You feel a strange calm as your sister clutches you in her hands once again, carrying you downstairs.  You’re not even really terribly broken up about being caught before you could even escape the room, especially after the perfect execution of your escape attempt.  You’re pretty sure it has something to do with the fact that once again, you narrowly escaped the jaws of death through some of the most humiliating circumstances you could ever have conceived for your life.  But at least you still HAVE your life.  And after the price you just paid to keep it, you intend not to lose it prematurely.

                “I hope we learned a little lesson today, hmm?” says Carly, cupping you in her palms as she sits at the barstool again with you, pulling you from your deeper thoughts.  “If you try and get out of what your big sissy tries to teach you, bad things happen.  And that’s why you had to do what you did to my socks…” she says, and although she doesn’t show it, you detect the pure glee she has at the idea of you being forced to do what you did, after the initial shock value wore off for her.

                “So let’s try and remember what happened today.  Do what I say, and it will be okay.  Don’t do what I say, and you might get hurt.  Did you get hurt today?”

                You nod.

                “And what did you have to do to not be hurt anymore?”

                “Get water.”

                She nods.  “How did you get water?” she says quizzically, obviously knowing the answer.  This is clearly so she can hear you say the words and force you to relive it in your mind.

                “I… got to your socks.”

                “That’s right.  What about my socks.  What were they like?”

                “Sweaty.”

                “How sweaty?”

                “Really sweaty.”

                She raises her eyebrows in approval of your answer, as if speaking to a first grader.  “That’s right.  Know why?  Because I was playing basketball for two and a half hours at practice.      So what did you do?”

                “I got the sweat out.”

                “How?”

                “I sucked on your socks.”

                “And what did you do with the sweat?”

                “I drank it,” you answer, giving each answer in a calm and collected manner, still wary of what could happen, but at the same time still feeling like you’re living on “bonus” life, as you really ought to have died, by all accounts of reality, on the floor in Carly’s room.  Mentally, you thank the dead creator of basketball, whoever it was.

                “You drank it, that’s right.”

                “Yeah.”

                “I’ll bet that wasn’t very much fun.  Was it?”

                “No.”

“And I think we both know you don’t like how my feet taste.  Well, I mean…” she says, looking quickly down at her legs and feet.  “…DO you like the way they taste?” she says slyly.

                You nod quickly no, ironically noting to yourself that, yes, in fact, when you were dying and rehydrating, it did sort of taste good.  Better than death, anyway.

                “Are you sure?  Because you can try them again if you want.  I mean, sometimes things you don’t like the taste of taste better when you try them again with a more open mind,” she says coolly, suggesting the idea of repeated events.  You nod no again.

                “No?  Well, we’ll have to see about that, later…” she says, clearly meaning she’s not shelving the idea of forcing you to repeat Saturday’s worship session again.  “I think you’ve got the taste of my foot in your mouth PLENTY enough for today,” she says with a smile, giving you a little squeeze.  “We’ll save some for later.”

                “Carly… what day is today?” you say.

                “Monday.”

                You groan to yourself.  No wonder you were so near death.  “What time?”

                “About 5, silly little bro.  Why do you think I’m back from practice?”

                “Where… what…”

                She smirks, knowing you’re wondering how this all went off.  “Well, sorry bro, I know you didn’t like it in there in thedark, but the reason I had to put you in my closet was so mom and dad wouldn’t find you there.”

                “They’re back?”

                She gives you a ridiculous grin.  “Yes, dummy, of course they’re back; they came back last night.”

                “Oh.”

                “You should pay a little more attention,” she says.

                “So, where are…”

                “God, you really don’t know how to think straight today, do you, little bro?  They’re out with the police, looking for you.  That was the other reason I couldn’t have you out yesterday to teach, they were all over the place, looking around your room.”

