A Hell of a Week

I've wanted to fuck Kate for a long time. A LONG time. I've even been to therapy for it, but see, the thing about therapy is that it doesn't do any damn good if you don't tell the shrink the truth. And I had no intention of doing so. Yes, Doctor Schkevieneken, I happen to want to pound my cock into my sister's willing (or unwilling, I'm not picky) cunt. Over and over again. What do you say to that? Don't think so.

Kate is 21, approximately three years older than I am. She's shorter than me by almost six inches, though, and it would be hard for other people to tell that I'm not the older one. She's probably about 5'5", 5'6" or so. Relatively thin, though not Kate Moss thin (read: disgusting). Nice tits. I mean, okay, wouldn't kill them to be a bit bigger, but they're probably big enough for me to fit my dick between 'em. Or they would be, if I weren't hung like a fucking horse. But I digress.

She lives in Chicago, whereas I'm stuck at my (annoying, overbearing, batshit insane) mother's house in Mil-fucking-waukee, Wis-fucking-consin. However, due to a long story involving me inviting Kate to prom, and the ensuing...er...embarrassment, she'd taken pity on my pathetic state and agreed to letting me visit her in Chi-town for a while. I asked her how long, and she basically said, "Until I can't stand you anymore." Which means I have to be on my best behaviour, or I'll be out of there before I can get into...er...let's move on, shall we?

---

Sheldon has wanted to fuck me for a long time. A LONG time. He's even been to therapy for it, not that it did any good. I dread to think what he told that shrink.

My little brother (if you can call him that), is eighteen, tall, and yeah, okay, he's pretty handsome. Longish dark brown hair, sort of thing. Brown eyes. Scrawny but muscular enough to beat the shit out of me (which he does at any opportunity, though I have to wonder if he does it just to have an excuse to rub his cock against me without my noticing). He does go on about how hot I am, though to be honest, I have a huge ass, and could definitely stand to lose some weight.

Sheldon had been calling me a lot, for no reason. When I was at work (I'm a junior assistance, ie secretary, at a law firm down here), when I was at home, when I was in the fucking shower. Whenever he fancied. Eventually, I started to feel bad for the little bastard and invited him to come stay with me for a couple of days. Well, maybe a week. I don't know. I know how much he hates our mom, and how hard it is for him to stay at home with her on his ass all the time.

And...well, I don't know. He'd invited me to prom, a while ago. Mom eventually forced me to do it, though I was pretty wary of it at the time. Rightfully so, it turned out. He didn't miss a single opportunity to look down my shirt, cop a feel, or grind his hips into my ass. Then, when I'd finally snapped on him for being a fucking pervert, and run off into the bathroom to be away from him, he followed me in, locked the door, and tried to rape me.

Which sounds terrible. And it was, of course it was. But...I can't deny that it was kind of hot. And I can't deny that since then, I've been absolutely terrified of him, terrified about how I feel about him. I didn't want to have him visit. I didn't want to tempt him, or me, for that matter. My apartment is pretty small, not to mention it's been conjectured that I suffer from nymphomania, and my boyfriend was not exactly a Don Juan. Or even an Al Bundy, if you want to get technical about it.

So I was desperately hoping that I would have the self control to make sure that Sheldon would get out before he got in...let's move on.

---

The door was the brown of imitation wood. The number 86 was encased in the plain bronze cartouche just above a peeping hole. Sheldon stared at the alien construction for only a second, before his gaze returned to his sister's jean-clad ass. It seemed to him to be begging to be grabbed. A key turned in the lock, but Sheldon was mostly preoccupied with his fantasy, and it wasn't until the door opened and Kate spoke, that his hands ceased their massaging pantomime in the air behind her.

"Well," Kate said, stepping in through the apartment door, "I cleaned it up mostly before I left to go get you. It's not perfect, but believe me, it's an improvement."

"Looks fine to me," Sheldon said of the swept if not vaccumed floors, the straightened if not cleaned furniture, the tidied if not put away scatterings of personal effects that made up his older sister's apartment.

