Note: This is a pretty debaucherous story. It's not a quick jerker and doesn't follow any standard beats. It's got elements of incest, non-consent/reluctance, and power dynamics. It's probably closer to a dark psychological story than a straight up erotica.
This is about how a mousy neglected girl gains her dear sister's attention in both the worst and best way possible.
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Part 1
"Dear Lord, please help her to notice me. She's all I have." Cross my chest, bow my head, and sniff her panties. The prayer is for God, the ritual is for me, and the panties I stole from my sister. I may have gone a touch mad, not that I have any frame of reference for that.
My crotch tingles when I touch my big sister's panties to my nose. The smell has faded, so I drag the stiff cotton down to my lips to feel closer to her. My tongue pokes out for a taste. Still salty, though.
I stick my hands down inside the elastic of my own sweat bottoms and brush my finger through my crotch--being very careful not to stimulate my girly bits. Sniffing panties is one thing. Masturbation, oh Lord, that's another. I'm not a harlot.
I pull my finger out and sniff the wetness from the edges of my own privates. It's sharp, pungent. I take a small lick of myself. And more tangy than salty. Whereas Big Sister Nessa's unmentionables have a sweetness to their musk, and a much saltier flavor. Granted, I'm just going by her "lost" pair of panties, but I'm sure of it.
Shame Nessa's flavor is wearing out of the fabric. I've had these for a week.
My crotch dampens. It does that from time to time. It's not sweat, and
No!
it's not pee, which leaves it as a mystery juice. I suppose, like Mother says, my husband will explain what that wetness means when I'm ready. The only problem is, I don't have one of those yet.
My nightly sacraments done, I clutch my sister's panties and begin to crawl into bed. Right about as I'm tucking myself in, I hear the front door slam. There's a
Thunk!
. Then a bunch of giggling.
Vanessa! Big Sis Nessa's back! Oh wow, she's home early tonight, too. It's barely ten.
Okay, okay, I need to prepare for this. I flick on my lamp and throw off my covers. I'm rifling through my drawer until I find my old pleated skirt and cotton strap top. They're the skimpiest outfits I own, and that's only because they don't really fit anymore. They're five years old, got 'em when I was fourteen, so needless to say, they fit quite a bit tighter nowadays.
I throw off my pajamas, and take just a moment to try to "adjust" my butt naked body, futile as I know it is. It's all wrong. Little tiny boobies, pasty white like the rest of me, with huge puffy nipples. Kinda gross, if I'm being honest. I got no butt, at least, nothing like a woman should. It's far too bony and knobby like the rest of me. And my privates are all covered up in thick black hair poking out this way and that. The mysterious fluid down there has the hairs all glistening and matted down real ugly.
The short of it is, I'm an awkward gangly thing. Nothing like Sis.
I heard Mom smoked when she was pregnant with me, a sin I doubt she'd ever repented for, and one I certainly never grew out of, standing barely shoulder height to the rest of my family.
Gotta work with what the Lord gives you.
I slip my tight skirt up over my bush. The hem of it barely reaches down to my thighs. Good enough.
Despite being from my school days, the strap top still sags around my chest even though the hem barely covers my belly button. I only grew one way, it seems. My fat nipples, which just won't soften up for some reason, poke the thin fabric out like pinky thick triangle bumps. It's anything but sexy. Heck, it's got Bob the Tomato and Larry the Cucumber printed on the front of it. Yeah, Veggie Tales are not sexy.
But oh well!
A chance like this doesn't come often. She'll be sure to notice me tonight!
I smooth down my limp black hair. It's wiry and speckled with strands of mousy gray. At least I have a cute face, big brown Bambi eyes and a tiny little nose, even if my lips are too thin. That gives me some confidence.
I throw open the door and pitter patter down the stairs on my bare feet to greet Sis. The wind cools the moisture on my pantiless crotch and I feel an icy drip of that mystery fluid trickle down the inside of my thigh.
From the kitchen, I hear two voices. I pause on the other side of the threshold, back against the wall.
"Really? No bologna?" Big Sis Nessa says.
I hear Mom's exasperated sigh. "Your sister ate the last of it for lunch."
"Goddammit, Ellie."
"Vanessa," Mom scolds, "do not take the Lord's name in vain." There's no real punch behind her words, though, sounds more like rote reiteration of a phrase she's said a hundred times before.
The fridge door slams. Nessa laughs with an icy sarcasm. "You stupid bitch." Her words slur around the edges. "God left this house with Dad." That's different kind of phrase that gets thrown around a lot in this house.
Mom's silent. I hear the cupboard open. A plate clanks on the counter. A plastic bag bag rustles. Finally, she speaks. "I can fix you buttered toast or--"
"Mom," Nessa interrupts.
