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Sometimes you think you’re a masochist, or an attention whore, or that maybe you’re just so desperate to get laid that you have a tendency to pull really stupid shit. You remember when you never thought about sex…when you thought your “plumbing” looked weird and you often ended up pretending it didn’t exist, because what was it even for, anyway, except having babies – and you sure as hell didn’t want any of those. You remember when kissing was gross and physical, sexual pleasure was an unknown phenomenon to you. And then there was that time that Sis laid her teasing on a little too thick, got a little too physical, pushed things a little too far…
She kissed you on the mouth and her lips were soft and sweet and hot, and you felt hot, your nerves buzzed with electricity and you thought you might just dissolve into a great big quivering mess on the floor.
And it was like some kind of cliché as fuck flower blooming, like she’d planted a seed in your budding young body and as it sprouted and grew, so did a primal hunger for something you didn’t know how to satiate. Maybe it was sick and wrong and maybe you should’ve known better. Maybe Sis should’ve known better, but you were both depraved, and she was hot, and you were young and horny. Maybe she had the hots for you, too, or maybe she was lonely (even if she could have had anyone in the world), but it was probably something you wouldn’t ever truly understand.
All you know is that it’s turned into this fucked up cycle.
It had started out more innocent, like walking around in your underwear to try and get her to kiss you some more, and maybe do other things…but as the two of you ended up wandering further down that path of no return, thoroughly committing yourself to the guilty act, just being touched was no longer enough for you.
You want Sis to punish you. You want her to use you. You want her to dominate you, own you, bend you to her will, force you to comply with each and every one of her little fancies.
That’s why you misbehave and disobey her and act out – because you want to be shoved off your high horse and fucked senseless. She’s all you can ever think about, and everything has become a matter of unbearable extremes; when she isn’t touching you, it’s suffering, and the burning ache between your legs consumes every ounce of processing power you’ve got chugging away in your cranium, but when she is touching you it’s like it’s so damn intense that you can’t even breathe and you just might suffocate under the weight of your enjoyment.
But you still keep “rebelling”, because it’s so delicious when she responds and you’ve pretty much lost control of yourself, anyway.
You’re like the passive audience to the train wreck you’re committing yourself to. A thousand alarm bells had gone off in your head when the slippery, malicious thought had first wormed its way into your mind. If there was one thing you knew you should never, ever mess with when it came to Sis, it was her food. More specifically, her sweets. Little pranks for the purpose of getting a few slaps on the ass didn’t faze her, but you were perfectly aware that the individual who dared to interfere with her self-indulgence was probably in a life-threatening position.
So that logical part of yourself that held your sense of self-preservation was screaming at you as you went through the motions of your plan – dissolving the shell of an egg, melting chocolate, coating your shell less egg in layers of rich, tempting confectionary that you knew Sis couldn’t resist, camouflaging something far less appetizing as a delicacy. You were scared of the consequences, and it showed in the trembling of your fingers as you lovingly wrapped your creation in colored foil, completing the illusion of a popular Easter treat. But it wasn’t the only cause of your unsteady hands – some sick part of you was thrilled with thoughts of how Sis might respond. How angry she would be, and how that would translate into her treatment of you, and maybe she would even lose a bit of control instead of always, always being a cool mask of composure with a mild, derisive smirk lazily tugging at one corner of her lips.
You were excited and scared, and for a little while the two feelings duked it out as you stood there, staring down at your creation. You were like fucking Frankenstein upon the completion of his monstrosity, carried on by urgency through the process but left stunned with a million probable consequences as the cheery pink foil glared up at you.
And yet that god-awful desire, mingled with a morbid sort of curiosity, finally won out over common sense, and you left it for her to find.
The only warning you got after that was a mess of raw egg and shards of chocolate dripping down your door. There was nothing to prepare you for your current position.
