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She’s too small for this.
That’s the first thing I always think, looking down at her kneeling between my legs. Bony knees dug hard into the sleeping bag. Skinny arms braced on either side of my thighs, elbows sticking out at angles, like she’s some insect crouched for the kill. She’s so light, she barely makes a dent in the old foam mat. Just a scrawny bundle of stubborn energy and sticky fingers and evil, evil ideas.
Eight years old. She doesn’t even come up to my shoulders when we stand up together. But on her knees in the tent, she doesn’t look up to anyone. Not even me.
The lantern hanging from the roof casts shadows all over her face. Hollow cheeks, almost gaunt. Under-eye bruises from never sleeping enough, from staying up reading or plotting or whatever goes on in her warped little head. Her mouth is too big for her face, lips always chapped and bitten and moving, whether she’s talking or licking them or, right now, stretched wide around the head of my cock.
Too big for her face, but still too small for me. She can barely get it in, at first. But that’s never stopped her before.
She loves this. The tent, the dark, the hush of wind through the pines. And the voices outside. Always the voices just outside.
I can hear them now. Our parents, maybe five feet away, sitting at the picnic table by the fire. Laughing about something. Mom’s voice, brittle and high, slicing through the nylon walls. One wrong move and they’d unzip the flap, poke their heads in, see…
Her. Like this. Gagging around her big brother’s cock.
(You’d think that would slow her down. You’d be wrong.)
She goes at it like she’s training for the Olympics. Bobbing her head, fist twisting at the base, tongue working overtime, just the way I taught her. Good girl. The little slobber machine. Stringy brown hair falling in her eyes, sticking to her lips every time she pulls back for air. She’s a mess before she’s even started.
Her tongue is so small and pointy it feels like a wet paintbrush dragging along the underside of my shaft. She’s got no real idea what she’s doing, so she just does everything. Licks. Suckles at the tip, nursing it, eyes squinted up at me for approval. Then down again, mouth slurping, cheeks hollowed. I can see the outline of my cock through her lips, bulging them out, leaking spit everywhere.
She’s got all the subtlety of a jackhammer.
“Good girl,” I whisper, just for her. “My good little cocksucker. Keep going, just like that…”
She grins around the shaft, all teeth and mischief. She can’t talk, not like this, but her eyes say everything. Watch me. Listen. Bet you won’t last a minute.
She’s right. I barely do.
It’s the noises, more than anything. Not her noises, but theirs. Mom and Dad. The constant threat of getting caught.
I can hear the clink of a spoon in a mug. Dad telling some story about work, low and boring. Mom giving her fake laugh, the one that means she’s not really listening. She’s so close. If I moan, if I move, if I even breathe too loud—
Busted. Ruined. And my sister’s hands still working, faster now, squeezing my balls so tight it hurts.
Then she does her favorite trick. She lets go of the shaft, uses her hands to push her flat little chest together. No tits, not even a bump, just ribs and bone and mosquito bites. She rubs them against the middle of my cock, and starts bobbing her mouth up and down again. The bastardization of a titjob, except there’s nothing but kiddie skin and bones and that wicked smile.
It makes me twitch. Makes me want to fuck her mouth raw, right here, right now.
She knows it, too. She digs her thumbs in, pinching her almost-nipples, and hums around the head of my cock like she’s sucking down a popsicle.
I have to bite my knuckle to keep from howling.
She works me with both hands now, one twisting at the base, the other squeezing and pinching and making me see stars. I can feel her tongue, rough and eager, lapping at the tip, darting into the slit like she wants to taste every drop before I’m even close. An insatiable little thing…
The tent is alive with noises. Wet, slurping, obscene. The squish of spit and pre-cum. The rasp of skin over bone. And outside, the crackle of the fire, footsteps crunching on dry grass, the world oblivious. She pulls off, gasping. A trail of spit ties us together for a moment, then snaps and lands on her chin.
She grins at me, cocky little bitch. Wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, then goes right back to it. Not even pretending to be shy.
She’s a freak, honestly. All elbows and knees, so skinny it looks like she’s made of pipe cleaners and duct tape. But her hands are strong. She knows how to get what she wants.
She wants my cum.
She’s obsessed with it. With the taste, the texture, the heat. She’s always begging for it, eyes big and greedy. Sometimes she whispers about it while I’m inside her mouth, like she can’t help herself.
