertips over your exposed stomach. The touch makes you twitch and let out another sharp, dry gasp. "Are you feeling thirsty, sis?"
"Mm-hmm!" Your wordless affirmation hitches as her hand drifts up and suddenly squeezes your breast. The sensation is brilliant in your mind, a bright warmth of pleasure in sharp contrast to the pulmonary torture you've experienced over the last six (or sixty?) minutes. She squeezes again, and a moan oozes out of your mouth, freshly drenching your mind in a renewed need for more. She leans down and grasps both sides of your chest, kneading them with uncompromising force that makes your head spin, then finally pushes both of your tits to together to just barely touch through the padded fabric of your bra before releasing them to bounce back to a resting position.
Gale stares down at you with a smug smirk on her face. "You want more after your drink?" You find yourself nodding emphatically, and she stands up to cross the room toward her desk. In the absence of that pleasure your mind tries for the millionth time tonight to try to surface back to coherence once again. Relays try to click in your mind with only vague success, but as your eyes drag across Gale's bed to see the ragged purple bunny plush that used to match the pristine one in your own room, a spark plug manages to light in the flooded engine of your mind. You retract your legs and curl up, back resting against the armrest as you give a half-fuzzy protest "…Gale… wait, no, you shouldn't, we shouldn't, shouldn't be doing this."
Without turning to you, Gale continues to smack around the contents of a deep desk drawer while she laughs with dark humor and insinuation. She twists around and cracks the top of another white claw with a sadistic grin on her face, and pistons in the engine of your mind manage to turn one cycle. "Gale, no, wait, I… wait…" The room spins a little as you try to put your thoughts together properly, but the alcohol warmth still oscillating in your stomach stirs the swirling paints in your mind every time you try to get a cohesive color out of them, and you're left without any coherent words of protest.
Gale finishes cracking the can and stalks toward you slowly. "Wait… mm, no I don't think so. Not after all this time waiting, seeing if you'd realize on your own." She reaches the couch and positions herself in front of you, legs spread in an A-frame against your upraised calves while she takes a hefty swig of the drink. She makes a pleased sound as she swallows, then she pries your legs apart and leans down between them to push the lukewarm can into your fingers. Your limp lack of response doesn't facilitate her intention, so she tucks her palm down to push your fingers against the can and press it toward your lips. "Drink, little sister." The room gives another little eddy as you try to somehow focus your eyes on the can and her face above you at the same time, and when the insistent can reaches your lips, your mind short-circuits and you take a clumsy sip. It pours down your throat without protest, but the angle is bad, and some of it sloshes out the rim and onto your cheek. You try to pull your head backward, only to find a scarce quarter inch of space between your previous position and the armrest of the couch. The white claw follows your movement, and you take another desperate sip to mitigate the flow of the tilted drink before it splashes all over you again.
You manage it more cleanly this time, and are allowed a precious breath of air when Gale retracts the can and throws the rest of it back in several herculean swigs. The can joins its brethren on the floor, and when you reach up to mop at the liquid on your cheek with the sleeve of your shirt, your sister snakes out a hand to stop you. She leans further between your legs to press them wider with her hips, and her breath is hot on your face as she presses her tongue long and hard along the splash of sticky moisture on your skin. Her hands drop to land beside your head and next to your ribs, and Gale is upon your lips again, each of your mouths freshly moistened by the alcohol. Her tongue dances on your lips and presses into your mouth, slipping in and out between tiny bites at your lips that make you squeak in pain, the noise thoroughly suffocated in your big sister's unceasing kisses. After what feels like twenty unrelenting minutes to your dizzy brain, she pulls away with a wicked delight on her face, and she regards you for a few thirsty moments before she gives a hungry growl and dips down to your neck. One or two of your dumb faculties try to tuck your head in the way to stop her, but she roughly shoves your head out of the way with her own and presses her lips to your neck with the same intensity that she first forced on your mouth tonight. You're only allowed a dozen moments of tender but very firm kisses before she begins to suck at your skin, the building intensity from light to hard a steep gradient. Within thirty seconds, you're earnestly squealing out in sharp protest.
