You cower, shivering and vulnerable, crumpled up in the center of your sister’s enormous palm, her fingers caged aggressively around you.  She glares down at you while sitting cross-legged on her bed back in your house, her luggage all packed and ready to go on the floor.

                “You…” she whispers threateningly, hardly able to utter the words as her voice drips with so much acidic rage.  “You… stupid… little…”

                “Carly…” you gulp dryly.

                “Stop talking.  God, what would you do without me?  If I hadn’t connected the dots like that and figured out it was Chloe that had you and raced over to their house in time… I mean, you’d kinda be roasting in someone’s tummy right now.  I hope you realize that, you little freak.  I hope you realize what you’ve done to yourself, and… that what I’m going to DO to you because of it was only brought on by your own stupid actions.”

                “Carly, listen to me, I swear to God, it wasn’t my fault!” you say as calmly as possible.

                “You’re lying to me,” she scowls, bringing you closer to her face.  “I know what you did.  Don’t try to hide it.”

                “It was Chloe, I swear!  I swear!” you repeat uneasily.  “She came into your room, and found your purse!  I tried to hide, but I couldn’t do anything to stop her!”

                Carly raises a disbelieving eyebrow at you.  “Why would she be going through my purse, little bro?”

                “I don’t know!  But she did, I swear, I… oh, fuck,” you mutter under your breath as your sister’s soft features contort into a beautiful portrait of spite and hatred.

                “Shut up before I tie your little legs together and bite them off of you, like you deserve.”

                You nod obediently, your head hanging, the beads of sweat pouring liberally from your forehead.  Chills ripple violently down your spine.

                “You know Chloe.  She doesn’t like jewelry or accessory type things.  All she cares about is soccer.  She wouldn’t have any reason to get in my purse.”

                “But she would!” you blurt against your better judgment.  “You saw her room!  It’s all pink and purple, like that kind of thing.  She’s not LIKE that anymore, I swear!  Please, please, Carly, please, you SAW her ROOM!” you shout, tossing out words haphazardly in the desperate hope that one of them will work.

                To your surprise, rather than giving a seething retort, Carly actually begins biting her lip, raising an eyebrow.  For once, she seems to actually be hearing the logic in your words.  At this point, you figure, now that you’ve convinced her of your little lie, she’s searching desperately for a reason to fault you in this whole thing anyway.  That tends to be her ultimate goal of any interaction: to place all blame of any situation upon you so as to have solid reasoning to leave you stranded in a precarious position, be it straddling her sticky tongue, her muscular thumbs, her sweating sole, or her silky hair.  This kind of twisted reasoning always factors into Carly’s games.  Even if the reason is ridiculous and unfounded, she always gives one for why she’s doing what she’s doing to you, without fail.  Whether it’s to serve her monstrously mutated morality or simply to toy with your feeble brain, you’re not certain.  It’s a little sick, but it’s at least something on which you can rely, and in this case it just might save your neck.

                “She said you LOVED her,” sneered Carly.  “What did she do for you?  Bring you breakfast in bed?  Give you little back massages?  Show you her feet?” adds your sister with a devilish grin.  You don’t even want to honor this question with an answer.  “You would be sick enough to get off on a kid’s feet, wouldn’t you, bro?” accuses your sister with a contorted upper lip.  “Wouldn’t you?”
                “Carly, I swear to God, nothing happened at all like any of that.  She kept me in a cage pretty much the entire time.  Really.”

                “You must have talked to her,” whispers Carly, practically spitting the words out.  “You must have talked to her about our time together.  I know it.”

                “I didn’t do anything like that.  I swear, I…”

                “I’m not sure I trust you, little bro,” states your sister simply.  Slowly, her fingers begin curling back around your body.  “But I’ll tell you one thing.  I’m going to get the real answer, one way or another.  Now tell me: what did you tell her about me?”

                With this, Carly brings a thumb down on your crotch and begins twisting.  Rather than mind-bendingly raping you like normally by stroking you gently, you are shown none of that petty “kindness” by your giant sibling.  Instantly it feels like your balls are being compressed with a sledgehammer.  You scream bloody murder, flailing your limbs helplessly, as your sister continues jamming her powerful thumb down onto your family jewels.