“Wanna taste it,” she’ll murmur, cheek pressed to my thigh. “Wanna drink it all. Every drop…”
“Earn it, then. Come on—suck it more.”
“My mouth is starting to hurt,” she admits, frowning.
“I’m close… don’t stop. Be a good girl now…”
Tonight, the threat of parents makes her reckless. She goes harder, faster, sucking like her life depends on it. She moans, too, deep in her chest, just to rub it in. A nasty little brat, showing off for her big brother.
She slides her mouth all the way down, gags, but doesn’t stop. I can feel her throat trying to swallow me, tiny muscles squeezing. She pulls back, coughs, and then grins up at me, drool dripping down her chin onto her scrawny bare chest.
She’s wearing nothing but her underwear. Pink cotton, size way too small. Her ribs stick out, her shoulders sharp angles under pale skin. The only curve on her is the arch of her spine as she bends forward, desperate for more.
A whimper. It’s mine, not hers. She giggles, then slams her face down again, swallowing me to the root. “Mmfff…”
“Oh my fucking God,” I whisper, already losing it. “Oh, fuck, your little mouth and tongue…”
It’s too much. The tight heat, the suction, the filthy gleam in her eyes. I can feel myself getting close, balls pulling up, cock throbbing in her hands. She feels it too. Doubles down. She mashes her face against my stomach, nose buried in my pubes, hands never stopping.
Outside, the voices get louder. A joke, a laugh, a sudden silence as someone stands up. My heart nearly explodes in my chest.
She’s still going. She’s not going to stop, not until she’s milked every last drop out of me.
I finally lose it.
The first spurt hits the back of her mouth. She jolts, even whines a little, but doesn’t let go. Swallows around me, hard and desperate, like she’s afraid to waste a single drop. The second pulse splatters against her throat, the third floods over her tongue. She’s making noises, low and greedy, gulping me down.
I can’t stop. I want to, but it’s like a dam broke inside me. I’m pumping load after load into my tiny little sister’s mouth, and she’s swallowing it all, like a good girl.
Some of it leaks out, oozing down her chin, slimy and white. It paints her neck, her chest, dribbles onto her knobby knees. She doesn’t care. She’s still sucking, trying to get the last drop.
There’s a click, right outside the tent. A zipper. My heart stops.
She pops off my cock with a wet, filthy noise. Looks up at me, cheeks bulging, eyes wild. She grins, then opens her mouth wide, shows me the mess inside. Swallows, slow and proud.
I’ve never seen anything so obscene.
I love her. I hate her. Then I love her again.
She wipes her face with her wrist, licks her lips, then crawls up into my lap. She’s shaking with excitement, her whole body quivering against mine.
“Was I good?” she whispers, voice hoarse. “Did you like it?”
I grunt. “Wipe your mouth and neck. Don’t let them see,” I remind her. “Next time swallow it all.”
She smiles toothily. “Okay.” Then she nuzzles up under my chin, curling into me like a cat.
Outside, footsteps crunch away from the tent. No one comes in. We’re safe, for now.
Inside, it’s a swamp of sweat and cum and shame. The air is thick with it. My cock is still twitching, still leaking, smearing more slime onto her bony hip as she wiggles closer.
She’s not done. Not even close.
She shifts, wriggling down my body until her face is level with my crotch again. She wraps her lips around the head, gives it a lazy, slow suck, just to see me squirm.
Then she pops off, giggling.
“You taste so gross,” she says. “But I like it. I like when you fill my mouth…”
“You learned to like it,” I tease. “I had to teach you. You kept whining and crying the first few times.”
She’s proud of herself. Like she just aced a spelling test, or won a soccer game. Like being her brother’s perfect little cum-sock is her greatest achievement.
Honestly? Maybe it is.
She’s a monster. My monster. And she knows it.
“You’re such a perv,” she taunts, pinching my thigh. “Letting your little sister suck your dick while Mom and Dad are right outside. Bet you were scared they’d catch us.”
Her voice is soft, but ruthless. She knows exactly what buttons to press. She’s not wrong, either.
She leans in, kisses the tip of my cock, then burrows into my side, curling up like she’s finally getting ready to sleep. But her hand never leaves my lap. She keeps playing with me, idly, like a toy she can’t put down.
Every time I start to soften, she gives me a squeeze, or a lazy lick, just to keep me on edge.
