Your eyes snap open, your whole body trembling groggily, as you peer around, getting your bearings.  You feel weary and a bit dizzy, as if you’ve been sleeping for a long time but still haven’t quite fully awoken.  Your eyes sting as you stare at the brightness of your surroundings. 

                White. 

                Lots of white. 

                All of it encasing you.  It’s a room.  Four walls, a ceiling, a floor, and a chair that you happen to be sitting in at the moment.  You look down at yourself, slapping your stomach to make sure it’s real.  You’re wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of jeans. You swallow hard, your throat going dry.  You should be elated.  You’re sitting in a chair.  You’re wearing clothes.  But you’re not, for a very simple reason.

                You’ve been here before.  And your last visit was not one you want to repeat.

                You propel yourself in a flying leap from the chair, rushing forward.  You reach one of the plaster walls and slam your hands against it.  Then again.  And again.  Your hands become sore, but you continue pounding.  You have to get out of here.  Nothing else matters.  Your life depends on leaving this room right now.  You continue pounding, your knuckles and fingers going numb with desperation, but you continue.  Not a single dent is made in the wall.  You step back, kicking at the wall as hard as you can and almost break your ankle.  You shudder, collapsing back in pain and looking hopelessly at the untouched wall, your leg throbbing from the pain you just exerted on it for absolutely no reason.  You scream at the top of your lungs at the wall.  No response.  Not that you were expecting one.

                “Well, THERE’S my favorite stupidface brother!” comes the singsong voice from behind you.  You were expecting this, of course, but you just didn’t want it to happen this soon.  “I’ve been looking all over the place for you, Jack.  What’s up?” she says.  You lean your head against the wall, closing your eyes.  You wonder if there’s any possible way to kill yourself in this room before Carly reaches you.  You doubt it severely, though.  Mental lock, you tell yourself.  Picture something else.  Something else, anything.  Surely that’s what they tell rape victims, right?  Right?

                Who the hell cares?  Lock.  Lock.  Lock.  Nothing’s going on.  Nothing.  You blink and turn to face your sister.  As soon as you do, you do a double take as you look upon not as your sister as she is right now, but in a dreamlike quality, your sister as she looked at the age of 14.  The first time she took possession of you.  The first time you visited this room.  You place your hands on your chin and upper lip.  No five o’clock shadow, no nothing.  You look over at Carly.  You’re several inches taller than her, just as you were at the age of 17.  Your mind swims; it’s as if you’ve stepped into a time warp and been sent back half a decade.

                “Aren’t you going to say hi to me?” she whines at you.

                “Umm… hi?”

                “Whatever.  I know you don’t mean it, you jerk.”

                “Uhh…”

                “Yeah, that’s right.  No answer.  That’s all you are.  A big, fat, stupid meanie.  And that’s all you’ll ever be, no matter how much I try to tell you.  Why don’t you listen to me, bro?”

                “I… I just…”

                “I guess you can’t do stuff like that, huh?  Like THINKING?  Remembering?  Because… it’s not even worth it anymore.  Trying to make you learn, I mean.”

                “What?  No, I just…”

                “Shut up.”

                “Okay…” you whisper meekly.  You watch, horrified and unable to do a single thing as your sister, wearing a yellow shirt and white short shorts that just barely come down a few inches along her tan thighs, stomps towards you in a pair of blue flip-flops.  Despite her smaller size, you remember very well what happened in this room last time you were here in this dreamscape.  She stops walking just a few feet away from you.  Then, with lightning speed, she swings her foot up into the air, smashing the foam of her shoe against your stomach with such speed you have to cough heavily to get another breath of air, the pain shooting from your midsection in all directions.

                It seems the conditions of this surreal place are the same as last time; your little sister, despite her size and age, possesses the strength and power equivalent to that of when she’s the size of a malevolent goddess.  And as you well remember, she’s fully capable of beating the absolute living shit out of you with barely any effort on her part.

                You double over on the ground, clutching your stomach and gasping for breath on your knees.  You sister’s feet, just around a foot away from you, clench inward a few times, bending at her sole, her toes wriggling in anticipation of whatever is coming.  A second later, you watch the foot that just kicked you rising slowly up.  Carly places it calmly on your shoulder blades, then presses down hard, forcing you to slam against the ground in a full laying down position.  You turn your head to the side, your eyes now level with the blue flip-flops and terrible peds of your sibling.  Carly giggles, twisting her heel in a few different directions and sending shooting pain along your spine.