                “What do they think…”

                “What do they think you did?  Well, I think they think you just ran away.  That was what I told them, anyway,” she says, shrugging.  It frightens you how easy and small a thing it was in the mind of Carly to lie blatantly to the cops and your parents.  But being the master manipulator and liar she is, you know that it couldn’t have been too difficult for her.  She played them all like puppets on strings.  You should have known this would be too easy.

                On the other hand, you are able to note, with some happiness, that Carly didn’t try and “get rid” of you before your parents returned.  You’ve lived to fight another day, depending on what kind of fight Carly forces you into today.  Not that it rules it out; if the pressure gets to be too much hiding you, you may end up killed anyway, except you’d first get to experience a few more torture sessions before Carly realized that your existence was too much of a burden on her.  You think hard in this way as Carly’s fingers release you into a standing position on the island counter.

“Do you know how dorky you look standing there with no clothes on and your face looking like that?  You look like you’re trying to poop or something,” she says, unable to contain her laughter.  She chuckles heartily, slapping a huge hand onto the counter and sending a shockwave through to your feet.  Her mention of your nakedness again causes you to take a step back.  She’s obviously still basking in the glorious humiliation of this for you, and even if you’re over your own exposure, she doesn’t seem to be.

                “Oh, c’mon, you silly little boy, I was just kidding,” she says, placing the hand back on the counter and drumming her fingers in a ripple pattern.  “Hey, I’ve given you a bath already and I WASHED your PRIVATE parts for you!  Are you seriously going to tell me you’re still embarrassed?  Believe me, I know what all of you looks AND feels like now.  You don’t have to keep being such a whiny baby about it,” she adds, arching her eyebrows in expectancy.  She goes into a slight crouching position, getting eye level with you, staring ahead and puckering her huge lips in thought.

                “I mean, I’ve never actually SEEN one before yours…” she says, her eyes moving down from your own eyes and to your crotch.  You suddenly feel like you’re standing on an opera stage with your underwear on.

                “Um… well…” you gulp, putting on a smile.  This is extraordinarily embarrassing, but her tone of voice seems to have reverted to the alternate, slightly less lethal playful version.  She may still do something drastic, but at this point, keeping her in this mood at all costs is vital. You decide to actually answer, despite your extreme fatigue.  “… that’s probably a good thing then at your age.”

                “Not a REAL one, anyway,” she says, leaning her head a little closer to you.  You feel yourself take another small step backward in response.  “In health class we had to watch that stupid video about them. Did you have to watch that one, little bro?” she asks, her eyes thankfully returning to your own.  You nod.

                “Umm, I think so…”

                “But in THAT…” she says, giving a single giggle, “… they show you that weird computer guy who spins around.  I always thought that was kind of stupid.  They do the same for the girl.  Why do they use computer people?” she says thoughtfully.

                “Um… maybe some people just don’t think it’s appropriate to show to kids…” you say tentatively.  “I mean, it IS private parts.”

                She tilts her head to the side.  “Well, YEAH, I know that, I’m not a dummy.  But I mean, if they want us to learn about it, why don’t they just show us a real one?” she says, and her eyes fall back to your dick.  God, why is she acting like this?

                “Well, then they’d probably be breaking some kind of school ordinance…” you answer calmly.

                “Like, today at school Elaine says she’s seen two before.  And she said they were so hot…”

                “Umm…” you answer, not sure you want to contribute to this conversation any more.

                “But I don’t know what it is with her and boy thingies.  It sure doesn’t LOOK hot, it looks kinda weird,” she says, arching an eyebrow while still staring at your crotch.

                It makes you somewhat uncomfortable that your younger sister just analyzed the appearance of your dick, but you suppose that, with the casual offhandedness with which she said it, she’s not taking it too seriously.

                “Okay…” you say uncertainly.  She snorts quickly in the beginning of a laugh.