She hums to herself, low and happy. The tent is filled with the sound of her breathing, my breathing, and the muffled crackle of fire outside.
I stare down at her, at the skinny little body plastered against mine. She’s so small, so sharp-edged. Her knees are bruised from kneeling, her lips raw from sucking. She looks like the world’s dirtiest angel.
There’s no escape. No hiding from her.
She owns me, and we both know it…
An hour passes by. The tent is a sweatbox, a fog of hot breath and shame. My little sister is sprawled half on top of me, skin sticking to skin, one bony arm flopped over my belly like she’s afraid I’ll bolt the second she lets go. Her hand is still on my cock. Always. She works it lazy, almost thoughtful, every now and then giving it a squeeze or a tug, like she’s testing to see if she can bring it back to life with just a twitch of her fingers.
She can. She always can.
Outside, the fire has burned down to orange coals. Voices are gone, replaced by snoring. Mom and Dad in their overpriced tent, zipped up tight, happily oblivious. They think we’re asleep. Or reading. Or maybe just being “good siblings.”
(If only they knew. If they ever knew. They’d never sleep again.)
She shifts in the dark, ribcage grinding against my side, knobby knees digging into my thigh. Her face is right under my chin, all jaw and teeth and evil, evil mouth. She nuzzles me, soft as a kitten, then starts licking my neck. Teasing. Testing.
“You taste like salt now,” she whispers, barely a breath in the dark.
I groan. My dick throbs against her hip, sticky and sore, but somehow desperate for more. She snickers, delighted.
“I knew it,” she whispers. “Knew you’d get hard again…”
Her hand works me faster, smearing leftover slime up and down the shaft. The head is angry red, still leaking, still needy. She sees it in the half-light, licks her lips, then kisses the tip. No shyness, no shame. Just a greedy little brat, obsessed with her brother’s dick.
She slides down, mouth open, and sucks. Slow and deep, cheeks hollowed, tongue pressing hard against the slit. She knows exactly how to make it burn.
I hiss, grab her by the hair, and yank her up. “Easy. You want another load?”
She looks up, eyes wide and shining in the dark. “Don’t you…?”
I don’t answer. I just twist her by the shoulders, roll her onto her back. My sister lands on the sleeping bag hard, hair fanned out, arms splayed like a destroyed doll.
She’s in just her panties. Nothing else. Pale skin, knees bruised purple, ribs sticking out like she’s been carved out of sticks and rubber bands. She looks breakable. Disposable. But her grin is all razor wire.
She knows what’s coming.
I kneel over her, cock heavy in my hand, and slap it against her flat chest. No tits, not even close. Just mosquito bites and the patter of my balls against her thin skin. She giggles, tries to cover her chest, but I shove her hands away.
“Leave ‘em,” I growl. “Let me see.”
She obeys. Of course she does. She always does, sooner or later.
I slap my cock up her chest again, leaving a wet stripe from her chin to her belly. She’s sticky, smeared in old spit and cum, but she doesn’t care. If anything, she’s proud. She grinds her hips up, bumps her crotch against my thigh, a silent dare.
Her panties are pink, smaller than a handkerchief, riding way too tight up her crack. They’re damp, a dark wet spot right over her pussy. I hook my fingers under the waistband, yank them down to her knees.
She whines. A real, high-pitched noise, almost scared, almost excited. Her hands flutter at her sides, but she doesn’t stop me. She never would.
Now she’s naked. Fully. Eight years old, nothing to her, just skinny legs, stick arms, and a bald, raw little cunt, lips peeking out like a secret she’s dying for me to see.
I stare. I can’t help it. She’s obscene. A crime scene in baby pink.
“Spread your legs,” I tell her.
She hesitates. Maybe tired, maybe just bratty, but she does it. She opens up, wide as she can, feet flat on the sleeping bag, knees in the air. Everything out in the open.
Her pussy is ridiculous. Too small, too smooth, slit barely visible except for the shine of wetness leaking out. I can see how tight she is, how impossible it’ll be to fit inside…
She’s trembling—scared and hungry.
“You’re… really gonna do it?” she whispers. “We’re gonna… do it… like mom and dad…?”
I don’t answer. I line up, slap my fat cock against her slit, just to see her react.
She jerks, little hands balling into fists, face scrunched up. Her whole body is shaking.