"There's cinnamon sprinkles. Powdered sugar, too. We got that." Mom's voice has a frantic twinge to it.
"Mom."
"Yes?"
"Fuck off."
"..."
The cupboard opens, the plate clanks back in, and Mom shuffles out of the kitchen. I lay my body flat against the wall but not flat enough. Mom sees me as she leaves. She's in her oversized tee, one of Dad's. It reads: Sacred Heart Fellowship Camp Meeting 2022! It bulges around her pregnant belly, which is probably the last thing Dad ever did for her.
Her baggy slacks hang off her backside. And despite her loose clothing, underneath, her voluptuous curves still fill it out completely. She halts. Her hand brushes her curly blonde hair over her ear and scratches her nose as it sniffles.
Then, just before she moves on, her dead blue eyes flicker over to me, the little wallfly backed into the corner. Mom doesn't even turn her head completely, just peers at me out of the corner of her eye. She shakes her head just enough for me to notice and her big lip twitches, as if she's fighting a scowl. That's all the recognition I get. She shuffles on, back to her room with the lazy gait caused by her happy pills.
That's fine.
I take a moment to collect myself, and right when I see Mom's bedroom door close, I peek into the kitchen.
My beautiful big sister is slouched over the counter, fiddling with the toaster. My Lord, she got all her curves from Mom. They fill out a party dress far more scandalous that what Father ever would have allowed. It's billowy around the hem, but rides up nearly as high as my own. From my vantage, I can see her big fleshy boobs nearly bursting out of the strapless top.
Her hair she got from Father. It's bright fiery red with natural waves that drape over her naked shoulder blades. I suppose because of her ginger hair, her pale skin is freckled all over. I can see the side of her face. Those big bright blue eyes, the same as Mom's, study all the knobs and buttons on the toaster.
She groans and gives up, spinning back around. As she does, her bright blue eyes meet my dingy brown ones. She squints, like she can't quite see me. I suppose I am just hugging the threshold with only my head peeking in, but I do notice that her eyes are quite red, unnaturally so.
Maybe she's been crying? She grins. Nope, I guess not.
She waves me in. Her grin turns into a great big smile, curling her plump lips around her bright white teeth.
Tentatively, I step into the kitchen, self consciously tugging on the bottom of my skirt, wishing it longer. I glance down. My knobby legs are wholly exposed, string bean thighs I can barely cover. My belly button peeks out from under my Veggie Tales print.
She's seven years older than me, twenty-six to be exact. I've never felt that difference in maturity more than I do right now. She sees it, too. Her eyes slither down my chest and between my pasty thighs. Her gaze pings off my bare feet and rises back up.
But Lord bless her, that's the only notice she makes of my lame attire.
She holds out her arms. "Ellie! It's been so long." Her slur is even more pronounced. She stumbles a bit to the left, but catches herself. "Come here so I don't have to
come
to you."
Meekly, I nod. Still holding the hem of my skirt down, I waddle up to my big Sis. She wraps me in her soft arms. Her curves, yes, this is how a woman should feel. The top of my head just tucks under her chin. My shoulders press into her bosom, and it warms me tight.
"I missed you so much," she tells me. "Where have you been?" Her hands trace all up and down my back. Her breath has a pungent edge, like the chemicals in a medicine cabinet.
"I, um, I've been right here at home." I'm not quite sure how to answer her. "Up in my room like normal."
She laughs. "Oh, you need to get out more. I'll take you out some night. Would you like that?"
I nod. It's nice to hear even though she's made that promise a dozen times before.
She playfully smacks my bony butt then just lets her hand rest there.
Her head peeks down, and she rests her cheek against my forehead. Her voice takes a coy tone and she nearly whispers right into my ear. "Say, are you old enough to drink?"
Her breath tickles. I feel my face heat up in a ferocious blush. In the back of my mind, it bothers me that she doesn't know how old I am. Her birthday is the nineteenth of August, four months and twenty-some days from now, and she'll be twenty-seven. "I'm nineteen," I reply with a harder edge than I mean.
She pushes me back and holds me by the shoulders. My sight-line is staring straight down her plump freckled cleavage, and I just can't tear my gaze away. She leans forward, kissing me on top of my head, but also--and I about die--she presses that wonderful cleavage under my face, just enough that my lips graze her breasts. But a touch is all I get. She backs away.
Another drip of that mysterious fluid follows the trail of the last one. It dribbles off the hair on my privates and streaks down the inside of my thighs. I smell a slight musk as it runs over my bony knee and down my calf to the tops of my bare feet.
When I look up, my big sister is watching it.
"H-hey," she stammers. I see her eyes flash. "I can't get the toaster to work. You want to get me the bread pan?" She points to the very bottom cupboard next to the stove.
The bread pan? "Are you going to bake some bread?" I'm very confused.
"I just
want it