He'd been in Kate's room at home, before. It had always made him feel like he was walking into her aura, into some extension of her that she projected wall to wall. There had been posters, a couple of paintings, clothes all over the floor...But if Sheldon expected her apartment to radiate the same personal feeling, the same air that he was treading into private territory, the same...Kateness, then he was mistaken. It was at least ten times more powerful. It was like walking directly into her womb, into her mind or heart. Everything on the walls, on the floor, every couch cushion, every dust bunny, every stain in the carpet screamed her name the way her younger brother would have been glad to do if only she'd give him the chance. The immense personality of the apartment rushed out to greet him immediately, almost like a separate entity.

"This is probably the closest I'll ever get to being inside of you," Sheldon murmured to himself.

"What, Shel?"

"Nothing, Kate...I said it's nice in here."

"I love it," she sighed contentedly, "I feel more at home here than I ever did at mom's house."

Sheldon inwardly agreed, because though he'd only been at the apartment for - he checked the clock - about 2.5 minutes, he all ready knew he adored it there, and never wanted to leave. Kate was "giving him the grand tour," which unfortunately was not a euphemism for "yanking his pants down and doing unspeakable things to his incessant erection." She was gesturing at things and announcing them, from the understandable, "This is the bathroom, take note of it," to the completely pointless but nonetheless endearing, "And this is the pair of underwear I wore yesterday. Pay it no mind."

"Hah!" Sheldon remarked on that one, "I can't afford to pay mind." But he did pocket the underwear as they passed.

"And this is my room," she said, kicking open the door, "The handle is broken, so the door doesn't actually shut properly. If I need privacy, I have to stick a sock in it and then run into it with my ass until it shuts."

But Sheldon only barely heard the last of Kate's sentence. If walking into her apartment was like entering her womb, then going into her room was like entering her vagina. There were many reasons this occured to him, not the least of which was the smell. It would be nice to describe it as having hit him in the face like a freight train on a Monday, numbing his olfactory senses and making his loins twitch. But it wasn't quite like that at all. It more sort of crept up on him, sneaking up his spine, curling around his neck and then slipping past his nostrils, insinuating itself in the air, a sort of tangible sex cloud that wafted vaporiously around Sheldon's head, seeming to stroke his cock like an air-based, psychadelic hand-job artist. It wasn't an overpowering smell, really, but it did infuse the air like incense.

"Jesus, Kate," he stated, slightly shocked that she'd decided to let him into a room this prone to make his libido wake up and do a tapdance.

"Well, I couldn't clean everywhere," Kate said, picking up a few spare articles of clothing and tossing them into a basket, "Anyway, you don't have to come in here if you don't want. But honestly, considering the state of your room, you can't really talk. It's messier than mine."

"No, I wasn't talking about that," Sheldon dismissed her indignance with a wave of his hand that he imagined causing a whitish-pink vapour to make strange swirly patterns around his arm's trajectory. It would follow, of course, that Kate wouldn't really pick up on her own scent. She was around it all the time, after all, something Sheldon desperately wished that he could be.

"You know what," Sheldon announced suddenly, "I've just realised that I really have to go to the bathroom. I'll be right back."

He didn't quite rush to the bathroom, but when he did, he sat himself violently on the toilet and nearly tore the button off of his fly in his haste to rip it open. He pulled his painfully erect, almost purple cock out of his boxers and Kate's panties out of his pocket. It wasn't like he really needed them, at this point, but they might be able to offer the culinary counterpart to his olfactory feast. He held their crotch fast to his face, inhaling deeply and darting his tongue out to soften the dried compound encrusted onto them, while using his free hand to jack himself off. The pungent smell, the salty taste, and the tight, rapidly moving grip on his cock had him off in less than a minute, his pulse beating in his ears, his balls, and the bottoms of his feet. He thought he might faint, there, and then, landing in the spreading pool of his own come on the bathroom floor. But he didn't.

"God," he muttered to himself, "This is going to be a hell of a week."