That is, you on the floor of the main room with your wrists tied behind your back, partially propped up against the side of the futon and your legs spread to lift up the hem of your skirt. She’s got your shirt pushed up, exposing your budding young breasts, your nipples erect more from excitement than any chill…the small saving grace is that she’s let you keep your shades on, and for that you’re grateful. Your cheeks must be beet red, or your nerves must be showing in your face, because she’s just watching you like a great big wild cat with another of her trademark lazy smirks.
There’s no explosion of anger, like you were expecting, not even something icy and cold with a blatant desire for revenge. She lets her bare fingertips slide up your exposed stomach, soft leather following and making your muscles tense the higher she goes until you’re shivering with the force of your anticipation. You don’t know what she’s planning or why she’s being so calm about it, but your hormones are shooting your levels of desire up the roof and you’re finding it hard to care what she does as long as she does something. She doesn’t have to wind you up at all; you’re graciously doing it for her, just from a few light strokes.
But you already feel like a coiled spring and you’re squirming under her gaze, her hand, your body crying for attention and something inside you might just burst if you don’t get it soon. Your lips part and you take in uneven breaths, your fingers flexing, groping for something to hold onto and squeeze, some kind of anchor, and she just sits there tracing your ribs and letting you work yourself up for longer than you think is even humane.
When she finally strokes along the gently curving side of one of your breasts your heart jumps into your throat and you choke on a sharp inhalation. Your vision spins and a streak of electric pleasure shoots down your spine, but she’s still barely even touching at all. That’s how she gets you to yelp in surprise when she finally catches an audacious little nub in an unforgiving grip between thumb and forefinger, and tweaks it with enough force to make it just as uncomfortable as it is blindingly enjoyable.
“Thought it’d be funny to try fucking with my food, huh A-cup? You’re going to have to crank up the dial on your wit to get any of your preschool pranks by me – you think I can’t tell when shit’s been tampered with? Well, I think you’re getting a little too big for your training bra.”
She murmurs it right against your ear as she rolls her thumb against your nipple, making your whole body shake, and you can’t even stop the little sounds that squeak their way out as you struggle to keep breathing. You can feel plenty of tingling warmth gathering between your legs and you try to shut your thighs, to put up some kind of defense against the pleasurable attack she’s bombarding your nerves with, but she’s quick to put herself between them, keep them spread so there’s no way to hide. And as if to spite you, her other hand joins her first, so both your nipples end up rubbed, squeezed, tugged, twisted. You bite your lower lip and arch your back, one heel dragging along the floor and the other jabbing Sis’s muscular thigh without you even meaning to. Your threads of control just keep on fraying, and there’s not a damned thing you can do to stop it.
“…Well, not that big. You still got a ways to go, little lady, but maybe I’ll do you a favor and squeeze ‘em lots, to encourage them to grow. Can’t have you dishonoring the Strider genes, after all.” You can hear the amusement dripping off her voice as she changes tactics, instead massaging your small breasts in her substantially larger palms, each slow squeeze seeing your nipples caught in the curve between her thumbs and pointer fingers. You can’t help it when your hips start rocking up.
“Sh-shit…you didn’t even f-fucking…bite it, you bitch…” you hiss under your breath as you half-heartedly attempt to free yourself from the pleasurable torture…just one motion repeated over and over that’s slowly driving you mad.
“I knew what it was before I even picked it up,” is her cocky response, before she squeezes your nipples particularly hard, and for all your mild indignation and your attempts at mimicking her self-composure, you can’t stop yourself from crying out.
As you lay shivering and panting, your body hot with desire and arousal, her hands fall away from your breasts and she moves instead to lift the hem of your skirt up higher, exposing your simple white cotton panties – but fuck do you wish they were anything but white right now. You don’t even have to look to know they’re soaked through, and by Sis’s soft chuckle your fear is confirmed.
“Look at this cute lil’ pussy playing peekaboo through your panties. What a mess, kiddo – best get them off, don’t want your soaked cunt to catch a cold.”
