Be Careful What You Wish For

"Don't," your brother hisses as you grind teasingly against him. "Do you have any idea how much trouble I'll get into?"

"I don't care if we get in trouble," you whine. Your brother swats your hand away from his pants, but doesn't shove you off his lap.

"We're not going to get in trouble," he says. "I'm going to get in trouble. You're not fucking stupid, you know that. Everyone already thinks I'm some kind of loser creep, and now this -"

You're too drunk to listen - you've always been more of a loser creep than he is, anyway, stereotypes aside. You shift in his lap again, not-so-subtly rocking your hips into his. You're clinging to him so hard he'd probably have to hurt you to pry you off, and you're banking on his unwillingness to do that when he's already under fire for stealing your dad's cigarettes.

"But I waaaant it." He's clearly straining against his pants, and his fingers are digging into your hips like he wants to keep you there. His breath smells terrible, like cheap whiskey, but you're not going to complain when he's the one that shared it with you in the first place. "You're such a pussy, I can't believe you're chickening out after getting me drunk. I mean, mom and dad aren't home, nobody's gonna hear me scream -"

He shoves you then, harder than you'd ever expected, and it's hard to tell how he gets from his ratty computer chair to the floor, but he does. Then there's a large hand tangled in your hair, and a knee pressed between your legs, and you can feel him shaking despite the show of force.

"I hate you," he growls in your ear. "This isn't funny. You don't give a shit about what's gonna happen to me, do you? Do you think anyone would care if I said we were drunk and you wanted it?"

"H-hey, wait, I-" You're cut off by a high-pitched squeal as he jerks your hair hard, pressing his cock against your ass and reaching under your skirt with his other hand. "Hey, stop, I didn't -"

"You did." He tears your panties off in one swift motion, and you hear the fabric straining as he pulls them down your thighs. You're wet, but you'd kind of been expecting lube or something, not - oh shit, when did he take his pants off? The room tilts, and your vision swims.

"You're such a nasty little creep," he whispers. His grip on your hair relaxes, but you're too woozy to even try squirming away. "You're the real pervert in this family, you know that?"

"Sto-ooop," you moan as he grips your thighs too tight, forcing them apart. "I'm gonna tell -"

He forces it in abruptly, and you realize you were right - nobody's going to hear you scream. That's probably for the best, since you're too drunk to think about the consequences and so is he. Maybe you should've taken a different approach, but he was too good at brushing you off when you tried to be subtle.

"Ah, stop, that hurts -"

"Good, because it's not about you!" Your cunt burns as he forces it open - you could swear you feel something tear. It's probably a bad time to tell him you've never done this before.

"You were basically doing the same thing to me," your brother growls. "Grinding in my fucking lap all the time, stealing my underwear - you've got no right to act like a victim now."

Well, you did do those things - among others. And despite your protests, despite the pain, there's a deep subconscious part of you that can't help feeling satisfied. You weren't wrong. He did want you. You've always known, but it was hard not to feel a little insecure when he kept pushing you away.

"Ungrateful little bitch," he whispers against your hair. He wrenches one arm behind your back despite how unnecessary it is, and you whine from the strain. Just as you were getting used to his cock, too.

"Tell me you're sorry and I'll stop," he says, and you struggle to get the words out, but he's pounding into you so hard, and it hurts so much, and the way your cunt scrapes against the rough carpet with every thrust is so distracting. It's not long before you forget what he said, and the nagging sense that you need to do something is vague and soupy and far away.

"I - it - I'm - mmmm -" You want to tell him you don't want it, but... does that matter anymore? Did it ever?

"You don't want me to stop," he breathes. His breath stinks, and you can't get away from it. He's not twisting your arm anymore, instead gripping your waist with both hands, squeezing handfuls of your flesh harder and harder in his drunken haze until you're moaning in pain once again.

"Nooooo," you whine, unsure whether it's in agreement or refusal. It really fucking hurts - he's bigger than any toy you've ever used, and no amount of wetness from sitting in his lap is enough to stop you from tearing under the strain. You're mumbling something into the carpet as a puddle of drool leaks out, but you can't be sure what.

"You think you can grope me whenever the fuck you want, just 'cause you're my baby sister? You're a fucking sex pest and you know it." His nails are scoring deep red marks into your flesh despite all his protestations about not wanting to get caught. He leans in close, panting harshly against your ear. Your futile attempt to squirm away just hurts you more as his cock rubs against all the tiny tears it's made in your hole, drowning out your thoughts with constant little firecrackers of agony.

He lets you go for half a second, and you're far too drunk to make it more than a couple of inches on your rug-burned hands and knees. You're swiftly gathered into your brother's arms and seated right where you were before - on his lap, in his computer chair, albeit with your panties torn off and your pussy sore and twitching this time.