                “You look a lot better when you’re down there, Jack.  Let’s just do things like this from now on.”  You, still unable to move, watch with utter horror as Carly kicks her other flip-flop off and moves her bare foot closer to your face.  She raises her big and second toe up regally above your face, before planting them on the top of your head.  Then, in a display of showmanship, she smears her soft toe flesh down your face, along your eyelids, and to your nose, where she plants them firmly, engulfing your breathing space in her peds, clenching her toes against your cheeks playfully.  “You know the drill,” she says simply.  You sigh, holding your breath.

                You think it through quickly.  You are vaguely aware that this isn’t really happening; it’s just a terrible nightmare.  It’s a dream.  It’s a dream.  It has to be a dream.  Your dreams come from your mind.  And that means that if you’re in the right frame of mind, you can change what’s happening.  Right?

                “Carly!” you sputter, taking in a deep breath of her foot odor as you speak.  Coughing in reaction to the balmy sudor coating your nose now, you struggle for air and try to follow through on this desperate plan.  “Please, just listen to me for one second.  Please?”  Carly’s toes continue their pressure on you, her other foot still standing firmly on your back, immobilizing you, but she doesn’t press harder on you like you thought she might.  Is it working?  Could it be possible?

                “What do you want, Jack?  And make it fast.”

                “Please… you don’t have to do this to me.”

                “Why not?” she says simply, rippling her toes across your nose.  Unable to go another second without breathing, you inhale slowly, trying to filter the smell, but it’s no use.  The salty mist of her sweat creeps back inside your nostrils, causing you to quiver a little bit from the pure rank.  She laughs, feeling you vibrate under her feet.  “That bad, huh?” she chuckles, pressing down particularly hard with the toes covering your nose, forcing the smell back inside of you.  You shiver again, but she does nothing.  “Well?” she asks expectantly.

                “Y-Y-Yes…” you mutter weakly, realizing how badly this plan of yours is failing.

                “Really?”

                “Y-Yes…”

                “Are you saying you want me to take my foot OFF of your face?” she giggles girlishly.  “Already?”

                “P-Please.”

                “And why would that be, bro?”

                “What do you m-mean?”

                “Tell me why you DON’T want my foot on your stupid little face, bro.  I’m just curious.”

                “B-Because it’s… it’s…” you begin, but as you say these things, Carly moves her foot down, tapping your lips with her big toe before returning it to over your nose.  You gag just from this simple preview, sputtering in a vain attempt to rid your taste buds of your sister’s domineering mark.  “It’s t-t-terrible…” you mutter painfully, just wanting so desperately for it to be over.  You look up.  You still can’t get over this image, how impossible it should seem to your mind.  Your little sister Carly, looking like a 14-year-old 8th grader once again.  Innocent and sweet looking, her glowing hair bounced over her shoulders, her deep blue eyes practically swirling with delight, her perfectly straight white teeth gleaming in a row, in good shape for her age but still pretty small compared to you at around 5’ 9”.

                And she’s turning you into a floor mat.

                “It’s terrible, huh?” she asks, chewing this over, still keeping her toes firmly planted over your nose.  “HOW terrible?  Like, just stinky, or REALLY bad?”

                “R-Really b-ba…” you begin, but before you can finish the word, Carly’s toes have released their sweaty grip on your face.  She pulls back about a foot, then slams her foot back in, kicking you squarely in the nose with her toes.  You squeal in shocked pain.  You’re pretty positive she just broke your nose.

                “That’s enough from you, I think,” she says calmly.  “Talk like that to me again, and I’ll kick you in the eye…” she says, raising her foot up.  Your heart pounds hard in your chest as she teasingly brings her big toe closer and closer to your eye, the tanned, dry flesh practically filling your vision.  She wiggles it, bending it, changing the color slightly to make sure you understand well.  And you do, unfortunately.

                Offhandedly, you ponder who the jackass was who decided that you can’t control your own dreams.  Whoever it is, you have a feeling it’s the same person that decided you deserve to be trapped in this 5 year long, never-ending night terror that has become your life.

                “I think it’s time you made up for the bad stuff you just said, bro.”

                This is starting to become an old hat trick for you.  You swallow hard, the smell of Carly’s reeking toes leaking like a ventilation system through your body at this point, and nod.

                “I’m sorry, Carly.  I really am.  I didn’t mean it.”

                “I didn’t say to me, Jack.  Stop being such an idiot, okay?”

                “I… what?” you gulp, confused.

