My Sister Did Everything I Ordered Her to That Saturday

I wouldn’t know how to explain what it is about my sister Carolina that gets me like this. It’s Wednesday night and she’s walking back and forth down the hallway, notes in hand, muttering under her breath a list of dates she can’t get into her head. I pretend to read. All I can think about is that in three days my parents are leaving for my uncles’ country place and we’re going to be alone. My skin prickles from the nape of my neck down to my lower back. She knows it. She’s been looking at me for a couple of days with that good-girl face she does so well, as if she doesn’t understand why I keep watching her so much.

Carolina isn’t being careful, or that’s what I want to believe. She’s wearing a thin nightdress that lets the outline of her panties show if the light hits her head-on. When she bends down to reach the salt shaker, the blouse opens just enough for me to catch the start of her breasts and the edge of her bra. Sometimes, when she doesn’t plan on leaving the apartment all day, she forgets the bra altogether. I notice everything. I file it away in some corner of my head to use later, alone, in my room, with my cock in my hand and the image of her small tits bouncing under the fabric while I jerk myself off until I come over my stomach.

I’m nineteen and in my first year of Economics. My sister is twenty-one and in her third year of Philology. I’m a guy who still breaks out on his forehead and who barely has any beard on his cheeks. I’m five foot eight and skinny, with narrow shoulders. Carolina, on the other hand, is tall, dark blonde, with very long legs and delicate hands. Her eyes are somewhere between brown and green, her nose is straight, and her neck is like a dancer’s. Her body isn’t one for magazines, but there’s something in the way she moves, in the way she rests her weight on one leg, that drives anyone crazy. It drove me crazy a long time ago.

And she knows it. And she likes knowing it.

It started years ago, when we were both already adults and the afternoons felt endless. We watched a movie together that we shouldn’t have been watching at home, and I, using the excuse of copying what the leads did, suggested we play. I remember the silence of the siesta, my parents asleep on the other side of the hallway, my heart pounding inside my chest like it wanted to break free. I suggested we kiss, like they did, and lie down on the bed for a while. Carolina thought about it. She thought about it so long I started to believe she was going to get up and leave. But she brought her mouth to mine slowly and taught me how to kiss. She was the one who put her tongue in first. She was the one who asked me for another kiss after the first one. And she was the one who, by the third kiss, took my hand and put it under her skirt so I could touch her cunt over her panties.

That siesta stretched into years, one afternoon after another, hiding in equal parts from my parents and from ourselves. I learned to unbutton her blouse button by button without her complaining. I learned to slip my hand between her skin and the cup of her bra, to tell from her breathing whether what I was doing pleased her or not. When I licked one of her nipples for the first time, I thought she’d pull away. She didn’t. She stayed still, staring at the ceiling, and I discovered she wasn’t immune to it either, that part of her body got hard just like mine did. I sucked her tits until they were red, marked with saliva and teeth, and when I slid my hand down to her cunt it was soaked, so wet my fingers slipped between her lips without finding any grip. The first time she came with me was with my hand buried to the knuckles and her mouth biting my shoulder so she wouldn’t wake anyone.

***

It’s Saturday morning. My parents left early for the country place. Carolina told them she was staying behind to study for a midterm. It’s a lie and we both know it. I hear her messing around in the kitchen while she eats breakfast, with a crumb of bread hanging from the corner of her mouth and her hair still mussed. I want to eat her whole.

After breakfast she goes into the bathroom. The door closes. I take advantage. I go to my room, open the little box I keep hidden behind the books on the shelf, and take out the thin cords, the ones I use to tie her hands without marking her skin. I take out a cheap lace thong I bought for her one afternoon at a flea market and that she’d never dare to buy herself. I take out a pair of my mother’s old stockings, full of runs, that I rescued from the trash without anyone seeing. I leave everything on top of my pillow.

Then I go into her room. I pull a black miniskirt from her closet, one she bought to go out with a guy she stopped seeing last month, a T-shirt from three summers ago that’s gotten too small and squeezes her breasts until they stand out, and a pair of stiletto heels. I lay it all out on her bed, folded, in the exact order I want her to put it on. She knows how to read a set like that. We’ve been doing this for months.

I go back to the bathroom. I wait to hear the water and go in. I yank the shower curtain open. Carolina lets out a small, instinctive cry and covers her breasts with both hands. She turns around and offers me her back. She has the most beautiful back I’ve ever seen: broad at the shoulders, narrow at the waist, flaring again at the hips. The soap foam slides down her ass, works its way between the half-moons of her cheeks, disappears into the crease. I watch her for three, four seconds. My cock hardens against the fly of my jeans. I drag a finger down her spine, from top to bottom, and sink it into the hollow between her cheeks until I brush her tight little asshole. She jerks. I pull my finger out, take it to my mouth, and show her by sucking it slowly. Then I close the curtain and leave without saying a word. Let her know I want her. Let her know this has already started.

She comes out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel that barely covers anything and goes into her room. I spy on her from the other side of the hall. A while later she comes out dressed in the clothes I left for her. The thong, the miniskirt, the tight T-shirt, the ripped stockings, the heels. She’s done her hair and painted her lips. She glances at me and lowers her head.