"I'm scared," you whimper, and the firm pressure of his arms around you is both a comfort and a terror. He rubs your waist gently, over your shirt this time, as if trying to soothe the angry red marks he left just a second ago.

"Yeah? Well, so am I. Scared of getting caught." Despite his words, he slides a hand between your legs to rub your clit softly, at odds with his brutal thrusts from earlier. "I guess it's my responsibility to make sure my cute baby sis doesn't grow up into a filthy little rapist, huh?"

"I'm not," you protest, but you're cut off by a hiss of pain as he forces two fingers into your abused hole. "Please don't -"

You're left gripping his shoulders for dear life as he fucks you roughly with his fingers, far too dizzy and confused to even think about defending yourself. Even though they're smaller than his cock, the pain is blinding, making you drool and whine. Your cunt feels raw and torn-open around his fingers, and it only gets worse after he adds a third.

"Do you like that?" He's holding you firmly with his other arm, making sure you couldn't escape even if you wanted to. You're crying now, leaning your head against his chest, and he shifts his grip to stroke your hair gently. "You want me to stop, huh? I bet it hurts really bad."

You nod and sniffle, but he only curls his fingers harshly inside you, making you squeal. "Shut the fuck up," your brother whispers in your ear as he tightens his grip on your hair. "I'm not doing anything wrong. You're the one who kept humping me after I said no. You deserve this."

...Do you really? It's hard to argue with him, even in your own head. Being drunk suddenly isn't fun anymore - instead, your own body feels like a prison, growing heavy and limp despite your protestations.

"Sorry," you mumble into his chest. You're not sure if he hears you. Your breath hitches as you feel his large hands lifting you up, then pushing you down again abruptly -

It doesn't hurt as much this time. Maybe you've grown numb, or maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe he's right and you really do want this. It'd be nice to want it, a distant little voice whispers in the back of your mind, and a slow warmth spreads throughout your lower body as you consider that possibility. Yeah, then everything would be fine, because I'd want it.

"Hey," your brother snaps, pulling you out of your reverie. "Weren't you literally just crawling into my lap? Don't just sit there being useless now."

It's really, really hard to move of your own volition, but a sharp slap makes you jerk and squirm, forcing his cock deeper inside of you. You're so full, and it's so hot and slick inside of you, and you're not sure if it actually feels good but you're pretty sure this is exactly what you wanted.

He kisses you then, gentler than you ever could've expected and somehow more intrusive than his cock. The rough assault from earlier was one thing, but you would've done this in a heartbeat without being forced - so why does it feel so disgusting now that he's slowly grinding into you and kissing you like he loves you?

"You're gross," he whispers against your lips. Like he's chastising you for leaving your socks on the bathroom floor again; like he isn't slipping his hands under your shirt to pull roughly at your training bra.

"You don't even need this stupid thing, you're so flat," he says before yanking it forward, bursting the seams open in one fluid motion. You shriek and nearly lose your balance, but he holds you firmly before you can even think of escaping his lap.

"N-noo - Mom's gonna - get mad -"

"So fucking what? She'll kill me if she finds out I raped my baby sister. Who cares if you get yelled at over a bra?"

"I - I -" You're cut off abruptly by his hands sliding up your bare chest all the way to your neck, before closing in slowly. You're pretty sure this is bad, but you can't remember why - why is the knot of panic in your stomach getting tighter and tighter as he squeezes your neck in his hands?

You try to open your mouth and say something, but only a faint wheeze comes out. You're twitching and bouncing on his cock now, but you don't have the presence of mind to enjoy it when the air in your bursting lungs is leaking out ever so slowly through your brother's too-tight grip.

"I'm doing you a favor, dumbass. It feels really good to cum while you're getting choked." You'd snap back and ask him how he knows that if you weren't writhing against him in a futile attempt to get away - you need out out out right now or you'll fucking die, you know that more clearly than you've ever known anything before. His hands keep squeezing your throat until you feel something bend in on itself, and then you're equally terrified of what injury you'll discover if he ever lets you go.

The room around you is swallowed up by starbursts of light as you fall backwards - or maybe you're just imagining it. You can't tell which way is up anymore. Regardless. you feel crushed by the weight of his body, reduced only to the struggle for air and the too-tight squeeze of his cock inside you.

It feels good, finally, and that's got to be enough. It means he was right, and this is good, and you can enter the welcoming embrace of the blackout with some semblance of peace as your cunt finally throbs with an unwanted orgasm around him.

Your big brother would never do anything to hurt you, after all. Not really.