                She lowers her foot back over your face, leaving everything smushed underneath her soft foot flesh except for your mouth.  “Apologize to my foot.”

                “What the…” you say, instantly getting an even stronger taste of the sweaty air through your mouth, and you almost choke.

                “Apologize to my foot NOW.”

                “Okay, okay… um…”

                “And if you sound like you’re joking, my… foot won’t believe you…” she says snidely.  You decide you’ve got a pretty decent idea of how Carly’s “foot” reacts when apologies aren’t up to snuff.  Time to swallow your pride (and the haze of foot sweat in the air) for the fifty billionth time in the last five years.

                “C-Carly’s… f-foot…” you mumble, your vision filled by Carly’s soft foot skin, flexing ever so slightly as she maintains heavy pressure over your face without killing you like you know she could.  “I… I… I’m s-sorry for what I s-said…”  You feel hilariously degraded.  You imagine if anyone ever, in real life or their worst nightmares, has ever had to do something like this.

                “That was okay.  Now show my foot even more how sorry you are.”

                “Okay, um…”

                “Kiss it.  Now.  On the heel,” Carly commands briskly and powerfully.  She lowers her heel back towards your mouth, clasping it over your lips.  You pucker against the dry, peeling skin, tasting the odd flavors, wetting her heel as you obediently pay homage to your sister’s disgusting, grimy foot.

                “More.  In the middle,” she orders, sliding her foot over your face and placing her sole over your lips.  “Kiss it again.”  You grimace and press your lips against her sole, feeling so soft and buttery it wouldn’t be a terrible thing to have to touch, if you don’t think about the fact that it’s your little sister’s foot bottom and you’re touching it with your mouth.  Despite the cooling, gentle touch of the flesh, you feel disgusting beyond belief at this remembrance.  The white wrinkles tickle your face as you kiss against your sister’s sole with gentleness, hoping not to experience it as painfully.

                “Harder.  That last one stunk,” she orders.  You close your eyes and kiss again, practically suckling your sister’s creamy sole, the slightly sweet flavors leaking into your mouth from the cushy dampness pressing against your face.  Her sole flexes, feeling hot, against your lips as if in gratitude.

                “Nice.  Now the last part.  Toes.  Get them,” she says simply, utilizing few words before slipping her wet sole off of your face, rolling the ball of her foot along your cheek and lips before she places her toes over your lips, wiggling them and tapping at your lips as if knocking on a door, wanting to come in.  You pucker, feeling the small bulbous quality of most of her toes on her lips.  As soon as you begin, though, her foot is rising back off of you.  “No.  That’s NOT what I mean…” she says.  You feel great relief flow through you as she finally takes her foot off of your back, allowing you a second to stretch out.  As soon as you do, though, you feel her hands gripping at your shirt.  She pulls you straight up.  Her arms rise into the air, holding you solidly above her head as far as she can reach.  Because of her incredible strength, you don’t stand a chance of touching ground even though Carly is technically smaller than you at this moment.

                Enraged now, wanting so desperately for your stupid subconscious to stop this insanity and let you control the dream, you wrap your legs around your sister’s thin midsection, tugging with all of your might.  She doesn’t budge an inch.  She chuckles at you.  “That’s it, bro.  Fight me.  C’mon.  Try to stop me with those, big, strong, impressive muscles of yours.”  You growl, twisting around her with your legs and clenching as hard as you can, grappling both of your hands around the fingers of just one of Carly’s godlike hands.  You watch her grin at you cheekily as you continuously fail to force this nearly superpowered fourteen year old bitch off of you.  Finally, not able to take it anymore, you let go, shaking a little from the physical and emotional strain.  “Awww… is my big, tough bro getting tired already?  From little ‘ol me?”

                “Wake up.  Wake up.  Wake up…” you order yourself in a whispered voice.

                Carly laughs haughtily at you, spraying a mist of saliva at your face as she does.  “This isn’t a dream, bro.  It’s real, just like always.  You’re… all… MINE…”

                “Carly… p-please…” you sputter, feeling tears coming down your cheeks.

                “Don’t cry on me, Jack.  You’re fighting something you can’t stop.”

                “But… but Carly, please…”

                “WHAT is it now?”

                “You… you can’t do this…”

                She chortles deeply.  “You, it’s funny you say that, Jack, because I don’t seen anyone who’s going to STOP me!”

                “It’s… it not RIGHT!”

                “Oh?  What’s so not right about it?”

“I’m your brother!”

                “So?”

