Light fills your eyes as you come to suddenly once again, the small door of the freezer slamming back open. You groggily stare forward, seeing a vaguely peachy shape reaching forth and gripping the edge of the bowl. You realize you, literally, must have been out cold. Honestly, it’s probably a miracle you didn’t freeze to death inside your icy prison. You can’t see much, but you can tell that the ice cream has solidified so hard that you can’t move a muscle, not even if you had the energy to try effectively. The freezing seems to have formed the top of the ice cream even better into a perfectly flat plain. It looks a little like a tiny ice rink to you. An ice rink with you frozen directly in the center, you note grimly, as you are finally pulled back into glorious, room temperature air.
You shiver profusely, most of your body numbed. Your head is pounding so hard you can barely see straight, and the parts of your body you can still feel are racked with so much pain, you don’t think that even if you were capable of moving yourself, you would want to. You look down at your shoulders and chest, the only parts still exposed above the sea of vanilla ice cream at the moment, and notice the bluish hue they’ve taken on. You wonder how much longer you could have held out in that box. Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been long. The body can only take so much, even one such as yours that’s been through the wringer so many times you’ve nearly thought yourself invincible at times. But right now, you’re not feeling too hot (literally). Shaking uncontrollably again, you raise your head up and look at the mind-screwing image before you.
Carly’s massive thumbs are curled into the lip of the bowl, pressing tightly against it to ensure she doesn’t drop you; the rest of her hands are, presumably, clutched underneath the freezing glass. Her face fills your entire view, the depth of her blue eyes practically digging into you as she gazes over your frail, freezing form with an enamored zeal. Her glossy lips have curled into a wide, all-encompassing grin, showing her glistening ivories inside her jaws, looking ready to bite a car in half if put to the test. Her nostrils flare slightly, as if smelling the air around you. A few of her stray hairs that she didn’t comb as well float uneasily in the air, the rest of her dirty blonde mop hanging along her shoulders. Normally she would have been quick to fix it, generally liking her hair to look as perfect as possible, but you get the feeling she’s not particularly concerned with her physical appearance at the moment.
Her lips compress a bit as the tip of her tongue curls out from the dark pits of that salivary cave, the pink muscle sliding along her lips like a dial, re-coating them in her spit. She does three complete laps with it, very slowly, letting you watch it like the hands of a clock signaling your incoming doom. Finally, she exhales deeply, and the warm air rushing out from her mouth feels so good you actually get goose bumps.
“You know, Jack…” she says slowly, trying to savor every second of having you frozen so completely into her bowl. “Every once in a while, it’s a good thing to reward yourself, if you’re stressed. It helps you… unwind,” she says decisively. “Some people like to go to the movies, or go on a trip with their girlfriends. But me?” she says sweetly. “I’m not a complicated girl. All I really need is a little… treat… to satisfy myself every now and again.” The bowl shakes, and her face comes even closer. Now more than ever, you can see clearly her skin cells, the laugh creases around her eyes, her deep dimples as she smiles so widely at you. That mouth of hers is so terrifyingly disarming; if you were normal sized, and just walking by Carly on the street, and she flashed those pearly whites at you like this, you honestly think it would make your day. She could probably use that smile to charm just about anyone she wanted: she could improve a grade, get a job… maybe get a boyfriend, if that was something she was interested in.
Or, she could always just use it to terrify the ever-loving shit out of her helpless brother by reminding him how easy it would be for her to pop him onto her tongue and swallow him like a stale gummy bear. That works too.
She chuckles, slowly and in a low voice. It’s not quite cartoonish, but its definitely one of the most condescending sounds you’ve ever made her make to you. It’s the kind of laugh you’d hear her making to a cute little baby who just poured his bottle all over himself. Utterly beneath her. Then her mouth opens wider, and she groans, as if trying to pick out her word choice. For an instant, you can see her uvula dangling in the back of her throat, glistening from the rays of light bouncing around the room and off the glassy bowl. “I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot lately, Jackie, and I don’t like that. I don’t like it when we argue. But since you’re my little brother…” she continues. “And I love you so, so much… I figured it would be RUDE of me to eat in front of you. I thought maybe I’d try to make it all… better between us. So, why don’t we share my tasty treat together? Like a good brother and sister should.”