Your face is burning with embarrassment, and not even because her fingers are working your underwear off your hips and down your legs to thoroughly expose you. It’s her god damned teasing, her humiliatingly vulgar comments, but even as you snap at her to quit the fucking baby talk, one of her fingers is already sliding between the soft, rosy skin of those slippery lower lips and you moan. Your whole body gives a shuddery jerk and, against your will, your hips are pressing up against the touch, your body desperately begging for more.
“You’re dripping like crazy down here…don’t tell me my little girl’s hungry?”
If she’d stop the cheap porno dialogue then maybe this wouldn’t be so terrible, but as it is you think the blood vessels in your cheeks are about 0.5 seconds away from bursting, and yet you can’t stop squirming. You can feel your entrance twitching a little from the way she teases around it, and you’re aching to be stretched and filled. She’s clearly waiting for you to respond before she does anything more, and your lower lip trembles with the last spike of stubborn energy you’ve got left in your weak, useless limbs.
“Can you cut the f-fucking crap and just…do it already? God damn, you come up with the worst dialogue, Sis.”
But she just ignores your demand and starts lightly applying pressure to your entrance, nudging against it over and over, but never hard enough to actually push inside.
“Does your pussy want to suck on my finger or not, kid? I got plenty of other things I could be doing, so don’t waste my time.” And as if to solidify her threat, she starts to pull her fingers back. Your already broken composure lasts for approximately no time at all.
“Yes! F-for god’s sake, yes, my pussy wants your fingers, it wants to fucking deep throat them, and if it doesn’t start choking on them like, now, then it’s probably going to drown in its own damn juices, because I’m pretty sure I can’t take your shit any longer!”
There’s a brief moment where you sit there panting, shaking, glaring at Sis from behind your shades, and she just passively looks at you back. It feels like it stretches on forever, though, until she finally leans in to murmur “that’s my girl” before promptly burying a finger into your tight, aching cunt and covering your lips with her own. You sob against them, squeeze your eyes shut and kiss her back the best you can while rocking your hips, and she thrusts that single finger in just as mercilessly as she was teasing you before. It feels fucking amazing, the way it rubs against your walls, igniting all sorts of sensations along your insides. Your lungs burn and your muscles keep squeezing down around her, which in itself is nearly enough to tip you over the edge, but she’s not letting you. She’s specifically avoiding the right angle to properly get you off, instead pounding away into you for just long enough to get you to start loosening up.
As soon as you’re accustomed to her finger, as soon as she’s moving nice and easy and you no longer feel every little detail, just the unbearable pleasure of being filled and fucked, she pulls it out and leaves you gasping, trembling, needy.
“What the hell?!” you exclaim indignantly, and struggle to free your arms, if only to finish yourself off. But she casually reveals two peeled hard boiled eggs and you have no fucking clue where she was even hiding them all this time.
“You said it’s hungry, right? Thought you’d want something a little more substantial.”
Chicken eggs never looked so big as they do right now, and you find yourself trying to swallow past a nervous lump that’s abruptly formed in your throat. She’s not giving you much time to respond, though, as she’s already started rubbing the smooth, glossy white surface against your parted lower lips…and at least that part of you seems to be whole-heartedly agreeing with her assumption. It just wants to be filled again, and is happy to disregard your trepidation towards the object she’s going to try and use.
“How the fuck am I supposed to fit that massive piece of reproductive chicken shit up my snatch? I can’t even fit two of your fingers, dumbass!”
You look small compared to it. She’s rubbing you with the narrow end, teasing your entrance again, but you’re becoming more and more convinced that there’s no way it’ll go in. It’ll break before it goes in, and you’d rather not spend the rest of your day trying to flush out bits of cooked egg. Except, she doesn’t really seem to care what you think, and she’s already starting to push it against you.
“Might be a bit of a stretch, but you’re a big girl now, you can take it. About time we loosened up your tiny pussy anyway.”
A little bit of it slides into you without too much resistance, but the egg rapidly widens to a point that you’re really not sure you can handle, and you grit your teeth as a mild burning starts to build around your entrance. It’s slowly being forced open around the soft, slick exterior of the egg, and somehow despite all your previous nervousness, your complaining and half-hearted protests, you love the fact that she’s doing as she pleases and using your body, and it’s strangely…very arousing to watch your pussy gradually stretch around and engulf that entire giant fucking egg. There’s something pleasant about the discomfort, and by the time it finally pops inside you’re a trembling, panting mess.