                “Don’t you remember?  I know we argue a lot and stuff, but… but… remember when we were little?  We used to play together, in the backyard.  Hopscotch.  Jump rope.  Tag.  Remember?  Playing?”

                “Now you’re being silly, Jack.  We are playing.  Except this time, I get to choose the games we play,” she smiles.  Suddenly, one of her hands releases its grip on you (although she’s perfectly capable of keeping you level in the air with just one arm) and latches it around your throat, choking you.  You gasp for breath, latching your hands around her fingers as she releases her other hand from your shirt, holding you up in the air solely by the hand gripped tightly like an iron noose around your neck.  Carly’s sweet smile never fades as you gasp for breath.

                “G-G-Gaacck…” you grunt, losing oxygen fast as your sister’s soft fingers clench with metal might around your neck, cutting off your air supply with such terrifying ease.  “Let… me… g-g-g-go…”

                “Stop talking and listen to me.  I’m done playing this dumb question game with you.  It’s boring, bro.  I’m sorry, but it is.  You keep asking me to let you go, and stop hurting you.  And I will, as soon as you show me what a good brother you are.”

                “P-P-P…” you try to sputter, but her fingers clench harder around your throat, stopping your words in their tracks.

                “And you KNOW the only thing a good brother is meant for, right?”

                “P-Plea…”

                “I said shut up.  Now you’re going to suck on my toes nice and long, because I said so.  Right?”

                You nod slowly, finally admitting defeat.  “Y-Y-Yes…” you gasp, ready to do just about anything to avoid death in your sister’s adolescent grasp.

                “Good.  But that’s not everything.”

                “W-Wha…”

                “Yeah.  You’re also going to do it because you LIKE to.”

                “Huh...” you say weakly, feeling your world begin to spin a little.

                “Yep,” she chuckles matter-of-factly.  “You’re going to do it because you LIKE how your sissy’s toes taste.  You LIKE them in your mouth.  Like little candies.  Don’t you, Jack?”

                “Mmmphmm…” you struggle.

                “Loud and clear, bro.  Say yes, and then, because you’ve been such a good, stupid brother, I’ll let you suck on them.  But just for you.  Only because you like it.  Right?  Say yes.”

                “Y-Yes…” you gasp, your oxygen about to go out permanently.

                “There…” murmurs Carly, low and satisfied, and she lowers you towards the ground.  The pressure begins to release around your neck, and your feet tap the ground.  Carly’s face comes nearer to yours and she plants a kiss on your cheek, wet and lengthy.  After a moment of this, she pulls your ear closer to her mouth.  “That’s big sissy’s good boy…” she coos, kissing the edge of your ear almost tenderly before slamming you so hard on the shoulder you instantly fall to the floor.  You hit your broken nose against the ground, trying to refill your lungs with air, working through the pain, your body still shaking from the tears and trauma.  Before you lie Carly’s toes, wiggling expectantly.

                “I’m not going to stand on you, bro.  I shouldn’t have to.  Just get over here and wrap your lips around my foot before I kick all of your teeth down your throat,” she says, crossing her arms casually and tapping her bare foot against the ground with a loud, fleshy slap.  “Hurry.”

                You crawl forward a few inches, your cheek coming to rest on top of Carly’s toes.  “If my toes aren’t in your mouth in three seconds, Jack…” she begins to threaten, but you’re already on it.  You don’t care anymore.  You slide your face off of her foot, and open your mouth as if waiting for a dental procedure. 

                Carly instantly jams four of her toes inside your mouth as far as she can, clamping your jaws open at maximum width.  You close your eyes, tears rushing from them unstoppably, and take it.  The fleshy rank of your sister’s raw, peeling skin lining her toes rakes across your taste buds violently.  The stale flavor of Carly’s nails, scraping against the inside of your cheeks as she shoves her toes deeper and deeper into your mouth, nearly touching your throat, wiggling her muscles violently against your tongue and forcing it down.  With your tongue pinned, she begins sliding her toes rhythmically, side to side, along your tongue, scraping dried sweat flakes down onto it, where they melt directly into your cheeks, the taste lingering forever in your very DNA.  Opening her toes, she clamps your tongue tightly between her big and second digits and squeezes, forcing a muted squeal from your mouth that’s mostly covered up by your sister’s large foot. 

                “I don’t feel you yet, bro.  Get to work.  Suck.  Suck until you can’t taste anything anymore.”