You shake harder and harder. You can’t tell if she’s trying to use the “I’m going to eat you” scare tactic like she so often does. That doesn’t faze you anymore; you’re about 99.9% sure she’ll never do it. What DOES scare you, though, is the inevitable promise of pain instead of the mortal alternative. In your weakened state, where motion is impossible, you doubt you have the strength to defend yourself against whatever she’s about to do. And without you to defend yourself, there’s no one. Because you don’t expect Carly to start caring about your wellbeing, beyond whether you’re alive or not, at this very moment.
You’re in so much pounding, freezing pain, your head swimming so dizzily, you just want it to be over. You’re willing to try anything. You’ve got a feeling that it won’t make it go any faster, but if you can just get Carly to hear you grovel a little bit, it might help alleviate some of the fact that you’ve been (heaven forbid) trying to be the boss around here lately. Your eyes shift to the clock beside the bed.
8:47 pm. Only 13 minutes left.
You swallow hard, and go for it.
“P-P-P-P…” you stutter, realizing how difficult it is to speak when you’re this cold as you try for the first time in a while to utter a legitimate, linguistic sound. You feel your voice cracking and shaking, your teeth chattering so severely, you doubt coherency will be an easy task, but you’ve got to try. You’ve just got to. “P-P-Please, C-Carly…” you sputter. “I-I-I’m… I-I’m… I h-h-hurt s-s-s-so m-m-much…”
Carly’s face softens, and she tilts her head at you, seeming to have legitimate pity as she purses her lips. “Oh… I’m sorry about that, little bro. Where does it hurt?”
“A-A-All o-over…”
“All over, huh? Why?”
“C-C-Cold…” you stutter with the strain of speaking.
“You’re cold? I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to make you hurt. I just wanted to share my ice cream with you. Don’t you want some ice cream?”
“P-P-P…”
“I’ll take that as a no,” says Carly snidely. “That’s fine. If you don’t want any, well… let’s just say I feel like I’ve got a really big appetite right now. In fact, I’ll bet it’s big enough for you too,” she says ironically, and in the moment of silence, you hear a deep, snaking, rumbling growl. Carly’s stomach, echoing up to you off the walls of the bowl. “Hear that?” she asks coyly, clearly pleased with herself. All you can do is shudder. In response to the trauma, your eyes begin to tear up severely again. Carly squints at you, trying to gauge your reaction. Your lip quivers as the water streaks across your cheeks, making you colder. “Are you crying, Jack?”
“N-N-N…”
“Don’t lie.”
“Y-Yes.”
“Ohhh… poor little boy…” she coos in her singsong baby voice. “There’s no need to cry. Your big sissy’s got you nice and safe. Here, I’ll show you. You’re cold? Don’t move. Big sissy’s gonna make it ALL… BETTER…” she laughs, breaking the fake caring-about-you act. With that, her lips pop open again, and her tongue stretches out, glistening, as another stomach rumble sounds from far below. Then, she presses it downward very close to you against the flat, vanilla floor. You watch, horrified, as her hot, slippery muscle applies pressure into the cold ground. Slowly, you watch her saliva leak down it, and pool into the ice cream. After a moment of this, that spot becomes more and more liquid-like, the ice cream melting under the incredible sloppy warmth, the surface taking up a glistening sheen. You’re actually pretty sure you saw the tiniest steam cloud that only someone of your size would see rising from the space underneath the massive organ of your monumental sister.
Then, contorting from the muscular work going on under the bumpy flesh, Carly’s tongue begins sliding almost provocatively across the surface of the ice cream, avoiding you. You watch helplessly, having no energy left to protest beyond a weak groan. The terrible muscle, thickly coated in her steaming mouth juices, effectively begins melting the layers of ice cream. The more you watch her slide it around, the more she tubes it up, popping a saliva bubble in the space as she uses her tongue like an industrial plow, curling the white, creamy ground in thick, dripping waves. As this happens, dribbles of cold cream begins sliding up Carly’s tongue and into her mouth like a ramp, coating her damp lips in the pasty residue.
Once the surface of all the ice cream surrounding you has been thoroughly churned, Carly pulls her head back, and closes her eyes as if in a wonderful dream, whipping her hair back over her shoulders to get it out of the way. Her tongue, stained partially white by sticky melted treat, swirls around her lips, lapping up the excess cream and allowing it to be sucked back into her smelly mouth cave, although much of it dribbles down her cheek, along her chin, and to the ground far below your field of vision; as she does this, she emits a low, satisfied moan of delight.