                “Tell me, little bro,” orders your sister calmly, in control, as always.  “And I’ll stop.”

                “SHE DOESN’T KNOW ANYTHING, CARLY!” you scream, writhing as the brain-scrambling burn rips through your insides.

                “Tell me now,” insists Carly.  “And maybe I’ll decide not to turn you from a little boy into a little girl.”

                “She… didn’t… believe… me…” you groan through gritted teeth.  “I told her who I am, but she didn’t believe me.  I don’t… know… who she thought I… w-w-w-was…” you grimace, shaking violently.

                “That’s all?  That’s all you told her?”

                “She wouldn’t listen to anything else.  She told me she’d…”

                “She’d what?” growls your sister, twisting her thumb 180 degrees on top of your aching, dwarfed dick.  “What did she say?”

                “She said she’d…” you gulp hard.  “…she’d step on me if I didn’t stop talking and call her Princess Chloe.”

                At this, Carly’s face practically glows with joy.  She nods, smirking, and finally lets up on your crotch, allowing you to sprawl, moaning in pain, into her palm again.  “THAT’S my cousin,” she says proudly.  “God, if she hadn’t taken you away and almost swallowed you like a little sausage, I’d be tempted to let her babysit you sometimes for me.”

                You cry weakly, cradling your brutalized junk and hoping to high Heaven that Carly hasn’t just rendered you incapable of fathering.

                “PRINCESS Chloe,” laughs Carly, throwing her head back in ecstasy.  “God, that’s beautiful.  I freaking love that.  I mean, geez, why have I never thought of that?”

                You feel a sinking sensation in the pits of your stomach.  You’re not sure you like where this is heading.

                “How about I come up with something like that?  For you to call me, I mean,” she drawls, tapping her chin ponderously.  “But let’s see… it would have to be something good.  Something that would show me how much you respect and love me as your owner.  But what?”

                “Carly…” you croak out, strained.

                “Shut up,” she snaps.  “You don’t call me by my name anymore.  Only people can call me that.  And you’re not one of those anymore, remember?  You’re my pet.  You don’t matter.  No, you get to call me…” she sighs.  “…Aphrodite.”

                “Oh, Jesus…” you whisper quietly to yourself, groaning.

                “We’re actually learning about this in History right now,” explains Carly.  “Aphrodite is the Greek goddess of love, beauty, and…” she giggles.  “…pleasure.  And I’d say I’m an expert on all three of those, so… it’s perfect!”

                You stare disbelieving into your sister’s excited face.

                “That’s our new rule.  Sure, I’m still your big sissy, but I’m also your goddess, and you will call me Aphrodite.  Know why?”

                You shrug uncaringly.

                “Because I said so, that’s why.  Got that, little boy?”

                You nod, coughing.

                “Let’s hear it, then,” she encourages.  You moan but decide not to put up a fight.

                “Yes, Aphrodite.”

                “Good, little bro, you’re catching on.  Now: I’ll deal with you more later; we’re not done with this conversation.  We’re going home now, because I’ve got a big tournament tomorrow at the stadium.  Hope you’re all packed!” she jokes with a girlish chortle.  “What am I saying, of course you are.  Let’s go.”

                A matter of minutes later, with you tucked safely back into your sister’s purse, you hear laughter and goodbyes as your sister prepares to leave.  You claw at your head, growling, ready to explode with rage at yourself.  You’re about to leave your house, and who knows when it is you’ll be back?  For now, you’re going to be trapped back in the brave new world of that college dorm room, with your sister as your only “friend.”  You had a window, and you blew it sky high.  Escape was within your grasp, but you screwed it all over at the most critical of moments. 

                Well, you didn’t blow it.  It was a combination of factors, as usual, all in a conspiracy to ensure your life is not only torturous, but disappointing in every facet as well.  That, and the fact that at least a couple of your female family members seem to have a twisted affinity for playing with and humiliating living creatures.  Absentmindedly, it occurs to you how desperately the Arton family needs a massive psychiatric intervention in certain places, and fast.