                This offer sending a veritable chill throughout your entire body, you clamp pressure around her toes, biting down on them a little (knowing it couldn’t possibly hurt her), chewing against the skin while working your tongue into the crevices between each toe, flecks of dirt and dry skin traveling down your throat like a conveyor belt.  Your cheeks undulate as you savor the flavor of your sister’s sweat-ridden foot like a dog, each pump of your cheeks sending another massive punch of taste down your throat and into your stomach: sweat, grime, dirt, grass stains, salt, dead skin…

                “There you go…” she coos so gently she might as well be speaking to a sleepy baby.  “That’s how I like you to do it.  Keep it up.  Don’t stop, just keep going.”  This continues for an invariably long amount of time.  You keep your eyes closed, your sucking becoming less intense as your mouth gets tired, but Carly doesn’t seem to mind this, leaving you be, keeping her foot expectantly jammed into your throat just as deep as before.  Finally, when you’re so tired you don’t feel like you can continue without a break, your tongue stops working.  Carly’s foot has become pruned from how much work you’ve been doing on it, wet from your mouth, and pretty warm from how much exertion was being put on it.  She lets it alone for a moment, leaving your tear-stained face to just breath heavily, the salty scent having become the smell of your very world a while back.  She wiggles her toes against your limp tongue, trying to force some more life out of it, but it’s hopeless.  With a final squeeze against your tongue with her toes, she pulls them from your mouth, the taste so thoroughly ingrained into your tongue you don’t even realize at first that she’s removed the massive hunk of meaty flesh from your sore and aching jaws.

                “That should be okay for now, bro.  Do that a little sooner next time, and I won’t have to beat you down.  Just stay there and rest, I’ll be back a little later, and then I’ll feed you again…” she says coyly, turning around and walking back the other way, her head held high, stomping in her uptight and regal way.

                It is at this moment that you feel your brain go into autopilot.  You don’t know why you say anything or do anything that happens next.  All you can tell yourself is that you feel like a druggie who just had his entire stash taken away by the police, and you’re aching for a fix to the point that it’s almost painful.  Your head pounds.  You swallow, close your eyes, and speak.

                “Carly?”

                She turns, surprised that you have the strength to speak.  “Yes, favorite brother?” she says with feigned politeness.  You cough.

                “Could you…”

                “What?”

                “Could you come… back?” you ask uncertainly, not even bothering to consider what it is that you’re saying to your sister.  She nods, looking bewildered at you, and returns, standing just over you.

                “What is it?”

                “I… I was just wondering…”

                “What?  Come on, Jack, this is the kind of talking that made me have to punish you before…”

                “W-w-wondering…” you sputter, gasping, the pain in your head becoming worse and worse with each passing second, your vision blurring out into nothing so much that you barely can see the fit form of Carly standing over you.  “Wondering if… you wanted… the other one done?”

                She looks confused at you, and suddenly it all dawns on her.  And she seems to understand your words a lot better than you do.  “Really?” she says, raising an eyebrow.

                Apparently not even this subconscious dream version of Carly that your sadistic brain has cooked up for you in your sleep is believing a word you’re saying.  “Yes.  I mean, if you… wanted… I… I could…” you stutter uncertainly, like a small child who doesn’t know how to ask for seconds of dinner.

                “Just shut up,” she says, smiling triumphantly, but somehow she says it a lot more kindly than before.  Almost as if there’s no need to be crazed or evil anymore.  “Open wide for me.”  You do, opening your quivering, anticipating jaws, still sore from what just happened.  “Wider.  I can’t fit them all in.”  You gulp, nodding, and do so.

                With odd and uncharacteristic gentleness, Carly slips her other blue flip-flop off the “fresh” foot.  She slaps it to the ground, then brings it closer to your face.  Her toes dance softly across your lips and plant themselves on your tongue, sending a fresh batch of Carly’s sweaty, grungy flavors into your throat like a sewage pipe.  You gasp air around the toes for a moment, readjusting, as she settles her terrorist appendage into place, a drop of sweat plunking from between her toes and onto your tongue as if giving a free sample of your upcoming meal.

                “Close your lips, bro,” she whispers quietly, knowing there’s no longer a need for command.  And you do, sucking heartily on her toes like a baby on his mother for milk, inexplicable desire flooding you.  “I hope you’re hungry…”

                You awaken from the dream, sweat soaking your body and the sock you happen to be lying on top of.  You shudder violently as you recall what went on in the dream, your stomach gurgling as your subconscious shift settles in.  What happened in that dream… What you did… What you wanted…

                What you now realize with perfect clarity has become your reality.

                You lean over to your side and vomit.