The rest of the week is one of the most excruciatingly long waits you’ve ever had to endure, and considering some of the situations you’ve been forcibly jammed into by your titanic sibling, that’s saying something, but Saturday morning comes almost unexpectedly. As if you didn’t dare believe you were actually going to get to go home for Christmas and be near your family.
But you are. Or, at least you think you are. As you were unable to fall asleep Friday night with excitement, Carly was apparently forced to scoop you out of your sock and deposit you in the driver’s seat cup holder of her car, because you awake not in the musty safety of the sock drawer, but to circular plastic walls vibrating against your naked skin.
After driving for what feels like an hour or so, having regular stops for red lights, you feel the car lurching to a complete stop for several minutes. You press your hands against the rough black material of the cup holder, standing on your tiptoes and trying to see something. Unfortunately, Carly’s car’s cup holders are pretty deep, so you can’t see much of anything beyond the very top of your sister’s hair. You hear the crackle of a radio voice. You’re confused for a moment, and then get it as you look out the window, seeing a tall, colorful sign just outside the stopped car with a lot of pictures of cups and bagels. You’re at a drive-thru joint for breakfast.
“Welcome to Breakfast Hut. What can I get you?” comes the unclear voice. Carly clears her throat.
“Hi, I need one small decaf vanilla latte, and a caramel custard donut.”
“Anything else?”
“Nope.”
“Just to repeat, then: small decaf vanilla latte and caramel custard donut.”
“That’s right!” chimes Carly happily.
“First window, please,” comes the final statement before the radio crackles out. The car lurches forward to the window. You hear the jingling of coins, the flapping of dollar bills, and a low voice that you can’t quite make out, probably the cashier. Then you hear a brown bag rustling loudly as it enters the car.
“Thank you very much!” says Carly sweetly, giving her famously disarming impression. You groan, marveling at the number of people your sister fools on an everyday basis into thinking she’s… well, not insane. The window snaps shut, and then the car takes off again. After a few minutes of driving, you hear the bag rustling as your sister’s gargantuan hands rip through it greedily. The top of Carly’s head that you can see from your cup holder leans forward as she tries to drive and sort through the contents of her purchase, and you can feel the effect slightly as she taps at the wheel every so often to ensure you stay on course. Then, a moment later, a shadow falls over your face. The paper coffee cup, right over you, gripped powerfully by Carly’s fingers. You gasp, cowering, as the cup lowers over you.
“NO! Carly, STOP! I’m in here!” you gasp as the paper cup heedlessly lowers onto you. You ball yourself up, flattening against the base of the cup holder, and realize with an instant left that the edge of the holder’s base is elevated for drinks, leaving roughly an inch of space in the center. You quickly drop into this space, just as the rough paper fabric of the cup comes down on top of you, boxing you in. The heat instantly begins to build up, and your shoulder, which is brushed up against the material, is forced to endure the burning feeling. You cringe, squealing in discomfort from the growing heat and eventual pain of the cup. You try rolling into different positions, but it’s no use; some part of you has to touch the cup. Your body beginning to perspire, you settle in painfully with your side against the cup, the rest of you pressed as hard as you can into the plastic base to avoid even more pain. You begin to whimper, weakly, as you develop cramps all over, the scalding cup still warming you at an alarming rate. You suck air from the little crack of space coming in along one side of the cup’s rim, as it’s leaning slightly against one wall of the cup holder, wanting your sister to take a damned sip of coffee already.
It takes about fifteen minutes, but finally, you feel the pressure of the steaming cup lifted from you and out by Carly’s fingers. You hear her slurping up the stuff loudly and gulping it all in one load. The cup then lowers back over you, and you cower back against the base, but this time Carly leans over the holder, her blonde ponytail whipping over her shoulder. She wrinkles her nose as if disgusted by something.