                You remain in Carly’s purse for the entire duration of the ride home.  Considering the hellish way in which you arrived here by spending half the time getting your head dunked in your sister’s soupy saliva, and the other half having your crotch teased, having some peaceful solitude in the purse would normally be a nice respite.  However, you’re far too bitter at this moment to consider such a thing.  You barely even notice it as the purse zipper is undone and Carly’s long fingers descend into the leather darkness, hunting for you to snatch out and bring back into the prison of her dorm room.

                “So… little bug…” coos Carly, taking a seat on her bed with you cupped into her palm.  “Tell me one thing.”

                “What?”

                “Chloe said you loved her.  Was she lying?”

                The question has come up again.  You almost want to laugh in your enormous sister’s face.  Despite the façade of complete anger she’s been putting up for the past couple of hours, you can sense something else entirely.  It takes you a moment to identify it from the subtle curling of her upper lip, the gleam of her eyes, and the tilt of her head, but once you figure it out, you almost want to smile.  You know exactly what it is you see in your sister.  It’s practically radiating off of her.

                Jealousy.

                “Of course she was lying.  It was horrible!” you shout without reservation.  At this, Carly grins, seeming relieved.

                “I thought it might be.  That’s good.  I wouldn’t want someone else stealing my little baby brother away from me, you know?” she giggles.  “You would have missed me.  Admit it.”

                “Yes.”

                “Yes, what?”

                “Yes, Aphrodite.”

                “That’s right, little bro, and don’t you forget it, or… I’ll find a really special way to make you remember,” she chuckles, unable to hide her cruel smile.  “And believe me, I don’t think you’ll like it very much.”

                “I’m sorry, Aphrodite,” you answer, trying not to sound sarcastic in your bitterness.

                “Well, you’re forgiven this time.  JUST this time, mind you.”

                “Thank you,” you answer, which comes a little more easily than the last response.

                “Hey, what wouldn’t I do for you, little guy?  You’re the most important man in my life, you know that, little Jackie-poo?” she almost sings.  “You know I love you that much, don’t you?”

                “Yes, Aphrodite.”

                “More than ANYTHING.  More than my friends.  More than Mom and Dad.  More than basketball.  More than…” she says at length, listing each one proudly.  “Even more than when you were big.  Especially more than that, actually.  The less there is of you, the more I love you.  I mean, just imagine if you were this small,” she laughs dreamily, bringing up two fingers and pinching them about a half inch apart to demonstrate how tall she’d prefer you to be.  “Just imagine how much fun we’d have together.  Just imagine… how well I could show my love for you THEN…”

                You stare blankly forward, haunted endlessly by the very notion of being a half an inch tall, as Carly’s fingers curl back around you and she stands up, walking slowly toward the drawer.  Grasping the knob with her fingers, she yanks it open.

                “But as much as I love you, if I don’t feel like you love me back… it just won’t work,” she explains, bringing you closer to her face.  “And it hurts me a lot when you try to get away from me.  It’s like you don’t appreciate everything I’ve done for you.”

                “I do appreciate it, Aphrodite, really, I…”

                “Shut up.  I’m talking, little boy,” she orders, the sweetness in her voice draining away.  “So, make no mistake.  I love you.  But.  Remember this,” she whispers, lowering her voice to a spine-tingling hiss and rumble as she brings you directly in front of her lips so you can hear it plainly.  “Try to get away again, and I will kill you.”

                With this, her moist lips part and her drool-caked tongue peeks gingerly between her them, lapping almost seductively at your face.  You shiver, pulling back as she licks upside your face once more, stroking your whole head with her putrid sputum.  “Sweet dreams, my little baby boy toy,” she whispers before depositing you into the drawer and slamming it shut, sealing you in total darkness.

                You double over on the floor of clean socks and cry until you have no tears left, finally drifting off to sleep in order to have nightmares that are more pleasant than your real life.