                “Well, don’t take it personally, little bro, I’m just saying…”

                “I get it,” you answer curtly, clearing your throat.  You watch suspiciously as your sister’s flat hand and splayed fingers slide forward across the countertop with a smooth swishing sound, her soft palm flesh rubbing against the plastic as it crawls closer to you.  Her hand rises into a fist, right in front of you, and she extends her pointer finger and thumb, curling towards you.

                “Can I feel it again?” she asks politely but casually.

                “Umm…” you say, crinkling your face up at her in confusion, taking a slow step backward, as if taking a step back would prevent your sister being able to reach you if she wanted.

                “Don’t be stupid, little bro, I’m not trying to hurt you.  I just want to try something.”

                Now this is really not going well.  You swallow hard, starting to get nervous.  Carly’s two fingers, set back a few seconds by your initial refusal, rub against each other in a swaying motion as if she had something sticky between them and was trying to scrape it off.

                “What… do… you want to try?” you say uncertainly, gulping again, really, really not liking where this is starting to go.  She tilts her head at you in that playful, mocking way.

                “Well, it’s just when I was talking to Elaine still, about boy thingies.  She said that when people…” she said, looking a momentarily frazzled as she mulled over the operative word in her mind, “…try and make babies together, the boy’s thingy doesn’t just… I don’t know, do whatever.  It starts out all little, but she said it gets bigger, like a balloon.  I thought that was kind of weird, but I also kind of thought I wanted to see one…”

                “Umm…” you say, your heart racing faster.  Good Lord, Carly can’t possibly mean she’s going to…

                “And then I thought, I’ve got my own little naked boy at home.  I can look at one if I want.  Actually…” she says, chuckling, “…I can touch it too, if I want.”

                “Errr…” you say, with no real response to that zinger.

“Is it true?  Does it really blow up like a balloon, like she said?”

                “I…”

                “Walk back over here, little bro.”

                “Huh?”

                “I think you have a hearing problem there.  March back over here, in front of my hand,” she says confidently, rubbing her fingers together a little faster now, creating a slight vibrating noise as her fingerprints grind together, a sound you would really only hear at this size.

                “Listen, Carly… I mean, it’s kind of like that, but it’s really not anything big like she tried to make it sound…” you say, attempting to hide the rising terror in your mind.

                “She also said to make it do that, all you have to do is touch it.  Like you just have to tap at it a few times, and it just does it.  By itself.”

                “That’s not exactly how it works…” you protest, lying a bit, knowing how trapped you are right now.

                “Okay, whatever, look: I want to see it.  Come here.”

                “Carly, seriously, I mean… it’s BORING, honestly.  Really, we could stand here, and I could show you, and you’d just realize it was kind of a waste of time.  I mean… I thought we were learning… lessons…” you say with a pained sputter.  You dread having to face more lessons of course, but at this moment, it’s anything to avoid what Carly is suggesting.  “Shouldn’t we get back to that?”

                Carly grimaces at you, as if you said something stupid.  “We are.”

                “We are?”

                She nods.  “Yep.  You have to learn this now.  You may not have admitted it like I told you to, but I still know you belong to me.  You have to do whatever I say you have to, and what I’m saying right now to you is walk up to my hand.  Got that?”

                “But CARLY!”

                “NOW.  Or I grab you up and dangle you by your…” she says, giggling.  “…little thingie.”

                That last idea gets your feet moving.  There’s nothing so terrible your sister can threaten that doesn’t suddenly become the best option for you when something even worse is suggested as a punishment for failure to act.  You walk up, stopping close enough to touch Carly’s balled up fist, her extended fingers about at face level with you.  They part, and her fingers extend downward.

                “Carly, really, we don’t have to do this… it’ll be boring and…”

                “Jack, just be quiet right now and hold still, or I’ll pick you up by it like I said I would.  And don’t think I won’t do it.  I just want to see if it’s true…” says Carly, and suddenly she has her thumb and pointer finger wrapped around your dick, smushing it tightly between her two large, muscular flesh pads.