“Oooohhh… oh my God… so… good…” she mumbles disjointedly, still lapping messily around the corners of her lips for any missed sugar droplets. “I honestly think I could just eat this all the time without stopping…” she drawls, popping her sticky lips together. As she does, she sends a single blob of ice cream spraying out. It hits you squarely in the face, stinging your eyes. She laughs at you. “Go ahead. Try some…” she says, bringing her lips closer to you again so you can hear her even at the lowest volume. “It’s GOOD for you…” she smiles, speaking so quietly it’s like a rumbling whisper coming from a PA system overhead. Then, just as suddenly, she’s pulling back, and you feel the bowl rocking as she walks. You hear the sound of a suction-operated door opening and shutting.
“It’s really tasty right now, little bro. But you know what would make it so much better?”
“N-N-N…”
“I don’t know what it is, but chocolate just makes everything taste a little… sweeter.” Your field of vision is suddenly filled with gigantic, white bubble letters saying, “CHOCOLATE SYRUP.” Carly brings the bottle up towards her ice cream-covered mouth and sticks the opening into her teeth, pulling the pop tab up. Your skin crawls as you watch Carly raise the bottle far over your head, flip it over, and squeeze into the plastic siding with her mammoth fingers. A thick stream of dark, syrupy liquid slowly sifts through the air from between the bottle opening to the ice cream. And of course, you’re right in the middle. The chocolate goop absolutely coats you from every inch, eventually flowing off of your body and forming a gooey lake around you. The thick cocoa haze fills your nostrils, and it’s actually not so bad. It reminds you of going to the dentist as a younger kid and having some sort of flavored toothpaste to help you with the difficult and painful procedure.
Having no use of your arms to slick back the brown mess from your face, you blow outward and spit, making room for you to breathe through the liquid coat now covering you; you intake a few stray mouthfuls of the sugary stuff, and it feels pretty good on your throat as, despite it being in the fridge, it’s still warmer than you are right now. With almost the entire visible layer of the churned ice cream covered in a chocolate swamp, Carly stops squeezing the bottle; it makes a short puffing sound as it re-inflates, and Carly puts it back inside her dorm mini fridge. Finally, with you thoroughly coated, Carly grips the bowl again with two hands and studies you closely, fascinated and deeply appreciative of your predicament. You try desperately to force your arms and legs into work, but they are still frozen solid into the icy treat.
Your sister snickers, seeing your futile efforts. Knowing you can’t do a single thing about it, she plants her tongue firmly at the edge of the bowl and begins sliding it along the surface, straight towards you. With so much chocolate filling the bowl, her tongue rakes it heavily along, browning her tongue quickly in the gooey stuff. And then, she reaches you. Her wet tongue presses heavily against you, smushing you into a pile-drive of her gummy saliva and the rich syrup. Despite how disgusting and uncomfortable it is, you can’t help but admit how amazing it feels to have something so warm pressing against your ice cold body from most of the important angles. She works you for a few seconds, groaning from the effort to keep her mouth so wide open and spraying flecks of sticky ice cream drops from the insides of her cheeks. You struggle for breath, taking in massive mouthfuls of the thickened syrup, which has now been thoroughly mixed with your sister’s spit. Slipping her tongue over your face and allowing you to breath finally, she snuggles it against your filthy hair before going down to your back. Instantly, she tightens the muscles in her tongue, making it taut and inflated; this forces you as far forward as you can lean as she holds you down firmly, rippling it. Her chin and upper lip now right in front of you, a drooble of slightly brown-colored saliva drips down from her chin and is inhaled accidently into your nose as you struggle for breath, the wall of Carly’s tanned neck flexing as she swallows thick globs of ice cream and chocolate syrup from along your back. Finally having a satisfactory mouthful, Carly’s chin lifts away, leaving a chocolatey strand of goopy saliva attached to her lips, but it quickly breaks, clinging to your shoulder. You look down at yourself. You’re no longer coated from head to foot in the thick, delicious syrup, but instead smeared brown and glistening by your sister’s powerful, soaking behemoth of a muscular tongue.
You stare up weakly into Carly’s glowing, satisfied eyes. She does one last quick lick of her lips to show her happiness, but she doesn’t blink, her blues locked solely on your chocolate saliva stained body, still cuffed hopelessly by the solidified dessert treat. “You know, Jack…” she says, her voice sounding a little muffled; her throat is probably clogged up with all the stickiness she just took into her body. “Ice cream does taste pretty good. It’s really sugary, you know? But… somehow, it just doesn’t hit the spot by itself…” she says, bringing her face back closer to you. “Wanna know what DOES hit the spot?”