“Wait, it’s gonna hurt,” she whines. “I’m tired, I don’t wanna,” but even as she says it, she opens her legs wider. She grinds her hips, desperate for friction, even though she acts like she hates it. “Maybe we shouldn’t… it’s so big…”
I press the head against her slit. She’s hot. Slippery. But so, so tight I worry I’ll break her in half.
She looks up at me. “You said you’d wait ‘til I was older,” she hisses, like a secret. “You said…”
“Changed my mind,” I grunt. “You can take it. Wanna feel you, wanna ruin you, right now. Be good for me?”
She nods. Of course she does. Anything for me.
I push.
At first, nothing. Just resistance. Her lips stretch, fighting it, refusing to open. My cockhead mashes against her, flattening out, then finally pops inside.
She screams. She tries not to, but she does—a shrill, animal sound, half-muffled by my hand clamped over her mouth, because I knew you’d make noise. I have to hold my hand tight over her quivering mouth—I can hear our parents snoring, stupidly close, just outside the tent wall. We can’t get caught. We can’t even make a sound.
She’s biting my palm, breathing in frantic pants. I don’t stop.
I drive forward, slow, grinding the head through her little hole. It’s impossibly tight. Like fucking a clenched fist. I have to use both hands to keep her flat on the mat. She arches her back, all ribs and sticky skin, knees kicked up like she’s trying to crawl away—but she can’t. I won’t let her. That little cunt is gripped so tight on the head of my cock it feels like a torture device, a bear trap made out of baby skin and spit.
Her noises are insane. Squeals, then a hiss, then high-pitched sobbing under my palm. Her whole body is shuddering, little fists beating the sleeping bag, eyes rolling wild in the lantern-glow. She’s crying. Of course she’s crying. It’s too big, it hurts, she hates it, she loves it, she doesn’t even know the difference anymore.
I keep pressing. Slow, grinding, like I’m splitting her in half. I want every millimeter, every single inch, buried in her tiny, ruined hole. My cock is a battering ram, her pussy a barricade built out of baby fat and willpower—the only way to win is to smash it down.
And I do. I fuck her open. Stretch her, tear her, make her mine forever.
She tries to scream. I clamp down harder on her mouth, smother it, don’t let her make a single goddamn sound. I can feel her sharp teeth biting at my fingers. I don’t care. She can chew through my hand, as long as no one outside hears a thing.
“Shhh. Gotta be quiet, okay? Can’t let ‘em hear,” I whisper, teeth in her ear, tongue on her cheek. “Be good for me, c’mon. You’re a big girl now. Aren’t you proud?”
She shakes her head, whimpering, snot bubbling out of her nose, tears streaking down her cheeks. But she’s still got her legs spread, still letting me grind my cock inside her. No escape. She loves it and she hates it and she loves it.
Her cunt is too small. There’s just no room. Every time I push, the lips spread wider, the skin goes white around my cock, stretched to the fucking limit. She’s tearing. I can see blood slicking my shaft, mixing with the spit and the slime from before. It looks fake, like movie blood, but the way she’s shaking says it’s all too real.
God, it’s good. Better than anything. Better than jerking off to the thought of her, better than her mouth, better than anything I ever dreamed about. She’s wrecked, and it’s all my fault.
I kiss her wet cheek, the snotty mess of her mouth, her eyelids. I want to eat her whole, devour every sound she makes. “You’re doing so good,” I growl. “You’re so fucking brave. First time’s always like this, sis. But you’re making me so proud. You’re really sucking me in, aren’t you?”
She sobs. She nods. She can’t even talk, not with my hand over her face and my cock punching through her insides. But she’s not fighting. Not really. She just lies there, open, trembling, letting me use her.
I fuck her, slow at first, then faster. Each thrust is a shock. The friction is insane, raw and ragged, like dragging my cock through a fistful of broken glass and velvet. I can feel the heat. The grip. The way her pussy tries to spit me out, but always pulls me back in, like it’s starving for it.
Blood everywhere. Red streaks on my cock, smeared up her thighs, pooling under her ass. The tent stinks of iron and cum and kid sweat. It’s disgusting. It’s perfect.
I snake my free hand down, grab her skinny thigh, force it wider. She squeals, eyes popping open, tears rolling sideways. I laugh in her ear. “So tight. You’re gonna make me cum so fast, baby. Fuck. You were made for this, weren’t you?”
She just whimpers. She’s drooling on my hand, lips working uselessly under my palm. All she can do is take it.