A strangely coherent voice in the back of your overwhelmed mind sparks up and reassures (warns?) you that your mother will surely hear you and come to stop this sick dance, but before it even finishes its first sentence, another voice bearing the last dregs of half-sobriety in your head reminds you and the other voice that she's gone for the night, and you're completely subject to your sister's lusts. Your internal round table is completely wiped out as you feel Gale's teeth nip at your skin right on top of a fresh hickey, and a cry kicks out of your mouth in a new register. Teeth drag harder against your sensitive skin and it draws your mind along with it into a smooth channel of warm static. You can feel a hand jump up from beside your ribs to land on your body, bracing with a surprising gentleness against your breast. Your breaths drift from spastic panic to a deeper panting, and when Gale squeezes her hand and digs her teeth into you in tandem, the two sensations bleed together in a sparking golden pain-pleasure. A foreign sound of deep pleasure presses out from your chest in a tone that you've never heard before, and it relaxes your fingernails from digging into Gale's back to instead clutch her closer to you.
Your noise causes a shiver to run through Gale, and she gives a satisfied growl of arousal, vibrating into your neck. She nips at you another half dozen times, denying you the newfound pleasure of being bitten in earnest, before she tears her head away to dig into the fresh skin on your other side, biting deep and hard, teeth pinning your flesh together in an exquisite agony that threatens to boil over the edge and sear your brain in scalding pain. You try to moan again, but your tendons and airway are constricted too much to let out cleanly, and it torques into half a moan and half a strangled whimper. Gale finally pulls her face away from your body and stares at you with a liquid fire that you've never seen on her face before the blistering heat of this night. "Do that again."
The pressure of her gaze and impetus of your big sister's command push your mind to try to figure out what she means, but half the power lines in your head are loose and sparking against the tarmac instead of making connections to other terminals. "I… uh, do- what??" Gale laughs at your ineptitude and leans forward again to an inch from your face. She squeezes your chest with terse force and commands "Moan for me." Regardless of whether the trifecta of alcohol, weed, and pleasure in your mind would provide the neurological reaction required to obey with conscious will, your body responds immediately to the pressure on your breast and you let out a moan that pitches up into another squeak as she pinches her palm to increase the acute pressure. Gale's eyes roll back for half a second and she gives a low laugh of deep pleasure, then she presses herself forward onto your lips again with a single hard kiss.
In a moment of haze while Gale pulls back from you there's a little tickle of a wish that you had another white claw to re-moisturize your thirsty mouth with, but before the slow thought manages to turn into any kind of intention you can feel your hips being lifted to brace your ass slightly up onto Gale's thighs as she sits back onto her haunches. "God, you're so sexy, little sister. My little slutty toy, all buzzed up and deliciously pliant for your big sister." She leans forward slightly to flick up your shirt past your bra, and she drinks in the image with clear relish. Her tongue flicks out to lick her lips, as she scrapes her fingernails against your sensitive throat. "You're so goood at being bitten - my favorite. Makes me wish I'd done this to you sooner." She winks at you with a wicked grin and strips her sweaty crop top over her head to reveal a flushed chest and pierced nipples, each of the golden bars angled at a diagonal pointing from her shoulders down toward her navel. She squeezes one of her tits for a moment before her hands drop down to your exposed stomach, tracing her nails with excruciatingly moderate force down toward your waistband. That responsible, reserved (stupid and prudish?) part of your mind circles around again, and a voice perched on a cloud of idealism manages to pipe a sentiment through your mouth while you grab at Gale's wrist. "No, wait, Gale, stop, this, my first time, like this, not like, this…" Even as that voice talks through your mouth, the golden dripping wetness of arousal is pooling in a lake in your mind and between your legs, and you half regret the words.
Not that it really matters, because your sister's nails slide under the waistband of your shorts and panties, and the clouds under that resistant voice burn away to make it drop drown in the fresh wave of need splashing around your hips and toward your crotch. Either sensing the new wave of pleasure and delight from your open mouth and rolled back eyes, or simply not caring about your protest, Gale responds "Stop? With my delicious little sister lying there drooling over my fingers? Not a chance. You're asking for this." Her fingertips flick toward and away from the skin under your waistband as she draws them back and forth between your outer hips to below your stomach, laughing each time your hips buck upwards with need and demand for them to move deeper under your clothes as they reach the center. Your eyes catch one moment of her lower lip caught between her teeth in sultry arousal before her fingers flick to release the button on your shorts and slide the zipper open, and your eyes slam shut and your back arches with a wordless demand for a continued invasion of your clothes.