***

I don’t touch her. Not yet. I’ve learned that the longer I make her wait, the more docile she gets afterward. I make her heat up the food our mother left us. I make her serve me my plate. I eat in silence while she tries hard to smile at me from the other side of the table. I ask for coffee and she gets up to make it without complaining. When she brings it to me I brush her fingers as I take the cup. She pulls her hand away a millimeter too late, just enough for me to know the brush of contact pleased her.

We drink coffee together. There’s a thick silence between us, dense as hot oil. I drink mine slowly. She waits. When I finish, she’s still waiting. When she empties hers, she waits a little longer. Finally she gets up from the chair with her face half fallen.

—Well, if you don’t want anything else, I’m going to lie down for a while.

I let her take three steps down the hall before I speak.

—Wait.

She turns slowly. I can guess a little smile at the corner of her mouth.

—Why did you dress like that? —I ask—. To get me hard?

—It’s to be comfortable —she says very quietly.

—Comfortable? You’re dressed like a whore.

—Diego, don’t say that to me.

—With those torn stockings you look like you came out of a doorway. A cheap whore. That’s what you look like.

Carolina lowers her head. The smile has disappeared. She looks up at me from below, lids half lowered, with that face that leaves me breathless. I yank her skirt up. The fabric resists on her thighs and finally gives, bunching around her waist.

—Let’s see what panties you’re wearing. Whore panties, of course.

I grab her by the hips and pull her toward me. I dig my fingers into her ass. Her face is a hand’s breadth from mine. I catch a cheap sweet perfume, the kind she wears because she knows I like it. I slide my hand under her T-shirt and confirm what I already knew.

—You’re not wearing a bra. You didn’t even bother putting one on. Showing your tits around the house like a dirty slut.

I squeeze one breast through the fabric. It’s small and firm, and the nipple is already hard as stone. I pinch the other between my index finger and thumb and twist it until her eyes moisten. I kiss her. I kiss her hard, almost biting her lip, pushing my tongue all the way into her mouth. She gives herself over as always, with her mouth slightly open, patient, ready to endure whatever I put in front of her. I take her hand and bring it to my fly so she can feel the bulge I’ve got underneath. Carolina closes her fingers around my cock over the jeans and squeezes it slowly, up and down, saying nothing, looking into my eyes while she gropes me. I pull the thin cord from the back pocket of my pants and place her hands behind her back. Carolina offers her wrists. I tie them with two loops and a flat knot, just enough so she can’t get free but not enough to hurt her.

***

I push her down the hall toward the kitchen. I want to take her somewhere I’ve never had her before. I’ve mentally gone over the whole apartment while I watched her serve me coffee. Behind the kitchen there’s a tiny room with the washing machine, a folding drying rack, and a frosted-glass window that looks out onto the building’s inner courtyard. It’s perfect. It’s right next to the neighbor’s window.

I make her go in first. Carolina looks at the window, looks at the cold tiled floor, looks back at me. She knows what I’m thinking. I lower the zipper of her skirt and let it fall to the floor. Her legs are left open and framed by the top edge of the stockings. In the heels she gives me two inches. I prefer her like this, a little higher, because that way her ass is at just the right height for my hand.

I hold her from behind. I lift her T-shirt up to her breasts and leave it bunched under her armpits. Her breasts are free, hot, still marked by the pressure of the fabric. I run my other hand over her stomach, find the edge of the thong, and slip my fingers underneath. I go lower, slowly. I find the smooth skin, shaven the way I’ve asked her so many times, and below that the lips of her cunt and her already swollen clit. I pinch it gently. Carolina stifles a sound against my shoulder. I part her lips with two fingers and feel how wet she already is, how the slick runs down the inside of her thighs. I slide my finger in to the knuckle and she bites the inside of her cheek so she won’t moan. I pull it out shining, drag it over her mouth like I’m painting her lips with her own juice, and slip it between her teeth for her to suck. Carolina closes her mouth around my finger and licks it from first knuckle to last, staring at me hard, her tongue working as if she had my cock in her mouth instead of my finger.

At that moment I hear the neighbor’s window opening. She’s an older widow who hangs out her clothes on Saturday mornings because she says the courtyard sun is best for whites. Carolina goes still for a second. Then she turns her face toward me.

—Diego, please. She’s going to hear us.

—Then be quiet.

—Really. Stop.

—I said shut up.

I pinch her left nipple between two fingers and twist it a little. Carolina grits her teeth and throws her head back against my collarbone. I pull her thong down to her ankles. I don’t take it off all the way. I like leaving it there, binding her feet together, reminding her she can’t take a step without permission.

I kneel down. I run my tongue over her stomach, over her hip, over the inside of her thigh. Carolina has a tiny mole on the right side of her pubic mound. It’s a mole I’ve known for years and would recognize anywhere. I kiss the mole, lick it, and go lower. I part her cunt lips with two fingers and give her a long first lick, from bottom to top, starting at the perineum and ending at the clit. I circle it with my tongue, slow rounds, and feel her belly contract against my forehead. She bites at the air so she won’t scream. I do it again. And again. I dig my nails into one cheek to hold her against my face and shove my whole tongue inside her, as deep as I can, fucking her cunt with my tongue while I rub her clit with the tip of my nose. Carolina opens her legs as far as the thong allows and starts moving her hips against my mouth, rubbing herself without being able to help it, riding my face.