I go harder. Faster. The slick sound of flesh on flesh, the squelch of blood and spit, the wet slap of my balls against her ass. She’s not even really moving now. Just limp, arms flopped out, hair plastered to her face. She’s a fuckdoll, wrecked and spent, eyes glazed and rolling.
Her hips start to twitch. Barely. Little spasms, like maybe it’s starting to feel good, or maybe her body just doesn’t know how to stop. I watch her, obsessed. My own little sister, splayed out and leaking on the camping mat, nothing but a hole and a set of noises for me to pound.
I lean down, nuzzle her ear, bite it. “That’s it. You’re my good girl. Always will be. Even when it hurts, even when you cry. You take it, don’t you? Always. You love it. Always have. Remember that?”
She nods. Tiny, desperate motion. She’s shaking everywhere, but she’s not saying no.
“I saw you this afternoon. Out at the lake. That stupid little skirt, the one you wear so the wind blows it up and you pretend you don’t notice. You did it on purpose, didn’t you?” I hiss, pumping into her, grinding my hips so deep she arches off the sleeping bag.
She mewls. Grunts. Doesn’t even try to lie.
“That’s what I thought. You wanted this. You wanted your brother to fuck you raw, right here, right now, even if it hurts more than anything in the world. You’re a slut, baby. My slut. Say it.”
She gags on a sob, but I ease up my hand just enough for her to mumble: “M’yours. Always.”
I almost lose it. I want to blast my load right now, but I hold back. I want to ruin her first. Make her remember tonight forever.
“Good girl. Gonna fill you up, just like you wanted. Gonna pump you full until it leaks out, and you know what? Next time, it’ll be easier. Next time, it’ll fit. You’ll open up for me, just like before, and you’ll take it all. Because that’s what you’re for. That’s all you’ll ever be for…”
She’s not even listening. Not really. Not with the way she’s shaking under me, body slick and sticky and spattered with every gross secret I’ve ever pumped in her mouth or on her skin. She’s a puddle of pain and snot and shame, clawing the sleeping bag, biting the heel of my hand like it’s the only thing keeping her from screaming down the whole goddamn forest.
She can’t scream. She knows she can’t scream. Not with the tent wall so thin, not with Mom and Dad not even three meters away, sleeping away like the clueless idiots they are. If she screams, everything is ruined. If she screams, there’s no campfire, no marshmallows, no going home with our fake little smiles still painted on. If she screams, they’ll see what she is.
A little hole. A cum rag. My personal fucktoy, skinned alive and inside out on a filthy foam pad, getting shredded by her big brother’s cock.
She’s still bleeding. Of course she is. There’s blood on my hand, blood on my dick, blood in a sticky, slippery mess all around her cunt. It’s obscene. It’s beautiful. It makes every thrust easier, slicker, hotter, like her body is melting for me, dissolving into something even less than nothing.
Her pussy’s a ruined mess, lips stretched around the base of my cock, the opening raw and red, leaking blood and slick and everything else I ever wanted from her. I can see it every time I pull out: the gaping, shivering hole, trembling like it’s begging for mercy (or more). Then I slam back in, and she jerks like a puppet, back arching, feet drumming the mat, a ragdoll made for nothing but this.
She’s not fighting. Not really. Her legs stay wide, feet flat, cunt on display even as she cries. She could close them. She could twist away. But she doesn’t. Not even when I punch another inch inside her and she almost blacks out from the pain.
I watch her face. Snot and spit, tears streaming sideways, cheeks blotchy and pale. She’s not even a person right now. Just a collection of holes and noises. All for me.
I fuck her harder. Faster. The blood’s everywhere now, lubricating every savage thrust, making it easier to bottom out, to jam the head of my cock right up against her baby-warm insides and grind until I see stars. Her whimpers go watery, then hoarse, then silent. She’s close to passing out. I don’t care. I almost want to break her.
My hand clamps tighter on her mouth. Her teeth dig in my palm, sharp and frantic. Let her bite. Let her draw blood. She’s earned it.
She starts to shake. Convulsions, like a dying rabbit. Her cunt clamps down, spasming, trying to force me out. All it does is milk me, force me deeper, every squeeze driving me right up to the edge.
I can’t hold back. I’m done pretending. I feel the flood building, feel my balls tighten, the cock swelling, a warning, a threat, a promise.