Her palm drops to press flat on your pussy and she pushes upwards ever so slowly toward the new opening in the fabric wrapped around you, and when it reaches its peak she pulls it and her other hand to the side to snag on your waistband and pull your shorts roughly off your hips and force your legs straight up to slide them off your legs. Humor and arousal lace her voice as she practically moans "Oh, oh, oooohhhh, girl, look at how wet you are for me. For your big sister. You little slut!" Your eyes spark back open as she smacks lightly between your legs, the sound moist and dampened by the thin fabric still wrapped around you. Before you can try (and fail) to protest at the strike, the outstretched fingers turn to a flat palm and she starts to press up and down against you, each motion drawing you further and further out of your remaining conscious presence into a warm, wet bliss that draws your hips forward and back with her movements. As your eyelids drift open and closed in time with the pressure you can see Gale's free hand dug into her own shorts, moving in parallel while her tongue flickers in and out of needy lips.
In one dip of your eyelids, the palm switches places with her thumb as she rubs in smaller motions against your most sensitive area, the friction from the cotton pressed against you thoroughly lubricated by your desperate moisture. When she perfects a rhythm that draws ecstasy into a blinding point of light in your brain, you dimly register squeaks and moans cascading from your mouth in arbitrary patterns. The squeaks overtake the moans with desperation as you reach (maybe? but not quite? but maybe it was) the third orgasm you've ever had in your life, and your legs wrap around you sister with unrepentant force. She crashes down against you before you can quite reach past the precipice of the peak of pleasure, so close you could almost touch it. Gale's head thumps against the armrest beside you as she laughs again, clearly laughing at you, but you couldn't care less. If laughing at you is the cost of her touching you like this, violating you like this in a way that a sister never should, then you might as well be wearing a sexy-clown halloween costume.
In the position you inadvertently pulled her into, Gale is fully pressed down between your hips, spreading them uncomfortably wide, and though you dimly wiggle to try to indicate that your legs need a respite from the uplifted position and the impending force between them, your sister either doesn't register, or doesn't care about your nonverbal protest. A kiss smacks into your lips again during the ongoing buzz of your pleasure, and you moan into her in a daze. Your moan is matched by Gale's own, and when she pulls away she lets out a wicked hiss in preparation for the pursuit of her own sexual vindication. She reaches forward and digs both her hands under your bra to squeeze roughly at both your tits, and with another laugh at your tortured exhales, she wraps her hands around your back, one to lift you, the other to unclasp your bra. The hands circle back and roughly pull at both the garments on your upper body to slide up and over your cooperating, outstretched arms. Freshly exposed, you feel a tingle of embarrassment dance around in your eyes, but the sheer, dense, drooling arousal on your sister's face manages to quell your insecurity and keep you pliant. Not knowing what you're actually trying for, you raise your hands and grab in the air at your big sister. That sadistic gleam sparks in her eyes again and she moves forward to press her own tits into your grip, and a fresh new wave of arousal washes in and out of you at the newfound sensation. Gale finally gives her own earnest moans at your direct stimulation of her body, and her eyelids dip as she oscillates gently forward and back with your squeezing motions. You're barely aware of it, but the soaked arousal pouring through every molecule of your body is painting your face in an absurdly lewd picture of desperation, and after a minute Gale starts to pull her chest back out of your grasp, inch by slow inch. A grin splits her face as she looks down at your pathetic pout as your fingers reach less and less of her breasts, culminating as a laugh as she sits back on her haunches once again.
Her hands grope her own breasts again as she gives a tantalizing smile and teasing moan at you, then she pulls back and stands up off the couch. Your legs finally manage to hit horizontality and blood rushes back into them, pulling the heat of arousal annoyingly back away from your more erogenous zones. Little motes of awareness flick in and out of resolution in your mind as your senses return to you. I'm… half-mostly naked, I'm… soaked, it's hot and cold in here, I'm, um… high and uh,,, drunk? and that's… that's Gale, and she's… god she's so hot, and-wait, what was that? She's my sister, why is she this hot-and, wait, why am I so naked? Lace was supposed to… oh wait, mom is out of the house, and Lace was supposed to come, and she didn't, and… wait, did I come?