On the other side of the wall the neighbor’s clothesline pulley squeaks. I take advantage of the noise to suck her harder, to slide in one finger, to pull it out shining. I slip in a second finger, then a third, and curl my fingers upward seeking that rough spot I know by heart. I rub it inside her while I suck her clit between my lips, pressing it with my tongue against the roof of my mouth. Carolina pants against the back of her own tied hand. When I lift my eyes I see her biting her lower lip so hard she’s drawing blood. A thread of saliva runs down her chin. My fingers slide inside her with a wet sound that seems louder to me than any moan.

Then I notice she’s trying to rub herself, that she’s managed to get one hand loose from the cord enough to reach her sex with a finger. I jerk it away.

—No. Not that.

—Please —she whispers.

—You come when I say. If you touch yourself, you stay half-finished all afternoon.

I tighten the cord again. I stand up. I unzip my jeans and take out my cock, already hard and with the tip shining with spit. I grab her by the nape and push her head down. Carolina lets herself fold, kneels on the cold tile with her wrists tied behind her back, and opens her mouth without me having to ask. I shove my cock all the way in with one thrust. Her cheeks hollow as she sucks it, her eyes fill with water, but she doesn’t pull away. I grip her hair at the nape and fuck her mouth at my pace, in and out slowly at first and then faster, until I feel the back of her throat give against the tip. She lets out a gurgling sound, a string of saliva drips from her chin to her chest, and my cock trembles in her mouth from how badly I want to come.

I pull out before it’s time. I run the soaked tip over her painted lips, smearing them. I lift her by the hair. I shove her backward against the edge of the utility sink. With one hand I hold her by the nape and force her forehead against my shoulder so she won’t make a sound. With the other I spread her ass cheeks, spit into my palm and run it over my cock to lube it properly. I find her cunt opening, already soaked, and drive into her in one thrust, all the way, until I feel my balls slam against her clit.

Carolina opens her mouth in a silent scream. I cover her mouth with my hand. I start fucking her like that, standing up, bent over the utility sink, with her wrists tied and the panties still binding her ankles. Every thrust makes her tits rise and fall, makes her stomach knock against the cold marble edge. I hear her breathing through her nose against my palm, sniffling, tight, enduring every penetration with a compressed moan trapped inside her. I bite her neck over the jugular. I bite her shoulder. I slide my other hand between her legs and rub her clit with two fingers while I keep spearing her.

—If she hears you, I’ll open the door and tell her what we’re doing —I whisper in her ear—. I’ll tell her you’re letting me fuck you like a slut in the kitchen. That you love it when your brother shoves his cock into you. That you’re dripping from the inside.

Carolina lets out something like a muffled shriek, trapped between her teeth and the palm of my hand. Her knees buckle. I hold her waist with my forearm so she won’t fall. I feel her squeezing around me on the inside, closing over my cock in short waves, wetting my hand, wetting my pants, wetting my balls with the hot flow running down the insides of her thighs. She digs her teeth into my neck, not really biting, holding back because she knows one of her screams would make the neighbor turn her head on the other side of the wall. She stays still like that, clinging to me, coming in silence, her cunt trembling around my shaft in spasms that go on and on.

I don’t let her go down. I keep pumping into her, faster now, taking advantage of how soaked she is, how soft and hot her cunt has gone after the orgasm. I yank out of her. I force her to turn, bend her over the utility sink, face against the marble and ass up. I spread her cheeks with both hands and shove it in again from behind, all the way, gripping her hips to drive deeper. I fuck her so hard the tiles next to the sink vibrate. I slip a thumb into her mouth for her to suck, pull it out shining, and press it against her tight little asshole, nudging only slightly, not actually putting it in, just threatening her with it. Carolina moans against the marble, a broken moan she can’t quite contain anymore, and I feel her cunt clench again, feel her come a second time with me inside her.

That finishes me. I clench my teeth, hold her by the hair, and empty the whole load into her, shot after shot, every last drop, pressing her hips against my groin so not a bit escapes. I stay there like that, buried in her, feeling my cock pulse inside her cunt as it empties. When I finally pull out, a thick thread of semen runs down the inside of her thigh until it disappears at the edge of the stocking. I slip in two fingers and scoop up what has started to leak out, and take it to her mouth. Carolina sucks it with her eyes closed, swallowing obediently.

On the other side of the wall, the neighbor finishes hanging out the clothes, closes the window, and goes back inside without having heard a thing.

I untie her wrists and lower her T-shirt. I pull the thong back up over her soaked cunt and watch as the fabric is instantly stained with my semen and her juices. I kiss her on the forehead, in a way that doesn’t fit anything that just happened, and for an instant we’re both once again the two kids from that siesta years ago. Then I put a hand on the back of her neck and guide her back to the kitchen without saying anything, knowing we still have two whole days of an empty house ahead of us.