You are vaguely aware of your entire body quivering, both from the cold and from some distant mental sense of the trauma you’ve endured, as you cower nakedly in the palm of your sister’s warm hand. You can feel the harsh chill of the AC rippling over your exposed skin. You can feel your red, burning, bruised skin tingling uncomfortably. You can feel the thick, sticky, itchy layers of Carly’s dried spit slathered generously over every inch of your body, particularly your crotch region, where she spent a ruthlessly long amount of time, taunting you with powerful caresses from her tongue, all for the purpose of disgusting you and warping your mind beyond belief at the fact that, in all technicality, custard coating or not, you were getting raped yet again by your own “little” sister.
You doubt, at this point, even Freud would have a shot at cracking the filthy death trap your brain has become. You’re so dysfunctional, at this moment, so soon after having had your dignity stripped violently from you, you doubt just as well that you’ll ever serve a real purpose again.
Unless serving as your sister’s breakfast utensil counts as a purpose…
With your eyes closed, you feel Carly’s fingers close gently around you, tightly wrapping you in soft, sweet-smelling finger flesh. Her long, controlling digits press your arms snugly against your body, securing you safely into her wide appendage. The warmth is comforting, and despite the fact that these same fingers just spent an inordinately long amount of time molesting your helpless body while Carly sucked the caramel right off your raw skin, the heat they’re giving you is far superior to the coldness you just experienced. There’s also the added benefit of not rolling off into the death-dealing depths between the car seats, as your sister’s firm grip guarantees you aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.
For once, it’s a good thing, because you doubt in your state of fazed semi-consciousness you could prevent yourself from rolling off the fleshy edge of your sister’s palm if she didn’t stop you.
“Almost there, little bro,” giggles Carly, driving with the hand not gripping you, turning the wheel sharply and causing her whole body to vibrate slightly to counteract the directional pull of the vehicle on the curb. “Almost home for Christmas.”
You highly doubt Carly has a particularly merry Christmas planned for your damned self. However, if you play your cards right, you have a feeling that there will be at least one opportunity to end this whole sordid ordeal once and for all. The thought of such a prospect is almost enough to get the just-raped feeling out of your mind.
It happens so often, after all, your brain gets a very particular sensation after such an event.
Eventually, you feel the car come to a soft halt. You can’t see high enough to see out the window, but you can feel the car resting at a slight upward angle. Your parents’ house’s driveway.
Carly’s fingers re-open, allowing you to splay outward in her palm. You groggily open your eyes again, but wish you hadn’t, as you get only a momentary flash of light before Carly’s humongous plush lips are descending on you, pursed into a ring shape just large enough to fit something roughly the size of your grape-like head. She easily pops your entire head between her sticky lips, sucking hard enough to keep you firmly in the hot, wet darkness.
“Mmmmm…” murmurs Carly, the sound coming out in a deep, pleased rumble all around you. In reaction to the vibration of her mouth, you feel a rainfall of gummy, fresh saliva pouring down over your face. You spit away what you have to to breath, accidentally blowing a wet bubble right into your sister’s own spit as it coats your face once again, your neck held in place like a vice by Carly’s overpowering, caramel-coated mouth. Outside your sibling’s mouth, you push your hands hard against her chin and lower lip, doing all you can to pull your head back out of the damp hellhole of your sister’s greedy, messy mouth. Of course, you’re far too weakened and complacent by this point to put much effort into it.
After a moment of re-washing your face in her hot mouth juices, Carly slides you back between her lips, slicking your hair off to the side in the process, making a loud, obnoxious popping noise as if she had just sucked on a piece of candy.
“Who needs candy canes when I’ve got YOU, little bro,” she grins widely, pulling you back so you can see most of her gleeful, glowing face. “You like that?”
“What?” you ask, half-awake.
“Being my candy, silly.”
“W-Wha…”
“Just answer the question, sleepyhead,” she chuckles. “Do you like being my candy?”
“N… NO, I…” you begin to protest, but before you can get far, the very tip of Carly’s tongue has slipped out between her lips and struck out at your face like a snake on its prey. Easily covering your mouth, your sister’s massive, writhing tongue stops your words in their tracks, sliming your face and making your body squirm with disgust yet again to feel the wet, muscular organ probing at your face. With a final, messy lap at your head, Carly retracts her tongue, satisfied.
“Watch out, Jack, or I won’t get you anything for Christmas. And you know what I bring little boys who’ve been naughty, don’t you?”
“N-N-No…” you whimper with defeat, batting goop out of your eyes.
“Well… how about we just don’t find out at all, hmmm? That sound good?”
“Y-Yes…”
“Tell you what, Jack.”
“What?” you gasp. Slowly, Carly’s fingers re-wrap themselves around your sticky, nude body, warming you again and sending goose bumps down your body. Gently, she lays her thumb on top of your dick and gently begins to stroke at it, more to soothe you than to try and provoke you into growing.
“You be a REALLY good little boy, and I’ll give you another pair of my socks to sleep in. I’ll even wear them a little first, just for you.”
“W-Why?” you ask, not really caring; your intent, at this point, is to keep Carly talking, because as long as she’s talking, she can’t jam you roughly back into her mouth for another rousing round.
“Well, you ARE my pet, after all. Like a puppy. And puppies like the smell of their owners, you know?”
“Oh.”
Carly grins ear to ear, a few stray flecks of the long-ago digested donut from breakfast still stuck between her otherwise perfectly white teeth. “I knew you’d get it. Because you’re a SMART little pet, aren’t you, bro?” Slowly, she brings you closer to her lips again and exhales, allowing a cloud of vanilla coffee-scented breath, reeking of grounds and frothy whipped cream, to engulf you strongly.
“Mhm,” you cough, trying not to inhale the scent.
“AREN’T you?”
“Yes,” you answer obediently.
“That’s my good little boy,” she squeals in a cute baby voice, clearly playing to the whole “puppy” image she just forced painfully into your consciousness. Swinging the car door open and popping her keys into her purse, she lowers you toward it as well. “Now just hang tight in sissy’s purse for a little bit, bro, and I’ll take you out later. I’ll even bring you some food, okay?”
“Okay,” you answer robotically.
“Sweet. Have fun in there!” she giggles, gently releasing the grip of her soft fingers and allowing you to roll into the base. You stand up, looking out of the zippered opening at Carly’s beaming face staring down at you, disbelieving. What could she possibly be referring to?
“Uh…” you begin with a sigh.
“Seriously,” says Carly, raising her eyebrows, almost as if she read your mind. “I’ll bet you could think of all kinds of things to do in there. Paint yourself with my lip gloss, bowl with the coins in my change purse… God, you’re gonna be having more fun than I’ll be having!” she laughs, gripping at the zipper between two of her long fingers and beginning already to seal you into darkness. “Or just take a nap. I really don’t care. Just behave yourself, and you’ll get your Christmas present, like I promised. Catch ya later, little bro!” Carly muses before zipping the purse fully, plunging you into an obstacle-filled purgatory smelling faintly of old, zesty perfume.