Gale! She was-she is-she-… God, she's so hot. Your mouth waters at the image of her at her desk lifting another can to crank more alcohol into her system. One of your eyes blinks closed and open out of time with the other as you dimly call out "Gale, uh… I-want some?" Her eyes flick down to yours as she finishes the can and sets it on her desk. Her eyebrow raises and she gives you a smirk, before tilting downward to regard the contents of her desk. She pokes at an item there, then looks back up to you. "Mmmm, no. I want to do this again, and if you can't remember this in the morning I'm going to have to get you high and drunk to seduce you all over again, and that sounds like a lot of work." She stalks back over to you with clear intention and leans down over you. "You're such a pretty little slut for your big sister, and that's just how Gale likes you, Crissy." She leans down over you to place both hands beside your head. Your dazed mind desperately wants her to push further down and kiss you, but instead she grasps the back of your head and shoulder to lift you up and off the couch. The room, the continent, and the whole world spins around you as the blood in your body rushes around like a tilt-a-whirl, but your sister clutches you to her chest as you cling to her for dear life. After the eternity of twelve seconds everything stabilizes, and you can feel your face growing hot at your new proximity to Gale's breasts. Your mouth decides its interest without the input of any of the rest of your brain, and you start to lick and suck lightly at your sister while she runs her hands through your hair. The tinge of a motherly vibe drifts toward your ears as her voice drips "Oh, what a good girl…"
When your desperate mind becomes needier and the gentleness of your lips and tongue gives way to acute force, Gale pulls you away to look up at her. "Bed." Some kind of vague disappointment at the interruption of your attention to her body gets about forty percent of your attention, but when your head is turned by the back of her fingers again to point at the messy bed behind you, your wet loins agree that it's exactly where you need to be right now. A springy backbone of dignity would like to think that you strode over to the scattered sheets and solitary stuffed animal on the bed with intention, but the reality is that you stumbled over while barely managing not to trip over loose belts and cans. You collapse onto the soft cushioning and sink into the space between bunched up sheets, reveling in the smell of your sister. While last night you might have had some kind of aromatic protest at your Gale's room, this far into intoxication and delicious stimulation it has become a kind of acrid aphrodisiac that turns your mind into smoke all over again, as thoroughly as if you were on the couch having a viciously potent joint forced between your lips once more.
You manage a few precious breaths before you feel the damp fabric of your sister's soft shorts tossed to land on your head, and you hear your sister's body creak the springs of the bedframe as she climbs onto the mattress behind you. You snatch the garment and take a lewd and needy sniff, but as you drop it and turn to face Gale again, your face is shoved heartily back into that same musk that you were just treasuring. The breaths are choked by a bad angle until you feel your sister positioned behind your hips and pressed against the base of your thighs, and she pulls you back and upward to press against her. She takes a moment to lift your hips up to brace more conveniently, then adjusts herself to press her bulge against you properly. It initially seems like the height difference between you might be a little inconvenient, but from the way Gale starts to rub against you, it's pretty clear that her extra height is not going to be an inhibition to what she's about to do with (to?) you.
After a minute of cursory grinding, your big sister leans back to give her hands an angle to grope and stare at your plump ass, fingertips digging in and massaging with intention. She gives a little growling half-laugh of arousal, and the mix of explicit attention and firm stimulation draws long, crooning moans from you. You're barely aware of your movements as you gently sway around to the energetic sound of the anime opening song playing across the room, the same episode having been on repeat for at least two (or a dozen?) repetitions by now.
You really should have expected it, but you're still startled by a sudden smack on the left side of your butt, and it makes you squeal in surprise and pain. Gale seems to like that reaction, so she matches it on the right, and then the left immediately again with no time to recover. The aftershock steals your breath for a few moments after your second yelp, but the throaty moan of satisfaction from your big sister immediately makes the pain worth it, and you feel like a good girl for accepting her rough treatment. You're given a long, smooth press of two fingers all the way from your clit to the base of your covered opening, then Gale pulls your panties down an inch and smacks lightly at the sides of your thighs to indicate that you should close your legs to allow your underwear to be slid off. You gladly cooperate, feeling a growing excitement the approaching activity.
Once you've been stripped and you start to spread your legs again, your motion is halted by your sister grabbing both your thighs to keep them pinned together as she sinks her teeth into the freshly red, sensitive skin of your ass, jaw clamping with emphasis to dig well into your muscle. More intense than the combined bites and chest groping on the couch, the stark pain and pleasure from your (apparently very) sensitive ass pops colorful fireworks behind your eyes and tears a wild cry-moan from your throat, and you sink your chest down to the mattress to present your ass to your sister with clear emphasis. Outside your view Gale laughs with evident delight, squeezing your ass again as she calls out "Oooh, little Crissy is a major slut for ass bites, huh? Don't mind if I do!" Without giving you any kind of lighter lead in, she snaps and bites at you again, scraping her teeth against your skin, sucking to give you vicious hickeys, digging into your muscle, and overall tearing at you like someone eating a steak with no knife.