That promptly squeaks as your walls seem to suck it up into you.
Then you kind of panic again.
“Sh-shit, it’s gonna get stuck! How the fuck do we get it out??” If your arms weren’t restrained, you would be scrambling to try and reach up in there and yank it out yourself, but as it is you just kind of squirm and kick your feet uselessly. She rolls her eyes at you and grabs one of your legs to hold you still, and that’s enough to make you stop and look sheepish, even without the chiding she proceeds to dish out.
“How do you think babies come out, idiot? You’re going to push it out. That’s the whole damn point of putting it in in the first place. You got muscles, as small as they are – start using them.”
It’s so far in that you can’t even really feel it anymore, just a kind of pressure somewhere deep inside you that worries you. Maybe that’s what spurs you on, as well as being practically ordered to do it…but you’d really rather not be sent to the hospital to get an egg extracted from your vagina because your stupid Sis thought it would be a good form of revenge. You’re still not sure that this isn’t what she’s planning on, anyway, but you might as well try.
Not that you’re even sure which muscles you’re supposed to be using, or how to control them. You bite your lip and push, trying to focus on your lower abdominal muscles, since that seems to make sense. It shifts a little inside you, but doesn’t move that much. You push and push and push until your abdominal muscles are sore and you’re breathless, but it barely seems to do anything at all, and you’re starting to get really concerned about that potential trip to the hospital.
“You’re using the wrong ones. How do you think your cunt’s so tight in the first place? Use the same ones that keep it tight and make it twitch and clench around my finger.” She casually demonstrates by nudging the tip of one digit inside you, and you’re reminded again of your desire to get off, even through your fear of having an egg stuck inside.
But you do twitch, and you cling to that little muscle movement, focus on that set you aren’t familiar with controlling, and push.
It’s hard. You really have to struggle to get them to do what you want, and you can only sort of feel how it makes the egg move. You push as hard as you can and grit your teeth, your hips lifting some with the force of your attempt, your eyes squeezing shut and your breath temporarily faltering…you can feel it shift, the pressure slowly inching its way lower, and then it’s moved back down to where you can feel it and you gasp at the sensation of your muscles working it out of you, the slippery surface sliding along your walls. It’s a struggle to maintain it, but when it starts pressing against the nerve endings at the very entrance, stretching you open and peeking out of you, you nearly cum right there. The ripple through your insides seems to be enough to make it pop right back out of you with the weirdest, most strangely pleasurable sensation, and you lie panting and shivering and unpleasantly empty.
You’re relieved that it didn’t get stuck, but now that it’s out…all you can think about is having it back inside you. Not that you want to tell Sis that.
Not that you have to tell Sis that, because she already knows.
“Don’t tell me you’re worn out already. Your pussy is still drooling everywhere…it even got all over the egg. That means it’s still hungry, right? Good thing I have extra…”
You notice the second egg sitting inconspicuously off to the side, and you don’t bother to hold back a groan.
“Are you fucking kidding me? How’s that even going to work?”
But you can’t deny the thrill of pleasure that runs through you when you feel the first one, nice and warmed up from being inside you, rubbing against your entrance. It pushes back into your stretched pussy with more ease than you really think it should have after just being in you once, but it makes you arch and mewl as your walls all-too happily suck it back in. You stretch around it easily, and find yourself enjoying that vague pressure deep inside you more now that you know it won’t get stuck. And when she starts nudging the second, still-cold egg against you, your breath catches. You want to be stuffed, you know you do. Maybe you’re just protesting to protect your image, or because you’re daring her to go through with it…
“Same way the first one did. Now open up, kiddo.”