“Whoops. Sorry, bro, I forgot I put you in that one,” she says half apologetically. And by this, of course, she means she’s not sorry at all, she didn’t forget you were in there, and she put her ridiculously hot cup of coffee on top of you just because… well, why not? You’re there, and you can’t do a single thing about it. Might as well nearly scald some of your skin off by using your body as a coaster for her drink, just because the other cup holder DOESN’T contain a small person who happens to have emotions and pain sensors. Makes perfect, logical sense; anyone would do the same.
You shake your head bitterly.
Carly’s hand shifts over, slamming the hot cup into the adjacent cup holder. Then, a second later, you see a napkin being dropped into the holder. You dodge to the side, pulling the thick fabric of the paper napkin off of you and recovering. Just as you do, however, you find yourself pinned down by a mass of bread and flaky glucose. The fried smell fills your nostrils, and it actually causes your mouth to water a little as you realize you’re being pinned hopelessly back into the cup holder, this time by the delicious pastry Carly picked up at the fast food place. Of course, no matter how good something is, it can still kill you if you can’t breath.
You push your hands up against the doughy crust of the thing, breaking up the opaque chips of sugar coating it. Powdered sugar, like chalk, begins to coat your body and it seeps into your throat, causing you to cough. However, you now have a breathing hole. Your hands becoming very sticky from pushing up against the wall of yellowish crust, the sugar flakes melting into the heat of your body. However, just when your arms are getting tired, the bulbous donut is lifted from your body, leaving a few stray plops of powder to fall onto you as Carly lifts it from the holder. You hear a chomping sound, followed by a squishy sound as Carly’s teeth force their way through the gooey interior of the custard. You step into the center of the napkin, still in the cup holder, craning your neck to see better.
Suddenly, though, the donut is swooping back down. You look up just in time to see the opening of the donut where Carly took a bite pointed squarely onto you, a dribble of brownish gold caramel custard filling dripping out in a long, globular blob. You yelp in fright as Carly rams the entire donut right onto you, forcing you inside the bite hole opening, and into the soft, warm interior of the donut.
The caramel filling instantly sticks to you, pinning you into the interior of the donut. You strain forward, and open your mouth, eating through a small pocket of caramel and into an air bubble, where you take a breath gratefully. Your world flips upside down, then, as you feel the pressure on the caramel changing as Carly presses in with different amounts of strength from each finger, compressing in on the squishy exterior. Her hand spins around, and suddenly you hear the sound of Carly’s voice, very close.
“Ahhhh…” she moans, bored sounding, as if getting a doctor check-up for her throat. She’s “opening wide.” You gasp, clawing madly at the caramel, but it’s no use. A second later, you watch as a shred of donut, connected to thick strands of custard, are shorn from the pastry. You peep through the air pocket and see Carly’s massive ivory teeth plowing right through the middle, stained burnt orange by the gooey contents of her breakfast. As her teeth part for a second, still visible through the small peephole, you see the chewed up pulp of the sugary treat inside of her mouth before her lips, slaked with powder, close back together. Her tongue laps up the loose, white dreck into her slimy muscle before you watch her closed lips munching, pulsating as she grinds the bite up. Then, you see her lips purse a bit, and she swallows hard, downing the bite down her gullet, the tiniest puff of white powdered sugar escaping the boiling cavern of her mouth. You try to fight for a better, position, but can’t, and watch horrified as her teeth part again, coming nearer and nearer to your face.
Her teeth smash easily through the delicious, juicy filling of the donut, coming together with a terrifying smack mere inches from your sweating face. You can make out every detail of those things, the slight traces of tartar lining them, the pinkish inflammation around her gums. You hear a squashing sound inside her mouth, probably her tongue hammering a stray shred of donut from the last bite back toward her greased throat. Then, finally, the teeth rip away, pulling upward. This time, Carly chooses to chew with her mouth open. You watch as the flaky piece of fried bread, flecked with goopy custard, is laid upon her teeth. They mash slowly downward, smushing it into a pulp. You then see a little river of her saliva flowing over her teeth, soaking the gummy remains into a nearly liquid form. With some rapidfire smashes, her teeth pulverize the bite into a glistening mess of saliva and sugar. Her lips close as she loudly swallows the bite, her throat bumping out ever so slightly as the piece begins its journey down your sister’s digestive tract. She murmurs pleasurably, sighing deeply after.