After an eternity of moaning and wet drooling onto your sister's bed, Gale's teeth move down to the sides of your thighs, and that pain makes you leap up onto your hands while yelps spark from your throat. The sensation much less pleasurable for reasons you can't parse in your crossfaded and sexualized daze, and in between bites you lean forward to get your legs out of her reach. Thoroughly expecting to be yanked back toward her, you clumsily distract with a request for what you've been thirsty for since you first landed on Gale's bed. "Gale, I want, I want you, inside me."
Gale returns to stand on her knees behind you and spreads your legs again. "Oh yeah? Tell your big sister how bad you want her to fuck you." You can hear the smug smile in her voice, and for the first time since you've known her, the image of that cocky and self-aggrandizing expression that she always wears when she feels powerful turns you on instead of making you mad. You can hear the voice of that slut that she's been calling you as you moan out "I want you so baaad." You push backwards to try to press against her cock, but her hand catches you and pushes you back forward. "Mmmm, try again! Tell your big sister how much you want her to fuck you." It takes a few (or a bunch?) of seconds for you to process the demand and specific emphasis, but it finally registers. Before you actually give her the words that she wants, a sound from across the room manages to bounce into your ear and give you a tiny spark of inspiration.
"Pleeeease, fuck me hard, onee-chaaan!"
You hear a muted gasp twist into "Oh, fuck" and without warning your big sister slams her cock into you, your slickness practically a red carpet for entry. While ecstatic excitement and stimulation slam into your mind like a tsunami, the pain of losing your virginity to the first penetration you've experienced is a sharp sting in between your legs, and it twists your voice into a strangled "Oh" that chokes up your throat. Gale gasps in earnest from excitement and the sensation, pressing herself as far in as she can go, before she registers your reaction. You can almost hear her mutter "… Sorry…" in a quiet and rueful voice, and she pauses to let you recover and adjust. It takes you less time than you'd expect, likely as a result of how the alcohol has relaxed your body, and after fifteen seconds you pull yourself forward an inch and slide back to test the waters. There's still a tinge, but nothing unmanageable. You repeat the motion, moving further forward and sliding back harder, and Gale gets the message that you're ready to go. She grabs your hips and starts again, beginning with a moderate pace and quickly moving up to fervent thrusts that rock you back and forth and rob the control of your shaky limbs to be facilitated by Gale's hips and hands, clutched tightly on your own hips.
Within minutes the residual pain of the initial penetration has faded, and is replaced by the sharp bursts of delicious pain from your sister slamming her bony hips into your recently-bitten ass. Your moans follow in immediate succession after each impact, but Gale's are more spastic, sometimes throttled by her body's fervent demand for oxygen intake as she exerts herself. Her breathing ramps up in pace, but before it reaches a peak that you'd expect to be accompanied by an orgasm, she slows down and starts to more calmly rock your body back and forth on her, one hand tucked between your bodies to squeeze your ass as she moves. She moans out "God, you feel so good little sis."
Hearing that seems to be starting to do something for you in the same way it has been turning on your big sister, and you can feel a warm shiver run up your spine. She feels overwhelmingly good to you too, and your breaths turn to long, drawn out moans in simple affirmation of the overall heat of the situation. You want to reply that she feels good to you too, but your mind hangs up on how to say it for just a second, which way to refer to Gale. You try with "You feel so good inside me, big sis."
She breathes out heavily, the end twisting into a little wicked laugh. She rewards your ongoing drift into the fetish of the night by wrapping her hand around and under you to play with your clit, little flicks at first that make little motes of light burst in random spots behind your eyelids, then slow circles with flat fingers that make you moan and drool as orange-gold energy burns in your pussy. She asks you in a low tone "Oh, you like that you little slut?" You moan out an affirmative "Uh-huuuuuh"
Gale laughs again, and starts to move her hips to push her cock in and out of you with emphasis. After a few minutes of delicious buildup, she switches to using two fingertips to pinch and rub at your clit, their intensity slowly ratcheting up as the motions of her hips slow back down while she focuses on stimulating you. Your moans kick up in pitch and pace, and as the energy builds by inches in your body and you near your orgasm, Gale slows for a moment and tells you "Tell me you want it, little sis."