She says it easy enough but it isn’t really that simple. There’s not a ton of excess room in there – you aren’t in possession of an endless, gaping cavern ready to fit as much random shit as she feels like shoving up inside you. She probably realizes that, too, as you notice her working slow again, gradually coaxing your pussy open again, making it stretch around the substantial girth of the egg. This time her other hand rests on your thigh, her thumb pulling at one of your glossy lips to help hold you open…but once you’ve stretched around the widest part, the digit moves to rub light circles over your swollen, neglected clit.
You’d nearly forgotten about wanting attention there, too, in the overwhelming heat of your desire to be stuffed with slippery eggs, but it sends a wave of pleasure crashing over you that silences all your sounds to the barest of whimpers, makes your muscles clench up all tight, gets your hips jerking…and just like that the egg disappears inside you with the other one. There’s not enough room for it to slide up past the point of being able to feel it…so it not only increases that sense of pressure within you, but you’re hyper-conscious of its presence, and you’ve got the mounting urge to bear down on it and push it out.
It’s just really hard when she keeps lazily rubbing that ultra-sensitive nub, keeping your muscles pulled taut as you rock against her hand, toss your head from side to side, and curl your toes. You think it would be okay to cum like this…because she’s so good at it. She knows just how and where to touch, how light or how rough to be, the perfect pace…it’s driving you mad and you’re easily getting close, your whole body consumed with heat and coiling pleasure…
So you’re dizzy and disoriented when she pulls away, your vision swimming from behind tinted lenses as you try to focus on her form. But she’s moving you…it takes you a moment to understand that you’re being lifted, propped up on the balls of your feet and held upright in a squatting position, her slick palms (slick because of you) guiding your thighs wide apart, then resting on your hips. You can feel the warmth of her voluptuous chest against your back, even through her shirt, and you’re briefly struck with a pang of desire to touch her in return. You want to feel her breasts, hold them, stroke her nipples, down her stomach, between her legs…
Not that it lasts long. Her fingers are holding your lips spread apart, exposing your entrance even more than it was before…she’s got her chin hooked on your shoulder so she can look down and watch through her own pointy shades.
“No, we’re not done yet. Come on…be a good little chick and push those eggs back out for me. Lay your eggs, Davey.”
She’s so lame…you want to groan, and you do, though it’s a lot more impassioned than you meant it to be. It’s just because her breath is ghosting against your ear, and because her fingers are stroking sensitive skin, and you can feel gravity acting on the eggs inside you. This position is much easier…you’ve got a little more assistance in pushing them out, with their own weight and their smooth, slippery nature working in your favor. You barely have to push at all before you feel the first one start to move, and this time you watch.
It slides down along your walls, pushes your entrance open…you see yourself stretch around that impossibly large egg, white poking free from pink. The white curve, glistening with your fluids, so smooth and slippery that you barely have to push at all before it’s sliding free with a lewd wet sound and plopping on the floor beneath you. You shudder, spread your legs a little wider, lick your lips…you don’t have to be prompted to do it again, because you’re already working at it.
Since the second one is deeper and more properly lodged within you, it takes a bit more work, but you still find it easier now, even with your worn out muscles. You still have a slight struggle though, taking a few short gasps of breath inbetween each hard push, your face and neck and chest getting flushed, your skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat.
“That the best you got? It barely looks like you’re even trying at all. Maybe you want it to stay stuck inside you…like the feeling of being stuffed with eggs that much, huh? I could always leave you like this for a while, until you’re ready to push properly…I bet you’re just playing with it, pushing it out a little and then sucking it back in…what a fucking perv.”
She eggs you on and you manage a strained growl between your teeth.
“L-like hell…you’re gonna leave me like this…”
You ground out before you push long and hard, accidentally holding your breath as you bear down on it with everything you’ve got, and this time it slides out easy. There’s no gradual stretching and the strange sensation of it being pulled out of you by gravity…it just comes plopping right out, bouncing off the first one and rolling to a stop near your foot. You barely get the chance to start gasping for breath before two of her fingers are digging into you, all the way up to the leather of her gloves.
“’Atta girl, I knew you’d get it eventually.”