“Wow… that was pretty amazing tasting. Probably the best donut I’ve ever had. I wonder what their secret ingredient could be,” she says, and suddenly she shifts the donut upward, locking eyes with you, still tucked safely into her pastry, and winking. “I mean, it could be just about anything… little extra sugar, some spices, a pinch of salt…” she says, her lips parting again as her tongue wriggles its way out of the hot confines of her mouth.
“Or MAYBE…” she muses cheerfully. “Maybe they use little, tiny, naked boys in their donuts. Yep… that must be it,” she says, nodding approvingly to herself, batting her long eyelashes. “That must be what makes it so… sweet to eat.” On her last word, she suddenly sticks her tongue out quickly, like a lizard, and jams her warm, slimy, pink tongue hard directly into the opening in the donut you were using to watch her eat. She jams it against your nose and mouth, forcing gooey caramel-spit against your lips and forcing it to leak inside your own mouth. You cringe, pulling back, but her tongue follows, actually mashing you further into the pastry. You crawl backward, terrified, as her tongue snakes further in, knocking crumbs and powder loose like dust. Leaving you trembling, bunched into a ball again, you watch as her tongue slips back out and she laughs loudly, still gripping the donut at face level.
“Sorry, little bro, I just can’t help myself… the way you look in there, like a little elf boy spying on me while I eat my breakfast…” she giggles, regaining her composition. “I can’t help it if your body makes things taste just a little bit better.” With this, she lowers her hand and plops the donut back into the napkin-covered cup holder. You clamber back out of the donut, landing at the base. It’s at this point you realize you’re covered from head to foot, every inch, in a thick batter of caramel custard. You hardly have a second, though, before Carly’s fingers are pinching your slick sides and lifting you out.
She holds you at eye level, her vision shifting ever so slightly as she continues driving, while she tsks at you. “Oh, no… look at the mess you’ve gotten yourself into, little bro. Look at all the food you’re wasting, just all over you…” she says, sounding irritated. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you about all the starving kids in Africa?”
“Y-Yes?” you answer uncertainly. “It was an accident.”
She shakes her head. “Well, accident or no accident, you still did it. You still just wasted a bunch of custard by painting yourself with it or something. Honestly, Jack, I don’t know when you’re going to outgrow this… phase of yours.” You mentally roll your eyes. Of course this is your fault. Of course. “But it’s okay, little bro,” she says. “As your big sissy, it’s my job to have your back. So, you’re forgiven for this.”
Thank Jesus.
“Although…” she says, and you quickly retract your thanks to the heavens. Of course there’s a second part. “My girls in the Green Club would just fry me if they knew I was going to throw out all of this food. So… I guess there’s no point in it going to waste, is there, little guy?” she says cheerfully, and without another thought, her sticky, powder-coated lips are parting. She shifts you into a horizontal position, your limbs flailing and knocking the occasional bead of caramel off of yourself as she pulls you closer to her gullet. Your legs slide over her gooey, plush lips, your feet splashing into a pond of hot saliva inside. Then, her lips clamp down gently onto you just as you get your bottom half inside her mouth, her glossy mouth flesh spreading out over your stomach, pinning you in place. You receive a very strange sensation then as your legs, in the oven atmosphere of your sister’s mouth, are instantly heated, while the upper half of your body remains relatively cooled just outside. A dribble of warm goop plops down inside Carly’s mouth, landing right on your knee. You look straight up onto the humongous nose of your sister, her blue eyes now fixed straight ahead at the road while she drives. She’s not even going to directly interact with you anymore.