I slam in one last time, burying myself to the hilt. Her hips seize up, back arching clean off the mat, as I dump a white-hot load right inside her. It’s not a spurt, it’s not a pulse—it’s a fucking explosion. I can feel it shooting through me, feel it splash deep in her cunt, feel her body flinch and try to bleed it right back out.
It’s too much. Way too much for her. My cock throbs inside her, painting her walls, stuffing her with more cum than her underage body could ever be prepared for. A geyser of slime and heat and humiliation, straight into her pretty, wet, stained hole.
She squeals under my hand, or tries to. The noise is pathetic. Helpless. I want to laugh, but I’m too busy cumming, pumping, rutting like an animal.
“Good girl,” I hiss, voice cracked and mean. “Take it. Take it all. My perfect little fuckdoll. My good, good girl. Oh my fucking God, sis…”
She does. She takes it. She can’t do anything else. Her cunt soaks up every drop, blood and cum mixing, leaking out around the base in fat, disgusting globs. It’s obscene. It’s magic.
When I finally stop, she’s gone limp. Just breathing, shuddering, little body twitching in aftershocks. My dick’s still buried in her, still oozing, every twitch making her whole body jump.
I drag my hand off her mouth. She gasps, sobbing, slurping air and snot in huge, ugly gulps. Her voice is gone, destroyed. Her cheeks are a warzone of spit and shame.
I’m not gentle. I grab her skinny hip, yank her up towards me, and pull my cock out in one ugly, wet slurp.
The mess is unreal. The hole is gaping, lips inflamed and bruised, a ragged, spat-open wound. Blood and cum drool out in slow streaks, pooling under her ass. She’s shaking, whimpering, hands balled in the sleeping bag.
I slap my cock against her ruined slit, just to see it splatter. She jumps. A hiccup, a sob.
But I’m not done. Not even close.
“Open your mouth,” I tell her. “I want you to clean up this mess. Come on, hurry…”
She does. Of course she does. She peels herself up, still sniffling, and crawls over, eyes glazed and bright with tears. She latches onto my cock like she’s starving, lips trembling as she sucks at the head, tongue working at the slit, licking up every stripe of blood and spunk.
She’s a mess. Hair matted to her cheeks, blood on her chin, tears dripping off her jaw. She chokes, spits, then goes right back to cleaning me. All business. All hunger. Like her only purpose in life is to suck my dick, no matter how wrecked it makes her.
“That’s a good girl,” I growl. “Fuck, I’m so lucky to have you, sis. You’re a big girl now. You should be proud. I’m proud of you, kiddo…”
She slurps, then pops off, lips quivering, face a massacre. She looks up at me. Her eyes are huge. Puppy eyes. Wet and enormous, like she thinks she can trick me into going easy on her.
She wipes her mouth with her wrist, then her ribs, then gives up. The mess is legendary. She grins and shrugs. Like, what did you expect?
But then she tilts her head. Voice so small I almost miss it, all hoarse and crackling from the muffled screaming and whimpering.
“Now that I’m a big girl… are you still gonna love me?”
I blink. “Huh?”
She fidgets. Twists her skinny fingers together. Look at her, trying to act sweet, like she didn’t just choke herself on my cock and bleed all over my sleeping bag. “Even though I’m not a little girl anymore?” she whispers. “Will you still…? I mean, am I still your good girl?”
That’s it? That’s what she’s worried about? Not the blood. Not the cum. Not the fact that she’s so wrecked she can barely sit upright. Just… that she’s “older” now. That she might not be “enough” for me. That I’ll leave her behind because she’s not my little twerp.
I almost laugh. God, she’s ridiculous. She’s perfect.
I lean down and grab her chin. Squeeze, just a little, to make her look at me. Her face is a disaster. Her mouth is squishy and red, nose running, cheeks sticky and smeared. She still looks breakable, but more than that? She’s a survivor. A monster. My monster.
I kiss her hard. Bite her lower lip. Taste everything: iron, salt, spit, the sour tang of tears. I want to eat her alive. “Fuck yes, I love you,” I snarl. “More than ever. You’ll always be my good little girl. No matter what. Even when you get older, I’ll still want you. I’ll still fuck you. I’ll ruin you until there’s nothing left to ruin…”
She shivers. Nuzzles into my palm, licking my fingers, sucking the blood out from under my nails. Animal. Filthy, perfect animal. She relaxes, and she believes me.
Like a good little sister should.