She thrusts them in hard and repeatedly bumps her palm against your aching clit, sending your head spinning and your balance careening off in some other direction that certainly isn’t helpful to keeping you upright, but she holds you steady as she fucks your dripping pussy.
“Oh fuck, oh f-fuck…” you whimper breathlessly as you clench around them, squeeze the digits rubbing so deliciously against your abused walls, though your tired muscles barely comply. The position is uncomfortable and you can’t even rock against her hand very well but she’s just making you feel so good after dragging this out for so long…
“Look how easy they’re moving now…not so tight anymore, huh? Your hungry little cunt is practically gaping…just won’t stop asking me for more. What a lewd, insatiable kid you are…even that wasn’t enough for you.” It comes out in a steady, husky murmur near your ear, and you know that she’s enjoying this almost as much as you are. It doesn’t matter what kind of awful dirty talking shit she wants to pull right now, because you’re too preoccupied with the fact that you’re getting close.
“Yessss…shit, yes, I wanna cum, Sis…p-please…” You mewl in response, having zero fucks left to give about whether or not this classifies as begging. Maybe you are begging – whatever she wants to call it, as long as she’ll let you finish.
“Alright, if you want it so bad I suppose I have one last treat for you…sure are demanding, though.”
You’re about to rejoice and brace yourself for what’s sure to be an intense as fuck orgasm, but instead, you’re suddenly left empty and twitching again, and the whine you make is way too embarrassing. In an instant she’s got your cheek pressed against the ground, you on your knees and your ass in the air, so that your skirt is doing jack shit to cover you. Not that you ever really cared about covering yourself up around her.
“Put them back in…!” It nearly comes out in a desperate growl, which kind of startles you, but she just chuckles at your eager display. Being empty right now just feels beyond unbearable.
“Sure thing, little lady. I think you’ll appreciate this.”
Something that isn’t her fingers, nor the eggs, nudges against your loosened hole. You can’t tell what it is, really, and even though you crane your neck about you’re in no position to catch a glimpse of it. It’s smooth and rounded, but with a different texture to the eggs…there’s not as much give to the surface, it’s not as rubbery…and while it isn’t really slippery, you’ve got plenty of fluids to spare and are quickly rectifying that problem as she twists and nudges it against you. Your insides open to accept it easily enough, as if not giving a shit what she puts in as long as it’s something.
“A-ah…what the fuck is th-that…” It’s still a touch difficult to maneuver yourself with your arms behind your back (and they’re probably numb by now, too) but you still end up trying to press back against it. Because you’ve already been thoroughly stretched open, it goes in without too much difficulty, although it doesn’t slide in as easily or as far as the soft, slick egg. In fact, Sis isn’t pushing it in very deep at all…and the solidness of it, combined with how slippery you’ve gotten and the position you’re in, makes it immediately start to try to slide back out as your muscles clench needily around it. The tips of her fingers remain inside you, and when she feels the object press back against them, she rocks it forward again, repeating the motion each time it tries to escape and beginning to fuck you with it.
“Oh, you know…just a little something sweet to end your meal on. Enjoy your dessert.” There’s a tone to her voice that you can’t place at first…something that suggests she’s teasing you, though your mind is hazy and clouded as you try to get that thing to move faster, deeper inside you.
You start to notice the shape a little more…the similarities between it and the eggs she made you lay…the way that the surface of it heats up in response to the temperature of your body and starts to soften, so that it’s no longer smooth but almost like velvet as it drags along your twitching walls. The increased friction means it doesn’t move as easily, but it feels like it’s scraaaping along each time Sis nudges it back into you, lets it start to slide out again…
Suddenly you know exactly what she’s got inside you, and you begin to struggle to wiggle away and push it out.
“Shit, are you serious? You sick fuck, you can’t just put that…i-inside…!”
You’re so aroused. You’re disgusted with yourself, but you’re aroused. It’s ironic, it’s a little cruel, it feels good…you have to commend her for her wit, and the execution of an elegant sort of punishment.