It is at this point that you feel the pressure being exerted on your lower body in quick pulses, the walls of Carly’s cheeks caving inward, squishing against your damp, custard-coated legs. It happens slowly at first, then in quicker pumps, your legs being pressurized by the slimy interior of Carly’s mouth, her tongue having reared back against her throat to give you some room. She’s sucking the custard filling right off of your body.
As the discomfort builds, you grip her upper lip for support, as she’s no longer actually holding onto you with her fingers, but you can’t quite get a grip, your hands slippery with the donut filling and greasy sugar. You resolve to just let your upper body hang, watching upside down at the front windshield of the car, Carly’s massive hands below turning the incredible-sized leather steering wheel along a highway. Your legs become soppy as more and more saliva leaks down from all corners of her lips and mouth, soaking your lower body and washing every last sugary bit from you. Once you feel no more of the thickness attached warmly to you, you assume this will end. But it doesn’t.
Instead, you feel Carly’s tongue sliding back into place, right where your legs happen to be. She thins it, not flexing the powerful muscle, and easily gets past your feet because of how slimy it is. You realize what she’s doing, and clamp onto it with your legs in an effort to stop this. Carly can feel you attempting, and she chuckles messily at you as your weakling legs give in to her gooey, hot muscle, finally forcing your legs into a spread-eagled position inside her mouth. Her tongue then curls itself around your dick, inflating, flexing hungrily against your genitals, hugging them in a sodden embrace, her taste buds rippling. Your dick tingles almost immediately, springing to life.
You’re sick with yourself as you feel yourself becoming bigger down there in record time under the intense pressure Carly is utilizing on your lower body. Her tongue works methodically and firmly, squeezing against your jewels with just enough pressure and steamy wiggle to get your subconscious mind apparently very, very interested. Leaking juices flow all over your legs and underneath your balls as she swallows them continually into the folds of her tongue, over and over. You begin to convulse as you get closer and closer, your lower body now completely clean of any kind of food, coated instead in streaks of sweltering saliva. Then, finally, you explode into your sister’s tongue, your body going limp. You’re spent and shameful beyond belief. You remain hanging limply as Carly plucks you by the arms out of her mouth, releasing her tongue’s power grip on you. She dangles you before her again, your upper body still coated in a thick layer of custard.
“WOW. I guess that made somebody’s day, huh?” she gasps, winking. You can’t even look her in the eye, you’re so disgusted. “Well, you know me, Jack. I hate to leave things unsymmetrical. I’m so OCD about that kind of stuff,” she smirks, sliding her fingers around. A second later, you are inverted, her fingers pinning onto your stomach as you hang upside down. “I made ONE of your heads happy… so let’s make sure we get the other one too,” she giggles, opening her lips again playfully and expectantly.
You are powerless as she inserts you, head first, into her mouth again, encasing you in sticky darkness as she pins her lips onto your midsection again. Her tongue wraps itself around your head, her cheeks begin to pulse, and she gets to work sucking the top half of your body dry of custard.
As she gets to work, shoveling gallons of glucose-thickened spit down your throat and nose, you feel a soft fingertip playfully poking at your exposed dick, which is currently leaning against her chin just outside her lips. You kick your legs against her soft, wide chin in a request for her to leave you alone, but she only chuckles and presses her fingertip harder against your genitals, covering your face in her red tongue and sliming your eyes to avoid further futile protests.
The next hour is absolutely peachy for you as Carly sucks your top half dry inside her damp, hellish cave of a mouth, occasionally lifting her lips for you to breathe but holding your head firmly in her lake of stifling spit still. Each breath you take is of the sugary bread combined with the bacteria-laden garden on the back of your sister’s tongue, your body beginning to sweat from the intense heat and muggy air. The singing voice of who you believe to be Rihanna belts with a rumble from the car radio for the rest of the way there, with Carly humming peacefully along to the tune as she casually kneads at your miniature balls with her giant gentle fingertips to induce an erection before suddenly stopping, allowing you to deflate, and beginning the process over again in a sickeningly teasing fashion as your legs dangle helplessly from between her gooey, custard-caked lips.