Full of vicious desperation, you shout "I want it so bad onee-chan, please!" You don't get the reward that you want, because the word 'onee-chan' hits your big sister like a trigger phrase for a sleeper agent, and in less than a second she's back to pounding you again, panting like an animal. As the minutes pass you start to slip and slide back up toward the peak of pleasure again, and a need starts to pulse inside you to reach it this time, to not have it taken away from you by your sister's needs again. You want this to go on forever, for your sister to pound you until you come over and over and keep going until you pass out. But, eventually she's going to cum, and as the impact of Gale's hips continues to jar your random syllables in your thoughts, it occurs to you: Oh god, she's going to cum and… she's going to cum… inside me?
You've never really given any thought to the notion of someone coming inside you, having not bedded anyone at all, let alone a guy. But Gale is a girl, she's your sister, and as the fact of what is coming soaks into whatever pleasure-thirsty approximation of a brain is left in your skull, the idea that your big sister is going to cum inside you lights a new bonfire in the center of your mind. Drowsy excitement makes you moan Gale's name, and her intensity manages to kick up another notch, bruising your ass from the repeated impacts while you tilt backwards a little further to provide the most resolute and stable position for her to thrust into.
That dumb little incorrect voice from earlier that told you that your mom was home and could save you speaks up again, trying to press one word somewhere into the seams of the intoxicated rapture ensconcing you. It takes five thrusts from Gale before it even registers as a word, and probably a dozen more before your remaining intellectual faculties can start to poke at it.
Pregnancy?
Your moans quiet when that word does manage to flip on a dingy desk lamp in a corner of your mind, and it gets allotted about 4% of your brain cells. No, getting pregnant is just a thing that you have to worry about with boys. The little voice manages to rack up a point in the 'correct' column by reminding you that no, that's a genitalia thing, not a gender thing. God, you don't want to worry about it though. It's fine. It's-fine! A new sound of impact seasons the sweaty air as your sister's bedframe begins to rhythmically bang into the wall from all the chaotic movement atop it.
That little voice seems to be being fucked stupid too, and it wins another notch in the 'stupid' column when its broken syllables suggest that you might wake someone up in the otherwise empty house, and you clumsily realize that if it's been wrong twice, then why would it be right about the whole pregnancy thing?
After all, Gale is eight, four… nine months on HRT? A year? Two? How long since her-birthday!? Another thrust jars your mind out of its calculations as it tries to triangulate the timing through the dimming lights in your brain, and a fractured assumption of 18-36 months falls into your mental lap. Can she even get girls pregnant at eightTEEN months anymore? You haven't been paying too close attention to the details of your sister's transition - it's tough to notice anything with her always in her room, and you'd felt kinda weird about her since she came out. You've never been really sure why, but maybe-THIS! might be why???
Three-quarters of a thought manage to grasp around at your memories and vaguely gesticulate that it's impressive what she can manage for penetration as this point, but that value is knocked down to one-half by another impact that digs your face forward and straight into the crotch of your sister's stuffed bunny. The sensation of the worn fabric casts the silhouetted memory of little flowers on the inside of your mind as you remember the sweet plum smell of your own perfume on the matching bunny, just one door over in your own room, and those afterimages burst into fresh neon as your sister pounds you harder into her mattress.
A rough hand grabs and yanks the stuffed animal away from your face, and Gale growls with a desperation in her voice "Moan for your big sister!" as her hand tucks into your hair and grasps the base of the strands. The angle is bad, but the strained moan-whimpers you manage to resume are wholly sincere as the pace and intensity of her panting grows harder and harder. The impacts slam into your ass with righteous force and you can feel yourself grow hot in anticipation of the climax you know your sister is finally reaching, and she finally cries out with wordless scream, and she plows you bodily down onto the rumpled sheets as her sex pulses inside you.
While her orgasm didn't push you to a proper one of your own, you can feel a peculiar moral decay occurring inside yourself from the satisfaction of your body bringing your big sister to such a catastrophically intense climax. The swirling black-gold of satisfaction and pride at having a body that could do so much for her needy demands taints everything it touches, and you can feel it paint every inch of faux-sobriety and real-intoxication left in your pseudo-conscious brain.