“N-No… p-p-please…”
She lowers her voice again, bringing her lips so close to you all you can see are them, her hot, chocolate-smelling breath washing over you comfortably and almost melting your icy bonds. “YOU do. My little sugar boy,” she says, grinning slyly, her lips glossed over with cream residue. You struggle violently, as fast as you can, to get out of the stuff. Slowly, uncaringly, knowing she can take as long as she pleases without you escaping her, Carly widens her mouth again, sending an oven wave of heat out upon you. And then her teeth are stretching over you, the top row passing over your head. You are encased in darkness as your sister plants her entire mouth over you, trapping you inside as her top teeth touch down into the soft treat just behind you. They begin to dig, almost silently, sliding through the whiteness like butter. You shiver, feeling your body temperature returning to normal as Carly’s hot saliva melts the ice cream around you. With a little slurp, Carly sucks you back onto the suction-tipped material of her tongue, closing her lips and smiling, pleased to have you once again “safely” inside.
Carly’s tongue indents as she pressurizes the inside of her mouth, sucking you hard directly onto her sticky tongue. You’ve been in this situation numerous times before, of course, but never quite like this; the entire interior of your little sibling’s mouth has been coated in a grimy layer of chocolate and vanilla ice cream residue. You yank an arm off of the tongue, stuck to it like fly paper, as your sister vibrates the organ beneath you, sucking the last chocolate remnants from your defenseless naked body, her teeth parted far enough so that she can do this without having to open her mouth. You begin to sweat in the heat, your body temperature having changed dramatically very quickly, and your breathing becomes more labored, each inhalation filling with the hazy thickness of cocoa goop and your sister’s bad breath.
Suddenly, you are given a fleeting breath of air. You gasp in oxygen, unpeeling yourself from your sister’s sticky mouth organ and dropping to a crouching position, only to look on with horror at the sight coming from the flooding light of the outside world. A white, smooth ball of ice cream is coming careening into Carly’s mouth as she takes another bite. It smacks you hard, cooling your sweating form briefly before rolling onto Carly’s tongue, melting almost instantly into the cracks between her taste buds like a snowball. You hear her laugh triumphantly at your useless efforts, the rumbling feeling rolling through the base of her mouth and your entire body. Her sticky lips close while curled up in a gleeful smile, leaving you in the muggy, sugary hovel again. You ball yourself up into the fetal position, knowing it’s the safest way to inhabit your sister’s mouth whenever she decides to do this. You’re small, but you’re not so small that, with a slip of the teeth, Carly couldn’t snap you in half, or at least hack off a limb. You can’t picture that going over too well for anyone.
Warm goo sifts past your ankles, a foamy substance forming and sticking to your body. You dip a hand through it and recognize it as a mix of Carly’s bubbly spit and the tacky ice cream swallows; this touch alone coats your arms in the stuff. You try to scrape at it, but it only seems to spread more quickly to whatever touches it. Carly’s lips part again, sighing low and sweetly, as another quick ball of ice cream comes sliding in. This time, though, it plops right onto you. Carly’s tongue is quick to work, though, slipping stickily along you and reaching the ice cream. Then, finding the ball to be malleable as it melts, Carly pins you directly into the ball with her mouth muscle, coating you fully in the sticky stuff. You struggle, grasping at her hard, slippery teeth, but it’s no use. Balling you into it, you bang your head angrily against the slimy roof of your sister’s mouth as she drags you onto her tongue fully, your body still encased in the quickly disintegrating dessert morsel.
Then back further.
And further.
And further.
Realizing how dangerous the situation is becoming, you claw madly in the pitch blackness, feeling your hands slipping aimlessly along ribbed walls. You press your hands against them and can feel Carly’s muscles at the top of her throat contracting and sliding, in and out, like a factory machine. You gasp what little oxygen you have left as you are swept quickly into the opening of Carly’s esophagus, your little sister’s powerful throat muscles gripping you slimily and baking the sticky ice cream remains into your skin; the space has become so small, your body is pressed against itself by the pulsating, slick skin of Carly’s throat like a pipeline. You feel a final, obnoxious, rumbling laugh from your younger feminine tormentor as you are dragged powerlessly toward your probable doom in her stomach, listening to the gurgle of her throat and the popping of soupy spit bubbles on the way.
“No…” you groan to yourself painfully, trembling as the realization sweeps back over you just as quickly as the goopy rivers of your little sister's saliva. “I don’t want it to end. I don’t want to leave… you... Aphrodite...”