                You grunt at first, blowing out air as the pain of getting punched in the crotch shoots up through you.  Instantly, the fingers loosen.

                “Sorry, Jack, I wasn’t sure how hard I had to touch it.  I guess not that much…” she says, and then her fingers are swallowing up your genitals again, this time much more gently.  And then they begin to move.  Just like in the shower, except less casual.  This time, her fingers, while still being gentle, begin working at your dick, gliding back and forth, fitting your crotch comfortably into the deeper creases of her finger joints, back and forth.  Like a ticking clock.

                You feel yourself starting to react almost immediately.  You try to think.  You have to stop it.  Dead puppies.  Dead puppies.  Dead puppies.  Dead seals.  Sewage.  Bloody, blown apart bodies.  Death.  Blood.  Gore.  Anything.

                It’s not working, it’s still happening.  After roughly thirty seconds of rhythmic rubbing at your dick, you can feel it starting to enlarge, against your will.

                For God’s sake, you think to yourself, embarrassment swelling into you almost as much as your genitals are swelling around now as the two masses of finger flesh gently caress them.  Carly is about to make me climax, right into her fingers.  I’m literally getting raped by two of my sister’s fingers, you think.

                It occurs to you the fact that, at this stage in your life, you no longer being a child and in fact being (until now) a tall, reasonably strong guy, you had assumed your chances of getting sexually assaulted or, heaven forbid, raped were about as close to zero as possible.

                That theory is currently being disproved in every way as your gigantic little sister’s fingers calmly stroke back and forth across your dick purely for her personal amusement and curiosity, sending goose bumps up your arms, a warm feeling into your brain at the insane pleasure it’s bringing you.

                “Wow… it’s actually… kind of like a balloon.  A balloon with a rock in it, I guess…” says Carly questioningly, clearly still a little confused.  You don’t even want to think about how many ways this is so wrong.  Your sister, whom you obviously have no actual inclination toward of any kind (the very inkling of such a thing hurts your brain and makes you want to vomit), is about to cause a second climax into her hand because she decided to spend just a little too much time poking those long, meaty fingers into your lower regions, just because she could.  Except this time, she’s directly observing the result, doing it on purpose.  Raping you without meaning to: just because it’s something interesting to touch and poke.

                Your body convulses hard as you reach maximum, and spurts out your climax.  Shocked by the strength of it, you fall onto your back, the lingering endorphins swelling through your mind and warming you, helping ease the soreness you still feel all over.  But some of that subsides when you look down, see your still fully lengthened dick, and remember that you were just forced to jack off right into your sister’s two fingers.  You look up at her face.

                Carly has her hand now up at her face, her two fingers close to her eyes.  “What IS that?” she says, and you know precisely what she has on her fingers.  You know it can’t be much at this size.  “Was that… supposed to happen?” she says, looking a little fearful.  “Did that hurt or something?  Why are you on the ground?”

                “I… don’t know…” you say sheepishly as you stand up.

                “Elaine said that was supposed to make you feel happy or something.  I figured you would want to feel happy, I was guessing you still were hurting from back there in my room and stuff…”

                “Um… yeah, sure, yeah, I feel great…” you lie, knowing full well that your mental state is all but in shambles after the last few minutes.  You feel a little hollow.  You, sickeningly, now have a very full appreciation of what it’s like for the majority of rape victims.  And it happened right in your house, with just two of the digits of your younger and obviously completely sexually oblivious sister.  You suppose it’s good that she’s not too educated on that stuff yet, but it doesn’t make the distinct feeling of emptiness in your mind go away.

                Carly wrinkles her nose, calmly wiping her two fingers on her short shorts below the countertop.  “You were right, little bro.  That was kind of boring.  C’mon, let’s do something else together…” she says, and suddenly she has you back in her soft fist, your still lengthy member pressed almost painfully into a deep finger crevice fold, a memory of the violation just wrecked over your body.