Gale twitches and her muscles in her body gently writhe as she rides out the last vestiges of her orgasm, and her breath is hot in your ear. Even through all the drowsiness pulling you down, that steamy breath and those hot low tones still raise all the hairs on your body and a demand tries to make a break for the door to request more stimulation from your big sister before the bouncer of exhaustion manages to catch it around the waist and eject it from the queue.
Your sister clumsily flops out of you and onto her side, and the awkward angle of her weight on your calf demands your accompanying movement. You drag your leg out from under her limp form and stretch out your tendons for a hot half a minute, then tuck back against her, butt pressing against her crotch. Her breaths are already becoming slower as she starts to lose the fight against fatigue, but she still manages to yank a sheet out from under herself to wrap around the two of you before she pulls you against her. You grasp around for a pillow and eventually find one to tuck beneath both of your heads, and though the soft cotton is an immediate siren to your fading mind, your other faculties are beginning to circle back around and make requests of you. Your dry mouth is the first to make a vague inquiry in regards to some kind of liquid restitution, and though you could ignore that request, all the drinks poured down your throat by your own accord and those against your will have all caught up to you, and you need to use the restroom.
With an enormous sigh, you bluntly throw yourself forward a few inches on the bed to rotate to a position that will let you climb to your knees and make it off the bed. Gale, still hazy, throws out a hand to grab at you, and when she misses she asks "…where…are you going…"
"Water." You meant to say 'Bathroom.', but the fact that they're both liquid issues mixes things up in your brain somehow. You stumble to your feet and make a half-assed attempt to find your underwear, but before you can reach it you can see how soaked they still are, and you elect to just make a stop at your room on the way back instead. The hallway to the restroom is far too long and at tilted at least 15 degrees further toward the ground than you recall, but the wall is solid and you eventually find where the light switch is hiding from you in the tiled room at the end. Time seems to be scaling in and out of infinity in your smoky daze, and each time its expanse shrinks down to within grasp you find yourself another notch further toward passing out. After you acquire new underwear your hand is on its way to Gale's doorknob again, before some strange sensation in and/or around your face insists upon itself in a language you don't seem to be able to speak correctly anymore. You dazedly go to ask it what the hell it wants, and when your mouth opens like dusty parchment you realize that it's water! Of course it is. Liquid. Right. Thirsty. You are. That.
Another thousand years pass before you return to your sister's room again, and the fresh smell of sex mixes with old sweat as you close the door behind you. Gale is back in bed, though she clearly got up for at least a moment to acquire yet another white claw to handle her own thirst. That stupid little voice in your head tries to tell you that you should stop her, that you should make her drink the water that you brought back with you instead, but your aching body, still wrought in messy, smoky, drunk afterglow elects to veto that notion on the premise that the more she drinks, the more likely she is to do all that to you again. Another half-assed thought tries to imply that this won't happen again, that you shouldn't let it, but the hazy recollection of Gale saying something along the lines of "I want to do this again and I don't want to have to seduce you about it" snuffs out that idea with the certainty that you want to do it again too; she won't even have to seduce you. You'll probably ask for it, the little slut you are. She won't even have to get you drunk next time - but, you do want her to get you drunk next time anyway. Maybe you should play it a little coy to get her to get you twisted and make her 'force' it on you a second time?
Gale croaks out in front of you "What are you doing, loser?" You realize that you've been standing by the bed with the plastic cup of water halfway to your lips for what was probably a full minute while you thought. You shake your head and search for the nearest surface to set the water on, pushing a jacket and loose phone charger off a nightstand. The thought flickers in your mind to offer your big sister some water again, but that smart plan to let Gale be as drunk as possible asserts its brilliance again, and you climb back into Gale's bed to flop down and against her. She finishes her can and flicks it off the side of the bed, like the (four? six? you stopped keeping track of the number of cans discarded on the floor back when you could still count) others, and she pulls you tight against her. She lets out a big sigh that blows past your ear and makes your hair stand on end again, then she murmurs with a tremulous, drunken fear in her voice "I thought you were going to leave… I thought… I… do you hate me now?"
You turn your head halfway toward her and look up at the ceiling, the proper angle to view her too far for you to bother while you fight off a heavy drowsiness. "Of course I don't hate you, you're my sister." Gale starts to ask another question, but the world above the bed takes another sickening spin and you cut her off. "Now, fuck off and let me sleep..."
You turn your head back over, and though you're vaguely aware that Gale still tries to say something else to you, a big black curtain of wavy velour slips over your eyes to subject you to the exquisite stage play of twisted exhaustion.