“But it’s perfectly okay if you try and feed me this shit by surprise? I thought I taught you better than that, kiddo,” she drawls as she leans over you, her fingers working the chocolate covered shell less egg that you now recognize is inside you. You can feel the generous layer of chocolate melting away, each movement scraping more of it off, creating that oddly addictive velvety texture. “Pull no prank you’re not ready to take full responsibility for. Don’t start a fire if you can’t handle the heat.”
With that, she moves her other hand around to your front, catching your swollen clit between two fingers and giving it a little squeeze that makes you clench hard around the egg, a choked sob escaping your lips as you feel the integrity of the chocolate layer starting to give. She doesn’t stop, either…no, she starts rubbing your clit with all that godawful, glorious skill, and this time you know she doesn’t have any intention of stopping.
“A promise is a promise, though. You should be glad I’m kind enough to let you cum after the shit you tried to pull on me. I’m downright fucking generous, aren’t I?”
You can’t handle it…not when she’s pushing that egg into you again and again, and simultaneously stroking that way too sensitive nub, that ball of nerves that shoots you full of the most pleasant electricity and makes your whole body shake and you keep clenching around the egg, again and again, the heat and squeezing weakening the chocolate…it’s shrinking inside you as the confection keeps rubbing off, and you know just what kind of awful surprise is waiting for you at the center.
“N-no, fuck…w-wait, wait…it’s gonna break, it’s about to break…! F-fucking hell, Sis n…not inside me…!”
She’s intent on it, though. This is the punishment you signed up for when you decided to go through with your shitty idea. You deserve it. You asked for it, and you both know that even though your mounting sense of horror is legit, you’re also way too excited by the thought of that shell less egg rupturing inside you and making a big nasty mess. The thought alone is enough to send you teetering on the edge of your orgasm. To make up for the smaller size of the egg, and the way that it doesn’t move as well inside you now, Sis is working your clit over faster, jabbing her fingers harder against the soft, pliable surface of the mostly exposed egg…you’re momentarily suspended in a state of extreme, overwhelming pleasure that makes your vision swim and your head spin and your lungs burn and your insides are melting…
“Make your sweet little cunt cum for me, Davey,” she whispers in your ear.
And then you’re drowning in wave after wave of pleasure, your insides spasming around the egg, her fingers, your body shaking and jerking as you give a choked cry and your short nails dig into your palms. Your hips jump against her hands, half rocking into them, half trying to yank away because it’s just so, so intense and you’re squeezing down so hard…
You’re not sure if it was the clenching of your muscles or her fingers jabbing into it, but you can feel the egg pop. It’s like a sudden release of mild pressure and then a gush of slimy fluids against your walls, even as they keep twitching with the subsiding pleasure of your orgasm. You’re panting, sweating, exhausted as her fingers slide out of you and away from your body…you can feel your pussy, still a little open after the thorough fucking, dripping some of your own fluids before that mess starts to sluggishly ooze out of you, and you make a breathy keening noise.
Your arms are freed but you can barely feel them anymore as they fall limply to either side of you, and then begin to prickle with a thousand invisible pins and needles. You’re too worn out to care, and you slowly slide forward until you’re laying flat on your stomach, which seems to coax a big glob of goo from your insides. You shudder at the weird sensation, and try not to think about the cleanup.
“You get off on some weird shit, little lady,” croons Sis with mock-affection as she obnoxiously ruffles your hair. You’re too tired to snap at her, or move, or do much of anything, even though you’re starting to feel pretty gross. “Why don’t you just try asking next time?”
But she doesn’t expect an answer, and you don’t give one. You can hear her get up, and when you crack your eyes open a little from behind your skewed shades, you can see her bare feet in front of you. She nudges your cheek with one, and you make a lame attempt at biting her.
“Anyway, clean this mess up, it’s already starting to reek. Then we can have some dinner…I was thinking something with hard boiled eggs.”
You can tell she’s smirking down at you even before you give a long, drawn out groan of the most sincere kind of “bad joke” agony.